cinco en mayo

Five years ago this very day, I got to meet this girl for the first time:



She had a crazy, fluffy head of hair and long, curly eyelashes. Still does. She was quite noisy. Still is. She did not care much for sleeping. That, thankfully has changed. As have many things this year, which I didn't realize until I went back and read last year's birthday post. She has not asked to be called Lightning in a while, and she hasn't played with any "Cars" characters in months. She has gotten so independent in her play this year. She will spend lots of time in her room dressing up her stuffed animals in doll clothes and generally anthropomorphizing them. She loves any toys that have millions of pieces, like puzzles and Playmobile sets and Polly Pocket and Legos. She also enjoys play-doh, painting, drawing, playing with Sasha, and yes, FINALLY, she truly has fun playing with her brother. Although we did have an amusing conversation yesterday during which she let me know that there might be a couple of ways that she could possibly still be Acting Four even after the Magical Birthday Transformation. Oh? I said, and in what ways might you still be four? She cut her eyes at me, rolled them a little and said, with a dramatic sigh, "Sharing."

Her favorite color is pink. She no longer listens to music as she falls asleep. She loves having her back scratched and her hair brushed (IF the brusher works slowly and scratches her back in the process). She is a little pickier, food-wise, this year. She still eats everything, but not with the relish and glee she used to. She leaves food on her plate for the first time in her life. Some favorite foods that are never left on her plate are cantaloupe, yogurt, Veggie Booty, blueberries, hummus, carrots, raspberry popscicles, and tofurky jerky.

She does not like to run ("I just don't like to feel so TIRED, Mommy.") but she choreographs rather elaborate ballets full of moves that are at times graceful, and at other times comically awkward (these are the times which she seems to think she is being incredibly, fantastically Balletic, which tickles me no end). She is starting actual ballet classes in a few weeks and I can't decide if she is going to love them, or if she is going to be devastated when she realizes that she is years (and thousands of dreary barre hours) away from the Sugar Plum Fairy.

We had a little celebratory gathering at the zoo with my brother and his family on Saturday:
then had another party at the zoo this morning where Harper had lots of fun splashing in the splash pad and eating cupcakes with some friends.




Just before bed last night, after a lengthy discussion about whether or not this morning would bring with it a growth spurt, she asked when we were going to decorate the house for her birthday. I had assumed that we would not, since the party wasn't going to be here. She clearly had not made this assumption. So I headed to Target and then came home and dusted off the sign painting skills I perfected in high school when I should have been doing my pre-cal homework or perhaps reading Animal Farm . And Harper, to her great delight, awoke to a rather tacky amount of pink crepe paper and pink balloons.

Harper is FIVE. I scarce can take it in.

he built him an arky arky

We went to a birthday party this afternoon at a splash pad modeled after Noah's Ark. The kids had a great time. Harper, upon arriving, spied a little girl with her exact swimsuit on and bellowed, "GIRL! WE HAVE ON THE SAME SWIMSUIT! LET'S BE FRIENDS!!" And they were.

Even Helena joined the fun, with a little help from Daddy.

I am always slightly annoyed when the story of Noah and his ark is passed off as a cute and cuddly Bible story. In the same way I got annoyed when Harper's coloring page from Sunday school a few weeks ago depicted Jesus and the guards who took him from Pilate. They were all cutesy and Precious Moment-y and the only indication that something horrible was going on was the slight furrow in the soldiers' eyebrows. I think I've written before about my general frustration in this arena. It seems to me that you should wait until the kids are older, then you tell it to them straight. And no, I'm sorry to say I don't know what age "older" is. I just can't imagine a kid finally hearing the details of what those guards did to Jesus and then trying to reconcile it with the Precious Moments coloring page. **Margie reminded me I first wrote about this here.

On a lighter note, is there anything cuter than a baby with her feet crossed?


And, to end, a couple of Hudson's funny pronunciations these days:

pj's: pweh-gees (as in "Daddy, I'm naytid! Can you help me get my pweh-gees on?")

piano: pway-an-oh (as in "I'm goin to drum and pway my pway-an-oh now.)

consequence: tahn-suh-twence (as in "I don't want a tahn-suh-twence. I am goin to obey now.)

If You Give a Mom Some Dirty Clothes...

She will take them to the washing machine. The mom will remember that there are folded clean clothes on top of the washing machine which means that she can't open it to put in the dirty clothes, so she will go to put them away. When she goes to put them away, she will realize that there is no room in the drawers because the winter clothes have not yet been put into their storage bins, even though it is 90 degrees today. The mom will then go to retrieve the storage bin for the winter clothes only to find that she can't reach it because of the pile of toys blocking the closet door. She will instead put the winter clothes in a trash bag in front of the pile of toys, and will go find the child to whom the mess of toys belongs in order to have the child tidy her mess. On her way, the mom will encounter another child who asks for a cup of water. The mother will head to the kitchen to get the water and will see that the kitchen sink is full of dishes that need to be put in the dishwasher. The mom will then open the dishwasher and find that it is full of clean dishes that need to be put up. So the mom will put up the dishes and reload the dishwasher. On her way to finally put the clothes in the washer, the mom will realize that the baby needs her diaper changed. As she is changing the diaper, the mom will look at her watch and realize that she needs to hurry and get the clothes in the washer so that she can hurry and get the clothes in the dryer because included in the dirty clothes are the Very Special Blanket and Very Special Puppy of the boy, who will need them both for his nap if she wants the world to continue spinning on its axis. The mom will then quickly, and not very neatly, stack the clean clothes in the drawers and load the washing machine with, among other things, Very Special Blanket and Very Special Puppy. The boy will wander up and will, with an expression of grave concern, stand vigil over the washing machine. The mother will then open the dryer to find that it is full of clean clothes. So she will fold them. And put them atop the washer. A few minutes later, the mom will realize, because the boy will tell her, with great relief in his voice, that the washer has finished. Alas, the mom will realize that there are folded clean clothes on top of the washing machine...

Does anyone else's life read like a Laura Numeroff book, or is it just me?

overweening pride

That's Harper and my niece Catherine playing in the sand at my parents' house, where the kids and I spent the week so the husband could grade papers in peace. We had a terrific time, as always, right up until Helena got a stuffy nose and decided she absolutely would not nurse. Just like that. And she wasn't being polite or sensitive about it either, she was MAD at ME (wailing and thrashing) each time I gently suggested, as I have for the past 15 months of her life, that it might be time for a little milk. So I realize in the grand scheme of things it is a very small deal. And that, depending on whom you ask, we've had a really long go. But I wasn't quite ready to be finished. I had assumed the weaning process would be much more gradual and entirely on my schedule. The good news is, her congestion abated and, after 3 long days, she started nursing again on Sunday. Then, to celebrate, I accidentally closed her tiny finger in the bathroom door. Which caused her to cry really really very hard for around 30 minutes. Which meant she was completely congested yet again. And in a significant amount of pain. Which meant that she refused to nurse. Again. So happy mother's day to me.

In reality, aside from the horrifying moment when I realized the tiny finger was in the door, I did have a really nice weekend. We ate at Lupe Tortilla Saturday evening. Then we went to church Sunday morning. The husband fixed the kids' breakfast AND lunch. Then I got my mother's day present, which was an afternoon by myself to eat a piece of cake (sadly it was disappointing. Dear bakers of Dessert Gallery, I used to love your diner cake and the last two visits it has been dry) and go see a movie. I went to see "Babies" which might seem like a funny choice, but I had wanted to see it ever since I saw the preview a year or so ago. It chronicles the first year in the life of four babies--one in Namibia, one in Mongolia, one in Tokyo, and one in San Francisco. There was very little dialogue and no narration. Just babies doing what babies do. I enjoyed it very much. The little Mongolian fellow was my favorite for sheer entertainment value, though the Japanese baby girl turning into a histrionic weeping mass because she couldn't fit a toy together made me laugh so loud I think the people next to me were slightly alarmed. The Mongolian baby was left alone quite a bit while his parents tended the animals and he did some pretty creative (and alarming) things with his freedom. The American mom was a little annoying and not really representative of any American moms I know. I mean I get that San Francisco is a separate culture and all, but really. I won't tell you what the grossest scene entailed, but suffice it to say that there are no wet wipes on the Namibian savannah, and a baby's bottom still needs to be wiped after a poop.

You know, I think I'm going to start trying to write shorter, more frequent posts. So I'll stop now and try to come back tomorrow. Helena has been trying to say her name and it sounds like "Huh-yah-yah." Plus my niece Susannah taught her how to kick a ball.