Answers to your most pressing questions

The salad that went along with Easter dinner was leafy organic hydroponic greens with shaved parmiggiano, red bell pepper, pine nuts, and vinaigrette.

The frog rain boots actually belong to Lauren. Lindsay wore them for the Official Easter Photo. The Easter dresses were purchased and worn for Tim's wedding, which was June 2. As you might surmise from the photographs, they were both a bit too large then. Lauren's sweater was purchased to wear over the dress for my step-brother-in-law's wedding (though it was late July, she did not wear it then) and Lindsay's is a hand-me-down.

They are particularly hard to balance in when on the wrong feet.

The "cigar" was a wooden screw from Lauren's toolbox.

Happy Easter

Too tired to caption this

I'll let you ponder the sunglasses on her head, shot glass, and "cigar". A round of Lindsay Lohan meets the paparazzi, anyone?

Reflecting at different places in my life

Toddler Lauren plays with a phone:

(shouts) What?! Oh, you've KILLING me! I can't BELIEVE it!

...she finishes the call by slamming the phone down hard.

Toddler Lindsay plays with a phone:

(sweetly) Hel-lo? Yes, ok! Buh-bye!

Messing with Mama

I've been trying to teach Lindsay the stuff that we teach the under 2 set: how to sing the alphabet, count to 10, and animal sounds. Her letter singing improves each week and comes closer to sounding like individual letters. She actually can count to 13 or 14, depending on her mood, if you disregard 4, because she always skips it. But whenever you ask her what sound a given animal makes, she will say "Moo".

Today in the car, I noticed that she was playing a game. It took me a couple of rounds to realize it was "What does ____ say?" She said: "What does bird say? Tweet tweet! What does monkey say? Hoo hoo hee hee! What does lion say? Rarrrgh!"

"Wow, Lindsay! That's great!" I exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "What does the kitty say?"

She caught my eye in the rear view mirror and replied flatly, "Moo."

This kid is messing with me.

Sadly, there are things even Sybil can't fix

Lauren fell on the playground yesterday. She had worn black tights to school under her skirt, and when she skinned her knee, she ripped a hole in the knee. The school nurse had bandaged her knee. Sticking through the rather large hole was her pale knee covered by an almost comically large institutional bandage.

At bath time, as she was getting undressed, I said, "You can go ahead and throw the ripped tights in the garbage."

She pulled a pouty face. "They can't be sewn?"

I replied, "No, it just won't work out. I'm sorry. We'll have to buy you a new pair of black tights."

"But Mama, maybe you can't sew them...but surely my auntie can. She can sew anything!"

"Your auntie?" I struggled with whether she was referring to my sister or my sister-in-law. They both have artistic flair, but sewing? Doubtful.

"My auntie who sewed* Lindsay's bear."

"Ohhh...Auntie Sybil."

"Yes! Sybil can fix anything! Can we save them until we see her again?"

"I think not, but it was a good idea, Lo."


*[SIC] Bear is knit.

My little yogurt-covered urchin

...decided to put her Kashi Heart 2 Heart (like Honey Nut Cheerios, but made with organic ingredients) in my steel water bottle, which was empty. I dumped it out before refilling it, but it must have had just enough water to have about a half dozen pieces stick. After gym time, I took a big gulp of my very cold water that had been sitting in the car as I pulled out of the parking lot to find the super hydrated gelatinous hunks in my mouth. With nothing to spit it into, I had no choice but to swallow the bloated cereal.

Eww.

As I put her down for her nap, I realized she was singing something. As with all of Lindsay's songs, only about a third of the words were actually words, but I kept hearing "amigos something something friends" and realized she was singing:

Amigos amigos we friends of a hole
Amigos amigos we friends of a hole
We been [unintelligible]
We been [unintelligible] (banging together her fists}
Amigos amigos we friends of a hole

This was the song that the children's choir sang in church last week - "Amigos de Christo". We are actually friends of the Lord. The gesture in the second to last line is to "we've been restored". Oh...my.

What's new chez nous

Alec took the picture of Lauren on their trip to visit Tutu in Hawaii. Isn't it gorgeous?

If you're at all curious where Lauren sees herself at age 100, go check out my last post on Worst Mama. I have to say, I remember discussing the possibility of living to age 100 when I was about 6 and I truly thought I would. Are our children more realistic than we were? More accepting of the idea that we all die? Considering Lauren has five living great-grandparents, it certainly is a possibility she could live to see the triple digits.

I retrieved Shannon the cat who had been missing just shy of 2 weeks. Alec saw her come out from under our next door neighbor's porch (which is incidentally where Seamus was when he went missing), and tried to lure her out with some kibble. She's not an affectionate pet, which is to say she won't come when we call her and doesn't allow us to pick her up. Alec eventually gave up, and we ran some errands. When we got back, I laid on my stomach in front of the porch calling her until she came out. She let me pet her, and then as quickly and smoothly as I could, I snatched her up and brought her inside. She's looking a little haggard and thin, but otherwise she's her normal whiny self. Seamus, on the other hand, was less than thrilled to see her back and spent most of the night growling and spitting. Charming little beasties.

Self portrait

Happy Friday

With Lauren away, things are quiet Chez Stoll. Lindsay asked this morning where Lauren is, and I told her "Lauren is visiting Tutu".

She asked, "She comin'?"

"She'll be back on Monday."

"Oh," she replied. "Ok."

At peace

Polly Williams
Photo credit: Lauren Greenfield

When someone you love is sick, it's as though there are mysterious air pockets of grief. You're walking down the street thinking about gloves (on or off) or shoelaces (untied?) and then you suddenly realize you're crying. You assure yourself that nothing has changed between this minute and the last and things are okay. And they are until you stumble.

I learned today that Polly Williams, one of the women featured in Lauren Greenfield's documentary Thin, died on Friday. She was 33 years old. My condolences go out to her family and friends.

One of the realities of this terrible disease is that young people die because of it. I have watched the documentary more times than I can count, trying so desperately to understand. As though understanding would somehow cushion the blow or make it better. I thought Polly was tremendously brave to have opened this window into what must have been some of the darker days of her life. I pray that there is peace for you in the next life that eluded you in this one, Polly.

A funny snippet from Lauren's report card

Does not consistently meet expectation in cutting accurately with scissors.

Strange little person

I had to show yesterday's morning outfit in more detail. Lindsay is wearing pink and white striped footie pajamas under her favorite knit hooded jumper, and the skirt belonging to Lauren's Snow White costume. Usually Dolly sits in the stroller, a cloth doll with very long yarn hair, but she was busy lying on the floor "eating" a wooden tomato.

More political processes

"Did you vote for the very best person?"

"Yes. That's my job as a citizen to vote for who I think is the very best person. Every votes for whomever they think is the very best person. Then the person with the most votes wins the primary. See, right now they are trying to narrow the voting to one candidate per party."

"And does the best person win?"

"Hopefully."

"Sometimes not?"

"Well see, everyone probably has a different idea about who the best person might be."

"Oh. I see."

"Daddy and I, for instance, didn't vote for the same person."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Huh. How interesting."

Putting her vote in

No, not me. Not yet. I received strict instructions from Lauren, "Don't vote without me today!"

Lindsay slept in this morning, which was nice. I brought her downstairs still in her pajamas - a rare treat - to enjoy her breakfast of cereal, waffles, and graham crackers.

She's asked a few times, "Where's Daddy?"

I replied each time, "Daddy's at work."

About the fifth or so time after this exchange, she repeated. "Don't want Daddy work. Want Daddy huggle peace."

"Me too, Lindsay. Can Mommy give you a huggle?"

"Yes. Mommy huggles OK, san queue."

Lindsay at 20 months, February 2008

Bet you didn't know that came after K

A couple weeks ago, Lindsay started singing the alphabet. This is to say she started singing random letters, never in the same order. She always ends with "P". I have no insight as to why.

I noticed this morning that she's singing entire strings of letters in the correct order now. You undoubtedly have heard little kids slur together the string elemeno, as though it is its own letter. Lindsay sings that as "Elmo pee". She concludes the alphabet song "dubba ax why pee."

Big holes, revisited

Those of you who follow me over at Worst. Mama. Ever. will remember back in September there was a local construction site with a very large hole that Lauren thought would be a good place to bury people. Partly this is Lauren's belief that Alec and I made up that we bury dead people - she truly thinks that is absurd (though not as laugh out loud ridiculous as she thinks taking your shoes off at the airport is). Often she will ask if we can visit someone's grave and dig them up. She says it with such earnest, and almost looks hurt when I say it's not considered acceptable to disturb the grave of a dead person.

Today we passed the construction site where now the structure of a house stands. I pointed it out and said, "Hey, look - a house! Do you remember when it was just a hole back in the fall?"

"Yes." She looked thoughtful. "I was hoping they might put Shamu there."

Nice revisionist history, I thought. I replied, "Well, it was a big hole, but not big enough for a killer whale."

"Having Shamu here would be a whole lot cooler than just another house."

"I can't argue with that." I said.

Imperfection

This video is probably so funny because my kids are both misbehaving.




Here's the transcript:

Lindsay: Lauren! Quiet down.

Lauren (whispers): Be quiet.

Lindsay: Lauren!

Lauren (shouting): What?!

Lindsay: Here. Lauren!!!

Lauren: What?!

Lindsay: Here.

Lauren: Lindsay, you're hurting my ears. And it's not very nice.

Lindsay: Lauren!! Quiet!! Quiet!!

Lauren: Shh! You want me to be quiet?! You be quiet!!

Lindsay: Quiet!!

Lauren: Lindsay, you're just telling me to be quiet so you can be noisy. It's not very nice!! It's not even fair!!

At this point I lose it, not because of the argument, but because there is an infestation of cats.

Early morning conversation

I don't really talk to the girls until after I'm showered, dressed, and on the way to retrieve my coffee. I say the rote instructions, "It's time to brush teeth, get dressed, turn off the lights..." but no real conversation until there's at least the promise of caffeine.

As I reach the bottom step, I say, "Good morning, my girly girls!"

Together they respond, "Good morning, Mommy!"

Today, Lauren adds, "I hope you are in a better mood than you were last night."

"Me too," I say, "Last night was very trying."

She smiles. "We'll work on it."

"Yep."

Songwriting

One of the things I was most entertained by about Alec when we met was his ability to make songs up about practically anything. I realized today that our daughter Lindsay has inherited that trait:

Skin-a-mar-rinky dinky dink
Skin-a-mar-rinky doop
I made poop!

"You made a poop?"

"Yeah! I made a poop in the diaper! Yay, Lindsay!"

Well, oookay then.

A little white lie

Lauren and Lindsay are in Lauren's room, jammied up, and ready for storytime. I'm lying on my bed with my eyes closed, a container of baby lotion rests on my forehead.

Lauren says, "Mommy said she is upset because she feels like no one is listening to her today." Her voice becomes higher, "But I am listening. And I need her."

Lindsay grunts in agreement.

"I'm going to go talk to her. You pick out a book or two for storytime, OK?"

"Ok, Lar-ren."

"Lindsay, you select two books and wait here with them and I will go talk to Mom."

"Ok, Lar-ren."

Lauren runs in, and flops on the bed next to me. I open my eyes slowly. "Hi."

She smirks. "You have a bottle on your head."

"Yes. Yes I do."

"It's a little bit funny."

"Oh?" I ask. "Just a little bit."

"No, actually it's pretty hilarious but I didn't want to hurt your feelings." she says, chuckling softly.

"Oh."

"So I told you a little white lie and said it was only a little bit funny..."

Do Nice

The line between hitting and petting continues to elude Lindsay. She will excitedly smack her sister on the head, grinning broadly, only to hear Lauren howl in pain and a parent or both scolding, "No, no. No hitting."

It is to the point now where Lindsay will excitedly raise her hand to "pet" and then say, "No hitting!"

This morning, Lindsay is running back and forth around the living room while I am working at my laptop. As she walks past, I stroke the top of her head.

"No, no, Mommy. No hitting," she says, wagging a finger at me.

Back into it

If you read Worst. Mama. Ever., you already know I posted this morning that I'm committing to posting 5 days a week here. This week I am refocusing on life balance, because, as it has been pointed out to me recently I tend toward extreme commitment or rejection and moderation would be very good practice. I was reading my archives yesterday and I thought, wow, my writing used to be tighter and freer when I did less navel-gazing. So, in that spirit, I will try to give you some more of my life vignettes.

At the moment, both Lauren and Lindsay are sitting on the stairs. Lauren is in time out for having held Lindsay's naked doll (I have no idea why the plastic dolls can't wear clothes, but there you go) above her head, and then when asked to give it back to her sister, dashed it at the floor.

Lindsay snuggled her doll and glared at Lauren as she sat down. Only about a minute later, she was sitting next to her sister on the bottom step, legs dangling, her blonde head resting on her sister's shoulder whispering about...I don't know...they are always whispering and plotting these days.

"Ah wuv you, Lar-ren." She put her snot-sticky face near Lauren's, humming at her until she got kissed.

Fleeting Moments

Because some day she's not going to be content to sit in my lap eating graham crackers.

A late night self portrait

Where do they learn this stuff?

Lindsay at 20 months, January 2008

"Mom? Need ice." Lindsay points to her ear.

"Does your ear hurt?"

"Yep," she replies. "Need ice."

"Did you bump it?"

"Yep."

"Does it need a kiss?"

She pulls a face. "No, Mama. Need ice."

Living the dream

James Austin of So Long, Davey

You're way too cool to be my little brother, y'know. You totally rock.

Letting go

Some say love is holding on
and some say letting go
Some say love is everything
and some say they don't know

lyrics by John Denver

I lost my job yesterday. I'd felt for a while it was coming. The company has grown, departments formed, and they don't want independent contractors anymore. I guess the combination of this and a phone call from my sister's frazzled case manager left me feeling really unbloggable. I'm struggling a bit today, knowing that another day just makes it easier to avoid.

No, I don't know where she is. I'm not her keeper. I am barely managing to keep myself these days.

Sit in a comfortable cross-legged position, open palms rest on your knees.

I don't even know how you struggle against that. That's just yoga. I was late today after I realized my car was nearly out of gas, and a mile from the gym the alarm went off that I had 10 miles until empty. I stopped at the gas station at the corner. I had exactly 7 minutes to get filled up (in Jersey, we can't pump our own gas), park, get Lindsay signed into babysitting, and unfurl my cold yoga mat. I made it breathless to the third floor, kicked off my Converse All Stars, peeled off my coat, and sat down still wearing my socks.

So many things I need to think about...

To rethink.

Doors have to close for other ones to open. I know this.

My new bike

I totally heart my new bike - a Trek Navigator with a matching helmet. We went riding today in the park, and I didn't even fall off! Would you believe it? I got on, and it was just like riding...well, you know.

Self portrait

Guidance

Once a week, Lauren's class has a guidance period, where they meet as a group with their guidance counselor and discuss some subject. This week, they made collages and talked about people in the hospital.

"Mrs M said that people in the hospital probably feel a little bit sad and lonely," she said. She took out her collage, a sun peeking out over the horizon colored bright yellow. "So I made this for Juliana."

"That was very thoughtful."

"Can we mail it to her?"

"Sure." I said. "Did you talk with Mrs M about Juliana being in the hospital?"

"No."

"You can if you want to..."

"I can talk to anyone about anything I want to," she replied.

"Yep. I was just wondering if you told Mrs M you were making that for..."

"I said it was for my Auntie and that she's in the hospital."

"Ok."

Later at bedtime, we talked about her trip this weekend to my in-laws to spend an overnight with her sister. She's not thrilled about it because, as she says, "I don't get to do everything I want to do when my sister is there" which we talked about a bit, but also, "The stairs are very slippery there and I worry my sis might fall down them. I fell down them when I was littler and it hurt."

While it's sweet she thinks it's her job to look out for and protect her sister, I saw too much of my own situation reflected in this - it's a big scary world she's too little to actually save her sister from, so she's powerless to do anything but worry that the people in power will do their jobs, and she doesn't have a lot of confidence in them.

Epiphany on The Epiphany

Those magic men the Magi
Some people call them wise
Were Oriental, even kings
Well, anyway, those guys
They visited with Jesus
They sure enjoyed their stay
Then warned in a dream of King Herod's scheme
They went home by another way

Yes, they went home by another way
Home by another way
Maybe me and you can be wise guys too
And go home by another way
We can make it another way
Safe home as they used to say
Keep a weather eye to the chart on high
And go home another way

lyrics by James Taylor

You want to ask me how I know it's the Epiphany? I went to church today. Seriously. I didn't even catch on fire.

Why did I go to church? Well, Lauren asked, "Can we go to church?" She wanted to go because all the kids in her class are always talking about church.

My friends attend the local Reformed Church. I don't know anything about the Reformed Church, other than I'd met the pastors at the pool and they seemed nice enough. Because we chose The Epiphany, which marks the day that the Magi visited Jesus, the service was a bit longer than usual. It was also the first Sunday of the month when they receive Communion, and the day they were indoctrinating their new elders and deacons. About an hour into the service, Lauren beamed and said, "Can we come back next Sunday?"

"Sure." I replied.

I'd love to say that there was something about the experience for me that changed the way I feel about being at church, but as all the other services I've attended (maybe about a dozen), I felt like I was the only one in the dark about what happened next despite having the program, Bible, and hymnal. I also felt like people were trying very hard to be inclusive and yet that only made me feel more awkward and anxious.

Your fake dad doesn't buy you cigarettes

One of the most popular New Years' resolutions is quitting smoking. I personally am on my sixth quit. I could probably tell you within reasonable certainty about four of them because they corresponded with positive pregnancy tests, but this time I really have no idea. After I had Lindsay, I had the occasional cigarette - one every two to three weeks. I'd have weeks where I'd have one every night. Suddenly when the opportunity was there, I just didn't feel like it. A couple months passed and I realized I wasn't thinking Oh I can't wait until a week from Thursday when I can smoke a cigarette! it just was no longer part of me. It felt weird because smoking consumes a lot of your thinking when you do it. How many cigarettes do I have in my pack? Do I need to stop to get a pack? Do I have my lighter in this pocket? Do I have time to have a cigarette before I go to work? It was constant planning from the moment I extinguished one until I lit the next one up.

I have 3 siblings and each of us at one time smoked or still smoke. We all smoke(d) the same brand of cigarettes. I think that's an odd fact since we didn't do it together as teenagers. I had long since left when Ben started, and Ben lived with my dad and his second wife as a teenager while James lived with my mom and her husband. My dad also smoked them, though he's been quit at least a couple years now.

It helps I have very little exposure now to smokers. It was pretty hard the first time I quit when I was working in the restaurant and the entire staff would light up on break. When I went back to work after having Lauren, it wasn't that I worked with a lot of other smokers, but it was just part of my work routine. But no one lights up here waiting at the bus stop. The smoking moms I've met have been few and far between.

I should probably just pick a date. I know I quit before the spring because the last time I smoked it was cold. March 10th? It just seems sort of arbitrary.

Auld Lang Syne

Since 2001, New Years Eve has been hard. I wonder each year if it wouldn't be better to embrace the sadness of this day rather than spend it struggling to not be sad. As in past years, I'll undoubtedly eat and drink too much and then resolve not to drink until next New Years, which usually makes it until the next dinner party.

Dad wrote that the lyrics that summed up this year were:

A long December
and there’s reason to believe
maybe this year
will be better than last.

lyrics by Adam Duritz

I'll add these:

The water is wide, I cannot cross over
And neither have I wings to fly.
Build me a boat that can carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

Christmas

If I had a spell of magic
I would make this enchantment for you
A burgundy heart-shaped medallion
With a window that you could look through
So that when all the mirrors are angry
With your faults, all you must do
Is peek through that heart-shaped medallion
And see you
From my point of view

lyrics by David Wilcox

It's Saturday night, and over a week since my last post. I haven't sat down and even tried to write about any of it.

Christmas is supposed to be about sugar plum fairies dancing in your dreams. We built "Happy Town" on December 23rd, and tucked the kids in bed after they'd left a glass of milk and a slice of cornbread for Santa, who would arrive a night early so that they might play with their toys before we drove up to spend Christmas Eve with my family.

We always spend the late afternoon into the evening at Dad's. This year it was Ben and Maria, Alec, the girls and I, Dad, my grandfather, and my father's half-brother Kyle. I have a few pictures of these festivities:

Dad and Lauren

Grampie, Kyle, and Dad

Ben, me, and Dad

Alec and Lindsay

Alec, Lindsay, Dad, and Lauren

Lauren and me

Later that night, we went to Auntie Di's. Most of the focus of the evening was on my sister, who looked worse than we'd feared. Christmas was pretty much bittersweet this year. Sweet to spend time with my family, but bitter that Jules is still so sick. That was until after Christmas dinner, when we received a text message. The next two hours were the longest I've ever experienced while we waited to hear if the police got to her apartment in time, and then while they convinced her to come with them to the hospital. Dad dropped me at the hotel that Alec had taken the kids to to spend the night, and though it was only 8 PM, it might as well have been the middle of the night. I spent the rest of the evening on the phone. A doctor phoned from the hospital asking if perhaps I had misinterpreted her text message, that she was just sorry she messed up everybody's Christmas. "No." I said firmly. "I didn't misunderstand. That's why we called 911."

The last few days have been a stark juxtaposition between trying to carry on with normal life back home, make the most of the little vacation we have as a family, interrupted by hushed phone conversations with my brothers and my parents.

Alec and Lindsay at the New York Aquarium

Lauren looking at fish

Lindsay looking at fish

The Holiday Lights at the Bronx Zoo

Lindsay gets a haircut

Whenever the phone rings with an unknown number, I worry about the news it will bring. Tonight a doctor called from the hospital, pleading for insight. "I will go out and get her any food you think she might eat," he said. I was both touched that someone cared so much about her, and disheartened to hear she'd pulled her NG tube out and was refusing to eat. Not surprised, but sad.

I really want to rewind to being excited about a little village made out of candy and matching velvet and plaid dresses for my girls. The excitement of getting a new pair of All Stars from Dad, spandex for the gym from Mom, and oh...oh, the toys. The loud toys, the fun toys. The toys! But I can't. It is what it is.

Almost like being there for 16 seconds

Lauren makes sure we see her.

Lindsay is excited. "Lar-ren sing!"

...because really, kids sing loud and gymnatoriums aren't acoustically tuned for this. Not that I'm a theatre consultant.

The grand finale of the Winter Sing-Along

Oh, and dude sitting behind me on the school board who felt it necessary to talk during the entire program, having a loud public conversation about how glad you are that the superintendent is resigning because he's sexist? I'm not voting for you.

Just how delicious is she?

Lindsay with her entry to OMSH's Coloring Contest, wearing her latest obsession, a knit romper. Oh, to be head to toe in blankie is just divine...

Thank you, Sybil

Lauren is thrilled with her present. "Oh, it's pink," she gushed. "It has a flower on it with a button for a center! I just love it."

You can see all that in her face, this shot taken moments after she opened it.

It's too bad these don't just post themselves on the Internet. That's really make this post more timely. Thanks again, she really loves it!

Hey, what's that sound?

I forget sometimes that I'm raising two girls who will have the impression that there was always the Internet, and that people wear their phones, and a handful of other details that I remember a time when they didn't exist.

The girls had been watching Noggin, which switches over to The N after 6 PM. It runs similar programming to TVLand. I believe the show that was on was The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, which I admit I didn't watch. Within the context of the show playing in the next room, a phone rang. Except it was one of those phones that had a bell in it, so it actually rang.

Lauren stopped spooning soup to her mouth, and listened. "Is it a fire alarm?"

"No," I replied. "It's a phone ringing on the TV."

"That's not a phone."

"Actually, it is. Before phones played digital ring tones, they had bells in them and rang."

"You're kidding me."

Imagine if I told her they didn't have buttons.

Ten minutes of extreme

Other than the customary difficulty sleeping, Alec's week away has been relatively uneventful. My sleepiness led to a couple of misplaced items - my American Express card and Lindsay's mittens, but otherwise a pretty quiet week.

I have class on Saturday mornings, so our babysitter was due to arrive at 8:30 AM. Lindsay was still quiet in her room, and Lauren was playing her new Leapster game (Thanks, Tutu!) she opened last night for Hanukkah. I'd made what I thought was a quick trip to the bathroom, was about to retrieve Lindsay so that both girls were dressed and eating breakfast when Kristin arrived.

Alas, no.

I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, puzzled by the continual sound of running water after I'd turned off the tap. I turned to see water pouring out over the toilet seat, about 2 inches already on the floor. "Holy socks!" I exclaimed, grabbing the plunger I freed the clogged toilet paper and watched as the water went back down the drain. I grabbed rag towels out of the closet to wipe up the water. Three thirsty bath towels later, I was down to the rag hand towels and the toilet was still dripping. I turned the water off, drained the tank, and dried all of the top surfaces of the toilet, but it was still dripping. I put a dry towel under the drip, retrieved Lindsay, and met Kristin at the door with a diaper-clad toddler.

"Just don't use the upstairs toilet," I said as cheerfully as I could muster. I changed Lindsay into her clothes as Kristin began preparing the requested breakfast - oatmeal with raisins and walnuts. I sped out of the driveway with my laptop on the front seat thinking about that drip, puzzling over where the water was coming from. The water's off, I thought. And the tank is dry. Could something have broken? Silly, it was just an overflow.

When I arrived home, sure enough, the drip had stopped. I turned the water on, refilled the tank, and gave the toilet a few flushes. It was fine. I breathed a sigh of relief. Besides having to bring a heavy basket of saturated bath towels to the basement to wash, it was a pretty harmless event.

I love a spontaneous parade in my dining room

Good call

Despite my concern about Lauren's friends not having signed up for Rovers, I am relieved after the first session. She had a great time. As soon as we arrived, Lauren began running laps of the gym with her ball. She was much more serious about soccer than I'd seen her, and I realized without the distraction of her friends with their flagging interest, she's just focused on learning the sport. She was excited to demonstrate her prowess at the first drill - dribbling and running the length of the basketball court keeping her ball a short distance from her feet. I was further impressed that during the passing drills, she consistently was able to direct the ball to her friend's feet. Each time the coaches called for volunteers to demonstrate this drill or that one, her hand flew up.

Lindsay grew bored about halfway through the hour-long session, and began chasing and trying to kick a stray soccer ball. We ran around the perimeter of the gym so that she didn't get knocked over by the bigger kids - 4 to 6 year olds. She seemed determined to get into their games and it was an exercise to keep the ball moving away from the action. She kept squealing, "Kick it!"

We arrived home and had our scrambled eggs with cheese and peas, and I made some fresh latkes. I lit the menorah, forgetting that the candles stay lit for a good hour and change, so we played a while before the kids went to bed sans bath. They both were too tired to protest.

Assorted randomness

My mother bought the girls matching brown "suede" boots (I have no idea what they actually are, some sort of synthetic material). Lauren tried hers on, but really doesn't wear any other shoes but sneakers on a daily basis. Lindsay has insisted on wearing the boots every day. Her eyes get big, "Oh. Boots! Boots so goot. Yes! Boots!" Occasionally she will let you know that she's wearing them. "Got boots! Boots pity." (Boots are pretty...I think.) She was also excited that I put the "hoot" on her winter jacket. "Hoot on head. Warm," she explained, patting her head thoughtfully. The plastic doll is a wildly popular item that has already been through the wash because she got some greasy food item all over her. She particularly likes it when I swaddle the doll. "Banket so warm. So goot."

I had a couple of repeat gifts planned this year. I'd thought about putting together another Snapfish photobook for the grandparents. I didn't take as many pictures this year, and though I have several nice pictures of Dad and my kids, I have only one each of Alec's dad and Nanny which aren't particularly flattering and no pictures of either of our moms with the kids. Rather than compiling what surely would only be complained about, I think I've got to give it a pass. Maybe I'll try to take a lot of pictures in the next few months and put them together as Mother and Father's Day gifts.

It's amazing how quickly I get into the Christmas money panic. It's what, December 5th? I've done maybe a third of my shopping? I feel like I have to put my head between my knees already. Ugh.

I decided, along with the photobooks, which aren't really pricey but add up when you buy 5 of them, that I wasn't going to order photo Christmas cards this year. After designing and writing copy (newsletter a la Lauren style) and importing my addresses, it added up to almost $150. For cards. It has crept up steadily each year, but I have to admit that the amount gave me pause. While I was at Target today buying diapers and toilet paper (there's snow coming and being without either item would be VERY bad), I picked up some postcard-style cards with envelopes for $10. They had a photo insert card, but it was $10 for 12 cards, I send out almost 50 cards. I printed the photo I'd planned to use, the "Lauren" letter, and bought some rubber cement. The activity forces me to evaluate each member of the list. If we've never received a card back and not spoken for over a year? No card.

What else have I got for you tonight? Tomorrow starts indoor soccer, and I'm a little sad that Lauren's friends from the borough league didn't sign up. It sounds as though they didn't sign up for basketball either. I'm not worried about it - Lauren gets along pretty well with everybody, and at least half the kids will be from kindergarten and first grade at her school so she should know people.

It's also the third night of Hanukkah tomorrow, and I warmed the last of the latkes from last night. A request was put in at bedtime for a new batch tomorrow. Latkes go with scrambled eggs, right? It's just breakfast for dinner.

Happy Hanukkah

It's the first night of Hanukkah

Mama's cheat sheet

Latkes. What? Come on. Irish girls know how to fry potatoes.

And they sure were tasty smothered in applesauce and sour cream.

Lauren thought so too. Sour cream is so good.

In the glow of their Christmas tree and menorah, the girls color in their coloring books.