Snow bunnies

Thanks everyone for all the support with Saffron. We're doing OK, just waiting for the pathology results to come back.

As promised, here are the photos from our wonderful ski vacation to Keystone with my sister Meg and her family. We had such a great time. Meg's kids, Catherine (7) and George (3), are delightful, and Sidamo and Nora just adore them. We spent the week skiing (well, I only took one run—I've turned chicken), cooking yummy dinners, playing, drinking good wine … So much fun.

Catherine playing with Sidamo's snapping alligator.

Nora discovers the delights of the exersaucer. Why didn't I think of putting her in one of these before?

Putting on skis for the first time ever. These are plastic practice skis; we didn't expect Sidamo to like skiing—he's a little freaked out by new experiences—so we didn't want to rent skis before giving him a chance to experiment.

He wasn't so sure of it at first.

Norasaur thought big brother on skis was pretty awesome.

The budget ski lift.

Using his poles effectively, just like his mama!

Nora has her first taste of avocado and loves it. Definitely my daughter.

I stripped her down to her diaper beforehand, but I had to change even that after she was done. Full-body avocado mask, for the low price of 77 cents.

Nora hanging out with Uncle Andrew.

After determining that Sidamo was a fan of skiing, we rented skis for him and put him on the official bunny hill. This was his first time on a ski lift, with Uncle Andrew.

Sidamo discovered the magic of the iPhone. He and George shared one of many special moments watching Dora/Diego after a dip in the hot tub. And yes, George is sitting in a Bumbo seat.

Magic carpet ride!

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Sweet Saffy

Poor Saffron hasn't been doing so well lately. Naturally svelte, she's dropped a full 15 pounds in the past few months, leaving her absolutely emaciated. She's down to 75 pounds. For comparison's sake, Daisy is an inch shorter and weighs about 135. Yeah, it's bad.

We've been back and forth to the vet many times in recent weeks, testing for everything from giardia to cancer, and unfortunately it looks like she's landing on the cancer end of the spectrum. She had her spleen removed today because ultrasounds suggest it's cancerous. We're waiting for pathology results, but best-case scenario based on what we know now is about 6 months. Worst case is much less.

I've already written an Ode to Saffron, but as a quick recap: she is the sweetest, most good-natured, most tender-hearted dog I've ever met (sorry, Daisy—you have your own good qualities, but they're not these). I know there are people out there who don't think dogs are sentient beings; a few minutes with Saffron would erase any question. She has this way of getting waaaay up in your space—nose to nose if she can—and staring intently into your eyes with her tail wagging furiously, as though she's digging into your psyche and trying to extract a smile. It works, even with the worst moods.

She's an almost-10-year-old Great Dane, so of course I've always known this day was coming. Really, since we adopted her almost 7 years ago, I've always been acutely aware of her impermanence. It sounds morbid, I'm sure, but in a Sartrean sort of way, it's made me appreciate my time with her for the perfect moment that it is. Really and truly, knowing her has been one of the great priveledges of my life.

So the idea of losing her—ugh, I just can't put it into words. It gives me this horrible, panicky feeling, accompanied by a watershed of tears. The idea of the house without her, of course, is terrible. Even more heartbreaking, though, is the thought of that ever-wagging tail lying still. And knowing that she won't be there to help us smile through the grief, well that's almost too much to bear.

In the meantime, however long that is, I'm going to do my best to drink up as much of her as I can. My sweet, skinny, stinky little girl.

Belated Christmas greetings

Okay, so I'm a little behind. We just returned Saturday from a week-long ski vacation with my family (photos forthcoming), and perhaps you've heard about Nora's little sleep issue, so I've been remiss in reflecting on our wonderful Christmas. Greg and I were both raised Christian, but we're now somewhere between agnostic and atheist. Still, we have fond memories of our childhood Christmases—the communion with family and friends, the lingering meals, the holiday traditions—so we celebrate. On the other hand, we're not big into commercialism, which seems to be the common alternative to a Christian Christmas celebration. These first few Christmases, we're working on formulating our definition of the holiday and how to create our own traditions. The kids are a perfect age for it, too: They're way more excited about the activities and all the close family time than they are about the gifts, which are just the icing on the cake

But oh, how they love icing! Christmas Eve was spent at our house for a casual meal with Grandpa, Great Grandma, Aunt Lisa, Uncle Chris, and Scarlett. Greg made a gingerbread house for the kids to decorate, but the frosting I bought didn't provide strong enough mortar. Instead they decorated cookies with icing and candy—and believe it or not, most of the candy made it onto the cookies and not into the bellies.



Then we squeezed everyone around our small kitchen table, with the two big kids at the kiddie table, for some yummy lasagne.


The lasagne took too long to cook, and the kids were super-duper wired after dinner. Not easy to get a good family photo, but here was our attempt:


Nora passed out before the first gift was opened—which was OK by Sidamo and Scarlett, because that meant they got to open Nora's gifts too.


Grandpa gave Sidamo this snapping alligator game that continues to be a big hit—though Sidamo would rather use someone else's finger to press the teeth.


Christmas morning we had a lazy breakfast, opened stockings, played with toys, and eventually made it through most of what was under the tree. Sidamo would get so enthralled with each new thing that he didn't want to open anything else until he had thoroughly explored what was in front of him. We loved that he was truly appreciating each gift, so we didn't rush him. Nora was just delighted with all the packaging.




The toys are all BPA-free, but I never thought to check on the packaging.


Daisy and Saffy opened their stockings. I know it only comes once a year, but I swear they know all about Santa and his generosity in treat/chew-toy department. They see those stockings come down, and they can barely contain their excitement.





Later in the day we went to Lisa, Chris, and Scarlett's house for Christmas dinner with the whole fam (and forgot to bring the camera). It was warm and wonderful, and it made us grateful to be blessed with such a loving family. A family so loving that one member of it would feed a certain 6-month-old her first taste of ice cream (with sprinkles) in the two minutes it took for mama to get up and refill her coffee. Grandpa, you shall remain nameless.

I hope you all had similarly wonderful winter holidays, whatever they may be.

Hard habit to break

See, she can sleep when she wants to—and even looks positively angelic when she does it. So why, then, did last night look like this?

9:30-ish, fell asleep after (not while) nursing
11 woke up
11:30 fell asleep after nursing
12:15 woke up
12:30 fell asleep to singing
1:15 woke up
2:15 fell asleep after an hour of rocking, singing, swaying
3:00 woke up
3:15 fell asleep after nursing
4:00 woke up
5:15 fell asleep after rocking, singing, swaying
5:30 woke up
7:00 fell asleep after rocking, singing, swaying, nursing, Greg holding her in the sling
7:30 woke up to nurse and finally slept for a 3-hour stretch

Last night was our first attempt at breaking the nurse-to-sleep association, and as you can see it didn't go too well. Her general trend of the past few weeks has been to nurse more and more frequently at night, resulting in a more-or-less endless nursing session from bedtime until morning. It makes for contented baby, but an achy, cranky, eye-bagged mama. However, if we have a few more nights of this, the nonstop nurse-fests will start to look like a day at the spa.

Any advice on how to shut down the milkstore at night without harsh (cry-it-out–type) methods? Because I'm about three nights past my breaking point.

Snaxcapade

The other morning, Greg tried to buy me and Nora a little extra sleep again by putting Sidamo in his bedroom with some books. He stayed there almost until Greg closed the door and left for work, and then was in my bedroom asking me to play. I told him he could go downstairs and play with his trains for a bit—anything for another 5 minutes of sleep. When he came back up, he told me he had had a snack, which in his vocab means trail mix, or, more specifically, the M&Ms from the trail mix, which he calls "colors." I asked, "Did you have any nuts and raisins, or just colors?" He answered, "Just colors." I sniffed his breath and determined that he in fact had only eaten chocolate and nothing else. At 8 in the morning. How's that for involved parenting?

Fast forward to Christmas morning, when Greg is trying to videotape the kids opening presents and finds a full memory card. He scrolls through and finds that Sidamo had documented his entire escapade—playing with trains, then gathering his favorite videos, pulling a chair up to the counter, and diving headfirst into the trail mix—in both pictures and video. Not only did he freely rat himself out, but he provided all the evidence needed to convict and sentence. Gotta love this age.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

When you hear him talking, he's saying, "Here comes the polar bear!"

Beyond the boob

Today is Nora's 6-month birthday. I still can't believe that my tiny little lump of baby has turned into a solid mass of human being. She's sitting on her own (for short periods), playing with toys—and plastic bags—and getting furious when they're taken away from her, showing preferences for certain people, pushing up on her knees and trying to crawl (she even managed some forward motion this evening), and in general finding new ways every day to explore her individuality.

I don't like it.

I do know, however, that I need to accept it—even facilitate it—if I want her to grow into an independent, functional person. (That is what I want, right?) To that end I finally took the cue last night, when she plunged her fist ravenously into my mashed potatoes and tried to stuff them into her mouth, that she's maybe ready for something other than breastmilk.

It's a bittersweet step—and one I was happy to delay as long as possible. Until now, we've basically functioned as one unit: She grew as part of my body, taking her nourishment from me; she was born, and though she was no longer physically a part of me, I felt no less connected to her—she has stayed close, slept nuzzled against me, and flourished on nothing more than what my body has produced for her. Every molecule of her chunky little body has come, so far, from me. So giving her solid foods smacked me with the reality that we're taking the first of many steps in the process of detachment, of her finding sustenance (both literal and figurative) apart from me. It's normal. It's natural. It's necessary. And still it kills me.

Heavy discussion over a baby carrot, no? That was her first food: a roasted baby carrot. We're trying something called baby-led weaning, which means that instead of spoon-feeding purees, we'll present Nora with food and she can eat it or not, as she's interested and ready. (And yes, it probably also means I'll be that woman who's still nursing her 14-year-old. Sorry, but you'll get used to it.) From what I've read, babies will normally explore food with their hands and mouths for a while—maybe even months—before eventually gumming off some bites and swallowing them. Not our little overachiever. She immediately got the carrot to her mouth, bit off a piece, chewed, and swallowed. Repeat. I'd say she swallowed about half the baby carrot, and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Before I start crying (again), I'll stop dissecting this event and just let the photos, and the video at the end, tell the story.

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Save handmade toys …

(and sweaters, hair clips, cute little baby booties … you get the idea). Click the button below to learn more about what's going on with safe toy regulations, how they could harm the handmade kids' stuff industry, and what you can do to help:

For the therapist's couch

Lately I've been trying to offer up a little more praise (since I spend a lot of my day saying things like, "That is not where peanut butter goes."), so last night at dinner I said, "Nice job eating your dinner, Sidamo!" when he ate some food unprodded and then, "Nice job drinking your water!" when he had some water and actually swallowed it. He, without skipping a beat, said, "Nice job drinking your wine, Mommy!"

Where's the social worker when you need her?

In healthier family news, I got my first completely unsolicited "I love you," tonight. Times three, and each time accompanied by a huge, giggly hug. Melt me. He also told me I'm the sweetest little boy in the world. As flattered as I am, I know someone else who might be in the running for that title.

Three!

It's official: Our little man is a little man. Yesterday was his 3rd birthday (surreal) and we spent the day celebrating as a family. Greg took the day off so we could take Damo—and, by association, Nora—to his first movie. It went so much better than we ever could have anticipated.

It all started with some bad food court food and a ride on the carousel:


Then the big purchase:


Three tickets to paradise (or Madagascar 2):


And then the really big purchase:


Sidamo sat in his seat and acted like an old pro—eyes fixed on the screen, hand plunged in the popcorn bag, telling his dad to "shh!":


Nora actually spent much of the film in rapt attention. Just not this part:


We then came home, had nap time, and then shared pizza and delicious cupcakes (thanks again, Maia!) with grandpa. Really and truly, the perfect 3rd birthday.


I have such a hard time believing out little guy is such a grown-up already. I've been scanning the blog from the past year, and so much has happened (not sure why that's a surprise). Here are some highlights, to prevent you from having to scan the past year's blog entries:

• Switched from calling me Mama to Mommy. Today he even experimented with Mom—to my great displeasure.
• Had his first Christmas with us.
• Potty trained. Hallelujah.
  
• Participated in his first presidential caucus.
• Cuddled with pretty much every player on the CU Buffaloes football team.
• Started (and stopped) preschool.
• Played on a soccer team.
• Took the shortest vacation on record (23 hours in Basalt).
• Became a big brother!
• Celebrated his first year home with us.
• Saw the beach for the first time.
• Saw the DNC festivities in Denver.
• Went to his first Rockies game.
• Visited Amish Country.
• Voted for Obama!

I can already tell 3 is going to be a fun year. Not that 2 wasn't fun, but man, it was hard. The tantrums, the defiance, the simultaneous but conflicting desires (did I ever tell you about the meltdown about washing his hands? "I don't want to wash my hands!" "You have to wash your hands." Meltdown. "Fine, let's just go, I'll use hand sanitizer on you." Meltdown. "I want to wash my hands!" "Fine, wash your hands." Meltdown. "Maybe later!" Ugh.).

Just in the past few weeks, as though he knew his birthday was on the horizon, Sidamo has started displaying all the typical 3-year-old characteristics. His imagination is starting to expand, and he tells stories (which could sometimes be interpreted as lies). It's pretty cool to see the mind changing, even when I'm frustrated by the stretched truths. Until now we've loved the fact that he has always acted like he's on truth serum, confessing to his every crime with just teensiest bit of prodding. Now we're realizing that when we aske what he's doing behind a closed door, we can't take, "Nothing!" at face value.

These milestones just remind us how blessed we are that this fantastic person is our son. We continue to fall deeper in love with him as his funny (and brilliant) personality emerges. We're so, so lucky to be your family, Sidamo!

Technotastic

We've done a decent job so far of sheltering our kids (and more importantly, our ears) from electronic toys, but with birthdays, holidays, and personal tastes emerging, it's becoming less and less possible. Really, though, I'm starting to admit that my avoidance is more about my own personal distaste for beeps and buzzes than it is about parenting principles. And I'm also realizing that there's no way to deny the pure joy that this, courtesy of Aunt Lisa, Uncle Chris, and Scarlett, has brought to Sidamo:



Really, it's as though this product was designed for specifically for him—computers and Cars in one package? Couldn't be better. This morning, Greg left for work and tried to buy me and Nora a little sleep-in time by planting Sidamo in his room with the laptop. It worked in a way a pile of books does not. When I went in, about 15 minutes after Greg left, I found Sidamo punching random keys and staring at the screen rather intently. I said, "Morning, sweetie, are you playing with your new computer?" He looked up at me and, very seriously, said, "I'm working, Mommy."

Okay, technology, you win.