...always get a mom down, until she spies a funny 4 year old in his yellow slicker.
Oh definitely, 4 is just such a sweet precious and compliant age.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Spring has sprung
and that means springing for your spiffiest church outfits when the sun warms the morning.
My gorgeous boys - they're keepers, the both of 'em. (Although I will say that 36 is an easier age to live with than 4.)
Know a Superhero who lacks only their trusty cape?
Ladies and Gents, we need a tad more superheroism in our lives. This evening, I have the solution to much of what ails the world: I present The Ellie Bellie Cape. It's a bird, it's a plane, it's....... SUPERKID! I have it on great authority that many neighborhoods are safer places with these capes guarding your streets.
And one can be yours for FREE - that's right, folks, I typed FREE - if you join the Fan Page for Ellie Bellie Kids on Facebook. (Here's your URL: http://tinyurl.com/c9rfnr, and let this be the kick in the pants to go ahead and get a FB account for you Luddites out there.)
But if all your superheroes are fully kitted out, why don't you check out the gorgeous tutus or profoundly useful messenger bags instead?
Just tell EBK that Kirsten sent ya.
And one can be yours for FREE - that's right, folks, I typed FREE - if you join the Fan Page for Ellie Bellie Kids on Facebook. (Here's your URL: http://tinyurl.com/c9rfnr, and let this be the kick in the pants to go ahead and get a FB account for you Luddites out there.)
But if all your superheroes are fully kitted out, why don't you check out the gorgeous tutus or profoundly useful messenger bags instead?
Just tell EBK that Kirsten sent ya.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Larscelieisms - they're thick & fast these days
Cecilie finally, finally realized she could read this week. Now it is non-stop reading street signs, menus, Mom's notes to herself, book titles: anything with the printed word. She offered to read her Grandma & Grandpa an old classic "Are You My Mother?", and, as with most Early-Reader books, there was a great deal of 'he said' going on. She got through about half the book, and after the 46th 'he said' she looked up and asked "do you mind if I just say 'avowed' there, instead of 'said'? It would be so much more interesting!"
Lars got the movie Shrek in his Easter Basket, and evidently the Easter Bunny hadn't been aware of just how scary Lars finds Shrek. After the initial disappointment in the Easter Bunny's lack of omniscience, Lars was happy to agree to exchange. I asked if we should go this week to find a different DVD. He looked up, alarmed, and exclaimed "But we still don't know where the Easter Bunny's Target is!!!"
And finally, on the 40 minute trip south to Grandma's house, we pass the time making up all manner of games. As we get close, the kids play the game of 'spot the things you recognize.' Recently, we spotted "Grandma's" donut shop, "Grandma's" farm store, "Grandma's" stoplights, etc. At the final traffic light, Cecilie looked around her and exclaimed "Well! In all my long life, I have NEVER seen any of these cars before!"
I believe in reincarnation more every day. It's the only explanation.
Lars got the movie Shrek in his Easter Basket, and evidently the Easter Bunny hadn't been aware of just how scary Lars finds Shrek. After the initial disappointment in the Easter Bunny's lack of omniscience, Lars was happy to agree to exchange. I asked if we should go this week to find a different DVD. He looked up, alarmed, and exclaimed "But we still don't know where the Easter Bunny's Target is!!!"
And finally, on the 40 minute trip south to Grandma's house, we pass the time making up all manner of games. As we get close, the kids play the game of 'spot the things you recognize.' Recently, we spotted "Grandma's" donut shop, "Grandma's" farm store, "Grandma's" stoplights, etc. At the final traffic light, Cecilie looked around her and exclaimed "Well! In all my long life, I have NEVER seen any of these cars before!"
I believe in reincarnation more every day. It's the only explanation.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Ballet recital
Do 6 year olds get any cuter than this?!
Like herding cats
You don't see lots of pictures of my younger brother Jon on here. Um, mainly because all we seem to do is photograph kids kids and more kids. (And cut & paste pictures of Peeps...). But the other reason is that Jon is our family's Make It Happen Guy. Might be the Marine training, might be his job as Aide de Camp to the General [ahem] [forgive me, I'm bragging], might just be the need to step into the - how to say this? - familial organizational void.
So as he gets busy making stuff happen, often the rest of us are able to sit back & enjoy the fruits of his organization. This Easter, our bonnets are off to you, Jon - for getting us all to the venue on time, for finding an on-site egg hunt for the kids, and finally, for (in your own words) "herding a bunch of #$(*&^% cats!"
So as he gets busy making stuff happen, often the rest of us are able to sit back & enjoy the fruits of his organization. This Easter, our bonnets are off to you, Jon - for getting us all to the venue on time, for finding an on-site egg hunt for the kids, and finally, for (in your own words) "herding a bunch of #$(*&^% cats!"
But look at these angels: wasn't it worth it?? Thanks Jon!
Monday, April 13, 2009
You are my PEEPS!
I've been musing on this post since Annika's birthday back in December. I had it in mind to do a sort of Academy Awards Ceremony for all those involved in getting her to her 1st birthday in one piece: "and the award for Most Patient Pediatrician EVER goes to...GRANDPA SCHNEIDER!!!" and so on.
Had the potential for great hilarity. But as the awards piled up (in my mind, you understand), and more and more people needed naming, it seemed to me that really, I had my entire world to thank for getting me through that year. Pretty much daily I relied upon someone's kindness, generosity, patience, tolerance, cell phone ...you name it, I needed it.
This past Friday brought me full circle, right back to considering my 'village' that gets me through.
My friend Jen & I were enjoying the spring sunshine, sitting on my front steps and supervising our fractious non-napping 4 year olds and Annika, toddling through the garden beds. Annika suddenly changed course, steering towards the sidewalk and us. Her Stride Rites caught the edge of the sidewalk wrong, and her fall was stopped only by her chin smacking the edge of a plastic storage box on the walk. In the first nanosecond, it seemed she'd just taken a nasty bump. And then the blood started to flow. And flow. And flow.
Now my first instinct is always "I don't need the ER, do I?? (Could be the 11 years of nationalized medicine in the UK that drilled that into me.) So I staunched the flow, staunching staunching staunching - in the name of all that's holy HOW MUCH BLOOD CAN A ONE YEAR OLD LOSE?!?!? But I totally kept my cool.
Second instinct is always to call afore-mentioned Ever Patient Pediatrician Grandfather. The first phone call had to be abandoned due to Howling Infant Background Interference. The second call, confirming that yes, we could see right through the wound, gave me the answer I was hoping not to hear: Go Directly to ER. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200. (instead, plan to give them $200!! Yay!)
Four hours and four stitches later, the story has a happy ending. Well, happier than a lot of kids in the ER anyway. She'll be fine, and maybe get a cool scar to brag about later. But her stitches aren't really the point of this story, anyway. (Flash forward 20 years: yes sweetheart, of course Mom was worried. Of course it was scary and I wanted you to be ok. But you were serving a narrative function for me. Isn't that important too??)
The point of the story is all the people who got us through this mini-drama this particular day. There was Jen, who knew immediately where I keep my rags that would be perfect for sopping up blood, who knew to reassure Cecilie that babies can't die from stitches, and who didn't hesitate to offer to babysit while I drove to the ER. There was Betsy, who immediately ran down the street to see if we needed a babysitter, and who offered the critical information that really, the closest ER was hopeless, and I should go to the one the next county over. There was Jen's husband Dave, hero of the hour for the bigger kids, arriving with pizza for dinner (and dad by proxy until Torbjorn could get through traffic). There was my dad, always calm and always able to detach enough to give me the critical information I need. There was the ER doc who knows my dad, and remembered caring for Lars & his croup a mere THREE years ago.
And this is just four hours' worth of parenting. Admittedly, a pretty dramatic four hours, but I simply can't imagine trying to get through parenting without my peeps.
When Annika was born, I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of support offered. Neighbors brought meals, hand-crocheted blankets, offered to watch the big kids, returned Lars when he decided to take off on his own, and one kind soul even took Cecilie to school 3 days a week to make sure that she got to school on time at least 60% of the week. Once in the Target bathroom, another mom (total stranger) held a screaming Annika & waited with the big kids just so I could use the facilities. Another time in Costco an older woman (mom of 3 grown kids, total stranger) offered to push my cart to my car & unload it for me just because she "remembers those days, and people did it for me then!" Speaking of Costco, I've not forgotten the scene we made there last spring, and the friends who helped me that day.
So I haven't even covered someone like my mom, who has been so integral to the daily survival of my brood the million ways she helps go almost unnoticed, or my aunt whose care packages are really sent with all the care in the world. Or Torbjorn's mom, who is willing to stay with us for weeks and help and help and help without even hinting that I should be saving for the kids' therapy. Or a sister in law to call who will tell you "yeah, I'm ready to kill them too."
If I could give advice to any new parent (advice that would be really useful, as opposed to 'sleep when the baby sleeps' [pah!]) it would be this: know your village, know your people, and let them be there for you. The grandparents, the extended family, the neighbors, the friends: let them come, let them be part of your living. For the time will come, hopefully, when you can be an integral part of theirs.
And for all of you, my own Peeps, now its my turn to start giving back, even as you all continue to give. And the Oscar goes to............YOU!
Had the potential for great hilarity. But as the awards piled up (in my mind, you understand), and more and more people needed naming, it seemed to me that really, I had my entire world to thank for getting me through that year. Pretty much daily I relied upon someone's kindness, generosity, patience, tolerance, cell phone ...you name it, I needed it.
This past Friday brought me full circle, right back to considering my 'village' that gets me through.
My friend Jen & I were enjoying the spring sunshine, sitting on my front steps and supervising our fractious non-napping 4 year olds and Annika, toddling through the garden beds. Annika suddenly changed course, steering towards the sidewalk and us. Her Stride Rites caught the edge of the sidewalk wrong, and her fall was stopped only by her chin smacking the edge of a plastic storage box on the walk. In the first nanosecond, it seemed she'd just taken a nasty bump. And then the blood started to flow. And flow. And flow.
Now my first instinct is always "I don't need the ER, do I?? (Could be the 11 years of nationalized medicine in the UK that drilled that into me.) So I staunched the flow, staunching staunching staunching - in the name of all that's holy HOW MUCH BLOOD CAN A ONE YEAR OLD LOSE?!?!? But I totally kept my cool.
Second instinct is always to call afore-mentioned Ever Patient Pediatrician Grandfather. The first phone call had to be abandoned due to Howling Infant Background Interference. The second call, confirming that yes, we could see right through the wound, gave me the answer I was hoping not to hear: Go Directly to ER. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200. (instead, plan to give them $200!! Yay!)
Four hours and four stitches later, the story has a happy ending. Well, happier than a lot of kids in the ER anyway. She'll be fine, and maybe get a cool scar to brag about later. But her stitches aren't really the point of this story, anyway. (Flash forward 20 years: yes sweetheart, of course Mom was worried. Of course it was scary and I wanted you to be ok. But you were serving a narrative function for me. Isn't that important too??)
The point of the story is all the people who got us through this mini-drama this particular day. There was Jen, who knew immediately where I keep my rags that would be perfect for sopping up blood, who knew to reassure Cecilie that babies can't die from stitches, and who didn't hesitate to offer to babysit while I drove to the ER. There was Betsy, who immediately ran down the street to see if we needed a babysitter, and who offered the critical information that really, the closest ER was hopeless, and I should go to the one the next county over. There was Jen's husband Dave, hero of the hour for the bigger kids, arriving with pizza for dinner (and dad by proxy until Torbjorn could get through traffic). There was my dad, always calm and always able to detach enough to give me the critical information I need. There was the ER doc who knows my dad, and remembered caring for Lars & his croup a mere THREE years ago.And this is just four hours' worth of parenting. Admittedly, a pretty dramatic four hours, but I simply can't imagine trying to get through parenting without my peeps.
When Annika was born, I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of support offered. Neighbors brought meals, hand-crocheted blankets, offered to watch the big kids, returned Lars when he decided to take off on his own, and one kind soul even took Cecilie to school 3 days a week to make sure that she got to school on time at least 60% of the week. Once in the Target bathroom, another mom (total stranger) held a screaming Annika & waited with the big kids just so I could use the facilities. Another time in Costco an older woman (mom of 3 grown kids, total stranger) offered to push my cart to my car & unload it for me just because she "remembers those days, and people did it for me then!" Speaking of Costco, I've not forgotten the scene we made there last spring, and the friends who helped me that day.
So I haven't even covered someone like my mom, who has been so integral to the daily survival of my brood the million ways she helps go almost unnoticed, or my aunt whose care packages are really sent with all the care in the world. Or Torbjorn's mom, who is willing to stay with us for weeks and help and help and help without even hinting that I should be saving for the kids' therapy. Or a sister in law to call who will tell you "yeah, I'm ready to kill them too."
If I could give advice to any new parent (advice that would be really useful, as opposed to 'sleep when the baby sleeps' [pah!]) it would be this: know your village, know your people, and let them be there for you. The grandparents, the extended family, the neighbors, the friends: let them come, let them be part of your living. For the time will come, hopefully, when you can be an integral part of theirs.
And for all of you, my own Peeps, now its my turn to start giving back, even as you all continue to give. And the Oscar goes to............YOU!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Tripp Trapping: Do I have a chair for you!
When we got our very first high chair, my friend Katherine laughed and said "only you could find a high chair in taupe!"
The chair in question was the incredibly simple, classic and modern Tripp Trapp, made by Stokke. Now, I'm not the first person to own and love this chair. I'm not even part of the first generation to know and love them: that honor goes to the fabulous moms in 1970s Norway, embracing all-wood, ergonomic and socially progressive chairs that "bring your child to the family table", instead of marooning them in the no-man's land of plastic high chairs.
Norwegians understandably show this chair much love: not only is it good for us, not only will it make us better people, not only is it made of wood, it is *designed by a Norwegian*. Now me? I love it because it isn't a giant plastic PRESENCE in your home, and although it comes in 11 finishes, you can't order any with teddy bears or cutesy safari themes. You can tuck it under the table and it just looks like any other chair. It wears like iron: I have scrubbed Cream of Wheat and mashed sweet potatoes off ours many many nights. And this chair is adjustable, folks: the theory is, you can be sitting in this chair when you announce to your parents that at 35 you will finally be moving out of the family home. And taking your Tripp Trapp with you!
But time for full disclosure: when it came time for Lars to venture into solid foods, I caved and got the traditional high chair. I just really missed that big ol' plastic tray to keep the Cheerios on board. And he used this thing until he was 15 months or so. Farmor arrived for a visit, and wondered if we didn't want a second Tripp Trapp, for him? No, we said, no need for such excess. Cecilie can sit in a big people chair!
Ha. You know those parenting moments where, when you look back, you wonder if it could have been any more obvious? Hmm, hon, I just wish I knew why Cecilie has such a hard time sitting still at meal time. Cecilie! Sit on your bottom! You. must. sit. at. the. table. to. eat! Cecilie! What are you doing standing up again? Finally, after 2 years of hopping around in our big people chairs, we got her back in a Tripp Trapp and ended that particular dinner time battle.
Another battle brewed recently, with Annika refusing, refusing! to sit in her high chair for any length of time, which translated directly into frequent midnight conversations on the subject of why bottles will not be provided to non-dinner eaters. Again, I found myself at wits' end. In a stroke of good fortune, Farmor happened to be in town and watching Annika's resistance to plastic furniture. With great wisdom she offered a simple solution: maybe let's just get Annika her own Tripp Trapp? This time there were no polite refusals. That sucker arrived by UPS 24 hours later.
With her own "Big Kid Chair", this hilarious child is more than happy - in fact delighted - to sit at the table and take her own sweet time with meals. She savours her veggie sausage, she luxuriates in her linguine, she munches her mushrooms. She sits up high and shouts her approval to us, and peforms all manner of silliness for the other kids at the table. All it took was a classy piece of furniture, apparently.
Bonus, extra cute, eat your breakfast reminder...
So there you go folks, my first outright Product Endorsement. Expect ads in my sidebar for Snuggies shortly.
The chair in question was the incredibly simple, classic and modern Tripp Trapp, made by Stokke. Now, I'm not the first person to own and love this chair. I'm not even part of the first generation to know and love them: that honor goes to the fabulous moms in 1970s Norway, embracing all-wood, ergonomic and socially progressive chairs that "bring your child to the family table", instead of marooning them in the no-man's land of plastic high chairs.
Norwegians understandably show this chair much love: not only is it good for us, not only will it make us better people, not only is it made of wood, it is *designed by a Norwegian*. Now me? I love it because it isn't a giant plastic PRESENCE in your home, and although it comes in 11 finishes, you can't order any with teddy bears or cutesy safari themes. You can tuck it under the table and it just looks like any other chair. It wears like iron: I have scrubbed Cream of Wheat and mashed sweet potatoes off ours many many nights. And this chair is adjustable, folks: the theory is, you can be sitting in this chair when you announce to your parents that at 35 you will finally be moving out of the family home. And taking your Tripp Trapp with you!But time for full disclosure: when it came time for Lars to venture into solid foods, I caved and got the traditional high chair. I just really missed that big ol' plastic tray to keep the Cheerios on board. And he used this thing until he was 15 months or so. Farmor arrived for a visit, and wondered if we didn't want a second Tripp Trapp, for him? No, we said, no need for such excess. Cecilie can sit in a big people chair!
Ha. You know those parenting moments where, when you look back, you wonder if it could have been any more obvious? Hmm, hon, I just wish I knew why Cecilie has such a hard time sitting still at meal time. Cecilie! Sit on your bottom! You. must. sit. at. the. table. to. eat! Cecilie! What are you doing standing up again? Finally, after 2 years of hopping around in our big people chairs, we got her back in a Tripp Trapp and ended that particular dinner time battle.
Another battle brewed recently, with Annika refusing, refusing! to sit in her high chair for any length of time, which translated directly into frequent midnight conversations on the subject of why bottles will not be provided to non-dinner eaters. Again, I found myself at wits' end. In a stroke of good fortune, Farmor happened to be in town and watching Annika's resistance to plastic furniture. With great wisdom she offered a simple solution: maybe let's just get Annika her own Tripp Trapp? This time there were no polite refusals. That sucker arrived by UPS 24 hours later.
So there you go folks, my first outright Product Endorsement. Expect ads in my sidebar for Snuggies shortly.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Robin in the Hood Birthday
At Christmas time Lars and Cecilie saw Disney's Robin Hood for the first time and it took about 30 seconds for Lars to decide what kind of birthday he was going to have...
With some handy help from generous grandmas, not one but 12 Robin kits got prepared for March14...
...as well as one mighty fine Sheriff of Notingham tunic.
There were chases...
...and adventure
Even the littlest ones got involved in weeding out evil.
The banquet was medieval in nature...
...including relatively modern cupcakes
Maid Marion posing for medieval style pinata
Noah even had the sheriff scared
And to top it off -some good old ukulele entertainment...
...for a captive audience
No wonder they all wiped out...
Happy birthday Lars
With some handy help from generous grandmas, not one but 12 Robin kits got prepared for March14...
...as well as one mighty fine Sheriff of Notingham tunic.
There were chases...
...and adventure
Even the littlest ones got involved in weeding out evil.
The banquet was medieval in nature...
...including relatively modern cupcakes
Maid Marion posing for medieval style pinata 
Noah even had the sheriff scared
And to top it off -some good old ukulele entertainment...
...for a captive audience
No wonder they all wiped out...Happy birthday Lars
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