aspirations: keep up or keep out

carson: "when i grow up, i want to be a money maker."
layla: "when i drow up, i want to be a shoe ...pink...er."
both: "YAYYYYY!!!!!!"


dream big, kids.

turkey trot 2008

that's right, ladies and gentlemen, i participated in a race today. and, sadly, "trot" is a very fitting adjective. dah well. it was super tough for me, what with loads of uphills that i was NOT mentally prepared for (not that that would've made a difference anyway). thanks to my stellar pacer michelle (who left me in the dust there at the end--way to go, shelly!) and tonya & amanda for the finish line chute cheering as i inched my way in.

it was a beautiful day, and i scored a sweet prize at the end--one free 6" sub from subway. yeah baby.

on a somewhat related note, does anyone else's husband roll his eyes upon realizing that we pay to run in these races? paul, for one, just can't get over the insanity.

rerun

sorry that pretty much all i post about is my kids...but they're my constant companions and my life these days.

yesterday, layla and i were walking a blockor two together, when she started singing a song about toes. "addie has tiny baby toes. i hab little toes. and addie has little toes. and layla has little toes. and mommy has BID BID tooooooooeeeeeeesssssss...." the tune was a little incoherent, but the lyrics were, as you can see, both catchy and flattering.

carson loves two things lately: (1) starting statements out with the word "perhaps." "perhaps i would like to go to bed now." "perhaps i'd like some dessert." "perhaps i don't want to play school with you, lays." (2) making projects out of anything, for anyone. if he finds an interesting piece of garbage (i.e., a fruit snacks wrapper, part of a sheet of stickers, an old crayon, a pipe cleaner), he'll attach it to some construction paper, color on it a bit, and viola! a lovely handmade project. it's bad, though, because lately he'll present me with said projects and, after i thank him, he'll ask that i "please don't throw dis one away." oops. and i thought he wouldn't notice...

addelyn has developed a delicious guffaw-laugh that neither paul nor i can get enough of. it is darling and hilarious and gratifying.

i adore paul. i know probably every girl is convinced that she married the best man in the world, and i'm happy we all think that. paul is my best friend, a sweet and funny and patient guy, chuck-full of integrity, and a perfect companion for the flawed me.

the kids are anxiously awaiting a beneficial encounter with santa claus. yes, already. time to back it off a bit and start from square one of "the true meaning of (and/or purpose for) christmas." after thanksgiving, of course.

speaking of, i'm looking forward (a little too much, i think) to a glorious t-day spread. makes me miss home and my parents, though.

kids grow up fast

as addelyn skyrockets in age (3 months old?!?! already? how!??), i get a little nostalgic for the babyhood of my other kids. i found these photo gems of layla at 6 months old. what a great baby -- her hair was as wild and sticky-up then as it is now. her "smile" consisted of her opening her mouth as wide as she could. so happy and eager to please.

somehow we've warp-sped into her teenage moody years, involving an unpredictable mixture of happiness, temper, sweet thoughtfulness, vindictiveness, and the sillies. she is both "best brudders and sistahs" with carson as well as his arch-nemesis, able to, on a whim, make him cry and yell out of frustration and hurt.

she's such a funny thing, trying to figure out the world and her place in it. to watch the journey (and deal with a little emotional wreckage along the way) is frustrating at times, true, but it's also entertaining and endearing and i wouldn't trade my front-row seat for anything.

love you, lays.

the world of make-believe

i want to live there. it seems like such a lovely place, where transformers, lightning mcqueen, plastic food, and baby lulu (layla's #1 doll) all coexist, quite happily and logically and for hours on end, under the loving guidance of Mom Layla and Dad Carson.

seriously. i want to be 4 again. or even 2. but a potty-trained 2. because i love my mother. :)

my new book

i decided i'm going to write a book. non-fiction. i don't have the characters pinned down, exactly, but the skeleton outline involves a fairly quirky woman (in her late 20s), a newborn (say, 3 months old), 4 diapers, and no more than 13 minutes.

again, the plot details and character development still need some brain-time. but overall, those are the main components.

admit it. you're all DYING to know what happens. "did she really use 4 diaps in under 13 minutes? no way. she COULDN'T have. that would be impossible!"

don't you worry, my cliff-hung literary fans. a tell-all is on its way.

thank you and good riddance

tonight, a bunch of kids were babysat at our house while the parents went on a "date" of sorts. then everyone stayed for ice cream afterward. it was fun and a madhouse and, when it was time for everyone to leave, carson went through the throngs, exclaiming cheerfully, "leave now, friends! leave now, friends!"

there's got to be a lesson in this, somewhere.

it's embarrassing, really

it IS embarrassing, really, but those of you who know me well know that i sometimes find myself endlessly entertaining. i not only tell myself jokes, but i carry on complete internal conversations and laugh at some of my own "responses" when they catch me off-guard as though someone else altogether had added input.

it's hard to explain without using the term "schizo."

but this morning brought about one of those moments. addelyn and i were having a perfectly delightful "conversation" filled with giggles and coos and polite response times followed by quite impressive insights on her part. somehow she ended up "standing" on my lap (i was holding her up, of course). she liked it at first, using her leg muscles, but got tired and started complaining after about 3 seconds.

i don't know what got into me, but i started pretending i was her personal trainer, giving her every cliche pep-talk i could think of. "c'mon, just 10 more seconds, ad. you can do it! feel the burn, girl. feel it." etc. etc. while she was squawking at me to leave her alone and put her down. sadly, her response only fueled my fire of self-entertainment.

it doesn't sound very funny, does it? it probably wasn't. and yet, it struck me as hilarious - the irony of trying to push a 2-1/2-month-old through "the wall" of physical exertion. again, i can't explain, or excuse, myself. but carson and layla came upstairs to find me laughing hysterically and addelyn resting, exhausted, on my shoulder.

sweet little addie. she's so tolerant of this crazy family (slash, mom) she's been assigned to. love her.

for-hire

if anyone needs a professional to come clean up 1 quart of spilled pineapple juice on their kitchen floor, i'm your woman.

Happy Halloween.

Loads of loot. Tons of treats. Catch-alls of candy. Sackfuls of sweets. (Don't worry...the pics below display Candy Installment 1 of 4, and this was the smallest one. Sighhh.)

Carson wanted to be a ghost for Halloween, hence the total cartoon-inspired pillowcase costume. Dah well. He loved it. His entire preschool class dressed up, and they were super cute. (Guess who wins the "lamest mom for helping with the costume" award? Yours truly. Thank you.)


Layla wanted to be a bat this year, just like last year. (And she's put reserves on the costume for next year as well. Wah-hoo! Easy peasy. Guess who's the Halloween costume grinch around here?) We seriously walked miles and miles on Halloween. Carson has become a very efficient (polite, but efficient) trick-or-treater.

Addie started out the day a little bewildered (see below) but quickly became quite content to be schlepped around gathering foodstuffs to sweeten her meals. :) Notice that I went all-out on her costume as well.

Paul feels guilty eating the kids' candy. I (and my new Reeses-encrusted body) only wish I felt the same way.

Happy November, everybody. Bring on the pumpkin candles and the feelings of gratitude and the Christmas-time prep.