There's a partridge in my pear tree.

And I think I like it. Only 1 more day of work in 2007!

Conversation on the way to Betty's house this morning:
Jo: "Eve is my baby sister."
Me: "Well, yes, Jo... she is your baby sister."
Jo: "And I'm going to have a new baby sister."
Me: "Oh. Really?"
Jo: "Yes. At Christmas. A Christmas Eve."

I don't know with how many people she has shared this exciting news. But again, I'm setting the record straight right here and now. No new baby sister (or brother, for that matter) for Josie. And apparently we're going to have to find a different name for Christmas Eve.

Seeing that this may be the last chance I have to post in a while - I'll throw a coupla Merry Christmas greetings and Happy New Year good tidings at ya. Now duck.

Spittin' Images.

I knew it!! I always saw Barack and thought - WOW! We must have been separated at birth!!

Thanks for the fun idea, Meg. :)

The fog has lifted.

Or maybe the caffeine finally kicked in.

Okay - I'm out of my Monday morning funk. And now it's lunchtime! Not too shabby.

I'm sure as in most households with small children this time of year, we've been discussing the upcoming holiday. A lot. Everything from presents, to baby "Cheesus," to Santa and the "boots" hanging on our fireplace. Jo and I were snuggling on the couch after she got up from a nap. We were looking at our pretty tree, with the sparkly candy cane ornaments that I made many many moons ago, and which Josie helped me hang. As you can imagine, there is a large concentration of candy canes in one area on the lower portion of the tree. The conversation turned to Santa, and I was talking about how he's going to come to our house, down the chimney and leave a present for each of the girls on Christmas Eve.

I could see the wheels turning. She turned to me as she processed, and said, "So... Mommy, we're going to get another baby sister Eve this year?"

Whoa. So not where I expected this conversation to go. And no - in case you're wondering, there will NOT be another baby arriving any time soon. :)

It's been fascinating to see her comprehension and decision-making skills develop. She's growing so fast and understands so much and can communicate so well. Of course, have a lot of frustrating bouts of the "whys," but to see her really get something and ask appropriate questions has been amazing.

Patrick's parents came over on Saturday to just hang out for a bit, and ended up staying for dinner with us. This exciting event came the very next day after a much celebrated impromptu playdate with Lucy and Eddie, so Josie was in a very happy place. Her little mouth never stopped from the time Gramma and Grampa walked in the door until well after they left. At one point, she was "making boffee" for Gramma after dinner. Gramma asked her if Grampa could have some, too. She tilted her head and held up her hands and said, "Well, no - there's no cup for you."

She has also just recently started to actually sit and watch movies. She has always watched snippets of tv shows, and bits of movies, but would never sit and really watch for very long before she was off to something better. Eve, on the other hand, is a movie and tv freak - especially anything with Elmo in it. Not necessarily a good thing, but it sure does come in handy once in a while. You know - like when I'm trying to clean something, or maybe poop without an audience - that kind of stuff. Anyway - my point in all of this is that now we're really noticing how limited our kid movie selection is. Gotta add that to the garage sale list for next spring. Jo's favorite right now is "Milo and Otis." I think she watched the entire thing about 3 times this weekend. That's 3 times too many for me. The pug dog and orange cat with British accents are a bit much after a while. Pat's a lot more patient with that sort of thing than I am. Well, I guess he's probably a lot more patient with a lot of things than I am, but that's a whole 'nother topic.

So there. That was a much more satisfying ramble. More later!

Insert theme music from "Jeopardy" here.

Ok.

So I've been trying to think of something clever to write. Some cute thing Evie did over the weekend, something funny Josie said... anything.

I'm drawing a blank. Guess it's just not meant to be right now.

Maybe it's all the mucous in my brain. I'm feeling a bit slow.

We had a... nice... weekend. Shopping is pretty much done, tree is decorated, gifts are stacked in the basement, patiently awaiting wrapping paper.

Told ya. Nada. I'll check in later when I can think properly. Happy Monday! Only 3 more work days in 2007! :)

Heads between their Legs

A member of the Minnesota Wild made some reference to their crappy performances lately, and the fact that when they start losing, the team members tuck their heads between their legs... etc... and I'm pretty sure he meant to say tucks their tails between their legs - but I'm very grateful to him today, because that really creates one kick-ass mental picture.

Josie is a flasher. Sure, you say, just imagine the riches of beads you'll have someday after she visits New Orleans. So we've got that going for us. But seriously - we can't turn around lately without her bare cheeks looking at us, and Jo saying, "Mommy. Look at my butt."

Then Eve giggles and walks up to her and with this evil little voice says "tickle, tickle" and does exactly that to Jo's bare buns.

We have a Christmas tree. It has no decorations, but I figure we're doing good by at least having the tree in the house. I had a hard time getting a real tree this year. Our nice cat, Buford- rest his sweet little soul - used to love with every ounce of his furry little being having an honest to goodness piece of the actual outdoors in our living room. From the moment we dragged the tree into the house, until the moment we dragged it out again, you could find Buford happily curled up on the tree skirt, purring like there was no tomorrow. Not to mention that he had a bit of an obsession with fresh water, and would carefully watch our every move as we filled up a container of water and sloshed it through the house on the way to the tree stand. Then he'd happily lap away, as if we'd finally understood that this was the way things were supposed to be. One year when we lived in an apartment in downtown St. Paul and had an illegal real tree for Christmas, we were bagging up the violation and figuring out how we were going to cram it down the garbage chute without getting busted when I noticed a large bulge in the bag as Pat dragged it across the living room towards the door. Sure enough, there was Buford, in the bag with the tree, in a weak little effort to save his needly friend.

Our holiday shopping is underway. The annual cookie bake is done. Santa hasn't been visited, yet, but perhaps that will be added to this weekend's ever-growing agenda.

Funny how all it takes to make me happy is a Mint Mocha, and for someone else (who shall remain nameless, but whose name starts with P and ends with T and married me - hey. That rhymes.) happiness is watching a car's odometer turn over to 100,000 miles. That miraculous event happened in our super-cool '95 Ford Taurus on the way to work this morning. Good thing there weren't any peds in our way, because there was NO WAY he was missing it. And now I'm going to have to hear about it for the next 4 months. Seriously. Because he missed it in like 3 other vehicles he's owned, and I haven't stopped hearing about that, either. (I love you, anyway, honey.) You'd think we saw a celebrity on the streets of St. Paul. Or even better, a Wild player with his head between his legs.

Odds and Ends

Oh. So I think I forgot to mention that I got a promotion at work. Yea me. I get to stay in a place I like, with people I like... permanently, and still part-time, to boot. No more Milton for me.

Then there's nothing like accepting a "new" job, and turning around to your "new" supervisor and telling her all the time off that you plan on taking in December. :) I have never ever ever in my long-legged life had any substantial time left to take off at the end of the year. I'm beside myself with excitement - I have off every Thursday (and Friday, of course,) the entire week of Christmas and New Year's Eve day, if I so desire. Color me happy, there's a sofa in here for two!! Would you look at that... if I do take those days off, that means I only work 6 more days in December. hee hee hee hee hee...

Coupla Josie-isms I want to get down before I forget:

The other night we were going outside to play in the snow. It's a process. Sometime during the preparation we decided that they should actually put their snowpants on in case they "went off the beaten path." Jo picked up on that one and kept saying that she was ready to "go off the beat path." She wouldn't drop it, and was getting a little frantic when we weren't ready yet. So I told her that we were just going out in the yard to play, and that "the beaten path" was merely a figure of speech. So then she said that she wanted to go out and play in the "figure beach." I just can't win.

Everything in Jo's life can be negotiated right now. Give her a cookie, and she wants "just one more." Give her a piggy-back ride, and she wants to do it "just one more time." Give her a little bit of yogurt and she wants "lots." And when she's asking for "just one more..." of whatever, she says it real slow-like, with her chubby little index finger up in front of her face.

She recently started to flip-flop words around... like the ball pit at the indoor playground is now the "pit ball." Her Elmo backpack is her "packback." You get the picture.

She's got a memory, and she's not afraid to use it. Most of her convos start with the phrase " 'Member when..." then she regales us with stories of the time that Eve ripped off her band-aid in the bathtub, Baxter tried to bite her or we rode in the "Gunos" van (that's the Gronaus, to the rest of us.) on the way to the playground.

Baby Parts

The following phrases would have been heard by a fly on the wall in our house last night, or maybe more appropriately, by a mouse in the basement:

"Brewster loves me. Does Brewster have a back?"

"Daddy has boy parts. Mommy has girl parts. I have girl parts. Evie has baby parts!"

"Ooop? Ooop?" Evie runs from wherever she is in the house when she hears the toilet flush. She points and assumes that any activity in that room is poop-related.

"Dance! Dance! Dance!" It's a command more than an exclamation. Evie also runs from wherever she is in the house when she hears any sort of music on tv or the radio.

"Eve just put her french fry on the toilet seat."

"Mommmmmmy - I awake a little bit."
"Daddddddddddy - my fingernail is long."
"Mommmmmmy - there's too many books."
"Daddddddddddy - my arm hurts right here."
Josie used to be our rock, our reliable bedtime girl. She now realizes that life goes on after she goes to bed. There have been some rough, late nights with her the past couple of weeks as we try to convince her that it really is time to go to sleep. These are just a sampling of what we hear from her room after we've tucked her in.

Moo Moo Here Moo Moo There

I've been known to overexaggerate from time to time. No, really - I'm serious. But this time, I have witnesses. On the way to daycare this morning, Eve was singing "Old MacDonald." Sure - she's not ready for American Idol (although she was more in tune than Sanjaya,) but she was distinctly singing "E-I-E-I-O," and "moo moo here, moo moo there." My kids are geniuses. That goes without saying, of course, but it just feels so darn good, I had to see it in print.

All this singing occurred right before she took her boots off on the ridiculously long 6-minute car ride to daycare. Seriously. Nothing drives me battier than having to re-dress them in winter gear after I've JUST DRESSED THEM IN THEIR WINTER GEAR. But the boots are the bane of Eve's existence. Right after the mittens. And the hat. We put her boots on her for the first time last night before going out to shovel the walk, and you'd think that we cast her precious little feet in cement and asked her to run the Boston Marathon. This morning after the Evil Boots tripped her, she rolled herself to her back on the kitchen floor and laid there, fully dressed in outerwear, arms and legs splayed, as if to say, "this is it. I give up."

It's going to be a long winter.

Although Jo is getting more and more imaginative, so that's been really fun to watch - and should help during those days that it's subzero and we can't go out and play. She pretends she's a "worker man" who fixes things around the house, and a doctor, a dentist, a mommy, a daddy, a baby, a kitty, a princess (pronounced pri-pess) and a queen. Oh - and the other night, she was Santa. We were playing in the living room while Pat was using the snowblower in the alley, and I had the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, aka, Lots of Women Singing and Dancing and Looking Exactly Like One Another and Having Legs That Go Up To Their Noses, on in the background, for ambiance, or something. Josie took notice during one of the rousing holiday numbers and excitedly pointed out Santa. Then she turned to me and said, matter-of-factly, "Santa has boy parts."

Now I'm a little nervous to take them to see Santa. Who knows what she's going to ask him.

Thank Goodness for Gedney

Thanksgiving 2007 - over and done. And Josie is thankful for "Special Treats." Her words, exactly, as we went around the table and told what we are thankful for. Treats as in, the bribes she gets for eating a good supper. Like pickles. And suckers.

Sunday night the girls were all decked out in their footie jammies, delaying bedtime by being super-cute and getting along. Evie picked up a basket I have in the living room, slung it over her arm and toddled off, waving bye-bye. We got quite a kick out of this, and Jo, upon seeing our delight in someone else's cuteness, decided that she should be part of the action, too. So she picked up the other basket I have in the living room, slung it over her arm and told me that she and Evie needed to go to the hardware store and shop. So they came and went, in and out of the living room together with their baskets, returning from "shopping" trips, then needing to go to the store, again. Evie was so happy to be playing with her big sister. Her little nose crinkled up when she smiled. Josie gave me a hug-unna-tiss every time they were "leaving" for the store.

And those few moments in time sum up exactly what I'm thankful for this year.

Comparisons

Both girls at about 16 months (Eve first, then Jo, in case you couldn't tell.) Hard to believe that Josie was a couple of months away from being a big sister at that point.

Big Game Hunter

My husband, thank all the good in goodness, is not a hunter. Not that I'm all anti-hunting or anything, I'll happily gnaw on some venison right alongside the next guy, but I just don't want any part of knowing anything about how that venison got on the table. Ignorance is bliss.

Anyway - I am not left stranded, a hunting-widow, each fall. And this may partially explain why. So back to the story. Here is my account of events in our house last night...

"CAROL!! WAKE UP! COME DOWNSTAIRS!!"

I look up to see Patrick standing by the bed, holding our cat.

"What??! Why???"

"Baxter got The Mouse***! Now it's in a vase! Downstairs!! Come down there with me!"

***We had an unwanted visitor in our house for the past couple of weeks. We were in the basement watching a movie a while ago, and I heard the distinct scurrying sounds of little mouse feet in the ceiling. Now, I grew up in an old house. I know what a mouse sounds like.

I expressed my concerns to my husband, only to be poo-pooed. So I dropped it. My philosophy is this: I've been pregnant. And been on bedrest. And given birth. Twice. Therefore, I'm way ahead of Pat in the "You Owe Me" department. So matters such as cleaning the litterbox, cleaning up dog poop, getting the spiders, and disposing of rodents - are not my job. Once again, ignorance is bliss. There are many things in life that I just want to happen. I don't want to know how, or when, or where... I just want them done.

And I can say these things. Because this is my blog. Now back to the story.

So then we heard the scurrying sounds again a few nights ago. And he looked behind the dogfood. And saw mouse poop. And then he decided to believe me.

He's been playing the mighty hunter for the past couple of days. By setting mouse traps with peanut butter. Only to be mocked by having the peanut butter licked off while not setting off the traps. But who am I to judge? He was doing something about it, and I wasn't, and whatever it took to get that mouse out of my house was fine by me.

Needless to say, at 11:00-something-p.m. last night, I was a little out of it. And as soon as I heard "mouse," I wanted no part of it.

"What do you mean downstairs? On the main floor?"

"NO. In the basement. I don't know what to do!!"

"Tough. I am not getting out of bed. I'm sure you and Baxter will figure it out."

Some time later, he came to bed. And wanted to regale me with tales of the fantastic mouse hunt. I begged for ignorance. And sleep.

Apparently, the entire process involved the vase, then a shoebox, then outdoors and then the St. Paul city sewer system. But I don't want to know.

I just hope the Mouse doesn't remember the way back.

And that there was only one.

I was all, like, "can you say Anal?"

As Eve stomped her foot and whined and pointed and said "Uh-oh" 50 times because the flip top on the syrup was left open.

So I closed it.

Then she turned her attention to same problem with the creamer sitting by the coffee pot being all offensive with it's top open mocking her.

So I closed it.

As I wiped the water droplets off the faucet and sink and turned the hand soap so that the label faced forward, I wondered, "Where does she get this stuff from??"

Seriously??!

Check out this article:

Then promptly go bash your head against a wall. All this de-Christmas-ing of Christmas makes me ill.

I just made you say underwear

Jo and I were sitting at the kitchen table this morning when Evie walked in with one of my bracelets. Upon seeing this coveted item, Jo immediately proclaimed that she needed to have HER bracelet.

Me: "First of all, that's MY bracelet. And secondly, Evie is looking at it right now. You may have it when she's done. So don't get your undies in a bundle.***"

***Does anyone else actually say this, or is it yet another one of those oddball phrases that I've dragged with me into adulthood from my parents? Like how my Dad always used to say when I hauled myself out of bed at noon on a weekend in high school 'Well, there's another country heard from.' Or when I whined about how much I wanted something or wished I had something, 'Well, you can crap in one hand and wish in the other and see which you have more of.' What the hell does that mean anyway?? I may not know, but I guarantee you I'm gonna use it on my own kids.

Jo: She sat in silence for a few moments, thinking, then turned to me. In a teasing voice, while grabbing at her underwear, says, "Mommy... I'm bundling my undies...."

Sweethearts

So Pat stood in line for an hour last night to get into the funeral home for the wake of a guy he went to high school with and played hockey with. 31 years old. Married. Two small kids. An electrician. Apparently, a work-related accident that could have had a very different result if he would have taken the time to put on all of the safety gear that he was supposed to. These kids will barely remember their daddy. Talk about a wake up call. Every single action we take, or fail to take now, as parents, affects so many people.

That's one thing about all this death crap. (I know. I'm just a frickin' grim reaper, lately, aren't I?) The constant reminder that we have to "get our affairs in order." It's been on our ever-expanding to-do list since Josie was born. We're relatively intelligent human beings and we know full well that we need to do it. It's just the actual DOING IT part that gets us every time.

Grandma Ashton's funeral isn't until tomorrow. She died last Wednesday, and The Family (I extend them the courtesy of capitals because there are A Lot of Them. 11 kids. 26 grandkids. 33 great-grandkids.) wanted to have everything on Saturday. But she's being buried at Fort Snelling, and they don't do burial services on Saturdays. And today is Veteran's Day observed. So that leaves us with tomorrow. It's going to be a relief when it's all over. It's horrible to be preparing yourself for so long for what you know is going to be a grueling experience. Grandpa Ashton, desperately in love with this woman for 66 years, picked out 2 songs that he wants played at the funeral home before we leave for the church. "You Are My Sunshine," and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." AND, during the funeral, one of their daughters is going to read a love letter that Grandpa wrote to Grandma years ago.

Note to self: stock up on Kleenex tonight. And where is my waterproof mascara?

Speaking of mascara. Josie likes to play with my makeup. Not that I have a lot. Which is partially why I can't afford to let her play with it. But the other morning she was in the bathroom with me, and I made the mistake of turning my attention to my own reflection in the mirror for like all of 30 seconds, and she managed to get the brush off my mascara and rub it all over her forehead.

Speaking of foreheads. Eve is sporting yet another lovely bruise on hers. This time she flung herself between my legs, directly on her head, on the transition piece between our kitchen and the living room. If you'll remember this is exactly the same move she pulled when she had to go to the ER earlier this fall - except she did it at daycare instead of at home. At least she didn't cut herself this time. I swear. Child protective services is going to come a-knockin' any day now.

Grandma Ashton passed away last night, at her home. She was cracking jokes up to the end, and everyone was able to say their goodbyes. To say that she will be missed doesn't even cut it.

What will you do when faced with a business of ferrets?

This is what you get when I don't download pictures from our camera in three months.

Josie-isms

Jo: "Mommy - what are those??"

Me: "Well, Jo - those are breasts."

Jo: "HEY. (looking down shirt.) I don't have those!"

Me: "No - no, not yet. When you're an older girl, you will get those."

Jo: "Yep! Not too long now..."

**************************************

I looked in Josie's room to see a mess of flashcards on her table. Pat, Jo and Eve were all playing in the room. I made the assumption that Josie had made the mess.

Me: "It's almost time to go. I wonder who is going to clean up the flashcards?"

Jo: "Well, NOT ME. (climbs on riding toy - she calls it her 'bus.') I have to go to work!"

Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow

I've had too many reminders in the last couple of days of the beginning and the end. The stark differences between preparing and celebrating new life, and coming to terms with the ending of others.

Deep, I know. I'll keep this short.

It's just fresh in my mind, and also plays into the update of our past couple of days.

I went to a baby shower for my friend, Dawn, whom I've known since, geez, 5th grade, when she moved to Chatfield, on Saturday. It's awesome to be witness to the preparation and excitement of a new baby. The shower was in Spring Valley, and I was early, and the path I took carried me right by a little "town" called Pleasant Grove. To say it's small is an understatement. But Pleasant Grove is very near where I grew up, and in Pleasant Grove is a cemetery.

I've always had this weird fascination with cemeteries. They contain history, quiet and overwhelming peace. Maybe at this particular phase of my life, that's especially appealing to me due to the uncertainties of raising kids and worrying about their futures, the hectic pace of our lives and the unending chaos that evolves from having a family. Stepping into a cemetery brings with it certainty, finality, an absolute answer. This is the end. It's Plain and Simple. Something I don't have a lot of in my life right now.

And this particular cemetery has sentimental value to me as it is the resting place of numerous members of my family, including my Dad. A brother. A cousin. My Grandpas. I know it's silly, but it's always been important to me to "visit" the cemetery. To touch the gravestones. I know loved ones aren't really "there," but it's a place all its own to remember. To pay respects. I haven't been there in a while, and there have been changes since the last time I visited. Stones in place for my cousin and for the baby girl of another cousin that I hadn't seen before. It's a strange thing to see your family name, so clear and stark, engraved on a headstone.

Okay. Enough of that.

We celebrated family birthdays for Patrick's dad, sister and nephew yesterday. His nephew, Trent, will be 4 next week. It's fun to see how much excitement something as simple as a Garfield ice cream cake can bring to the life of a preschooler. There were so many gifts, it was like a mini-Christmas. With birthday cake.

Except hanging overhead was the sad news that Pat's Grandma Ashton is not well. She has made the Decision to stop kidney dialysis. And has numerous complications including a horrible bedsore, and pneumonia in one of her lungs. The family has been told to prepare for the end. What an awful thing to try to reconcile in your mind.

What a rollercoaster. New babies. Birthdays. Saying goodbye. Autumn. Guess it's all kind of apropos of the season.

Shocking

I'm going to divulge something shocking.

I don't like Halloween.

I know. I'm waiting for the agents to come and cart me back to whatever country it is that I came from. It's completely un-American.

I've never really gotten into it - even as a kid.

I don't know if it's because we lived in the country, and trick-or-treating involved trekking around the neighborhood with my mom or aunt behind the wheel (uh - why is it that we never went to TOWN to go trick-or-treating??,) crammed in the car with my cousins, and we had to endure the adults "visiting" with each stop for like an hour, so we only got about 3 pieces of candy, and it was usually raining or cold or something miserable, and our driveway went up the middle of a cornfield and there's always so much scary movie hoopla around this time of the year (seen Children of the Corn lately?) and have you ever walked in the dark through a cornfield by yourself?

Well. That's what I associate with Halloween.

And I'm only slightly exaggerating.

Granted, I've come to terms with the holiday in my adult-years. Pumpkins are fun - I'll give you that. (That's for you, Peg.)

Except when they start to rot in your college apartment because your roommate (PEG) wouldn't part with them yet and they start to smell like fish sticks and you blame your neighbors for cooking fish sticks at all hours of the day and night for weeks on end, only to move one of the pumpkins one day and discover a new cure for diseases growing right in your very own living room.

So, wait. I've just talked myself right back into disliking Halloween again.

Anyway. Little kids dressed up on Halloween are cute. I'm resigning myself to the fact that I'm going to have to endure the holiday with some enthusiasm (however feigned it may be) for the next few years. And trick-or-treating with the Gronaus last night was a blast. I enjoyed myself way more than I anticipated and Jo had a great time with Lucy looking for houses with the lights on, running down sidewalks and of course, the candy. Oh - the candy. Also another redeeming part of the day.

And the day after. Now who had those peanut butter cups again... gotta go. :)