Emerging From The Twilight Haze... Are We Better For It?

I just spent the past five days reading the four not-small books from the Twilight series. (For the record: Loved 1, didn't like 2 or 3, was OK with 4 and liked how they wrapped it up.) And even though I reveled in living in Book World -- thinking about the storylines all day long, reading into the wee hours of the morning, making up excuses to turn on movies for the kids so I could read, not cooking so I wouldn't have to clean the mess and could instead read the instant the kids were asleep -- I think I'm OK living back in reality for awhile. Though our reality is currently 14 inches deep in fresh snow (on top of the old snow). I think the whole family likes me better this way, even if I'm still sort of wishing I could start a love affair with a vampire. 

I made a ridiculously huge purchase today from Rosetta Stone, in a French 1, 2 &3-level language learning set. I took nine years of French and it was one of my cognates in college, so I should remember a thing or two. I would feel as if I've wasted all of that if I didn't try to teach my kids, and, taking inspiration from our friends whose children are bilingual because their father (who also had a few years of Spanish under his belt but nothing beyond the basics) has spoken only Spanish to them since they were born, I've decided to become a French-speaking mommy. Maybe not all the time, but once I'm back on my feet with the language, I'm hoping to speak French at least half of the time we're together. I need to do more research on this yet, but it's sounding like an OK plan.

To tell the truth, though, I'm a little worried I'll miss hearing my kids' triumphs in English. Marta is too, too adorable, with her plurals and "pinecone," "oatmeal," "elbow" and "ah-choo!" I wonder if it'll be as sweet and meaningful in another language.

Poor Marta is breaking two more teeth. One came through today, and the other looked menacing as I put her to bed tonight. I suppose I should be thrilled to see her teeth finally poking through -- she's only got four, not counting these recent additions, yet somehow she eats everything her big sister does. Berit likes to make a big deal out of telling her that "I have 20 (or 12 or whatever number sounds especially big that day) teeth and you just have four little bitty baby teeth."

I had the pleasure of holding Berit's bedroom door handle while she struggled on the other side to break free today, following a whinefest that began when my sister-in-law called. Lucky Steph got to hear Berit whine, my threats, my carrying Berit up to her room as I explained in a not-nice voice why she was headed there (phone wedged between my cheek and shoulder so it surely sounded as if I was yelling directly at Stephanie), the battle of the door handle, Marta yelling downstairs because she couldn't make the dollhouse TV turn and play music but she did not want my help but she did want my attention to the situation, and my feeble conversation skills, all within the space of about four minutes. Thank goodness Steph was full of reassurances. I need those every now and then.

I also sent a friendly e-mail to my parents and my in-laws about gun control and other hazardous-yet-interesting-looking items they might have stashed in their closets, as Berit is all about discovery these days yet isn't so much into asking about them first. I hate doing that sort of thing; I so often feel like those ideas should come from the daddy. But it's we moms who stay up at night drumming them into our subconscious, "Don't forget to write an e-mail about guns, don't forget to write an e-mail about guns," until we're sure the next time the children are with their grandparents there will be a nuclear explosion in the laundry room. So it was I who sent the e-mail, and when I told Trevor about it he just huffed a little laugh and went to work. I take this to mean that his parents had guns around when he was growing up and he turned out just fine, but I just can't rest with that logic. 

Did I mention he's buying us a new washing machine tomorrow? It isn't related to the gun discussion, but why not make myself feel a teensy bit better about being the only one on this side of the gun-control-in-the-house argument and pretend it's his gift to me for being such a great mom? Our washer has been on the skitz for a few weeks now, and our procrastination on buying a new one has earned us a ticket to Our Laundry Room for the grand event of Ripping Out The Wet, Moldy Carpet. We've decided not to splurge on a fancy one and are just buying something that works -- you know, economic stimulus package not quite reaching us and all. At least once the new one is hooked up I won't have to remove the soggy socks I've acquired while loading it to wash them, too.

Off to bed. Looking forward to a nice week ahead -- new glasses should be in to release me from these random headaches, friends to play, Berit leaves on Wednesday for my parents' house (yes, yes, YES) (guilt, guilt, guilt) and we head down ourselves on Friday to hang out with my parents, my sister and brother-in-law who are bringing their new dog Ruby, my brother and, interestingly, my in-laws and brother- and sister-in-law. Which will be a really fun weekend, I think. Berit has her first dental check-up on Monday in Grand Rapids with Trevor's brother Jason, and I'm feeling like she's going to do great. Unless they have any guns laying around, washing machines leaking water, dollhouse TVs that turn and play music if your baby is as strong as Lou Ferrigno or a compelling young adult literature series, in which case I'm just going to need a hit or two of that laughing gas before piling in the car for a three-hour ride home.