tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79064889769329077252024-02-20T20:19:21.164-06:00the edelspotIzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-88735020265895109582013-08-04T14:08:00.001-05:002013-08-04T14:15:13.692-05:00Moooovin' on upWell, its official. The EdelSpot has moved. Please join us at our new location <a href="http://www.edelspot.wordpress.com/">www.edelspot.com</a><br />
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Catch you on the flip side!IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-16433475743356904832013-04-08T21:58:00.000-05:002013-04-08T21:58:20.467-05:00About Mr. BBeckett. I don't even have words. He is already, ALREADY 19 months old. And he keeps me so busy, I haven't recorded a single thing he has done. And he has done so, so much.<br />
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I used this blog as a kind of baby book for Kate, and I look back at the year and a half since B was born and it is glaringly obvious I've been outmatched by my kids. As in, no time to write, journal, think, shower, breathe, shower, think... wait, where was I?<br />
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Ah yes. I've been remiss in sharing some of the best details of the most amazing boy I've ever met. Beckett has this smile that just lights up the world. He has never met a stranger. I mean, NEVER. He says "Hi!" and waves to nearly everyone we pass. And then, once we've walked by, he waves again and tells them goodbye.<br />
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He flirts. Indiscriminately. The ladies at the grocery store. Little girls at the playground. Moms in the gymnastics lobby. He hugs, loves, talks, waves and bats his incredibly baby blues at everyone. And melts hearts.<br />
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He has a huge vocabulary. I'm not sure how it compares to Kate at this age, but he mimics every word he hears. And his comprehension is fabulous. I love how instead of yes he says, "'Kay" or "Um hm" right before sticking those two fingers back in his mouth.<br />
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Today he said "Sorry" to Kate, unprompted for the first time. When he hits or accidentally hurts her, I always make him say sorry (and vice versa, obviously). But today in the car, when he took her water cup and dropped it instead of giving it back, she started to cry. And he, in all sweetness, gave her his beaming smile and told her, "Sorry. Sorry Katie." It melted my heart.<br />
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He calls Kate, Katie. He knows Grammy, Pops and Mimi and Papa too. He talks to Jack, makes pirate noises and loves to yell like a cowboy when he is on my old rocking horse. He can climb up and get off the bench at our dining table all by himself. And when he is told to go to his room for time out, he grins at you, walks into his room and sits on the floor. Which makes being upset with him nearly impossible.<br />
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He loves cars. And trucks. And trains. And Toy Story anything. But he also loves whatever his sister loves. So he loves pink. And princesses. And when she is playing with Barbies, he wants to be the pretty one. And he then uses the doll as a hammer or projectile... because he is so very boy. But so very innocent and sweet and unmarked by adult perception of what is a "boy" or a "girl" toy.<br />
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He loves to wear hats and sunglasses. He spent an entire morning the other day in his PJs with bunny ears on. While we went to the gym, to the store and to school to pick up Kate. He is funny. If he gets a laugh, he will do something as many times as it takes for you to stop thinking it is funny.<br />
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He is incredibly good natured. But when he is upset, he hits. And as soon as he hits, he snuggles. Its like the amount of frustration and baby need is so much that he can't help himself, and once he has lashed out he feels so bad that he just wants cuddles.<br />
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He is such a love bug. He will wrap his arms around your neck and squeeze, and it is just the best hug. He loves giving kisses, and better yet will (usually) sit still for me to kiss all over him. He says, "Love, love" or "too" to let you know he loves you. Which means, "I love you" or "I love you too."<br />
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And he loves big. When I see him and Kate together it makes my heart so happy I can barely stand it. Sure there are sibling issues some times, but there is a real, true love and bond between the two of them that I just pray will continue to deepen as they get older. Sometimes they snuggle, sometimes they wrestle, but they always love each other. And Kate. Oh my, that girl was made to be a big sister. She is so loving, so caring. I am so proud of the little girl she is becoming.<br />
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So that is about it for now. Mainly because I need to get some sleep before they wake and start me off on a whole new day of adventures. I could go on forever. I am in awe of my children and each and every day I think God for the two precious gifts I have been given.<br />
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No matter that I don't have time to shower. Showering can happen when they are grown.<br />
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-37844656210228134712012-10-01T22:52:00.000-05:002012-10-01T22:52:37.457-05:00It's a Kate, Kate World: Second EditionWhen you have a three-year-old, it is nearly guaranteed that whatever comes out of their mouth will make you swoon, sigh, swear or cringe. With Kate, sometimes I do all four. At the same time. Here is a little second edition of things my daughter has said recently that makes me realize, once again, it's a Kate, Kate world -- we are all just living in it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyluDrt8Qs494yPgU6syjypgiEuRHMdZNJeHWVfNnL0CJ0bDSNSpnaNP1-p8jkCrpVlLf0SFBFOyGDo_rypdl-yF0wCM-eEY7xk1Pq8d__2nYxJWEw1x2M4bb-iqdajpppMzGI3H_09Y/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyluDrt8Qs494yPgU6syjypgiEuRHMdZNJeHWVfNnL0CJ0bDSNSpnaNP1-p8jkCrpVlLf0SFBFOyGDo_rypdl-yF0wCM-eEY7xk1Pq8d__2nYxJWEw1x2M4bb-iqdajpppMzGI3H_09Y/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Kate (shouting from somewhere in the house): MOM!</div>
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Me: Yes honey?</div>
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Kate: I love you!!</div>
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Me: Aww. I love you too sweetie. Where are you?</div>
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<i>*silence*</i><br />
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Kate: Going potty.</div>
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<i>*silence*</i></div>
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Me: Hm. I guess we all think about different things in there...</div>
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----</div>
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Me: Hey sweetie, you got an invitation to a classmate's birthday party! Is Benjamin nice, do you play with him?</div>
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Kate: Ew, no! Benjamin is a boy. WE don't like boys.</div>
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Me: Who, may I ask, is WE?</div>
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Kate: You know. Us. </div>
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<i>*head slap*</i></div>
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Me: So, all the girls in your class have decided you don't like boys?</div>
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Kate: Right.</div>
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Me: What about your brother? Don't you like him? HE is a boy.</div>
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Kate: I like Beckett. I like one boy.</div>
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Me: What about Daddy? Do you like him? HE is a boy.</div>
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Kate (sounding exasperated): I like Daddy. I like TWO boys.</div>
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Me: What about Pops? Do you like him? HE is a boy.</div>
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<i>*silence*</i></div>
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Me: Kate?</div>
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Kate: <i>*SIGH* </i>WHAT?</div>
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Me: *<i>SIGH* </i>Nevermind</div>
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-----</div>
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Kate: Look! Look Mom, I did it! I wrote my name!</div>
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<i>*showing me some scribbles on a piece of paper at the sign-in counter at the gym*</i></div>
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Me: Very nice Kate.</div>
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Kate: You know Mom, I don't know about about it, but I'm pretty sure I'm terrific at writing.</div>
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-----</div>
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As I pick Kate up from school:</div>
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Me: Here Kate, I brought you strawberries.</div>
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Kate: STRAWBERRIES?!?!?! MOM, you are the BEST MOM!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!</div>
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Me: Soooo. Strawberries every day after school?</div>
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Kate: Or you could bring chocolate milk. That would be pretty cool too Mom.</div>
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-----<br />
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Kate walks into the kitchen with a dinosaur stuffed up her shirt.</div>
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Kate: "Daddy, do you like boobies?"</div>
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<i>*Ben studiously ignores her while look</i><i>ing in the fridge*</i></div>
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Kate: Daddy? Do you like my BIG BOOBIES??</div>
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*<i>Ben</i> <i>still looking in fridge and refusing to make eye contact with the three-year-old who is making him EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE*</i></div>
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Kate (parading around the kitchen): Daaaaaaaaaaddddddddyyyyyy.</div>
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Ben: KATE. Those are not boobies. That is a dinosaur. Take it out of your shirt.</div>
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Kate (pouting): When I grow up, I'm going to have boobies.</div>
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<i>*awkward silence*</i></div>
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Kate: BIG boobies.</div>
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<i>*Kate stomps out of kitchen. Ben rolls into the fetal position on the floor. I laugh so hard I nearly pee myself*</i></div>
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IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-88660368325657180862012-09-14T13:09:00.000-05:002012-09-14T13:09:20.789-05:00Best Friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-1103027557198212662012-09-11T13:18:00.004-05:002012-09-11T13:18:53.503-05:00Beckett's Ball Themed Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-74073208442759893752012-05-31T11:53:00.001-05:002012-05-31T11:53:05.256-05:00I'm currently blogging from a stationary bike at the gym. It's the closest thing to a couch I could find here, and of I pedal slowly enough, it's like I'm basically sitting still, so it will have to do. <br />
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You may be wondering why am I at the gym in the first place, if I have no interest in working out. And it's quite simple.<br />
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I am hiding from my children.<br />
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That's right. I have come to the gym simply to use their (highly qualified... Or at least passed a background check) childcare. Don't judge. I'm tired, and if the choice is TV or social interaction, at least I chose to force them to be social. So. Mother of the Year here.<br />
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The truth is, we just got back from a family reunion and my kids are coming off the high that comes with being the centers of attention from not one, not five, but forty-two freaking family members. Meaning, my kids are being total a-holes.<br />
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However, now that I've shuttled them off for an hour or so, I need to catch up on the happenings at the Edelspot. This blog started as a way to chronicle our family when I was pregnant with Kate, and her every milestone for the first two years have been captured. I love that when someone asks me a question about her development, I can simply search the blog for an answer. It's my next-gen baby book. But if I had to rely on the blog for B's development, I'd be limited to the fact that yes, he was born. He nursed for awhile, had shark teeth and was a big freaking boy.<br />
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Hope he doesn't have too many questions for me. Because I may have to tell him we lost his "baby book" in a tragic fire. Better excuse than, "Mommy didn't blog about you because your babyhood flew by as she tried to figure out how exactly a family of four worked, and you were lucky to have clean clothes bc there was so little time for anything besides you and your sister so LAY OFF!"<br />
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Ahem. Sorry. <br />
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Anyways, I feel the need to cover off on a few major milestones, because despite my belief I will never be able to forget the beautiful moments, they do slip away. <br />
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So, Beckett started crawling the week after he turned 8 months. He is now hell on wheels. Super fast and almost always chasing after his sister. They like to body slam one another. Which gives me palpitations each time and I remind Late 50 times a day to be gentle... But he always comes back for more (boys. Who understands them??)<br />
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Beck also says Dada. And knows its Ben. I have explained to Kate that Dada is simply easier to say than mama, but Ben tends to gloat about it anyways. It's true though that B just loves his daddy.<br />
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When we went to Ohio for the family reunion, everyone nicknamed Beck Mr. Happy. And it's so true, the kid is a joy. <br />
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Kate rode her first roller coaster last week at Cedar Point. She amazes me with her lack of fear. She has handled our move beautifully. She matches into any day care/classroom like she owns the place. She walks up to kids older than her and tells them her name and asks theirs. My little three-year old has more self-assurance and social graces than half the adults I meet. My heart is full of that little, defiant, strong, awesome kiddo. <br />
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Oh, and Beck can (and will) eat anything you put in front of him. He truly seems to eat more than Kate. I keep telling her that he will be bigger than her soon, but her pickiness seems to override her fear of Beckett. The force against eating anything healthy is strong in that one.<br />
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I suppose those are the major updates. I should probably quit using this bike as my own personal lounge chair and collect the kiddos. Oh, wait, I think Ellen is going to come on TV soon. Maybe just another half hour...IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-83450763074761042922012-04-19T11:33:00.000-05:002012-04-19T11:33:10.404-05:00Whining and weaningI'm weaning Beckett.<br />
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I've nursed him nearly two months longer than I nursed Kate, partially because when Kate was six months old we went on a vacation without her and my milk started to dry up, leading to a pretty easy and natural weaning. But the other reason I have continued to nurse Beckett is more emotional. Ben and I are (sort of) in agreement (sometimes) that B will be our last. Which means this is the last time I will nurse, using my breasts for a higher purpose (MY BREASTS ARE AMAZING! THEY GIVE LIFE! THEY FEED ANOTHER HUMAN!) rather than just weekend funbags for the hubs (who is all, YOUR BREASTS ARE AMAZING! CAN I TOUCH THEM AGAIN??)<br />
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But when Beckett sprouted his sixth (SIXTH!!?! WTF??) tooth, I decided it was time to cut the cord. Because each nursing session was like breastfeeding a baby bear. Or a cuddly tiger. OR FUCKING JAWS. <br />
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So I started last week giving him only bottles after lunch. He was pretty not okay with the whole situation, but I learned that if I just propped him up on a pillow, handed him a bottle and hid out of sight, little dude would drink. Because while boob was his preference, he seemed to figure that starving would suck more than drinking out of a bottle. Once we got that figured out, I felt ready to make the switch. So two days ago, after his early morning feeding I made the decision that we were done. That was my last feeding. And that day was great. And I patted myself on the back for a successful weaning.<br />
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And it has been. For Beckett anyways. Besides an occasional nudge at the old ta-tas, he seems to be okay with it.<br />
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I, on the other hand, am a full-on, hot mess.<br />
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I realized my hormones were getting all wonky about a day later when I started tearing up in the grocery store for no reason. Since then, I've been on a wild ride of happy, sad, angry and back to happy every 10-30 minutes. Ben is staying out of my way, which is a good sign I'm being a complete basket case. And if that wasn't enough, my boobs feel like they have been replaced by two bowling balls and my nipples have been hard for a full 48 hours.<br />
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FORTY-EIGHT HOURS.<br />
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So wish me luck. Because I swear on everything holy, I feel like if my body produces ONE MORE OUNCE OF MILK my breasts will literally explode.<br />
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And that would suck.<br />
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</div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-44099369264692960292012-04-15T10:51:00.000-05:002012-04-15T10:51:01.539-05:00Brother B is Eight Months<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, hey there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWSfkDg7xJkmhsvq_IAMzBNyjbcahXuF__rGbNS1W_FXFNfW6ElcrLHFeBgFq6R1LQsrC1K7gTUz2kKpKtSC1_FFOcNhxhF2SUV4acQnHui2ICcpxUj83zoAVxqaidt81icdcxDKZytQ/s1600/DSC_0128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWSfkDg7xJkmhsvq_IAMzBNyjbcahXuF__rGbNS1W_FXFNfW6ElcrLHFeBgFq6R1LQsrC1K7gTUz2kKpKtSC1_FFOcNhxhF2SUV4acQnHui2ICcpxUj83zoAVxqaidt81icdcxDKZytQ/s400/DSC_0128.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm Beckett. I turned 8 months old on April 13, and I'm kind of a big deal.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL35yC9ijOAxgdR5ZphyrL4XLtqASocW057bRQTVGUQhgH1v-nvgr-jvoIgBf_rbYChujy9i8vliLbgEb1CgDHrCWG9zyFfDJ3MWeDvRQJrMJNzvZpk-wkGJ_iKdgl-WxRe60ZiHxnG5A/s1600/DSC_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL35yC9ijOAxgdR5ZphyrL4XLtqASocW057bRQTVGUQhgH1v-nvgr-jvoIgBf_rbYChujy9i8vliLbgEb1CgDHrCWG9zyFfDJ3MWeDvRQJrMJNzvZpk-wkGJ_iKdgl-WxRe60ZiHxnG5A/s320/DSC_0129.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What? You don't believe me?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigD9MKZDvCMWukuEuYI3NORNLZLNmcWREAII61suxwV0tp9BBHBdNbhMZWmG9g292k3hQLuLSguAm1xQYUqOCF6yYuXZsuRr_BzLZFxXu5vEv7-ntlfkcMdMts2vhBoIk1riF8MXqWZdU/s1600/DSC_0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigD9MKZDvCMWukuEuYI3NORNLZLNmcWREAII61suxwV0tp9BBHBdNbhMZWmG9g292k3hQLuLSguAm1xQYUqOCF6yYuXZsuRr_BzLZFxXu5vEv7-ntlfkcMdMts2vhBoIk1riF8MXqWZdU/s400/DSC_0033.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well then check me out. I don't exactly crawl yet. But from sitting I can lunge and wiggle and reach just about anything I want, then push myself back to my favorite position (sitting). Who wants to crawl around and play on their stomach when you can just grab a toy and sit back up to play with it?!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dibDTcGGkqUUg_1Lb1mnZZ3WXf-4XZnSImZey8nVBDCpBzDZiEzgDQyDhJkKCYAdwowRCAHnemtJsCtPgJ5JkKFX4Wijm6lEK8qLpi_tVkPaksa9pQ9Zl74V978xFDain1hQROuX5_4/s1600/DSC_0022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dibDTcGGkqUUg_1Lb1mnZZ3WXf-4XZnSImZey8nVBDCpBzDZiEzgDQyDhJkKCYAdwowRCAHnemtJsCtPgJ5JkKFX4Wijm6lEK8qLpi_tVkPaksa9pQ9Zl74V978xFDain1hQROuX5_4/s400/DSC_0022.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I suck my fingers. Like a boss.<br /><br />Because pacifiers and thumbs are for babies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaklbKgWndbs-RtFGltthGAprWbbbJBW_D56yG9k775cri-dp8FV-qnrMmkESJ0nA-LYTPNBhSoU1XKP8D-GcDsrmxQWcZIIyVp6BhWz9h_sAxWVyHGPPp70Xb73ZNTd9zF7SXg5GHrc/s1600/DSC_0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaklbKgWndbs-RtFGltthGAprWbbbJBW_D56yG9k775cri-dp8FV-qnrMmkESJ0nA-LYTPNBhSoU1XKP8D-GcDsrmxQWcZIIyVp6BhWz9h_sAxWVyHGPPp70Xb73ZNTd9zF7SXg5GHrc/s400/DSC_0097.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And everywhere I go, people stop my parents to tell them I have great hair. And, I'm all, "I KNOW!"</span> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> I make this face a lot because I already have five chompers and more are on the way, so I am constantly grinding my teeth. It feels great to me, but makes my parents cringe because it sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8bAU0xXsCFRnwhJQhpYvBB5eKyjGFwIUdbHlORYvhHsK9Qfx7GC0We5F421V3NLY8AzQL4869P2ISmeL4cew-MBRVx02tUt0RIK_vOIRHRcMJDcUmSMkCrs5tIsYXn9uBFz4ol6r9QYo/s1600/DSC_0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8bAU0xXsCFRnwhJQhpYvBB5eKyjGFwIUdbHlORYvhHsK9Qfx7GC0We5F421V3NLY8AzQL4869P2ISmeL4cew-MBRVx02tUt0RIK_vOIRHRcMJDcUmSMkCrs5tIsYXn9uBFz4ol6r9QYo/s400/DSC_0023.jpg" width="267" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Basically, I'm a super happy kiddo. I'm loveable and squeezeable. I sleep 12-13 hours a night. I play well by myself, love to make noises, babble, throw toys and play with my big sister. I'm all boy and all joy. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Seriously. I'm a big deal.</span></div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-57655732328394607572012-04-15T10:09:00.000-05:002012-04-15T10:09:04.119-05:00Still alive (sort of)Hi there. Hey. Remember me?<br />
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Yeah. We are alive over here. And I know I've begun just about every post this way, but I haven't blogged in awhile because we are, like, uh, TOTALLY BUSY AND IMPORTANT.<br />
<br />
Scratch that. The important part anyway. We are just busy, and I'm, LE TIRED because I haven't adjusted to having two children needing me EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY WAKING HOUR FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY I JUST NEED TEN MINUTES TO MYSELF PLEEEEEEASEEEEEEEEE.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
Sorry. Anyways, you may be asking, "Well, Liz, what (besides having two extremely busy children demanding your every waking hour) have you been doing these last few months?"<br />
<br />
And I would tell you that we:<br />
<br />
Listed, and sold, our old home (sniff)<br />
Celebrated Kate's third (THIRD!!!!) birthday in grand style<br />
Went on a family ski trip<br />
Visited family for Easter<br />
Continued to unpack boxes in our new house because we STILL have boxes to go through (sigh)<br />
<br />
So, yep. That is about it. I write this just so I can actually start some in-depth posts again without a completely confusing everyone, so get ready for some really juicy Edelspotting in the next few hours (or days, or weeks. Whatever, because I haven't been able to finish a conversation since Beckett was born, let alone write an entire post uninterrupted and I don't want to make any promises here).<br />
<br />
So anyways, here we go again!IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-45483641462497694012012-02-08T14:56:00.001-06:002012-02-08T14:56:44.673-06:00Speak easyYou want to know what is SUPER about having an extremely verbal toddler (and when I say super, I say it with a strong dose of sarcasm). It is just SUPER that they can now verbalize their thoughts and opinions, sometimes to your great shame and embarrassment.<br />
<br />
Exhibit A: Two weeks ago at school<br />
<br />
Kate: What's that?<br />
Teacher: Information about an exercise class I'm going to take.<br />
Kate: My mommy used to exercise. But she doesn't any more. She is just TOO TIRED.<br />
<br />
Well. Yes. I AM often too tired because I haven't had a full night's sleep in six months, but sweetie, THIS IS SOMETHING WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT IN PUBLIC UNLESS YOU WANT MOMMY TO TELL YOUR 'POOP IN TARGET' STORY ON YOUR WEDDING DAY.<br />
<br />
Threaten my child with future humiliation? That doesn't sound like me. At. All. (wink)<br />
<br />
So this little gem shamed me enough to join the local gym near our new house and buy new running shoes. But her assault on my self esteem was not yet complete, because last week when I picked her up her teachers had a new and DOUBLE SUPER story to share.<br />
<br />
Exhibit B: Last week at school<br />
<br />
Classmate 1: My mommy runs errands and exercises.<br />
Classmate 2: My mommy changes diapers.<br />
Kate: My mommy does nothing.<br />
<br />
Wait, wait, did you catch that? Let me recap. When discussing me with her classmates at school, Kate declared that I DO NOTHING. Like, all day long I just sit on the couch eating bon-bons and ignoring my two young children. But, then, its probably just because I'm SO TIRED.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I have a well developed sense of passive-aggressiveness that has allowed me to cope. The next day, when Kate wanted to play with me I told her she had to play by herself because I was busy. She asked me what I was doing and I got a ridiculous amount satisfaction when I answered,<br />
<br />
"Nothing."<br />
<br />
Yes, I AM silly and childish, thank you for asking. I also gave myself a mental high-five when I said it, so, there you go.<br />
<br />
But seriously. You don't have to worry about me. I'm currently planning my payback strategy. It won't go into effect until she is about 16, but trust me.<br />
<br />
Kate is going to learn, it doesn't pay to tell tales on Momma.<br />
<br />
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-68631080031783013732012-01-26T08:19:00.001-06:002012-01-26T09:34:12.975-06:00It's a Kate, Kate worldI've been told I need to write down the things that Kate says because some day I will forget. I often think there is NO WAY I could forget the hilarious crap that comes out of this kids mouth, but some of it is already slipping away. Sleep deprivation, old age or just a mental block to protect my sanity, for whatever reason I can only remember things she has said in the last week or so. Maybe its because so much that she says makes me laugh, cry or cringe. So here are a few recent gems from the world of Kate:<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Me: Kate, Christmas is over. We need to put this music away for next year.<br />
Kate: Mommy, why do you hate Christmas music?<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Ben: Kate, do you see that bird? It is the Bald Eagle, our nation's bird. It is on the quarter<br />
Kate: No daddy, its not on the quarter, its on that tree.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Kate: What is that?<br />
Ben: Beer.<br />
Kate: When I grow up, I'm going to like beer.<br />
Me: *sigh*<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Me: Kate, if you could go anywhere, where would you go?<br />
Kate: To Jesus.<br />
Me: Ah, thats sweet Kate, I love you.<br />
Kate: I love God. And crocodiles.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Me: Stay here while I go get more water Kate.<br />
Kate (yelling and wagging her finger at me while I walk across the restaurant): Don't get into any trouble mommy!!<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Kate: MOMMY! I want to ride that bus!<br />
Me: Kate, thats a school bus. You get to ride that when you are older.<br />
Kate: Why?<br />
Me: Because you have to be at least six years old to ride that bus. You have to be a Kindergartener.<br />
Kate (tearfully): But I don't WANT to be a Kindergartener. I want to be KATE!<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
After I snapped at her because I had repeatedly asked her to do something and I lost my cool...<br />
<br />
Kate: Mommy, don't yell at me. Emme doesn't yell (her two-year-old friend), Lisa doesn't yell (our neighbor), baby Merritt doesn't yell (Emme's four-month-old sister)... And Frosty the Snowman doesn't yell.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Me: Kate, if you help mommy and daddy and drag these two bags to the curb, I'll give you a dollar.<br />
Kate (dragging one bag of leaves behind her): Mommy, I'll take this one, you take that one.<br />
Me: Okay, but you only get fifty cents if you take only one bag.<br />
Kate (stops in her tracks and looks back at me with attitude): TWO DOLLARS.<br />
Me: Did you just raise your price on me?!<br />
<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-64687402103295534462012-01-16T21:35:00.000-06:002012-01-16T21:35:33.914-06:00Around the EdelSpotBecause I rarely have more than 15 minutes to myself before the kids are asleep, and because after they finally DO go down I have about 15 minutes to eat dinner or get a shower before I pass out from sheer exhaustion, I am EXTREMELY behind in posting. Which may lead some of you to think that nothing is happening over here at the Edelspot, but HOLY LIFE CHANGING BATMAN, that couldn't be further from the truth.<br />
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<ol>
<li>Little man is five months old, and not to get all gooey, but such a joy. I look at him while I'm rocking him each night and think, HOLY COW I forgot how great it is to love a little person who doesn't talk back, throw tantrums or ROLL HER EYES AT YOU (oh, yes, she did). He is just so smiley. So happy. So deliciously ROUND and sweet and pinchable. On January 9, after a day where my sweet adorable baby was a full-on fuss-face, I let him suck on my finger and discovered he had hidden a prison shank in there. Which is code for baby tooth, but I do know that if anyone I know ever gets sent to the pokey, instead of razor blades, I'm smuggling them a few baby teeth for protection. As for nursing... this may be the beginning of the end unless B can mind his manners. ARE YOU HEARING THIS BUDDY!?! He also has had his first few tentative meals of solid food (i.e. rice cereal) although he doesn't seem enamored with the stuff. Which I personally find shocking (SHOCKING) because I can't keep anything out of his mouth, except apparently bland, cold, milky cereal. GO FIGURE (insert sarcasm here).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbmPd50bXpPkh1GbY8kUHD5YWfUOCYYHeHZEWWPoEmjYWDqEaUFH_eNTreManyDFcheBA4sI8a1-zEvD9H5_aGn5V8QJVBnzvxk9ObPnsgp1MnNLvH5ogyomnUVhq16Apkz_2sMgOUiY/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbmPd50bXpPkh1GbY8kUHD5YWfUOCYYHeHZEWWPoEmjYWDqEaUFH_eNTreManyDFcheBA4sI8a1-zEvD9H5_aGn5V8QJVBnzvxk9ObPnsgp1MnNLvH5ogyomnUVhq16Apkz_2sMgOUiY/s400/photo+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></li>
<li>In other news, my daughter is amazeballs. Seriously. She has the power to make me simultaneously pull my hair in frustration and laugh until I cry. Her personality is... big. HUGE. There is no other way to put it. Her first dance recital was in December and she was such a ham she had the entire audience rolling. Our neighbors even had business colleagues who REMEMBERED HER DAYS LATER. She sees kids at our neighborhood playground and runs directly for them, yelling at me over her shoulder that her BEST FRIENDS(!!!!) are here -- despite the fact we've never met them. She is always listening and absorbing SO MUCH. When I talked to her about how some of her toys weren't safe for Beckett to play with, she just seemed to shrug off what I was telling her. But a few days later she named one of her My Little Ponies "Choking Hazard," and flew it around the room for a half hour yelling, "Choking Hazard to the rescue!!" She also has recently told me to... wait for it... SHUT UP. Which I know I've never said to her, so it has to have come from a movie or a conversation between grown-ups when we just forget that LITTLE EARS HEAR EVERYTHING. At least she hasn't picked up some of the other, ahem, even LESS attractive words that come out of my mouth on occasion. I'm frankly just waiting from the note that will come home from school one day saying, "Today your daughter cursed like a dirty sailor" but until then... *shrug* I mean, I'm trying here people. In other news, she rode her tricycle, I mean REALLY rode it, for the first time this week. And each day, with each eye roll, huff, hug, joke and snuggle I see my daughter becoming more and more her own sweet, funny, hilarious and just plain AWESOME person. </li>
<li>Last, but certainly not least, we found, bought and moved into a new house in the 'burbs. As in the SUBURBS. As in, I saw a freaking PACK OF COYOTES running across the street three days ago, a hawk the size of a model airplane keeps circling out house looking for small children to abduct, and if you go out at night you can... wait for it... ACTUALLY SEE STARS. If you know us at all, you will know this isn't our scene so its been extremely life changing to say good-bye to the city. But we figured that since our new house is BEYOND fabulous, Ben's commute has been cut anywhere from 30-45 minutes, the public schools are pretty great AND since we haven't gone out, like, GONE OUT in about a year and a half, being 30 minutes from the city wasn't all that big of a deal. I'm adjusting. And shopping for the house. A lot. WEEEEEEE!</li>
</ol>
</div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-82290357473517647632011-12-30T10:51:00.001-06:002011-12-30T10:51:30.646-06:00Buddies<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5eqZNu5KO8-k3NOum75HD_fC1yfgF4Xdg5WebI2FLxTh9txekprf0pGLYy1UIAnZY5c1D2kWaKg77WhpTxvmKcxu-XhNQ2ePX94Xp0D38Ry_D70VTZJ7J5cPhfG98O1Fd6yofwIxr3M/s1600/photo-790647.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5eqZNu5KO8-k3NOum75HD_fC1yfgF4Xdg5WebI2FLxTh9txekprf0pGLYy1UIAnZY5c1D2kWaKg77WhpTxvmKcxu-XhNQ2ePX94Xp0D38Ry_D70VTZJ7J5cPhfG98O1Fd6yofwIxr3M/s320/photo-790647.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691965073249314850" /></a></p>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-12291971678520620952011-12-30T09:50:00.001-06:002011-12-30T09:50:37.522-06:00Our big (little) manBeckett is four and a half months, and nearly every day he does something new and amazing. This is just such a fun age, and I forgot how quickly infants move from one stage to the next. I feel an incredible sense of sadness with each new milestone, because while I was able to focus on each and every moment with Kate, Beckett's baby-hood is just flying by and I want to take a moment, slow it down and enjoy every second.<br />
<br />
And as our lives fly by, I've discovered little (re: no) time to blog about the family. So I want, no, I need to write this quick post so I can look back and remember some of the amazing things my little B has done in the first months of his life.<br />
<br />
<u>SLEEPING</u>:<br />
I don't know if I blogged about our sleep troubles, but Mr. Beckett was a tough nut to crack. The first few weeks of his life, he only slept while being held by Ben or I. This lead to some drastic (or shall I say, desperate) measures, brought on by sleep deprivation. We noticed that B only slept when being held or in the car, so to mimic the movement we let him sleep in his swing at night. We did this with Kate for a short while, but Beckett took to it like a champ at about two months and then we couldn't break him of it. He would sleep "through the night" which for me meant still waking up every two hours to feed him, but at least I was sleeping without sitting up and holding him, so it felt like a win! We started supplementing with a bottle of formula each evening after a nursing session to completely fill him up so he would sleep a little better, which worked for a time, but then he fell back into nursing every two hours.<br />
<br />
Because of his poor sleeping habits, at four months we felt like it was time to switch to the crib. Plus, our little (BIG) boy was about to start falling out of the swing. We tried getting him to sleep in the crib several times and he fought us tooth and nail, always ending up back in the swing so we could all get some rest. Finally, we decided that he might just have to fuss a little to get used to the idea of not being in the swing. We sucked it up, put him down, he cried on and off for about half an hour and then slept LIKE A LOG, only waking twice all night to eat and going right back to sleep.<br />
<br />
THANK YOU GOD.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later, his two night feedings naturally weaned down to one night feeding, which makes me feel (FINALLY) like a totally rested woman. He never fusses at night in his crib and he can put himself right back to sleep if he wakes in the middle of the night. At bedtime, he never fusses more than five minutes now before settling himself down and all-in-all, we feel like we might have finally got our little sleeper on track. GO TEAM EDELBROCK.<br />
<br />
<u>OUR BIG BOY:</u><br />
Beckett is a big kiddo. It may come from eating every half hour (okay, ever two hours but sometimes it seems like I'm living life with an infant on my chest) but the boy is already 16.5 pounds and packing it on. He is tall like his daddy (in the 75th percentile) and has hands and feet like a linebacker. B is already in 9 month clothing, mainly for the length and I don't think it will be long before even those are too small. We took some photos of Kate holding Beck and they are almost comical, he looks too big for her to be holding... she is only about ten pounds larger than him, even though she is two years older!<br />
<br />
A LITTLE BIT OF CUTE:<br />
And now the fun stuff. The little things that make B unique and adorable.<br />
<br />
He refuses a pacifier (I've tried every brand) but comforts himself by sucking on the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. He just pops those two fingers in his mouth and sucks away. Sometimes he will try a full fist or the other hand, but it just isn't right... the kid knows what he likes.<br />
<br />
His smile literally can light up a room. He started grinning so early in life, and hasn't stopped since. He can be sad, tired, hungry... it doesn't matter. The kid just loves to smile. And his laugh... OH LORDY. He is extremely ticklish and you can't help but get a chuckle out of him every time you give those fat little legs a squeeze.<br />
<br />
He loves his bath, and pees in it nearly every time (boys -- gross!) He loves his daddy -- whenever he hears his voice he peers around the room until he sees him and then just stares at him intently. And OH BOY he loves his big sister. He watches her so intently, smiles when she is near him and grabs for her whenever she is close enough.<br />
<br />
He hates tummy time. He may not crawl until later in life because Kate and I just can't stand to hear him wail while on his tummy. He also learned to roll over from tummy to back (okay, it may have been an accident but its one he can repeat) and I assume that was out of a hatred for tummy time. But he can sit up almost unassisted, can pull himself to sitting when he is slightly reclined and is one strong little dude.<br />
<br />
Ben and I keep feeling such awe that we can love two little beings as much as we love our two kiddos. And while life just keeps getting more, and more, AND MORE hectic, we are so thankful and blessed for this new addition to our family.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year!IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-34440389356994630432011-11-14T13:06:00.001-06:002011-11-14T13:59:59.462-06:00In the babyhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Beckett turned three months old yesterday. I feel like his babyhood is slipping much too quickly through my fingers, and I wish I could push pause on our hectic lives. But since I haven't quite yet created that time machine that will let me do so (I'm waiting on a part from Radio Shack) I will just have to take joy in every moment as it whizzes by. </div>
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When Kate turned three months, I put together a video of her finest moments that you can see <a href="http://edelspot.blogspot.com/2009/06/dont-kate-me-because-im-beautiful.html">here</a>. And so, with a great heaping dose of sappiness, I've put together a similar video for Beckett's three month birthday. Please take a moment to feast your eyes on this visual assault of HOLY CUTE!</div>
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Happy three months on Earth baby Beckett. We are so glad you are here.</div>
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-19921376184209405892011-11-05T19:03:00.001-05:002011-11-05T19:03:11.212-05:00Do you mind?<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QA1z9Xl_tJJcl2qRoTSfUYEpl5lQmNG-OuVcuvdrWX1uhvvsOlk5sOIi9Xh3wzKilU-uFOj7oGVUt4SxSOa5OhsNlx_csUMX8ZtlaBt-KwCLXxzHmY4KRAWL5M0Ek3kFebRZQisCFjo/s1600/image-791212.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QA1z9Xl_tJJcl2qRoTSfUYEpl5lQmNG-OuVcuvdrWX1uhvvsOlk5sOIi9Xh3wzKilU-uFOj7oGVUt4SxSOa5OhsNlx_csUMX8ZtlaBt-KwCLXxzHmY4KRAWL5M0Ek3kFebRZQisCFjo/s320/image-791212.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671666627142063970" /></a></p>Sorry Beckett, did we not mention the lack of privacy around these here parts?IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-26251954079206722902011-11-04T11:28:00.001-05:002011-11-04T11:28:55.096-05:00The shirt says it all...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibblSKUiZKBYFb0Yq0zCdtSG7AuL8AKJVTMR07NrpgpvsnDwqdzHsXVjJYEjoHWNdiZYH2PIKUWY-6OQyC9C5BAqw8TtXtUCjToOTBP2gKv7bYmVvDDEQxtq-cc1y19eSVKpHwVZz4Otc/s1600/image-735097.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibblSKUiZKBYFb0Yq0zCdtSG7AuL8AKJVTMR07NrpgpvsnDwqdzHsXVjJYEjoHWNdiZYH2PIKUWY-6OQyC9C5BAqw8TtXtUCjToOTBP2gKv7bYmVvDDEQxtq-cc1y19eSVKpHwVZz4Otc/s320/image-735097.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671178480941291746" /></a></p>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-43656282630486556792011-11-03T22:33:00.001-05:002011-11-03T22:33:38.304-05:00Twelve weeks of wonderfulIts been nearly twelve weeks since Beckett made his debut into the Edelbrock household, and there are no words. NO. WORDS. Simply no words to describe how amazing, stupendous, wonderful, neat and just plain satisfying having him in our lives has been (okay, there are a few words).<br />
<br />
I know, I know, who IS this woman who can hardly stop herself from spewing rainbows and sunshine and baby happiness all over you? I hardly sound like my typical, overwhelmed and neurotic self. But let me assure you it hasn't been all puppies and hugs over here. It has also been exhausting, mortifying and sometimes slightly horrifying.<br />
<br />
The good news is that with each and every moment of total bewilderment, I seem to be learning at least a little something. Sort of.<br />
<br />
For example, I have learned that the "quiet" is a relative term. My definition of quiet is vastly different than Kate's. Additionally, my definition of "play by yourself" is, once again, worlds apart from Kate's understanding. So when I ask Kate to "Please play quietly in your room while I put Beckett down for a nap," she understands that I am asking her to lay in the hall in front of the closed nursery door and sing/talk to herself loudly and kick at the floor until I either get Beckett to sleep or scream at her to STOP TALKING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD (Settle down, I don't REALLY yell that at her. Not out loud anyways).<br />
<br />
I've also learned that it is more expensive to have a newborn in the winter versus the summer. When Kate was little and she would do that adorable little thing where a baby empties their stomach all over you (in polite circles its called "spitting up." I call it "icky vomit from hell") I would just peel off the ruined t-shirt and burn it in a trash can in my back yard. Or wash it, whatever. But when Beckett tosses his unholy milk all over me, it is typically on some kind of dry-clean only sweater. Which sucks, because burning (or dry-cleaning) all my sweaters at a rate of 2-3 per day is going to get expensive.<br />
<br />
And speaking of unholiness, my son craps like a 300 pound trucker.<br />
<br />
What? There isn't more to that lesson to summarize, I seriously just learned that my son craps like a trucker. Today he pooped through a diaper, a onesie, three layers of a swaddling blanket and my jeans. Soooo, yeah. Score.<br />
<br />
Finally, I have learned that there is very little that can compare to hearing your daughter tell her brother she loves him. It just melts your heart.<br />
<br />
Even when you are wearing trucker poop.<br />
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<br />IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-30381459027513656772011-11-03T20:46:00.001-05:002011-11-03T20:46:32.254-05:00Hobo chic<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Xkso9EprsOdfjvK8hZbAS2jnLJf70hGlVRXiVdDhmoDn0rdrZVG0-CZ3BpS4G8iNrBYcpA52V0VaZvR_KEXvkrjLYcPD88FOHJmkruHIHiHjDWogVe8vHUYAmykvVINS8L-dY4dBjt4/s1600/image-792255.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Xkso9EprsOdfjvK8hZbAS2jnLJf70hGlVRXiVdDhmoDn0rdrZVG0-CZ3BpS4G8iNrBYcpA52V0VaZvR_KEXvkrjLYcPD88FOHJmkruHIHiHjDWogVe8vHUYAmykvVINS8L-dY4dBjt4/s320/image-792255.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670951091576199122" /></a></p>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-17958170097353604912011-10-11T22:25:00.002-05:002011-10-11T22:26:06.537-05:00Potty mouthIt came to my attention a few weeks ago that when I am sleep deprived, I have the humor and vocabulary of an adolescent boy.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It all started when I was reading a new book to Kate. It is about a princess who outsmarts a dragon, and at the dragon's door she uses the knocker to announce her arrival. And for some unfathomable reason, when I got to the word "knocker" I laughed my ass off. Which then sent me into a shame spiral because, I mean, SERIOUSLY?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can only think it had something to do with how tired I was (and am). Also, since I'm still nursing, the word knockers seems pretty accurate for how heavy and awkward and just plain unsexy my boobs feel. KNOCKERS aren't something you dress up in lace and shimmy at your husband. KNOCKERS are stout things that you stuff in thick cotton bras and hide in a t-shirt that has baby drool and last night's dinner smeared across it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have knockers. And I found that to be freaking hilarious (because lets be honest, if you don't laugh, you might just have to cry about something like that).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few days later I experienced another "I'm a ten year-old boy" vocabulary melt-down. This one came about thanks to a "I'm new to being the mom of a boy" moment. When something new, er, popped up, I decided to turn to my trusty friend, Google, for answers. I sat down with my computer and typed in "Why do baby boys..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I couldn't finish the question. My brain was so tired, it had shorted. My entire vocabulary had just up and vanished. I just stared at the screen for a short while and then the only, and I mean ONLY word I could think of to describe what I was trying to research was this:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Why do baby boys get BONERS" </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
(head slap)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? I may be irreverent, and silly and sometimes crude, but ladies (and any gentlemen who actually kept reading past the section about my hooters) if my brain were firing on all cylinders I would NEVER be stupid enough to do a Google search about BONERS. Let alone baby boners. I'm nearly positive that I've now been flagged on some FBI database, but what shocked me was that GOOGLE KNEW WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. Without blinking an eye, Google provided me with results from various parenting forums about the medical reasons a baby gets an ERECTION (OHHHHH riiiiiiight. Erection. THAT is the word I was trying to think of.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But more shocking to me than Google's understanding of the terminology is the fact that of all the words in the world to describe what I was searching for, I chose to use the word boner. Which, I have to be honest, I think I've used, like, um, NEVER IN MY LIFE. Its just not in my vernacular. Honestly. But when existing on only a few hours sleep, apparently its the only word to surface through the haze. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I'm so proud. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And THAT, my friends, is why you might not be seeing me in public for awhile. My knockers and I have to get some rest before I'm allowed in polite company again.</div>
IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-55391759504796582002011-08-31T15:26:00.000-05:002011-08-31T15:26:02.353-05:00The world according to KateWhile Kate knows the words "Please" and "Thank You" they aren't always a part of her vocabulary. We often need to remind her to use these words, and while sitting around the other day, Ben tried a new phrase to teach her how to ask politely for something:<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><i>Kate: "Daddy, I need water."</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Ben: "What is the magic word?"</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Kate (without hesitation): "Bippity Boppity Boo."</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Me: (snicker)</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Ben: "Ahhhh, yes. That is A magic word. But I'm asking about THE magic word.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Kate (puzzled silence): .........</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Ben: "Please. The magic word is please."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Kate (more puzzled silence): ........</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>(Insert me shrugging at Ben while he looks bewildered about explaining how "please" is a magic word.)</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>Kate (looking at me like, DO YOU HEAR THIS GUY? IS HE CRAZY OR WHAT?): "Oooooookay."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Ben: (SIGH)</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Me: (snicker)</i></div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-56818681967695938422011-08-30T16:50:00.000-05:002011-08-30T16:50:26.571-05:00Learning the wet waySome of the best advice we have gotten about Beckett was from our pediatrician. Not one to waste time repeating things we already know, she skipped the first timers pointers except one: When diapering a boy, make sure you point his penis down.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>In fact, she didn't just TELL us to do this, but gave us the general reasons... if a boy pees up, instead of hitting the absorbent part of the diaper, it goes up, out and around. This ends up soaking the kiddo, his back, and whatever (or whomever) is unlucky enough to be under him.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now, this was unsolicited advice so I decided to take note. Because if the ONE thing your kid's doctor spends time telling you isn't about keeping them alive, but rather is meant solely to keep you from being covered in urine, I assume its fairly pertinent information.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Diaper penis down. Check.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So imagine my annoyance when late one night after Ben changes Beckett I find myself covered in some sort of liquid. Upon closer inspection... um, yep, that is pee. And NOT my own. I walk into the office where Ben is and told him that SHOCKER, our pediatrician wasn't lying about diapering your son. He looks up from his laptop and kind of squints at me and my wet pants. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Huh, she was serious about that?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>(Banging head against wall) THIS is what I'm working with people.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But at least he DOES diapers. And toilets. (He is reminding me of all this as he reads over my shoulder and threatens to quit, crowd source an "I hate Liz" campaign or worst of all, diaper up ALL THE TIME, resulting in lots more wet laps for me. Touché Ben, Touché).</div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-85539364066358598482011-08-26T14:31:00.001-05:002011-08-26T14:35:22.188-05:00I'd rather be sleepingI'm trying very hard not to disappear from the blogosphere now that Beckett is here, but I have to admit, posting regularly is slightly difficult right now. This is mainly because it is very rare that BOTH my children are sleeping at the same time, and if by some off chance they are, then I'm rushing around the house, trying to be productive -- washing dishes, doing laundry, mopping and waxing the floor, planning a strategy for the implementation of world peace... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Yeah... I'm totally lying. If my kids are snoozing at the same time, you better believe I'm curled up in the fetal position right there next to them, trying to soak up some of the silence and stock piling a few hours of shut eye to prepare for the "dark time" (aka night, aka the time when I want to cry for several hours in a row b/c my son will not sleep, aka HOLY GOD WILL THIS INFANT EVER GET DAY AND NIGHT FIGURED THE FUCK OUT?!)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Ahem. Sorry. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyways, with all that said, stories and information and general randomness keeps piling up over here, so I'm doing a quick round-up post to update everyone on life around the EdelSpot. It goes a little something like this:</div><div><ol><li>Showering has become something akin to a religious experience for me. Seriously. My house is never, and I mean NEVER quiet any more. There is a baby crying, a toddler melting down, a dog barking or the television/radio blaring nearly every single moment of the day, and half the night. So when I shut my bathroom door, and turn on the blessed white noise of the shower, I very nearly weep with joy. I love opening the shower door and getting hit with the puff of steam I've let build up, I love that first moment when I step into the slightly scalding water, and I love (WITH A PASSION) the feeling of relief I get as all the dried milk, baby spit-up, finger paints, and random food items (sometimes smushed in my hair) gets washed away. For those 10-15 minutes I have a lovely feeling of being just a woman (and not a mommy), and it is delicious. Even though I know it will only last a few moments before I'm once again scraping peanut butter off my arm or wearing a t-shirt with an apple juice stain on it. And I'm okay with that. As long as I get my time in the shower.</li>
<li>It is official that second children get treated differently than first children. Haven't decided yet if that is a good or a bad thing for Beckett. On the good end of the spectrum, second children seem to be (at least in our household) worried over less, which probably will lead to a healthy and non-twitchy kiddo. On the bad end of things, I have about two photos of our little man and instead of stressing about whether things are clean, sterile and steam sanitized, I find myself using lukewarm water and a prayer (on a good day) or my very own spit to clean items from pump parts to pacis. And once I let the dog lick something clean (I think it was Beckett's head).</li>
<li>Some things never change. See this <a href="http://edelspot.blogspot.com/2009/04/mommy-lesson-3.html">post</a> about my magical nipples. Apparently, they have not lost their ability for good since Kate was a baby, as they are working their witching ways with Beckett. GOOOOO BOOBS!</li>
<li>Speaking of boobs, Beckett weighs a hefty 7 lbs. 14 oz. now, which means mine have moved to udder status quite well, thank you very much. Today was our two-week check in, and Beckett's stats are 22.25 inches long (95% so we have a tall boy like his daddy), 7 lbs. 14 oz. (45% so slightly below average) and his head circumference is 35.8 inches (40%). Really, nothing too interesting here, but have to put in the pertinent info because as I've outlined before, baby books likely ain't gonna happen, so I'm just planning to tell my kids to Google their info when they ask some day.</li>
<li>I picked up a pamphlet about temper tantrums at the doctor's office today. The title of the piece is "Temper Tantrums: A Normal Part of Growing Up." I don't really plan on reading it, but the subtitle makes me feel good somehow, so I'm just going to hang it on my fridge and stare at it every time Kate blows a gasket because she can't find her Cinderella doll, or I won't let her have a second brownie, or global warming pisses her off.</li>
<li>I also learned at the doctor's office that I am not a terrible mother (well, actually that wasn't confirmed, but ONE of my fears was laid to rest). For the last several days, I've been thinking that Beckett always has a load in his diaper because he smells funny, but half the time he is clean. So last night I'm holding him and thinking how much I love him, and then I'm thinking how bad he smells. And wondering if it is normal that I think my child stinks instead of thinking he smells like happiness. And THEN I start to worry that maybe HE doesn't smell, that I am smelling ME, so then I get all paranoid about my hygiene AND I think I'm a bad mother because I STILL think my baby smells bad. Fast forward to the doctors office and I find out that his umbilical cord is getting ready to fall off, and that is why it smells bad. There is nothing wrong, it isn't infected and he isn't going to always be the stinky kid in class, but that just happens sometimes. Whew. Still, I can't wait until that damn thing falls off so I can snuggle my baby and NOT think about breathing through my mouth instead of my nose.</li>
</ol><div>I think that is about it for now. The house is still slightly quiet (except for the a/c repairman who will leave before my children wake up if he knows what is good for him) so I'm going to take a moment to make sure the house is in order, do some ironing, maybe bake some banana bread.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cMkS5Rfjd3dRn6ipvgn1AvgWmAuAHPXOBFZLvH_LLOD-AWnjelE6JSWbjsktoJztDMNze2QP8GdbH0kodI5kLJIwtz1nef8bNMlA3hCGgmYlp6eIqb1Xv7VpZZVX5hJk8Cs5X484CEI/s1600/DSC_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cMkS5Rfjd3dRn6ipvgn1AvgWmAuAHPXOBFZLvH_LLOD-AWnjelE6JSWbjsktoJztDMNze2QP8GdbH0kodI5kLJIwtz1nef8bNMlA3hCGgmYlp6eIqb1Xv7VpZZVX5hJk8Cs5X484CEI/s400/DSC_0009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beckett is already hosting important business meetings with his stuffed animals. That or they are planning a raging kegger. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINhMDKhCca2Eqdr08j0B5OKjMdrBB6YegwxoYfK3Ki_B0TdWnjcu57XjKrjHjvjmPosdwejDQl03tcRfSvzInWeHom-FRI_AJ6lJv9DA86Xy3T4gxB4g9RW810XVooXOFx4iIANdFL28/s1600/DSC_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINhMDKhCca2Eqdr08j0B5OKjMdrBB6YegwxoYfK3Ki_B0TdWnjcu57XjKrjHjvjmPosdwejDQl03tcRfSvzInWeHom-FRI_AJ6lJv9DA86Xy3T4gxB4g9RW810XVooXOFx4iIANdFL28/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My babies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZl5n4uQmn_j1Ww4oAQVEWZbSar_ySi4IFh-2qhFAYqOgxslddDenQ2WcwGmLCrubrcjZ_sdqMXzEPVpJKt2y_rG93vCYuIZUiuQGVVLbtOrlEeSKIXxdpk-udta6t5Ih6SVHrJvDxnQ/s1600/DSC_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZl5n4uQmn_j1Ww4oAQVEWZbSar_ySi4IFh-2qhFAYqOgxslddDenQ2WcwGmLCrubrcjZ_sdqMXzEPVpJKt2y_rG93vCYuIZUiuQGVVLbtOrlEeSKIXxdpk-udta6t5Ih6SVHrJvDxnQ/s400/DSC_0034.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate during her daily dress-up routine -- I have to admit she makes an adorable Cinderella. However, everything must be just right, including her makeup, gloves, shoes and purse or she has a temper tantrum. But its okay, its "A Normal Part of Growing Up." Whew.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div></div>IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-16939332571636797812011-08-23T19:07:00.001-05:002011-08-23T21:32:43.742-05:00Corruption by cartoonWe had a friend who told us once that his main goal in life was to keep his daughter off the pole (as in the stripper pole, for all you innocents out there). I think he was joking, but in my mind, that seems to be an admirable goal, though not my MAIN goal.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I find it is pretty easy to joke about what you do and don't want to see your kids get mixed up in when their biggest choices revolve around wearing Elmo or Tinkerbell pajamas. But as I see all my friends posting photos of their kids heading off to school for the first time this week, I'm reminded about how quickly they truly do grow up.<br />
<br />
And it scares the bejesus out of me.<br />
<br />
Seriously. I sometimes find I'm barely equipped to mentally stay ahead of my two-year-old. And I think I'm going to be able to keep a TEENAGER in line some day?! Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahaha. Yeah, I'm not too confident either. Because no matter how solid the foundation we provide or the safety measures we put in place (or the chastity belt we purchase), our kids are going to have outside influences that affect them no matter what. <br />
<br />
I had my first experience with outside influences today and it gave me a flash of the future. And, DUUUUDE.<br />
<br />
It started out innocently enough. Kate is currently in love with all things Disney princess. We play dolls. We play pretend. We watch movies. Yesterday, we put on makeup, dressed up in our best ball gowns and had a ball, complete with music and dancing (I was the handsome prince. Naturally).<br />
<br />
Today, while playing pretend, Kate reached her hand down to me and said, "Do you trust me?" A million points if you can name that movie (points for what you ask? Haha, NOTHING! But I bet you feel like a winner if you knew the answer...) It is from Aladdin, and it happens twice in the movie. It is always said as Aladdin reaches down to help Jasmine onto his magic carpet. It is lovely, and romantic and sweet.<br />
<br />
And, I thought it was pretty cute that Kate was re-creating a moment in one of the movies. So I reach up, told her I trusted her and she stepped over my lap onto the "carpet" -- and then cocked her head to the side, opened her mouth wide and leaned down to give me a smooch.<br />
<br />
Did you get that? MY TWO-YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TRIED TO OPEN MOUTH KISS ME.<br />
<br />
I tried to explain that we don't open mouth kiss people (ever. Until you are married, or at least able to insist he buy you a drink first) but I'm not sure if the message sunk in. Because that is how they kiss in the CARTOONS my daughter watches (insert head slap). I'm not kidding, check it out next time you are watching. There is no chaste pucker and peck kisses in Disney movies. These are princes and princesses IN LOVE. Which means OPEN MOUTH KISSING (and probably some under the shirt-over the bra action, but everyone gets married so fast in these things they don't really have time to get to second base in the story line). I was all worried about the violence in some of these cartoons (Lion King anyone?) but now I see there were tons of other influences at work that I just didn't pay attention to. So many things that seemed so innocent to me as a thirty year old woman, seem kind of seedy when your toddler (who doesn't know any better) tries to replicate it. Seriously, if she asks for a crop top like Jasmine, I'm sending her to a convent for pre-K.<br />
<br />
I figure that just as long as an open-mouth kiss doesn't lead to the pole, we will be fine. But I will admit, the incident started to make me think about what it will be like 14 years from now, when I have to ground my daughter for sneaking out to neck with her senior boyfriend because she, like, "LOVES HIM MOM," and she just doesn't understand why I'm "RUINING HER LIFE" and she "HATES ME" (ouch).<br />
<br />
Yeah. Did I mention the future scares the bejesus out of me? I'm going to go snuggle my toddler now and thank God I have THIS time with her. When all I have to worry about is some trampy princesses and dodging some slobbery kisses.IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7906488976932907725.post-66404992347246266022011-08-20T21:06:00.000-05:002011-08-20T21:06:55.339-05:00An early morning conversationLisa (friend and neighbor): Oh, I just love those little baby feet!<br />
<br />
Ben: What is on his legs? Is that poop?<br />
<br />
Me: Where? There? Gross, that could definitely be poop.<br />
<br />
Lisa (Licking her finger and rubbing to see if it would come off): Hmmmm. Nope.<br />
<br />
Ben: Could that be... marker? Is that marker?<br />
<br />
Me: Huh, maybe. In fact, I think Kate was playing with a marker earlier. But the lid was on... Kate, did you write on Beckett with a marker?<br />
<br />
Kate: (Nodding matter-of-factly) Uh-huh.<br />
<br />
Me, Ben in tandem: (EYE ROLL)IzzyLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15957299908629832366noreply@blogger.com1