Excuse The Mess

You know how some people wear their heart on their sleeve?
I'm not that into fashion.
But I do wear my head, on my house.
That might not make total sense.  It's because my head is a hot mess right now.  You could tell that, if you came over.  The best way to tell how I'm doing, really, is to look at the inside of my house.  It's pretty much always an accurate reflection of the state of my mind.  If my home is neat and tidy, organized with maybe some fresh flowers on the table, all is well friends.  When it's looking unkempt,  you can bet that I'm feeling scattered myself.
At the moment, this place is an actual disaster.  I am half expecting FEMA to knock on the door one of these afternoons.  There are mounds of (at least clean) laundry on the sofa, piles of papers on various surfaces, stuff everywhere.  Peanuts.  I have not cleaned the upstairs bathroom in over a week.  True story.  It's that bad.
It might have to do with the fact that in the last month, the following:

*Miss's birthday party
* Trip to Maryland for the funeral
*We found out that we are moving back to DC (oh, hi, by the way- we are moving to DC. In two weeks.)
* Two trips to DC for me and Mister to look for schools and houses
* Two houseguests
* Easter- including hosting an Easter brunch and egg hunt at our house (because why not)
* Family trip to DC for school interviews and orientation
* Yard Sale (meaning- I tore the house apart ferreting out things to get rid of, stockpiled them in the garage, then organized, folded, labeled everything, and sold it.  Because I'm crazy.)
* Some birthday parties for the kids' friends
And now we are:
*Preparing for a big goodbye party so we can say a farewell to our local friends.  At our house of course.  I suppose I'll have to feed the FEMA people, too.
* Packing  and planning for MOVING in TWO WEEKS, which really snuck up on me there.
* Packing and planning for a six week road trip (yes, I said that) in between here and moving in.  A road trip so epic, it includes packing for both snow and 110 degree temperatures.  Not to mention enough rattles, sticker sheets, books, and snacks to keep three Littles happy along the way.  And the camping gear we will be living in much of the time.  Have I mentioned that with three car seats in, we have about 12 inches of trunk space?  What could possibly go wrong?!
* All the One Last Things that one feels compelled to do just before leaving a place and it's people for good.

This wasn't my favorite duty station.  Frankly, I think I never really forgave it for being the place I had to survive in while J was deployed.  But it's grown on us slowly, and we have found some friends we are really going to miss.  But such is the Navy life.  We move on.

And anyways.  We have to move before the house is condemned.  You know, one really nice thing about the prospect of having no house to live in for six weeks, is the prospect of having no house to clean for six weeks.  Freedom is coming, Peanuts!

The amount of things I need to organize and take care of first are piling up in my brain like the laundry on the couch.  I don't know how either will ever get in order, but I know now, from experience, that they somehow just will.
In the Navy, sailors learn that there is a calm before a storm.  But their spouses are more familiar with the inverse phenomenon that occurs here on the home front- the storm before the calm.  While we ride this one out, forgive the fact that it looks like a hurricane has hit my living room.  And my hair.  In a couple of too-short weeks, the mess will be packed up, so will I, and I'll be logging stories from the serenity of the open road.
Even a neat-freak like me has to admit it; sometimes, especially when it means an adventure is closing in, getting messy is fun. 

A Day In My Perfect Life

The day of the funeral for J's grandma started early.  Darn early.  Strong coffee in the dark early.We packed up the car and carried disoriented, pajama-ed Littles to their car seats and strapped them in.  We drove almost four hours, we arrived.
I hauled the disheveled crew into the church bathroom and got them changed and brushed, braided -and warned.  This was going to be a quiet time.  It was important that we be patient.  Respectful.  Haven't I mentioned how seriously Catholics take their churching? They needed to be on their very best behavior for the length of the service, and then there would be a reception. With a kids table!  They nodded, we went in.
Our family was seated in the first pew.  The very front, Peanuts. In a church that was jam packed all the way through the vestibule and to the door. Generations of family, and friends from other families, who have lived in that town and attended that church for not just generations, but hundreds of years.
It started out all right.  The Littles were a little tired, a little hungry.  But their second cousin came to sit with us, and that helped.  At first.
After awhile, though, the boredom began to eat away at their sanity.  Missy, in particular.  In fairness to Her, She was not exactly misbehaving.  She was not cranky, She was not fussing.  She was just admiring the flowers, noticing a bird out the window, wondering if it was lunch time.  Out loud.  She wasn't screaming, or whining either, but in that little chapel in the hush of a funereal crowd, Her sweet little voice was as obtrusive as a locomotive letting off steam.  I kept Shhhing Her.
All the kids began to squirm a little.  Not to worry! I am a prepared Mama, am I not, Peanuts?  I plan ahead, I know what I'm doing here, amiright, Peanuts?!  I saw the antsy-pants and headed off the meltdowns with my genius solution- crayons.  And coloring books.
This magical combination has served me well in many a pinch.  It has even been the key to breezing through entire Catholic masses!  So of course, I had great confidence.  Except.  Constantly turning pages and scribbling hard over a hollow wooden pew turn out to be noisy activities in a certain setting.  Not to mention three very sweet children who would not stop sharing - 
"Can I have the blue one? Thanks!" During the invocation and "Here! You want this pink and green one?"  during a bible reading and "Hey I'll trade you these three for your yellow!"
Who would not stop enjoying themselves- "Hey that's a really great rainbow!" when everyone was tearing up and "MOMMY! Look at my dol-pins they ah jumping ina ocean!" during a moment of silence.
And then, of course, the occasional "PLINK!...Roll....Roll....roll-roll-rollroll-rooooolllll" of a crayon to the back of the church, beneath somber feet.
So the thing is.  Despite the fact that Miss wasn't doing anything particularly wrong, per se, She was constantly and with increasing agitation getting SHUSHED.  This was annoying.  So annoying, that finally, She'd had about enough of it.  I mean.  Her sister was all engrossed in coloring with the cousin, Her dad was holding Her sleeping brother. Poor Missy had no one to play with but me and I was being an infernal killjoy.
She was telling me all about Her picture, and would. Not. Stop.  So I scolded Her as quietly as I could, admonishing Her to PLEASE be quiet.  And it was the Sshh that broke the camel's back.  The hands, Peanuts.  The Missy hands went to the hips.  This began a domino reaction.
The hands to the hips, the hips swung to the left, they cocked the head, which swished the pigtail, just over the forehead which furrowed and frowned above the eyes, which glinted and glared, highlighting the grimace on the little mouth, which opened to emit- the holler.
And the holler said, "NO!" 
I knew that Missy would repeat this answer as many times as needed until I learned not to interrupt Her.  So I picked Her up, and stepped out of the pew box.  She knew, in that moment, what was happening.  That She'd lost. And so She LOST it.  I am talking an all out, kicking legs, screaming at the top of Her lungs, world class, grade A tantrum.
And so I got to carry this thrashing siren.  AAaaaalllllllllll the way down the isle of the church.  Through the packed vestibule.  Out into the parking lot.
Having a small child is like Russian Roulette.  Every time you see a child having a tantrum in public you think- it's not me! This time.  But then one day.  One day, guys.  POW! You're That Mom.
And, if you're really lucky, it happens in the front row of a church.  During a funeral.  
Miss and I had a really, really serious talk in the church parking lot.  A come-to-Jesus, if you will.
After which I got to carry Her aaaaaaallllllllll the way back up aisle and into the front row to finish the service.
The talk worked, and the rest of the morning passed without any incident other than Little One beaming a cousin in the back of the head with a snowball.  Which I was actually a little impressed by.

But then, there was the lull between the service reception and a family dinner.  In the lull, we met J's cousin and Her family at a museum.  We got there first.  We soon realized that the museum was closed for the season.  We realized this because Missy suddenly took on an expression of horror and announced that She wasn't feeling well.  I was feeding the baby and J just grabbed the kid and ran.
A little later I looked and saw J's head stooped over some shrubbery.  In the garden of the museum courtyard.  Not 3 yards from the locked front door.
I grabbed our portable travel potty and ran like I was on fire squeaking "J! J!! You can't- She can't- this is a muSEum!"  He looked up at me, exasperated, holding the hem of Missy's skirt.  "What was I supposed to do?!" He asked. "It was BAD."  Poor Miss.  She was very upset. And very much a mess.  I had to use plastic bags to attempt to decontaminate the landscaping and to dispose of some clothing.  We went through a lot of wet wipes, and I kept looking over my shoulder for security cameras or police, or judgement day.  But in the end we got everyone decently sanitary and into extra clothes.  We met up with J's cousin's family and set out on the walking trail to take in the scenic lake and historical structures.

Along the way, the kids found a duck.  It was one of those decoy things duck-hunters use on the lake, and had been left laying around.  The kids loved it.  I mean, it looks just like a real duck! I don't know if it worked out for the hunters, but the children certainly thought it was worth flocking to.  They played with it, toted it, dragged it on it's rope like they were walking it on a leash.  In a few short minutes, it had become a family pet.  When we stopped for a break outside the open gift shop, Little One made an announcement.
"Ours duck needs a name! Lets name it!"
The other littles cheered and nodded in agreement.
"Yes! Ok! We will name it a good name- Hey! I know a name! I know a name what rhymes with duck!" 

 . .
----

Can you guess, guys?  Can you guess what name.  Rhymed with "duck".
For the second time that morning, a sound emitted from the mouth of one of my children caused all adults within earshot to fall into immediate and total silence.
"Oh! Uh..." -I had to say something Peanuts- "Uh, um, hey.  Hey, how about LUCK?  That rhymes! How about Luck duck or lucky duck instead!"
Little One was offended.  Why did I have to micromanage everything? Why did I have to steal all the thunder?
"No, we already named it.  It's F*#@.  F*#@ Duck. That's his name." 
The adults began to cringe and protest.  Little One was so baffled.  She didn't know what everyone's problem was, only that it was really annoying.  The more we tried to coax Her into choosing another name, the more adamant She became.
"F*#@!  FU#@!  It's F*#@  F*#@  F*#@  the DUCK!  F*#@ DUCK!" At the top of Her frustrated little lungs.  At the museum.  With J's family.
Finally I managed to pull Her aside and whisper to Her that I knew She didn't understand, and She wasn't in any trouble, but that word had a grown-up meaning, and it wasn't nice. We don't use that word. She was totally miffed.  She shrugged me off with an "ok" and was a little sullen and grumpy with me the rest of the walk.  Finally we arrived at the lake and the kids all got cooed at by a couple on the beach.
"Oh! How cute! You have a duck! Is that your duck? It IS? Awww! What's it's name?" 
The adults in our group froze. We stared.  We waited with baited breath.  We were all on the verge of stepping in! Little One looked at the decoy.  She hesitated a moment.  And then, a little reluctantly answered, "It's Lucky.  Lucky Duck".  The strangers "awww"ed and the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief.  After a while we headed home.

With the car in sight and our good-byes said, we were ready to go to the family dinner at the restaurant.  I was ready, still in my dress clothes from the funeral.  Walking to the car I half-joked to J, "Well. At least we made it."  At that very moment, Little Mister woke up from His nap, having been peacefully held right up to me in His sling.  He looked at me with shining, innocent eyes.  He smiled.  And then He pooped an epic, gale-force, poo.  He had not pooped in three days.  Three.  Days.  He had saved it all.  For that moment.  The diaper exploded.  The sling became a linen goo-pool.  Mister and I both were covered.  Back in this parking lot of the closed, no bathroom museum.
Someday when I die, if I go to heaven I will look around.  I will find the person who invented wet-wipes.  I will kiss them.

Much later, we finally got home and *bathed* and into bed at J's aunt's house.  She helped me tuck in the kids and showed me Her fancy "white noise machine" that helps her grandkids sleep.  She turned it on so we could enjoy the magic.  It worked great! It drowned out all background noise! It worked so well, that late in the night when Little Miss awoke in a dark, strange room and was too scared to get out of bed, I could not hear Her calling for me.  I could not hear Her at all.  Until finally, I did.  And found Her sobbing in the bed.  Soaking wet.
I gave Her a bath and dressed Her in Her dad's TShirt.  I made Her a little nest on the floor next to me, so I could hear Her.  I washed the blankets and the sheets and cleaned the mattress.  I fed the baby and climbed into bed around four in the morning.
Some days, I go out with my children.  I wear white and come home clean and tidy. I get compliments from strangers on how lovely and well-mannered my children are.  Some days I like to pat myself on the back a little.  Hey! Doing all right! Some days it seems easy, or at least workable, and it seems like we are on a roll.  And then some days. Some days we have this hot mess.

Life is all about balance, isn't it?  It's all about ups...and downs.  But as bad as that day got, come on.  It was kind of funny.  And the silver lining?  The good thing about all this happening on that particular day, the day of a funeral?  It's that no matter how much literal and figurative crap one I go through in this life- it is life.  I'm lucky to have it.  I'm happy that I get to have these days where my family is all together and if it has to be crap we're going through, at least we go through it together.
J's Grandma, from what I knew, was a lady with a fabulous, ready smile, and quite the sense of humor.  I'm still a bit in shock that she's really gone, and I'm sad about it because I liked her a whole lot, and she was very kind to my kids.  But it makes me feel a little better thinking that if she was watching, from somewhere, as we tried to pay our respects, I'm pretty sure she got a good laugh out of us.

It's A Fine Line Between Vegetarian and Cannibalism.

We were discussing- delicately- where our food comes from.  It is a relatively recent revelation to our children that meat not only comes from animals (an ambiguous term; I am realizing they had the idea that friendly pigs mailed bacon to people), but in fact is animals.  Little One is grappling with the ethics of this information, and Missy is just trying to put together the startling duplicity of it all.
So, at dinner:

Miss: "So, tuh-key is made out from tuh-keys, dadah?"

J: "Yes."

Miss:  "Chickin is made from some chickins."

J: "That's right."

Miss: "Right.  Right! Chicken is made from chickens.  And tofuh-key is made from toes." 

Horn, Tusk. W-w-whatevah.

Little Miss is a talker.  She's a great one- She can tell you "all 'bout it", no matter what it is.  Her vocabulary is extensive, and the only verbal vestige of Her babyhood is the "R"s.  Little Miss can say Her Rs, but She mostly doesn't.  Generally, She omits them altogether, giving Her speech a unique mixture of Boston and southern belle.  She pahks the cah.  She gets Her heh done.  And Her fingah nails.  Words that start with R pose a particular difficulty, and tend to become Ws.
Combine this quirk with Miss's distinctive tenacity and, well.  For example:

Miss and J were playing with a sensory toy, in which objects beginning with the same letter are grouped together.  They were working on W.

J: "What's this one?"

Miss: "A W-w-wAHgon."

J: "Yes! And this one?"

Miss: "A W-w-wAffle."

J: "How about this one?"

Miss: "uuhh, that one? Hmm.  Oh! I know.  It's a W-w-wi-nocerous!"

J: "But it has to start with W."

Miss: "Yes it IS start wif a dubbah you.  W-w-winocerous."

J: "Um...no I think it is a walrus."

Miss: "Dad.  A walus isn't a aminal.  That's. a. wi-nocerous."

Little One Found Jesus. He Was Wearing Sequins.

Have you ever been to a Catholic Mass?
We're Catholics around here.  For you nons, let me tell you. It is serious business.
It's largely the same every time; stand up, sit down, kneel, recite, pray.  The message of each service changes but the structure does not, and the seriousness does not.  We do not mess around.  Nobody can get a witness in a Catholic mass.  We shush and listen to the man in the dress.
J and I, we're some Catholics.  Some of us more somber than other.  (ahem...J). 
But we've never really found a "home" church here.  So we haven't attended much mass in Virginia.
BUT.  As every lazy Catholic knows, skipping Mass is one thing.  And skipping EASTER Mass is another.  Easter is the one time each year that all the closet Catholics get dressed and make an appearance.  We take for granted that we will at least go to church on Easter.
We decided, though, that since we're hosting a brunch tomorrow, we would do a Saturday evening Mass instead of Sunday morning (totally permissible by Catholic standards).
And.  Since we don't really have a special church, and since Little One has been asking since we moved in to go to the church down the street, and since it was, after all, right down the street- and had an earlier evening service than the nearby Catholic place...we decided, what the heck?  Let's try something new. Let's go to the big church with the billboard and the waterfall.  It isn't Catholic.  But it's Christian. Tomato, Tomahto.  Right?  Right.
So.
Peanuts.
We walked in.  This church, it had a gift shop.  And! A coffee shop.  Whoa.  And it was huge.  And had movie theatre seats.  With a big stage in front, all fancy with fire and stuff.  Little Miss was like, "Um...what are we doing?  I thought it was for chuh-ch?" We rolled with it.
By the way we are all dressed up.  Fancy Easter dresses and such.  Someone asked the girls if they's recently been flower girls.  Nope, lady.  We just get formal when we're Catholic.  Nice leopard-print tights, though.  Also awesome.
The girls came with their "church bags"; little purses with crayons, notebooks, stickers.  I even included a lollipop I was so concerned they hush during Easter Mass.
Little did we know.  Not only was this a very different sort of church than we're used to (different is good, you know), but unbeknownst to us, it was not going to be "church" at all.
It was going to be.  A musical.  
Yes.  It was going to be a TWO AND A HALF HOUR musical play about Jesus- manger to ascension.  The pastor got up at the beginning and we all prayed for the lighting and sound crew.  The  Littles looked at me like,  "What the communion is going on here?"  The live band plugged their electric guitars into some  *VERY POWERFUL* amps, and the show began.  Little Mister's eyes got very large.  But He sucked away at that pacifier and kept quiet.  Not that you could have heard Him if He's screamed; my ears are still ringing.  Despite the decibels, Missy began to nod with Her lollipop candy (it broke off the stick) in Her mouth. It terrified J and I until She finally chomped it up and went to sleep in the second act.  Mister went in and out the whole time- mostly out.
But Little One.
I mean, it was a *musical*.  In the bathroom at intermission (all my Catholics are like, "at the WHAT now?!") yes, at the intermission, Little One excitedly told me, "Mom! I love this! It is so NOT-boring, I don't even need all my crayons and stuff! I don't even need any-thing! It's so a'citing!" 
Yes.  She was excited for the whole thing.  She asked lots of questions and payed close attention.  She did a little bounce, a little sway, when the gospel songs got rocking.  She may have held a hand up, every now and again.
At the end, the pastor got up and did some talking. He asked if anyone was coming to Jesus tonight.  If anyone was feeling the spirit.  People raised their hands.  Little One raised Her hand.  Miss and Mister continued to sleep.  He asked everyone who was finding or re-finding Jesus to come to the front.  I let Her go.  I saw Her fly down the isle in a blur of silver-pink dress and billowing hair.
But the crowds got so large I began to worry.  So, with Little Mister asleep in my arms, I made my way down to the front of the seats.  Little One was in the VERY front, both Her hands raised high, listening to the pastor and not caring, particularly, whether I was there or not.  But I stayed.
The the guy said that all of us in the front, who had just found Jesus, would be counseled. And suddenly! There was a woman at my arm asking my name, address, and email.
Um.
Ok, so.  I figured, they won't hound a little kid, right?  So I panicked and threw mine under the bus.
"Um...I....I-I....ask Her!"  I pointed to Little One.  "I.....I just...followed Her up here." 
I dunno, guys.  I kind of thought she'd leave it alone if it was just a little kid.  But no. The lady asked Little One to spell Her name and address and took it all down.  I was just trying to get out of giving out my phone number and email, when Little One saved me by pulling at my dress and plaintively begging, "Jesus! Jesus!!" 
She'd asked me earlier, so I knew.  And I explained to the address-lady.  "She said She really wants...to meet Jesus." 
She did, guys.  She  had been begging since the crucifixion.  She wanted a photo with him.
Lady was touched.  She said,  "You want to meet Jesus?  Let's meet some Jesus."
And she took Little One's hand.  And without even acknowledging this over-protective parent, off they went.  Backstage.
A moment later, J popped up cradling a sleeping Missy.  I was cradling sleeping Mister.
"Where's Little One?" He asked.  And I could only answer,
"She... She...She's gone to be with Jesus."
She had.
A friendly usher ushered us backstage, too, and there She was.  Jesus, who had been Risen and exalted, was standing there in his stage make-up and purple, sequined Jesus gown.  Little One had stars in Her eyes. At Her bequest, we snapped a photo and about a dozen people remarked on the adorable piousness of Little One as we made our way out.
Even though the length of this production put even a Catholic Mass to shame (no easy feat) I'm glad we went. For one thing, I believe that trying new things and different things is important.  And this thing was about as far from a Catholic Mass as you could fly and still say "Jesus".
For another, the kids had a great time; it was like going to a loud, slightly off-key broadway show.
Also, though, it told the Christian Easter story like no book ever could.
At one point, listening to the dialogue, Little One asked me, "Mommy, what's a 'sacrifice'?" 
Do moms ever know the answer to that one.
In the end I think She actually got a lot out of it, and J and I had to laugh just a little as we hauled our Littles back home to bed. Because of course.
Of course  if Little One is going to find Jesus- She would find Him onstage.

Miss Gives Away Her Birthday Gifts

When we were planning Little Miss's Kitty party, the cat adoption activity brought on a talk about animal shelters and cats that don't have families to live with.  It made Missy sad, and She asked if we could bring some birthday cake to the "sad kitties" to cheer them up.  I had to explain that cake probably wasn't the best food for a cat, but that She could always choose to ask for cat things at Her party, and share those.  Missy jumped at that plan, and so instead of gifts for Herself, She chose to ask guests to bring cat items to be donated to the local shelter.  This past weekend we gathered everything up and headed over to deliver them in person.

Miss at the shelter with some of Her birthday gifts  

Helping Hands

The shelter volunteers were wonderful; they were very excited about the supplies and even gave Miss a birthday cupcake as a thank-you.

Missy was pretty excited about that, but the best part was getting to go into the cat room to give toys and play with the cats.


She was in Little Miss heaven.  She gently pet and talked to all the cats, and one black and white kitty was especially fond of Her.  She got in lots of furry cuddles and was all smiles!

We dosed Little One that morning with allergy medicine, dressed Her in layers so She could peel off Her furry cardigan, and washed all over in the bathroom right after. So She got to participate in the visit, too, and though She sneezed and itched a little the rest of the day, it was worth it.

The girls also got a personal tour of the shelter, visiting dogs, bunnies, ferrets, rats, and birds.

We wrapped it up with an outing to our family's favorite restaurant for lunch, and it was an awesome day!  In our family, we do make-a-fuss birthday parties, and we consider that to be our gift to our birthday child.  So almost all the packages Miss unwrapped this year went to the shelter.
It's true that little kids love getting presents on their birthdays. But a new toy loses its novelty value and soon ends up with the others on a shelf somewhere.  Our Littles are very lucky to have generous grandparents and aunts who never let them go a year without a box arriving with something special just for them, and I think that the gifts they receive are more appreciated when they come from revered grandparents, and don't get lost in a mountain of coloring books and plastic ponies.
Besides which, I can honestly say to all the friends who brought donations to Her party, that they gave Her a gift far beyond the value of a bag of cat food.  For the worlds' greatest lover of cats, a whole morning surrounded by kitties was priceless.  I don't think any object could possibly have pleased Her more.
And though of course I can only surmise, I think that the feeling of being thanked by the shelter staff and seeing the cats bat at and chase the toys She brought them will outlast the memory of any toy we could have bought Her.
Sometimes, the best gift is the chance to give.

Little Mister FOUR Months

Four months.   FOUR! So it's official; Mister is no longer a "newborn".  He's a real, bouncing, BABY boy.  Now that we are in full baby-mode, Mister has lots of news to share.

Accomplishments:

BIG one! He rolled over!  Hanging out with me and my mom, rocking some tummy time, I was just saying how close He was to rolling, when He flipped over onto His back! He did it a few more times, just to show off, and was very proud of Himself.  We were too!

He has discovered feet.  Funny little devils.  Fun to stare at, chase after, and fun to kick stuff with. Kicking stuff has become almost as fun as hitting stuff. ( Insert gender-biased boy comment here).

He has perfected the Grab, and all persons with dangly earrings and/or long hair beware!  Most recently, He can also grab and shake, and it it pretty exciting.  I mean He shakes both the toy, and Himself.  

He has moved from the cradle in our room to His own crib in His own room.  With mixed results.  Mister can make it about a six hour stretch at night- but doesn't love to.  He would highly prefer, of course, to be snuggled all night.  And all day.  And just all the time.  But we are working on getting Him to fly solo at night.

It may be a long effort, though, because He continues to have some feeding issues probably due to his tongue-tie. Yeah, apparently that's like a real thing.  He may have to get snipped, but His sissy of a mama is dragging feet.  However, as a full night's sleep seems to get no nearer, I am reconsidering.  The problem is that He can't get enough milk to get really full unless He takes a bottle, and so He tends to wake every four hours still, starving.

He'd love to be a bottle-fed baby.  There is so little effort involved that He just kicks back like He's on the beach with a margarita and gets this glazed over look as He glugs it down.  Too bad for Mister, I am stubborn and He can just forget it.  But He has other likes that I can give in to:

- Bath.  Of course.  Still a huge fan, and getting very splashy.
- Books.  Loving trying to grab the pictures off the page, the more colorful the better.
- Sisters.  Nothing makes Him smile and wiggle quite like hearing His sisters come in the door, or getting one face-to-face.  It's awesome.
- Any direct attention.  He looks so honored when anyone talks right to Him.  "Me? Who ME? Are you talking to ME?! WELL HI THERE!!!"
- And loves a good back and forth conversation.  Even the serious talks eventually turn into comedy. This guy loves to laugh.
- Seeing the world.  During the day, His preference is to be carried around; going on a walk is even better, but getting toted about the house is also good, so long as we keep moving so the scenery changes.
- Hi sleep sack and pacifier.  OOooooh COzy.  He loves to snuggle in.
- Swings, gently being lifted up and down, getting danced around with.  A man of action!
- His hands.  Those things are delicious.  And fascinating! Did you know they can attach to one another?  Whoa.
- Baby toys.  He is finally erudite enough to appreciate the finer qualities of blue fuzzy elephants.  The ones that rattle are for sure the best ones.  Especially the blue, fuzzy elephant that rattles.

A few things still don't make that happy list:
-Boredom.  The worst thing ever is to be left on the play mat a few seconds past interesting.  Or to read one page past novelty value.  Or to be in a gosh-darn Evil Chair (car seat) for more than about two blocks.  BORing!
- Nursing.  It's a love-hate thing.  But for the most part, this necessary endeavor is frustrating and even a little painful for our poor guy.
- Poo.  He can't stand a dirty diaper.  And loves to be changed.  Unsnapping His onesie makes Him grin and gurgle.  It might also be the partial nudity involved, but He definitely loves to get clean.
-Hats.  So sad, because He is so bald and it is still cold.  We battle it out.
- Other people's sneezes.  He can take a lot in stride, including (thanks to the Sisters) a lot of noise.  But people sneezing freak Him out.
- Being upset.  Being upset, makes Him upset.  If I don't attend to Him right away, He seems to forget what He was crying about. All He knows is that He's unhappy, and He's going to scream about it until forever.  If He fusses from hunger and I don't get to Him before He's worked Himself up, then trying to feed Him only makes Him more mad.  "AHHHH! I'm already SO upset and now you're shoving stuff in my face! YOU MONSTER!"  If He fusses because He's dirty and I can't change Him right away, laying Him on the changing pad makes Him rage.  "AAAH! I'm already SO upset and now you're abandoning me on this surface of some sort! YOU MONSTER!"  If He's sleepy and I don't get Him settled into His crib before He melts down, putting Him in His beloved sleep sack only amplifies the screaming.  "AAAHHHH! I'm already SO upset and now you're cramming me into this sausage casing! WHY ME?! YOU MONSTER!!"  I have learned that when He gets going, I have to calm Him first, and then solve the underlying issue.  This can lead to some extreme measures.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm ready to try out for the circus, should I ever require a career change.

But I'm not looking to run off to the circus any time soon.  For one thing, with three kids, two dogs, and a move coming up, I can't imagine it would be a whole lot more exciting.  For another, even fuzzy tigers and dogs in tutus have nothing on the cuteness I get to indulge in here.
The newborn stage flew by so awfully fast, and I know that Mister's babyhood will too.  I can't slow it down, but the benefit to being the third (there's got to be some benefits, right?) is that I know that.  But I mean, I really, in my heart, in my bones know it.  And so I reflexively soak up the baby drool and giggles and gurgles every moment I can.  Little Mister, you were such a lovely newborn. I just know you will be a fantastic baby, too!  

Kitty Party

You know, Missy started Meowing before She said Her first word.  It is a great mystery of life how a lithe girl raised in a family of dog-lovers could become such an adamant cat person, but here She is.  OBSESSED.  So when I started to ask Her what kind of birthday party She'd like this year, I didn't even get the whole question out of my mouth before She began dancing around hollering "Kitties! Kitties! Kitty pah-tee YAY!" 

And so, though I had the uneasy feeling of enabling an addiction, we went for kitties.  How can you have a kitty party?  Just like, put some yarn out or something?  Hmm.  Some brainstorming with Miss and Little One got ideas going and pretty soon we ended up with the kittiest party I think Miss could have asked for.  It was a lot of fun! 

When our guests arrived, they stopped at the "cat shelter" and picked out a new cat to adopt.  

They named their new friend and filled out an adoption certificate and "license" tag, and chose a cat carrier to bring it home in.  

free printable adoption certificates from chickabug

Of course, the carriers and name tags needed a little decorating first.  

Then they went over to the animal hospital and gave their new pet a thorough check-up.  

We had some doctor kits out, and a favorite cat anatomy and fact book for reference.  There were cat eye-charts, dental charts, and physical forms to fill out with crayons, and band-aids and bandages for those who were diagnosed with owies.  

All the cats finished their visit with a Rx for some vitamins (fruit snacks) to take home. 

After that they went over to the pet shop so they would have all the supplies they needed to care for their new pet.  

They picked up some cat food (chocolate cereal), a food dish (painted baby food lids), and a cuddly blanket.  

They they got to fashion a collar out of ribbons and craft a toy for their cat out of pipe cleaners, feathers, and beads.  

Now that they were all set, our new cat-owners went to the "fancy feast" for snacks. 

 

Fish stick and chicken nugget "catch of the day"

cat-nip dip and veggies

strawberry mice with twizler tails

goldfish in a bowl (swedish fish in jello)

canaries and kitty chow (chex mix)

goldfish punch (just blue Hawaiian punch and sprite)

And, of course, cake.  I had a lot of fun making this cake.  Marshmallow fondant is like grown-up play-dough.  Everything was vegan and allergy-safe, so we didn't have to worry about anything.  

Little Miss loved the party.  She was very specific about Her guest list, and was so happy that Her best friends from school and play group were there to play with Her.  

Mister's kitten onesie, along with Little One's shirt and Missy's skirt made by my mom!

"MEEEEOWWW!"

She was in Her element with all the cat-ness.  

As usual, the only thing She wasn't so happy with was the moment She was forced into the center of attention.  

All those staring, singing people just weird Her out! She hid behind Her hands and whispered to Little One, "You do it, sissy!"  So Little One helped Her out and blew out the candle for Her.

  

Of course, getting to eat the cake helped Her make a quick recovery.  

I usually make a piñata, but for a cat party? The idea of bashing a cat in effigy seemed a little morbid. So instead, I drew faces and ears on easter eggs and added yarn tails to make them look like mice.  We filled them with goodies and J hid them while the kids had cake.  Then all our kitty friends ran out onto the playground for a mouse hunt!

caught one!

We ended the fun by running off all the sugar on the playground.

Little Miss had ballet right before the party, a quick nap after and then attended the party of a couple of Her friends who share a birthday week.  Then She and Little One headed over to their weekly swimming lesson!

It was an absolutely jam-packed, could not possibly have fit in any more fun kind of day.  Missy had a great time- we all did!  Happy Birthday to our Little Miss kitty-cat lover.  We think She's the cat's meow!