I need some help. Well, in a lot of ways, but this is the area I'm focusing on mostly so as not to focus on the other areas. Part of Ainsleigh's geography class was to send out their flat selves in honor of the book Flat Stanley. First of all, I have fond memories of receiving a Flat Stanley when I was a junior in college. Most of the kids were sending them to grandparents or cousins. My little brother (or was it Becca? I can't remember) chose his most awesome big sister, and his faith in me was well placed. I showed Flat Stanley the time of his LIFE, and documented it with pictures which I printed and sent back along with a little write-up of our adventures. Needless to say, the other kids in the class were super impressed and I had the complete satisfaction of knowing I can totally step up to the plate when a kid's school project involving a paper doll is in play.

Second, Ainsleigh chose to send her flat self to Laura who, in turn, showed just why New York City is home to (one of) the best aunt(s) on the planet. As the flat selves have made their way back to Ainsleigh's school, the kids have shared just where they've been.

And it got me thinking... what if we kept doing this? What if Ainsleigh sent out her flat self again and again. We have a United States of America map on a wall upstairs and we could mark where she had been, learn about that state (or city), the things that are there, (you know this one was coming) any food specific to that area. What if Ainsleigh went International?!

Between Joel and myself, we have good amount of traveling under our belts. Ainsleigh has been a few places, but she's just at the age where she's starting to understand distance and time zones and cultures. I think now is the time to help her gain a greater appreciation for how different people and places can be, but also how very similar.

And so, I introduce what I hope will not be a short-lived idea: The Flat Ainsleigh Project. We will send you a flat Ainsleigh, like the one pictured here (but a little bigger), along with a few questions (what you did, the weather, the food, that's about it). You will take at least one picture of Ainsleigh somewhere specific to where you are and email me said picture. Mail back Ainsleigh and your questions and we will log them (here?). While flat Ainsleigh is gone, 3d Ainsleigh will learn a little about where she has gone and we'll add that to the log. So be prepared. You never know when she might show up. And if I don't have your address and you'd love to show Flat Ainsleigh a good time, email me. I'd love to have a list of people who will welcome her.

I hope this works.

Extra lacing holes
On Saturday I went to a real running store and had someone watch me run and walk and try on many pairs of shoes until I found a great pair that cost more and fit better than the ones I've bought off of Amazon clearance (can you really argue with $33 Adidas?). The man there verified what I've suspected: I'm an underpronator. Meaning I roll to the outsides of my feet. Meaning I tend to push off of my small toe(s). Also indicating I have high (Romanesque?) arches. Also, this is not common. I seem to have a knack for taking that road. First, obviously, the hair. Second, when I had my wisdom teeth out at the age of 23 I contracted the complication of "dry sockets" that is generally rare except for old people. Third, do I really need to talk about that third childbirth experience? Let's keep it moving.

I was grateful when the man didn't come out with shoes that looked like they belonged in my Grandpa's closet, but with a pretty sweet selection. I eventually settled on a pair of Nikes and the guy told me to run on a treadmill or indoor track for the next week or so because they offer a 30-day money back guarantee. I'm pretty sure Amazon didn't offer that. So today I went and ran and enjoyed the wonderful powerful sensation of pushing off all my toes, especially my big toe. It was glorious. Except that I also noticed my left big toe touching the front of the shoe every now and then. Argh.

I went back to the store this morning and asked if I could try a bigger pair. He said yes, but he wanted to make a suggestion first, and with that he laced the shoe through that extra set of holes at the top of the shoe that you hardly ever use. He said it keeps his foot back in the shoe and he does it especially for his trail running shoes (which, by the way, some of those are crazy ugly). I slipped the shoe back on and holy cow, I couldn't believe it. I kept saying, "Are you KIDDING me?!" Something so small. I also told him that this little thing was going to make my day. He kind of laughed in that, "that's sad for you," kind of way, but it was true. (I won't get into why the hours between said glorious run and this moment were crappy. Let's just leave it at this equation: slowmovingAinsleigh+schoolmorning=newlevelsoffrustration)

Also, socks.
I have a love/hate relationship with them. I love them because they keep my feet a few degrees above the freezing temperature they would otherwise be, but I hate them because they never stay just right (perhaps due to the above underpronation?). Also, I have a perpetual athlete's foot issue with my left foot (ironic, since it started when I was at my least athletic. my body totally mocks me) so anything other than cotton doesn't fare very well. Or so I thought. They gave me a free pair of socks with my shoes, saying it wicks away moisture. I didn't think I'd actually like them, but I tried them this morning. They were fantastic! And I think they made me run faster (humor me). At the very least, my feet felt better than they usually do. And that's saying a lot.

Gemma
Oh Gemma. Oh Gemmagemmagemma. *long exhale* I think I've mentioned before that she is developing a personality. That's code for, "She's beginning to exert her independence. And stubbornness." If she wants to do something, she will DO IT DANGIT. For example: childproof caps. I don't even know how this is really possible except that maybe I hadn't closed the top all the way? But she managed to open it and dump out an entire bottle (a double-sized bottle since I gleefully purchased this larger size to save some money - I hadn't seen that size before) of liquid Ibuprofen on the carpet. Berry-flavored, no less. And, on top of that, she did it in Donovan's room. Which required her to walk down the hall, around a corner and into D's room before upending the whole thing right in the middle of his room. His screams of "Emergency! Emergency!" tore through my soul as I was lathering my shampoo in the shower. Why do I even bother?

That was two days ago. (and no, she didn't ingest any. she was going for maximum puddleage) Today, right after Donovan got home from school, he went upstairs to get a dinosaur. I hear, "Mom, did you give Gemma another bath?" Uh...this can't end well. No, I said, as I pulled the bread out of the oven. "Then why does she have shampoo in her hair?" CRAP. I bolted up the stairs and there she was, kneeling in the hallway, hair perfectly lathered, grinning as happy as could be. Are you SERIOUS?! *exxxxxxxxxhale* The good news was that she didn't get any on the carpet. The not-as-good-news is that she dumped a good amount into Donovan's pirate/knight playmobil bin. And anyone who has any of those knows how many tiny pieces and parts there are. Now covered in watermelon-smelling shampoo.

She *does* love to shampoo her hair. She's always trying to get it (during her bath) and rub it in her hair. I can only imagine how excited she was to find a bottle within reach, OPEN it, and start applying, probably thinking, "I'm awwwwwwwwesome!"

Twizzlers
This was just the icing on the cake of small things. I had just dumped the bag of chicken bones/bits/parts and vegetable castoffs I keep in the freezer into a big pot to cover with water (it's stock-making day). There I stood, filling said pot with a Twizzler poking out of my mouth when I managed to lose my hold and half of the Twizzler fell into the dark abyss of the pot. I just stared after it. I made a half-hearted attempt to locate it, to no avail. So if this particular batch proves superior, I'm going to start throwing licorice into all sorts of things as my new secret ingredient. That's the only thing keeping me from rolling my eyes right now.

This girl is celebrating a birthday today. This girl has the amazing ability of being able to laugh at herself in just about any situation. This girl will reply within minutes if you text her at 11 pm wanting to know what the three unforgivable curses are from Harry Potter. This girl lived with us for 3 months and was the best help/nanny/wife I could ever ask for. This girl knows a lot of stuff, and what she doesn't know, she will quickly find out via her iPhone. This girl can comfy-pantasize (the act of changing from street clothes into comfy pants, aka yoga pants, aka pajama bottoms) faster than anyone I know. This girl shares my love for food and television and medieval British historical fiction and we will have lengthy conversations about it, preferably combining all three. Today, this girl is having a birthday. The kids sang/yelled the birthday song into her voicemail and Donovan vowed that "I sang duh wowdest so Wora would know I wuv her duh most." But I'm the only one with a blog, dude. Happy Birthday, Laura. When are you moving back in?

When there was just Ainsleigh, I thought our second child would have to be a girl in order for them to play well together. I guess I thought that way because my younger sibling was a girl? What I do know is that hardly a day goes by without me taking a moment to wonder how wrong I could have been. I doubt Ainsleigh and Donovan could be better friends. Ainsleigh is older, but Donovan has a more, shall we say, persuasive personality (this is not always/often a good thing). Together, they are pretty well matched.

We taught them both how to ride their bikes at the same time and now Donovan is the stronger and faster of the two. But he is quick to encourage and admire Ainsleigh's ability. Ainsleigh was a much better artist at Donovan's age (and, of course, now), and when Donovan gets frustrated that all of his people look like jellyfish (they actually kind of do - I just laugh that he names them that), Ainsleigh is the first to say, "You're doing great, bud. People draw differently. Ours don't have to look the same. I can see what you're doing and I think it's really awesome."

Donovan's laugh can be loud and borderline braying, but it has this infectious ability to pull out my own giggles. And Ainsleigh often sounds like she's laughing as hard as her slight frame will allow without her cheeks exploding. Together, they laugh a lot. I've often thought that I want to record their laughter and keep it forever. Maybe I should do that and then listen to it when they're teenagers and they guffaws and falling-down-laughing is fewer and farther between.

I'm not sure why today, especially, I'm feeling grateful. Maybe it's that they're starting to include Gemma in their play and the three of them giggling together practically takes my breath away and a quick thought darts through my mind that this, this right here, these three children playing and laughing together, this is what makes my life. And I'm torn between just listening and smiling and loving, or dropping everything and running over to squeeze them all into one hug in an attempt to keep them like this forever. I opt to just listen. And be grateful.

Old men dig me. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's that I don't ignore them. Or that, for the most part, I find them adorable? I see my grandpas in them and hope that people were nice to them and wish they were still around for me to talk to. Except that every now and then you come across a perhaps crazy old person and I know my gpops were NOT like them. Take, for example, the old dude who struck up a conversation with me this morning while I was rowing(!) (well, on a machine) and he was cycling. I think he was shocked when I responded to his initial question and the floodgates, they crashed open.

Did you know he thought up the name Microsoft at about the same time as Bill Gates? He must be a genius, according to himself, because who else in the world would have thought of it. He was very liberal with the reminders that he was 70 AND A HALF and had worked in computers his whole life (me: "They had computers back then? Or are you talking about calculators? Or an abacus?"). Also, why do people not want to talk at the gym? Why do they listen to music? Why are they thinking? He has done all the listening and thinking he wants to do. Obviously not the talking. Then he starts talking about how people are boring and talk about boring things. (me: So you're old AND you're cranky? Wow - you're just going all out for the stereotype?) Why do people read? He has read all he wants and doesn't want to learn anything new. (me: "My grandma learned how to read Norwegian when she was 75. And she learned some Spanish when she was 80. Some people like to keep learning. Maybe it makes their conversations more INTERESTING. *knowing look*) And then he gives me a lecture on how politics are boring and who cares about politics and (I kid you not) why do we even HAVE politics? (me: We have this thing called government. Maybe you don't remember, but there was a revolution. We're not with England. We get to control stuff. Sort of.)

Yes, I really said those things (and a few more). But I was LAUGHING, so it's not mean. Really! And, quite frankly, he was entertained. When I went up to the desk to sanitize my hands, the lovely (old) gentleman asked, "Do you know what he said?" Uh, yeah. I just spent 20 minutes listening. "No, do you know what he said when he came up here? He said, 'Finally! I found someone who wasn't boring here!'" Huzzah! My good deed for the day: geriatric entertainment.

So, the equation for the day is grumpyoldman + verbalabuse = spryoldguy

I may or may not choose to wear headphones next time, though...

We have these puffy skirts that are pretty much every girl's dream. Some friends and i went in on a co-op and got these for relatively cheap, compared to what they sell for in boutiques. So Ainsleigh got her first one a couple years ago. Then I got a second one because EVERY little girl (and their mothers) who comes over wants to wear one (it was a good investment, I told Joel). He rolled his eyes. He was downright indignant when two more skirts showed up while I was pregnant this last time. The thing was - we didn't know the baby's gender. We did not know there was a Gemma. I figured I would hold onto this sister-set and if it was a boy, I'd give it as a gift at some point. Gemma was a couple weeks old when I remembered I had a skirt! And a girl! And someday they would intersect! And since Gemma has taken her sweet time walking, it has sat untouched in a box in our basement. Tonight, though, tonight it made its debut. Consider it a "congratulations you're walking" present. And so, for perhaps the first (and last?) time ever, I'm putting up two videos in one day. She marched around in that thing for a good 20 minutes even though it was well past dinner time (something that generally reduces her to a puddle of tears/whining). She was sooooo proud of herself. And, honestly, so was I. Her small frame is totally rocking the fluff. (As you can see in the background, Donovan finds his own way of playing with the skirts. Sometimes he wears them, sometimes he beats his sister with them. I get it.)

It's official: Gemma is a toddler. As in, she's toddling. Finally. She'll be 18 months old in less than a couple weeks and like most things, she's holding off until the last second to do them. I should have seen this coming when it took THIRTY-FOUR hours for her to come out. I don't know when I'll stop referring to that. Probably never. It's something I've EARNED. When my water broke with her, I thought it would be very cool to have her on 05-15 seeing as how the other kids are 03-13 and 03-31 and since my water broke the afternoon of the 14th, surely the 15th would happen. But she cut it very close, entering the world at 11:45 pm. Then there was how she wasn't sitting up at 9 months. Not alarming, but still concerning. And now with the walking. But she's done it.

The family that slays together, STAYS together.

For the past few weeks, we think she has viewed it more as a trick. She'd take a few steps with her "check me OUT!" face and then drop to her knees and crawl (wickedly fast, I might add) to wherever she needed to go. I don't think she liked landing on her bum despite the soft cottony landing cloth diapering lends. But in the past week she has ramped up the walking and can now get there faster. Still with the "check me OUT!" face. She'll just walk and walk in circles, watching me to make sure I'm walking her. Oh, sweet baby, I'm always watching.

Here's a video clip from a couple weeks ago (less than a minute!) of her in all her homo erectus glory:

When Becca was here we went to a farm where we did not pick apples or pull carrots as originally intended (an early freeze put the kibosh on that). So we looked around and bought some produce and came home with some cool pumpkin-looking squash.

I'm making a mental note (oh wait, I'm writing this down aren't I? so...not just mental?) that when someone says, "This squash is not good for eating because there isn't much flesh and it's kind of mealy," that means it is FANTASTIC for carving. As an added bonus, it might smell like a mix between cantaloupe and cucumbers when you cut into it, starting the entire carving party off on the right foot. If someone says, "This is a WONDERFUL roasting squash," that means it is very dense and the carving party comes to a crashing halt as you try to decide if a drill or an AXE might work better (we opted for the drill). Or maybe I should have partially roasted it. In any event, Joel got a good workout.

From the caves we visited:




Just Gemma, sitting the way she usually does:

Last night Joel said something about probably taking most of the candy to work. WHAT? The kids can't eat ALL that candy, he protested. I know. I KNOW the KIDS can't eat all that candy. This is where it pays to *help* your kids. I don't know, we'll see. It WAS a lot of candy:

Gemma wasted no time.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Friday night we went to the church Trunk-or-Treat that, due to the weather, just turned into the kids trick-or-treating from classroom to classroom after a parade. Gemma loved the parade. I held her hand, but she proudly paraded with the best of them. And of course the kids had a blast going berserk with about 75 other kids. Then on Saturday they headed out to get the REAL haul. The weather was cooperating and had actually melted a good portion of the blizzard that settled upon us. A lot of people were out without even coats.




I don't even want to know what Donovan's left hand is doing. Doesn't seem particularly knightly behavior. Gemma is a bumblebee, and Ainsleigh is a witch. A stylish witch.

Joel said they were basically chased down by one house that they hadn't gone to because the stalkers thought they looked so cute and they wanted to close up shop. When our kids didn't stop by, they got in the car and drove to find them, emptying their bowl into our kids' pumpkins. It was a little obscene.  But delicious! When Joel got back, he took Gemma off of his shoulders where she had been sitting for most of the time. We think her legs must have fallen asleep or something because she couldn't stop giggling as soon as we tried to stand her up. She just kind of leaned on Joel with her fuzzy bee-head dropped back, just giggling. I had the same reaction when I saw their loot.




Ainsleigh loved her spooky, but sassy, costume
There were the usuals, but also a few interesting additions. We got a parachute man. An eraser. Some EASTER candy (come ON, people). An eyeball. And...tin snips. Like, wire cutters? Joel and I just stood their scratching our heads on that one.




okaaaaaaaay

It was a glorious and successful evening and after the kids went to bed, Joel and I ate a ton of candy. I love candy. If Joel thinks he's going to take this to work, he's going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.




I think Donovan's face says it all

It needs to stop snowing and melt enough so I can get to the store, buy more eggs and oil, and continue the baking extravaganza that has been occurring in my kitchen. Also, I need some pearl onions. Not for baking. For BRAISING. That's another recipe entirely. For now, enjoy the pictures. It has been breathtaking, while standing still admiring the beauty, as well as while shoveling (and reshoveling) our driveway/sidewalk. I'm in need of some peppermint tea...




Gemma enjoyed yelling at the kids and kept acting like she wanted to go outside. She only lasted about 5 minutes the first time. The second time, while sledding, she lasted a bit longer. But it's hard to be joyful when the snow is blowing in your face, stinging your cheeks. I opened the door to our back deck (pictured above) while holding Gemma and Donovan's response was, "Are you going to throw Gemma out there?" Yeah, kid. Because that's the kind of mother I am. Now finish your hot chocolate and pumpkin bread and put your swimsuit on. I'm gonna toss you out, too.