Saturday, August 29, 2009

Filling You In On Things You Might Not Even Want To Know

First, Polish Festival pictures:
Dancing with Grandpa
"Dancing" with cousins
Oh my gosh. Can you even stop giggling about this?
Talking and laughing and smiling and SUGAR and DANCING!
Looks the part, don't you think?


Today is a rainy day, but don't you think rainy days can be kind of lovely? I keep planning to take the girls outside and stomp in puddles, and just when I'm about to announce it the rain pours down in those heavy drops that might knock my little ones over. I feel strongly that Marta would relish the challenge; Berit, not so much.

I think we're going to scrap our plan to take the girls to the waterfront to throw stones in the little stream by the waterfall, and instead make our first trip out to the Gaylord Sportsplex. Their website shows a neat looking kiddie pool, and at a price of $10 for the family we think it's just the thing for this rainy day. (Is it ironic that we're driving 40 minutes to pay to get soaking wet when it's raining cats and dogs outside?)

I've spent the past couple of weeks doing smart shopping for back-to-school clothes for Berit and Berit's-old-clothes-are-too-small-in-the-waist clothes for Marta (nom-nom-nom pudgy baby belly), and by smart shopping I mean eBay and Gap's online sales. Also, longing for the ability to go to an actual Gap and hold up sale jeans to determine whether or not they'll fit said baby belly. Anyway, this morning being chilly and rainy I pulled out a pair of Berit's 4T jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt and... they fit! Who would have guessed that clothes that were too big just a few weeks ago would fit our 3 1/2-year-old? We're not sure just how she's growing, since she drinks a half-cup of juice in the morning, eats oatmeal before bed and survives on water during the rest of the day, but somehow she's turning into a little beanpole.

Oh, and Marta has started calling her Berry. As in a nickname (having been able to say "Bewit" scarily early), used most often in the following adorable phrases: "G'night, Berry." "Wove you, Berry."

Also, for posterity's sake (and if you don't read this blog because you're also up to your neck in kids, you might want to just skip to the next blog in your reader), Berit has now started pooping in the potty almost exclusively. The big push (ahem) came from her cousin Annie, almost 5, who pooped in front of her a few times during a recent visit. Now Berit goes, then shouts, "It's as big as Annie's!" Which truly, how can it be when all the child eats is oatmeal? After she's finished she insists on calling her personal list of Very Important People to inform them of her feat, and who are all dutifully impressed and ask appropriately graphic questions, furthering her on her path to be just like her father in all ways, especially in his need to mentally dissect poo. (Oddly, for some of you this may be TMI but for most of you, probably fairly normal to think about Trevor and #2 at the same time.) (I did not know this before I married him.)

And on that healthy subject, I'm off to get Marta up from her nap and whisk the family away for a wet weekend, no matter where we decide to go.

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