And then my sweet husband took it upon himself to order me the new iPhone. To replace the perfectly good one that I was still using. Which would have been cool and all, had he ordered the right one – the one that took video, as well. But he made a whoops, kind of rare in these parts, and basically bought me the same phone I already had. And it was a couple of weeks before we realized it. I’m lazy like that. And in the time between when I received the new one and realized it was the wrong one, I’d sent my old and still perfectly good original iPhone to my little sister in New York, all packaged up nice and neat in the new phone’s packaging.

And then, in a fit of rage, Coco threw the new phone on the ground at the playground last Wednesday, after ice skating lessons.

But no biggie. Besides a lovely crack clear across the front of the screen, it still worked.

But today? While at the apple orchard with all of her and her big sister’s friends, picking apples? It was dropped face down in the parking lot and it shattered. And I’ll be darned that the stupid thing still works. But I’m pretty sure that one of those shards of plastic? Glass? Is going to pierce the side of my head at some point.

So, lesson learned: never, ever replace something that works perfectly well with the newer version. Because the newer version will inevitably turn out to be a piece of crap that is not nearly as well-made as the original. Case in point: my original iPhone, lovingly tossed around in fits of rage by not one but two little girls over the course of three years with nary a scratch.

But the new version? Two weeks in my house? Trashed.

Which brings me to my next point: why do kids have to destroy everything they touch? Just added a new princess dress, hand-made, to the dress-up box yesterday. By the end of the day? Huge tear in the side of it. Total wear time? About 45 minutes. My hat that I’ve been knitting practically non-stop for the past two days? Twisted and knotted into a mess that even my professional knitting friend won’t be able to salvage. Fairy doll beheaded by Lola after being left on the floor by one little 4-year old who cannot (will not?) clean up after herself. I am so frustrated! I actually heard myself using the sentence, “we can’t have anything nice in this house!” yesterday, before my husband cut me off with a, “don’t you dare… my mom said that all the time growing up and I don’t want to hear it from you.”

There is not one room in this house that is not littered with their stuff. There is not one little nook for me to escape to in this house where I am guaranteed peace, quiet and privacy. I’m wondering when it’s going to end? When I will shower alone? Pee alone? Dress alone? Fold laundry alone? Sleep alone? Ever?

I told my husband that I didn’t want another iPhone. I hate it. It’s crap. And anyway, I can’t have anything nice (well, pricy, really) until the girls learn the true meaning of “keep your hands to yourself!” Just get me whatever phone comes free with a plan. But now? Reminiscing about the early days with my babies and my iPhone? I’m a little weepy. I know, I know. Get over it. It’s a gadget. But so often, as a mom, I feel so out of the loop! Like my entire existence is potty training, carpools and play-dates. Bedtime stories and sleep training. Sometimes, I just want to sit on the bench at the park and read the gossip blogs on my phone, okay?

Before Coco heads over my way and heaves it across the concrete basketball court and it shatters into a million more pieces.

And I love it.

And on occasion when I had an appointment that I remembered about, there was this great little drop-in childcare place in close proximity to us. I’d swing by, run the girls in and head to wherever it was I needed to be. But about two months ago, they suddenly closed down. Forever. Something about the economy coupled with last spring’s Swine Flu epidemic. And then we lost our last babysitter to grad school. In Wisconsin. And we knew that with my husband’s travel schedule and my weakening nerves we had to do something.

And so we did.

We brought in Nici. From Austria. She’s our au pair. And before you go getting all “oh, isn’t she fancy with her nanny,” let me say this:

Nici is not a nanny.

She is an au pair. An 18-year old girl from Austria who wants to experience a year of life in the U.S. and so in return offers our family childcare assistance during times when we need it. Which for me, really amounts to an extra set of hands to replace the set that I lose when my husband gets on that plane out of town. But she’s so much more than an au pair already, she’s a family member. She’s a big sister to the girls. She joins us at all of the events that we attend, she knows all the kids (and parents) at Pea’s school. She eats with us, she relaxes with us. It’s been amazing. We are so grateful that she is here. Honestly, I could not do this without her. I know there are those of you who do, those of you who have no choice, but we do have a choice and this is the one we’ve made. For our family. And it’s working. And we are thrilled to pieces.

And so, consider yourself up-to-date. And now, moving on…

Pea is a tyrant these days. Constantly yanking her little sister, hitting her, stealing things from her and just generally terrorizing the entire household. I am at a complete loss! I think this is normal for her age? And for sisters so close to one another in ages? I found these little responsibility charts at the local toy store by Melissa & Doug, and thought perhaps they’d help us gain a little control. Kind of manipulate the situation a bit. I think they might be working. It’s been one week and she’s eager to put her ‘way to go!’ and ‘awesome job!’ magnets next to her completed responsibilities at the end of the day. It’s become an integral part of our nighttime ritual.

A big one: ‘keep hands to yourself.’

My time is valuable. I once heard that if stay-at-home mothers were actually paid for the work that they did, they’d make somewhere around $800,000 a year. Can you imagine? How do we work that one out?

I don’t need permission to have a life – to take some time off. I work just as hard as the next person. I really do. Believe it or not.

(And if you’re a mom? I’m pretty sure that you believe it…)

Read more on this topic at The Bump…

Check out my most recent post on The Bump. For some of you, you’ve already heard it: it was hard to watch my ‘baby’ turn four years old. Yesterday was the official date. And if you asked Pea yesterday what day it was, she would tell you that “it was the day they took me out of my mommy’s tummy. I didn’t want to come out.” Truer words have never been spoken! Anyway, it’s all official. I am now the proud owner – I mean parent – of a four-year old kid. And it’s awesome. I don’t know, something just happens when they turn four. It’s as if a light-switch was turned on, and Miss Pea realized that she is now a person. A bona fide person. Again, it’s awesome. Anyway, check it all out on The Bump.

And Happy Hump Day…

There were beautiful party dresses, chosen just for the special occasion:

There were good friends and lots of laughing:

There was an extra-special birthday cake with not one but two layers – the top was a white cake, dyed pink, and the bottom was raspberry-lemon. To-die-for comes to mind…

There was painting:

There were presents:

There was also a subtle moment of mommy’s tears, just as Pea blew out her candles. That wasn’t caught on camera, thank God.

The next morning, the first words out of Pea’s mouth were, “I’m glad to be your kid.”

Enough said.

We have a good thing going on here. A very good thing, indeed…

Funny thing is, I don’t have any of those books any more. I kept “What to Expect: The Toddler Years,” and the “Love & Logic” series. The former because I like it, it’s full of good information, non-judgmental and generic information, and the latter because, well, on occasion it works for us with our defiant preschooler.

Minutes after being born. The only time she was silent the entire three days we were in the hospital:

Her first birthday party, in Fort Worth:

Her second birthday party, also in Fort Worth:

Her third birthday party, just after moving to Utah:

Her fourth birthday party is this Saturday. All of the kids from her preschool class will be there, as well as some of her buddies from outside of her class. She’s very excited. We just came back from Target, where we were picking up ’supplies.’ She’s gone birthday dress shopping, found a pair of party shoes, and can’t stop talking about it.

But in the meantime, as we wait for the big day to arrive, I’m looking through photos of her last four years, and ugh. My heartstrings are being tugged. They just grow so stinking fast, you know? From a helpless newborn to a fiercely independent preschooler. And this is not to say that I’m weepy for another baby, those days are long behind me. Especially now, that one girlfriend has a brand-new baby, and another just found out she’s pregnant for the third time. My husband will be relieved to know that I feel no pangs of desire for what they are going through right now, or will be, in the next seven or so months.

But, still. Babies. They’re so awesome. But you know what? So are preschoolers who can tell it like it is.

Happy almost-fourth birthday, little Miss Sweet Pea. I love you…

But back to Charlie Brown. Before the play, we were set to do a dance number, to warm the audience up. It was a hoe-down, I recall. It must’ve been, because I can so clearly remember the red bandanas that all the kids showed up with, tied around their necks. Some were blue, some were green, but most were red. Including mine.

Recall the stories about my OCD? My nuttiness for things a certain way? Well, somehow another girl ended up with my red bandana, and she wouldn’t give it back to me. And I flipped out. And so, Charlie Brown? At that night’s performance? Was played by my counselor, as she knelt on her knees, to be at eye level with the other thespian campers.

To make matters worse, my cousin who had just moved to the states from Israel, and didn’t speak a lick of English, ran onto the stage during the production and stole the audience’s heart. Salt? Meet open wound.

Last night, Pea had a performance with her entire school. Her class sang two numbers, “La Bamba” and “It’s A Hard-Knock Life,” from “Annie.” She’d been singing the former for weeks, and knew the entire tune. Not bad with the Spanish pronunciation, either, I might add. Anyway, we dressed her up in her dirty little orphan best, and headed to the auditorium.

Here she is, clinging to one of her teachers, before she took to the stage:

Looks a little nervous, no?

We don’t know if it was actually nerves, or if it was a touch of what her mama has – a tough time adapting to a situation out of her normal routine. We’re thinking that perhaps it’s the latter, since we seemed to start the day off on that particular foot. It was her rehearsal, and it was at the auditorium of the town’s library. And she had to wear her uniform, since she was going directly to school afterwards. That threw her off. She couldn’t understand why she had to wear her uniform to the library, and why once there, she couldn’t check out any books. We should have seen it coming…

This is how she chose to perform:

(That’s her, standing with her back to the audience, her teacher’s arm wrapped around her…)

Both of her teachers tell us that she sang both songs during the performance at the top of her lungs, word for word. Nerves? I don’t think so…

Anyway, we had flowers for her, she was thrilled. Look how cute she is in her little orphan get-up (as she high-tailed it out of the auditorium. Kid could not move fast enough!):

I made her ‘costume’ in the three minutes before my husband rushed us out the door, for the drive across town to the stage. It amounts to little more than a stay stitch on her jeans, keeping a couple of torn grey patches from my husband’s old tee-shirt in place; pant legs rolled up. A white (and cheap!) tee-shirt (Hane’s boys) that was sacrificed for her art – I ripped it up a bit. We tied some kitchen twine around the jeans, as a make-shift belt, and I smudged some of my dark brown eyeshadow (that I use as liner) on her face, to look like dirt. Lastly, since she proclaimed that she would not be leaving the house in this particularly hideous get-up (“can’t I wear a dress?“), I threw a ‘bow’ in her hair, nothing more than the ripped-off hem of the same jeans that we used for the patches. It worked. She left the house. Lastly, no shoes. I didn’t think that orphans from back in the day would actually be wearing imported French tennis shoes to scrub the floors so that they’d “shine like the top of the Chrysler Building…”

We took her out to dinner afterwards, to celebrate. She had mac ‘n cheese. And some of my salmon. And then? When she was ready to go? She turned and sneezed on me. All over me. Apparently, to Pea, that is the most effective means to getting her parents to hustle out of a restaurant and take her home. And it worked.  And I was still picking noodles off of myself as we pulled into our garage.

Hard to stay mad at this sweet little face, I’ll admit. How can you resist those baby blues? I can’t…

Girls: Mommy, can we go downstairs and play?

Mommy: Yup. Just make sure to play with one toy at a time, when you’re done with it, put it away and take out another. It’s more fun that way.

Girls: Okay.

(cue the sounds of toys, dolls and art supplies being thrown all around the room; oops, there goes the dollhouse… crash!)

Mommy: Oh. My. God. What the? Who the heck is going to clean THIS up?

Girls: YOU are!

Mommy: Oh no, you are sooooooooo mistaken, my little mess-makers. YOU are both going to clean up this mess. Or else…

Girls: Or else? Or else what? We’re going outside!

Mommy: Stupid toys. Barbie shoes – why so tiny? Pfft. Who the heck needs this many books? And Legos? Why so many pieces? Ouch! I just stepped on one! Jeez, I freaking hate this. What? I have nothing better to do than to clean up after these people? Really? Come on, guys! Team players! I’m not your maid! Or your servant! Stupid toys. That’s it. I’m done. And another thing? Husband? While we’re at it? Put your stupid belt away and stop peeling off your socks and leaving them on the floor! Just grow up! This is not my life’s work! To clean up after you, either! What, I have three kids now?

(This last part? Is spoken to myself, with the muffled sounds of my girls running around outside, in the backyard. Not helping me clean up their junk. My husband? Is making monster sounds, chasing them. I, in all of my OCD-ness, am inside, organizing toys, finding missing pieces, taping up ripped pages in books, etc.

So, I do what any mother would do, or at least what I’m told any mother would do: the next time the mess is made, I threaten to take the toys away if they are not put back in their place at the end of the day, and put them in the Sunday Bag. Which means you will not see them again until Sunday. Got it? Sunday. And then, I do, again, what any mother would do. And I follow through. I stomp around the house, pick up the ignored and discarded toys, place them in a sac and throw them in a clever hiding place, much to the girls’ pleading of, “no! Not that one! It’s my favorite!”

And then? Well, you can guess how this ends, right? NO ONE REMEMBERS THOSE TOYS IN THE SUNDAY BAG EVER EVEN EXISTED.

Stupid Sunday Bag.

So, I have since gone through all of the toys in the house, found all of their parts and pieces and taken a careful inventory. Kid not old enough for it? Stored for later use. Kid not interested? Donated to a worthy organization. Kid outgrown it? Passed down to a friend with a younger child. And on and on. Now? Streamlined. Toys, games and books that I have deemed fit for our home, our needs, our tastes.

This story is ending up a lot longer than I’d planned, but here is Chapter 2:

Meaghan (love the spelling!) sent me an email earlier in the week, suggesting that I check out a book on Amazon that she just received called “Cool Spaces for Kids.” She thought I’d like it. And she was right. UPS dropped off my copy this afternoon, and I cannot put it down. In fact, Pea and I just spent the last hour pouring over the pictures, talking about which projects we should tackle, and when.

The premise of the book is basically the same rule that we are trying to live by these days: less is more. Imagination is good. And children should have special places – just for them – in and around the house. A place all their own.

Interesting timing, since:

my husband and I have discussed the empty flower bed in the side yard, and how we’d like to teach the girls about food by having them grow their own vegetables. We’re starting with lettuce and cucumbers (this is covered in the book);

I have been dreaming of clever (and attractive!) ways to incorporate a window seat into the stairwell on the girls’ bedroom level, just under a window that overlooks the mountain across the street (also covered in the book);

pup tents… I have had plans for erecting a couple for the girls, out in the backyard, this summer (yup, it’s in the book);

and lastly, a conversation with my husband, as we drove him to the airport this morning, about a project I’d love for him to take on: a toy storage box with a chalkboard top, for the great room. That’s where we spend most of our time entertaining, and although currently there’s nothing in there for the girls, save two cabinets full of books, the room always ends up scattered with toys at the end of the day, so why not an attractive way to house them? I showed him a picture of one, from a shop that I like. He said no problem. Upon returning home from the airport? The new book I spoke of above was at the front door, and in it is a project for this very table. And with casters! (Which I had also requested on the one my husband build for us, I think they’re not on the one for sale above. Not that it matters. Because my husband is making us one! With casters! Lucky us! And, see? It’s in the book!)

So, in a nutshell: cool book, great ideas, all easily (I think) doable. And reasonably priced to complete, as well. Fits right in with my – our – new philosophy on home style and lifestyle…

Simple. Elegant. Sophisticated. Kid (and dog!) friendly. DIY (on occasion). Not going to break the bank (always good).

I think we’re going to be busy this summer…

Enjoy your weekend. We’ll be writing up hardware store lists, ourselves…

Oh, I almost forgot… Thanks, Meaghan!

Oh, well. We can’t all be as OCD as me…

But this whole school closure thing has irked a lot of people, not just us. Not only were the schools closed, but events were canceled and postponed. Parents couldn’t get to work because someone had to stay home with the kids, since no one would use the drop-in childcare facilities. Remember? They told us not to let our kids congregate? Well, parents took that to heart. I can’t tell you what that kind of advice in this current economy did to the psyche of our friends and neighbors. It wreaked havoc on our town, and in the end it was all for not much. Better safe than sorry, you say? Well, this was way past that. It was panic and the level was disturbing. Grocery shopping last week? There was a run on nearly every staple in the store. And soap? Good luck finding a single bottle that said “Antimicrobial” on it. Or any other, for that matter. Some idiot on NPR was suggesting that we all follow his lead and stock up on the necessities just in case we needed to be in confined to our homes for a month or so, while this all got sorted out. In line at the post office on Wednesday, behind a mother with her two school-age kids? I had to turn my head and bite my cheek to keep from laughing out loud at this woman’s exchange with her kids. “Don’t touch that. Get your hands away from your face. Cover your mouth. No, I said don’t touch that. No. Stop it! Okay, that’s it. Give me your hand. Maybe if I’m holding it, you’ll stop touching.” Get a grip. They’re kids. They touch things. Gross things. Disgusting things. In fact, we all touch things. Here, have some of my Purell and then get back to living your life…

So, we spent most of our week off eating Mexican food, barbecuing in the backyard with friends and sewing up summer dresses and skirts and making fabric flowers to adorn plain white Hanes boys’ tanks and tee-shirts with (these shirts comes in packs of 5 in the boy’s dept. of Target, about $6 a package – you can’t beat that!)… It was fun and productive and I’m delighted to learn that I can do these things. And do them well. I have found sewing and knitting to be very, very good for my soul. I’m sure my husband is just delighted that the very nice sewing machine he bought me for my birthday years ago has finally come out of hiding and been dusted off. I’m glad to prove that this was not a whim – yet another thing that I thought I wanted to do, said I wanted to do, but in the end never did. I did it. So, yeah, me!

Coco is talking up a storm these days, and I’m so glad that her big sis is back on schedule so that she and I can have our mornings, three days a week, back for ourselves. It’s our time alone, the two of us, when she has my full attention. It’s hard when her older sister is here. She’s a whirlwind of constant motion. Always into something, doing something, talking. Coco not only cannot get a word in edgewise, but I feel that she sometimes gets lost in the shuffle. She’s so mellow and easy-going, that she just doesn’t ask for much. She’s content to be playing off in the corner on her own. And while I love that she can entertain herself, I adore the times with her when we get to play with her fairy castle and read books and chase each other through the yard. Bonding at it’s best.

So, we have some new basketballs that my husband took the girls shopping for yesterday, and Coco and I intend to put her new pink one to good use this morning. We’re going to put on our sneakers, load up on the sunscreen and head out into the morning chill for Coco’s first official game of “H.O.R.S.E.”

Happy Friday!

Aargh.

They say not to congregate. Not to have our kids around other kids, healthy or not. To stay inside. In our own homes. And do things that we all know we should do. Wash our hands. Do not touch our faces. Cover our mouths when we sneeze. You know, stuff that heretofore only rocket scientists and brain surgeons knew to do.

Kidding. I kid.

Kinda’.

I’m irritated. We’re all irritated. It’s crazy over here, the level of fear that the local government offices involved in this decision have set into motion.

It’s the flu.

Yes, I know the big picture is that ‘they’ are trying to prevent this particular strain from morphing into a more virulent strain, come fall, but seriously? What are we going to have to do to make sure that’s not going to happen?

Apparently, home schooling is the answer. A life of solitude enjoyed in the comfort of one’s own home.

Open the schools back up! Please! We’re running out of things to do over here. And that one kid? Who had the only documented case of this flu in our school district? He’s all better now. Has been for two weeks…

And, so… a brief rundown of the last few days for our family…

Sidewalk chalk? Check.

Summer dresses on the sewing machine using this gorgeous Heather Ross print? Check.

New Princess crowns? Check.

Handmade fabric flowers lovingly cut out, formed and sewn onto the front of a plain white tee-shirt? Check. And ouch.

Homemade Ginger Chocolate Chip cookies? Check. And yum.

New books read over and over? Check.

“Charlie and Lola” on TV? Check. (Even mama watches this one; so darn appealing…)

The natives are getting restless…

Are you? Getting restless? What are you and yours doing to pass the time, if your schools are also shut down? I need ideas! We’re running out of projects, and we’re barely into the first full week of being out of school!

And by the way, Mr. Schools’ Superintendent? And Mr. Guy From the County Health Department? Really? We should 1) keep our kids inside, away from others? 2) Not congregate? And 3) Take our families out to shop and eat? Huh? What the?

My suggestion? Hire new speech writers. Or maybe? Think before you open your mouths…