Singing and shrieking

After the gym this morning, Sophie and I embarked on a four-stop errand extravaganza. Or that was the plan, anyway. When I picked her up from the gym nursery I was informed that she'd refused to eat breakfast and had been yawning all morning...facts that should have deterred me from my mission but sadly did not. I figured she'd nap in the car and then rally, so we continued on our errand quest. First we hit Costco, and despite only a 10 minute snooze on the way there, Sophie behaved brilliantly. Then we went next door to Target, and she lost her mind about five minutes in.

Public tantrums are really rare for Sophie, especially in a store. She usually loves chilling in the cart and people watching, and if she does start to fuss she can almost always be teased back into a good mood. But of course, I had asked way too much from her today, and by about Noon she was just done. I started singing "Twinkle Twinkle" like a madwoman, which often works as a distraction in these types of situations. And the most adorable thing was that she tried so hard, even in her hysterical state, to reign herself in. She couldn't quite get herself to stop crying, but she was still opening and closing her hands in the gesture we do to indicate the "twinkling stars" in the song. The look on her face was like, "This is all I got Mama, I can give you the hands but I have to scream while I do it." As we stood in line to pay for our purchases, I'm sure we were quite a sight...me trilling loudly and making diamond shapes on my forehead (as in the lyric "like a diamond in the sky" and not just because I felt like it...I'm not completely off my rocker) and Sophie red-faced and shrieking while pinching her hands open and shut like a little crab.

Funny thing is, people ask me all the time why I do most of my shopping on the Internet. I figure they must not have small children.

Santa...friend or foe?

Emma is a BIG Santa fan...from a distance. She loves the idea of going to see him, but actually doing it is another matter altogether. Every year it's the same thing - we stand in line and watch her enthusiasm slowly wane with each step closer we get to the big red guy. By the time we reach Santa, we have to bribe/beg/force Em to even approach him. I believe last year was the only time we convinced her to stay put long enough for a photo, and that was only b/c I agreed to be in the picture too. (As you can see below, she was about ten seconds away from bolting for the door when the shot was taken.)

These Santa experiences from Christmases past are not very pleasant, for us or for her. (Or for Santa, for that matter.) So this year we decided to just write Santa a letter. But then Chris discovered this cute website where Emma could call Santa and leave a message. So that is what we did. If you click here before January and listen patiently to Santa's extremely long rambling at the beginning, eventually you can hear the message that Em left. It's kinda cute. And it was much less hassle than actual face-to-face time. Gotta love the Internet.

Emma Musical Moments

It is cold here and there is much snow on the ground. These common Midwestern obstacles do not normally deter me, but when I must bundle up two uncooperative children as well as myself, I become frightened. Hence, we did not leave the house today. Emma entertained us with a concert instead. The music was of her choosing and ranged from "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to Beyonce. Here are a couple brief highlights...

More Sophie Moments

Baby days are numbered

Now that Sophie's one year old, we are starting to think about weaning. I don't know how long it will take; to be honest, I'm not really in a rush. Yet she has already begun the process on her own, and soon enough the transition will be complete.

In a way, I'm excited to stop breastfeeding because it will be nice to feel like my body is all mine again. But there are many things about breastfeeding I will miss, and none more than my favorite moment of the day...Sophie's bedtime. We sit together in her bedroom and rock in the dark as the falling rain from her sound machine soothes us both into drowsiness. And as Sophie breastfeeds, she reaches one hand up and rests it on my chest. Then she slowly pats me with her fingers, as if she is reassuring me about something. The gesture is so cute and yet so mature, and Sophie only does it when she breastfeeds. I close my eyes and concentrate on the feel of her little fingers lifting gently up and down, up and down on my skin, as if she's telling me, "Don't worry, Mommy. I will always be your baby." She matches the timing of her patting with the rocking of the chair, and we stay locked in that slow, steady rhythm until she signals that she's ready for bed. At no other time in my day - or in my life - do I feel more like a mother than during those moments with her. I look forward to this precious intimacy between us every night, and I will be sad when it is gone.

Sophie is a Mama's girl, so I'm not really worried - as I was with Emma - that she won't "need me" anymore once we end breastfeeding. But I will still miss that feeling of complete connection with my child that simply cannot be replicated any other way. I feel so privileged that I was able to share that with both my girls.

Dr. Emma

Emma came home from school tonight, climbed onto the top of the chair in which I was sitting, and started putting paper band aids down my shirt. She told me to keep quiet and hold still. I opened my mouth to ask a question but was quickly silenced.

"SSSHH! Who's the doctor here?" Emma demanded.

"Emma," I dutifully replied.

"Who's the doctor here?" Emma repeated.

"Um...Emma?" I ventured again.

"WHO IS THE DOCTOR HERE?" Emma bellowed.

"Doctor Emma," I answered meekly.

Every time I attempted to speak, the above exchange repeated itself. After many many many minutes, Emma finally declared me cured and said, "Your manger of love is all better and the boo-boos have gone to safety."

She then charged me 25 cents for services and gave me "anty-botics" for later.

"Thank you, Emma," I said.

"Who's the doctor here?" she shouted.

"Thank you, Doctor Emma," I sighed.

"Good. You may shake my hand and then leave," the doctor ordered.

Stray Cat Strut

As mentioned in a previous blog entry, here's Emma doing her take on the Stray Cats song "Stray Cat Strut."

My three beauties

Chris is the rough and tumble one in our household. Every night when he comes home, he wrestles with the girls on the bed or the couch. He throws them up, down and around, and they both love it.

I try to stay away during this time because Sophie has a tendency to go to me when I am near, even if she's having a blast hanging with Daddy. In fact, she usually lunges at me. Last night, Chris could barely keep her from reaching airborne status when she saw me. I had time enough to take this one picture before dropping the camera to catch her.


I must have been a saint in another life, because I can't believe how lucky I am to have this family.

Translation, please?

Emma woke up this morning all upset because she "tasted like salt." I asked her what she meant by that, but she just kept repeating that she tasted like salt. She went on and on about the salt for at least 5 minutes, whining and crying, until finally she froze in place and shouted in triumph, "OH MAMA, I know why I taste salt in my throat! It's because the frog is getting ready to jump out!" Asking her to clarify the connection between salt and her sore throat, she told me that frogs must use salt to help them jump.

"Or maybe I dreamd-ed of french fries last night and the frog got hungry and ate them all until he went BOOM!" Em added. "Last night I licked Bolt after he saved me from the fire and then I dreamd-ed that he brung me a cake. Oh, and Baby Doll got mad because I made her take a nap, and she cried and cried and cried and I had to rock her and then she took a drink of water and then she went to sleep and said 'Ma-ma, Ma-ma' and woke up and wanted milk but I said, 'No naughty girl, you go back to sleep!' and then she did and she didn't have an accident all night."

With a shrug of her shoulders, she concluded, "Yep, I think that's what happened."

"Um, o-kay..." I said. "But what does all that have to do with tasting salt?"

"Tasting salt? Oh Mama, you're a silly girl," she replied with a giggle before walking away.