Pick Those Apples, Wait, Strawberries, At Connor's Farm

We made it to Massachusetts! It is very surreal being back here after being away for a year. Almost as weird as moving to San Diego after growing up there and being away for a decade. Almost.

Friends invited us to go strawberry picking at Connor's Farm. I've mentioned it here before.

Chelsea loves strawberries. Couldn't keep her basket full because she either ate them right out of the basket or ate them before she even bothered to put them in the basket.

Savannah? Not so much.


Apparently "strawberry-picking" and "bogey-picking" are interchangeable to her. She could easily keep her basket full, because she would never let any fruit pass her lips. Delicious, ripe, fresh-off-the-plant strawberries included. (Savannah = strangest kid ever.)


One thing the sisters could agree on was the sandbox, er, DIRTbox just outside the little farm store. Dirt! It's like a baby-sitter, only cheaper.

And you'll never guess who we found across the street!

Yup, Savannah's favorite! What's a llama doing out in the middle of Danvers, anyway? Oh, chillin' with his homies, the farm donkeys. You know, the usual.
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Driving Miss Fussy

It's almost sundown. I'm driving along, westbound, Savannah in the backseat.

The sun is right in our eyes.

She whines: "No 'un! No 'un! No 'un!!!"

I say, mostly calmly: "Close your eyes."

Her, whinier: "No 'un! Nooooo 'unnnnnnn!!!"

Me, yellier: "Turn your head!"

Her, yellier to match: "NO 'UN!"

Me, extra yelly: "Hold up a book in front of your face!"

Her, super yelly: "NOOOOOO 'UNNNNNN!"

On and on and on.

We come to a stop light. The sun is blocked by a tree. I am ready for relief from the yelling.

Her: "Where 'un? Where 'un go? Where 'un?! WHERE 'UN GO!?"

Me, pointing: "It's behind that tree."

Her, whiny: "Where? Where 'un? Where 'un go?"

Me, driving again: "There it is."

Her, the rest of the drive home: "No 'un! ... Where 'un go? ... No 'un! ... Where 'un go? NO 'UN! WHERE 'UN GO?!!!" She whines it, cries it, yells it, tries out a gravelly-devil voice version of it. She even works on the "s" sound, "No zhun! Where jun go?"

I give up talking.

We turn the into our complex. She finally stops whining. Her eyes go wide.

Her, smiling: "BUNNY! I see it! Bunny hopping. Hopping! Hopping everywhere!"

She bounces her two chubby little fingers in the air: "Hopping! Hopping!"

Then just one finger: "One bunny. I see it. Hop away. Hopping everywhere!"

Sun? What sun?
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Self-portrait FAIL

Actually, the self part of these portraits is fine. You'll note that I look almost exactly the same in each picture, my entire head is in the frame, and I am actually looking at the camera with my eyes open.

If only the same could be said for my children.

Strike One!

Strike Two!

Strike Three!

And we're out.

PS Yes, I do like to dress them in matching outfits. So sue me.

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The Day Savannah Fell in Love with a Llama

No, I am totally not making that up.

Last month, we needed some pumpkins and some evening entertainment, so rather than head over to our nearest mall parking lot, we drove out to the middle of nowhere to an adorable little pumpkin patch.

Despite its small size, there was a lot to see and do. We found three mazes (hay bale, corn, and bush), dozens of toys to play with, and many animals to look at and/or feed.

Among the animals, was a llama. THIS llama, to be precise:

And with that brief meeting, a love affair for the ages was born.

After that day, I kept hearing Savannah say, "Mama! Mama!" but it was clear she wasn't talking about me. (I have a much shorter neck and I typically go by "Mommy.")

She'd point to a goat in a story book: "Mama!"

Or a baby deer on a matching game: "Mama!"

Or a toy giraffe on a toy catalog: "MAMA!"

Now the hunt is on for all things llama. At the library, she now has a knack for digging out Is Your Mama a Llama? from the board book bins. She often asks to wear her llama shirt (I guess it hasn't dawned on her yet that she does not currently own a llama shirt, nor has she ever seen one).

In the car, before we can turn on Chelsea's kids' music, Savannah shouts: "MAMA! 'ONG!" (Translation: SING ME A LLAMA SONG!) To which I dutifully reply, "How much is that llama in the window...."

And although they are not listed on the official map at the San Diego Zoo, look who just managed to find her favorite animal anyway:

Ok, so that might not actually be a llama. Do you think she cares?

Now all I have to do is find a llama shirt and maybe a little stuffed llama for Christmas and fervently hope that she doesn't find some new obsession within the next month.
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Dog Days of October

Jeremy and I love Halloween. We love decorating, we love dressing up, we love candy. (Well, maybe I love candy enough for both of us.)

We especially love homemade costumes. We stand in opposition to store-bought costumes. (Not in small part because all of the adult female costumes are variations on a slutty theme. But I digress.)

Chelsea announced last November 1st that she would be Thomas the Tank Engine this Halloween. And after a year of dreaming about the costume I would make for her, I broke down and bought her a store-bought version a few weeks ago.

With Chelsea squared away, I turned my attention to Savannah. We saw an adorable bumblebee costume at Gymboree and I had an attack of "I can make that!"

Later at home, I said to Savannah: "Mommy is going to make you a bumblebee costume! Won't that be cute? Do you want to be a bumblebee for Halloween?"

And she said, "Daw!"

Translation: "Dog!"

Me: "You want to be a dog for Halloween?"

Her: (big smile) "Yeah, yeah!"

Me: (to myself, in my head) YOU ARE TOO LITTLE TO EVEN KNOW WHAT HALLOWEEN IS! HOW DARE YOU ROB ME OF MY ADORABLE BUMBLEBEE!

So I decided to make a dog costume. I figured, I'll buy a white sweat suit, slap some black spots on it, throw some ears on the head and I'll have a cute little dalmatian. I mean, how hard can it be?

Surprisingly hard.

There must be a plain white sweatsuit at Target, right? No. There is one covered in sparkles and glitter. There should be one at Walmart, yes? No. There is one covered in rainbows and unicorns. Ditto for Kohl's, Old Navy, and anywhere else you might think to look for a plain white sweatsuit.

Next thing I know, we're in the costume aisle at Target. There are 3 dog costumes. A Saint Bernard, complete with a mini-cask of booze around the neck, which she (thank goodness) declined. A giant Scooby Doo costume, which she also declined and wouldn't have fit her anyway. And a $49.95 Pokey Little Puppy number which she also declined, with gratitude from my bank account.

Next stop, Halloween Superstore in an old empty Linens n Things, Best Buy, or Mervyn's. We find a perfectly cute, generic brown dog, in her size for less than the price of a dinner for four. She refuses! Now what!?

Can't make homemade, can't agree on store-bought, I finally decide I'm just going to dress her up as a bumblebee, and she's going to like it, dammit!

We go to Walmart to pick up some bumblebee supplies: yellow and black tulle (because bumblebees wear tutus, didn't you know?), yellow ribbon, elastic. On our way to the check-out, we detour through the Halloween section.

And find a cheap, toddler-size, Scooby Doo costume. Which Chelsea hands Savannah and Savannah promptly hugs and loves.

We bring it home for the moment of truth: will she actually wear it? We get the little body suit on, and the last part is a soft, hood-like dog head that straps under the chin with velcro.

This is a kid who pulls off every hat and yanks hair bows and barrettes right out. There is no way she's going to wear a velcroed-on dog face strapped to her head.

But she does.

And the pure joy on her face when I take her to the mirror to look at herself is priceless.

So now both of my precious angels will be wearing store-bought costumes this year. And my sweet bumblebee dreams have been dashed.

But, is this not the cutest little Scooby Doo you've ever seen?

.

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Califotos

As promised, here are some recent pics of our adventures in California...

Playing in Grandma's backyard



Little sunbather in Balboa Park

Fun with sunglasses and walkie-talkies!

Trying to get a cute shot...

nope

wait a sec...

gotcha!

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Not Quite Clear on the Concept

"Buh!"

That's Savannah's word for milk. It sounds like "book" but without the K.

"BUH!"

We're sure it means milk because she usually drinks her milk out of a certain type of cup and often just seeing that cup will elicit much pointing and many exclamations of "Buh!"

She also knows the sign for milk (opening and closing fist, like milking a cow, which isn't so bad now that her milk actually comes from a cow and not from me) and she will also add the sign if we say, "Do you want some milk?"

I know she can do the M sound because she says "Mama" all the time.
"Mama?"
"Mama!"
"MAAAAAAMAAAAA!!!"

So I'm trying to get her to say "milk." Or at least "Muh."

Savannah: Buh!

Me: Do you want some milk?

Savannah: (nodding, pointing, signing) Buh!

Me: Say milk. MMMMM-milk!

Savannah: MMMMM-BUH!

She's not quite there yet.
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9 Months(ish)

Dear Savannah,

You learned to clap today. You do it kinda slow, with the tops of your fingers still a little bit curled over, but you are definitely clapping.

You love to stand up, all the time, as much as possible. When I try to sit you down, you keep your whole body stiff to stay standing. You can walk along a couch or table but you don't take any steps all on your own yet. When Daddy stands you up to walk to me, you just fall forward into my arms with a big grin.

Your sister cracks you up. You stare at her in the car, pop up and down in your crib when she runs in to see you after a nap, and laugh out loud when she tickles you. She used to call you Savoner or Savander. Now it's Percy or Molly. She says you are a silly engine.

You don't enjoy the baby food. You don't enjoy being fed much of anything, you want to do it yourself. You still don't have any teeth. (Although, that hasn't stopped you from biting me with your gums while I'm nursing you. Not cool, Savannah, not cool.)

You like to babble. Mostly mamamamama. Which I tell myself (and your dad) is actually Mama. Sometimes you say babababa and then crack up when I repeat it back to you.

When I carry you in the sling, you always lean forward and stare at the ground. I don't know what is so fascinating down there, my shoes?

You are, like your sister, not a great sleeper (yet). You cry at naps and in the night and although I tell myself I will be tough and let you cry, I almost never am and almost never do.

You are all cheeks. And big, bright blue eyes. And chubby, chubby rolls.

And when you are sleepy, I hold you over my shoulder and rock back and forth, singing Twinkle, Twinkle. And you put your little head down and sigh.

Love,
mamamamama

Red Sox (Indoctrin)Nation

Happy family, on the way into the game!

This is where we sat. Think we are high enough? (Look, that's Jacoby balancing on Chelsea's knuckle. Can we just put him in a pocket and take him home with us? Please?)

Savannah's first Sox game. (She was actually much happier than she looks.)

How to keep a toddler happy at the game: cotton candy bigger than her head!

Mission accomplished. Superfan status complete.

Her Thieving Ways

We have eleventy kajillion toys in our tiny apartment. Despite the fact that we actively refrain from buying toys and we have vastly fewer than some of our friends with larger living spaces, we still have far more than any child could need.

And all but about five of them are Chelsea's.

Savannah's few playthings are the gifts she was given as a newborn and the very few toys that are for such small babies that Chelsea forgot they were once hers. Like a teether.

So last Saturday while I was at the Swap Shed (a give and take section of our town dump), I picked up one little book for Savannah: Raffi's Baby Beluga. (It is her song, after all.)

Chelsea had appropriated it and memorized it by Tuesday.

Later in the week, we were out for an evening stroll. Savannah was just chilling and Chelsea was talking to herself nonstop (as usual). Jeremy and I took the opportunity to (gasp!) have an adult conversation. In which one of us talks and the other one listens. Without interruption!

Then, (although I was very dutifully listening to my husband) I couldn't help but notice what Chelsea was singing:

"Baby Percy
In the deep brown tracks,
Drive so wild and you drive so free,
Sky above and the tracks below,
You're just a little green train on the go.

Percy Wuh-Wercy,
Oh, Percy Wuh-Wercy
Is your tracks warm?
Is your Thomas home?
With you, so happy."

That's right. Not only did she steal her sister's only book, she commandeered the song AND TURNED IT INTO A TRAIN SONG. As if we didn't have enough Thomas in our lives.
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California Girls

Just another typical day in sunny Southern California...

Yeah, I'm in the swing, but I'm not going to be happy about it.

I'm in the swing, too, and I don't think I like it either.

Oh wait! I do like it! Look at me! I like it!

Just kidding... I LOVE IT!!!

Aaaand, I'll just go climb this tree.

California... Knows How to Party

We made it! We're home for a week or so to visit the family in sunny San Diego.

And it only took a 2:45am wake-up, a flight cancellation, a seating mix-up, one diaper blow-out, a raging bout of toddler diarrhea, one puddle-jumper, and a partridge in a pear tree to get here.

Chelsea did about 83,000 activities within the first 5 minutes of arriving at her Oma's house. Reading? Of course. Puzzles? Yep. Snacks? Well, duh. Trampoline. Swimming. Going to the park. Check, check, and check. Layering a drawer full of necklaces around a stuffed dog's neck...all this and more. I think she'll be ready to go back home in an hour or so.

Savannah is wowing everyone with her winning smile and cheerful demeanor, even earning us compliments (compliments!!!) from strangers on the plane for her excellent travel skills. Way to go, baby girl!

We're ready for a week of sun, Mexican food, and free baby-sitting. I love California!

Karma: You Are a First-Class Bitch

Sequence of events since I wrote (on this very blog!) how lucky I am:

1. I get sick. The next day. With a fever and chills... and two small, hyperactive, not-napping-at-the-same-time children to watch all day.

2. I miss my playgroup's monthly Mom's Night Out (see event #1).

3. As soon as I get better, both girls get sick.

4. Jeremy leaves for a work-trip for two days. While the girls are still sick.

5. Our first day home together Savannah barfs on me twice, poops on me once, and pees on her only clean bath towel. Chelsea has a poop accident while out on a walk and we leave her favorite hat behind in our rush to clean up (cue much toddler wailing and gnashing of teeth).

Not so lucky me. C'mon, Karma. Throw me a freakin' bone.
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Welcome Back, Ferber

We started sleep training Savannah last night.

She's a good sleeper, but had some picky habits about how she would fall asleep. Like only with a pacifier. While being held. And rocked. And patted. For half an hour. Or maybe more.

It was wearing us out. And because she's already a little mama's girl, her falling asleep issues were making it really difficult for me to get any time away. (And you know I need my time away.)

With Chelsea, sleep training was salvation and sanity. Before training, all three of us would be in tears every night, trying to get her to bed over and over again, never knowing when the night would be over.

When we finally did it, she cried for 90 minutes the first night. Every minute of which was sheer torture for me. I had to distract myself with TV, painting my toenails, and reading motivational note cards (don't laugh! I needed them!) all at once.

I have come full circle now that I'm writing about sleep training on my own blog, because it was during Chelsea's middle-of-the-night crying jags when I first discovered blogs. I was up one night Googling something like "baby doesn't sleep" and came upon an old post on dooce. When I first read it, I didn't even understand what it was. An ad? An article of some sort? Chelsea had plenty of sleepless nights, giving me enough time to explore dooce's archives and finally figure out what a blog was.

It was an eternity before Chelsea went to sleep without tears. Anything and everything would trigger a setback and require us to start up training all over again: travel, recovering from an illness, switching to a big girl bed. Now I just count her among the ranks of most kids whose bedtime refrain is always, "But I'm not tired!"

Savannah took an hour to get to sleep last night. And then she slept FOR NINE GLORIOUS HOURS. She woke up wiggly and happy and smiley. And what did I use to distract myself from her crying? A blog, of course.

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Breaking News: Baby Goes Over 4 Hours Without Nursing

I've been loosely following the EASY schedule from the Baby Whisperer with Savannah. EASY stands for Eat, Activity, Sleep, You. What it means is the baby eats, stays awake doing something (baby activities are pretty much limited to diaper changing, bathing, staring at toys, and being cooed at), then sleeps. The You part means don't just sit there staring at the baby while she sleeps, do something for yourself (like update your blog, hello!).

Savannah has been on a 3-hour EASY schedule pretty much since birth. I've been militant about feeding her at least every 3 hours, especially now that she mostly sleeps through the night. (Shhh!!! Don't tell anyone! Pretend I didn't just write that, ok? Don't jinx it.)

Yesterday, she started to be a little bit fussy at her feedings, only taking a small amount or not wanting to nurse on both sides. I chalked it up to our weird, out-of-the-house-all-day, Chelsea-free schedule. It didn't even occur to me that she might be ready to stretch it out a little. Or a lot.

Then this morning, she had her "breakfast"at 6:15am and when I thought she'd be due to nurse around 9am, she fell asleep... until10:30! At first I was kinda worried, "Oh no! What if I don't get in my 5 feedings today? She won't sleep tonight! Argh!" But then I figured, go with the flow, see what happens.

So, now it's 2:15pm. Almost another 4 hours have gone by. Think she's trying to tell me something?

Baby Savannah

When we first came up with the name Savannah, I wasn't too sure about it. One of my concerns was that we wouldn't be able to insert her name into songs the way we do with Chelsea's name. At our house, Old McChelsea has a farm and the baker man marks it with a "C" (for Chelsea and me). I imagined that Chelsea would have all these songs we doctored to include her name and Savannah would miss out, one more downside to being the second child.

The other day, Jeremy brought home a CD from the library with Raffi's Baby Beluga on it. This song is notorious in our family as the over-played favorite of our cousin Kendra when she was little. But as soon as it got to the chorus, I sang, "Baby Savannah, Baby Savannah." Is it too horrible for a child who was 100%ile on the weight charts that her song is about a baby whale? At least she has one song that's all her own.