Really, really, really, really, really, really no pants

Ivy doesnt like pants. She loves dresses but I am not sure that is why she doesnt like pants...she just doesnt like to wear them.

Most mornings as we are getting dressed Ivy and I have the same conversation.
Ivy: Mom, I really, really, really, really, really no pants.
Me: Ivy, the right way to say it is, "I dont want to wear pants please".
Ivy: I really, really, really, really no pants, please.
Me: Honey, to say it right you have to say, "Mom, I dont want pants please".
Ivy: Mom, I really, really, really, really dont want pants please.
Me: Good job, Ivy.
(3 seconds later)
Me: Ivy, you have to wear pants, you are going to school.
Ivy: (crying)
Me: Ivy, put on your pants.
Ivy: Mom, I really, really, really, really no pants.
Me: (sigh)
Ivy: Mom, I really, really, really, really wear slippers.

A Holiday Memory

Is it possible for people to get amnesia without hitting their head? I am sure that if there is a possibility of it happening - I have it. Now it is a matter of figuring out whether I have short term or long term amnesia. That depends - which one is it that you can not remember 2 minutes ago? Well...thank goodness for eternally existing blog entries to jog my memory so that I can always remember moments like this.

We were in the car, of course, listening to Christmas music and Feliz Navidad started to play. Bella recognized the tune and started to sing - loudly. Impressed at her bilingual abilities at such a young age I listened to her confidently belting out the chorus.

"Police, mommy, God." (do, do, do,do)
Police, mommy, God." (do, do, do,do)
Police, mommy, God" (inaudible)

And the darn thing is that "police mommy God" sounds exactly like "feliz navidad" when singing loudly out of tune. Try it. I am just happy to be as revered as Police and God.

So we are going to start our Rosetta Stone program after I document this funny moment so that I can *remember it always.

Lice bringing us together one head at a time

For two weeks Bella complained of an itchy head. I checked for lice, not really sure what I was looking for but didn't see any life forms in her hair, so I chalked it up as "dry-scalp." So I had my 7-year-old shampooing with Head and Shoulders. Made sense.

Fast-forward two weeks.

Sitting on the couch she was itching her head again so I took another look. Barf. Lice.

For the next week I would have to treat Bella's head with lice shampoo, combing, and a head lamp (this helped me see every little guy). This would take up to an hour or more every night.

The week started with complaining and whining - from both of us and I was even shouting out cuss words to the lice in my head, seriously, like they should be so threatened by my threats. Then we started to talk, then sing Christmas songs, then laugh, then talk some more. We talked about how she is having a hard time not being in charge of the performance at school and what it means to be jealous. We talked about her favorite Christmas songs and movies. We talked about her sister and how important it is to take care of her and love her even though it is hard sometimes.

Last night was, as directed by the lice shampoo treatment box, the last treatment night. I was sad. I took a few extra minutes to make sure there weren't any that I might of missed while finishing another great conversation with my quickly growing daughter. I am really thankful for those gross, disgusting bugs. They made me stop and focus only on Bella for at least an hour every night for a week. They made me remember how much I really love her and cherish time with her. They made me slow down and focus solely on one of the biggest blessings in my life.

Thank you lice. If life starts getting too busy in the future maybe I will make Bella go try on helmets at Sports Authority in the kids section for a few hours. Maybe we'll be lucky enough to come home with some time together.

A Welcome Home

We mothers tend to think that our children, until a certain age, only feel safe with us. They wait by the front window starting out until we get home so they can run to the door and hug us and not let go. They dream about being snuggled in our arms holding them close. When another person is holding them we know their little minds are thinking "this lady is nice but she sure isn't anything like my mama."

(enter record screeching to stop here)

This is not the welcome home occurring at the Walker house. In fact, almost entirely the opposite. So much so that Bella gets big crocodile tears and precious quivering lips when I show up to pick her up from pretty much anywhere. Once she cried when she was picking up dog doodie in the back yard and I came home after a long day and told her she had to stop what she was doing and come talk to me because I missed her. (wha???)

Ivy is 2 and a half and pretty much ready to move out. She spends time with her Nana and cries when she has to come home, she spends time with her Papa and cries when she comes home, she spends time with a random babysitter and cries when I walk through the door. Today my mother-in-law and her friend came by and the friend was holding Ivy. Ivy started crying when I walked in the door and went to grab her from the friend. She said (in a crying voice) "no, I don't want you -- I want Sylvia."

Who's Sylvia? I guess that is the friend's name -- the woman that she had known for a few minutes. Nice.

But my very favorite is coming home, putting my bags down, looking for my girls to hug and kiss and hearing the sour patch kid around the corner say "go back to work I no like you. I like my dad."

Welcome home.

Life: 1/3 sleeping, 1/3 working, 1/3 re-rolling toilet paper

Where to start? It is more difficult than I thought to capture life with 2 girls. I set up this blog a few months ago for several reasons. One being that my girls do so many freakishly funny things I wanted to capture them the best way possible. Two, I feel mom guilt at least once a week for intentionally overlooking the baby book duty. Bella has one and I made a lame attempt to create something that she could carry with her forever. There are 3 AMAZING pages...

Ivy doesn't even own a baby book.

I know, I am terrible but I find myself feeling anxious when I look at all the pages asking about height and weight and other things normal people don't have time to track. Thus, My Daughter Diaries were born.

Today's title was an epiphany as I stood in a familiar place in the girls' bathroom re-rolling the toilet paper to my best ability after Ivy had her way with it. The craziest thing -- she sits on the toilet (makes me proud because we are potty-training) she asks for her privacy, I go around the corner to fold laundry or some other nearby household duty, she calls me in an excited voice, I am thinking she wants to tell me she is proud of her accomplishments, and the entire roll of toilet paper is in a pile on the ground. This happens frequently, like all the time. It feels counter-intuitive to yell at her while she is sitting on the toilet potty-training but I do it anyway, and spanked, and scolded and begged. She still does it...with pride.

So I do feel like I spend a lot of my awake hours re-rolling toilet paper. The silver lining? I am getting really good at it.

-Mom