Word Up

Like her buddy Ethan, Molly has been in the midst of a reading explosion. And just like his mama, this mama also loves watching the intense concentration of figuring out new words and the resulting joy from ascertaining their meaning. For awhile, Molly would read and string the words together but didn't always get the joke or a critical plot twist (and you know how kids' books have complex plot twists thrown into the middle of them). Like Emeril, however, BAM! the other week, I realized she was getting the nuances of Backwards for Breakfast or some such thriller. And then last night, she was reading Fat Cat and laughed h-y-s-t-e-r-i-c-a-l-l-y about the witch calling her pet bat "my little brat". Hysterically. For many, many minutes while I sat there in throes of agony wondering what happened next. And then she couldn't even go on because she was laughing too hard and finally had to go to bed. So, once she was asleep, I went back and read the rest of the book myself. Because, seriously, I had to know what happened with the cat and the bat. 

Anyway, this is a really fun milestone for lots of reasons. She reads to her brother (and "teaches" him. Poor guy... although I realized, once again, I don't give him nearly enough credit for what he already knows. Or that she taught him. Either way... he's getting himself some edumacation somewhere, thank goodness), she entertains herself quietly for good chunks of time, she can figure out what I'm talking about if I ask her to look for something in the other room, and I love being read to. The only downside, that I'm sure all parents miss, is that we can't s-p-e-l-l anything in front of her like we used to when we didn't want her virgin ears to hear the bad business of the world. Or where we had stashed her Halloween candy. I'm going to have to pick up pig Latin or something in order to keep that stuff on the DL. Since we all know how stellar I am at learning foreign languages, however, this is likely to never happen. It's a trade-off that I'm willing to make, however, and I'm starting to see the manifestations in not only her receptive language and her reading but how she also narrates her the very, very bountiful artwork that comes home with her from school and is produced in her room. If anyone needs something illustrated, I have your gal -- and she likes getting paid in cookies. 

Her next pupil. This one won't talk back like someone else does...

The sly fox with her slightly drunk looking Daddy (sorry John).

Chairlift signs are kind of scary/creepy, by the way. Not sure they're the best fodder for young minds. 

The Boogie Men

My kids still like to dance. It's pretty funny (except when I'm trying to get out of the house in the morning. Nothing is funny when I'm trying to get out of the house in the morning and I continue to be an epic failure at not losing my mind trying to get out of the house in the morning. Can someone explain to me how people who can remember that I promised them one m&m six months ago cannot remember that shoes AND jackets are required to leave the house in the middle of February? I'm not asking for hats and mittens or even socks, for the love of Pete. I've lowered my expectations to just shoes and jackets. Inexplicably, this ends up causing confusion EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I've digressed on sentence number two...) to watch those little booties wiggling and hands waving and feet hopping. But the outfits? Those make me laugh (when my eyes aren't hurting from some of the color combinations) hardest of all. Molly is the bigger dresser-upper of the two and trends towards ballet-related fare or country music-ish swishy skirts and hats (favorite songs of the week: Cotton Eyed Joe and Thank God I'm A Country Boy. Is that mean that we force John Denver on them? Is it weird that I still love John Denver?). Jack seems to prefer to wear hats and no pants most of the time. He's not picky. His number one requested song is the Thomas theme song but I may poke my eyes out if I hear that jingle again so it's mysteriously been eliminated from the atmosphere recently. Huh, dunno what happened to it... the cloud has failed. Still, I love that they love to dance. 

So, that's it in our world right now -- just the simple pleasures of questionable outfits and little people who like to shake, rattle, and roll. I know there has been some push back (none from my three faithful readers, thank you) these days on people filtering out the tough moments and presenting only the good sides of their happy little lives online. I don't mean to suggest that I've gotten better at not losing my temper or that we always get to bed on time. But, I also like fun times and not getting stuck in the mud of tough times. We all go through rough patches, I hope that is a given, and I think sometimes it's really helpful to write about sticky stuff and sometimes it's good to just feel good about your family and life and appreciate the small things that make our days tick by. Clearly, there is stuff that is unfortunate (see above) but there is also plenty of richness that I want to soak in because, you know, these kids grow up so darn fast. So, while next week I might ramble on about how I can't seem to stop the whining (my own) or why I clean the toilet approximately 450,000 times more often now that a certain little boy stands up when he uses the potty, right now I want to remember all the sights (blinding or not) and sounds of my monkeys dancing to their beats. 

An oldie... raise the roof

Getting the hands juuuust right for Gangam Style is hard. 

She's got it down a little bit better...

Now we're up and run dancing.

Oh right, accessories must be included.

Not sure about the hat and tucked in shirt.

Whoa... tough corner.

With a horse, it's even harder.

No, seriously, this is dancing.

Sometimes, a different hat just adds a little extra spice. 

When you're five, a 2T bathing suit is always appropriate dancing attire.

Dancing is also about partnership, give and take, and cooperation.

\

But, sometimes, when you're wearing things that clash horribly, you get ditched. 

Potty Party

The end of an era came and went without much fanfare in our house. Well, that's not strictly true. There is a very (VERY, VERY) anatomically correct? explicit? drawing that captures the end of the era (well, really, the beginning of the new era) hanging over someone's bed (drawn by a big sister with a surprising grasp of the human body and all its functions) but other than that, we didn't celebrate being (mostly) done with diapers too much. Jack "decided" to choose potty training as his new year's resolution. While there is still some coaxing to take a break from the train tracks every once in awhile, it all has gone pretty smoothly thus far. Jack seems to do everything this way... he waits and waits, not needing to be at the forefront of anything, but then it's just done. No big whoop. Given all that, I don't care two whits about what comes into the bathroom with him to entertain him on his longer stays...