tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37643310850181976332024-03-05T13:17:27.694-06:00Jeff & Shelly... And then there were fiveShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-43827679229005246282013-08-22T06:55:00.000-05:002013-08-22T06:55:58.662-05:00My six-month babyMare-Bear. Hello Sweetheart. Yesterday, you turned six months old. You are the loveliest baby. You are a mama’s girl; you can’t wait to play hard with your sisters; you are so ticklish, especially when your dad is the one doing the tickling.<br />
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You have sat at the kitchen table with us for most of our dinners and you are very interested in eating table food. The other night, we gave you a piece of flank steak and you sucked that thing to death. So far, you’re mostly interested in throwing the rest of the foods we’ve offered you off your tray.<br />
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You roll over quickly from your back to your tummy and you’re fairly happy that way (as long as you can see Jane and Lucy) until you scoot yourself off your play mat and onto the carpet. Then you start to howl. Can’t say that I blame you. We aren’t very good at vacuuming.<br />
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You love to “stand”. Almost anytime I’m holding you while sitting down, you begin to wiggle and squirm until you’re in an upright position. You want to put your weight on your legs and you begin to bounce. Then you start talking, loudly, at your sisters.<br />
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You love to take a bath with Lucy and Jane. You are happiest when you’re in the tub, on your back, almost floating, and just kicking away. You love it when Jane and Lucy pay attention to you, and you seem to really love it when you make them laugh.<br />
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You take a bottle at daycare and when Nana has you, but it definitely isn’t your preference. Your preference is to be up with me all night eating. (We’re working on changing that habit.) <br />
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You have eyes that are sometimes blue, sometimes grey, and they are always sparkling. You have adorable hand dimples and pudgy little legs. You have serious cheeks.<br />
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You are six months old. Please stop growing up.<br />
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All my love,<br />
Mama<br />
Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-18073378463679346512013-06-14T15:23:00.000-05:002013-06-14T15:23:20.024-05:00And then there were fiveJune 2013<br />
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Ladies! Our lives have changed in these past few months! There are five of us now. Obviously we felt like a family when we were four, but there’s something about there being three of you girls that makes me feel complete in a way I didn’t previously know we were missing. These past four months have been a blur in the very best of ways.<br />
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Mary, you came into this world during a blizzard that shut the metro area down. You are my sweet little miracle (I know, I know – all babies are miracles, but you… you are exceptionally so). Here’s the proof: I was only seven weeks pregnant with you when our brand new minivan was sandwiched between two UPS semis on I-70. That was probably the most terrifying experience of my life so far, and I began sobbing immediately. I didn’t feel pain right then, I was just so very scared that you were hurt. Later that day, the doctor’s scan showed your beautiful beating heart and I cried with relief. <br />
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Shortly after that, and through the rest of the first trimester and into the second, the doctor was concerned about your small and oddly shaped gestational sac. It is so hard and scary to try to be hopeful yet also prepared for the worst.<br />
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At 20 weeks, we found out you were a girl. We also found out that I had a complete previa which left us terrified for a few weeks and on edge for the rest of the pregnancy. But you, my smart little girl, made things as easy as possible in this case by lying transverse the entire pregnancy. My doc said this is what saved us from any hemorrhaging, and we made it all the way to your scheduled c-section date at 37 weeks. And since I had gotten the steroid shots a few weeks earlier, and since your sisters were born at 36 ½ weeks with no lung issues, I just knew that everything would be fine and you’d be going home with me when I was discharged in a few days. As usual when I make assumptions, I was wrong. I cried and cried when I was in the recovery room and the neonatologist came in to tell us that you were going to have to be in the NICU for a while. Your lungs weren’t developed enough yet, and you had to be on oxygen. Because of this, the nurses thought it would be best if you would only be held three times a day at most. For the first several days, you were only on IV fluids and I couldn’t even try to breastfeed you. And since I had lost so much blood and couldn’t stand up without feeling like I was going to pass out, any time I wanted to see you, your dad had to wheel me the short distance down the hall to your crib. I felt physically better after my transfusion, but I have to say, it is sucky stuff to want to have a normal pregnancy and delivery and get to do all the things that I assume happen in normal situations – hold your baby right after she’s born, nurse her right away, introduce her to her sisters the day she comes into the world – and instead have pretty much the opposite of all that happen. Sometimes people say that the delivery doesn’t matter as long as you end up with a healthy baby. Rubbish. That’s absolute rubbish. It sucks to have a baby (or three) in the NICU. Regardless of how healthy she eventually is, regardless of how great the nurses are, regardless of how nice the lovely new facilities are. You and I spent 14 very long days in the hospital. And then, almost suddenly, you got to come home! I remember, it was the day before you were discharged when the team was doing rounds. They got to us and were once again debating your feeding/eating. They had finally taken the tube out and it had been your first 24 hours on oral feeds only. You had lost something like 3 oz. Finally the head neonatologist said, “well, what do you think Mom?” I told him that I was taking you home the next day, that we were going to be fine. He nodded and said, “Yes, I’m kind of inclined to agree with you”.<br />
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Your sisters were so excited to meet you. They acted all shy but couldn’t stop smiling. Lucy kept repeating, “she’s so cute”. They continue to take care of you, helping with baths and diaper changes and trying to keep you entertained when you get fussy. They can’t wait until you’re old enough to play with them.<br />
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You are a sweet, easy baby. You smile so easily. Your eyelashes seem to grow longer and curl upwards even more when you grin. When you’re lying on the bed, you jerk your head around quickly to find Jane and Lucy when you hear them talking or laughing. You poop all the time. You throw your arms up straight over your head and squint your eyes and raise your eyebrows when you’re finished eating. You already want to be a part of everything, wanting to be carried upright and facing out so you can watch. You are my baby. I completely understand how the baby of the family becomes the baby of the family, because for me, that has already happened with you.<br />
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Jane and Lucy, you are officially big sisters. And you are officially three and a half. You girls are hilarious and smart and awesome and a complete handful. Did I mention how funny you are? I’m not going to lie – three years old continues to be a challenge. The whining and the fit-throwing are the most difficult parts for me to handle. I have to remind myself not to roll my eyes when you can see me. But, when you’re not whining, when you’re not throwing a fit, you are fantastic. You are best friends except for when you’re not: like when you’re trying to make each other jealous – “look Jane, I’m wearing the Dora socks today” – and Jane, when you’re not pulling Lucy’s hair or screaming in her face.<br />
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You all are loving the warm weather and spending lots of time outside. Every evening, you want to run over to visit Nick (our 60 something neighbor who really likes you girls – don’t worry, it’s an appropriate like). You usually ask him for a flower and he cuts a rose off one of his bushes, even de-thorns it for you. He knows which of you is which and thinks you’re both hilarious and beautiful. He never refers to you as “The Twins”. No wonder you like him. You also like to play with the neighbor girls, Lily and Kiley. This is one of those seasons when I’m so glad we moved to the suburbs because if I’m in the back yard and you run around to the front yard, I don’t feel the need to freak out and chase you. If you leave your big wheels at the edge of the driveway, I fully believe they will be there tomorrow. I can go into the house while you’re playing to get everyone a freezer pop. Or a Bandaid. Both happen pretty frequently.<br />
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You are picking flowers like mad women. Your dad has turned into a bit of a rose bush enthusiast and I think he probably looks forward to the day that the two of you let us enjoy the flowers while they actually remain on the bushes, but for now, it’s still kind of sweet to me that you want to pick everything. You especially like to make a nice bowl of food for the rabbits. This involves picking a variety of hosta leaves, random flower petals, some grass, a few tree leaves, shredding it all and tossing it into whatever kind of container you can find. Sometimes you leave it in the container, other times you make it into little mounds all across the sidewalk for the bunnies to enjoy.<br />
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You know, way back when I was first pregnant, and the ultrasound tech said, “This one is definitely a girl. And it loooooooks like this one is probably a girl, too”, I was shocked. I had some crazy idea in my head that I would be a mom to boys. Then, not so long ago when another ultrasound tech said, “Definitely a girl”, I couldn’t have been happier. I can’t imagine my life or even a day without the three of you being part of it, part of me.<br />
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All my love,<br />
Mama<br />
Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-82980348176992192582013-01-31T17:20:00.002-06:002013-01-31T17:20:05.919-06:00January 2013Girls,<br />
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You are three years old. I had been told that the terrible twos was a myth, that really it’s three that is the most, um, challenging year. Good to know. Thanks for proving them right. Someday, you may have your very own three-year-old. And then you will know. Until then, I’ll just write that I’m so very thankful you also have the moments when you are lovely and delightfully funny and sweet. For instance, this morning, when I went in to your bedroom to wake you both, you were snuggled up together in the middle of your beds (currently pushed together). Arms entwined and everything. Ridiculous. And then I woke you up and the sweetness ended and your monster-self emerged (Jane), but oh, you have the fluffiest fuzz-ball head of hair when you wake up, so how can I not smile a little bit? Lucy, thankfully you remained as sweet as in sleep (this particular morning, anyway), but only because I pretended to be Harry Potter complete with my abysmal accent.<br />
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It snowed recently on a Monday. It was so beautiful. You both ran from room to room, window to window, to make sure it was coming down all around the house. After you woke up from your naps, we got bundled up and went out to make your very first snowman, complete with carrot nose, blue chalk pieces for eyes (what? It’s what happened to be available), stocking cap and scarf. You were both surprised when we finished, you proudly told her (everyone is a her) that her name was Frosty, and she didn’t talk to you or begin to dance around. Ah, well, a lesson in reality.<br />
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You love to watch movies (Harry Potter and Star Wars with the occasional Bambi thrown in) and videos (Yo Gabba Gabba, Alice in Wonderland, anything with a fairy in it). A movie is something you watch on the television, a video is something you watch on the computer. Thankfully, you also still love to play, so we can usually wrestle you away from the intoxicating appeal of the screen. You’re big fans of climbing on and jumping on beds and couches, you love to run circles around the inside loop, chasing each other until Daisy makes this impossible (usually by knocking one of you down and you collapse into a river of tears), you like to do huge, take up the whole floor puzzles, you draw and color, use a dry-erase marker much too freely, race through the house turning on (or off) all the lights, and at the end of most days, it looks like your absolute favorite thing to do was to transport all of your books, toys, dolls, stuffed animals from the playroom to any and every other room in the house. Then, inevitably, you desperately need one of those books, toys, dolls before you’re able to fall asleep.<br />
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You are anxiously awaiting the arrival of your sister. (But maybe not as anxiously as me.) You are going to be the best big sisters. And I hope you know you will always be two of my very favorite and most loved people. Even as three-year-olds.<br />
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Hug and a kiss, hug and a kiss.<br />
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MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-85512609698058119512012-12-23T21:14:00.004-06:002012-12-23T21:14:54.172-06:00Twas the night before Christmas...Let's be clear. I don't think there's ever a time when not a creature is stirring in our house. I'm okay with that. Just wanted to mention it.<br />
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The Christmas season is fully upon us, and we are having the best time. Your dad and I have made a conscious effort to not try to do too much but to make sure that we are enjoying this season and you two as fully as possible. That said, we have done and are doing a lot! We have two trees this year – one in the living room, all twinkling and pretty by the fireplace and one upstairs in your playroom that you got to “decorate” to your hearts’ content. That poor tree (a little tipsy and crooked) is still being decorated as you change your minds about best placement of favorite ornaments on a pretty regular basis.<br />
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The stockings are hung by the chimney (had to be with care since the stocking hook holder things are rather precariously perched) and SaraBeth (your elf on the shelf) is the highlight of your morning, Jane, as you slide down the stairs and find her in record time. Then, you’re happy to race back up to your sister to help her find her. Your helping usually involves a gleeful, “Luce! Luce! Come find SaraBeth!” And then you run to wherever she’s hiding and point her out. Pretty cute stuff, Kid.<br />
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You both love projects and helping in the kitchen, so we’ve done some holiday crafty stuff, and, most importantly, made cookies! Cut-out sugar cookies, complete with frosting and loads of sprinkles. It was maybe the best mess we’ve ever made on a stay-at-home Monday. We made cinnamon applesauce ornaments and gingerbread houses, and although you consumed quite a lot of candy in the making of those houses, I’m shocked and pleasantly surprised that the houses themselves are still standing and haven’t been chewed on at all (by you girls or Daisy!).<br />
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You’ve been involved in the wrapping of most of our Christmas gifts, and I’m anxious to see how it goes when it’s time to give those gifts. You know who is getting what, and I’m curious to find out if you tell people in advance what they’re going to be opening or if you’ll just be standing in front of them jumping up and down, hoping they’re as excited about it as you are.<br />
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We’ve been to Union Station (one of your favorite places) a few times this season, and you’ve loved seeing the holiday decorations (Lucy, you are quite unhappy that they took down the blood sausage exhibit, and I haven’t figured out how to tell you that it might not be coming back. Ever.) When we go to Union Station, your dad always gets a mocha from Parisi (only the best coffee in the city), and you two always pick out a truffle from the chocolate store. That’s right. A truffle. They make some really cute candies/chocolates designed to appeal to little people like yourselves (think marshmallow on a stick, dipped in sprinkles), but no. You ladies want a truffle. And it’s quite a selection process, in which you, Janey, change your mind about 7 times, and you, Lucy, know within 30 seconds which one you want. And then. And then, it is one of my favorite things to watch the two of you enjoy your truffle. You savor that thing. And I love that about you both. That you already appreciate certain foods and know when something is good.<br />
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We took you to see The Polar Express movie, and you both loved it. That night, when we read the book, Luce, you pointed out to me all the differences. You had a couple of Christmas concerts at preschool (one for the grandmas and grandpas, one for the tree lighting), so you’ve been practicing a few songs very enthusiastically. For some reason, your favorite place to do this is at the kitchen table while we’re eating dinner. One of you bursts into song and then we all join in, and then all of a sudden, Deck the Halls is being sung at the tops of your lungs, in the screechiest of voices until we all fall apart laughing. Best dinners ever.<br />
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We’ve driven around in some of our favorite Christmas-lit neighborhoods. The joy in your voices as you stare in wonder out your windows (which you demanded be rolled down) and hollered, “LOOK! It’s Santa!”, “LOOK! It’s Frosty!”, “LOOK!, It’s a giant snowglobe!”…<br />
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Here's what I know. This is my favorite Christmas so far. The joy and wonder that I get to see and experience through your eyes and voices and exuberant little bodies... I love you little meatballs.<br />
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Recent Quotes<br />
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While playing doctor with Ralph the cat. Lucy: “Uh-oh. Looks like you have some beans in here” (peering in his ear). Jane: “and some pizza!”<br />
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Jane to me: I just don’t like you.<br />
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Lucy when it was cold outside and you had a runny nose: My nose is watering!<br />
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Jane, when you found out our friend Katy’s cat had died: But she doesn’t have to be sad anymore. Tell her I’m growing a new Tiny Zorak for her in my belly.<br />
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Janey, you have picked up the word “apparently”, and you use it often and in the correct context. It’s kind of adorable: Apparently some sprinkles fell on the floor and I ate them.<br />
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You were both racing around the house with your Star Wars action figures. Jane, you had Luke in one hand, Darth Vader in the other: We have to save the empire! And the pizza!<br />
Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-15777023770936205102012-10-26T20:51:00.002-05:002012-10-26T20:51:46.130-05:00My little meatballsHappy 3rd Birthday, Girls! It seems like you have been a part of my life so much longer than three years. And it also seems like you joined us only last week. You both love to hear the story of your birth. Luce, you especially like the part about how my friend Stephanie brought you your very first cupcake to the hospital (I have conveniently left out the part that you didn’t actually get to eat that cupcake. It makes for a story you much prefer).<br />
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This birthday of yours, you two turning three, has made me weepy. It’s probably at least partially related to pregnancy hormones, but I also am very aware of the fact that you two are no longer babies. Not even toddlers. You’re in the official “preschooler” category, and more and more, you’re my little girls. Don’t get me wrong. That’s so wonderful. I love this age, this stage, the things you do and say so much. We talk. The other night at dinner, Lucy, you said, “Mama, let’s have a conversation”. Seriously. So I love it, but I also miss you two as babies and toddlers. When you hold my face with your hands, they aren’t chubby anymore. You want to be snuggled, rocked, and held much less often these days. You have both become independent in so many areas, which is absolutely as it should be, but also absolutely difficult and tear-inducing as I learn to be a mama who is willing to let you grow up. So be patient with me, little meatballs (you will always be my little meatballs). We’re learning a lot together as you two grow.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjgELNzS3yQO-133Et462i4d6GQbYJtQKjmo7jrMLfOoQCSu35Fl-C76mGB9Z2wsyvSufDaBtgP3J2TumtHIeKRkXaHp8o20Wa7S3ghCmdYYZGmQRh4cmvNrNolWh-kRTR30QMCm4ukQ/s1600/DSC02285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjgELNzS3yQO-133Et462i4d6GQbYJtQKjmo7jrMLfOoQCSu35Fl-C76mGB9Z2wsyvSufDaBtgP3J2TumtHIeKRkXaHp8o20Wa7S3ghCmdYYZGmQRh4cmvNrNolWh-kRTR30QMCm4ukQ/s320/DSC02285.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Things I know about you:<br />
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Lucy. You like to snuggle –deep under your covers, you like to feel the weight of something (or someone) around you. You are sensitive – you get these beautiful big worried eyes if you think that someone isn’t being treated fairly (a real someone or a book or movie someone). You also cannot handle it if your sister or your dad or I talk to you sternly. You’re convinced that if you are corrected, it means you’re in trouble. You take off running and through your tears, you tell us that you’re running away and “you’ll never see me again”. You are a leader. This is more than being bossy (yes, it’s true, sometimes you’re that, too!), it’s something quieter and more confident. You are content to be dropped off at preschool and quickly start doing your thing. You give me a hug and a kiss and you’re off. You love stories – books, but also the made-up ones that your dad and I tell you. You have a mind like a steel trap; you routinely correct us on facts (“no, Shawna gave me this”), and you also memorize your books so you can “read” them to me and Janey. You love the color purple, cupcakes, washing dishes, and chicken (plain, of course). You’re such a little nurturer – you happily cover Jane up with her blanket when she can’t get it right, and I’ve seen you stroking her hair when she’s upset. You completely dress and undress yourself, usually insisting that we don’t help you, even when this ends in tears because you just can’t get your shoes or that one sleeve to cooperate. You still have the best full belly laugh I’ve ever heard. You love to sing and dance (dancing involves one elbow being thrust into the air and then you basically spin around that point) and do projects.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNRHhBGTIbRhpSdsAUbf3tgWqlnFQQeIw5dd1hQ5nb9-iVam8EpeL2E1e8p9qsiNAobBGVM7Z9zyF6N1PII87-d98ZXFKN9lOhOxoNSF6a4mqwUZnNvPwmZLxPhyphenhyphenMnqhRCx9wm_7XNwA/s1600/IMG_3735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNRHhBGTIbRhpSdsAUbf3tgWqlnFQQeIw5dd1hQ5nb9-iVam8EpeL2E1e8p9qsiNAobBGVM7Z9zyF6N1PII87-d98ZXFKN9lOhOxoNSF6a4mqwUZnNvPwmZLxPhyphenhyphenMnqhRCx9wm_7XNwA/s320/IMG_3735.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Jane. You love animals. Ralph is your favorite (along with the concrete cat that you carry around and the ceramic bunny and the bronze lion), and you often holler at Daisy when she’s being too rough with him. Speaking of Daisy, you started calling her Daisy Jr. completely out of the blue. You hate to be covered up in bed and either sleep spread eagle on your back, or curled into a tight ball on your stomach with your arms directly underneath you so your hands stick out just under your bottom. You have such command over your body. I love to watch you at the park as you race up stairs and ladders and climb any- and everything. You jump or run or gallop almost everywhere you go, and you never seem to tire. You adore your sister, often telling her that you love her (unprompted!) and going in search of a toy for her when she’s otherwise inconsolable. You refer to her as “my Luce”. You are willing to eat almost anything, and you like most of it. You also hate to stay seated at the table. In fact, I don’t think we’ve had a meal since not being strapped in your high chair where you’ve been able to remain in your seat the entire seven minutes. You prefer to eat fast, jump down, dance, run, and hop around, coming back for a bite every now and then. I think you would be perfectly content to let me dress and undress you for the rest of your life. You are adamant about picking out your shirt, but other than that, you’re pretty hands off. You are the one who is a bit reluctant to let me drop you off at preschool, and you’re also the one who gives out hugs to all the kids in your class when I pick you up. You are not afraid of anything.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVWr3IEAZdIxl7Q5e5QO7rHvELHG1Q6Kc4Y40AEx4pWPKOLdxNtZmQx9hX4FKlJx6MrDuxV3EbDaQRlJ-itCBZ9r4_BiEzd6EHabCnzBuymoCC2NnTWDe5R7sglompyCagxp018SVLvg/s1600/IMG_3733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVWr3IEAZdIxl7Q5e5QO7rHvELHG1Q6Kc4Y40AEx4pWPKOLdxNtZmQx9hX4FKlJx6MrDuxV3EbDaQRlJ-itCBZ9r4_BiEzd6EHabCnzBuymoCC2NnTWDe5R7sglompyCagxp018SVLvg/s320/IMG_3733.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Lucy and Jane, you are two of the most wonderful people I know. You are funny and kind, smart and inquisitive, beautiful and creative. I truly couldn’t love you more. Thanks for letting me be your mama. Oh, and Happy Birthday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKQvzvwi-K7Gn2zHz4RAQ54Xs93a1ZVpTX98ToCxuifUXBIgyiB66d0A7X7n8DYjNO0KZnB0fO7pIWU2ze60VFk89mb_dRjQM_nwbS_M9KAZQKBG1krWGxFSxFuq9PVmXo-R3A1Af6pg/s1600/IMG_3737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="213" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKQvzvwi-K7Gn2zHz4RAQ54Xs93a1ZVpTX98ToCxuifUXBIgyiB66d0A7X7n8DYjNO0KZnB0fO7pIWU2ze60VFk89mb_dRjQM_nwbS_M9KAZQKBG1krWGxFSxFuq9PVmXo-R3A1Af6pg/s320/IMG_3737.JPG" /></a></div><br />
All my love,<br />
Mama<br />
Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-40640968335955961342012-10-07T10:30:00.000-05:002012-10-07T10:30:08.194-05:00Almost Three?!Ah, my sweet, little, chocolate-covered, Lucy and Jane. You have become older, wiser, funnier, taller, smarter people since I last wrote. You are almost three. THREE! I’m still not entirely sure how that happened.<br />
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You love Daisy, our new mini-van, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We can’t go to the library, the park, or Costco often enough. You preface about a third of your comments with, “When we were little…”. You are so good at puzzles, naming your feelings (Jane, you scrunch up your face and say, “I’m kinda nerbous”), and giving hugs.<br />
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You’ve been to Wisconsin with the Stroessners (now you like to say “it’s hard to keep track of all my cousins”); you’ve seen the giant bean (or goose egg if you insist, which you almost always do – insist, that is) in Chicago; you’ve learned that you’re going to be big sisters.<br />
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Jane, you love this little stone turtle that the previous owners left in the garden. I mean, you LOVE that turtle. You carry him (her?) all around the yard with you, and you’ve been known to sneak it into the wagon so he can go with you to the park. That poor turtle got sat in the middle of an anthill one day, and you were beside yourself when you found him covered in ants. You quickly picked him up to brush them off, then almost as quickly began crying when you became covered in ants.<br />
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You also love to get dirty. We had a huge pile of dirt in our front yard, and you and Lucy both enjoyed helping your dad shovel it into a wheelbarrow and dump it in the backyard. Luce, you stayed as clean as you could, which means you had dirty shoes and socks. Jane, you got as dirty as you could, which means you decided to slide down that hill of dirt. On your stomach. Head first. Repeatedly.<br />
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When you can’t be dirty, you like to be naked. You especially like to strip off all your clothes, let yourself out the front door, and run around the yard. Our neighbor, Nick, has had the privilege of enjoying this a couple of times, watching me or your dad chase you down and bring you back inside. Last time we were outside together, he asked you about it, and you told him (no kidding) “sometimes I like to do it when I’m mad at my mom”. What?!<br />
<br />
Lucy, you are a hilarious sister. You want to be right, you want to be in control, you want to call the shots. This would be so much easier if Jane would just cooperate with you A couple of weeks ago, the two of you were having a fairly heated debate about whether or not there was a bug or a “bug statue” in the car. I had decided not to get involved. Finally, you said, “Okay, here’s the deal. You think it’s a bug; I think it’s a bug statue. Okay, sweetie?” I love that you’re learning you don’t always have to be right; there doesn’t always have to be a winner; sometimes, it’s okay for you and your sister to think different things.<br />
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Luce, you are so capable, insisting on dressing yourself, even down to your shoes and socks. You have some pretty strong opinions about what you like and don’t like, especially when it comes to food. Although you’re eating better these days, you still don’t always want to try new things. The other evening, you helped me make soup; I thought for sure since you had helped you’d try it. I was wrong. No amount of pleading, bribing or cajoling could get you to put that spoon in your mouth. Finally, you looked at me, frustrated I’m sure, and said, “Mom, you know I like food plain. Remember?” An hour later (after you and Jane had been playing, the kitchen had been cleaned, and Daisy had gotten into your untouched bowl of soup), you decided you were ready for a “sample”.<br />
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Ladies, I don't want to give you the wrong idea. You're not always particularly pleasant. We have had moments (days, even weeks) of experiencing THE TERRIBLE TWOS. But even then, even when you're at your most frustrating, most whiny, most buggary selves... well, even then, you are still my amazing daughters, my meatballs, my chicken-littles, and I love you very, very much. Even then.<br />
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All my love and then some,<br />
Mama<br />
Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-42352986358072783072012-06-16T13:27:00.002-05:002012-06-16T13:27:54.740-05:00Your DadGirls,<br />
<br />
Guess what? (Whenever I say that to you, neither of you says “what?”. You always say, yeah. Weirdos) It’s Father’s Day. Woo-hoo; I know. That doesn’t mean a lot to you beyond the fact that you’ll probably sing Happy Birthday to your dad. It’s one of your favorite songs and you sing it to people regardless of whether or not it really is their birthday.<br />
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In honor of your dad and the day, I thought we'd play the interview game. Even getting ready for this game was funny. I told you I was going to interview you and said that means I'd ask you a question and you'd tell me what you think. Jane, for some bizarre reason, you shouted out "PINK!". Well, at least we know what you're thinking...<br />
<br />
<b>What is Daddy's name?</b><br />
L: Um... Jeff!<br />
J: I don't know.<br />
<br />
<b>What do you love most about Daddy?</b><br />
L: I'm not a daddy. Strawberries!<br />
J: Crackers!<br />
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<b>How do you know Daddy loves you?</b><br />
L: (she grins) He loves me thiiiis much (stretches out arms). And he lets me get babydolls.<br />
J: He loves me thiiiiis much (attempts to stretch arms wider than Luce) and he gives me vitamins.<br />
<br />
<b>What is your favorite thing to do with Daddy?</b><br />
J: Play basketball!<br />
L: Make ice cream.<br />
<br />
<b>Is there anything you want Daddy to know on Father's Day?</b><br />
J: LADYBUGS!<br />
L: APPLE JUICE!<br />
<br />
I want to take a minute to tell you about this guy who is your dad. He loves you both so much. He adores you. He misses you when you have a slumber party at Nana’s house.<br />
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When he pulls in the driveway from work in the evening, we’re often sitting outside on the front steps eating freezer pops. Or sometimes coloring on the sidewalk with chalk. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, as soon as you see that he’s there, you race to the garage and are bouncing around before he even opens his door. If he’s lucky, you’ll follow him inside so he can change into shorts. But you know what? He doesn’t even care. If you’re insistent and less willing to let him change, he just sits on the sidewalk in his work pants and colors with you. Or helps you water the plants. Or lets you drip melted freezer pop on him. That’s how he is.<br />
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<br />
Daddy pulls out the watercolors and paints with you. He lets you use the glitter glue to your hearts’ content. He helps you catch and inspect all sorts of bugs. He is infinitely patient with you.<br />
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He’s the best tickler/chaser/hide-and-seek player. You love to wrestle with and climb all over your dad. You beg for more “shark kisses”. He pushes you highest on the swings and helps you dangle from the monkey bars.<br />
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Daddy is so proud of you, Jane. He is so proud of you, Lucy. He’s your biggest fan and always will be.<br />
<br />
We're pretty lucky to have him.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-76692987736816180072012-06-04T10:29:00.003-05:002012-06-04T10:29:54.431-05:00Boys already?Dear Lucy,<br />
<br />
This morning you told me you have a boyfriend. WHA?! You are two and a half, and this is at least four years before I expected to hear any of that sort of nonsense. But you redeemed yourself when I asked why he's your boyfriend. You grinned and told me he makes you laugh.<br />
<br />
Love you.<br />
MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-48124016827779903172012-05-18T11:08:00.001-05:002012-05-18T11:10:01.253-05:00Little girlsSometimes it overwhelms me that you are no longer babies. That first year was tough. Great, but nearly impossibly difficult. There's a webforum for twin parents I would visit when I couldn't figure out how to handle whatever was going on. I started out in the "Expecting Twins!" room where it was fun to poke around and think about how amazing it was going to be when you became a living out loud part of my world. Then, it was "Twins (The First Year)". Much more daunting. Anywho, while it was happening, it seemed like we would always be in that world. But recently I wanted some thoughts on bedtime (because goodness gracious, girls, you are not making that part of the day easy) and what has happened?! We're in the "Twins (Age 2-4)" forum now. You are full-on people now. With wants (lots of them) and desires and talking (so much talking) and crying (sometimes a lot of crying) and sweaty socks and grass-stained jeans and demands for pretzels and lemonade for breakfast and "just olives, mom" for dinner.<br />
<br />
You both usually get up in the morning on your own and come down to our bedroom around 6am. 6:30 if you're letting me sleep in. But before you leave your bedroom, you collect your favorite 20 or so stuffed animals, dolls, and blankets, and then somehow manage to make it down the stairs with your armloads. This morning I could hear you, Lucy, saying so tiredly, "No Jane. Not yet". This was the first morning that one of you made the trip down without the other. But Jane, it was nice to have you to myself for a bit this morning. We snuggled on the chair, and I scratched your back (another one of your demands. If my hand goes too slowly, or I stop, you replace it on your back and glare at me. funny stuff, kid.) Then we made cinnamon toast and you got started on your breakfst while I got your sister up.<br />
<br />
You started on your breakfast. As in, I didn't have to spoon-feed you oatmeal. It's such a joy and privilege to get to be your mama and watch you grow up into such lovely, funny, smart people. It's also making me the teensiest bit sad.<br />
<br />
Love you so much.<br />
<br />
MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-70881237425860759812012-05-14T13:18:00.000-05:002012-05-14T13:25:37.936-05:00Mother's Day #3Ladies, <br />
<br />
My third Mother's Day has now come and gone, and I want to tell you girls some of the things I really enjoy about being your mama.<br />
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<b>Hugs</b>. Both of you run at me at a cringe-inducing full speed and throw yourself into my arms. Or onto my leg. Luce, you wrap your little legs around me and squeeze. Jane, your hugs are fast - you give a hard squeeze and then are off on a sprint to the next thing.<br />
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<b>Conversations</b>. You talk and talk and talk. There are so many things you want to know, so you ask. And so many things you want me to know, so you tell. And it's super cute when you're hyped up because then the chatting is at a much faster pace with no breaks for air, and you both use your hands for emphasis, usually to touch or hold my face to make sure you have my full attention.<br />
<br />
<b>Sister-stuff</b>. You guys are friends and playmates and sometimes each others greatest source of frustration. And it is all fabulous. I love listening to you when you don't know I'm there. Lucy, you are usually the director. Okay, Jane, you go over there and you're the cat and that's your baby and Jane, wait! Jane, come back. Jane, if you want to lay on your pillow, you can just lay on your pillow. And then Janey, you come running to find me with a scowl on your face and say, I'm just cranky at Lucy because she won't let me ___ (fill in the blank with any number of things).<br />
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<b>Toddler breath</b>. Okay, I will admit that this is least enjoyable after you eat a bag of funyuns (yes, that's a true and unfortunate story). But Jane, you are so funny and weird about breath. If you catch a whiff of toothpaste, you demand to smell my breath. I open up and you try to stuff your entire head in my mouth. Then ask, did you brush your teef? You adore dental floss because it's minty-fresh. And, this is what I haven't figured out. Your breath ALWAYS smells like cilantro (except after the funyuns). You don't eat cilantro. So...?<br />
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<b>Your enthusiasm</b>. We routinely make up stories for you and you love them. We've done this since you were tiny, so there are lots of stories and characters at this point, and to be honest, I can't keep them all straight. There is nothing as frustrating to you as when you want to hear a story about Charlie or Susanna and I can't remember the story-line. Yikes! But, when I do remember, you ooh and ahh and act appropriately surprised every time. Your little faces are adorable when your eyes open wide with wonder as if it's the first time you're hearing it.<br />
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<b><br />
Big imaginations</b>. From bear hunts to "dis is our umbrella" (a tree in the front yard) to picnics with all your twins (you don't just have baby dolls - everything is considered a twin and comes as a set of two, so you'll pull out a bear and a unicorn and call them your twins), you ladies live and play by your vast imaginations.<br />
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There are about a zillion more things I could put on this list... I love you two meatballs so much.<br />
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Love,<br />
MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-26477796210056146032012-03-16T09:22:00.004-05:002012-03-16T09:33:56.162-05:00Spring has sprung!A couple of quick updates for you silly little girls.<br /><br />*You made my week (not exaggerating)when you BOTH ate bok choy. I am not even kidding. Lucy, you are the pickiest little eater ever. It makes me almost crazy. The only reason I haven't started you in toddler eating therapy (no, that's not a real thing. at least not that I know of) is because you occasionally eat an entire pan of roasted broccoli. You are always looking at food and cocking your head and saying, "I'm not gon' like dat". Or, without even touching it, much less tasting it, shouting, "YUCKY!" So, imagine my shock, disbelief, then absolute joy, when you watched your sister toss back some bok choy and then you were interested in trying it, too. AND THEN YOU HAD SECONDS. Thank you, kiddo. And Janey, thank you for being an awesome little eater. You love asparagus, salmon, rice and beans among a zillion other things.<br /><br />*Last night we were sitting on the front steps outside eating rainbow sherbet. You guys love to slurp the "soup" from the spoon at the end. Luce, I told you to look at the swirl in your spoonful - it was all orange with a pretty little spin of raspberry. You put your little face right down to the spoon and looked and looked, and when I realized you looked confused and unhappy, I asked what was going on. You disgustedly announced, "I don't want a squirrel in my ice cream soup".<br /><br />*Janey, you have been picking flowers in earnest. This is my second year of willingly accepting the idea that all the lovely flowers in our yard are even more lovely when they're being fully enjoyed by you and your sister, and obviously, full enjoyment involves destruction. You have plucked every crocus, and now you're working on the blanket of little purple flowers in the front yard. It's so sweet that you pick one for yourself, then one for "Yuce". "Here you go, Yucey. I got dis one for you".<br /><br />Love you ladies!<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-23123405442530462852012-03-13T14:30:00.000-05:002012-03-13T14:17:55.030-05:00Terrible twos. Really?J&L,<br /><br />You are two and a half (almost). It is the best time to be a mama, even with the madness and mayhem of the crankiness, whinyness, and general frustration that seems to come along with being two. You are the funniest little people ever, not to mention the cutest.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1gr35yxjKr8F9rGSJy1imUXqav4Q9_r3G6Nmjb3NCOYCm1hfdl8C68XxZcrXq_2daeku5IbHBxmh7Q168owA04tRPmCKNpFxrdLkDbrr_KO5xlWE2Uz2zioASRgix97s0hmKmw2VQCg/s1600/IMG_3010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1gr35yxjKr8F9rGSJy1imUXqav4Q9_r3G6Nmjb3NCOYCm1hfdl8C68XxZcrXq_2daeku5IbHBxmh7Q168owA04tRPmCKNpFxrdLkDbrr_KO5xlWE2Uz2zioASRgix97s0hmKmw2VQCg/s320/IMG_3010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719457082441799298" /></a><br /><br />Here's what you've been up to:<br /><br />*Luce, the other day, when Janey tried to climb over you and you got hurt (or maybe just frustrated (see above)), you said, "Jane, you're breaking my heart. Please don't do that". WHAAA? Where do these statements, comments, thoughts even come from?!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1VMwe7g4qmSfwdo-10UR91QFU6IrnGCzMwphbenXUfTjOy7SPtOBvX4lIl66IDcpHqfzMXov-NcA0bia7P9_ZXtkQ4Ie_eG-UNMP92RU2R6CLYEaOi1If9tCj9pAa9sqJS_xzQ2XIL0/s1600/IMG_2999.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1VMwe7g4qmSfwdo-10UR91QFU6IrnGCzMwphbenXUfTjOy7SPtOBvX4lIl66IDcpHqfzMXov-NcA0bia7P9_ZXtkQ4Ie_eG-UNMP92RU2R6CLYEaOi1If9tCj9pAa9sqJS_xzQ2XIL0/s320/IMG_2999.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719457641907051170" /></a><br /><br />*Jane, one recent morning, you woke from what must have been an interesting dream. You told me you don't like Zorasaur. The best I can figure based on your description is that this is a combination of Zorak (our friend Katy's ginormous cat who may have chomped on your arm) and the dinosaurs you're learning about at preschool.<br /><br />*Lucy, when Jane was crying, you wanted to comfort her. "Here Janey. Let me wipe your tear". And then you proceeded to wipe away her tears with your fingers. And then you gave her a hug. And then I nearly choked on the mommy lump lodged in my throat.<br /><br />*Jane, we finally had some snow. You were both beyond elated. For a solid week, you would find a remaining patch of snow sitting in some shade, and loudly announce, "IT'S STILL SNOWING!". Nothing I could say would convince you that it wasn't in fact snowing, that was just leftover snow. I am silly for even trying to argue with you.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfrqWLyKiBiOPIAEvhgCBkj_nb-wQl3kLlSlmhs0BVB7tpA28A3-yQRoYtU8MdHWHnhfnk51jGv29FmvyYlIOd1xO-MNTAan_lZMeJzcJpjGikpFGKXGH8cJ51zo95PAHiV6r38KL_MM/s1600/IMG_3004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfrqWLyKiBiOPIAEvhgCBkj_nb-wQl3kLlSlmhs0BVB7tpA28A3-yQRoYtU8MdHWHnhfnk51jGv29FmvyYlIOd1xO-MNTAan_lZMeJzcJpjGikpFGKXGH8cJ51zo95PAHiV6r38KL_MM/s320/IMG_3004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719459284688848034" /></a><br /><br />*Luce, your imagination is impressive. I don't know how to even tell how much (if any) truth is incorporated in some of the tales you tell. About one of your buddies at daycare: "He called me a pickle. And I said, I'm Hilda or Lucy Sessner. And he said, It's nice to meet you Hilda or Lucy Sessner". <br /><br />*Jane, at Costco, when another mom told her little girl, oh, look, it's some more babies, you announced, "Actually, we're little girls." Not sure if it was the actually or your facial expression that cracked me up more.<br /><br />*You had show and tell at preschool this week. Since the theme is animals, all the kiddos were supposed to bring in a favorite stuffed animal. You guys announced without any hesitation that you'd be taking in your unicorn (Jane) and your flamingoat (Lucy). That's right. I wrote flamingoat. Because that's what you're sure it's called.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1oP0F7B2F2xyk13yXhhKYMBMGrwOJ0L_fOCa-R3vk4XnRKy0yfwF8Kon8bpL58UcyAKwgRRPnRO3vRAbiKCNByxiBptLW1eiwfdUocr6c9QJ-N_7xw6Gb3orAHu7imZMZUJm7c0sEj4/s1600/IMG_3032.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1oP0F7B2F2xyk13yXhhKYMBMGrwOJ0L_fOCa-R3vk4XnRKy0yfwF8Kon8bpL58UcyAKwgRRPnRO3vRAbiKCNByxiBptLW1eiwfdUocr6c9QJ-N_7xw6Gb3orAHu7imZMZUJm7c0sEj4/s320/IMG_3032.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719460204377289938" /></a><br /><br />I love finding your little gloves in my boots and half-eaten cookies in my purse and toy cars in my coat pocket. I love that when I talk to you, usually trying to explain something, or sometimes just telling a story, you demand, "Say it again, Mama!" You love it when people talk to you like any other conversation. You love being introduced to adults. You love fruit snacks and if I forget to have them with me when I pick you up at preschool - whew, boy, am I in for it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUxehxSBbPd400_c4yIDH912VNbEuMbDQgYCBXdR3haE-6drWkIm6BdkfjILF5SaULhNjW7AbxmJt8aN5z8PW2n5xhm3CeoUT7hUv-F8YCd6uDhhiukmgnXhjzmWS8chf15ReGC91ACw/s1600/IMG_3049.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUxehxSBbPd400_c4yIDH912VNbEuMbDQgYCBXdR3haE-6drWkIm6BdkfjILF5SaULhNjW7AbxmJt8aN5z8PW2n5xhm3CeoUT7hUv-F8YCd6uDhhiukmgnXhjzmWS8chf15ReGC91ACw/s320/IMG_3049.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719462003261151730" /></a><br /><br />It has been an absolute joy watching you two become sister-friends. And, just in case you go through a weird phase of watching old TLC shows, that is totally different than sister-wives. You giggle together, wrestle together, play hide together (it's not really hide and seek yet, just hide), call for each other if your sister is in the other room. You two are so very different, yet so very much a part, maybe the most important part, of each others lives. I love you little meatballs very much.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAyCxWxP6XIwm2DCtc1DVRgbsStokM57eR6gSsIv2Zu50i1dHtyhkC5MUFXaOKyL1amCnaWkZHr-xr04IdWye_aPcaW9y980qcYunDfB-Q2opgc13HEalwolBpF9cnbCwIRCDaKEm9q4/s1600/IMG_3058.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAyCxWxP6XIwm2DCtc1DVRgbsStokM57eR6gSsIv2Zu50i1dHtyhkC5MUFXaOKyL1amCnaWkZHr-xr04IdWye_aPcaW9y980qcYunDfB-Q2opgc13HEalwolBpF9cnbCwIRCDaKEm9q4/s320/IMG_3058.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719462351452002498" /></a><br /><br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-76916887464970390712012-01-09T20:05:00.001-06:002012-01-09T20:05:00.897-06:00Happy New Year!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTFlwXAKpgStvulgfiVDgjulSIzLoiLb7CCjzqbIyPWiZHcX0wfR62K7J4UI0tA7rpY9waNEuSgIbQywvJ4vhxxBlUDvDWNASmELRx-lOEFFJqLhZIvOZgOZ3VYMZ-uN97hDWm_rfbl4g/s1600/IMG_2870.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTFlwXAKpgStvulgfiVDgjulSIzLoiLb7CCjzqbIyPWiZHcX0wfR62K7J4UI0tA7rpY9waNEuSgIbQywvJ4vhxxBlUDvDWNASmELRx-lOEFFJqLhZIvOZgOZ3VYMZ-uN97hDWm_rfbl4g/s320/IMG_2870.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695441808624279474" /></a><br />Girls,<br /><br />You really LOVED Christmas. The music, the lights, Santa... Whenever we would get in the car, you usually wanted to listen to Christmas music. Lucy, you always asked, "What's dis one about?" And Jane, you usually answered her, "It's CHWISSMASY music!" You're obsessed with Nativity sets, especially baby Jesus. Incidentally, you have one real baby Jesus (from an actual nativity set) and one fake baby Jesus (he's dressed all in pink and is actually the baby that belongs to the dollhouse set). But you don't discriminate.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_Xb70rMrh82iLm3cdch2vYtheSSo5f4P9IsOiZZcYXszPT0Snis1WCJppXLhxAdHFoxoJyH0WN2ASKSWsPU1uIundPwDSy3IJ2wCUqAUynpKrTcQK-IwacJkwHlbRbrp1rOOIt48fU4/s1600/IMG_2927b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_Xb70rMrh82iLm3cdch2vYtheSSo5f4P9IsOiZZcYXszPT0Snis1WCJppXLhxAdHFoxoJyH0WN2ASKSWsPU1uIundPwDSy3IJ2wCUqAUynpKrTcQK-IwacJkwHlbRbrp1rOOIt48fU4/s320/IMG_2927b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695443572575727122" /></a><br /><br />As we were waiting in line for Santa at the luminary walk early December, we explained that when we got to Santa, you were supposed to tell him what you wanted for Christmas. When it was our turn, you both stood just within his hearing range and shouted, "I wanna Barbie!". Then, as we were leaving, his elf gave you each a packet of fruit snacks. You're thoroughly confused now because your understanding of fruit snacks is that they're Halloween treats. (YES, we're still trick or treating at our house. Pretty much daily, you decide you're ready for a fruit snack pack, so you get your Halloween bags, go to the kitchen door, gently knock and tell me "twick o tweat").<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EY-SqPTkpUZcMAqIsz0wORqZ-iJa_dTaXurrVgyKJQTH6mRyhM9QB1Rn9dFKGPotGF7QvPLXysWJRnu46hr8WTnoxZo-hirbiXZVYJBkZ-XU74tksbF_WQlCgo7jnrYUL2rvzoAH8GU/s1600/IMG_2914.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EY-SqPTkpUZcMAqIsz0wORqZ-iJa_dTaXurrVgyKJQTH6mRyhM9QB1Rn9dFKGPotGF7QvPLXysWJRnu46hr8WTnoxZo-hirbiXZVYJBkZ-XU74tksbF_WQlCgo7jnrYUL2rvzoAH8GU/s320/IMG_2914.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695442698711882466" /></a><br /><br />You loved decorating our tree, taking the time to play with all the ornaments. What's dat one? is a favorite question. You were particularly interested in the wicked witch on her bicycle, the kittens in the basket, sylvester the cat, and winnie the pooh. Tinkerbell's wings didn't fare too well this Christmas. Once there were presents under the tree, you reached a whole new level of interest, and Jane, you picked up one box at least daily to ask me about it. But you were both so good about not trying to unwrap anything and knowing that you needed to wait for Santa to bring your presents Christmas morning. Now that Christmas decorations have come down, you're definitely missing them. Lucy, you just recently asked in a bewildered tone where dat Santa went and I told you he got packed up with the other decorations. You looked so forlorn when you told me, "dat makes me berry sad".<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQl33t9mzWZIIj5ir3VIBvIeXtCTa2GmJx5Bg0zD8wo5779F-ji30DKJ94SWvUaLS_hcAK5HMLao9ieepapUZSAy5SL6A4ENSQKDzwaLbFQcP501jn27Q17jyWpP1fNvkmczzYkX2eATo/s1600/IMG_2931.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQl33t9mzWZIIj5ir3VIBvIeXtCTa2GmJx5Bg0zD8wo5779F-ji30DKJ94SWvUaLS_hcAK5HMLao9ieepapUZSAy5SL6A4ENSQKDzwaLbFQcP501jn27Q17jyWpP1fNvkmczzYkX2eATo/s320/IMG_2931.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695444590530965362" /></a><br /><br />We've been living with Nana and Pops since mid-December (Saturday, December 10th in case you're wondering) because we sold our house and don't close on the new one until the end of January. You girls have handled the transition so well. Luce, you cried several times, saying that you wanted to go home. Broke my heart. We had been telling you for several weeks that someone else was going to live in our house, we were moving in with Nana, then we're getting a new house. Your beautiful minds seem to have grasped these concepts, but I still cried a little the last time I took you through our almost empty house - the home you lived in these first two years of your lives, the home we brought you to when you finally got to check out of the NICU, the home where you've played and laughed and learned and become little girls. We'll miss Leo and runs around the block, and you'll probably miss hearing so many helicoptors. We walked through the house and you both said goodbye to your bedroom, your bathtub (so much splashing went on there!), the backyard... We took you to go through the new house recently, and you seemed to love exploring. Can hardly wait until the end of January when we actually get to live in it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdYe9ExT7i3bcrBWrYmTad9hnpwqucK3TG23wBu-APO1NS1GPCllWkr8ItYrSN1cWC-R1QulVJgJv2LP84LggVqgHCpOXEPVDEE1Fd666NqWxmlvf2O-lXfF-5_xprvp2I8vXUl87hRo/s1600/IMG_2824.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdYe9ExT7i3bcrBWrYmTad9hnpwqucK3TG23wBu-APO1NS1GPCllWkr8ItYrSN1cWC-R1QulVJgJv2LP84LggVqgHCpOXEPVDEE1Fd666NqWxmlvf2O-lXfF-5_xprvp2I8vXUl87hRo/s320/IMG_2824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695445920071001698" /></a><br /><br /><br />Funny things you've said and done recently:<br /><br />Wead me 'bout da crackernut. (Nutcracker) - Jane<br />Any time I call you by a term of endearment or a nickname (such as meatball, monkey, sweetpea...), Lucy, you tell me, "I'm Hilda or Lucy Sessner". If I call Jane those same names, you tell me, "It's Hilda or Janey Sessner". I love that you think everyone's first name is Hilda.<br />I also love that you think everything is spelled L-U-C-Y. You know that's how to spell your name, and I overheard you reading the stockings, pointing to each letter. L-U-C-Y "Janey!"; L-U-C-Y "Mommy!"; L-U-C-Y "Daddy!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgMvEbzy9UGF0v0XPGvl5zPr0eZ5q8nOiaFFcRhwV7UPx6F3M2LHSa2MUDgfNSE3L14Blq9oiT-ntcKnd5ne6BV0IUtk9x1e6nsbBbORs9QSBTFwJKQoqaiFIoo55nHqzuUP6lM0Y_K4/s1600/IMG_2939.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgMvEbzy9UGF0v0XPGvl5zPr0eZ5q8nOiaFFcRhwV7UPx6F3M2LHSa2MUDgfNSE3L14Blq9oiT-ntcKnd5ne6BV0IUtk9x1e6nsbBbORs9QSBTFwJKQoqaiFIoo55nHqzuUP6lM0Y_K4/s320/IMG_2939.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695446789301418786" /></a><br /><br />I love you more than I can understand. Happy 2012!<br /><br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-67578001346127104952011-11-01T15:51:00.001-05:002011-11-01T15:51:00.651-05:00We love Fall!Jane and Lucy,<br /><br />So much has happened! You're two years old. Holy cow. I have two-year-olds. It seems like you get smarter and funnier and more amazing every day. Sometimes every hour. You've both been announcing, "I have a burfday comin' up" to anyone who will listen.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_2fhwg1hlY7QQvx4eIbfBjmICMtcPh3kYTZfrbx-I2XIZWcHpsfWbemC7Yz5Dw2hEOMQm-eoZRsgiULQ7DWj3vVskQoSI4oKGtjyAKxpqg1e7m_62aesywUbyupGQqcae09tKMgx05o/s1600/IMG_2788.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_2fhwg1hlY7QQvx4eIbfBjmICMtcPh3kYTZfrbx-I2XIZWcHpsfWbemC7Yz5Dw2hEOMQm-eoZRsgiULQ7DWj3vVskQoSI4oKGtjyAKxpqg1e7m_62aesywUbyupGQqcae09tKMgx05o/s320/IMG_2788.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669761501390476738" /></a><br /><br />We went to San Diego. You visited the Ocean. Every morning Jane, you got up and said, "I needuh go-to-duh OCEAN!" Seagulls stole your snacks. You saw Shamu, and Lucy, you fell in love with a shark.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFyzXBNsAVIiVB89PrHrXohtfGwEedD_O85WQ4dEKZ8YOBxhqwa8ldcvgbOyICGmKtVel7gqgNoil3sOWk8CFkVe0nJduNhMPh7U3v8DXOJ-FULRhVYVbylK92ugkFlzBtGr8-y-p1QU/s1600/IMG_2717.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFyzXBNsAVIiVB89PrHrXohtfGwEedD_O85WQ4dEKZ8YOBxhqwa8ldcvgbOyICGmKtVel7gqgNoil3sOWk8CFkVe0nJduNhMPh7U3v8DXOJ-FULRhVYVbylK92ugkFlzBtGr8-y-p1QU/s320/IMG_2717.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669761034189870946" /></a><br /><br />You love to jump in bouncy houses.<br /><br />You went to the pumpkin patch. Twice. We have about 700 pumpkins now on our front porch. And under the bed. And in the backyard. And the drawer in the kitchen...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJGJavk3zt9nSI9c6AyIoEoR3OlBPlDKJ_Gy1tYGSn96ner9KncHSwSXXW_2lEmYrBk7d3Ct6RIdgTdn3R-W88fsEcbOOZlYzwwmImb8OP1g34QLHTCv2PjrRsgwb65zHAK7u0gxlM3A/s1600/IMG_2758.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJGJavk3zt9nSI9c6AyIoEoR3OlBPlDKJ_Gy1tYGSn96ner9KncHSwSXXW_2lEmYrBk7d3Ct6RIdgTdn3R-W88fsEcbOOZlYzwwmImb8OP1g34QLHTCv2PjrRsgwb65zHAK7u0gxlM3A/s320/IMG_2758.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669761943320255842" /></a><br /><br />You are enamored with your ballerina outfits. "I wear my TUTU now!"<br /><br />You love to brush your teeth. Especially with Daddy's toothbrush.<br /><br />You run around the block. Sometimes multiple times. It still terrifies me.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFu8ZWsEL3xb60x5u74GjqgHghPXYDTCk2jXaV5HjkFE-oPfsW7_5u4VVReuCEjzOKDz0ECBAZYGdkjkceAx3sbIWjkUR_K8WTeh_huWtE8Zg-gKCC4069LPhir8ZMwOO2WfTyn9Dqfk/s1600/IMG_1699.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFu8ZWsEL3xb60x5u74GjqgHghPXYDTCk2jXaV5HjkFE-oPfsW7_5u4VVReuCEjzOKDz0ECBAZYGdkjkceAx3sbIWjkUR_K8WTeh_huWtE8Zg-gKCC4069LPhir8ZMwOO2WfTyn9Dqfk/s320/IMG_1699.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670127350816075394" /></a><br /><br /><br />You are pretty sure you're faster than Maximus the horse and like to race around the house to show me. Sometimes, well, most times, you two have a head-on collision.<br /><br />You both love to sing. I adore hearing you belting out the ABCs - "next time won't you sing wiff MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE", the eensy weensy spider, twinkle, twinkle, let's go fly a kite...<br /><br />You like your new responsibilities of feeding the fish and the cats. So do the fish and the cats since you're pretty liberal with portion sizes.<br /><br />Luce, you phrase what you want as suggestions. "Maybe I go to Nana's", "Maybe I have some raisins"...<br /><br />You both are sweet, sweet sisters. When your sis is crying, you always quickly head over to crouch down, give her a hug, and ask, "Are you okay?"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-4Wm_JKFPyUGiWzosnmPw_t_RcbekcSK9qyB3PIgbHgOJT7lhXIHieDE65Y4IStvOa0dEM5v0H4cw2q8SKWaRZGW4wLAQLpVZWwx7NReO_Z8owQuOCbw80ytXu5oRfSVa8hXUGVNw2U/s1600/IMG_1676.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-4Wm_JKFPyUGiWzosnmPw_t_RcbekcSK9qyB3PIgbHgOJT7lhXIHieDE65Y4IStvOa0dEM5v0H4cw2q8SKWaRZGW4wLAQLpVZWwx7NReO_Z8owQuOCbw80ytXu5oRfSVa8hXUGVNw2U/s320/IMG_1676.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670127761022832386" /></a><br /><br />You love taking trips to Costco. I'm really not sure what this is about since you've only had samples there once. "I go to Costco, now!"<br /><br />Having Daddy working closer to home is great - you ladies now get to enjoy mornings with him. I love watching you run to the door to wave goodbye as he drives away.<br /><br />You love your gymnastics class. I don't know how we're going to break it to you when this month-long intro class that we bought for a steal is over. You have amazed us with the change from your first class to your third class (fourth and final class is still coming up). You listen to instructions and are willing to try everything. Your body control has improved and you especially love to bounce down the bounce track (aka long trampoline). You practice all your moves at home and make me laugh all the time.<br /><br />You are both so amazing. You're beautiful and funny and so very smart. I'm having the time of my life watching you grow.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fthyntsBYw-eK5zs92gqYVfSsnvqR9VXGyz_5ra-39nO5pJ_GM-90r-Rg501jRxs-lyivb_Cz5ulhrkiUFx5pTo4i0U2VUAn4XntbF_7IMGHPzsNMF-FrI_avuiAml4Qv4tAUDG0Xnw/s1600/IMG_1654.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fthyntsBYw-eK5zs92gqYVfSsnvqR9VXGyz_5ra-39nO5pJ_GM-90r-Rg501jRxs-lyivb_Cz5ulhrkiUFx5pTo4i0U2VUAn4XntbF_7IMGHPzsNMF-FrI_avuiAml4Qv4tAUDG0Xnw/s320/IMG_1654.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670128555035245186" /></a><br /><br /><br />All my love,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-15385033899741230972011-08-02T14:29:00.009-05:002011-08-15T11:32:03.986-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzklQZcyA-uZewf2J_BSlZSDfEk0MX5fxu6FiXN7C5ZgIu3Aw0czioi9JxFzXEWHb2UT_f6mSjrKo3IbmzO6wSLckxIraco1KZj6M6qMoKaLXfRuVDNtKxgDO2XZIDPiI2y459_nZZsLg/s1600/IMG_2595.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzklQZcyA-uZewf2J_BSlZSDfEk0MX5fxu6FiXN7C5ZgIu3Aw0czioi9JxFzXEWHb2UT_f6mSjrKo3IbmzO6wSLckxIraco1KZj6M6qMoKaLXfRuVDNtKxgDO2XZIDPiI2y459_nZZsLg/s320/IMG_2595.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641119318605139362" /></a>Lucy Stroessner! You are hilarious. Recently I got a wild hare and decided you two should try some beets. Well, being the less-than-adventurous-eater you are, I wasn't sure how well that would go over. So I put your dinner plate in front of you and watched. You stabbed a beet with your fork, popped it in your mouth and chewed for about half a second before spitting it out and getting a disgusted look on your face. You said, "LUCY! Don't taste that!"
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GX6Q8HLlY8rH7_7zd2gFPOgycnXnvxZ9foqeq6LmvnPOttRimryWp_0JtwqHSL4MyxrU0n5hxSXsIryCGyUYq_b1LuJirvu49U8ixxQRVTrBNw-g8NVC2M86k8Kvz0LKgfQofaxhdS4/s1600/IMG_2593.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GX6Q8HLlY8rH7_7zd2gFPOgycnXnvxZ9foqeq6LmvnPOttRimryWp_0JtwqHSL4MyxrU0n5hxSXsIryCGyUYq_b1LuJirvu49U8ixxQRVTrBNw-g8NVC2M86k8Kvz0LKgfQofaxhdS4/s320/IMG_2593.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641120007791280610" /></a>Your vocabularies are exploding and I am amazed, amused, and always impressed by your words and even sentences. You both know your last name, so when we ask, what's your name, you each reply: Jane Sesser. Lucy Sesser. You like to call your daddy by his first name, but you know that something isn't quite right about that, so you get a mischevious look on your face when you say, Jeff... Jane, you've been running around the house half saying, half singing, "Mother knows best" because you girls LOVE the movie Tangled, and maybe also because I love to sing to you that mother knows best... Luce, a few of your favorite sentences right now are: "I can do it!" and "That's a hard one" whenever something you're trying to do is difficult.
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<br />You love to play hide and seek, love being outside (even when it's 100 + degrees), and love eating pizza. Especially if said pizza is covered in black olives.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPJusDsuG70Mh9ymCH5En369DHH_zm0IF-Wg60LcceGyip3Ys4t2QWsY2wp5rcyw6e9_g7thAME_0oWTM8edhhAbFKcWEGJv43spW1bSaL3I7X-w5FGffdzv7BCvDIFGr491nuUrnHLU/s1600/IMG_2513.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPJusDsuG70Mh9ymCH5En369DHH_zm0IF-Wg60LcceGyip3Ys4t2QWsY2wp5rcyw6e9_g7thAME_0oWTM8edhhAbFKcWEGJv43spW1bSaL3I7X-w5FGffdzv7BCvDIFGr491nuUrnHLU/s320/IMG_2513.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641120566261946594" /></a>We took a long weekend to go to Chicago and you got to meet some new friends. We stayed with Grace, and we had told you in advance that Grace has a dog named Starly. When we got in late Thursday night and went into the bedroom, Lucy, you clasped your hands together and got a great big grin on your face when you saw a stuffed animal puppy. "STARLY!", you giggled, and then hugged her for a good two minutes. You loved Katy's cat, Zorak, crawling all over Katy's bed and loving Zorak a little too much. You both still refer to him as tiny Zorak, even though, well, he's definitely not tiny. You got to meet and play with Madelyn, Abigail, and Amelia, my college roommate Deb's four-year-old triplets. And we went to Navy Pier, Garfield Observatory, and Shedd Aquarium. Oh, and you had your first oatmeal shakes from Irazu. Yum!
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTZhip2fG41kdiaqKjBdeNpJiiTHT6jLznAl6QTls3Kk7wTjto1rT8tFGZoyk-ugyXCB54qihFRdeT8CJ9uIGfx0nfyHKyvK43sfb0qQNp_BT8Ui7SOwHbC9TmwRd0MUL2CqpMeyw8Yw/s1600/IMG_2505.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTZhip2fG41kdiaqKjBdeNpJiiTHT6jLznAl6QTls3Kk7wTjto1rT8tFGZoyk-ugyXCB54qihFRdeT8CJ9uIGfx0nfyHKyvK43sfb0qQNp_BT8Ui7SOwHbC9TmwRd0MUL2CqpMeyw8Yw/s320/IMG_2505.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641120888843463058" /></a>You girls are the best. Even when you insist on drinking your cereal.
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<br />Love,
<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-943762615713385542011-07-13T15:25:00.002-05:002011-07-13T15:26:44.789-05:00No way, Jose!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIdvZjP5AVfVPB623FMSKajp8iXnK7BiIcq9XLBYTKKtbZQ-_Bd_mmoWI3CZpaLVGwp_V5e7lakexoz-cpLzibZlK8tYkCau2_cUVQhcYxMc3VgE6LAuwVlb3zTwPHoeCE6guvEznsgQ/s1600/IMG_2487.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIdvZjP5AVfVPB623FMSKajp8iXnK7BiIcq9XLBYTKKtbZQ-_Bd_mmoWI3CZpaLVGwp_V5e7lakexoz-cpLzibZlK8tYkCau2_cUVQhcYxMc3VgE6LAuwVlb3zTwPHoeCE6guvEznsgQ/s320/IMG_2487.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628934788756864210" /></a>I love summer. Heat, long days, fresh produce, and chlorine-soaked toddlers. I think you girls love it, too. The other night we went to the Fairway pool. It was your first visit to the public pool and my first visit in about a hundred years. And it was great fun. You were both in your swim diapers and little rashguard swimsuits. We started out in the toddler pool and you were both a little nervous. Didn't even want to walk around on your own at first. You were more comfortable when we moved to the big pool and you swam with us. It's fun to watch you kick those little legs. And Luce, you insisted that you wanted to go down the slide the entire time. Or, at least until we distracted you with drinking out of the water fountain. Don't worry - we did not let you go down the slide. Janey, you put your face in the water several times, and although you'd always look surprised when you came back up, you didn't fuss at all.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrD8DyETHkrJyq1Su3if5WYV4G5jOx2sbMqwDvLBwntZbi9lMXOBXx4n7mG20wjFdk7FTHcTZ4C1rsPpKQXDQEzMIixr9Sa_Q1oi8Hu4WlaWv8seSEnduCCrmlVqcdvrUTK-WZN2znRM/s1600/IMG_2479.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrD8DyETHkrJyq1Su3if5WYV4G5jOx2sbMqwDvLBwntZbi9lMXOBXx4n7mG20wjFdk7FTHcTZ4C1rsPpKQXDQEzMIixr9Sa_Q1oi8Hu4WlaWv8seSEnduCCrmlVqcdvrUTK-WZN2znRM/s320/IMG_2479.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628932171544631266" /></a>We've been having people over for dinner occasionally the past couple of weeks. It has been nice to be sociable and normal, but I've also been inviting people because I want it to be normal for you ladies for us to have company. After warming up, you've enjoyed playing with everyone so far. You like to run around in the backyard and take flowers to our guests, and if they're lucky, you show them the broccoli. Ah, you love that broccoli. You've been watching it grow for weeks, and now, when we're playing outside and you decide you need a little snack, you go over and pick off a piece and pop it in your mouth. I'm not even making this up. You girls love to eat fresh, raw broccoli grown in our very own backyard. What more could a mama ask? <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbof7kQc2f_e5ErIZD-jYNsfEL0FdJzBNhpGriX5n9-LjlcHT5YkUbgBB0E-qZLSFVVPiA7AY3CtmJuVmgzrJKQgTqpPxFDpe7M66p6IuqXUoJoNLoZFbpO8rNeiTze7LxFxb3NqzoaI/s1600/IMG_2475.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbof7kQc2f_e5ErIZD-jYNsfEL0FdJzBNhpGriX5n9-LjlcHT5YkUbgBB0E-qZLSFVVPiA7AY3CtmJuVmgzrJKQgTqpPxFDpe7M66p6IuqXUoJoNLoZFbpO8rNeiTze7LxFxb3NqzoaI/s320/IMG_2475.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628932856742016946" /></a>Luce, apparently I've taught you to say "No way, Jose!" And now you say it ALL THE TIME. In response to everything. Before it was just a simple No. Now it's NO WAY, JOSE! Your other favorite thing to say right now is "Move it!". To me, to your sister, to the cat... You also like to request very specific foods that you'd like to eat. Pizza! Roll-up! Mac 'n cheese! Ganola! When I tell you that you already had a fruit roll up today, would you like something else, you say, Something else! <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxn0E1OlfwWVPPzWAwaaR6svR6wMysN4LltWEDdsO_D1F7i-sysWNIK3qqRgylA0vpOZnIokZ7gYlKZ0s5zgTORkkjfAG29U8u0zB0C7Kwcs-FojTMXYPeKdhvOx36ZU6ZoPwOV5rZLhg/s1600/puppet+pilgrim+center.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxn0E1OlfwWVPPzWAwaaR6svR6wMysN4LltWEDdsO_D1F7i-sysWNIK3qqRgylA0vpOZnIokZ7gYlKZ0s5zgTORkkjfAG29U8u0zB0C7Kwcs-FojTMXYPeKdhvOx36ZU6ZoPwOV5rZLhg/s320/puppet+pilgrim+center.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628927256778108994" /></a>Jane, your favorite thing to talk about right now is TALL PUPPET MAN. That's right. We took you ladies to a kid's film Friday or something like that (we only made it through the concert and puppet time - the movie didn't start until after 9:00, and if I know anything about my ladies, it's that you like to be in bed well before 9). Anywho, there were lots of puppet-like things on long sticks that kids were playing with, and at first you were both absolutely terrified of TALL PUPPET MAN. In hindsight, it was probably a bit much for me to think we could just walk up to something over 6 feet tall with a billowing dress, all these kids dancing around it while it bobbed around. But after burying your face in my neck and recovering, you were curious, and eventually we made it over to TALL PUPPET MAN, and you started waving at him and even touched his tall puppet man hand. Now it's all you want to talk about. TALL PUPPET MAN this and TALL PUPPET MAN that.<br /><br />I can hardly believe how grown you two seem at only 20 months. I love you two meatballs so much.<br /><br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-63857296277474900842011-06-23T13:14:00.003-05:002011-06-24T10:44:53.033-05:00Melting my heartLadies. Last night after I put you in bed, a helicopter flew over the house and since your window was open, you both came undone (neither of you are loving loud noises right now and you both startle pretty easily). By the time I made it back up the stairs, you were both standing in your cribs sobbing. So I picked you up (yes, that's right - both of you) and sat down with you in the rocker. You each had a shoulder and nestled your sweet little sweaty bodies into me, facing each other. We rocked and sang for a bit, and then you both reached out and started holding hands and then began to softly giggle. I had to quit singing because of the lump in my throat. I love you little meatballs. I love watching you enjoy each other and become friends. And I love your sweaty little sleepy toddler bodies. I am so fortunate to be your mama.Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-59553443254272888232011-06-14T10:44:00.026-05:002011-06-17T15:02:46.475-05:00Meatballs,<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapuS_M35RH5bnthFwEHHmMwHMzhTEp87ZElBsfYCYOgNUOJd8jAncwZyyFt7lYoN5LgoFvmB0ab63ptCfXEBcrExMTrarl3Q6IN3fAZhcnF-88JnUTi2pINs8CYiPIJSBpv9wyLgBvhA/s1600/IMG_2390.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapuS_M35RH5bnthFwEHHmMwHMzhTEp87ZElBsfYCYOgNUOJd8jAncwZyyFt7lYoN5LgoFvmB0ab63ptCfXEBcrExMTrarl3Q6IN3fAZhcnF-88JnUTi2pINs8CYiPIJSBpv9wyLgBvhA/s320/IMG_2390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619278703121425314" /></a>You girls crack me up. The phrases and words you say, and even more, the way you say them. Lucy, you say "come on" with an emphasis on the "on", and you always say it very forcefully. Like, get a move on, already! Also, you pretend to be a southerner and give it about two and a half syllables. "Come aowwwn". You call grasshoppers "hoppers", love saying "honeybee", and instead of hamburger, you say, "hangabur".<br /><br />Janey, you are a climbing machine. Your favorite thing to climb right now is your highchair, which is pulled directly up to the kitchen table. No more trays, no more booster seats. I think you both feel like big kids when you sit at the table. Now, if only I could convince you that it's not fun to dump your milk, orange juice, and water all over the tablecloth... You love to sing and carry your baby around everywhere you go. Sometimes she sits on your lap while you sit on the toilet.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPrcLk9mQWGqKcvHHdcJM0wHdxFdmQFJQmbVntAlajfWD4ysLLpbhgsbq9HK3SMQDZpzaFGzPPBt48ap0mANkhYM31oxJaYhUqHWsjAFycvwuGSnCGgewQLucwgu2adEErIiDlW23eaE/s1600/IMG_2412.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPrcLk9mQWGqKcvHHdcJM0wHdxFdmQFJQmbVntAlajfWD4ysLLpbhgsbq9HK3SMQDZpzaFGzPPBt48ap0mANkhYM31oxJaYhUqHWsjAFycvwuGSnCGgewQLucwgu2adEErIiDlW23eaE/s320/IMG_2412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619280252569487554" /></a>You girls had your first camping trip. Loved sleeping in our big tent. The rest of the weekend required me to drink a bottle of ready made margaritas. You ladies love to explore, which I adore and totally understand - I mean, you're one and a half. You want to check out the world. This meant that your daddy and I spent the weekend chasing you around trying to keep you out of the poison ivy, road, firepit, stream, and fish feeding pond things. I'll tell you right now that I would have had a full-blown nervous breakdown if not for your Uncle Todd and Aunt Emily who took over Saturday afternoon for ice cream, walks to feed the fish, and a nice long nap. I wouldn't change having the two of you for a bazillion dollars, but sometimes I'm envious of the relaxing that takes place with people who just have one kiddo.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPutSQEER7c8GQPeV5kzE4PfFbWZ9n7RnOdI_sXP6m3pHczdKnnTqoH4sP1zrdQUnhiOVyNh8s_q-7S8bz-9FZqd2zs8aKb0Ghv-eO4KZdVtdF5M_kxuurTtFawCHB8T4WFVKgpazrIk/s1600/IMG_2409.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPutSQEER7c8GQPeV5kzE4PfFbWZ9n7RnOdI_sXP6m3pHczdKnnTqoH4sP1zrdQUnhiOVyNh8s_q-7S8bz-9FZqd2zs8aKb0Ghv-eO4KZdVtdF5M_kxuurTtFawCHB8T4WFVKgpazrIk/s320/IMG_2409.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619279075593573378" /></a>You girls have moved into a different classroom at daycare, and you have taken the change must better than I anticipated. Your new room has cubbies for each of the kids with an 8 x 11 photo of you taped to the inside of it. Well, Lucy, Ms. Hattie noticed that you had your head inside your sister's cubbie and went over to investigate. You were kissing Jane's picture. You scream and yell and forcefully tell Jane to "move it" when she's touching you, on top of you, or even generally in your space. But apparently you do love your sister...<br /><br />Jane, you love to jump all over the house. Both feet come off the ground now :) Last night, you also spent a good deal of time spinning in circles until you'd get dizzy, then you'd fall hard on your bum and laugh and laugh. Repeat. And both of you have a special monster walk that's pretty funny. You bend way over or squat down and lumber around while making faces.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIRUKA3o_cO8ixq-xpxJDvKQ7mROSYMvJpyb5GlRl-ZoP-SWOF8MHJaVdovDprEi-_bZGFDxhYOykXCfqNyAi1J5KQzrjm02zefX5eFAjhtWy5xzQR7ExRE-zSwN3QYhMRksnEeTgsUs/s1600/IMG_2405.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIRUKA3o_cO8ixq-xpxJDvKQ7mROSYMvJpyb5GlRl-ZoP-SWOF8MHJaVdovDprEi-_bZGFDxhYOykXCfqNyAi1J5KQzrjm02zefX5eFAjhtWy5xzQR7ExRE-zSwN3QYhMRksnEeTgsUs/s320/IMG_2405.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619279384962066530" /></a>You love to chase squirrels at the park. I never thought I'd get such a kick out of something that seems so... you know, hillbilly. Luce, you see one off in the distance, scream "get it", then both you and Jane take off running. You squeal the whole way, and neither of you give up until you're actually under the tree, looking up, squinting with your whole faces, as you watch that squirrel scramble for his life.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwGiDhJfpK7sPbRQzfCs-O-qisdlitanlkYfKRSRq3UA-NxbKJQ0TIPmMVNHX9Ryd5lXbwHhtMrP2pSo645H7M9v2BhR4rQs1InowUaRQJJ2TCxQ7eBnILmq0z3Vi5DLZVExtkgNN4E8/s1600/IMG_2392.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwGiDhJfpK7sPbRQzfCs-O-qisdlitanlkYfKRSRq3UA-NxbKJQ0TIPmMVNHX9Ryd5lXbwHhtMrP2pSo645H7M9v2BhR4rQs1InowUaRQJJ2TCxQ7eBnILmq0z3Vi5DLZVExtkgNN4E8/s320/IMG_2392.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619279869375685394" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's such a joy to get to watch the two of you love life. Thanks for making me smile, cry, laugh, and want to get up early in the morning to use our juicer so you can have fresh oj.<br /><br /><br />All my love,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-31699857069070059352011-05-08T10:29:00.020-05:002011-05-27T13:49:48.734-05:00Mother's Day #2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oJWecsEiFdudQ1Jkjo3UBYpXObA4LOo589Dusit_uVL0n-Sga15GL2ma0VK0qi1wzdbwo500Dol3q_LGc5nO1W_gs85eO41afB8oaPkODCr9-QS4eYWSCu3HZeVzjWmVKqP7w9YDVUY/s1600/IMG_2309.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oJWecsEiFdudQ1Jkjo3UBYpXObA4LOo589Dusit_uVL0n-Sga15GL2ma0VK0qi1wzdbwo500Dol3q_LGc5nO1W_gs85eO41afB8oaPkODCr9-QS4eYWSCu3HZeVzjWmVKqP7w9YDVUY/s320/IMG_2309.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611463792861738386" /></a>Girls! Happy Mother's Day to you, the little ladies who have made me a mama. It was a gorgeous Sunday. We went for coffee and bagels (Jane, you like cinnamon raisin but are not interested in blueberry; Lucy, you like them both) and a trip to the park. We got there early enough that the playground was empty and that suited the two of you just fine. Jane, you were so giddy that you ran laps screaming, while you Luce, ran straight for the slide. You rode in your wagon, picked some flowers, saw some geese, and met a poodle. Jeff, thank you for the lovely Mother's Day. And thank you for your role in making me a mama :) Can you even believe we have daughters? We went to Nana and Pops' house for lunch and you guys got to run and play some more. AND, you almost sat still long enough for some pictures with me, your Nana and your Mimi. Four generations, Ladies.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1DV4eaDFzE0xEes53qMRPKXnhE1QkDkvyMgUZkKfmKnRmz4I-A_CtVKFJrovzu8yQjYiRLJPMUlT5WlUZF9O970lMGx_O7W2qVc86p50ov9Wfog4Ze3e6-xI_6mzajcNHnw-JLa3_80/s1600/IMG_2316.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1DV4eaDFzE0xEes53qMRPKXnhE1QkDkvyMgUZkKfmKnRmz4I-A_CtVKFJrovzu8yQjYiRLJPMUlT5WlUZF9O970lMGx_O7W2qVc86p50ov9Wfog4Ze3e6-xI_6mzajcNHnw-JLa3_80/s320/IMG_2316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611467952755082882" /></a>So, Mother's Day is past, but while I'm writing there are a few things that I want to mention. Lucy, you woke up the other morning when I was already in your room. Truth be told, I had gone in there wanting to wake you both up as gently as possible, which means I open the curtains and make a little noise. It's less that I make noise and more that I don't try to be quiet. Anyway, you suddenly sat straight up in your bed, wild-eyed, wild-haired, and shouted, "Hippos!". I think you must have been dreaming about them. They were the most memorable part of your trip to the zoo with your dad the week before. When I asked if you dreamt of hippos, you announced, "Hippos. Drinking".<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYNKMIg51ooS7TBC-ojhzQGPDNBRtGsWiRxdP57GckQDzEZDGxUcg2WfYB6LzB0HPDIGuh9OPS-AwhN7UOeYsvyYBSmMtob9RePyLbRTYslNhb7hb6MGn0VHz3S0U7PwE8j7r2Lfj5gU/s1600/IMG_2272.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYNKMIg51ooS7TBC-ojhzQGPDNBRtGsWiRxdP57GckQDzEZDGxUcg2WfYB6LzB0HPDIGuh9OPS-AwhN7UOeYsvyYBSmMtob9RePyLbRTYslNhb7hb6MGn0VHz3S0U7PwE8j7r2Lfj5gU/s320/IMG_2272.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611468448739617970" /></a> Jane, you are a reminder to me that I must say "Oh my" a lot around you girls. Because you say it a lot. And it's so contextually appropriate that it makes me laugh. The other day you got into a cabinet that I don't normally let you in, and you had a little time to explore and discover before I realized what you were doing. But I could hear you saying, "Oh. Oh my. Oh". It was the funniest thing. Also, you hum yourself to sleep in the car. You'll be jabbering and singing and then as soon as you start to hum, I know you're about to fall asleep, annnnnnnd, you're out.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejWSm7Eha_lIhp4X7c8urtkFpd7CToMunU10WFyLTjTZ9GKYrWFerA08wvN2Bj_kUyfMfC1vA4MFEJ163te7ifrm84nCsX51RD2kKHkiAnKtVSn9D0R7zYZ1CglhCrhyphenhypheneKbej2sF4kY8/s1600/IMG_2283.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejWSm7Eha_lIhp4X7c8urtkFpd7CToMunU10WFyLTjTZ9GKYrWFerA08wvN2Bj_kUyfMfC1vA4MFEJ163te7ifrm84nCsX51RD2kKHkiAnKtVSn9D0R7zYZ1CglhCrhyphenhypheneKbej2sF4kY8/s320/IMG_2283.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611469225690024498" /></a>You ladies love trains, airplanes, and helicopters - both the kind that fly in the sky, and the ones that come off of trees. Jane, when we walk, you like to collect things - most recently sticks. Lucy, you like to collect flowers. And you like the flowers so much that you often have a pollen mustache. It makes me want to gobble you up.<br /><br />All my love,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-5409796704779348712011-05-04T08:19:00.005-05:002011-05-08T10:29:03.639-05:00Hand, foot, who?You know what is really NOT cool? Hand, foot, and mouth disease. Your first clue should be that this virus is actually called DISEASE. Which is awesome in it's ability to completely freak a parent out. Your second clue should be that one of the symptoms is blister-like eruptions, that's right, ERUPTIONS, in the mouth.<br /><br />Girls. I am so sorry. I'm sorry for your dad and me because aye caramba, batman, you ladies are not feeling well. And in case you need reminding, there are TWO of you not feeling well. And really, I'm pretty sure that the ideal ratio is 3.5 well adults per 1 18 month old with HFMD. This means that I also feel sorry for your Nana, who watched you both yesterday All By Herself. But mostly, I feel sorry for you Jane and Lucy, because you have been miserable. Your fevers have been dreadful and have come with the chills. In the bath the other night, Jane, you started to turn purple. Your teeth were chattering, and I took you out and you sobbed until I got your warmest jammies on. I cuddled you with your favorite blanket and you just shivered and cried. Lucy, when you woke up the first night with your fever, you couldn't be consoled, so your dad brought you into our room with an armload of books and we read to you until you were more concerned about hungry Mr. Bear than your throat eruptions. The next day, all you wanted was to be read to. If there's anything to be happy about in this, it's that you love books. I just hope you don't associate them with being sick.<br /><br />By now (posting time), you're both feeling better, but I'm posting this anyway just so you ladies don't get the idea someday when you go through and read these that life is always rosy. Sometimes it's full of disease and throat eruptions.Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-64296744649084683462011-04-27T10:30:00.003-05:002011-04-27T18:31:32.666-05:00A year and a half!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzzonDiXsAMPMs9SfQGcL2QMIWa4HqvBb0eMxUiErDnaHgoCk_9mtuOPOyJDwq2Wr6KUWahOg7DySQ08A8MaOqbHEmpkIH2f2k8-TpROp4Jj1D9XB0rc4OKW7L7v6naEuLTmM3STmlik/s1600/IMG_2186b.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzzonDiXsAMPMs9SfQGcL2QMIWa4HqvBb0eMxUiErDnaHgoCk_9mtuOPOyJDwq2Wr6KUWahOg7DySQ08A8MaOqbHEmpkIH2f2k8-TpROp4Jj1D9XB0rc4OKW7L7v6naEuLTmM3STmlik/s320/IMG_2186b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600286360563186066" /></a>Still getting cuter. Girls, although you both speak pretty clearly, every now and then you'll have a word I don't understand. And so I start guessing. So maybe the word Jane says is "munchkin" but it sounds like muusomethingorother and I start in on the guessing. Monkey? Lucy, even though Jane was the one that said it, you're the one to let me know I'm wrong. NO. Money? NO. Music? NO. You're very patient with me, but by this point you're shaking your head fairly violently, and after the third guess, both of you are finished with me. Lucky for me, we have a big bottle of bubbles handy, so you generally still have faith that I'm a decent mama.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xBZrGpkoKTSGcR30LgwRevoefZKxkUlNyIvY8l39yPT2ZNzjz-bXSNISVBdXv9y0OQx5nwq703faDQwiQ118IP84_rfD2aLHAE5gJzR_ymmta6ONUMMcCbTt9ds5_vwz6WwSdFfhL6I/s1600/IMG_2177b.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xBZrGpkoKTSGcR30LgwRevoefZKxkUlNyIvY8l39yPT2ZNzjz-bXSNISVBdXv9y0OQx5nwq703faDQwiQ118IP84_rfD2aLHAE5gJzR_ymmta6ONUMMcCbTt9ds5_vwz6WwSdFfhL6I/s320/IMG_2177b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600286670182760050" /></a>Luce, one of my favorite things you're doing these days is asking about being quiet. If Jane is sleeping, you touch your little index finger to your nose and say, "quiet?" I know that you've seen me put my index finger to my mouth and say, "shhh", and I love that your version of that is the nose touch. Also, you're walking all over the place now! I'm so proud of you, Meatball. We spent Easter with the Stroessners and I can't tell you how much I loved watching you and Jane run and play. Your ability to walk seems to have really increased your confidence and your willingness and excitement to explore.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDXZJZcQVZgDpGAmq71kGC3aXZ6RILMkfy9AuKK9wSCg6cekxdQSCvZZNBtBjeflXZLuH-Y-IH4EpSUq-GgnzbucON5FR7_MlcG9HFrWaEFebG3Q-PZTnModVetDMQuFjwIQzX-tD8Eg/s1600/IMG_2259.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDXZJZcQVZgDpGAmq71kGC3aXZ6RILMkfy9AuKK9wSCg6cekxdQSCvZZNBtBjeflXZLuH-Y-IH4EpSUq-GgnzbucON5FR7_MlcG9HFrWaEFebG3Q-PZTnModVetDMQuFjwIQzX-tD8Eg/s320/IMG_2259.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600287308351151266" /></a>Janey, your dad mentioned last night that you're the most free-spirited little kid he's ever seen. He's right. You're fearless and loving and sweet and always discovering and living to the fullest. On the not so great side, this seems to mean that we are completely unable to get you from throwing your food, your plate, your milk all over the place. It is completely mind-boggling to me that I can be supervising dinner time (or breakfast or lunch) the best that I can, but it only takes you a millisecond to hurl everything on the floor. Short of you being spoonfed for the rest of your life (which currently makes you scream), I don't know how to keep this from happening. I am hoping that this is a short-lived phase because frankly, I can't keep up with the ants that find your mess. On the great side, this means that you are one of the most delightful little people ever. I love that you race around, that you share with your sister, that you stand on your tiptoes to see the world that is just out of your flatfooted reach. I also love that you refer to yourself as Janey.<br /><br />Girls, today you are 18 months old. You are still my babies, but you are so much more. You are my sweet, precious, funny, smart, loveable, sticky little meatballs. Happy year and a half.<br /><br />Love,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-71484248054312111062011-04-09T16:27:00.016-05:002011-04-13T21:12:51.418-05:00Special thanks to Andrew Lloyd Weber<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HghI-GAJzOJf6Q21G7r6ZYTn0mXcXkbe4I2RGiDuP_Xbfj-jMtWYNbChyseGnufAU93maQMWBORDlY8e3aN90ulpHmWwMP8jCru_YqjLTYF5CVXYRmVKrVViaX1VZWFf01lxe-WMmtE/s1600/IMG_2059.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HghI-GAJzOJf6Q21G7r6ZYTn0mXcXkbe4I2RGiDuP_Xbfj-jMtWYNbChyseGnufAU93maQMWBORDlY8e3aN90ulpHmWwMP8jCru_YqjLTYF5CVXYRmVKrVViaX1VZWFf01lxe-WMmtE/s320/IMG_2059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595254916970640834" /></a>I am not a crazy musical loving person; I'm just a standard musical loving person. Meaning, I haven't seen a lot of them and frankly, I have no interest in some of them, but I do enjoy Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. A lot. So, I occasionally break out into the theme song. Go, go, go Joseph...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-peC0ZfQPXFP5Vsz9xOMy9-JTT8O7vaHVsPLpbQwLLdkeAnrpLN9NVixkuIzNB1pMIYUR4SLbyfMButVm_WOqRb10RMoj9ZTKA72wztJhvuxgfRHGjOHu0K6ZEaLLmrmhHwQlc7sg4ZA/s1600/IMG_2086.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-peC0ZfQPXFP5Vsz9xOMy9-JTT8O7vaHVsPLpbQwLLdkeAnrpLN9NVixkuIzNB1pMIYUR4SLbyfMButVm_WOqRb10RMoj9ZTKA72wztJhvuxgfRHGjOHu0K6ZEaLLmrmhHwQlc7sg4ZA/s320/IMG_2086.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595254378658812338" /></a>And here's how that goes in our house:<br /><br />Go, go, go Lucy, you know what they - and this is where I pause and Lucy screams "SAY!"<br />Go, go, go Janey, you'll make it some - another pause from me and Lucy screams "DAY!"<br />Sha, la, la Lucy, you're doing - and this is where Jane gets into it - "FINE!"<br />You and your dreams are ahead of their - both ladies now - "TIME!"<br /><br />Donnie Osmond, I believe you have met your match. I mean matches.<br /><br />Other things going on in your worlds:<br /><br />Luce goose, you love to help wash your sister's hair. I get her lathered up, and you get a determined look on your face and start scrubbing her head earnestly. I haven't decided who I think is sweeter - you for wanting to wash Jane's hair, or Jane for putting up with it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo8wKJBR4Off_33nQqN7dCIxXEoifLPER1HAV2zdKpnREijnjMhf4VtEf4QN_wGrGzurwiM1LtWQPKhTdYZtznqQgcPDIWoIBKJwF9evshualxUXMw8Rx8qO6FC4-krEVD9MPiv8x6Lo/s1600/IMG_2085.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo8wKJBR4Off_33nQqN7dCIxXEoifLPER1HAV2zdKpnREijnjMhf4VtEf4QN_wGrGzurwiM1LtWQPKhTdYZtznqQgcPDIWoIBKJwF9evshualxUXMw8Rx8qO6FC4-krEVD9MPiv8x6Lo/s320/IMG_2085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595254044880590258" /></a>Janey bear, I couldn't have been more pleased and proud than today at lunch when all you wanted was roasted broccoli. Thank you sweetheart. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFU4gFTlYVF5Q-MOnARjdhGN-g6_b5LgYzYuwE5ruhQvZkzzRWtgC2dTjclfYWsfaZRLwO1RlRAjnULjeU4i1zL4d0fbiUfXOjguIbxpoxlck-Yk8LbXz_5OGmgVTQpjtwzlUEyGRhEhE/s1600/hammock.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFU4gFTlYVF5Q-MOnARjdhGN-g6_b5LgYzYuwE5ruhQvZkzzRWtgC2dTjclfYWsfaZRLwO1RlRAjnULjeU4i1zL4d0fbiUfXOjguIbxpoxlck-Yk8LbXz_5OGmgVTQpjtwzlUEyGRhEhE/s320/hammock.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595255248520983138" /></a>The two of you LOVE the park. As soon as you realize where we are, one or both of you start chattering about the slide, slide, SLIDE or the SWINGS! or the duck, duck, goose. It's adorable to put you at the top of one of the slides and watch that huge grin as you whoosh down. It's fun to watch you walk around the playground. It must be such an overload. Neither of you can decide if you want to try to play with another kid or climb something, or go straight for the sand pit. And, speaking of the sand pit, I do believe you ladies have achieved some kind of status in the kid world, because you were both recently asked by a little boy if you'd like to help dig a hole. You weren't interested. Turns out you were more interested in filling in said hole...<br /><br />Couldn't love you more,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-36374253845048834502011-03-16T15:26:00.007-05:002011-03-22T14:52:06.487-05:00Janey and the bees<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTJVC1R35ZSdOG8vSRSVfVq1hPFCUHTkER_vtEkqSL2oEFvB6asmpRRn20EkcHRNqVN6Z9HmWXdj_OU9SKEBkf6XMCAaEw4d3LWUXkI3onRdDcPNPQTtR7-47q0hmVJCvOepcqvN8Njs/s1600/IMG_1998.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTJVC1R35ZSdOG8vSRSVfVq1hPFCUHTkER_vtEkqSL2oEFvB6asmpRRn20EkcHRNqVN6Z9HmWXdj_OU9SKEBkf6XMCAaEw4d3LWUXkI3onRdDcPNPQTtR7-47q0hmVJCvOepcqvN8Njs/s320/IMG_1998.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586994169007766274" /></a>First, I'll go ahead and admit that bees have absolutely nothing to do with this post. But I like the sound of Janey and the bees. It's like a band waiting to happen.<br /><br />It's finally warm enough to spend a little time outside, and wow, does that make you ladies happy. Jane, you run around in such a manner that I am starting to understand parents who have their kids on leashes. Yesterday after I got you guys home, we were out front playing and running and touching puppies and runnning and I think you get the running theme. It was funny to hear you panting. I made you hold my hand while you ran, both because I'm still a little concerned about the possibility of you knocking a couple of teeth out with a sidewalk faceplant and because I'd prefer you not run into the street. You did not want to hold my hand. At all. Not even a little bit. Ah, my sweet little independent Janey.<br /><br />Getting to the main story. The crocuses are finally up! And open! And beautiful in all their purple glory! And you and Lucy were both pretty worked up about the FLOWERS! Flower! Flower! You like to squat down and touch them, and when I told you to smell them, you did. You shoved your little face down into that patch of flowers and maybe because they didn't actually smell, you kept shoving your face down closer and closer, until finally you lost your balance and ended up with your face in the dirt. But you didn't mind! You just jumped up, took off (with me chasing you), and started hollaring about the next thing...Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-37234236158384406802011-03-09T16:09:00.003-06:002011-03-09T16:17:10.724-06:00Lucy goosey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWo2T-lq792zcX5q48KGl-t1HwBuO3EB13lBPLe_cZK3A3svauzESJ1YeZT2ooYXZp_4lWSyA8AhKiycR2MUrZ-V0qJ3lxrhNgw4THtg5inAnR54V7rbZWQB9OXoXFFaJ8RiQ9U_-fBI/s1600/IMG_1970.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWo2T-lq792zcX5q48KGl-t1HwBuO3EB13lBPLe_cZK3A3svauzESJ1YeZT2ooYXZp_4lWSyA8AhKiycR2MUrZ-V0qJ3lxrhNgw4THtg5inAnR54V7rbZWQB9OXoXFFaJ8RiQ9U_-fBI/s320/IMG_1970.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582207511430249026" /></a>Luce, Here's one that cracks me up. One evening over the weekend, the four of us were upstairs playing in your bedroom. I left you and Janey with your daddy so I could get something on plates for you two to eat. Well, apparently you did NOT appreciate me leaving. I was already down the stairs when I heard you say, "Mom". I didn't reply. "Mama." Still didn't reply. "MOM". Finally, I incredulously listened to you shout "Shelly. SHELLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE". That is some funny stuff, Kid.Shelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3764331085018197633.post-23267736335254724122011-01-28T16:22:00.024-06:002011-02-18T11:24:32.964-06:00La-la-la-la-ladiesOh Girls.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFtrSs2fHLU3m4TfoMs4lqYSPSFB1YKkZmhZNeWYXkAlSI77q2A3Tm5IPBiCqM8vBJaIo_brOMhKnXXYDqs5TGK-oLzYYIrZjEvBVrESmKabG-GlXCHtVwOuBBahBQVh6ffsKms6aCCE/s1600/IMG_1871.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFtrSs2fHLU3m4TfoMs4lqYSPSFB1YKkZmhZNeWYXkAlSI77q2A3Tm5IPBiCqM8vBJaIo_brOMhKnXXYDqs5TGK-oLzYYIrZjEvBVrESmKabG-GlXCHtVwOuBBahBQVh6ffsKms6aCCE/s200/IMG_1871.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575077474702621266" /></a><br /><br />Where do I even begin? How about with our car ride the other morning when you were both singing with me?! Jane, you started to get fussy (as you are wont to do anytime you're in your carseat for longer than .75 seconds)so I quickly turned off NPR and turned it to one of your fun kid cds (your daddy thinks it's less fun, but that's a different story altogether). And you two got down to business. The business of singing along. You're pretty funny and particular when it comes to music. You certainly have preferences and we have to skip some songs because they make you hollar. Like the Muffin Man song. You guys are NOT fans of the Muffin Man. But the rest of the time, Lucy, you just sit back there sweetly and croon along, getting especially into it when there are any "la-las". And I'm pretty sure that sometimes you're both less than impressed with my singing along, so that's when you start to really belt it out. Who knew that my 15 month old kids would already be drowning me out? When we're in the house listening to music, you girls like to dance. Luce, you get this big smile on your whole face - eyes light up, eyebrows lift, and you start to wiggle. Janey, you've been known to shake your cute little bum or do your fake jump (this is when you're convinced you're jumping - squat down, push up fast, but the feet don't leave floor - well, occasionally the heels come up...).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_HfxEfHR_PM3m0YIX8TsodzDfAJeSwZHXd82EkZ48uA8JbhdWR4Ej93FO7b6BBJs9_3TDUxAkOkitRHlot1cTu0bTyYdjEyNDC48mYlpTRTPqhXlzfQptfXU3IuUzbjPz_Rmz_eevPE/s1600/IMG_1866.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_HfxEfHR_PM3m0YIX8TsodzDfAJeSwZHXd82EkZ48uA8JbhdWR4Ej93FO7b6BBJs9_3TDUxAkOkitRHlot1cTu0bTyYdjEyNDC48mYlpTRTPqhXlzfQptfXU3IuUzbjPz_Rmz_eevPE/s200/IMG_1866.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575080069888350946" /></a><br /><br /><br />We've recently had mountains of snow, and our neighbors built a giant snowman, complete with lei, crazy leaf hair, and button nose. The two of you have been SO intrigued by Mr. Snowman. We went over to take a close-up look the day he was built, and since then, the front door is one of your favorite stops as you pull back the curtain and yell, "snowman! snowman!". When he started to melt the other day (hurray for non-freezing temps!), you two seemed confused, sad, and then decided you needed a snack. Thank goodness for short attention spans.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCTF3zCksV5Pwar_12dibW_lF0WRTrIuFP4q91pksFm-7JaNRoDxvMYJ439GgkjDJp_fDAOyjFgSMpMjrSitKjCaPkhCGeL2ZSNKVLIWaslCGhk6wejpekzeotvxkHtTKltCG80_Fbzk/s1600/IMG_1887.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCTF3zCksV5Pwar_12dibW_lF0WRTrIuFP4q91pksFm-7JaNRoDxvMYJ439GgkjDJp_fDAOyjFgSMpMjrSitKjCaPkhCGeL2ZSNKVLIWaslCGhk6wejpekzeotvxkHtTKltCG80_Fbzk/s200/IMG_1887.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575077946123454994" /></a>Jane, you're such a sweet girl. And, I'm just going to say it. That surprises me. Because it seems contrary to your nature. You're a speed-demon, an adrenalin junky, a bulldozer. <strong>And </strong>you're a sweetheart. You plow right through, over, into your sister, and the next second, you bring her a cracker. Or her favorite frog. You race around the house, bare feet slapping the floor at a frantic pace, and you swing by me for a quick kiss.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVo5ivJC5ZPZ7oDujl4DXLuBepgk20VxWI_d19CYUFCvvuibHDS33YUqu4u27lW0_UIuqIitcMVqAUOixytE55Pw3ScJlGYq1zbmro0-0w4m-wccdRahJkZBbIslv83FSowDmzpfjPXs/s1600/IMG_1917.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVo5ivJC5ZPZ7oDujl4DXLuBepgk20VxWI_d19CYUFCvvuibHDS33YUqu4u27lW0_UIuqIitcMVqAUOixytE55Pw3ScJlGYq1zbmro0-0w4m-wccdRahJkZBbIslv83FSowDmzpfjPXs/s200/IMG_1917.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575079005657575282" /></a>Lucy, you have oodles of words, but you still won't say your name. Or at least not "Lucy". You have apparently decided to call yourself "Lulu". I hesitate to write that here because I'm definitely not committed to the idea of Lulu being your nickname so I don't want to encourage anyone else to call you that. Let's give it 6 months or so and see if that's what you're still calling yourself. In the meantime, it sure is sweet when I tell you to say Lucy, and you smile at me and announce Lulu.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5yd_ixkBa2IlsrYbWWNgzJThJCv-DKbqa0U_aJpMIBtJtBPY9pFzPDNiFtQ8_trPgtBM9Tdk1DJ9OFCNUJvzj6NmLTVKT1qEMw2GECODjB02o8En7og7TTmhyYRQMi1ZIQaDcT0HJZI/s1600/IMG_1909.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5yd_ixkBa2IlsrYbWWNgzJThJCv-DKbqa0U_aJpMIBtJtBPY9pFzPDNiFtQ8_trPgtBM9Tdk1DJ9OFCNUJvzj6NmLTVKT1qEMw2GECODjB02o8En7og7TTmhyYRQMi1ZIQaDcT0HJZI/s200/IMG_1909.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575080748512844802" /></a>Ladies, you love your body parts and naming them. Luce, you're most fascinated with your knees and your "baila". I always think you're wanting to dance when you first say that, which must mean that Sra. Schultz really did a good job of frightening the Spanish into me way back in high school, but then I quickly remember that you don't speak Spanish (that I know of), and you're actually talking about your belly. Jane, you recently called it your baby button, but the absolute funniest thing you've done to date was the other morning when you pressed that outie all the way in, smiled at me, and proudly announced "OFF!". You can turn lights on and off, why wouldn't you be able to do the same with your baby button? Good thinking, kiddo.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbM-dxpL0No3mjN3H2uD0RMH6jYJIn1KJ8a-21tOywWPvBKx-XA8KWRlGCQp4ZtXq69s31QqjKaUTL5RgM2OxUOHZyrBxaSOsmJUfC8MV5JpFJ34pfw_YLja4hP284P5_bwUjIvfW7wo/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbM-dxpL0No3mjN3H2uD0RMH6jYJIn1KJ8a-21tOywWPvBKx-XA8KWRlGCQp4ZtXq69s31QqjKaUTL5RgM2OxUOHZyrBxaSOsmJUfC8MV5JpFJ34pfw_YLja4hP284P5_bwUjIvfW7wo/s200/IMG_1924.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575081317836149058" /></a>If it's possible (I write "if" because I'm honestly not certain), you two are becoming more fun, more yourselves, more lovely by the day. And each evening, when I check in on you before I go to bed, my heart does a double beat, and I think, no, there's no way you can get any better. And then you do!<br /><br />All my love,<br />MamaShelly Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03246436861173715225noreply@blogger.com0