Someone Turns One (Spoiler Alert: It's Fiona!).

My littlest baby was born a year ago today. It's pretty unbelievable.

We had a little party for her this weekend, with some of our friends. We made it nice and colorful. And sweet.

My mother-in-law fabricated an amazing rainbow-layered cake, complete with candy ribbons and a licorice monogram.

It was a rainy day, the light was horrible, and these pictures don't even come close to doing it justice.

She even made Fiona her own personal rainbow-layered cupcake, which I offered her through gritted teeth (she is still a baby, after all).

Fiona tasted it curiously, but wasn't nearly as enthusiastic as I thought she might be. See, still a baby!

I requested that our guests not bring traditional presents (we're simplifying, remember?), but asked that they instead bring a letter, picture, or other contribution to a Birthday Time Capsule for Fiona to open on her 12th birthday--to remind 12-year-old-her of how loved she has always been. It was really fun to see some of the things people contributed--lots of letters and children's artwork, but also a "TeenBop" (or some such thing) magazine, a pack of "silly bands," and a couple mix-CDs.

I had our party guests sign the outside of the box, as a record of who was there. I'm waiting on a few last-minute contributions that people have said are coming, after which we'll seal it up with packaging tape and put it away for 11 years.

I made her a little birthday banner, and a "1" t-shirt to wear on her special day.

It was a nice afternoon with our friends, and a wonderful way to celebrate this little girl whom we love so much. She is our third child, our second daughter, and yet she is something so entirely her own, so different from her big brother and sister, and as she unfolds before us we are more and more enamored of her every day.

Sweet, one-year-old, baby perfection.

New Neighbors.

Remember my fancy new bike? I forgot to mention that it came in an equally fancy box.

This week, we've had friends over to play.

I was thinking about how I would keep them all busy. With these particular friends, my kids have a sort of ongoing game of "house," which they seem to pick up immediately each time they are reunited (which is often).

So it struck me as the perfect time to pull out The Box, which I had been saving for a rainy day. Except not. Because, you know, rain and cardboard.

They got right to work.

Fiona helped.

I cut out the doors and windows as they drew them.

They added two mailboxes--one for boys' mail and one for girls' mail (naturally).

Soon, the new neighbors could be seen moving in.

With their butler.

They had a great time, their game of house was underway in no time, and they spent most of the afternoon decorating the inside of the house with crayons. And the next day, when those friends came back over for the day, they got right back to work play in the new house.

Long Walk.

This weekend I participated in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day For the Cure event in Michigan. I didn't get a ton of pictures because my camera is a tad unwieldy and I didn't want to carry it, but I took a few pictures around camp and at the cheering stations where Joel and the kids were often waiting. If you're not familiar with the 3-Day, it's a 60 mile walk, spread over the course of 3 days (surprise!) to benefit the Susan G. Komen For the Cure Foundation. The fundraising requirements were a little daunting (each participant has to raise a minimum of $2300), but with roughly 1900 participants, the Michigan 3-Day event raised over $5.4 million, the bulk of which will be used to fund breast cancer research.

1 in 8 women in the United States will be diagnosed with breast cancer; it's a disease that seems to find its way into nearly everyone's life, in one capacity or another. For me, that moment came nearly 10 years ago, when my mother was diagnosed. After surgery and radiation, she was deemed to be in remission and now, almost 10 years later, she's had no recurrences. In part, I walked to honor and to celebrate her. But, of course, not everyone's breast cancer story ends so well. And when I think about the girls and women in my life who mean so much to me, my reasons to walk are innumerable.

The walk itself was a really great experience. With so many (~1900) participants, it was really moving to have glimpses into other people's reasons for walking. Many wore buttons or t-shirts that named their inspiration for walking--mothers, sisters, friends, daughters, aunts, et cetera. I heard snippets of conversations by some women who had been receiving chemotherapy as recently as 6 months ago for their own breast cancer.

The actual walking aspect of the walk was sort of pleasantly grueling, if that's possible. Sore muscles and blisters were par for the course, the heat was almost unbearable at times (it was in the 90s and extremely humid all three days), and the monotony of walking between 16 and 22 miles a day was often taxing. But in those most difficult moments, when muscles were burning, and blisters were stinging, and conversation had lapsed, there was time and occasion for really important reflection, I think.

Walking this year, while Fiona is still so little, was a little tricky but, with (lots of) Joel's help, we pulled it off. The camp where I would be staying was located a little more than an hour from home, so we got Joel and the kids a hotel room in the area for the weekend, and he brought them to see me relatively frequently so Fiona could nurse. This worked perfectly well during the day, but the first night was pretty rough for Fiona, who has begun waking to nurse once or twice again recently, so the second night I stayed at the hotel with Joel and the kids and they just returned me to the camp at 6:30 the next morning so I could begin the final day's walk.

Sam, Lucie and Fiona, waiting for walkers to pass them on the course so they could spray them with cool water. Well, that's what Sam and Lucie were doing. Fiona was just waiting for me to come along and nurse her.

A quick nursing-break on Day Three.

The community support around the event was absolutely incredible to me. People decorated their lawns, sat on their porches cheering, turned on their sprinklers, and handed out all sorts of thoughtful "goodies" to the walkers--bottles of water, pieces of gum or candy, granola bars, frozen grapes, fruit cups, Mardi Gras necklaces, stickers...you name it. It was like a parade, except that the spectators were the ones to throw "candy." Some spectators set up little tables with pain relievers, band-aids, moleskin, sunscreen, et cetera for walkers to stop and use. Many kids (my own included!) had spray bottles full of cold water that they would offer to squirt at the walkers as they passed by. My personal favorites were the "dunk tanks" of ice water that people set out for walkers to dunk a bandana or washcloth in to cool themselves off and the baggies of ice that some people handed us to carry with us. I really can't overemphasize how hot it was.

Me, about to cross the finish. I was every bit as happy as I looked.

The first couple of days were relatively smooth from my point-of-view--I walked into camp (after walking 22 miles each day) in the evening feeling tired, for sure, but good. The third day--which was, incidentally, the shortest walk, at only a little over 16 miles) started out equally well, but by 11-or-12 miles, the heat was getting to me, my feet were absolutely burning, and I was ready to be finished. For me, the last 4-5 miles were really quite difficult. One of my teammates compared it to childbirth--that moment where you feel like you can't do this, but you know you not only can, but that you will (like it or not) and that, in all likelihood, you'll be glad you did. Not a horrible analogy, actually.

I am glad I did it. I'll almost certainly do it again--maybe next year (anyone want to walk with me? Will travel!), maybe in a couple years. But the cause is important, and the event is fantastic, and I look forward to participating again in the future.

I walk in honor of those who have fought and won, in memory of those who have lost (and have been lost), and in the hope that my children might one day not fight at all, because this battle will have already been won.

Blueberry Picking (with Friends)

Project: Simplify. (Part Two, Rhythm)

So simplifying our environment, though still a work in progress, wasn't that hard to do. Like I said, it had been on our minds for a while, it was aesthetically pleasing (less clutter!) and practical (less stuff to clean up!), and it yielded immediate results. (Yesterday, I stepped outside and heard a casual, "Hey, Mom," from Sam. Except it was coming from a tree; from really high up in a tree. And you know why? Because I got rid of the Leapster, and the Tinker Toys, and the train tracks, and the play food, and the Mighty Beans, and I bored him right out of the house and up a tree. Way up a tree. And I never saw him look so proud of a Mr. Potato Head or pleased with a plastic light saber, and so I think perhaps we did the right thing.)

With our home environment well-on-its-way, we tackled the part of this whole simplification process that scared me the most: Routine.

We're just...not schedule people. Here are some questions to which I have historically had to make up answers on the spot:

What time do your kids go to bed? What time do your kids get up? When do your kids take their bath? What time does the baby nap? How frequently does she nurse? What time do you eat dinner?

The true answers to those questions are: Whenever, whenever, when they're dirty, whenever, when she wants to, whenever. I typically answered a little more indirectly: "Last night they were up pretty late," "Lucie always wakes up early; the other two like to sleep in a bit," "Before bed, usually, or whenever they hear me about to get in the bath," "It changes," "Which one?" and "Six?"

We're not schedule people. And I'll admit, it's mostly me. I just like to find some more compelling reason to do a given thing than because it's that time. I like to eat when I'm hungry, and sleep when I'm tired. And I like my kids to do the same. And sometimes, this is a really good thing. People often ask how I can tolerate being on-call for births, and I think, "No, how do you tolerate getting up at the same time every day, to go to the same place, with the same people, to do the same job, for the same number of hours, just to come home at the same time, to eat-shower-sleep so you can do it all again tomorrow?"

The problem is, there are five of us here. And it turns out, we don't all get tired at the same time. Or hungry. And it looks like Sam is going to start kindergarten in a few weeks. It starts at the same time every morning. And it's an early time.

So when I opened to the chapter of Simplicity Parenting on routines and schedules, I paused. And I took a deep breath. And I decided to just hear him out, so to speak.

It turns out--surprise, surprise--that Payne thinks routine (he uses the word "rhythm" which, I agree, is favorable) is really fantastic for kids. That predictability helps cut down on resistance. I knew I had to start putting my kids to bed at some particular time, but Payne takes it a lot further. He suggests incorporating monotony rhythm into every aspect of your (and your child's) day. He goes so far as to suggest a meal-schedule in which the day of the week determines what's for dinner. Ridiculous. And, yet, we decided to give it a try.

We started while we were up north. With two available parents, it was a lot easier to tackle the children, put them in bed and sit on them until they finally lost consciousness task of guiding our heretofore scheduleless children into a new routine--one that would no doubt feel rigid. And unnatural. And one that they were bound to resist.

We began with bedtime. My kids were used to going to bed sometime between 10:00 and 11:00, so I reached into the sky and pulled out a ridiculously arbitrary time, 7:30, and declared it "bedtime." In case you're reading this from Alaska, or Jupiter, I will mention: 7:30 in July in Michigan looks an awful lot like day time. It's been getting dark around 10 lately. So a 7:30 bedtime was sort of setting ourselves up for failure. Still, at 7:00 or so, we told the kids it was time to brush their teeth and get their pajamas on, and they looked at us like it was some sort of joke they just didn't quite get, and they got in bed, and I sat down to read Harry Potter to them at about 7:15. By 7:30, Lucie was asleep. I read for about 45-60 minutes to Sam, and then told him goodnight and left the room. And he went to sleep. And the next morning, they were up between 6:45 and 7:00 (and I rolled out of bed shortly after). And that night, we did it again. And it worked. And again. And again. And several weeks later, my kids are in bed by 8:00 every night, sleeping away in broad daylight. And they sleep until a bit after 7:00, which is about

when they'll need to wake up this fall in order for us to get Sam to kindergarten by 8:25, and Lucie to preschool by 8:35.

And now I'm going to say exactly what you think I'm going to say: It's been a really wonderful change. Joel and I now sometimes have whole conversations where we say all the words and don't have to spell anything (which is weird, but I'm sure we'll get used to it). We play board games. We make salsa out of our CSA veggies--way too spicy for the kids, but it doesn't matter, because we don't have to share with them. We drink smoothies. Or sometimes, I go hang out with friends, all by myself. Or sometimes, and this is really crazy, we go to bed sort of...at a "reasonable" hour.

At first, we just focussed on the "big" kids, but we're slowly working Fiona into the routine, as well. And it's working.

Bedtime was the biggest (and most frightening) change to our routine that we made, and the one with which we've had the most success, but it isn't the only change we've made (or are working on). We've been trying to incorporate a bit more "rhythm" or routine into the rest of our days, too.

One thing that we're trying (with varying degrees of success) is Payne's suggestion of eating the same (general) thing for a given night of the week. So, for instance, eating soup (any kind of soup!) on Tuesday, or fish on Friday. Here's what we're shooting for (and like I said, I'm not *always* successful):

Monday--Pasta

Tuesday--Soup

Wednesday--Fish or Chicken

Thursday--Supper Club

Friday--Pizza

I left the weekends alone, because I knew they would be the time when it was most difficult for us to stay consistent. The problem I've found is that, for example, when friends invited us over for an impromptu dinner of enchiladas on Tuesday, I just couldn't say, "Oooh, no-can-do! It's Soup Night!" because (a) we like spending time with our friends, (b) if our friends caught wind of "Soup Night" we might not have any friends and (c) enchiladas are delicious.

It is sort of a fun idea, though, and it actually makes meal planning more fun for me. Just as I enjoy the challenge of trying to use whatever vegetables we receive from our CSA in a given week, it's sort of fun to look for a new soup recipe for soup night, or to come up with a creative pasta dish. And the pizza night, which probably sounds like the biggest cop-out ever, is actually really fun as well--using our fresh veggies to make interesting pizzas (while allowing ourselves the freedom, I'll admit, of going out for pizza if we just don't feel like it) is lots of fun.

When CSA pepper explosion meets Pizza Night, you get pizza-that-will-burn-your-lips-off.

Payne says that mealtimes (and bedtime) are some of the biggest points-of-conflict with small children, and that these mealtime routines (and others) can help to alleviate some of that stress. Actually, for us, mealtime doesn't typically cause a lot of grief, and so the pay-off of adapting this meal schedule is pretty minimal, and I suspect it won't stick for long, or that we'll never be terribly consistent with it. Nonetheless, it's been fun to try, and I'll think we'll keep with it for a while.

Payne makes some other interesting suggestions, some of which we may try at some point. One suggestion he made was that there be some sort of ritual that precedes mealtime, such as a prayer, a poem, a song, et cetera. We're not a praying family, a pre-meal song feels embarrassing to even think about, and Joel might jump ship on this whole experiment if I asked him to refrain from eating while I read poetry to the family. But Payne mentioned that his family began observing a period of silence before they ate--beginning with just 10-15 seconds, and gradually working up to a minute or so. That sounds sort of nice (actually, if my kids eyes were open and they were silent for 60 consecutive seconds, I would probably assume I'd gone deaf), and perhaps we'll eventually try that.

Payne also suggested similar sing-songy rituals around other daily activities: hand washing, room cleaning, hair brushing, et cetera. It's not for me, but I see its merit. Sort of. I'm just never going to sing "brush, brush, brush your teeth" or whatever. But if you want to try it, do! I'd be interested to hear how it goes for you, and I totally wouldn't make fun of you! (One of those statements is true.)

And even though changing bedtime was just one of many ideas we got from Simplicity Parenting, that one change set into motion a sort of domino effect in our house. Most notably, we're getting up earlier. And not just Lucie (who has always gotten up early); all of us. Which means that Lucie is (a) getting more sleep and (b) being a little better...received...in the morning. This results in a much nicer Lucie who, although still prone to the occasional outburst (she is three, after all) is seeming altogether more stable than she was a month ago. We're eating dinner at a more consistent time, since we know that it needs to happen before teeth can be brushed, and baths taken, and PJs donned--and all of this needs to happen by a particular time. A bedtime. And, like I said, this means more time for Joel and I to be adults. Which is pretty great.

So far, so good.

Happy Pizza Night, Everyone!

When Life Throws You Cucumbers...

This week's basket of veggies.

It turns out, a local farm share is not only the most practical gift ever, it's also a lot of fun. Every Wednesday, we make a stop out at the farm and watch as our basket is filled with a variety of fresh-things: cantaloupe, corn, tomatoes, leeks, eggplant, green beans, cabbage, squash, onions, kale, all sorts of peppers, broccoli, radishes...it's always a bit of a surprise.

Some of it doesn't require much creativity to "use"--we're always happy to cut up a cantaloupe, or to slice a cucumber and eat it with salt and pepper or hummus. (In fact, most of the green beans don't even get cooked, because Lucie and I have a fondness for raw green beans.)

At other times, though, I feel like I'm on an episode of The Iron Chef, trying to come up with as many cabbage (or broccoli, or eggplant, or whatever) recipes as I can. I've made Eggplant Paremsan, more salsa than you might imagine we could eat (and yet, it's gone), and lots of soup.

This Cajun Corn Soup used leeks, peppers and corn from our CSA.

Perhaps our favorite new recipe, I've made three batches of Asparagus Soup in two weeks.

Tonight's episode featured cucumbers. Between what we hadn't finished from last week's (eight!) cucumbers and what we received this week (six more!)--plus a kind and generous midwifery client with a thriving garden sent me home with a bag of veggies (including two cucumbers) after her prenatal Friday--we had nine cucumbers when the day started.

Seriously, I could only ask the kids to eat just *so many* cucumbers before I came up with something a little more interesting.

In keeping with my soup theme, I sought out a recipe for Chilled Cucumber Soup. I used to wait tables at a little cafe in Yellow Springs, Ohio, and we served this really delicious Cucumber Soup in the summer that I've always thought I should make. That knocked out two cucumbers. I remembered a recipe I had for a cucumber salsa that you serve over salmon, so I dug that out as well, using another two cucumbers.

A cucumberful dinner of Salmon with Spicy Cucumber Salsa, and Chilled Cucumber Soup. Tasty, nutritious, and I learned all about "The World" while I ate.

The spicy salsa turned out to be a bit too spicy for the kids (which I suspected it would be, so I served Sam's and Lucie's on the side, and didn't give Fiona any at all), so they didn't eat more than a couple bites each, but they polished their fish off nonetheless.

Not quite ready to tackle the entire *world,* Fiona studied more local geography while she ate.

The soup turned out okay, but it wasn't nearly as good as I remembered it being at the cafe. It was met with enthusiasm at first, followed by a little bewilderment, and eventually a reminder on how to politely say, "Thanks for making this, but it's not my favorite," which they said, with varying levels of conviction.

In the end, not our favorite meal ever, but it wasn't bad, it included a handful of new flavors and, most importantly, we're down to just 5 cucumbers.

At least *someone* thought the Cucumber Soup was pretty delicious.

Project: Simplify. (Part One, Environment)

Shortly before we left for our trip up north, I started a book that's been sitting around for a couple months now, just waiting for me to eventually take the time to sit down and read it. It's called Simplicity Parenting, by Kim John Payne and Lisa M. Ross. I was hoping that our time away would afford me the opportunity to (a) read the book, in its entirety, in chunks of more-than-3-pages-at-a-time, (b) turn it over a bit and (c) spend a lot of time talking it over with Joel who, for all his good intentions, just isn't much of a reader.

And did it ever.

See, the basic premise of this book is that our children are being overwhelmed by too much--Payne says, "too much stuff, too many choices, too much information and too fast"--and that, by simplifying our lifestyles (environment, schedules, even our food), we allow our kids (and ourselves!) to actually live more fully, develop more naturally. We waste time and money trying to fix the problems that we've created by wasting so much time and money in the first place.

The idea of simplifying our home and our lives wasn't brand-new to me; it's a process we began several months ago. But I got all sorts of useful ideas from this book, as well as exploring some aspects of simplification that hadn't occurred to me. I want to share the changes we've made/are making, but I can already tell I'm on the brink of a verbal explosion (it's what happens when I get really excited about something), so I'm going to break it down into several different posts, and just address it one area at a time. I'll begin (as, in fact, we did) with our environment.

Much of this book was sort of an affirmation of the way we've been headed for a while now, especially where simplifying the environment goes. Many months ago, I was sitting in a living room littered with toys, feeling frustrated by my kids' seeming unwillingness to clean up after themselves and overwhelmed by the state of our house in general. Looking at the mess, I saw it through my kids' eyes and thought, it's really not reasonable to expect them to clean all of this up. While I've always kept their toys well organized, there was just too much. So I decided to start getting rid of toys until the kids could handle taking care of what they had.

I didn't want it to feel punitive to the kids, like, "You didn't clean up your toys, so I'm going to take them away," so I worked mostly after they were in bed. The criteria I used for sorting what stayed and what went was basically (1) how much does it get used right now, and how "well," (2) how much do my kids love this particular toy, (3) how "good" a toy is it. One night, I loaded up all the toys I wanted to get rid of into opaque plastic tubs, and put them in the garage: Toy Purgatory, if you will. This is the place where toys go to wait and see if anyone asks for them, looks for them, or otherwise makes me regret having weeded them out. They stayed out there for a week or two before I began getting rid of them (and, for the record, not a single toy was asked after).

The change in the house was compelling--the toys that remained were played with more, and "better," and were cleaned up afterwards. It was so compelling, in fact, that I did it again a couple months later. And then again a month or so after that. All told, I reduced the number of toys in the house by...70%, maybe? I don't know--but a lot. I also weeded through books, games, puzzles and DVDs.

I didn't hear a single complaint from my kids. In fact, all I heard from my kids was the sound of them playing even more with the toys that were left.

Next, I started on clothes. I actually don't own a ton of clothes (if you know me, you're probably not surprised), but I still weeded out a few things, and several pair of shoes. But my kids have plenty of clothes, so I focused a lot of my attention there. My goal was to move all the clothes into locations that were more convenient for dressing and for putting away.

In our bedroom, we have a double closet, with ample hanging space, and two dressers. My goal was to fit all our family's clothes in one place. I began by storing all of my kids out-of-season clothing in tubs in the basement--stuff I thought would still fit in the fall, but that was too warm for summer. Then I sorted out anything that was outgrown (if it was Lucie's, it got stored away for Fiona, otherwise it went in the "get rid of" pile). Next I sorted out things that were ugly, impractical, or just plain superfluous. When I was finished, each kid's clothes occupied a single drawer in a normal-sized dresser, with hanging space in the closet for the girls' dresses and a couple of Sam's shirts.

We still have a ways to go, but eliminating so much of the stuff in our house has been a really good step toward simplifying our lives at home.

A toddler serves as a wonderful reminder that children do not need us to entertain them. The world around them really is entertainment enough.

Oh, and if you're wondering where all of this stuff went: I sold it or I gave it away. First I sold the nice stuff online (we take relatively good care of our things, so I was able to sell things for decent prices--enough, in fact, to buy a super-sweet bike). Then, I started having garage sales for charity. I'm part of a team, with 5 of my friends, who will be walking in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day For the Cure event in a few weeks, and the fundraising requirements were pretty intimidating ($2300 per participant, which is $13,800 as a team). We held several HUGE garage sales--full of all my stuff, and lots of stuff from everyone else, as well as a few generous "stuff donations" from friends and family--and raised nearly $3000 towards our goal. If I saw something special and knew someone who would love it, I held it out and gave it to them. Whatever was left at the end of the garage sales, I donated.

But creating an ideal environment, especially for our kids, wasn't *just* about eliminating things. I actually *added* some things to the house, too. The biggest change was in our basement. Previously, our finished basement housed (in addition to a guest bed and our laundry room) a "TV room" and a "play room." The TV room had a large entertainment center with a TV/DVD player (we don't have cable or other TV service) and a bunch of DVDs, a couch and a bean bag. The play room had a couple of shelves that were full of bins, which were full of toys. The basement was getting almost no use, except when Joel's parents would visit and sleep in the guest bed for a couple nights. We never went down there to watch movies. Ever. The kids almost never went down there to play (they had plenty of toys elsewhere). When we had friends over, with their kids, all the kids would often go down to the basement to play, but they mostly ran around playing active games (yet were always sure to dump every single bin of toys out in the course of their play, so there was always an enormous mess to clean up when they left).

So we decided to make the space more suited to our needs, and to the use it was already getting. First, we emptied the "TV room" out entirely. The couch went in the smaller "play room," the entertainment center went in our bedroom. It kept the TV out of our "living space" (we may eventually get rid of the TV altogether, but we've always insisted that it at least be out of sight, not in the middle of our living space, just begging the kids to beg the adults to turn it on. Just too much begging), gave us some extra storage in our room and, most importantly, left the largest room in the basement totally empty. Then we got rid of nearly all the toys that were in the "play room." Then we got a slide, a swing, a ladder, and rings, and set up a veritable jungle gym in the basement. There's nothing to clean up, the space is getting used, and during a long Michigan winter, my kids and their friends have an appropriate place to burn off a little energy.

The new basement playspace, viewed from the stairs.

Another view.

The results of these changes to our environment have been pretty amazing. My kids are playing more, playing better, getting lost in their play--sometimes together, sometimes by themselves--more often. They go outside without prompting more. They imagine more, create more, invent more--and all from less.

I'm seeing a lot more of this sort of play from my kids these days--heading outside to make their own fun out of what they find.

Long before I had even heard of Simplicity Parenting, I realized that we had accumulated far too much stuff and that most of it needed to go. The process, for me, was easy and pleasurable. And the results were the fuel I needed to begin making some other changes to our lifestyle that wouldn't come nearly as easily or naturally to us.

Not My Favorite.

I still intend to post my favorite thing(s) about our trip up north, but I just have a second, so I thought I'd post one of my not favorite things first:



This is the the piece of beach glass that Lucie was referring to when she approached me up north, looking a little panicked but otherwise perfectly normal, saying, "Mom, that rock went too far into my nose, and now I can't get it out." I said, "You put a ROCK in your NOSE?" She nodded.

Fortunately, my brother-in-law was sitting there, and was casually like, "Oh, just plug your other nostril and blow your nose, HARD." I was afraid she would *sniff* instead of blowing, so I instructed her to take a deep breath with her mouth, then close her mouth and (while I held the other nostril shut) BLOW. After one blow it was "crowning," and the second delivered it entirely.

So proud.

Home Again.

We just returned from a week in northern Michigan. We spent the week catching frogs, collecting rocks along the shore of Lake Michigan, playing in the sand, walking, swimming, reading, and generally relaxing.
On our way home, I asked the kids to each name their three favorite things about our trip. Sam's were:

1. Catching Frogs.



2. Going to the beach.



3. Harry Potter. I've recently begun reading Harry Potter aloud to him, and during our trip we finished the first book, drew pictures of his favorite scenes, put together a 550-piece puzzle of Hogwart's Castle (which I've had since I was in COLLEGE, just waiting for a good opportunity to put it together). All of this culminated with us letting him stay up to watch the first film in the Harry Potter series on our last night there. He was riveted and responded with absolutely all the enthusiasm I might have hoped for.



Lucie's favorites included:

1. Catching frogs.



2. Going to the beach.



3. "Playing with my bracelets." I'm almost ashamed to publish this. A month-or-so ago, my mom got Lucie and her cousins some of these little silicone bracelets that form shapes when you take them off (animals, fairies, sea creatures as well as licensed characters from "Toy Story," et cetera. Lucie, whom we have occasionally been known to half-jokingly refer to as "our little hoarder" loves these bracelets. And she actually does play with them; in addition to taking them off (both wrists and both ankles--can you see them in the photo below, or is it too small?) and counting them, sorting them, and replacing them, she can often be found creating little shapey-bracelet dialogues between them. Yeah. Anyway. So. It made her top 3.



I had three favorites, too--and intended to write about them. But it's late, I'm sleepy, and tomorrow is that dreaded Day After Vacation--the day when, after a week of luxurious two-parents-home-all-day living, I am reminded of what it is like to be outnumber 3-to-1. So I'll save my top three for another day, but I will tell you this much: they do not include catching frogs or going to the beach.