From The Mouth of B

Out of the monitor yesterday morning, as Berit woke up:

"Mmmm," rustle, waking-up sounds...

"OH, unicornio, kitty, blankie, I wasn't having bad dreams! I was dreaming about princesses and the Big Rock Candy Mountain!"

A Career Decision?

Overheard, from Berit's room:
"Mary, quiet pray quiet pray quiet pray...."

She walked into my room, holding her statue of Mary. She had put her faux wedding ring from her bride costume around Mary's praying hands.
"Look, Mom, I gave it to her. I gave my wedding to Mary."

She asked me to pray "Mary's prayer" with her, so we sat on my bathroom floor and prayed the Hail Mary. Then she went back into her room and tried to teach it to Marta.

Next Thing You Know She'll Need A Pair of Girbaud Jeans

The girls' cousins are in town for the weekend, and came to play last night and this morning for a few hours. There's something so special about cousins that they all inherently *get,* so even if they haven't seen each other in months they fall right into play like they never left in the first place. I'm so glad they're close in age -- currently 2, 3, nearly 4 and 5 -- and that they're all girls. While we'd all have loved a boy in either family, these four spend the entire time in various states of undress or elaborate costumes, playing princesses or Barbies, or dancing. A boy might go blind from all the pink and sparkles.

In her own little way, Berit worships her older cousin, Annie. More than a year older, Annie is in kindergarden and is far more active than Berit. But they click anyway, and Berit likes to follow along and do whatever Annie does, trying to be bossy every now and then but never quite succeeding, and not quite caring.

At age "nearly 4," Berit hasn't had much exposure to peer influence, though she is at school with kids who are all a full year older than she is -- so I'm sure some comes her way there, but really, I don't know if she even understands it yet.

Today, while Berit and Annie were playing in the office (which is where we keep the TV and DVDs), Annie was looking through our stack of movies and said to Berit, "Why do you have Baby Einstein? YOU don't watch THAT, do you? YOU'RE not a BABY, are you?"

From my spot in kitchen I heard Berit hesitate, realizing that Annie was sort of taunting her, and not really knowing what to do about it. In fact, Berit never chooses Baby Einstein, but occasionally gets into it when Marta's watching something with animals or numbers, so I think she was trying to figure out if she ever does watch it. Also, Berit doesn't know it's called Baby Einstein. So there's that.

Her pause lasted about three seconds and the whole time I was pleading in my head, "Tell her you think it's pretty cool. Tell her you like learning about the animals. Tell her how you can do all the number stuff and the spelling stuff. Tell her that you don't care what it's called, sometimes you watch it and whatever."

Then she made a funny face that said, "Huyuck, giggle, silliness, kind of embarrassed, you're so cool, Annie," all in the crook of a nostril and the opening of her eyes and the screwing up of the mouth. So I said, "Actually, Marta watches those." And it was over.

But just beginning, I think. I wish I knew how to arm her to be strong in herself, to be sure of every thought, every action. I don't, though -- I feel like half the expressions on my face are like the one she made, like I'm rarely one hundred percent certain of anything.

It's a lesson for me, and a reminder to stick to my New Year's resolution -- to be true to myself, no matter what I feel. And maybe she'll see that, and feel more sure of herself, too.

Berit, Unexplained

We're not sure what's going on with Berit these days. While she tends to be dramatic in every possible way, at every possible time, she never has whole weeks that are just "off." On Monday she told her teacher she had a tummy ache, and when I was called to pick her up from school I learned that she needed to potty but really just wanted to come home. On Tuesday night I told her to go to sleep, because she had school in the morning, and she yelled at me that she didn't want to go to school, and "Didn't want Marta to go to school, either!" ?

At school today she told her teacher that she didn't want to go to school anymore, and when it was circle time she went over to a rocking chair in the corner of class and said she was "frustrated."

This is a girl who loves school, who wanted to go to school so badly that we sent her as soon as she turned three, in the middle of the second semester. She's never not wanted to be at school.

In addition: For the past two nights, she has wet the bed. She has never, ever wet the bed, besides the occasional random bed wetting at my parents' house (which we chalked up to her not doing her regular routine, not having the same access to the potty that she knows here, being overtired, etc.). Not even when she was potty training did she wet the bed, really.

Now, here are a few practical things to point out: On Sunday, the day before this all began, we returned from my parents' house where she always has the time of her life. Before we left my parents' house on Sunday she begged me to "move to Greenville," said that she "never wanted to leave." When I explained that she has friends and family and school here in Petoskey, that we couldn't just move when we wanted to, she got very angry with me and told me she didn't care about those things in Petoskey, because she just wanted to be in Greenville with my parents and siblings.

In fact, we typically call the Monday after a Greenville weekend "Black Monday," because the girls are back to reality and it's hard for them to adjust. So we chalked Monday up to that.

Today at school she told her teacher about a book she loves, Angelina Ballerina, in which the character Angelina never wants to go to school, only wants to dance. Coincidentally, this week we talked about how Berit's dance class would be starting soon, and she keeps saying things like, "I NEVER want to eat dinner; I only want to dance." So there's that, too.

But what about the bed-wetting? What about the sadness all week, and the unkind attitude toward her sister, and the pushing and all of the punishments she's been getting (movie privileges taken away, toys taken away, etc.), which is completely unlike her? Could it really be in anticipation of dance class? Or should I be looking deeper into this? Thoughts from all of you fantastic parents would be most appreciated.

Surprises Around Every Corner

While driving home from preschool today, I asked Berit the usual questions: What was your snack? What was your project? What was your favorite part of school today? Who did you play with? What did you play? (Because she is already a preteen who doesn't offer information, and tells me her day was "fine.")

When I asked her who she played with, she said, "My friends, MOM." And I said, "Oh, that's nice! Did you play with (enter all names of children in class here)?" And she said, "No, not Sage. He wasn't at school today. He's home with a cold."

I told her that was sad, and maybe we could color him a picture to cheer him up. She got excited by that idea, and said, "Yes! Sage loves dinosaurs and cars. Maybe we could color a picture of a dinosaur and cut it out for him."

And I thought, hm. She remembered that about Sage? I mean, we love Sage, but it's not like we're together all the time. So I asked her what the other kids at school like, and one by one, she told me about each child's interests. Not a blanket, "princesses," which is what I expected, but "Lili likes ballerinas" and "Alex likes little cars best."

I thought that was very sweet of her, to have learned and stored the information away. And now very into this, I said, "What does Marta like?"

She thought about it for a full minute and said, "Messing everything up."

From The Mouth of B

Scene: Sitting in the kitchen, having a snack. Dressed in full Cinderella regalia.

Berit: "Mom, do you remember Jackson?"

Me: "Yes, I sure do. He was your friend in school last year. He's at a new school now."

Berit: "Actually, he's in kindergarten."

Me: "You're right, he is in kindergarten. When you're five, you'll go to kindergarten, too."

Berit: "Yup. But first I'll go to fairygarden."

Little People, Big Questions

Berit has been sleeping sans Pull-Ups for about two weeks now. She begged to do it every night, and I kept putting it off saying, "If you wake up for five mornings in a row with a dry Pull-Up you may wear Big Girls to bed." (Big Girls = underwear.) And do you know what convinced her to not pee at night? A competition. Trevor told her that her cousin, age 5, was still wearing Pull-Ups to bed (we don't even know if this is true, he made it up on the spot) and that Berit could, quote, "BEAT HER" and "WIN."

Berit's not an aggressive gal but boy did she want to win, which makes me secretly a little happy because my side of the family is fraught with rifts over my sister cheating once at Cranium and my mom cheating... all the time at any game she's losing, and so on, so I relish the competition gene's emergence. So anyway, she did it.

Last night was her first accident, and after I changed her sheets and got her new stuffed animals and fluffed her pillows, I left her with Trevor to get her jammies on and I went back to bed. I could still hear them on the monitor, and as I was falling asleep she said, "Daddy, when I'm a grown-up, I'll have a mama belly." Trevor mumbled something in the affirmative and she said, "Daddy, how does a baby get in a mama's belly?" And I was wide awake, willing him to say my right thing that I'd planned to say when she asked me that question.

He changed the subject.

Growing Pains, Smart Assery and Potty Humor

Whenever the girls are unnecessarily cranky, Trevor always says, "They must be growing." Then I groan and stomp and roll my eyes because by then I've been analyzing every word, every morsel of food, every hour slept, every step taken (did they step on a dog whisker? do they have a mystery wound?) trying to decide if I should take them to the doctor.

So when we were at the doctor's office yesterday because Marta had been unnecessarily cranky for a couple of days (and sleepless, and a tiny bit runny-nosed), and when the doctor said, "No ear infection. She looks fine." I thought, "Could this be growing?"

And I have been noticing lots of growing lately. All of a sudden -- literally, in a matter of days or maybe even hours -- Marta has become a Great Big Chunk of a baby (ahem, almost 2-year-old). Her 2T jeans won't button (but need to be rolled up twice at the ankles), her shirts bulge under her belly, her cheeks are gigantic.

Berit, our bird, is suddenly taller. Her 4T jeans that I bought this fall and had to roll and belt are now about a half-inch too short (note that she's not even 4 yet). She's not whisper thin like her cousins but she is a skinny little thing, obviously because she never eats a thing in my presence (grandparents all insist she's a GREAT EATER, but then again, what do grandparents feed children? Candy, candy-flavored cereal, and ice cream, right?).

I've also been realizing every day that the girls have outgrown the learning we've been doing, and I recently called my sister in a half-panic wondering if they're going to fail college because I haven't been on top of learning for the past few months. Yesterday Berit cut up a bunch of paper animals and I cried because I didn't know she could do that. She laughed at me.

(Also yesterday Marta took her own paper animals and colored poop and pee all over their butts, then cracked up. See what I mean about not being on top of learning? Do you see what's happening to their brains?)

It occurred to me that when it comes to teaching kids... I've got nothin'. I don't know what to do with them right now, and I've started researching appropriate learning games online and now I know there's so much that I haven't done with them that I feel a bit like a fake-good mom. Like I've just been going about my stay-at-home business, playing Barbies and blocks and they're happy but their minds are all Poop. Pee. Heh.

I pulled out a couple of old standby projects and Berit had no interest. She literally mopped the floor (counter) with that coffee filter craft I posted last year. And when I asked her what she wanted to make for her grandparents for Christmas, she gave me a look like, "Lady, we buy those kinds of things."

So it looks like we're headed into changes for the new year. Bigger and better learning, along with their bigger and cuter bellies and longer and more kid-like limbs. And I have a feeling that I'll need my video camera on-hand for when they want to teach ME a thing or two.

Compassion Without Judgement: Berit

I am not very good with the elderly.

I know I'm supposed to be, as a girl (ahem. woman.), a mother, a daughter, a granddaughter. And I hope I come off as nice, which sometimes makes you think that person might be helpful and positive and cheery most of the time. Well, it makes me think so. So maybe I'm just not very smart.

So there's my secret: I'm not good with my grandparents. My mother's parents, to be technical. Growing up, we were very close -- they took us on vacations and to dance class and they came to all of our recitals and school parties and were basically an extension of my parents. In fact, during the years just before and after my parents' divorce, they stepped in and helped us more than anyone else (that I know of). They were very, very involved.

As we got older they began traveling and we moved north and we started seeing each other on holidays and baptisms. But still -- grandparents.

Then they started to get sick. Grandma got sick first, I guess. While my grandpa has diabetes and high blood pressure (and a lifelong smoking habit), he did take care of himself, mostly, or enough at least to stay involved in the Democratic Club and the school board and generally telling people what they should do, when, and how. Grandma sort of gave up. We weren't sure what was wrong, besides eye problems. We assumed dementia, and a doctor or two said yes, another doctor or two said no. That's how she acted, and my mom moved them up to live near her in Greenville.

Long story short, over the past few weeks my grandpa has nearly died various times and was finally moved to a nursing home in Ohio with my grandmother. My grandma has been there for a few years, near my aunt who is dedicated to caring for her, and has had one major stroke, several mini strokes, and has a condition where her muscles are tight all the time, and she can barely talk or move.

My family has, over the past few years, insisted she was about to die. My grandpa, too. I think they were right at that moment, that it really did seem like they wouldn't make it through what they were going through. But they did. Makes me feel good to be part of such hearty stock.

Now that my grandparents are both at the same nursing home, and since they're both seeming weaker than they've ever been, I booked flights for Berit and me to visit them over the weekend.

My grandma tries to talk, and though she's never met Berit that I can remember, she's been calling for her. Berit looks like my mom when my mom was little, and I think my grandma truly connects with her through the pictures we send and the stories we tell her.

I was nervous about how Berit would react. My grandparents are sick, and they look sick. My grandma in particular is pulled up and wails and cries a lot. Her eyes are half-closed and her mouth is open in a way that makes her teeth sort of stick out.

And I was not a good helper. I tried and I didn't back away, but I have to say that I was disappointed that when someone needed help, I took a second to let another one of my more comfortable family members (read: My sister, who is amazing in these situations and might be one of the most selfless people on earth, truly) step up.

However. Berit jumped right in, singing and laughing and even pushing in front of everyone to hold my grandma's hand, and when my grandma's roommate called out and no one went to her, and so I did and she was scared because she didn't know where she was or how she got there and I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me and I was trying to be reassuring, Berit wiggled in front of me and touched her arm. The woman couldn't see Berit, but Berit just knew what to do. I was so surprised and proud of her.

She sat with my grandpa and answered his questions and listened to his stories that were a little over her head but she just nodded and colored in her book and showed him her pictures. She was playing with a red balloon and made a point to tap it to everyone in our family, even my grandma and grandpa, never once assuming they shouldn't get a turn because she's nearly immobile or he's weak and in a wheelchair, and they both got right into it.

I was so glad to see that she Got It. She understood that, even though she didn't know these people, that they were family and even if people around her looked sick (she did notice that; she asked my sister if everyone "had a fever"), she could comfort them.

This might seem like, "Oh how nice, mm-hmm, good for her." But I was shocked, because I am not that way. If it were my own mom or dad, or husband or brother or sister or of course my kids -- and even my sister's husband -- I could handle it, would jump right in, wouldn't think twice. But Berit knew what to do, and it was fascinating to watch a natural characteristic come out for the first time. She became a bit more of her own person then, and less of an extension of me.

In school one day one of the moms who was helping told me, "Berit is a very thoughtful girl. She always makes sure everyone is happy." And I was happy, more than happy, to hear this, because school can be a busy, noisy place, and Berit must do this on her own, as part of her personality, because there's not always time to purposely be polite.

I was so touched that she gave my grandparents the gift of family, of great-grandchildren, for probably the last time we'll ever see them. They never took her out to sell candy at the bowling alley for school, they never swam in a too-cold pool with her because they cared enough about her to brave goosebumps. She didn't drive over the Ambassador Bridge or through the tunnel to Canada with them every few weekends. She doesn't know the smell of their house, sausage and cigarettes and cats, by heart. But she loved them anyway. And they loved her.

Miscellaneous

"LOOK! A garbage truck! It's soooooo beautiful!" - Marta

"Oh, sure." - Marta, any time you ask her to do something or if she wants something.

Overheard from the back seat:

Berit: "Marta, have you ever been to Africa?"

Marta: "Ummmm, no."

B: "Well, let me tell you about Africa. When I was in Africa, I found a great treasure."

M: "Treasure!"

B: "I was looking and looking around Africa, and I SAW something. Do you know what it was?"

M: "No."

B: "This!" holds up one plastic Cinderella's glass slipper

M: "Huh."

B: "Yes. They have glass slippers in Africa."

In the middle of the night:

B: In fits of terror "MOMMMMMMMMMY! MommyMommyMommy!"

I run in. "It's OK, Mommy's right here. What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY" (thrash, thrash) "MOMMY MOMMY -- throws open eyes and is immediately calm but doesn't miss a beat -- Jasmine wore a purple dress and Cinderella has a blue dress and Jasmine told Cinderella that she liked her dress and Cinderella liked Jasmine's flower. Goodnight."

Duly Noted:

Berit and Marta have been playing this game they made up entirely on their own for a couple of weeks now. Berit grabs either her or Marta's blankie, hands Marta one end and then pulls her around and around the circle that runs through our kitchen, entryway and living room. They sing "Mary Had A Little Lamb," and that's the name of the game, too. They. Crack. Up.

Berit has also been doing this clever little trick that I feel she learned from my mom, but I'll have no confirmation on this because my MOM DOESN'T READ MY BLOG. (Yes, I could just ask but it suits me better to point this out in public.) When she wants to surprise us (as in, every 20 minutes or less), she says, "OK, think about halloween." (Or dinner, or outside, or the dog, or whatever she comes up with.) She's DISTRACTING US while also giving us something to pass our time while waiting for her. It's very Mike Myers/Coffee Talk: "I'm going to eat this cheesecake; I'll give you a subject: ladybugs and their fondness for lightbulb swarming during house showings. Discuss."

They're Totally Best Friends

Berit loves this little goof we sometimes do with her, where I hold her and say, "She's my girl!" and Trevor says, "No, she's MY girl" while grabbing her and running from me. It's all very Paul McCartney/Michael Jackson to him, I think.

Anyway, this afternoon after I came home from running and Marta was being particularly cuddly with me, Berit came over and sat on my lap for some love. Marta wasn't into sharing motherly affection and when Trevor picked up on it, he came over and did a little "Hey, Berit's MY girl" to sort of take the focus off of Marta trying to push Berit into another dimension. I said, "No, she's MY girl!" and he said, "She's MY girl!" and Marta, in her loudest voice to-date, screamed, "BERIT IS DADDY'S GIRL!" and pushed her off my lap.

Books Before Bed

Tonight, as with two nights ago, Berit read me Where The Wild Things Are. She read it to me, in all its memorized glory. Because she never wants to be imperfect at anything, it was especially fabulous to see her loving the challenge of getting every word just right.

Not to be outdone, Marta read me Oh My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs, Little Lamb and But Not The Hippopotamus. In character.

Meanwhile, Back On The Ranch...

From The Mouth of B

"Mommy, you can be Maria and stand on the stairs.

"Daddy, you can be the Captain and you stand downstairs and say to Mama, 'I want you... to be wet.'"

(Editor's note: The actual line is delivered by the Captain to Maria, who is wet from falling into the water. "I want you to stay. I... ask you... to stay.")

Back To School

We have been lucky that Berit never had any preschool jitters. In fact, we sent her to preschool as soon as she turned 3 years old in February, right in the middle of the year, because she was ready in a big way for structure and activity beyond what we were doing at home. She thrived.

This year she's in the 4 and 5-year-old class, since last year she was in the 3-year-old group and she's moving on with the same crew. I wasn't sure if she'd care about going back to school, really, because she was there for camp once a week during the summer and was neither thrilled nor bothered by going. However, when she heard it was back-to-school day for her this morning, she could not get out the front door fast enough. We nearly had to physically restrain her to snap a picture before she tumbled down the steps and raced to the car.

When I picked her up today, I noticed that she was different from last year. She was robust and talkative, and not quiet and thoughtful. She ran off with her friends and chatted merrily. She came up with clever ideas and never wondered whether she'd be going back again, but is just assuming that it's part of her life. She was STARVING and tired.

Marta had a first today, as well. She went to "gymnastics" for the first time in her memory, and she had a fun time but I could tell she missed her playmate big sister. A local gymnastics center offers a play hour twice a week, and Monday's session coincides nicely with Berit's school, so that's where Marta and I will be. While Berit was obsessed with jumping on the big trampoline when she went there from ages 18 months - 3 years old, Marta wanted to RUN and CLIMB. She ran down the long trampoline as fast as she could, and her little knees came right up to her chest as she bounced and wiggled down the runway. At the end her body couldn't hold her bouncy gait upright any longer and she'd crash down in what looked like a painful tumble of limbs and head, but she'd only pause for a second before popping up and doing it all over again. She also loved sliding down the mats and plastic slides, where Berit was afraid to slide on anything until she was 3 years old.

A good day for all, and a positive outlook for the rest of the week. Loads of writing, our two-week cloth diaper trial, and sunny weather to kick off fall. And let's not forget Mosey's fifth birthday this Sunday, for which we are making his favorites (chicken, scrambled eggs, cookies and bacon) and a bone-shaped chocolate cake.

Dangle Down

If you aren't here because of the kid stuff (then why are you here? My book recommendations? Oh please, let it be my book recommendations.), turn away.

Berit needed help on the potty today because her princess dress was so big and so froofy that I had to hold it up while she peed.

She said, "Mom, Angelina Ballerina definitely doesn't have a wee."

Me: "Um, I think she does."

B: "Where is it?"

Me: "Where yours is. You just can't see it because wees are private, and we wear clothes over them."

B: "What does it look like?"

Me: "Well, she's a girl... mouse... so, probably like yours."

B: "Like this, or a dangle-down wee, like Liam's?"

Kids' Club

The neighborhood kids have recently realized that our girls are no longer babies. The majority of the children who live on our block are aged 5-10, and even though they're older than our kids, they've taken a shine to Berit and Marta that we hadn't expected.

I think you spend so long in your baby bubble that it's hard to realize that your children will soon be part of something larger -- a culture of little people who don't think it's at all strange to invade your home without knocking, conquer your swingset or immerse themselves in your children's toys.

Since the start of summer we've had a few tagalongs with every evening walk, which our kids absolutely love. Now that school's just days away, the neighborhood gangs seem to be out in full force. They come over whenever we're outside to play on the swingset, and have recently taken to running in our house with Berit to play in her room. If Marta is inside having lunch or watching a movie, they always pop in to cuddle with her and try to get her to say a thousand entertaining phrases. When they see that I have her video monitor in hand, they ask to see her on it, and coo over the littlest member of their club.

Our kids have fallen right into this. They don't bat an eyelash when they turn around and a big 7-year-old is handing them a toy. And the children are so gentle and polite, and are genuinely friendly and playful that's it's hard to tell them when it's time to leave. They call their parents to inform them of where they are, and settle down to play blocks or read books or run around the driveway. They don't seem to notice that they're two or three or four times our daughters' ages.

In the beginning I wasn't sure how to handle them. They're so BIG, with so much to SAY, and I haven't had much experience with kids their ages so I would wonder when they'd run off to be with someone else and let us take our little family walk. But as time went on I realized how much bigger it all was. They had included our kids in the neighborhood pack, and were checking out the welcome potential from Berit and Marta's mom and dad. In fact, I noticed how important it was for Berit to interact with them, and now even Marta is asking to see them when we walk by their houses.

One day we were strolling by the home of two little boys, ages 5 and 7, who were outside playing and who love to fuss over Marta. We walked past and shouted hello, and Berit ran over to have a quick once-over with the youngest. When she was walking back he shouted, "Bye, Berit!" And she thought he had called her another name, so she said, "NO, I'm BERIT!" And he yelled, "Of course you're Berit! Everyone knows that!"

It was cute, and a lesson in kid society. She wanted to be known. This is her social group, these are her peers. They are not her family, nor are they her classmates who have no choice but to know her. They have decided to be friends with her, and she with them.

Trevor has a hard time with all of this. If I had asked him five years ago how he would feel about having kids run in and out of our house, climbing on our swingset and playing wildly outside with our kids, he would have said, "That's exactly how my childhood was! I can't wait for that!" But when the door opens after a soft knock and a 4-foot boy runs in, he gives me a look as if to say, "Oh I don't think so."

He rolls his eyes and isn't as overly kind to the kids as a host might be (he's not mean -- just full of STAY OUTSIDE, GUYS and PLEASE DON'T TOUCH THE FOUR WHEELER).

I said to him today, as five kids had joined our brood and all seven were doing various activities in our living room during "rest time," "This is it. This is what our life will be like for the next 20 years, at least. Do you want to tell our kids they can't do this? Their friends aren't welcome to be here? We're too picky about our toys and furniture to allow you to have good, clean fun with your friends?" And he smiled, and said that it was just strange.

He often talks about how he's not sure whether or not he'll give our kids permission to try beer when they're 16 (NO) or let them drink if they're going to stay at our house (NEVER), because apparently his parents let him do these things and he now has a healthy attitude toward drinking (My parents did not let me do these things and I also have a healthy attitude toward drinking.), and I think he maybe fantasizes about our kids as teens with things like soccer games and trendy music and is really looking forward to that. But I have to wonder if the same thing will happen as is now; when the time arrives, will he realize that, this time, he's the adult in the situation? That it's a whole lot different to be going through it as the parent, as it was the child?

It's interesting to watch this happen. When a woman gets pregnant, she often reads books, searches the Internet and talks her friends' ears off about being a mother. As her children are growing, she makes friends with ladies who have children about the same age, and they journey through stages together. They talk about what's next, how to handle certain hurdles, how to discipline, celebrate, educate. But men go about things so differently. Yes, I know, there are those dads who also pounce on the books and can't get enough of researching baby stuff, but the majority of guys I know tend to take things as they come, and react from a completely unprepared place. I don't think one or the other is better (OK, maybe I do), but it's nice when you can approach things in two different ways, to see what works best for the kids.

The most interesting part of the day happened this evening. After a late morning and early afternoon of the neighborhood's children being one with our family, we had the Dart family over for dinner, and our girls played with some of their best buds, Liam and Brennan. Trevor spent most of the time with our girls, since Ellen and I were busy setting up a garage sale and the dads were hanging with the children, but as soon as they went home Trevor and Berit headed for the swingset (where she's been the majority of the day). I said, "Looks like it's time for a bath." He said, "We're going to play for a minute." I said, "It's past 7:30." And he said, "I know, but I promised." And then they played, hard, with Berit giggling uncontrollably and Trevor laughing as they frolicked and chased and pushed and climbed.

I think he missed her.

Hard-To-Answer Questions

Yesterday I was rushing around trying to get dressed while Marta cried, "GO BYE-BYE!", because the child cannot stomach being at her own house for anything other than sleep (for which she MUST be in her own bed, and this is non-negotiable).

I tossed off my PJ pants and pulled on some jeans. Just before I buttoned and zipped, Berit said "STOP!" She needed to see my c-section scar (again). She's interested in the scar in a roundabout way, because it's a boo-boo, because it's next to a tattoo and is therefore doubly fascinating, and because Marta came out of it. She typically looks at it, then says "wow," and it's over.

Yesterday, though, she said, "That's how Dr. Joe took Marta out of your belly." I said, "Yup, you're right," and pulled on my jeans. She said, "And that's how I came out of your belly, too.

Um... "Nope. You came out a different way." (Tell her the truth, but only as much as she needs. Tell her the truth. Tell her the truth...)

"Where did I come out?"

"Well, you were in my belly, and then you came out."

"HOW?"

"Mommy and the doctors helped you come out."

"WHERE? Your belly?"

"You did come out of my belly."

"From your scar?"

"Noooo. From my... wee." (Yes. She calls her privates a wee.)

GIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLE "Is that how all babies come out?"

"Yes. Either from a scar like this one, or from a mommy's wee."

"Huh. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Then, last night during prayers, she said, "I don't want to pray. Cinderella doesn't pray. Jane and Michael (Mary Poppins) don't pray."

Me: "They might pray in private. You just don't see them praying."

Her: "No, I would see it. They don't pray."

Me: "Well, maybe they do something different to thank God."

Her: "Mom, what's God?"

Two major questions in one day -- maybe she ate breakfast.

Reason #387 To Get A New Phone

The girls each have a new long-sleeved t-shirt with doughnuts on it, and they love wearing them. Until recently it's been a little warm for the shirts, but at 40 degrees this morning, the warmth was a must. Might as well be cute, too.

The appliques on the shirts inspired the girls to launch pleas for actual, edible doughnuts, so off we went to Johan's Bakery.

They each chose a pastry -- chocolate frosting with sprinkles for Berit and jelly-filled with white icing for Marta (she typically picks whatever Berit does, so it was fun to watch her decide to be independent) -- and we sat down at one of the tables to enjoy the treats.

I have a really old phone. I use 30 minutes a month. But I really, really wished just then that I had a fancy camera phone, because Marta was the cutest doughnut eater in the history of the world. Really. She insisted on sitting on a chair without a booster, and the table came up to her nose. She had her huge doughnut on a tiny plate on the edge of the table, and was tipping it towards her so she was eating the frosting off the top and getting it all over her face. She was doing her best to open her mouth wide enough to fit the whole doughnut in at once. It was adorable, even if it sounds sort of typical and mundane here. If I only had a picture...

The lady behind the counter called out to her, "How's your doughnut?" and she said, into her frosting, "mrphGOOD!yumyumyum." And Berit shouted, "OH MY GOSH this is SO DELICIOUS!"

They really should have been in a doughnut commercial. I'm probably not biased. Even if it sounds like it here. Then again, this entire blog is dedicated to them and their lives, so...