Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee, Lousy With Humility...

By the way, I have caught her staring at herself in the mirror, saying, "You are SO pretty!" Thanks, JVL.

Would you like to sing to me again? NO!

Daddy Got Me Dressed Today

Rollin' With My Homies

Cordelia has taken to wearing her brother's hat whenever he takes it off.

Also, she made a new friend at Kiddie Time on Monday. She wouldn't let (him? her?) go -- had to pry the baby out of her arms.

Everyone, meet Da'quan.

Brothers & Sisters

Sibling rivalry, temporarily abated.

You'd think from these pictures that they're getting along better. They're really not, which is why I capture these moments when I can. (I have a video of him scrubbing her feet with the pumice, too. I'll try to load it soon...)

Sweet, Serious, Spunky, Spiteful Savage Stunning

Her bruise this week is a ghastly yellow-green, but the actual lump has subsided. :)

Theology of the Body

Last night, Cody and had what I have come to think of as a "level-setting" date night. Every so often, he really just gets in his own way. Anxious, cranky, needy, whiny. (These are a few of my favorite things....) He wakes up more ornery than he went to bed, and nothing I try can shake him out of his mood. I've learned that what he usually needs is just alone time with me. No sharing me with anyone. We go do something special--spend the morning in Old Town, go to the bookstore, whatever. He just needs it, and then his heart settles, and he rights his own ship.

We've been reading this book called God Gave Us Christmas, the short version of which is that the little bear cub asks his mom where to find God, and she tells him God is everywhere, and she will take him out into nature to show him. She says they will leave the little ones with Papa Bear and go off together. So last night, I suggested we take an evening adventure to St. Matthew's Cathedral, which he dearly loves. He started quivering and shouted, "Just you and me? Let's leave the little one with Papa and go off together to look for God!' We had a fabulous time. We sat right in the front row and heard the contemporary choir and saw some old friends. Cody was great, and we found God in the dome of the cathedral, the voices of the choir, the snowflakes on the ground. He brought his Mary statue with him, and as an added bonus, Monsignor Jameson blessed her (and Cody). We even got a quick visit to Cody's favorite sculpture:

It was, all in all, a perfect outing.

Until we got outside, and Cody tripped on the slippery sidewalk and dropped Mary. He was fine. She was...not. Quite. Faithful readers may remember how my own Mary statues have lost their rather delicate hands over the past few years. Well, we can add another handless Virgin to the mix. What in my mind was par for the course turned into something completely traumatic for my sensitive little child. It went something like this:

CJP: Her hands! Mommy her hands are broken!

Me: Buddy. Don't worry! It's going to be okay. I don't know that Mary even needs her hands that much. My Mary's hands are broken, too, remember? And she doesn't even miss them.

CJP, hysterically: I am worried! Why would she not need her hands? How will she lift things up without her hands? How will she pray without her hands?

a passerby: Good luck with the theology of that one.

Me, still desperately trying to just fix things, instead of really listening: She can pray with her voice and her heart. Hands are incidental. Also, do you remember the bookstore where we bought her? We could also get another Mary.

CJP: I do not want another Mary! I need this Mary! She needs her hands! I cannot stop crying!

At this point, I try very hard to remember the wisdom of How to Talk so Kids will Listen and Listen so Kids will Talk. And to remember what it was like to be little, and anxious, and heartbroken over a cherished object. The best I could come up with was:

Me: I can hear you are very concerned right now. You feel so upset about this, and I can really understand why.

CJP: I am very concerned! And frustrated. Her hands! It is my fault! I should not have brought her out of my room! Now she has NO HANDS!

So much for settling his heart with our evening adventure. I soon realized this was in no way going to be brushed off. He will be obsessing about this until she is restored. Which will take some doing. It hit me that this could be one of those things that, if I didn't handle it right, could deeply upset him. Probably scar him. I mean, look, ma, no hands.

So I took a deep breath and started making stuff up, all under the rubric of, "We're just going to work the problem." I explained that in the morning, I would "start making some calls." (For who? For what?) And that I would figure out a way to track down her hands, and hopefully have them sent to us, and then get some superglue, and reattach her missing appendages, and make her all better. Gradually, he calmed down, and began asking for more specifics: Who exactly would I call? Which postman would come to deliver the hands? What if no one could find the hands on the sidewalk? How long, exactly, would this all take? I assured him that it would take awhile. And that the best thing to do would be to take a deep breath, try to let go of our worries, and just focus on working the problem. His reply:

CJP: I am going to be frustrated every day until Mary's hands are back in...my hands?

Me: That's perfectly understandable. This is one of those situations where we can be frustrated and try to also be patient at the same time.

CJP: What if Mary's body breaks? That would be a disaster! We would cry!

Me: Yes. We probably would. But it didn't. So let's just work this one problem.

CJP: Okay Mommy. We will work the problem. We will make some calls and then talk to the postman and then get some glue and....

And on and on. Forty-five minutes later, as we pulled in the driveway, we were still working out the specifics and timing of just how, exactly, we would work the problem. Which is what I need to go do...right now. Wish me luck.

Ave Maria(s), Mater Dei(s), ora pro nobis. Even though you only have two hands and half a crown among the four of you, I trust you don't need them to do that whole miracle thing you're so good at.

(Last night's casualty: bottom left.)

Stars and Stripes Forever

Cordelia, as you know, has immediate, unshakeable opinions about...everything. And she likes to preface every considered response with a quick "NO!" just in case. Are you ready for lunch? "No!" Please pick up your trains. "No!" Would you like dessert? "No! Yes!"

It extends to everything, including footwear. Faithful readers will remember her recent rejection of her sneakers in emphatic favor of "PARTY! SHOES!" Well, it turns out she will no longer wear socks unless they are striped. This is something of a problem, since we only have three pairs of socks with stripes, and I already spend a goodly portion of my day in the laundry room.

She's adamant about it. So much so that if you put on regular socks, she takes them off the second you're not looking. No joke, I found a pile of missing "plain" socks under her crib yesterday. This morning, we put on her fleecy snowman dress: "Good morning, Frosty! Hi, Frosty! You look SO pretty!" (She wasn't complimenting Frosty there, but rather herself.) When I opened the sock drawer, she said, "Socks! I choose them own self." She rooted around and then looked up angrily and said, "Stripey socks. Get them! Put them on. Wear them." I regretfully informed her that we didn't have any clean striped socks (that still fit) and suggested a garish pair of purple ones, replete with stars. She gave me what we call the "I Will Put You in the Grave, Woman" look and said, levelly, "No. Not stars. Stripes. STRIPEY SOCKS! HAVE THEM!"

We locked eyes. We played chicken. We dared one another to blink first.

She won. I dug around until I found a grubby pair of size 12-18 month socks with faded pastel stripes. She shouted gleefully, "Stripey socks! Thank you! All better. Put them on! Wear them. Great job! Your feet are toasty and delicious!"

It's going to be awesome when she's thirteen.

Bad Things Come in Threes

Apparently, while we were at work, the bird flew into a pole.

"Cordelia, what happened?" "Bonked your head! Hit that pole! Hurts you! Boo-boo bunny." I bet it hurts, kiddo. That's a giant, giant goose egg.


This is on top of her sleeping just three hours last night (me too) and waking up with a fever (me too). Hopefully before too long we'll be back on track...

Three Little Monkeys

We spent most of last Friday afternoon at Pebble Playground with Violet, Brenna, and Kim. We did a lot of sliding. ("Sliding! Go on it! Together! Best friends! Climb up it! Slide down it! No help you please! I will do it OWN SELF!")

Kim and I giggled endlessly over their slide process: they all climbed up (with Cody and Violet waiting somewhat impatiently for Cordelia to catch up.) Then they all sat and stared. Then Violet would take off, Cody would follow, and Cordelia--surprised every time--would come in at a distant third. She's usually the first to jump, but so enjoyed sitting up there with the big kids that she didn't want it to end. : )




That is, until we went on the tire swing...

"Swinging! Go higher! Push you faster!"

"Monkey bars! Hang on them! Lift you up! No hold hands. I do it OWN SELF!"

"Bouncy bridge! I do it! Faster. Running, running! Keep your breadstick in your hand! No help you! I do it OWN SELF!"

"Eyes hurt you! Sunglasses. Get them! Put them on...please. All better!"

Away in a Manger

My little wise man brought the Christ child (and the attendant animals) the greatest gift of all: Cheerios.

When I am old and gray and full of sleep...

Cody had a bit of a tough weekend -- it was busy, he was a little under the weather, and my highly sensitive boy was more sensitive than usual. Sometimes this borders on irritating, but today he just seemed to need unusual amounts of reassurance, which we duly tried to give. The sweetest moment came this afternoon, when JVL loaded Cordelia into the backpack. In Cody's mind, it's Cody's backpack. He immediately asked if he could go into Mommy's backpack. Not having cottoned on to his mood, I giggled and said something like, "No way! You're way to big to fit in there. It's really for babies -- Cordy hardly fits!" What followed was this...

CJP, with that oversensitive, almost-whine: Mom? I am really worried about something. I am worried that I have overgrown Daddy's backpack.

Me: I don't think so, buddy. You were in it just yesterday, but you said you weren't comfortable. You can ride in the cart. She's just up there to make it easier. And I'm so lucky that I get to carry you in my arms!

CJP: Mommy. I am worried about something else. I am worried that I will overgrow your arms.

Me: Oh, my Cody. The amazing thing about mommies is that you can never outgrow our arms. You will never, never outgrow my arms. It's impossible. You'll never be too big. Ever. Even when you are all grown up, you will still have a place right here in my arms.

CJP: Okay. I will always fit? Okay. Mommy? When I am all grown up and as big and tall as Daddy, then I will carry you in my arms, too.

Me [gulping back tears]: Oh Cody. I would love that. We will never outgrow each other.

"How many loved your moments of glad grace." Note to self: remember this particular moment when he prefers to spend 23 hours a day in the black hole that will become his teenage room, and is mortified by my very existence.

Glam Girl

60 Degrees in...January??

It has been glorious today (as I write that, shadows begin to cross the lawn...sigh). We were well-wrapped and at Pebble Playground by 8:30--three hours after Cody began asking when we could go. (The pre-dawn rendition (extra loud) of "Must Be Santa Claus" began around 5:10 today, so I could understand his impatience.)

We took a short break for lunch at 11:00, divested the heavy jackets, and wagon-walked to the school playground, where we stayed until (gasp!) 1:00--an hour past nap time, but it was so beautiful I wanted to take advantage of the weather. Cody is currently obsessed with monkey bars, all of which are too high for him unless I support him (read: carry him) while he passes from one bar to the next. It turns out--are you surprised?--that Bailey is "really good at the monkey bars."

We left when Cordelia fell over, while just standing still, and then cried out, "Bed! Please! Go in your bed?"

Some days it's great just to run them ragged!

Update, Monday, 1/9 at 12:50 p.m.: I'm glad I took them out when I did...because I just looked out the window and snow is falling out of the sky!

Current Lines of Conversation

Me: Would you guys like to go play outside for a few minutes before nap time?

CJP: Oh, sure Mom! I would love to do that! Thank you for asking me!

CML: LET'S GO RIGHT NOW! MARCH! OUTSIDE!

CJP: Cordelia, would you like to play with my fire truck? [or, insert any toy]

CML: Yeah! Yes please!

CJP: Well, you may not. You may not have it, sister.

Me: Cody bear, that's not very kind. What if I said to you, "Cody, would you like a huge chocolate donut?"

CJP: I would say yes!

Me: What if I then said, "Well, you can't have one."

CJP: I would not like that at all.

Me: Well...that's kind of what your sister feels like. It isn't kind and it frustrates her.

CJP: Oh. [thinking hard] Cordelia? Would you like a huge chocolate donut?

CML: YES!

CJP: Well, you may not have one.

CJP: Cordelia, the train does not go in there. Put the train in the drawer.

CML, diffidently: No.

CJP: Yes! It goes in the drawer! Put it in the drawer!

CML, curiously: No!

CJP: YES!

CML, stubbornly: NO!

CJP: Mom! She is not putting the train in the drawer like I asked!

Me, warningly: Cordelia...

CML: No thank you!

CJP: YES! YES! MOM! SHE IS FRUSTRATING ME! PUT IT IN THE DRAWER, SISTER!

CML, gleefully: No! Nope, no, NO!

Stories in the Cruise-A-Ship

When Daddy's away, we do bedtime a little differently. We do joint stories in Cody's room, and then I do cuddles and prayers with Cordelia in her room, then go back for extra bonding and an extra story with Cody. Cordelia loves this--because it means we do stories in "the cruise ship." Meaning Cody's bed. He is less fond of this adjustment to his routine than she is, not surprisingly. He mostly just looks stressed, gathering his stuffies around him and trying in vain to hold on to his pillows. But every so often there are moments of sweetness. Well, seconds, anyway.

(She's actually kissing him here, not trying to pull his hair out. That happened three seconds later.)