You Are Now Entering a Thomas-Free Zone

We did it. We sold the train table. Some craigslisters came and took away the table, all the track, and a mountain of little engines. And gave us actual money!

I have been trying to convince Chelsea to let the train table go for a while now. She was using it primarily as a holding area for Strawberry Shortcake toys and any other random stuff cluttering up her room. The tracks and many, many trains never saw the light of day unless a little boy came over to the house and pulled them out.

It was time.

She resisted, but I finally got her to let me stash all the Thomas stuff in the garage to see if she would notice its absence. It was not missed. By any of us.

And so, Chelsea's Thomas phase has officially ended. We were so proud of ourselves to have a daughter who wasn't obsessed with princesses, who adored Thomas and all things Sodor-related.

And now? That Thomas has been abandoned? I am sad to admit that I can name all of the Disney princesses, Disney fairies, and all of Strawberry Shortcakes berry, berry sweet friends. *sigh*

So I guess there'll be no more tricking someone into washing her hands with fancy blue soap.

Or building elaborate, if unstable, train birthday cakes.

Or giggling over someone being named Tom.

Thomas, you were fun while you lasted. I hope our forgotten engines become some other little child's new favorite things.
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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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Like, Totally, Vocabulary. Y'know?

On the scale of "Things You Don't Expect Your Preschooler to Say" these are pretty mundane.

Chelsea's not saying sh*t (like one little friend of hers recently did) or even "cruise ship!" as another one famously swore. But I guess I still need to be careful how I speak around her, lest she start sounding like, well, like me.

Here are some recent gems:

"Seriously, Mommy, seriously! We NEED to do this now!"

"Mommy, I'm not actually going to do it!"

(and in response to the question, "Why did you take your pants off outside?")

"Oh, I just randomly did it!"

Seriously, actually, and randomly.

Yep, that's seriously what I actually sound like when I randomly babble at my kids.
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Missing the Point

Chelsea, Savannah, and I go to the weekly open gym at our YMCA. It's just 45 minutes of free play time on the gymnastics equipment. The kids love it, obviously, but I think the moms might love it more. Everyone is so busy flopping into the marshmallow pit, bouncing on the trampoline, or swinging on a giant rope, they don't have time to whine or fight. Very much. It burns up a lot of that toddler/preschooler energy, too, so there's hope for naptime as well. Win-win!

Last week, we got a little note from one of the instructors asking for our feedback about the timing of open gym during Y Camp season this summer.

I discussed the options they gave us with Chelsea, to see what she thought.

Me: The first choice is to move the start time to 8:15am, and we'd have the gym all to ourselves. Or, it could start at 8:30, and we'd have to share the gym with the kids in Gymnastics Camp for the last 15 minutes. OR, it could start the same time it does now, at 9am, and we'd share the gym the whole time. What do you think would be the best?

Chelsea: I want to go to Gymnastics Camp!
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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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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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Sick Day Conversation

Chelsea has a scratch on the outside edge of her nostril from when her face accidentally collided with her father's fingernail the other day.

It is severely hindering her nose-picking, which is one of her top three hobbies these days (right after playing with trains and coloring pictures of trains).

She's not feeling well today, so I was lying down with her as she was settling down for a nap. She told me that her nose was hurting.

Me: Leave it alone. It'll get better faster that way.

Chelsea: But I can't reach inside it!

Me: Reach inside tiger's nose instead. (Tiger is her stuffed lovey.)

Her: Tiger doesn't have a nose!

Me: TIGER DOESN'T HAVE A NOSE?!

Her: Well, she has this kind of nose, but she doesn't have any pokes. (Pointing to tiger's nose and then my nostrils.)

Me: Nostrils.

Her: Yeah.

Me: Poor tiger! How does she breathe without any nostrils?

Her: She's not a real tiger. She just... she's just like... she's made of fuff!

There's no point to this story except that pokes and fuff are my new favorite words.
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Future Coupon Queen

Chelsea: "Mommy, would you like to buy one of these?" (holding up marker caps on her fingertips, Freddy Krueger style)

Me: (trying to check my email) "No, thank you, honey. Not right now."

Chelsea: "But Mommy, you need to buy dem! Dey are only on sale today!"
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30 Day Shred, Mommy Style

You would think that life with two small children would not require the 30 Day Shred, because this kind of life is already the 365 Day Shred. Apparently, chasing around after two tiny crazy people was not enough to whip this mama's bod into rock star shape. That is why I now have Jillian. (Plus, Jillian was on sale at Target and I had a gift card. Woohoo!)

Usually I do my shredding during afternoon naptime, while Savannah naps and Chelsea has "quiet" time. The other day, I tried to shred during Savannah's morning nap, which meant Chelsea was wiggling around underfoot the entire time.

I give you now the abridged transcript of the 30 Day Shred plus preschooler:

During push-ups:
"Don't climb on my back!"

During crunches:
"Don't touch my armpits!"

During shadowboxing:
"WATCH OUT!!!"

Think of all the extra calories I must be burning by yelling WHILE shredding! "Yelling While Shredding." Could be the next big thing.

Spontaneous Reading

Exhibit A

At home. Chelsea is examining the ornaments and presents.

Chelsea: "Mommy! This one says Heidi and Jeremy!" (points to ornament that says Heidi and Jeremy)

Me: (skeptically) "Which word says Heidi?"

Chelsea: "This one." (Points to "Heidi.")

Me: (still not convinced) "Which word says Jeremy?"

Chelsea: "THIS one." (Points to "Jeremy.")

Me: (thinking that was too easy, she must've heard me say the names when we hung the ornament and she knows which name is which because of the order they are in) "Hmm. You're right."

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Exhibit B

At Target, in the Customer Service line. Girls are in the cart. Store employee walks up and talks to Chelsea.

Store Employee: (to Chelsea) "Hi there!"

Chelsea: (hides face and grins) "Thomas!"

Me: (turns to explain to the man that she is obsessed with Thomas and says "Thomas" even when it is not an appropriate response, but then sees that the man's name tag reads "Tom") "Chelsea, did you see the man's name tag?"

Chelsea: (keeps head down, says nothing)

Me: (distracted by Customer Service lady)

Me: (to the man) "She loves Thomas trains, so she randomly says Thomas all the time."

Man: "No, while you were talking to Customer Service she said 'Tom' to me. Twice."

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Exhibit C

Driving to playgroup. Chelsea is staring out the window. We pass the sign that says "Now entering Ipswich."

Chelsea: "Mommy? Are we in Ipwich now?"

Me: "Did you just read the sign?"

Chelsea: "Ep." (That is Chelsea-speak for "Yep.")

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I knew that she would eventually do this. That she would be one of those kids who would just up and start reading one day, before any kind of instruction. She is sitting on her bed right now with a mountain of library books. Within minutes of any family member coming to visit she has them reading to her. Even when she was potty-training, the bribe we used to get her to sit on the potty was reading books.

Even though I knew it would happen, I didn't expect it to happen so soon. I thought maybe, maybe at some point when she's three. Oprah famously describes how she started reading at three, why not Chelsea? But I thought it would be more like days before her fourth birthday. Not days after her third.

I don't write this to boast. Although I'm insanely proud of her, I'm hoping this doesn't come across turning this mommyblog into a mommybrag. Mostly I just want a record of what's happening with her. So that if it turns out that she really is starting to read, I'll have proof. That way, when she has her own kids and I tell her that she started reading at three and she inevitably doesn't believe me, I can say, "It's on my blog."

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Of course with every triumph comes a challenge.

At Chelsea's 3 year check-up with her pediatrician, the doctor could barely understand her speech. She still struggles with Ls, Ys, and certain letter combos. The doc recommended a speech evaluation and since she's three we can get one through the local public schools.

I called them and they want her to come in for a preschool screening. Which is wonderful because the schools have an awesome, inexpensive preschool program which services a mix of regular education and special education students.

Ironically, my precocious little reader might qualify for this preschool as a special ed student because of her speech.

I'm glad she'll be getting help (if they determine she needs it). But I'll be sad to hear those little Chelsea-isms go.

"Is this 'ticker 'till 'ticky?"
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R.I.P. Naptime

Dear Naptime,

You came into this world nearly three years ago, just as our first child was born. You overwhelmed us with your generosity, providing us countless hours of newborn sleep and myriad possibilities for photographing dream-induced smiles. You gave us respite in those terrifying early days of parenthood.

You had your fickle times, too. You became difficult to induce and to maintain. Placing pacifiers just so. Bouncing in the sling again and again just to win 45 minutes of your glory. Driving aimlessly around town with bleary eyes. Whatever the price, you were always worth it.

And as you aged, you continued to change. When you stopped visiting us three times a day, I was nervous. And when you cut your visits down to just one each afternoon, I knew my baby was growing up too fast.

And now, it seems that you have left us for good. I had worried that perhaps we'd have to skip seeing some of our other friends to keep you around, but now it appears you are determined to leave despite our best efforts.

Oh, Naptime, you've given us so much over these three years. Time to rest, eat, clean, and pee alone. Solitude. Quiet. Uninterrupted telephone conversations.

Naptime, you will be greatly missed by all who knew you.
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Two Officers and a Stray Cat

Halloween 2007, on the way to a party. Jeremy and I were part of a group dressing as Reno 911. Chelsea is dressed as Bootsie (a stray black cat we met at the playground one day). I'm pregnant with Savannah, hence the button-down shirt that doesn't button down.)
Rad photography, right? I managed to cut off Jeremy's head AND feet. You would never guess that I used to work as a professional photog, would you? (But that's another post...)
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Dr. & Mrs. Evil, and Mini-Me

Halloween 2006. On our way to a party. Chelsea was 10 months old.

We were pretty rad, no? I'm totally distracted by the background: what the hell was on TV? Also, that bright shiny rectangle way up high is the license plate that is the banner for this blog, and I need to dig that baby gate around the TV out of storage 'cause Savannah wants to put her fingers in the VCR all. the. time. But forget all of that: check out our groovy costumes!

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.

Littlest Consumer

At 8am:

Chelsea: "Mommy, what is open?"

Me: "Um, Starbucks is open. And 7-11."

Chelsea: "We should go to Starbucks!"

Me: "No, honey, we're not going to Starbucks this morning. We're going to the playground a little later to meet some friends."

Chelsea: "We should go to Starbucks while we're waiting!"
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The Turtle Song

Chelsea and I have a nightly bedtime ritual. After bath, jammies, and stories, I always sing her the Turtle Song. It goes like this:

I had a little turtle
His name was Tiny Tim
He went into the bathtub
To see if he could swim
He drank up all the water
He ate up all the soap
He went to see the doctor
With a bubble in his throat.

I first sang it to her a long time ago, back when she was still sleeping in her crib, back when I was searching for something, anything, to keep her from crying when she went down for a nap or for bedtime. One day, I sang this song, and she didn't cry. And just like that, it became our routine.

As she got older, she wanted to take over singing the song entirely by herself ("I do it myseff!") but her versions were so long and rambling and I never knew when they were over, so instead we made a compromise: I sing it, but she sings the last word of each line.

Lately, however, she's turned the song into a MadLibs-like exercise in ridiculousness. Here's how it usually goes:

I had a little THOMAS!
His name was THOMAS WHOMAS!
He went into the PERCY!
To see if he could PERCY!
He drank up all the PERCY!
He ate up all the PERCY!
He went to see the PERCY!
With a PERCY IN HIS EDWARD!

Sometimes I ask her if she wants to hear a different song. My mom is able to put her to bed with an out-of-season rendition of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and my husband manages to put her to bed with no songs at all. But with me, it's always the Turtle Song. Or, I guess I should say, the Thomas Song. Although, isn't every song at my house the Thomas song these days?
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This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as an entry for a contest sponsored by Bush’s Beans.
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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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Toddler Morning Workout

Before 9am, Chelsea has:
-heard a story,
-played with baby bottles,
-climbed into baby sister's exersaucer,
-gotten stuck in baby sister's exersaucer,
-"helped" me blow-dry my hair,
-played with make-up,
-"read" three books,
-tripped and fallen,
-played with baby ABC toy,
-traveled around the house on play car,
-rubbed lotion on her arms,
-played with her jack-in-the-box,
-tried on shoes,
-tried on hats,
-tried on mittens,
-discarded shoes, hats, and mittens,
-played with bubble wrap,
-"read" a magazine, and
-pulled all the cushions off the couch.

Whew. I'm exhausted just looking at that list.
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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.

Why Jeremy Needs a Blog

We went to a local fair recently and there was a moonbounce. Two bucks to wear your child out. So worth it!

I was sitting in the shade with Savannah, so Jeremy walked over with Chelsea and watched her jump. At first, she was the bruiser: a big kid jumping super high among a bevy of littler toddlers. But after a little bit, some older kids came in and the attendant started to give Jeremy the stink eye, letting him know he should get her out of there already. Two dollars will only buy you so much jumping time, mister!

So Jeremy says, "Chelsea! You can do 5 more jumps, and then it's time to go." (She requires this kind of transition and will lose her mind entirely without it.)

So Chelsea does the first of her last five jumps... way up high into the stratosphere of the moonbounce and lands squarely on her head, twisting her neck in a way that makes all the other parents watching gasp.

Jeremy is running to the entrance to get her out. She's in a heap, crying.

She gets up, still crying, takes another jump and says, "Two."

And another, "Three."

Jeremy: "Chelsea! You don't HAVE TO do five more jumps!"
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