I can't believe Marina is such a big girl. Check out the following clip posted on her Dance School's website! She is the little girl on the right.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XyWNxVjkExs&feature=player_embedded
http://www.janetsdancestudio.com
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Love this Picture of Greta
Taken at Megan and Justin Lohr's wedding in Pittsburgh this past weekend.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Holy $H!T
One of my favorite times of the day is the early morning hours when I can hear the girls waking up. Talking to themselves and each other is both sweet and comical. So when I heard Lucy saying over and over again, "no-no Greta...no-no", I giggled a little in my sleepy haze as to what Greta could be doing. And in true "good mommy" form, elbowed Norm in the ribs to go get the girls; mumbling something about it being his turn.
But a little extra shut-eye was not in my cards. No sooner had he rolled out of bed that I heard him yell, "BETHHHHH....GET IN HERE"! As I tried to untangle my feet from the sheets and stumble out of bed, I see Norm holding our sweet baby out, like a disease, crying for Mommy and covered in....POOP. Poop in her hair. Poop in her mouth. Poop all over her face and suckie. Poop EVERYWHERE! Norm, like a deer in headlights, looks to me for direction. "BATH TUB. BATH TUB. GO. BATH TUB", is all I can manage to utter. Its so disgusting...and the wafting smell of poop is starting to seep out of there room. As Norm races Greta (still at arms length) to the bathroom, I bravely step into their room to survey the damage! HOLY $H!T! No really...there is $H!T everywhere. The back story to my rude awakening is beginning to unfold in front of my eyes. As I lean over her bed I see a diaper cast aside and a huge poop with little Greta finger prints all over it. It appears that Greta (that little stinker), removed her poopie diaper and played with it. Smeared it in the crib walls, sheets, blankets, and suckies. She also tried to eat it. No wonder Lucy was yelling No-No! YUCK!
In the end, both Greta and crib survived no worse for wear. But life lesson taken from this poopscapade...always make sure Greta is wearing shorts or pants to bed!
But a little extra shut-eye was not in my cards. No sooner had he rolled out of bed that I heard him yell, "BETHHHHH....GET IN HERE"! As I tried to untangle my feet from the sheets and stumble out of bed, I see Norm holding our sweet baby out, like a disease, crying for Mommy and covered in....POOP. Poop in her hair. Poop in her mouth. Poop all over her face and suckie. Poop EVERYWHERE! Norm, like a deer in headlights, looks to me for direction. "BATH TUB. BATH TUB. GO. BATH TUB", is all I can manage to utter. Its so disgusting...and the wafting smell of poop is starting to seep out of there room. As Norm races Greta (still at arms length) to the bathroom, I bravely step into their room to survey the damage! HOLY $H!T! No really...there is $H!T everywhere. The back story to my rude awakening is beginning to unfold in front of my eyes. As I lean over her bed I see a diaper cast aside and a huge poop with little Greta finger prints all over it. It appears that Greta (that little stinker), removed her poopie diaper and played with it. Smeared it in the crib walls, sheets, blankets, and suckies. She also tried to eat it. No wonder Lucy was yelling No-No! YUCK!
In the end, both Greta and crib survived no worse for wear. But life lesson taken from this poopscapade...always make sure Greta is wearing shorts or pants to bed!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Arnie Palmers
I fear I'm becoming, well, one of THEM! You know the type. The ones that drone on about the amazement's of their children and the endless joy their little munchkins bring them; giving new meaning to the phrase, "so sweet it gave me a toothache". Well, at the risk of alienating those followers who enjoy my "cup-half-empty" blathering, I will just come out and say it....I LOVE MY GIRLS! There...I've put it out there for all to see. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH IT HURTS!
This current state-of-mind is not my fault (for the record). I put the blame entirely on my obliging ObGyn who up'd my dosage of happy pills to the point where, apparently, I can't find anything wrong with my life. I disgust myself.
I want to puke at all the sentimental thoughts that run through my head when thinking about Lucy's pigtails or Greta's dancing. And what's worse, if I did puke on myself, I wouldn't even be upset about it. I'd probably just shrug it off with a smile and revel in those crazy mother-moments when you get puked on!
ARG!
What is wrong with me? I suppose I could chalk one up to, "time heals all wounds". But then I have to ask myself...was having Lucy and Greta really a wound? In a word....YES. (Can someone please remind me to delete this posting when they learn to read). Having a child is like a self-inflicted wound that, like anything else, takes time to heal. The wound is the loss of the person you once where. The freedom you once had. The body you once loved. But time heals and a different person emerges. One that doesn't take what little freedom she can find for granted. One that proudly shows-off those imperfect lumps and bumps as war wounds. Gotten in battle. Healed, but forever changed.
Life is full of lemons and I'm sure father-time will chuck a few more my way before years end. And don't fear, my blog will once again be filled with "glass-half-empty" Arnie Palmers! But today...today my cup runeth over!
This current state-of-mind is not my fault (for the record). I put the blame entirely on my obliging ObGyn who up'd my dosage of happy pills to the point where, apparently, I can't find anything wrong with my life. I disgust myself.
I want to puke at all the sentimental thoughts that run through my head when thinking about Lucy's pigtails or Greta's dancing. And what's worse, if I did puke on myself, I wouldn't even be upset about it. I'd probably just shrug it off with a smile and revel in those crazy mother-moments when you get puked on!
ARG!
What is wrong with me? I suppose I could chalk one up to, "time heals all wounds". But then I have to ask myself...was having Lucy and Greta really a wound? In a word....YES. (Can someone please remind me to delete this posting when they learn to read). Having a child is like a self-inflicted wound that, like anything else, takes time to heal. The wound is the loss of the person you once where. The freedom you once had. The body you once loved. But time heals and a different person emerges. One that doesn't take what little freedom she can find for granted. One that proudly shows-off those imperfect lumps and bumps as war wounds. Gotten in battle. Healed, but forever changed.
Life is full of lemons and I'm sure father-time will chuck a few more my way before years end. And don't fear, my blog will once again be filled with "glass-half-empty" Arnie Palmers! But today...today my cup runeth over!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Great Video's
A Magician & His Assistant:
Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDcgTot2erE
Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9dBp6HHm8o
Lucy Outtakes:
1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S60in1YuxnY
2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IjDZSMEXSQc
Cabin Weekend:
Buckets of Fun: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rFkP9Isqps
Just Relaxin': http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoiXepjS3Gg
Kisses: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0Bc9LU8P0A
Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDcgTot2erE
Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9dBp6HHm8o
Lucy Outtakes:
1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S60in1YuxnY
2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IjDZSMEXSQc
Cabin Weekend:
Buckets of Fun: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rFkP9Isqps
Just Relaxin': http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoiXepjS3Gg
Kisses: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0Bc9LU8P0A
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Planner...How Could You?
I love my planner. I always have. It's small, compact, and a lovely shade of blue. I love it so much that I still keep the 2009 & 2010 inserts and flip through them from time-to-time in a quite moment of reflection! I once thought I lost my planner and was devastated. Inconsolable. Thought my world was crashing down around me. When finally it resurfaced from the depths of my "mom purse", I promised never to be so careless again.
But these days, my planner and I have had a bit of a falling out. I suppose it's not entirely the planners fault; what with those bossy Egyptians and Romans dictating it's basic outline. But, who else can I blame for the horror that has become the months of June, July, and August? Me!
Hardly my fault. Each weekend "box" had been carefully color-coded (by me) with cabin weekends, play dates, company picnics, and family weddings. But despite all my loving attention and organization, my planner viciously turned its back on me. White-out stains of abandoned engagements have turned my color-coding system to a blurry mess. Careless reschedules have been, of all things, penciled in leaving unattractive lead-smears in their wake. In short, my planner has allowed hasty planning to run amok and allowed my summer to completely become out of control. I suppose it was inevitable, but still. I feel my planner owes me an apology (and possibly a massage gift certificate) for all the stress its caused. Only then will I consider allowing it back into my life, my purse, and my favor.
But these days, my planner and I have had a bit of a falling out. I suppose it's not entirely the planners fault; what with those bossy Egyptians and Romans dictating it's basic outline. But, who else can I blame for the horror that has become the months of June, July, and August? Me!
Hardly my fault. Each weekend "box" had been carefully color-coded (by me) with cabin weekends, play dates, company picnics, and family weddings. But despite all my loving attention and organization, my planner viciously turned its back on me. White-out stains of abandoned engagements have turned my color-coding system to a blurry mess. Careless reschedules have been, of all things, penciled in leaving unattractive lead-smears in their wake. In short, my planner has allowed hasty planning to run amok and allowed my summer to completely become out of control. I suppose it was inevitable, but still. I feel my planner owes me an apology (and possibly a massage gift certificate) for all the stress its caused. Only then will I consider allowing it back into my life, my purse, and my favor.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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