We Got Flour

You know you're jealous of her mad rolling pin skillz!

And I'm so grateful for all of the help with the lefse stick!

You may think by looking @ this picture of Lydia that we were making lefse in the middle of July, but no, she is just dressed unseasonably.

On Sunday, Robin & Jaime came to our house to make lefse. Lefse is a tradition in our family. So is lutefisk, but we want no part of that. (Sorry Grandpa). I don't know if it was the recipe (my grandma's) or the people who were trying to make it, but the dough was very hard to work with and the lefse didn't turn out as well as I had hoped. But we had a great time. And I'm sure we'll be done wiping the fine layer of flour dust off of every surface in the kitchen before the holidays roll around. And as it turns out, the person who had the most success rolling out & grilling the lefse? One Miss Lydia Marcela.

I FOUND THE CAMERA!

So then why didn't I upload a picture? Look, I'm going to be completely honest here. Posting from work is quick. It's easy. It's convenient. Posting at home is hard. It takes a long time. I'm not bright enough to figure out if we can afford high-speed at home. I could go on and on - you see where this is going. But I promise you this: I will post a picture within the next month. Okay, within the next week. No let's be realistic, I'm busy. Within the next month.

Lydia is 2 weeks in to her preparation classes for her First Reconciliation. I'm so in love with the nun that runs the Faith Formation program. Who wouldn't be? With her sensible shoes and flippy little haircut. She's adorable! Anyway, last night we were trying to memorize the Act of Contrition. Apparently there are a few different ones - because that isn't the one we were working on. But it was difficult nonetheless. I didn't ever memorize and act of contrition. Need to know the words to the Hail Mary? I'm your gal. Our Father? "Me! Me! Pick me!" The act of contrition, however, seems to be falling out of my head as quickly as I try to cram the words in there. Lydia too.

Jenna has been sick with a cold/cough/runny nose/ear infection. I think she has turned a corner though. She's about 4 days into a 10-day course of amoxicillin and feeling better. And by the way, enough with the amoxicillin. If there is a more useless, ineffective antibiotic out there, I'd like to see it. Would I be a bad mother if I waltzed into the pediatrician's office and demanded an IM dose of Rocephin at the first sign of trouble? Seriously - just shoot 'em in the ass with the good stuff and let's ALL get on with our lives! I know, I'm horrible and selfish. Here, give me the syringe and I'll administer another 6 mL's of sweet pink bacteria-killing nectar!

My sweater has a funny smell today. That's about it.

My Kingdom for a Camera

If you thought my description of Lydia's first day of school outfit was outlandish, you should get a load of what she came up with for today. Again, I apologize for not being able to post a picture, but suffice it to say, today's outfit has her equally ready for a day of learning or an evening at the prom.

A couple of years ago, my sister-in-law Mireya, who has 2 girls that are slightly older than Lydia, sent a couple of fancy dresses from Mexico. The one that Lydia chose for today is lavender, with 6 lbs of tulle under the skirt and comes to just above her ankle. There are various stains on the bodice of the dress, which I managed to convince her to cover with a white sweater. She added some white tights and some metallic purple and white polka dotted ballet flats, and she was out the door.

How did I not notice before this how much joy it brings her to pick out these outfits for herself? As someone that has to control everything as far as the eye can see, I understand that letting go in the this manner is a process. It started with, "pick your battles", which then turned into, "How about if I be in charge of washing the clothes, and you be in charge of putting them on before you go to school?", which has now evolved into, "Oh, your teacher said that its ok to wear tu-tus to school? Sounds great! Aaaaaaand, more importantly, looks great! Have a good day, sis!"

And Lydia? When you read this, and I'm certain that in time you will, on Wednesday, September 10th, 2008, when I dropped you off at school in the morning, and watched you make your way to the door, your beauty nearly took my breath away. It always does.

Love, Mama

Getting Closer

When I got home from work yesterday, Shell reported that Jenna had woken up from her afternoon nap, quietly crept into our room, removed her diaper which was full of stool, and deposited the whole mess onto our bedroom floor.

"Who went poop in my room?" I asked her cheerfully when I heard the story.

.......blank stare.......

"Who was naughty after their nap?

........looks around the room, avoiding eye contact with me.......

"Genevieve, what did you do with your diaper in mama's room today?"

"Does TJ love me, mama?" she asks. This is a practiced tactic for her. Any time there is a hint of trouble, she learned at an early age to change the subject to divert attention from whatever heinous act she has been caught in.

"Yes, Genevieve. TJ loves you."

And so do I. I should warn you though, that stealthily depositing your soiled diapers in my bedroom will most likely be mentioned during the toast I give at your wedding reception.

A Day of Firsts

Lydia successfully completed her first day of 2nd grade yesterday. I am cursing the fact that we don't currently own a camera, because the outfit that she chose has to be seen to be believed.

On Monday night, she disappeared upstairs and came down with a very stylish black dress and her black boots (or "high boots" as she calls them.) This was fine, except for the fact that the high boots are lined with fur, and the cold front that was going to pass through on Tuesday wasn't forecasted to arrive until late afternoon. I pointed this out to Lydia, explaining that fur-lined boots will be great in just a few weeks, but for a 79 degree day, with a dewpoint in the 70's, she may find herself a little overheated.

"Fiiiiiiiiiine!" and back upstairs she went.

Seeing where this is going, I decide to go upstairs and move things along. When I get there, she has chosen a red t-shirt, a leopard print baby doll type shirt to go over the t-shirt, and completing the outfit, a leopard print mini-skirt that I bought her for last Thanksgiving.

Probably, the horror registered on my face immediately, because she was quick to point out that this outfit, with it's leopard print/slightly different leopard print combo made it look like an outfit. Like she had just sauntered into a store and found the whole thing already pieced together on a mannequin by some junior stylist with a fondness for animal prints.

I tried to redirect her a bit: to different outfits altogether, and also suggesting different tops or bottoms to complement the leopard (squared) outfit she had chosen.

"No, mama. Those outfits are more like, fun, you know? And I want to save those for the 2nd or 3rd day. For the first day, I want to be taken seriously, like I'm not going to mess up, or talk back to the teacher. This outfit will make me be taken seriously."

There's nothing more deadly serious than 2 animal prints together in the same outfit, is there?

My response to her surprised even me. Of course, my inclination was to dig my feet in and explain to her that less is more, 2 leopard prints in the same outfit is too much, they'll think you're a mental patient, and on and on ad nauseum until one or both of us was in tears. But in a surprising moment of clarity and parental intuition I said, "You know what Lydia, if you want to be taken seriously by your friends and your teacher, and this outfit will help you do that, then I absolutely think you should wear it."

And so she did.

And you know what? She came home in one piece. No one had teased her. She reported that her teacher was very nice, and she had a good day.

What the hell did I think was going to happen? Honestly, the hyperbole of my own thoughts is unbelieveable to even me sometimes.

So Lydia completed her first day of 2nd grade and her mom, for the first time, chose to take the path seldom-traveled in our relationship and let Lydia be Lydia with no negative consequences at all.

Congratulations to us both.

Unaware

We spent the weekend at the lake, where the wind blew and blew until finally yesterday, in the middle of trying to take down the brand new awning that my dad had installed on the RV I lost my mind and sobbed uncontrollably.

We were trying to get the thing rolled up, and the wind is gusting up to like, 40 mph, and Shell and I are getting pissed at each other because he's thinking what an idiot I am for not doing it right, and I'm thinking what an idiot HE is for not getting it right. So we get to a point where the thing won't roll up, and we can't get it back out where it was before we started, and all I can think of is that we don't have and extra $1000 laying around to pay for a new one. So I called my dad (I think it has been clearly documented here that I am, indeed, 12 years old), got my mom on the phone and started cry-talking about how we were stuck out at the lake with the awning half up and half down and could someone PLEASE come and help us?!?

Lydia hugged me and tried to reassure me that everything would be alright, even adding that I should take some deep breaths, "just like you tell me to do when I'm wound up, mom."

My dad arrived a few minutes later, having been woken up from his afternoon nap, with a smile on his face and a lilt in his voice that conveyed, "this is no problem, we can fix this". And then he did. If he arrived thinking (but not saying) "these have got to be 2 of the stupidest human beings on earth", he would have been right.

We stopped at my parents on our way home, to drop off some laundry and Genevieve waltzed in there and announced, "Mama cried."

Lydia took my mom aside and conspiritorially asked her in hushed tones if my dad had told her about the "deal with the awning", while casting me a sideways glance.

So I realized, if at 2 and 7 years of age my kids can pick up on irrational behavior, it might be time to calm the hell down a little.

Did I mention that while we were waiting for my dad to get there to help us, I was taking an armload of crap out to the car and banged my forehead, cartoon style with little birds flying around my head in a circle, on the awning that was half up and half down. Icing on the cake, my friends.

We did have a good time, despite all of my lunacy. The weather was beautiful for the most part, and we took the girls swimming and out for ice cream. OH! And, and, I found a copy of Uncle Buck for $5 at Walmart and we watched that on Saturday night. God, how I love me some big fat John Candy, may he rest in peace. ("You should see the toast! I couldn't even fit it through the door!)

On Saturday, Genevieve took off her diaper and proceeded to walk around the place, urinating at will. At one point, it was like she and the dog were in a competition to see who could mark the most territories. I thought, "this is great, we'll leave her pants-less for the entire weekend, so she can really get a feel for when she has to go, and I'll just follow her around with the potty chair the whole time." Not so much. I never did catch a drop of urine in the damn potty chair, and after we ate on Saturday night, she climbed up on the 4-wheeler and pooped on the gas pedal. On went the diaper. Grandma got her a 2nd potty chair, a spare if you will, that is a little more portable than the Dora the Explorer one that we have at home. I was cleaning it out yesterday morning, and noticed what I thought was maybe a sensor of some kind down in the hole. Further examination revealed a compartment for batteries. What's this, I thought? So after installing 3 AA batteries, it turns out that this magical potty chair has a motion detector built in, and when urine, or whatever, passes from the kid into the bowl (or "hat" as Genevieve calls it when she's wearing it on top of her head), it plays a very regal "dah da da daaaaaaaah". Like maybe her poop is decended from royalty?

So the basic elements are there - she realizes that we have purchased just about all of the diapers that we're going to in her lifetime, she realizes that she has not one, but two personal toilets (one with music), and she realizes that if she were to ever deposit anything legitimate into either of the personal toilets for real, the fanfare and candy rewards would be never-ending. She also realizes that she has a drawer full of undergarments with Dora the Explorer on them which she calls her unaware (pronounced UN-a-ware), which is exactly what she is when it comes to putting all of this together and actually eliminating into the potty chair.

What kind? This kind

Dear Little Reyes Sisters,

Pay attention here, because I'm about to save you several hundred dollars in co-pays on your mental health visits when you are older.

I am the kind of mother who will take you on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride when what you really need is a nap.

I am the kind of mother that will happily take you to the beach to swim and play (because afterall, who doesn't love the beach?) but then forget to bring your sand toys along with us, which will force you to either reappropriate someone else's toys as your own for the afternoon, or cause you to build sand castles with someone's used lemonade cup.

I am the kind of mother who will forget to pay your school bus bill, but then nervously shove you into the middle of the throng of children that are climbing aboard, with nothing more than a kiss and my most fervent wish that the bus driver isn't keeping track of who's paid up and who isn't.

I am the kind of mother who will encourage you to eat your bedtime snack next to me on the couch in front of the TV, and then scold you for trying to eat your breakfast burrito down there while you watch Sponge Bob a week later. ("God! This couch is like sitting on a beach for Christ's sakes!")

I am the kind of mother who will tear up when I try to let you know how proud I am of you, and then wonder if you even understood what I was trying to tell you through the tears.

I am the kind of mother who might have to hang your shirt out the car window on the way to an appointment to have portraits taken, so that it will be dry enough for you to wear once we get to the portrait studio.

I am the kind of mother who really would just like an hour of quiet so I can read a little, but will probably play a game with you if you cajole me long enough.

I am the kind of mother who will absolutely feed you tuna hot dish and summer sausage and sour cream -n- onion potato chips for breakfast if it's easy and I've run out of time to fix you anything else. (And I doubt that I'm the only mother like this.)


I am the kind of mother that complains alot about just needing 2 damn hours to myself to get some errands done, but then will have pangs of guilt about being away from you about an hour into my trip.



I am the kind of mother who will search for a way to teach you the real meaning of Christmas, and also buy you an Ipod because mine is broken and I could really use somewhere to put all of the songs I downloaded before it broke.



What I am trying to say is this: I am a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, inside of alot of insecurity about being a mother. I won't always have an explanation for why I do the things that I do. But I promise you this - I will always take my job as your mom seriously, and will never stop trying to do the very best job that I can.



Love,

Mama

God!!! Why do you even HAVE a blog??????

Yeah, I know that's what you're thinking. So, sign up for Google Reader and move on with your life.

Jenna has "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5 stuck in her head. It's kind of cute, kind of irritating. Too bad their show in the Cities is sold out. I would almost take her to see them.

We went and met Lydia's teacher last night. I swear, if I could ride along to school with Lydia and spend the day in her pocket, I totally would. What is wrong with me? I control everything! EVERYTHING I TELL YOU!!!!

The meeting with the teacher went fine - she's your typically warm, smily educator with a Dorothy Hamill haircut. I was so nervous for Lydia to introduce herself to her, though. Last year, we paraded her in front of the teacher, and instead of a demure smile and maybe a handshake, she gives the teacher a full-on samurai bow - hands folded, bent in half at the waist. And if you expect me to believe that that little stunt didn't set a particular "tone" for the year, you're nuts.

This year's teacher announced that this will be her last year of teaching. Her swan song, if you will. Let's just hope she doesn't decide to take our daughter down with her. Does anyone know a smooth way to word an email to a teacher that basically says, "I know my kid might act like a shit sometimes, and be a little sarcastic, but those are just coping mechanisms because inside she's really sensitive and self-conscious like her mother, so if you could look past all of that and see the beautiful creature that is INDEED inside, that'd be great. K? Thanks. Bye."? If my readership could draft up something and email me the template, that would ALSO be great. I'd like to see something by the end of September, please.

When we left the open house, I congratulated Lydia on the nice job she did and also came clean that 2nd grade was a little tough for me since that was the year that I was really into stealing stuff. (I like to tell stories like that to the kids, I think it makes me seem more "real" to them.) Shell shared with us that he went to the store with his uncle (alcoholic) one time against his parents wishes, and the uncle stuffed a bunch of stuff in Little Shell's pockets. The police stopped them, and the uncle bailed. Shell and his friend apparently got in trouble with the police, and then he got a chinga from his mom and dad for hanging out with the bad uncle (alcoholic). Lydia was suitably impressed with both stories, but in the end decided that daddy's story was a little better because he went on to tell her that the uncle (alcoholic) was a poor example for his own kids, and 2 of them have since died (drug overdose, suicide). Apparently, she felt his story had more grit to it. She's so dark sometimes.

This weekend we're headed to the lake. I don't think we've been up there since some time in July. We're bringing a whole watermelon and a cousin to occupy the girls - the rest we'll figure out when we get there. I'm hoping a little of this. Possibly some of this, if the weather cooperates.

M*A*S*H*

Fernando & I had a great weekend in Grantsburg. We drank, we ate, we danced. I think I'm falling in love with him all over again!

On Saturday night, we saw Brat Pack Radio. It's an 80's band - they did an awesome show. A little Duran Duran, a little Patti Smyth, a little Run DMC - there wasn't a single song I didn't know by heart. The best part was their final set. They did about 20 minutes of TV show them songs from my youth. I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

Lauren stayed with the girls and the dog while we were gone. She took them to see Mamma Mia. Brave girl. But, she said they all loved it, so I guess it was money well-spent. Better her than me. It would never occur to me in a million years to take a 2-year-old to the movies, much less Mamma Mia.

Both of the girls are sick. Genevieve has a runny nose and a temp. Lydia called me this morning to report that her throat hurts. I may move in to a motel for the week. I absolutely can NOT afford to get sick right now. Hopefully this will be a simple virus that leaves as abruptly as it came. (I know - I'm laughing too.) In the meantime, Shell is at home running an infirmary ward. Lucky bastard!

I'm riding the fence about staying home or going up north this weekend. As of today, I'm just about to fall flat on my ass onto the 'stay home for one damn weekend' side. But that could change. But I'm thinking it would be nice to get to Como Zoo or the beach - something simple.

I got nothing else. I'm not pregnant, thank you very much, and my mood, after a weekend of doing whatever I damn-well pleased and the arrival of the menses, is on the upswing. Go figure.

No Good

Well, my slump continues. I was NOT a very good mom yesterday. (Pauly - you can cancel any pending appointments to have I'M A GOOD MOM tattooed on my forehead that you may have already made.) I stuck it out til about 8:15 last night, and then I just left. I had some errands to run, and ended up riding around with my friend Amy til about 10. I didn't do anything blatantly abusive or neglectful. I did miss a game of Sorry with Lydia, and also pushing Genevieve on the swings. I've had better moments. Although I consider it a personal triumph that I didn't scream at anybody.

Fernando and the girls took a field trip yesterday on the city bus. They have to walk almost a mile to catch it, but I think it's well worth it. Because once they hop on that bus and get to the mall, the world is their oyster. Yesterday's trip was a trial run, just to make sure that they were all well-suited for public transportation. (Fernando & Lydia used to do this from time to time before Genevieve came along, so I wasn't all that concerned.)

They arrived at the mall about 2, had a lovely lunch in the food court and then shopped and wandered for a few hours until I picked them up after work. My one missive to Lydia before she left yesterday, with her own wallet jam-packed full of $16 (assets that she obtained during a leveraged buy-out of a failed water bottle stand on the 4th of July - Grandma Dude took pity on her when sales dropped off) was, "Have fun, mind your dad, and don't buy CRAP!" She did reasonably well. She did make an unfortunate choice of a pair of earrings at Clair's that she won't be allowed to wear out of the house either until she's 16 or until her neck grows longer and the bottom of the hoops don't rest on her shoulders. Yes, they're that big.

I commented to Shell as we were heading for home that since Northtown is kind of a transit hub for MTC buses, I planned to check the website and see if maybe they could plan a bus adventure to Como Zoo. His eyes rolled back in his head and he emitted a groan of disgust.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was today too much of an imposition for you? Never mind then!"

"No! It's not that! I was just kidding!"

"Huh? Listen here, you insensitive ass! What I would GIVE to be able to spend the day like you just did. Public transportation or not - I'd give anything to be able to spend that kind of time with our daughters!"

(this irrational tirade went on for some time - I eventually brought him around to my point of view)

So, there it is. All of you die-hard Fernando fans have now caught a glimpse of the darker, less pleasant side of my adoring husband.

Day #4 of this madness and still no sign of the menses. Heaven help us (me.)

Cherish

I'm very blaaaah lately. I have various explanations for this floating around in my head, up to and including the impending arrival of the menses. Which is to say, each time I entertain thoughts of writing off everyone of my friends because they're such a disappointment to me and what is WRONG with me anyway, I am mollified by the thought that things will be better next week. Won't they?

It's difficult for me to be a good mom when I feel like this. Actually, truth be told, it's difficult for me to be a good mom anytime, but even as I write this, I recognize the sentence for what it is. I swear, on any given day I'm about 2 irrational thoughts away from being completely incapable ever leaving my house again. (Please refer to paragraph #1 for an explanation of the origin of my morosity.)

And the hell of it is, I've nothing to complain about. No great source of anxiety, stress, unhappiness. Kids are good, husband is fine, house is clean, yard looks great. There's money in the bank, and Shell and I are headed out of town on Friday afternoon, ALONE, to spend the weekend with friends and enjoy the activities of Watercross. Life is good.

Lydia has been invited to stay at Grandma Dude's house for a week in August. She's going to vacation bible school @ Dude's church, and they may even be a day of horseback riding at Dude's friend Janine's house. I guess packing long pants for the past 6 weeks when we go to the lake in the hopes that she'll get to ride a horse is finally going to pay off for her.

Genevieve talks too much. Seriously. She's got a vocabulary of about 15,000 words, but she picks 2 or 3 questions each day and asks them over and over and over.....And then when you answer her, her response is "What?" We were riding home from the lake on Sunday night, and she happened to catch sight of the moon.

"Wassss sat, mama?"

"The moon."

"What?"

And then....

"Way seeee go-eeen, mama?"

"He's going to Genevieve's house."

"What?"

And on and on and over and over from Monticello aaaaallllllllll the way to our very own driveway.

At one point during this exchange, however, Lydia got her sister all set up with a piece of paper and some crayons, and the two of them sat back there, chattering back and forth in quiet little voices, and I smiled a little and thought to myself, "cherish this moment, they're so rare." We must be doing something right.

Father's Day 2008

Wow! Over 2 weeks since my last post. I know that my readership must be understandably disappointed. Part of the reason for the absence of posts and, more importantly, photo content, is that we are between cameras. I bought a Nikon D50 on impulse a week ago at the pawn shop. The pictures were ok, but it was missing the USB cord for uploading to our computer, and I found it difficult to find one. So, for $500, I thought it better to return it and start over with something new that has all of its pieces.

Meanwhile, I gave our camera to Lydia. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the pawn shop on Saturday to return the Nikon, she got a feral look in her eyes and she bared her remaining teeth.

"Does this mean I have to give you back your camera?!?" she said, ready to pounce on my head if need be.

"Calm down, Ansel Adams. I told you could keep the camera, didn't I?"

I'm always nervous about returns of that nature, though. A high-dollar item like that, I automatically assume that they're going to think I'm up to no good. But God bless them, they took it back without question or suspicion.

Anyway, the hunt is on for a decent camera for me. A friend told me that if you purchase a camera at Ritz, you get free lessons in using it. That sounds like the way to go to me.

We had a great weekend with beautiful weather. On Saturday, we were scheduled to go to a couple of grad parties, but Jenna became violently ill about 2 miles into the trip, so we instead spent a quiet day at home, which was nice. Yesterday when Jenna was feeling a little perkier, I washed and hung all of our sheets out to dry, and we washed the car and then ran through the sprinkler. Then we took Fernando out to dinner for Father's Day at Famous Dave's. Doesn't get any better. Well, there ARE better restaurants. I'm talking about the quality family time - doesn't get any better.

Coming up.....dance recital pics!

Happy Birthday 2 You! Get It? 2?

Well, here she is. Enjoying her favorite meal - taco in a bag. We spent Memorial Day weekend at the lake and had a small party on Sunday to celebrate Genevieve's 2nd birthday. Against my better judgement, we're having another gathering this Sunday for her "friends", the 2 children born within 5 weeks of her that she plays with most often. And I plan to shamelessly roll out the taco in a bag feast at that fiesta also.

Given that the jury is still out on potential damage to a child's psyche from internet posts about early childhood developmental milestones, I'll save the picture of her on the Dora the Explorer 3-in-1 Potty Chair for the montage at her wedding.

Lydia is down to like, 7 days left of school. And in the "keeping it real" department, I'm on a quest to find a good educational psychologist that can meet with us and help us figure out ways that we can help Lydia excel in school. Academically, we have no worries. She is bright, and learns quickly, as long as she can stay on task during school. It is mostly for our own peace of mind - her teachers have not contacted us about any signs of ADHD or other behavioral diagnoses. There is some impulsivity that on some days I think, "Wow, at nearly 8 years old, she maybe should have outgrown this by now!" and on other days I think, "What a card! Why, that's just her irrepressible 'lydianess' shining through!" Obviously, I need a professional's opinion to help tell the difference. My goal in all of this is two-fold: 1) I'd like to figure out some ways to help us help her to focus, be it at home, school, or anywhere and 2) I'd like to be able to advocate for our daughter a little, instead of walking into parent-teacher conferences next fall and having the teacher tell ME what we're going to do to keep her on track. I'll keep you posted.

We're off to the lake again this afternoon. My dad had his hip replaced on Tuesday and there's talk of him being discharged home today so we want to be there for the big event.

To Do List

So I managed to make it through the Brownie overnight without scaring anyone. I did give everyone fair warning. But then I just kind of laid there & dozed off and on with my ipod on all night. One of the other mom's said she couldn't really hear me at all. Shell was nice enough to take the Little Reyes Sisters to the park on Saturday when we got home so I could rest. I love him.

Jenna will be 2 on Sunday. I had her in for the 2-year well baby visit yesterday. She weighs an astonishingly slight 23.4 lbs. I relay this info to Shell, and he looks at me quizzically. "What does that mean?" he says. I tell him it means that 89% of kids that are turning 2 this week weigh more than she does. I also tell him that 61% of kids that are turning 2 this week are taller than she is. I tell him to add an extra dollop of lard to her refried beans before he gives them to her. Then I tell him that her head circumference is something like 19.2 cm. Again with the question marks floating around his head. I tell him that only 2% of kids turning 2 this week have a bigger head than his daughter. Oh, and maybe this guy. But seriously, considering where we have come from at the beginning of her life, I'm profoundly grateful, giant melon and all.

Lydia hasn't figured out yet that she should be counting down how many days of school she has left. (I haven't been counting either, but I know it isn't many.) She helped me plant all of the flower pots last night. I appreciate the help and love spending time with her, but worry a little that she'll be too personally invested in the success or failure of our patio pots and maybe take matters into her own hands with the garden hose, literally. I envision having to take money out of savings to cover the July 2008 water bill if we don't keep an eye on her.

I'm trying to convince Shell that he should take an active role in Lydia's life by attending track & field day on Friday. Initially his response was of course, "I can't." Huh? He seems to be warming up to the idea though. So if you should happen to talk to him, or bump into him at the grocery this week, talk up the idea of going, would you? I'm swamped.

Only 3 more days and then we're off to the lake for Memorial Day. I feel like we just got home, don't even have the laundry done. We're going to do a tiny celebration for Genevieve's birthday on Sunday afternoon, and then have a "friend" party on June 1st. But I've got to order a cake, prepare the meal, wrap her gifts, and try to acclamate her to her life jacket - all before Friday. Wish me luck!

Say, Can I Borrow Your C-Pap?

Today is my Friday, as I am taking the day off tomorrow. I have a laundry list of things to take care of, up to and including going to Lydia's First Grade Choir Concert. I don't know exactly which numbers they have prepared, but we did get a notice home the other day that she has to wear something with "back pockets" so that she has a place to store "props". Why does my mind automatically picture this?

Anyhoo - after that, Lydia and I are signed up for an overnight (indoor) camping trip with her Brownie troop. (I hope the Mother of the Year people don't show up with my trophy and prize money while I'm at sleep-away camp for the night!) We received first notification of this camping trip back in February, and I was immediately agog to get everyone signed up. OH! The excitement! And now that the eve of the camping trip is upon us, I must ask, why did I not remember that I am going to scare the bejeezus out of these kids with my heinous snoring and sleep apnea? Thank goodness it's only for one night. I picture myself reclined in the front seat of our Saturn at about 1 am trying to get in like, three hours of shut-eye so that I can function the next day. And before you open the comments to say "oh whatEVer, I'm sure the snoring isn't that bad!" let me say 2 things. 1) my sister will gladly attest to my need for sleep study and 2) I have actually scared the bejeezus out of a kid with the heinous snoring.

Sunday, we're off to St. Cloud for a late lunch with grandpa and grandma at the Green Mill. Why can't I think of anything to get my mom for Mother's Day besides clear nail polish and a plant? I'm soooo lame!

But wait! There's more!

I would be remiss if I didn't include an introduction of our younger daughter, Genevieve Jean.

Though no less a surprise than her sister, my pregnancy with Genevieve and her subsequent birth was the big box of curve balls and out of control amusement park rides that Lydia's was not.

And even though they are only separated by five and a half years, by the time Genevieve came along, you would have thought that I was 63 and trying to make my way into the Guinness Book of World Records, for all of times that the terms "high-risk pregnancy" and "advanced maternal age" were thrown around. People please, I was 36.

And even today, I can't help but think that throughout the pregnancy, I remained in a protective bubble of ignorance. Because things could have been so much worse. That isn't to say I was without my moments of self-doubt. I remember a phone conversation with my friend Cindy, who was pregnant herself. My voice gone to whisper for being on the verge of tears, I said to her, "I'm having trouble imagining this whole thing turning out well."

But Genevieve grew and developed despite the advanced maternal age, gestational diabetes, and hypertension. And the edema, oh my God the edema!

32 weeks we made it until the whole operation started circling the drain. My regular OB, who I secretly love, had wisely handed my care over to a perinatology group due to the fact that he was headed out of town for a few days. Oh, and the results of my 24-hour urine were apparently frightenening. So I was called in for a stat ultrasound, where there was determined to be not enough amniotic fluid left in me to fill a Dixie cup.

I was administered the first of 2 doses of betamethasone for Genevieve's lungs, and sent home on strict bed rest. Grandma Dude brought me in on Sunday for the 2nd dose. Grandpa and daddy put in our vegetable garden, and I watched from the couch. On Monday, Lydia went home with Grandpa & Grandma Dude. Daddy and I reported back to the hospital for another scan. Again it was determined that the amniotic fluid was disappearing. I was admitted to the hospital, and spent the next 3 days waiting, talking to the doctors, and being scanned a couple times a day to make sure that Genevieve was ok. By Thursday, my team of specialists determined that enough was enough. My water was broken, pitocin started and the epidural was administered. (On a side note, let me mention that I've always felt that the epidural that I was given during my labor with Lydia was, how do you say, shitty. So since then, I had always dreamed of having one of those deliveries where you don't know that you're having a contraction unless you're looking at the monitor.) I was ecstatic - I couldn't feel anything from the abdomen on down! I couldn't even roll over by myself. It was so awesome.

I have to pause here, to give props to my good friend Amy. Amy would attend births as a job if she could, she loves them that much. Well wait, she's a NICU nurse, so I guess she kind of does. Anyway, Amy was bound and determined to remain at my side for the blessed event. I think she put in close to an 8-hour shift sitting in a chair next to me. She has 3 kids of her own, so obligations to her own life took her from my bedside at about 2:30 pm that day. She got up from her chair, saying "Well, if I don't leave now, I'll never get Molly to her dance pictures on time." And with that she was gone, with a promise to return shortly. Then at about 2:31, the action started. I was checked, determined to be ready to deliver, and whisked to the OR (in case they had to, you know, go in after her.) I had just a second while the hospital staff prepared everything, to call Amy and let her know it was GO TIME. It's a good thing she was barely out of the parking garage of the hospital, otherwise we might not have been able to hear her thunderous cursing and gnashing of teeth as she drove away to fetch her daughter. I will be forever grateful for Amy. She's one of a kind.

So back to the matter at hand....the actual birth was kind of a non-event. There was a handsome doctor who referred to himself as the clean-up hitter, referring to the fact that he was the final member of the large perinatology practice to participate in my care. There was no pain, no strenuous pushing. You couldn't really even call it labor.

Genevieve Jean was born at 3:35 pm on Thursday, May 25, 2006. She weighed 5 lbs, measured 17 inches long and had trouble breathing on her own. She was attended to by a neonatology team, and once stabilized, was taken to the NICU where she would spend the next several weeks.

Nothing can prepare you for life in the NICU. From the first moment I walked in her room, and the tsunami-sized wave of "oh my God, oh my God this is ALL my fault" washed over me, it was unlike anything you've ever imagined. But she grew, she learned to breathe on her own, she learned to eat, and before I knew it, I was taking a picture of Shell walking out of the unit with our tiny baby in her carrier, so light in those days you honestly couldn't tell the difference between when it was empty and when she was in it. We were overwelmed with gratefulness to be going home. The entire time that she was there was a little slice of torture for me, because everytime I was with her, I felt like I should be with Lydia, and everytime I spent time with Lydia at home, I was overcome with guilt about not being at Genevieve's bedside.

Since then, this frail little baby who once tried to use the hand port of her Isolette as an escape hatch, has brought us immense joy. She is completely different from anyone I know. Or better said, she is completely different from me. Well, except for her love of fried chicken. She is cheerful, kind, feisty, quiet, happy and completely, breathtakingly beautiful. She is passionate about many things, including her toothbrush, her dog, this girl -so much so that I have heard her call out for her plaintively in the middle of the night while she sleeps.

She will be 2 in a couple of weeks, and I can't wait for the rest of the story to unfold.

What Do You Think?

There is a school of thought on the internet that goes something like this:

Mom's who post pictures & information about their children on blogs/websites/whatever are putting their children @ serious risk. Risk of what, I'm not sure. Maybe resentment during the adolescent years. Maybe they put them at risk of being stalked & hunted down on the playground.

The reason I do this is simple. I wanted a way to connect with family who live far away and be able to keep them updated with pictures, stories and information. Oh, and also because I'm an attention-whore. Wait, did I say that outloud? Just kidding. But seriously, now I have to worry about someone tracking us down? Ugh!

I seriously doubt anyone would be able to even find this little corner of the internet. But maybe I'm being naive.

Your thoughts?

A Quick Lesson in Hyperlinking...

From someone who has done it exactly one time in her life.

Don't ever let me look like this.

Use this newly acquired skill wisely, Mrs.

Lydia Marcela Continued

How cute are we? Well, not so much we, as she.

Ok, where were we? Oh yeah, Lydia had come home from the hospital & learned to be a nice girl.

So then, I went back to work, Lydia stayed with Shell's cousin's wife, Tommi, who never really learned the art of letting me be the one to report all of Lydia's miraculous "firsts".

Me: Lydia started rolling over by herself this weekend! Isn't that great?

Tommi: Oh yeah, she started that last Wednesday, didn't I tell you?

Thanks! Whatever.

So once I'd had enough of Super Nanny, we started leaving Lydia with our neighbor, Alma. Oh, how she loved Lydia. However, I don't think I have ever fully acclamated myself to all of the Mexican home remedies, despite being married to a, you know, Mexican. There was an incident where Lydia, at about 20 month old, touched a gas heater and burnt her hand. Not only did I not get a call @ work about it, but I came home that day, and found Lydia with smears of mustard in various places on her body. Apparently, mustard is a tried-and-true home remedy south of the border (along with Vicks Vap-O-Rub and eggs, but those are for another post.) You must be thinking, certainly this was some special medical-grade Mexican mustard. You would be wrong. I think it was French's.

When Lydia was 2 and a half, we moved to Minnesota. In the intervening 5 years, she has, of course, grown, matured, and is a little bit of a joy every single day. She is messy, creative, loud, talented, caring, mouthy, funny, extremely beautiful, energetic, and the 2nd to the tallest in her class (this one by her own report.) She frustrates me, she makes me cry, she makes me laugh. I didn't realize, when I gave birth to her, that I had actually signed up to raise a clone of myself. Seriously, you should see her school picture this year, it looks like I gave birth to my own twin.

Here is why I am in love with Lydia @ this moment. As you may or may not know, I've experienced a bit of a mid-life crisis involving live performances of Bon Jovi (2 concerts in as many months.)

This past Friday evening, Lydia and I were invited to attend a volunteer appreciation event for her Brownie Troop. It was a Totally 80's party, with hors d'oeurves, music, awards, and a special surprise guest. So the evening moves along, and it's getting to the end of the event, and all of a sudden the lights go down, the hard rock fog machine kicks in to high gear. Out comes this miniscule man, in torn jeans, the worst dishwater blond wig you can fathom, and a guitar. He starts strumming away, one Bon Jovi song after the other. He wasn't at all bad, and when he finished, one of the older girls went up and asked for his autograph, you know, just for fun.

So I'm gathering my purse, ready to make our exit, and here comes Lydia with a marker and one of the door prize entry slips. She wants his autograph. And a picture too, if they'll let her. And then I realize, she thinks it's really him. I can't believe I was so dense as to not realize it at first. So we headed home, Bon Jovi autograph in hand. Her only comment? The picture & autograph were better than a door prize. She's telling everyone she knows. Apparently, Bon Jovi has acheived Santa Claus status in our home. So if you talk to her, don't ruin the magic.

Bullet Points

1. It has been brought to my attention that the last post regarding Lydia's emergence into the world was so tedious, that it made it feel like time had stopped while you were reading it. I'll try to speed/spice it up.

2. Am I this annoying? I'm serious, if I am, you need to schedule an intervention for me NOW! Or at the very least, email me.

More later....

Who ARE these Little Reyes Sisters of Whom I Speak?

We'll start with the first one.

Lydia Marcela was born at St. Luke's Episcopal Hospital in Houston, Texas on Tuesday, September 12, 2000 @ 6:00 pm on the nose. Her delivery was uneventful, save for the fact that she was like, the size of a kindergartner (9 lbs, 5 oz) and experienced a bit of shoulder dystocia on her way out the door. But once they were able to pry her from my loins & do a full exam on her, she was given a clean bill of health & lain against my chest, whereupon she commenced wailing for all she was worth. I digress: have you ever heard tell of some magical period almost immediately after birth where the newborn lays calmly in the parents' arms, and it looks like they are surveying all that surrounds them? You see it sometimes on TLC's "A Baby Story". Anyway, our particular baby came without that feature.

Shell & Grandma Dude & I were really the only ones in attendance at her birth. Shell's family tried to attend, but if I remember correctly, I had barred any and all of them from our room while I was in labor, so they didn't get in. And I also recall my very good friend Monica calling at about 4:30, wondering if it would be okay if she stopped by on her way home from work to see how things were going. She was on the phone with Grandma Dude, and when Grandma Dude relayed her request to me, I shot back with a resounding "NO! Tell her not to come here!" I still feel like I have to apologize to her for that everytime I see her.

We stayed in the hospital for two days, and on Thursday, after having all of the requisite screenings, exams, shots, and general proddings, we went home. It was a wonderful time, we had our first baby and Grandma Dude had stuck around to fix me all kinds of my favorite meals and wrangle the baby when I was tired. Shell would come home from work & be so enthralled with his new little girl. Then Grandma Dude left......but before she did, she gently advised me to continue to get up everyday, shower, get dressed and plan a little outing for myself & Lydia each day. "It'll keep you feeling human!" she warned. But, just like when she told me not to climb to the top of a 100-foot tree when I was 7, I didn't listen. "It'll be so nice to have a day of relaxation, just me and new Lydia" I foolishly thought. Needless to say, when Shell got home that afternoon, I was nothing more than an unbathed, pajama-wearing tub of goo in a recliner, with big old breast-fed Lydia hanging from my left one. I've had better moments.

But once I got the hang of the breast feeding, and took Grandma Dude's advice about the outings and the bathing, I think I was really able to turn things around for the rest of my maternity leave.

Lydia, on the other hand, had a case of full-on colic that I was in denial about the entire time. I was very nervous around her until she was about 4 months old. That's when SHE was able to really turn things around, and she became delightful.

To be continued.....

Attention Little Reyes Sister gawkers: this gratuitously cute picture is for you.

Lydia received a medal for her participation in her school's reading program yesterday and I got to go the ceremony. That makes me happy. I'm a firm believer in being involved in our children's lives - all part of my plan to raise decent human beings and avoid costly drug rehab down the road. She's an excellent reader, and amazes me when she reads words that I know she's never seen before. What is that? No one is happier than I am that she can read a bit more independently - I've read just about all of the Mary Kate & Ashley mysteries that I care to in one lifetime.

Jenna, in just the last day or two, has gone from her happy, one-word utterances (puppy, ah-gees , galockalette ), to these very long-winded diatribes, complete with hand motions and furrowed brow. I wish to God I knew what she was saying.

I really must go, for I have the Idol elimination to skim through. And prayers to say for Richie Sambora. Seriously, Richie? Wow.

Never Say Goodbye

My Dear Little Reyes Sisters,

A couple of nights ago, mama had the awesome opportunity to go to the Bon Jovi concert - So awesome! Daughtry was the opening act. Lydia, you know Chris Daughtry from American Idol when you were 5. He was the bald, rocker guy.



So for a few magical hours, mama was 17 years old again, magically transported through loud music to Spring Break 1987. For some reason, Grandma Dude sent me and my cousin (the one in Duluth that isn't nice to me anymore) and my friend Jody to Duluth for the week. Now, a couple of things about the trip are hazy in my memory. First, I can't remember why we wanted to go to Duluth, and second, I can't remember why Grandma Dude let us go -- in her car no less. But in any case, we left Monday morning in Grandma Dude's 1984 Mazda 626. (Seriously, what was Grandma Dude left driving all week? She had a FULL-TIME JOB for heaven's sake!) Our destination was Uncle Rick's house, where apparently we had been invited to stay for the week. Joe-Michael lived there and so I imagine he was part of the reason we went in the first place. Joe-Michael was not on spring break that particular week, and instead had to go to school everyday. The big draw for us 3 girls was probably Joe-Michael's leather jacket-wearing, cigarette-smoking, long-haired friends. (Things are becoming clearer now.) I think I ended up with a crush on one of them -- but his name fails me.



We spent the week driving around in Grandma Dude's car, picking up Joe-Michael and his friends mid-day at school, dropping them off at some Dirt-Ball Industrial Arts class that they were enrolled in that took place somewhere off-campus (maybe DAVTI?). I can't look back 21 years later and tell you that anything special or earth-shattering happened that week. (Although to this day, if you ask Grandma Dude, she will tell you that she is convinced that something nefarious involving us and her car occurred while we were gone. I would guess that if pressed, she would say she has imagined everything from a minor traffic violation, all the way up to and including the mid-forest burial of someone's corpse. Go ahead, ask her.) But my point in telling this rather mundane tale is this: I wasn't always perfect as a youngster, but I wasn't all that bad, either. I used to think that as a mother, I had to prevent you from doing everything. For example, if I let my guard down for even one second, and let you make even the tiniest mistake, that automatically meant that when you are 16, we'll have to drag you home from a crack house in the inner city. What I have come to realize, however, is that it might be better if I let you drive around (insert regional city of your choice here - for me it was Duluth) with 9 people in a sub-compact car for a week doing nothing in particular, possibly getting pulled over by the Highway Patrol one afternoon.



What I hope is that we can provide you with enough guidance and boundaries to make you strong, and that you posess enough independent spirit to test those boundaries from time to time, and that in the end, we all come out okay on the other side. Does that make sense? And then one day, you guys will be grown up, with families of your own, and you'll get the chance to go see a concert of someone you really like, and you'll scream, and clap and sing at the top of your lungs and just generally make fools of yourselves. It's going to be great!

Dude, Where's My Grandma?

I've only been at this for a few days, and OY! the guilt about not updating already. Wait til my sister gets wind of this thing. She thought she was adept at pestering me for pictures before...

I'm home today, recuperating from some road repair work done by the world's greatest OB-Gyn on Friday (nuff said.) My mom was kind enough to come down for a day or two to help out with things, and last night pronounced me "Not ready to go back to work yet." So, I thought, I'll take this extra day, deal with the minor, yet very inconvenient complications of my recent prah - seeeeed - yah, and then march back into the office tomorrow, absent note from my mom clutched tightly in my fist, ready to give it all I've got. What's that? I'm 38 years old, why do you ask?

My mom was also kind enough to take LRS #1 (Little Reyes Sister #1) back home with her, leaving peace, quiet, and LRS #2 wandering around hollering "Dude!" as she peeks in every nook & cranny of the house trying to locate grandma. You see, a few months ago, grandma entertained LRS #2 by saying "DOOOODE" in the funniest voice she could muster. This left an impression on LRS #2, whose brain & speech development soaked up this exercise like the little sponge that she is. And now as a result, LRS #2 is using "grandma" or rather "bramma" & "dooode" interchangably.

So I'm off now to continue convalescing. Let me know what you think of the place.

Hellooooooo Internets!

Ah, the first post. Man, they'll let anyone write stuff on the internet, won't they? Thanks for inviting me to blog, internet. I figure, I've got vast experience reading blogs, surely this qualifies me to actually write one. This will be a place where, in 20 years, our children can hopefully look back and view, in excrutiating detail, the chronicles of their formative years.