Reinforcements

Tonight I was stuck in the kitchen making dinner while Nicole was in the living room practicing riding her bike without training wheels. She asked me to come help her, but I couldn't leave the stove right then.

She said to me, "Man, I wish Jesus were here, then he could help me while you cook dinner."

I thought to myself, "I wish your dad were here, then he could help you instead of Jesus."

Deck the Halls

Grant gearing up for the holidays.
Grant found the Easter eggs next to the tree ornaments.
Oops, wrong holiday!

Grant's "camera smile." Sure, he's trying to eat at the same time, but we're going to have to practice this one -- it simply will not do in the family portrait next year.

Nicole modeling the tree skirt.

Nicole has three ornaments with her picture on them (second-child syndrome Grant has none). She placed all of them front and center. One hour later, Grant colored all over Nicole's face on two of the three with Nicole's markers. Our damage-control department has scheduled an ornament-making workshop to replace Grant's graffiti and also give Grant a chance to deface his own visage.

It's serious business to place your first ornament on a tree. This is the first, last, and only time this year that Grant will be permitted to touch the tree without severe consequences. I still don't dare place the wrapped presents under the tree. I don't think they could withstand the unnatural forces of Grant.

Grant caught red-handed stealing a candy cane.

Grant enjoying the fruits of his labors. This is what Christmas is all about. I remember sneaking candy canes from the tree, too. My brothers (especially the oldest one) and sister always told me to leave the treats alone, but lucky me never got in trouble by the bigger authorities.

All done!
(Only two candy canes short, both of which were consumed hastily by Grant.)

Gold Digger

Last summer, Papa showed Nicole a one-hundred dollar bill from his wallet. This made such an impression on Nicole that she hasn't forgotten it. Just lately, she's been talking about it non-stop, even taking the time to tell strangers in the checkout line, "My grandpa has a one-hundred dollar bill!"

At our last visit, Papa gave Nicole a one dollar bill to stash away. She was really happy because she loves to spend her own money at the store from time to time. (Plus, it was tons better than the quarter that Grant got.) One day, when she mentioned the $100 again, I jokingly told her that she should ask Papa to trade -- her one dollar for his hundred.

She immediately took him up on it. Unfortunately, the $100 was long gone, and hence, no deal was made.

Today, while at Papa's, Nicole took me into the bathroom, closed the door, and took a $100 bill out of her pocket. I was astounded! I couldn't believe that my dad actually gave it to her. I asked her where she got it and was shocked at her cunning ways.

"When Papa was in the bathroom, I sneaked his wallet out of his pants that were sitting on the chair. I found this in his wallet, but he doesn't know."

Nicole was disappointed to learn that you can't take money from people's wallets, and she graciously agreed to return the money (as long as I did it for her without anyone seeing). In all fairness, I thought Grandma and Papa ought to be apprised of the situation so that they can more carefully guard their wallets in the future -- although I really hope this doesn't become a habit!

Grant's a Lucky Boy

When Grant was born, I mistakenly thought that he and Nicole would be enough years apart to not fight argue hit each other get mad at each other. (Pause while veteran moms chuckle or burst the seams on their pants while getting all of their laughter out.)

I suppose this myth was perpetuated by our good first year. Grant never touched Nicole's toys, and if Nicole ever wanted something Grant had in hand, he happily traded. Our second year, to say the least, has been more eventful. Nicole has developed a level of tolerance comparable to an adult, but Grant has a way of pushing his luck. Sometimes he hits Nicole just to see what she'll do. Or he'll run full speed with his short, fat legs carrying her Barbie car while Nicole chases after (and believe you me, she always catches up!). In the mornings, Nicole watches cartoons on the couch for a few minutes to wake up. Grant likes to catapult himself on top of her so she'll play (I have yet to see this end in Grant's favor).

Amidst all of the ways Grant has found to torture Nicole, Nicole loves him still. She carries him into the elevator because he's scared to step over the crack (phobia-in-the-making). She teaches him how to sing without words. And she cleans his hands after he has written on them with her markers (which he also dumped all over the living room).What a sister!

Where is My Water Bottle?

Grant stole my water bottle, emptied its contents, crushed it flat, and put it in the wash.
Gotta give him credit for wash part.

My Crystal Ball Predicts ...

1. Scott will be born on January 7, 2008 with blue eyes and light brown hair.
2. Next year we will move to Washington state. The year after that, we will move to Minnesota.
3. Grant will learn to talk before he starts kindergarten.
4. One day Clint will post this sign on our property. 5. Our neighbors will be scared to visit,
especially 16-year-old boys who come looking for Nicole and Jenna (our future daughter).

Lexical Mixup

Nicole has been keeping an informal journal at school. So when she was given a darling notebook with a lock and key set at a party last weekend, she was really excited to have her own journal at home.

While driving in the car tonight, I asked Nicole what she was going to take to show'n'tell tomorrow. Not surprisingly, she immediately said, "My diary!"

Apparently I didn't hear her quite clearly because then she added, "Man, diarrhea means lots of things ... Like going potty in your pants ..."

I interrupted her to explain the difference between diary and diarrhea. In the end, I told her to just call it a journal from now on -- that way no one in class will be confused (or grossed out) at school tomorrow.

Medical School Wives

Whenever I hear about a doctor getting married, I think that his new bride got the short end of the deal when compared to those of us who have "been in for the loooong haul."

Now, as you may know, medical school isn't always rosy and it's not something you would wish on your enemies, but that's precisely why I'm happy to be married to my husband as a student. I have a theory that as we overcome the trials of medical school together (which we eventually do -- only to face another one later, of course), our relationship strengthens. We help each other through, we gain more respect for each other, and we love each other more deeply.

Likewise, we carve a history together of the good times. We can reminisce jokingly about past professors and keep up with mutual friends we've made. We relish in seemingly small things, like not being on call.

As a medical school wife, I feel like I can fully appreciate the sacrifice that builds a physician and the years in school have prepared me for a lifetime of being a doctor's wife (be it good or bad). So while some may prefer to jump into a marriage with a husband who actually has a positive income (rather than student loans up the wazoo), I am glad to have traveled the windy road through medical school by my husband's side (on most days).

Something Amazing

From the movie The Incredibles ... Do you remember the scene where Bob is so upset about losing his job (again) that he picks up his car and contemplates tossing it into outer space before noticing a neighbor boy watching him from his trike with his jaws wide open? The next day, Bob sees the kid sitting on his trike again in Bob's driveway and they have a brilliant dialogue:

Bob: Well, what are *you* waiting for?
Little Boy on Tricycle: I don't know. Something amazing, I guess.
Bob: Me too, kid.

I think all of us are capable of our own little something amazing. Sure, we all possess varied and sometimes odd or useless talents, but deep down, there's an aspiring sidewalk chalk artist, a truly SuperMom, a shower diva, a body builder or stand-up comedian. There's something in all of us that can become something amazing!

As for me, I'm a long-time closet writer. I've written three chapters to seven books and never finished a one of them. I always begin on fire. I convince myself that I have a unique, original and interesting book idea, only to succumb to self-doubt half-way through.

So this holiday season, since I'm nearly done with my Christmas shopping -- hooray! -- and since I'll have loads of free time while Clint's away, I vow to finish one of my books and seek outside input on my ideas ... for the first time ever. I will dedicate one hour to writing each day, beginning when Clint leaves for Minnesota. And by December 22, when my true love and I are reunited, I will have a product to present to you.

Join me on my journey and create your own something amazing this holiday season! I know there's something you've been longing to do ...

Big Sisters

When Clint was younger, he was terrorized by his three older sisters, but none was as bad as his oldest sister Lisa. Clint has all sorts of stories about mean things Lisa did, but my favorite was when he agreed to fetch her a glass of water in exchange for a piece of candy. When Clint returned with the glass, instead of handing Clint a piece of candy, Lisa threw it at Clint's head.

Last night I gave Nicole a new package of Pez for her dispenser and told her to share with Grant. She nodded, then threw his little piece across the room and said, "Go get it, Grant!" Grant, oblivious to the abuse, was happy to oblige.

History repeated.

Poor Grant.

Rejects

I bravely weathered the task of taking two kids out for picture posing at a non-kid park (i.e., no playground in sight) alone yesterday. Did I mention I was alone?

As I chased Grant around, told him to sit by Nicole, and tried to snap a few shots, I wondered why it is that two kids can't seem to smile appropriately and simultaneously. I was hoping for a Christmas card photo, but here's what we got instead. (These are my SOOC shots -- straight out of the camera.)

Mom: Sit down, Grant!

Mom: Is this the best we can do?

Nicole: My mom is paying me to do this.

Mom: Try to keep your eyes open while you have fun.

Nicole: Yippee!
Mom: Pesky leaves!
Grant: Why does she do that?

Grant: I quit!
Mom: I quit!
Nicole: Do I still get paid if I quit?

You'll have to anxiously check your mail boxes for the finished conglomeration. But here's a preview: the editing was intense!

Barbie Torture

"Help! I can't move!" Holla screamed.

If you're wondering how a child with her own roll of Scotch tape conjured such an idea, just ask her dad about his favorite torture techniques (he can keep you entertained for at least an hour). Although, to my knowledge, he's never shared his ideas with Nicole. Must be telepathy.

Little Morsels of Heaven

Want a sweet treat without breaking the diet? Try these chocolate cookies. They're not healthy, per se, but they're less evil than regular cookies. Hence, you can eat twice as many without feeling twice as guilty!

Chocolate Chews
Ingredients
6 -- 10 Tbsp. butter, softened (depending on your mood)
1 3/4 c. sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
3 large egg whites
2 1/3 c. flour
6 Tbsp. cocoa
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
2 c. milk chocolate chips (only if you're having a good day)
powdered sugar, for dipping

Directions
Cream the butter, sugar and vanilla.
Beat in egg whites, one at a time.
Add remaining ingredients, except powdered sugar.
Beat until well blended.
Form dough into balls the size of a tablespoon, then roll in the powdered sugar.
Bake for 8 minutes at 350 degrees.

By the way, you can decrease the fat by half and substitute egg whites in many cookie recipes with no difference in taste. I've noticed they don't stay fresh as long, though, so only bake enough for a day and keep the rest of the dough in the fridge.

Cravings

Nicole: Ice
Brooke: Bleu cheese dressing (I know it's taboo, but it tasted ssooooo good!)
Grant: Caesar dressing (at least I ate salad with it this time)
Scott: PB M&Ms for the first half (good thing that one ended) and ... wait for it ... ICE is back for the second half!

I don't know why ice brings me such joy, but there's just something about having a never-ending supply of non-caloric snacks that makes a pregnant mama go gaga.

Hommage to My Heritage

I've come home to roost. I renounce my former Scrooge-ness and now embrace my childhood joys that were found in a "big Christmas."

Looking back, my parents did Christmas right. Was it all about the gifts? Duh. With seven greedy kids around, our presents flowed from under the tree and all the way into the kitchen. Each of us received a big-ticket item, a stocking full of really cool stuff (never coal, oranges, or other useless things), and countless smaller (yet never insignificant) gifts. We never took turns opening our goods -- that would have taken hours! Rather it was a sixty-minute free-for-all as wrapping paper flew in the air and greatly-anticipated gifts were discovered, stashed in a heaping pile and eventually taken to their new home in our respective rooms.

I'm confident that each of us expected to find something that we "could not live without" on Christmas morning. My parents always knew what each of us wanted most, and regardless of their financial situation, they somehow found a way to provide it. And there was no skimping (thank my dad for that!). When it came to quality, Dad didn't settle. Whatever it was we wanted, he found it bigger and better (and undoubtedly more expensive). Needless to say, Christmas was never a disappointment in our home.

So this year, I'm giving my parents' technique a try. We're going all-out.

Let's just be extravagant. Indulge our carnal appetites for material possessions. And remember what it was like to be a kid -- on Christmas morning.

What NOT to Say to an Expectant Mother

Toward the end of my pregnancy with Brooke, I dreaded going out in public. Friends and foes alike would enthusiastically comment, "You're so small!" I can't fault them -- they were right -- but the smallness was one of the problems. I don't think the average person could even detect a baby belly until I was six months' along. I began to loathe the terms "small," "tiny," and "itty bitty." I vowed that in subsequent pregnancies, I would relish in a big tummy and delight in being frequently reminded how BIG my baby was getting.

But now that I'm on the opposite end of the spectrum, I find myself annoyed at the vocalized observations. "Wow, that baby is growing!" and "You are a lot bigger than you were last time."

Let's just lay it all out on the table. Whether it's the truth or not, expectant mothers don't enjoy hearing how BIG they look (even if it's intended as a compliment). Actually, there's probably not much you can say about a pregnant woman's appearance without causing some sort of offense. Just blame it on those wacky hormones.

And talk about something else. Something safe. Like cumulus clouds (but only if the mom-to-be doesn't look like a cumulus cloud). And when all else fails and you're at a complete loss for words, lie. Remember, a "You look fantastic!" never hurt anyone.

IPODs

Aren't IPODs glorified walkmans?

Every time I venture down to lower campus (and you ought to see the stares I get as I push a double stroller through the business building; exactly how do they suppose the earth is supposed to repopulate?), I spot numerous college students strutting around with their mini headphones stuck in their ears. But they're always solo. I think secretly these collegiate IPODers are lonely and trying to distract their minds with numbing lyrics from the radio.

Now, I can understand the headset if one were on a brisk walk across campus and in too big of a hurry to stop and chat. After all, what says, "Leave Me ALONE" more than someone staring aloofly into oblivion whilst fumbling with a handheld gadget and silently lip syncing a song that no one else can hear?

I have a solution for these isolationists. When they're in a position to communicate with a real live human being, they ought to remove their listening devices from their ears. Many college students could benefit from a jovial conversation with a classmate on the shuttle ride to the dorms or a quick hello while entering a building. Even if it doesn't prove to be the most stimulating exchange of words, there's something to be said for having talked vis-a-vis with someone. And who knows, maybe more of them would get married. And have kids. And stop gawking at other people's kids like they were aliens.

Even Responsible Moms Call Poison Control

Maybe responsible isn't quite the right word. But based on our increasing dependence on the medical profession, I see no reason why we shouldn't always live next to a level 1 trauma center.

And for your information, it takes nearly 100 iron-containing chewable kid vitamins before your child overdoses to a toxic level.

(Grant ate five. Maybe ten. Tops.)

The Color Zoo

In my opinion, the book itself isn't thrilling (more of the informational-type), but when you combine it with an activity to create your own zoo, it's fantabulous! Nicole liked the book better than I did because it presented information she already knew that made her feel smart (such as, a circle has no sides) and new information, too, like how to draw an oval or the name of the STOP sign shape.

We both had the most fun making the animals. I gave Nicole free-reign on my old card-making tools (for the impeccable circles), which is something she doesn't get to do very often. Since Grant was asleep for all of the excitement, we were uninterrupted the whole time. I didn't even answer the phone when it rang! Nicole called it "Mommy and Nicole time" and has already asked that we repeat this ritual.

Nicole's animals are based on the ones exhibited in the book, except with a twist on the colors. Here is her zoo.