Squeaky Kitty

Grandma Rose always let me play with her jewelry and make-up samples, including letting me paint her nails.  And she let me use the red nail polish, which I don't think I truly appreciated until Abbey wanted to paint my nails and showcased how much fine motor skill nail painting really requires.

Nan's house meant cousins, a well-worn copy of Pat the Bunny, and toys that were rectangular cubes with four levels that you had to maneuver a little ball through to get from the top to the bottom.

For Abbey, and now Dylan, Great-Grandma Pat's house means a chance to play with Squeaky Kitty, a battery operated stuffed cat that walks and meows, or squeaks.  From the moment I mention going to visit Grandma Pat, Abbey chatters on and on about Squeaky Kitty.  She immediately asks about SK, and the little striped kitten stays on most of the afternoon.

We owe Grandma Pat some new batteries.

so happy to have Squeaky Kitty to herself 

someone took a nap during the drive to Grandma Pat's

Was there a special toy you played with when visiting your grandparents or other family members?

Don't They Already Have Animals?

Picking your battles is a crucial lesson to learn.  This lesson isn't just for parents, but it does become tricky when the battles are being waged with little people whose rationalization skills are still at the preschool level.

It becomes even trickier when those preschool rationalization skills best my grown-up reasoning skills.

We were packing up our things for a zoo trip with our friends Stacy, Connor, and Madison, when I noticed Abbey clutching her current favorite stuffed friend, Grampage Hooligan Ruffie.  I've recently ditched the diaper bag and am enjoying the newfound freedom of only carting around a quarter of my body weight in gear instead of my usual everything-but-the-kitchen-sink. 

I'm fine with Abbey bringing her Lip Smackers, because who doesn't love vanilla chapstick, but stuffed animals?

I quickly formulated my iron-clad argument:

"Abbey, we don't need to bring GHR to the zoo.  They have enough animals there already."

"Not dogs," she said, stubbornly.  And correctly, the smarty-pants.

I switched tactics.

"Well, no, you're right.  But you can't bring dogs to the zoo.  They'll either scare the other animals or get scared themselves."

"Oh Mommy," she sighed, "Grampage Hooligan Ruffie isn't real.  He can come with us."

And that is how I ended up carting around a stuffed dog around the zoo.  Thankfully, he rode in the stroller instead of "walking with his leash," a clever contraption consisting of some ribbon and a fabric measuring tape.

checking out the prairie dogs 

again with the prairie dogs

I never knew they were so interesting 

Grampage Hooligan Ruffie made it out of the stroller for lunch

I'm slightly mortified to say that she PICKED that flower and put it behind her ear

I'm pretty sure last year I commented on a picture about another little girl picking the zoo's flowers

there's a karmic lesson there, a little one, but it's there 

judging how close I actually am and how far he might make it before I catch him

I Might Regret Saying That

With the amount of conversation that takes place in our house each day, there are bound to be some discussion mishaps.  Unfortunately, Abbey has Ryan's memory; she remembers minute details about things I say months after the fact.

Her love of Honey Bear is abundant, and who can blame her?

One day she was continually asking about getting a pet.  A dog, like Honey Bear, or a cat or maybe a baby lion.  I was able to diffuse the question for a while by trying to explain that lions only live in the zoo or in Pride Rock (like Simba from The Lion King). 

That only kept the request at bay for a short time.  I should have just told her we weren't getting a pet, but it's hard hurting her little animal-loving heart.

So I told her our house isn't big enough for a pet, except a fish that she can have when she's four.

Not one to miss a loophole, she asked if we could get a pet when our house gets bigger.  Or when we get a bigger house.

All of this is fine.  What's not fine is that whenever we visit a house with a pet, she loudly pronounces, "They must have a bigger house than us!  They have a dog!"

I'm starting to get some odd looks.  Lesson learned; I will be a little more careful about how I answer her questions!

Until our house gets bigger, she will have to settle for Pup.

this is Pup

of course Pup is pink 

and no, it's not her birthday

although we did sing happy birthday

to Pup of course

Who Needs Toys?

Like so many parents I talk with, Ryan and I are fighting a losing battle with the toys in our house.  I am becoming suspicious that they mate in the night and multiply like bunnies, because it seems like whenever I think things are getting organized, I come downstairs to find my house once again enveloped in kiddie clutter.

The funny thing about all of the toys is that Abbey and Dylan are just as content playing with boxes and spoons and furniture as they are with the fancy toys that litter our floors and shelves and closets.  Their imaginations turn everyday objects into things of wonder, and there are days that the "toys" stay in their bins all day.

Why, then, is it so very difficult for me to downsize our toy collection?  Do other people have a strange, emotional attachment to their kids' toys or is it just me?

these are their cars

in case you haven't heard, when Abbey is five, she's getting her own car

she wants her own car so she can drive herself to the library

who am I to argue with a reader on a mission?

the back of Grandma's furniture is a great drum 

Abbey wanted to join in on the fun

thankfully Grandma is a good sport

Photographer Fail - The Flip Side

This is what happens when I am deprived of a cool toy!

Here's the version where I get to hold the (photographer's single) rubber ball.

Thankfully, Jenny and I moved past this moment to forge a wonderful and loving relationship, but neither of our moms have a picture of both of us smiling that day!  And I think we can thank the seventies for the oh-so-realistic photo backdrops.

Never out of style?  Ruffled dresses, little socks, mary janes.  I wish I could say the same for my current wardrobe...

Photographer Fail

The year was 1978.  My aunt and my mom dressed my cousin and me in sweet, pastel dresses.  They took us to the photographer, keeping two toddlers sparkling clean.  We were perfectly positioned in front of a spring-inspired backdrop, ready to be immortalized.

The photographer only had one rubber ball.

(I'm the one on the left, the bald one!)

there are two versions of this photo

the other version shows Jenny (my wonderful cousin) holding the ball

in that photo, she is beaming while I am despondant and toyless

although I'm pretty sure I still have on those adorable mary janes

(I'll post the other version if I can get my hands on it!)

This post was inspired by Natalie from Mommy of a Monster & Twins, who posted an adorable picture of her twins that reminded me of this photo (and the counterpart where I am the unhappy camper!)  She liked my comment on it enough to mention it on her blog, so go see her modern version of the trials of trying to get a picture of two smiling little ones at one time!

Christmas with Friends

It's no wonder that Abbey was surprised to find out Christmas was over this year.  We were lucky enough to have several celebrations with different friends and family, which meant that "Christmas" really lasted over a week for our little ones this year.  That means a lot of pictures, so I'm breaking them up into various posts over the next week or so.

I believe I've made my love for Christmas abundantly clear, so I'll let the photos (mostly) speak for themselves.

xoxo

Brendan and Abbey

Abbey modeling her Cinderella costume from her adorable princess dress-up chest

Thanks Brendan and Lainey!

Dylan ignoring his new truck in favor of the real truck outside 

well, I did call my little piece of the internet "tiaras and trucks"

An Oldie but a Goodie

Relentless with a trash bag, my mom scours the house looking for things to send to the curb.  As children we were banned from the formal living room, where the parallel lines of her vaccuum cleaner stood guard.  The fireplace mantle was sparsely decorated, only family photos were deemed important enough to decorate her hearth. 

You can call her unsentimental, but you would be wrong.

When Abbey was born, treasures began spilling forth from her (I'm betting) meticulously organized attic.  Sesame Street books, Golden books, and Little Bear books in almost mint condition, although I know they were read often, as the stories came flooding back the minute I heard her calm voice reading to my daughter (and now my son).  An old Speak & Spell, a toy that held my attention for countless road trips, long before the days of the DS. 

Perhaps the most exciting of all are the vintage Fisher Price toys - the drum containing other instruments, the circus cars with the clown and multitude of animals that can hang from the cars, and the little barn with the door that still (almost) moos when you open it to let the animals in and out.

So keep her away from your overflowing closets, packed cabinets, and disorganized drawers, but those perfect little toys show that my mom would never throw out anything that really matters.

Dylan and Daddy playing with the barn

The Dollhouse AKA Santa Listens

2010 - The Year of the Dollhouse

To say she wanted a dollhouse this year would be an understatement.  From the first time I asked what she wanted from Santa, she decisively stated "a dollhouse" and never wavered in her certainty.  I asked her what else she wanted, and she said just a dollhouse (except for the time she added a puppy, but everyone knows there's no way Santa can risk bringing a puppy on a sleigh ride through the sky!)

I knew exactly what she was picturing, because her eyes drank in pictures of oversized, multi-room houses, ready for Barbie-type dolls, too large for our already packed house.  So we wavered, first purchasing a small substitute, trying to be practical. 

But the thing about Santa is that the magic of Christmas isn't always practical, and when I opened the the little toy dollhouse to put it together, Ryan and I realized it was even smaller than we expected, and suddenly practicality went out the window.  And Mommy went out the door, two days before Christmas, one of those crazy people piling into Toys R Us in the dark.

Don't tell me Santa doesn't exist, because one of his elves found the dollhouse we needed, still in the brown packaging box, looking carefully for it even after she told me she thought they were out of stock.

Don't tell me Santa doesn't exist, because Ryan and I were up until two in the morning (again) carefully assembling the four thousand pieces packed into that little box.  He didn't even get (too) annoyed when I tried to start it myself and put a level on backwards, which meant we had to take it apart and start over.

Don't tell me Santa doesn't exist, because when Abbey walked into the room, her words weren't even words, but sounds of pure excitement and joy.

Don't tell me Santa doesn't exist, because even though she might not fully grasp the concept of appreciation, she gets excited each time we come home and she walks into the dining room and says, "My dollhouse is still here!"

Christmas isn't about presents, and I have non-gift memories from this year that I will roll out another day.  Yet the magic of this Christmas might not have been any more obvious than it was in the split second she realized Santa had read her letter and listened to her request.

I had grand plans of a farewell to 2010 post, but time marched on, so I'm left with Christmas posts and a sincere wish to you that 2011 brings you some wonderful and amazing things.

Happy New Year!

that's Belle, from Beauty and the Beast

I'm not ready for Barbies quite yet

Respect the Turkey

I try to respect the turkey, really, I do.  For instance, the Chipmunks Christmas CD is still nestled snuggly in its case, despite Abbey's oohing and awwing at the Christmas decorations in the mall.  (To be honest, I hope we don't have a Chipmunk Christmas obsession this year; I need to find another kids CD that will keep both of us happy.)  Yet, I find myself looking forward to Christmas, mentally glossing over Thanksgiving.

I'm mentally decorating our dining room table and vowing to finally get a wreath for our door.

My Christmas list is taking shape, and I am excited to get moving on the shopping part.

Yet, I'm trying to hold back a little.  To keep the turkey in the forefront of my mind.  I have oodles to be thankful for this season, and a holiday devoted to those things is the perfect base for the Christmas season.  I tried to explain Thanksgiving to Abbey, but she has been dazzled by the Toys R Us catalog and the lure of quilted Pottery Barn stockings.  It's going to be tough to convince her to put those things aside for some pilgrim hats and tri-colored corn cobs.

She is enchanted by Christmas.  And since that childhood amazement is one of the things for which I am most thankful, how can I resist?

say goodbye to Halloween

a pre-schooler's candy store

she's drunk on dollhouses

we had to break it to her that Santa wasn't going to be able to fit the four-story one on his sleigh

(or in our teeny tiny house!)

The View from the Sandbox

In this installment of "Why Grandma Rocks*", please meet the sandbox.  At the beginning of the summer, the sandbox was actually the pool.  Now that the weather is morphing into fall, my mom decided to fill the pool with play sand.  Abbey is in heaven; Dylan is starting to find sand pretty enjoyable as well.  Needless to say, we spend time in the backyard each time we visit my parents, which is about once a week.

My dad decided to completely fence their backyard.  Honey Bear is in heaven.  (That might not seem important, but it does have relevence in this post.)

the little yellow bat next to the sandbox is Abbey's golf club

the pool looked a lot bigger at the beginning of the summer

by next summer they might need a bigger sandbox

back to that Honey Bear comment

Honey Bear makes sure that the yard is safe for all of us

in order to do that, she lets the dogs next door know who's boss

there are three dogs next door

the smallest is probably twice Honey Bear's size

she is not impressed

the kids found it so interesting to watch, especially Dylan

*I don't actually have a series called "Why Grandma Rocks," but I probably should.

Lazy Picture Post

sometimes playing legos means sitting in the lego drawer and dictating:

Mommy, build me a tower please

and getting mad when her brother tries to eat the tower

but staying in the lego drawer, because it's fun to be in little places

he is so interested in pulling up and standing that I can barely get a diaper on, let alone actually button his jammies back up

the bib is on the floor because he likes to play with it

(flooded with memories of Abbey pulling off bibs)

and this is what we look like after Abbey does our make-up

she achieved this effect using only eyeshadow, her fingers, and a blush brush

amazing, I know

the line starts here for her services

Toddler Jail

A mommy needs to get things done, so it's important to have a child-proof area in your house.  Some people use baby gates; I just put Abbey inside her play kitchen*

*I found her in here after hearing, "Look Mommy! I'm tall!" which usually means she is standing on something like a stool or a chair.  She is smiling, people, not calling Grandma to bail her out.  I do not really put her in here when I need to get things done, although now that I think about it...

Sunlight

Beautiful moments with the kids.

They happen.

The house stays (relatively) clean, Play Doh is played with and not eaten or ground into the carpet (that happened another day), and the sweetest boy in the world played with the sunlight in the kitchen while Abbey and I celebrated a birthday.  In Toddler World, every day is a good one to celebrate a birthday, because every day is SOMEONE'S birthday.

fascinated by the shadows & the sunlight

that's a birthday cake for those of you without Toddler Vision

still playing with the sun

My Kids Dig Farmville

Farmville is a game on Facebook, and in the interest of full disclosure, I don't play it at all.  So really, this farm is probably not at all like Farmville, but I think of it every time they play with the toy.  The farm was originally a gift to Abbey for her first birthday, but Dylan is already obsessed with it.  I am ashamed to admit that he plays with it pretty much every time he is in his high chair.  I sing along with it so that I don't feel like I am parking him in front of a TV when I am getting their food ready! 

With litte infant Abbey, I was so very careful about her toys.  I tried to stay away from things with too much plastic, too many flashing lights, lead paint.  Ok, so I still keep the lead paint away from Dylan.  Otherwise, though, he is exposed to so much more than she was, because it's already in our house.  I try make sure he plays with things like stackers, building blocks, Sophie the giraffe, and other things that don't have enough stimulation for an army of infants.

But it's so much simpler to clean up a kitchen without balancing Dylan on one hip, so Farmville will remain a permanent fixture in our dining room until he is sick of it.

Sweet Birthday Girl

Our friend Keoki won't officially turn one until this fall, but by then she will be back in China, charming the socks off everyone on the other side of the world.  Luckily, she had a first birthday party here, so we got to celebrate with her.  The kids had a blast playing with all of the toys (Laura has two nephews, and the party was at her sister's house,) and it is always a warm and fuzzy day when I get to see all of my Girls' Night girls together.

chubby babies are scrumptious

the dining room has been transformed into a playroom

kid heaven, I'm telling you

it took a little while, but Abbey felt at home after a while

trucks are fun

look at that hat

first birthdays are magical

watching them toddle across the bridge from babyhood to toddler town

Paul put the frosting on her face, not Keoki

she was a perfectly dainty birthday girl

mmmmmmm, cake

in order to make sure Abbey didn't eat too much sugar before bed, I helped her eat her piece

I had my own piece, too

now you know why I stress out about fitting in workouts

Learning to Share

He has been snuggled, tackled, dragged around the house, and fought over since we brought him home.  And by him, I mean Sparty the Stuffed Dog.  (Did you think I meant Dylan?  I might be a little more lax with the poor second baby, but I don't let Abbey physically drag him around the house!  Yet.)  Grandma Sharon bought him for Abbey during her first trip to Ikea; Ryan was home watching MSU beat Wisconsin, hence the name.  All of Abbey's friends love playing with Sparty, and Dylan has recently discovered his doggy charm as well.

It must be a little tough for Abbey to understand why, suddenly, this little person gets to play with all of her toys.  She is only just beginning to learn to share with her friends when they come to the house or when we go on playdates, but as Dylan becomes more and more brave in his explorations, she has to share with him as well. 

We're working on it.  One of the things I try to do is encourage her to "trade" him if he has something she wants.  Generally, whatever he has is something she wants.  Even when it is something like a teething ring.  Or his spoon.  Not a mind-blowing strategy, but it's one that has generally worked for us so far.

Until Sparty.

"I like this guy.  He is snuggly & soft & has lots of parts to chew on."

(That's Dylan talking; Sparty is a STUFFED dog, not a real one that will actually chew on our kids.)

"Here, Dylan, I want Sparty.  You take this."

Dylan closed his eyes to the plastic potato Abbey tried to use as a bartering tool.

"Seriously??  You're taking the dog and leaving me with a plastic hot dog bun?"

"This is all kinds of wrong!  There's not even a plastic hot dog in there.  This is a farce!"

"That didn't last long.  Now I can play with him again!"

"What kind of operation are you running around here, Mommy?"

P.S. Dylan can't really talk.  The preceding conversation is my translation from his ooo-ahhhh sounds.  I've taken some artistic liberties.