THE CHERUBS FIND A PEN

QUIET TIME?

Big Daddy is a drummer. He's been drumming since he was 3. He's drummed professionally, he's drummed casually, he's drummed for fun, he's drummed for money. When he's not at his drums, the world is his drum (it's also his urinal, but that's another story).

It only seems natural that our cherubs are interested in drums. When I was pregnant with Bean, we found a teeny, tiny drum kit at a yard sale for $3. We had it set up near her crib, and we used to hear her banging on her snare drum over the monitor when she would wake up in the middle of the night. But, the set was pretty, well, worth just $3, and we ended up throwing it out shortly after Bean's first birthday.

A couple of days ago, an old client of Big Daddy's called us up and told us she had a kid's starter drum kit in her garage that she needed to get rid of, and asked us if we wanted it. It's set up in the girls' room now. And I get some quiet time, relatively speaking ....

SOME WEIRD KIND OF ROLLER DERBY

I occasionally stop by the We Are THAT Family blog to check out the latest antics of "the Big Twin" and her family. A few days ago, the blog author posted a question about raising daughters to be modest.

I try to keep my girls modest. I don't want them to think that their self-worth comes from their looks or their bodies, etc. But, I must say that my girls LOVE being naked! I've pretty much gotten control of them running outside naked (which Bean did a few weeks ago so she could pee on the lawn - a very proud moment in any mother's life). But, it's pretty hard to keep them clothed when they're in the house. That being said ....

Last night, I left a fully clothed Bean in the living room with her father while I put Cakes to bed. About 30 minutes later, I walked back into the living room. Bean was wearing Dora roller skates, Dora kneepads, Dora elbow pads, a Dora bike helmet, and nothing else. When I questioned Big Daddy about this, he said, "One minute she was dressed, the next minute she looked like that."

THE THINNING OF THE CORN

First a little explanation for those of you who, like me, did not know this chore existed: When you plant corn, you put two kernels in each hole. Once the plants reach a certain height, you pluck out the corn plant that is the smaller and weaker of the two. I guess it's just a little assurance that you'll get at least one corn stalk from each place you plant. I do the thinning for Big Daddy, because he finds it extremely painful to pluck up plants that he has loved and nurtured.

Corn grows best in clay (says the all-knowing Internet). Since clay is abundant here in the South, we picked a particularly clay-y area to plant our corn. Thinking it would be easier to thin the corn if the ground were wet and soft (as opposed to hard and dry), I put the sprinklers on for 20 minutes before beginning the thinning process.

That was a mistake.

Here are my footprints in the clay:

Here are the flip-flops (yes, I garden in flip-flops; I do everything in flip-flops) that were wrenched from my feet by the suction of the clay (apparently clay is a distant relative of quicksand):

And here are my feet after I finished the thinning barefoot and digging out my dismal flip-flops (I even got married in flip-flops):

It's like Bigfoot! I had to peel the clay off with the help of a strong-spraying hose.

By the way, those little feet next to mine belong to Cakes. Note the shoes are on the wrong feet. She was very proud of putting on her own shoes. What you don't see in the picture is Bean, very proud of putting on her own pants, which were backwards. And yes, I let them in public like that. Like I said before, I like to encourage creativity and freedom of expression. I also like to encourage self-reliance and pride in accomplishments.

But back to the point of this whole post ... I will be thinning the remainder of the corn pre-sprinkler.

MY LITTLEST HELPER

Cakes is my second, my baby. Being the second of three children myself, I am well acquainted with Middle Child Syndrome. So, I try to give her extra attention whenever possible.

Typically, she will wake up before Bean, so we have some alone time. She loves to help out with chores around the house. She tried to help us clean our poor, algae-stricken pool ...

She helped me so much on the computer that I had to break out her Fisher Price Fun 2 Learn Laughtop (best gift ever, thank you Tanya!) ...

She patiently unfolds and piles on the living room floor each of the three loads of laundry I do daily ...


She also likes to help cook, sweep the floors, and diaper our ancient Cocker Spaniel (who really doesn't take too kindly to being diapered).

But, as frustrating as it is to have every task take three or four times as long as it should take, to have to re-do most chores the correct way, I will always choose toddler help over quick and efficient by myself.

LET'S GO FLY A KITE

So, while my dad was here, he fulfilled one of his "grandfather dreams," which was to be the first one to teach my girls how to fly a kite. So, my mom and I went out and bought two identical Sesame Street kites (identical to avoid any cherub rivalry), and brought them home to Grampy and the girls. There wasn't much wind on that particular day, and the kites didn't really fly without a lot of adult intervention, but the girls had a great time and couldn't wait to fly their kites again.

Bean was especially excited to fly her kite, having recently gotten the book Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street?, which is about Elmo reading books and flying kites. The plot seemed innocuous enough: Elmo flew the kite on a windy day, and the kite lifted him high into the sky. When he landed, he began an adventure to find his way back to Sesame Street.

Anyway, today is pretty blustery, so I figured we should try to fly kites while Big Daddy and Mr. David worked on a bid. The kites flew without any running or cajoling of the strings. I put the first kite into Cakes' hands. She instantly let go and the kite blew across the yard. I put the second kite into Bean's hands. She was fine for about three minutes, after which she began screaming hysterically and begging me to take the kite away from her. Apparently, that Elmo book had the unintended effect of making Bean think she was going to blow away with the kite. So, while Cakes chased her kite across the field, Bean shrieked in terror, and I pulled the kite in as quickly as possible, saying over and over, "Stop screaming! Don't panic!" The whole kiting adventure lasted about 7 minutes.

I finally got the kites collected. When everything was safely in the hands of Mommy, Bean smiled a huge smile and exclaimed, "I'm going to go tell Daddy I fly a kite!!!!"

MOMMY, THE PRINCESS

Let's get one thing clear. Mommy is not a princess. I don't like to do my hair, wear make-up, wear dresses, wear shoes that are not flip-flops .... I do like to bathe every day, but that doesn't always happen with two toddlers constantly craving my attention or trying to kill each other when my back is turned. Somehow, though, I ended up with two very girly little girls. They opt for dresses when given the choice between dresses or pants/shorts. I don't even own any dresses! Okay, I own some maternity dresses, but that is only for convenience when I'm huge and have an 8 pound kid punching my bladder. Given the choice, I will always choose pants - jeans to be exact.

At any rate, I've had to learn to do some girly things with my cherubs. So has my husband.

When my husband and his afro are not available for hairdos, I am the one that gets my hair done. After this particular hairdo, Bean declared me to be a princess. So, here is our self-portrait (note, no make-up, hair not done, etc.).

Check out my forehead. Here's a true story for you:

Big Daddy and I honeymooned in Chicago (Big Daddy loves jazz, and I'm not a big fan of sand and/or tropical locations). We spent one day at the Navy Pier. There was a German guy there doing caricatures and singing opera. So, we got in line to have our caricature done. We waited patiently, chuckling at the cartoon portrait of the couple in front of us. Suddenly, the German guy whirled around and said to us in a thick, German accent, "Please let me draw you! You are a cartoonist's dream!" (Just what everyone wants to hear). He looked at Big Daddy and said, "Zat nose!" Then, he looked at me and said, "And zat forehead! You could put another face on it!" Yeah. I've got a big forehead. And that has nothing to do with the title of my post, but there it is.

And that reminds me of when Bean got her first Barbie for Christmas one year. She unwrapped it, gasped in delight, held it up, and said, "Look! It's Mommy!" Gotta love kids, don't ya?