Goodest, Best Mommy

Yup. I certainly am the goodest, best mommy. Or at least that's what Dylan thinks. Last night during dinner, she hopped off her chair, stood in front of me and said, "mom, you're the goodest, best mommy ever." I cried. She gave me a hug and a kiss. Then Sydney came barreling over and tried to repeat what Dylan said, something like "mooooom, you're best." Whatever it was, we all had a moment. And I couldn't have been happier.

F That

Sometimes as a mother you just can’t help yourself. While you know swearing in front of your children is downright wrong, it’s also, sometimes, downright necessary. I do my best to rationalize with my girls—get down to their level and explain why their behavior is unacceptable. But then there are the days when my evil twin appears and the lid blows: f-this, f-that, f-everything. After I loose it, I pray what I said didn’t sink in. My prayers have been answered—at least until today.

As we pulled in front of Dylan’s school, I told it her it was time to put her coloring book away. I heard her close the book and stick it in the seat pocket in front of her. And then I heard every mother’s worst nightmare: "where’s the fucking green cap?" I turned around in horror only to have her say it again. "Where’s the fucking green cap, mommy?" My jaw dropped. Not only did she say “fucking,” she used it in the appropriate context (the green cap of her marker was actually missing). I know you’re not supposed to acknowledge bad words or react for that matter, but I panicked. Like a dumb fool I asked her what she said. She repeated it—again. I took a deep breath and calmly told her that language is not nice. Then, we shook on it, making a promise never to use that word again.

A few weeks ago we shook on “stop it.” An hour later, we both said it at least three times. Will this time be the charm? Who fucking knows?

Little Rocker

We took Dylan and Sydney to a concert yesterday. The band, Little Rockers, is their absolute favorite—and their music class teachers. I have never seen anything like it: Dylan was a total groupie. Front row center, dancing and singing, and gazing up at the stage as if the band were Pearl Jam—or something equally as famous. Sydney, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She would stampede the crowd and try to climb on stage. And when we would pull her off, she would kick, scream and cry.

Oh the highs (watching Dylan have a euphoric moment) and lows (psycho Sydney wailing) of parenting.

Long time, no post

Wow, it's been months since my last post. I really thought I would keep this up, but clearly I lied to myself. A few posts in March got me back in the groove--or so I thought. Well, that said, I am not going to beat myself up over it. When time permits or a moment warrants, I will blog. That is my new (and much more realistic) pledge. With that off my chest, we did recently have a moment worth sharing. Sydney has learned a few new tricks. Check out her team spirit. She is following in her mommy's footsteps. The megaphone has a new owner!

The Human Swiffer

People have been asking me if Sydney can crawl. She sort of, kinda, somewhat does. It's more like a combat mission crawl. But it gets her where she wants to go. Have a look. And notice in her wake my clean floors!

The Secret Ingredient

For anyone who has tasted Nancy Davis’ famous brownies and wondered what makes them so gooey? Here is your answer.

Dylan is our very own Booger Crocker. She loves to cook. Wether it's brownies or muffins or soup, she's right there ready to assist—half naked. Tomorrow we are making apple muffins. Little does she know they're the Fiber One recipe. I am trying to sneak more fiber into her diet. Constipation and Dylan—not fun. Let's hope they're edible.

The Wave

I've been waving to Sydney for weeks, hoping someday she would return the favor. Well she did. Friday morning she waved ... all day.