I thought I would’ve had more time last week to talk about what we did the previous weekend, but I was too busy making bento boxes. Like this one. Isn’t it cute?

And I’ve also been really busy being lazy. And doing housework, laundry, and playing on facebook. Not really in that order either. Hey, I’m just being honest.

Last weekend was great. Saturday, Kurt and I met a friend at the mall and did our usual weekend routine of mall-walking. We tend to get a little stir-crazy just hanging out around the house for two days straight. Plus there is an Alterra at the mall, and that is usually the deciding factor. “Hey Kurt, you want some coffee?” “Yup” “Let’s go to the mall.” “ok”. Sensible reasoning, right?

Sunday was great. We explored our city by heading over to Discovery World. Who can say “no” to a yearly membership for 40 dollars? Thank you to my employer for the awesome discount. Also, thank you to the lady at the desk who let me have the discount without my badge or other proof that I worked where I said I did. The girls really enjoyed it. Really. I was surprised that they had as much fun as they did because most of the exhibits are geared towards bigger kids. The aquarium was a big hit, but the biggest hit, with Zoey at least, was the “touch tank”. Stings rays were pulling themselves out of the water to get “pet” by her. This momma wasn’t sure how she felt about touching sting rays after the whole “steve irwin gets killed by a ray”, but I think those might’ve been manta rays, which makes no sense. Why call the docile one a “sting ray” and the mean australian-killing one a “manta”. These are the quandaries I ponder as I drift off to sleep. Actually that is a lie. I typically think of much more superficial happenings in my life.

Violet loved running through the museum. She is almost running. Let’s call it speed walking. Her favorite part was in the Les Paul music area. There is a music-making pedastal which creates sounds dependent on the blocks you place on its surface. It occupied girlfriend for almost 30 minutes. That is a looooong time in toddler time.

This weekend was mostly a blur. School has started for me, so goodbye life, hello reading, and papers, and hysteria. I do think, however, that I am going to really enjoy this semester. Each week before class starts, I tend to get extremely anxious about attending and whether or not I can do it, etc etc. But I always find that I wouldn’t want to go to a different school. I love it at Alverno. I love the diversity, both in demographics and thoughts, opinions, morals, personal philosophies. I’ve met some of the smartest women I’ve ever encountered there. I am painting a pretty good picture of the college, huh? All the positives aside, this school is focused on a lot (A WHOLE FRIGGIN LOT) on group work. I am not a fan. Don’t get me wrong, I play well with others. When the others play well back. Group work with non-participating members is the.worst.thing.ever. I foresee a semester of great groups though. And with that, I need to read some of the 500+ pages that I need to finish in two weeks. No, this is not an exaggeration, friends. *twitch*

This week I’ve undertook making Bento-style breakfasts and lunches for the girls to take with them to Miss Nancy’s and Grandma’s. Here are Wednesday’s meals:

Part of me still struggles with not sending them with breastmilk and, perhaps, I’m feebly attempting to overcompensate for my own feelings of letting down (pun? or no pun?) my girls. Either way, I’ve really enjoyed Bento-ing it Up each night after they are in bed and before I collapse from the sheer exhaustion of being as awesome as I am. That last part was sarcasm, and here’s why:

I had just put the finishing touches on their bentos and headed off to wash my face when “the egg incident” occurred. Today will forever be the day known as “the egg incident day”…at least in my mind. Probably Kurt’s too. And maybe the dogguum who did not help whatsoever in cleaning up “the egg incident”. So anyway, back to “the egg incident”. (Also, it would help if you said “the egg incident” in a deep, menacing voice in your head. It’ll help with the story). So I was washing my face, thinking about how much fun making Bentos (not mentos. Bentos) is, and how, when they are older, they are going to loooooooooove love love them. And how, also, I am awesome. Well. I am not awesome. I am failsauce. Just as I had lathered up, there was an explosion from the kitchen-ish area. I had taken my contacts out, so I could not assess the damage, but the smell…OHHHHH the smell. I immediately thought Kurt had set off some firecrackers or that the dog had intercepted some dynamite, but alas. It was neither. Sadly. Because, let me tell you, I would’ve rather it been either of those scenarios.

The scene in the kitchen was comical. The microwave door had blown open and there were pieces of eggs ev.ery.where. everywhere. Did I forget to mention that before I had taken out my contacts and washed my face that I placed an egg into a glass bowl of water into the microwave and set the microwave to cook on high for 15 minutes? Clearly that was too long. By roughly 5 minutes and 25 seconds. The egg exploded with such a force that the microwave door flew open and egg particles, shell, and brownish radiated burnt egg water sprayed my kitchen. But the mess was dwarfed by the smell. Oh the smell. Now do you see why it is officially known as “the egg incident”? So now, friends, let this be a lesson to you. Eggs do not require more than 9 minutes and 35 seconds in the microwave. This is a lesson I will not soon forget.

That is one word I use daily when I mutter to myself as I pick up toy after toy after toy. My littles are friggin’ efficient. Not only can they pull out 4 times as many toys as I can put away, but they can do it twice as fast. Do the math on that one, friends. So I’m torn between leaving the toys ev.ery.where. until they are in bed and go insane from the walls of my house closing in on me OR walk around behind my children, muttering about their efficiency at making messes, picking up the toys they discard…and go insane. Insanity seems to be the common thread in each of these designs. At this stage, I think it is extremely important to teach them that everything has a place…and I know they believe this to be true, but everything’s place is anywhere I may be stepping or sitting. I have come to the conclusion that my genes of efficiency are dominant buggers. Clearly (CLEARLY) my husband carries a recessive efficiency gene that was not passed along to our children. I love Kurt with the whole of my being, but multi-tasking eludes him with the might of nations. ONE.THING.AT.A.TIME is the way he operates. My girls’ efficiency will come in handy when they are older, but right now its only use is making me lose my dang mind.

The girls are also efficient at eating, but not really so much at getting the food in their mouths. In watching them, one might think that they are eating really well, but let’s take a closer look at how my girls eat…

So for every one blueberry that makes it into their mouths, FOUR blueberries find their way onto our floor. Thankfully, we have a dogguum, BUT she will only eat healthy food *after* she ensures that she will not be receiving any cheese, yogurt, peanut butter, etc. Before the girls were born, “dogguum” would eat anything. Anything. Now, she’s a scrap-snob. Turning her nose up at certain foods, refusing to lick the glob of jelly on the floor up, SAVING HERSELF FOR THE FRIGGIN CHEESE. Wasn’t that why we got a dog to begin with? To clean up the crumbs that we accidentally forgot to pick up are too lazy to pick up. So this plan has backfired big time and we now have copious amounts of bananas (another food dogguum refuses to touch) raisins and blueberries mashed into our rug. So this is an exaggeration, however there have been a few “incidents” surrounding food. Perhaps I’ll get into those another time.

And also…is there anyone who can get my sweatpeas to look at the damn camera for a picture?! Seriously. SERIOUSLY….LOOK.AT.THE.CAMERA. at the same time. Both of you, yes. Look at meeeeeeeeeeee! *jumps up and down, claps, peek-a-boos, generally looks like an idiot, etc*

No real intro is needed for this post. Sadly my piece of shit phone is not working as of Thursday. Or maybe it is a not such a sad thing. Except that it is sad because we have to wait until next weekend to sign a new contract. I’m still not entirely sure what possessed me to purchase a phone that a 12 year old girl would typically buy, but whatevs. So without further ado, here are my fave texts of the week

“what a crazy bedtime. Zo escapes and pees all over and laughs violet steals dirty diaper then opens ghost butt (desitin) jar puts toy in. Cat barfs. Dog pacing.”

“I hope the strawberry zo ate off floor was from today”

“vi just pooped a bowling ball”

“do you need toddler beds? They have very good mattress.”

The last one makes me giggle for two reasons. The lack of pluralizing mattress and the verbalization that the mattresses are “good”. This conjures up visions of dirty stained mattresses by the side of the road. it also makes me think that since they are being portrayed as good that they are very most certainly the stark opposite.

Also…three day weekend, yo.

And boy there were many. Many many many. Many that are saved nowhere but in my mind, heart, soul. Images that I look back to when I need a smile or comfort or the answer to a difficult question or strength. We’ve taken a whole bunch of pictures over the past year, but they make such a small dent in the happy moments that we’ve had together that I almost feel wrong saying these are my favorite moments! Some of my most favoritiest moments that I didn’t have a camera for were:

Waking up and seeing a sleepy-faced smiling baby next to me.

Violet pooping on Kurt. This one still makes me giggle thinking about it.

Looking down on one or two babies nursing happily.

So without further ado (and in no particular order) here are our favorite pictures from 2011. Here’s to many more magical days ahead!

I should add a resolution to my list from the other day to get Kurt’s mug in more pictures. I do have a husband, believe it or not….

Bad clothes happen to good babies:

Yup. That onesie appears to be 2 sizes too small. Perhaps, though, that is simply because it is on the outside of her jammies.

Hey Zoey – Sweatin’ to the Oldies called. They want their wardrobe back.

But where is the beginning? Surely it hasn’t been *months* since I’ve blogged…has it? I can think of a few rather half-hearted excuses, and probably a few substantial ones as well, as to why I have not been blogging:

-I finished my Fall semester.
-Thanksgiving, then Christmas, THEN New Years. That was quite the whirlwind of AWESOME.
-I really really really really don’t like the way my blog looks right now, so I have a hard time coming here. I’m working on this one though.
-My girls have been so curious, active, lovely that I don’t want to be anywhere but with them.
-I got an iPad that is more difficult to blog on than my MacBook.
-etc etc etc

See? Pretty friggin lame excuses, am I right? So, I suppose I need to find the beginning to know where I need to start.

The last time I was here was around Thanksgiving. The month between then and Christmas went by so fast, and in that month a few significant changes occurred in our home. The largest of these was me giving up the pump. Simply put, I couldn’t do it anymore. Selfish as this is, I felt exhausted, harried, stretched thin, and constantly running from one place to another at work. A plethora of emotions overcame me with this decision – sad, happy, sad, empowered, sad, sad sad….Sad because I felt the decision was extremely selfish. Sad because I couldn’t continue to ensure that my girls had something of me with them every day while at daycare. Sad because my girls are growing up. Anxious that I stopped too soon, that I could’ve done more/better/etc. Happy that I made it 13.5 months (10.5 pumping 3 times per day at work). Empowered that I was able to make this decision for the betterment of my family (sounds backwards, but with the exhaustion and stress that pumping was causing me, stopping helped). Unfortunately, now I have been suffering from headaches, anxiety, mood swings, teariness, and general feelings of ickiness as a result of the hormone shift. I plan to continue nursing in the mornings, nights, and whenever the girls want on the weekends for as long as…(open ended). I really feel that this is the end of an era. From sitting in the nurse’s room at work and crying, hoping, praying that I would produce enough milk to meet what the girls would drink that day to being able to donate milk to a momma in need to now giving up the exhausting compulsion to pump. It has been quite the journey.

December also held my girls’ second Christmas. I had low expectations for their excitement levels for the holiday, but they blew me away. Although their fingers can’t open gifts the way a nimble 5 year old’s can, their excitement dwarfed anything I have ever seen. Zoey was, at times, in near hysterics over me not ripping the gifts open fast enough and Violet’s face was something I will never forget – pure happiness. So here’s where I get all sappy and whatnot. This was, hands down, the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Their happiness, the magic, the wonder, the joy. It was amazing.
And the haul wasn’t bad either. The girls got their first Waldorf dolls, a coaster wagon, books, a zoo pass, American Girl dolls, blocks, a puppet, etc etc etc. Way too much to list here, but trust me when I say that they love every.single.toy.they.received.

Zoey has been carting around the Sing-a-ma-jigs with her the past couple of weeks. We now have four, and if she can find them all, she drags them around with her.

Violet loves the kitty puppet that Nana and Grandpa gave her. She will find it when you ask her to and she’ll hand it to you until you put it on. Then she hugs it. Over and over. She also thinks it is hilarious if the kitty picks something up and holds onto it.

Zoey learned the words “Santa Claus”, except rather than Santa Claus being the fat, jolly man…Santa Claus is just about everything. I am Santa Claus. Kurt is Santa Claus. The dog is Santa Claus. Child is confused, but I love hearing her say it in her sing-songy voice so much, that we just let her carry on.

Violet adores her coaster wagon. She mostly loves pushing it around, but had a smile from ear to ear when we went for a walk around the block the day after Christmas.

Zoey will breastfeed her toys now. The first one she demonstrated this with was her cow. Ironic, no?

Violet loves books. Loooooooooves them. She will get a book, bring it to you, and plop on your lap to read it. Her favorites are: Goodnight Moon, Colors, and Beautiful Babies.

Since this post is getting awful big, I’ll close it with what I hope to accomplish in 2012. I’m not calling them resolutions. I think that is too final-sounding ish. I’d rather think of these as life-changers or something of the sort.

1. Stop picking my thumbs. Seriously. This is super gross and highly unsanitary. And super gross. If you see me picking, I give you permission to call me out on it.
2. Spend more time with friends. This past year we have somewhat holed ourselves up in our house – enjoying our little family and not really wanting to share our joy with others. This year I want to rebuild old relationships and create new ones.
3. Meet new mommy friends.
4. Explore Milwaukee. I want to have picnics by the lake, go to Discovery World, enjoy Chill on the Hill.
5. Plant a veggie garden and clean up the flower garden.
6. Can the veggies produced in the garden.
7. Write thank you cards for gifts in a timely fashion. Erm. I don’t have much more to say about that other than, “Shame on me.”

…this list seems to be more substantial than I thought it would be, so I think I need to stop where I am. Here are some pictures we took back in November. I was hoarding them because I intended on making/sending out Christmas cards with them and that never happened.

Little Violet face had a wee puking spell last week at Miss Nancy’s house, but it wasn’t accompanied by a fever or the crankies, so we really thought nothing of it. We headed up nort’ ya de hey to my parent’s house after work on Wednesday. Immediately upon entering the house, Violet blessed their carpet…and me. Now, spit up I can handle. Hell I’ve left the house with spit up on my shirt, in my hair, probably smudged across my face, but BARF? That is a whole new ball game folks. I stood there, mouth-breathing until Kurt came and helped me. Once the pukey clothes were off, all was good.

Fast-forward. Thanksgiving dinner was delicious, as always. The girls enjoyed smearing the food around and dropping it off the sides of their trays for the doggies. Bedtime came *cough*eight o’clock *cough* and we headed to bed. I jolted awake to heaving and whacked my arm into Kurt’s stomach hissing ” baby’s puking”. He fumbles around trying to find a flashlight, or whatever it is that he was doing. I, being as resourceful as I am, grabbed my iPad and used it as a light source. There was poor zoey cakes surrounded by…well you get the idea. Kurt picked her up and we cleaned her off as best as we could without waking the whole house. Fitful sleep followed for me as I was terrified that she was going to aspirate if she got sick again. The next morning, things seemed ok. She was tired, but happy, playful…her usual self. We decided to trek into town in search of a lack Friday deal or two. We were almost to our destination when I hear my mom say, “uh oh…”. I pulled over and we tried to clean zoey up again. PS. I will never leave the house without having a change of clothes for the girls ever again.

We went back home and the BRAT diet began. She was fine. ’till tonight. She hit her mark and planted a bullseye right on top of sister’s head. I couldn’t do anything but stand in the middle off the living room until Kurt came home to help me.

And now I shall ask the question with an obvious answer…isn’t my life fucking glamorous?

Please tell me the smell of yammy gets easier to *ahem* stomach…

And with that, I’ll share with you some of the super dee duper cute things my girls are doing this week.

Zoey can blow kisses…be still my heart. It is the cutest thing ever.

Violet snuggles the dog, cat, me. She has been very cuddly as of late.

Zoey will hug her dollie, rock her dollie, and kiss her dollie on command.

Violet has three modes of transport: crawling, walking, and knee walking. She prefers knee walking.

I know there is more, but the smell of vomit has caused me to acquire a headache that I must tend to.

Yeah. I said it. “Adorableness” Kinda rolls off the tongue, huh? Once you see this, you’ll agree too.

I’ve been feeling a little lost lately. Not lost in the sense that I can’t find my way through the woods, but lost in a “I can’t figure out who I am” kind of way. Too old for Forever 21, too young for Talbots. Ann Taylor is too boring, Banana Republic is too pretentious. What’s a working woman supposed to do? My clothes fit horribly, I barely look at myself in the mirror before rushing out the door at 6:30 each morning. The clothes that I bought a couple of months ago are too big, but I continue to wear them because they don’t require ironing…I’m not looking for sympathy as much as advice. What do *you* wear to work that makes you feel like you are a professional? That you can compete in a sea of suits. What can *I* possibly wear that takes the attention off the bags under my eyes, the possible spit up on my shirt, that smudge of brown that I pray is chocolate on my slacks (that I may or may not have picked up, sniffed and shrugged)? Clearly I am not the only woman suffering this injustice of a changing body combined with PPA/PPD and exhaustion. As I look around though, I feel utterly alone. How will I ever progress my career if I am too frazzled to put coherent thoughts together? le sigh.

P.S. This picture is a sneaky peaky at our holiday cards. love.