three

Last night Loretta went to sleep a 2-year old and this morning she will wake up 3. I think because yesterday was such a busy one for her, and she didn't nap (thank you very much), and daylight savings (ugh), she's still sleeping away this morning when most days by 6am she's been up and at 'em and had three breakfasts by this hour. 

Oh my little girl. I just love you. You love pink and purple and extremely tacky jewelry. You insist on squishing your pants and shirts up to your knees and elbows. You question me about what's for dinner every afternoon and weigh judgement, "Oh that sounds really yummy!" or "My not want that." You sleep in princess dresses and tutus and love to read books and play duplos. You can color and draw like nobody's business and lately you love to draw monsters. Really impressive monsters. Your motto is, "My do it." and I believe that you will do whatever you set out to in life, little fierce one. You're tough and beautiful and smart and amazing. You make us laugh so much. You're a huge pain in the ass. Welcome to three, my darling darling girl. 

House Rules

We are not the kind of house that operates under the structure of rules. I'll start with that. We remind each other to be polite and encourage the kids to pick up their messes. But there are no general regulations. Not usually. Routines, yes. Rules, not so much.

But last night Loretta inspired a set of house rules. Within the course of an hour. All the while smiling that head-tilted, cheeky little smile of hers that says to us, "Ain't I a stinker?" A smile Rob and I literally turn and run from because smiling back can only encourage her. Right?

She's a thrill chaser in a family of peaceful easies. Sometimes that's a delight. Sometimes it's like, "Why?! Are?! You?! Crazy?!" Anyways...

Rule 1. Be nice to each other. That's all. Let's all do this always. Politeness rules.

Rule 2. No pooping in your pants on purpose.

Rule 3. No bath tub sploshing of water onto the old, cracked-linoleum floor of our 101 year old rental. Sploshing is strictly forbidden and your washcloth and bath cups will be confiscated. No amount of histrionic crying, screaming, and arm waving into the eyes of your delighted-to-be-having-a-fit reflection on the wall mirror will change our minds. We are onto you.

Rule 4. No ruining. Books, games, flash cards, and other toys ruined on purpose will be immediately ejected from the premises. In fact, actually, ruin away. Tossing junk out of our chaos pile is super therapeutic for Mama.

I suppose to be proper I should couch these rules  in terms of, "Instead of..." And ps. who am I even kidding? There are no rules. This girl just tests my everything. She is the brightest little ball of sunshine and the biggest pain in the ass. And dudes, with the pooping. THAT IS A PHASE I WAS NOT EXPECTING.

MC Do It My Way

I was realizing yesterday that Loretta will not let me just sing her a lullaby. That would be too easy :)

When Otto was little our jams were Carpenters songs (especially Close to You), 3 Little Birds with some custom lyric changes so that Otto Harold and other people we knew were often the ones "on my doorstep", and anything Renee and Jeremy. We were crooners and love songers and it was a very mellow lullaby situation. Enter my firecracker. All those above songs are still my favorite to sing to my babes. My short-range voice can manage them and I know all the words, and within a bar or two they're now always interrupted.

"No no no no no. Cookie song." This means shut up, Mom, and sing C is for Cookie to me eleven times in a row. She'll sing along. It's sweet.

"ABC ABC ABC!" means let's start singing the ABCs and maybe finish but at some point she'll probably interrupt to request the Cookie song.

Just like she insists on choosing her own pajamas, her own crayon colors, her own snacks from the snack basket, and brushing her own teeth. She's a funny bunny. She knows what she wants. She's a pickle. A pill. She throws little tantrums and gives the best kisses and hugs, fist bumps, and high fives.

I never stop being amazed by how different and individually magical these kiddos are. And I know Loretta's independence will be the source of some headaches and probably some blowouts in our house, there's no doubt. But I love her spirit so fiercely. She challenges me to do it her way and I find that her way is just fantastic. And I'll make a Carpenter fan of her yet.

this little oatmeal milestone

I know a little girl who is on the brink of toddler greatness. This morning she followed Otto's lead, without any prompting, and carried her oatmeal bowl to the kitchen counter when she was finished. What a helper.

Some days are exhausting and some days are unremarkable but every day there are these little moments woven in that you just don't want to ever forget how you felt, what they said, how they did little amazing things for the first time. Grateful we're having a quiet Saturday and I was able to jump on here and write it down. Grateful for Disney songs on Pandora and all day dance parties. Grateful for coffee and legos. Grateful I woke up in the middle of the night and had an hour to myself to watch True Tori. I have to watch it by myself because (love him as I do) my husband ruins lady-shows for me. Can I get a solidarity "hey yo!"? Anyways, this time of year all the anxiety and lameness of winter magically starts to melt away and I think this year I needed Spring more than ever. ::big fat good sigh::