More cake!

"You remember Glynnis" I said to a disappointed Kate, who had just learned the cake I was making was not for her "she gave you that big box of paper to shred when you visited my office." Her eyes ignited with the glow of fond recognition. "That was a lot of paper!" I paused for a quick moment to reflect on the charming weirdness of her love of paper shredding. "Yeah, well, it's her birthday."

I had decided to make an ice cream cake. At first I was thinking I'd just do cake and ice cream, because I did know that strawberry is Glynnis's favorite flavor. But then I thought it would be fun to the put it all together. Not only have I never made an ice cream cake, I've never liked ice cream cake. I'm not sure what came over me, really. Still, it was a fun experiment. I'd looked for some sort of write-up on the topic of ice cream cake-making. The instructions I liked best were only sort of what I planned to do. For one thing, they recommended using store-bought ice cream, which I thought was the very height of laziness since homemade ice cream is easier to make than most things I slap between layers of cake and tastes infinitely better.

Here is what I realized entirely too late - homemade ice cream lacks the added ingredients that cause the dairy confection to freeze so thoroughly you may have to leave it sitting on the counter for 20 minutes just to be able to scoop it out. Indeed, homemade ice cream wants nothing more than to melt at the mere mention of exiting the freezer. As I iced my creation, it seemed to be sweating. Pink sweat. I was forced to admit that store-bought ice cream has its merits.

So here it is - you'll notice there's little fanfare but that, of course, is due to the finite time alotted for the decorating process. The end-result was met with happy forks. To my surprise, Glynnis had been wanting an ice cream cake since she saw her sister's earlier this year. Guess I just caught that vibe.

Haiku For You

Wit's End on the Edge of a Third Birthday

Violent mood swings; fits.

Anyone who fears the Twos

has not seen the Threes.

Growth Spurt

We went into the weekend with one kid largely afraid of the pool and only willing to ride her new bike on the tiny back patio and another kid who just wouldn't give up her pacifier.

Saturday morning I woke up before the kids. Already, everything was different. As I sat in bed lavishing affection on the cuddle-master Rex, I heard the thump-thump-thump of tiny feet (that "pitter-patter" stuff is pure nonsense, as soon as they learn to walk they sound like a herd of elephants). The girls came running into the bedroom, ready for the day. On that mid-July, Atlanta morning, we had all the windows open and it was positively perfect outside. "Kate and Sarah, get dressed, we're going to get Kate riding that bike of hers." Then...they did get dressed. AND I was able to convince Kate to wear shorts and tennis shoes.

I told Kate and Sarah that if they rode their respective cycles all the way (.03 of mile) to the coffee shop they could get their own chai lattes (sort of their own, we split one into two cups). Kate hopped on her bike and tamed it immediately. Training wheels are great! I explained to her that my first bike didn't have training wheels, that my dad held onto the seat and ran along behind me promising not to let go and then let go. "That's how I learned to ride a bike, Kate. Through lies and trickery." She asked me "what if I fall off?" and I said "You will definitely fall off, probably a lot. I know I did, but my mom was at the ready with a warm washcloth, soap and water and plenty of bandaids and I will do the same for you." Usually a statement like that only makes her more worried, but she actually seemed happy with my response. Who IS this kid?

Furthermore, Sarah peddled her tricycle nearly the entire way. We have one of those awesome tricycles with the long handle in the back so when she got distracted we could just push. So the girls received their promised tea and then they peddled all the way home. And at 9AM it was still breezy and comfortable outside.

At some point in the morning Sarah informed me she'd thrown out her paci. She says this a lot. In fact, she does it a lot. Usually we retrieve it because we know how it's going to play out later. I was busy, though, and just congratulated her for being a big girl and forgot about it.

That afternoon, Kate also rode her bike to the pool. Sarah insisted on "riding" her tricycle but she's only got about one ride in her a day, we quickly learned, and Jeremiah ended up pushing her most of the way there. When we hit the pool, Sarah was all about showing us how long she can stay under water. It's a long time. She scares me. I kept my eyes trained her and thought "Kate wouldn't even attempt anything like that so I don't have to worry about her." As if on cue, Kate just started sticking her entire head under the water. Then, when I explained how she should make hands into "cups" and use them to pull herself through the water...she did it. She likes to keep a noodle under her while she does it but that kid was swimming. Then she started jumping off the side into the water, something we were never able to convince her to do before. It was like watching a switch get thrown.

When the busy, beautiful day was behind us and we were tucking two very tired girls into bed, Sarah realized her pacifier was gone. She wept and screamed. She has a way of melting down that would convince any uninitiated soul that she dying. Jeremiah actually dug through the kitchen trash in search of the beloved item. This is more about us, really. No one wants to endure this kind of screaming. He couldn't find it anywhere. I held her on my lap and rocked her for awhile (this is my solution to nearly everything right now because I really don't know how much longer I'll be able to do that). Finally, when she was so tired she was woozy, I laid her down. She went to sleep. Then she went to sleep without it again last night.

They were no longer little girls. They were little women.

OK, that's pushing it but I like to say that and think of Mo choking up while reading Little Women to Maggie in that episode of the Simpsons when he becomes her nanny.

Like Michael Phelps Without So Much Pot Smoking

We've had more than a little trouble convincing Kate that she must learn to swim. We've taken every angle we could conceive from "it is required" to all manner of things to make it seem more fun. Much like Edie Brickell, young Kate prefers the shallow water. This summer we signed her up for swimming lessons during the school day, with her classmates. She took them last year without much ado but we didn't see a lot of headway being made. Today was the 4th of an 8 week class. Today was the first class she attended.

True to form last night she began feigning illness the moment she was reminded the swimming lessons were coming up. This week, though, we really pulled out all the stops. Joy decided she would pick the girls up from daycare a little early on Friday, like she often does, to go do something fun. However, if Kate didn't go to swimming lessons and participate, Aunt Jo Jo would only pick up Sarah and leave Kate alone at daycare. (cue movie Dread music - dundunDUN!) Today after Jeremiah dropped the girls off at daycare, we all held our breath and crossed our fingers. This is one of those punishments on which no one really wants to follow through.

I entered the daycare center this afternoon with some trepidation. Sarah's class room is directly across from the front door and it's extremely difficult to avoid being seen by her as soon as I walk in, so I picked her up first. Besides, it's awfully cute the way she jumps up and down yelling "my mommy is here! My mommy is here!" until I get into the classroom. She always looks like she's going to faint.

We headed down the hallway discussing the events of Sarah's day. Then we walked into Kate's room. Before I was even all way the through the door a frenetic, chattering Kate careened across the room. "Mommy I went to swim class!!!" then she told me every single thing that happened in her class. I finally let out my breath and lifted her up and gave her a great big hug. She was so full of herself she was extra heavy. We grabbed her bag of swim gear "You hold it mommy, it smells like chlorine" and headed to the car. "I went swimming mommy and I didn't even lie about it and Aunt Jo Jo can be proud of me now! And I won't be sad tomorrow when she comes because she'll pick me up too!"

When we got in the car, I dialed Aunt Jo Jo and handed the phone to Kate. She breathlessly described her lesson again over the phone. Hearing Kate say "I went swimming! I put my head in the water!" Sarah exclaimed "you did? Did you kick your feet and use your hands?" Kate's little sister, you see, is already an accomplished swimmer. Not yet so accomplished at sarcasm, Sarah sounded genuinely excited for Kate.

As I listened to Kate describe her big day to Joy, a feeling of overwhelming pride swept over me and I thought for just a moment my heart might burst. Given how thrilled I was about her deed, I think it's a good thing so many recipients of Nobel prizes are in the winter of their lives, when their parents must already be free of this mortal coil, because I really don't know what the pride of an accomplishment so much greater than attending a single swim class might do to a person.

Princess Stinkyfeet reenacts her bravery at the pool's edge.

Cuter than Barbara Eden!

Aunt Jo Jo made both girls "Jasmine" outfits per their request. Kate selected her material for the item. It reminded me of being in 3rd grade and playing dress-up at Lelia Miller's house. She had a wonderful trunk full of dress up clothes and we used to get all gorgeous and dance around to Olivia Newton John's Physical LP. We always fought over the one Jeannie outfit in the trunk. These little numbers are much, much fancier than the one Lelia and I were doing Rock, Paper, Scissors for, I must say.

Sarah tried hers on, did a little dance for me (the camera loves her, darling) and then immediately requested that it be removed because she didn't like the way it felt. I'm hoping she'll come around because it's insanely cute.

The color is off in these shots. Kate's is actually a deep, royal purple, like Jasmine's top. She's shown above in full Aunt regalia. The outfit from Aunt Jo Jo the shoes from Aunt So-So. Currently my main hope is that the outfit doesn't get worn to the point of stinking as much as the shoes. You could win a war with scent wafting off those feet when she takes her polka dot shoes off.

Eating, Drinking, Slip n Sliding...All While Independent From England

Rusty and Jennifer had a 4th of July gathering that had everything. They grilled delicious food. We drank fantastic beverages and the adults showed the children exactly how the Slip n' Slide was intended for use. We played croquet, even flaming croquet as the night wore on. Sarah got to hang out with her first crush, Bob and consume her own body weight in cherries. Both girls, up way past their bedtime, enjoyed playing with sparklers. I was surprised Fire Marshall Kate would have anything to do with them, but she was very brave. Big night. Here are some photos I stole from Rusty because we forgot to bring our camera.

July Ennui

This is the third year I've noticed it so I feel safe calling it a trend. July brings with it the doldrums. Mostly I notice it with my unsuspecting job, as it sits quietly doing its thing, thinking we're the best of friends, I begin to feel enraged by its very breathing and I feel annoyed by its hair-do. I recognize that it's not my job, it's me, that's damaging our otherwise happy relationship. I pull into the parking lot at work in the morning and growl, inexplicably angered just by being there. I can't explain it, but everything is wrong with work. I quietly calculate my expenses, mentally eliminating pretty much everything but utilities and food, attempting to see if I could just quit and spend my days doing...whatever it is I would do. I cannot. I don't really want to. It's July.

We are only 5 days into the month but my mood is fully teenagerish in its silent pout. Now is the time, the real me tries to call out, to reassess things, put them in order and set new goals (chirp chirp chirp!). The real me knows I enjoy making lists and creating new plans. She is screaming through the pillow that July me is holding over her face. The real me is trying to find a moment away from everyone and everything to sit in silence and get her sanity back. July me is over-scheduling her so she can't swing it. July me is a total jerk and the real me is beginning to switch from trying to make things light and fun to instead trying to kill July me. I wonder if this is just the sort of thing that makes July so hot.