So the big guy has learned to climb this week. As you can see from the photo, sometimes you need to be careful what you wish for. I guess it wasn't everything he had hoped and dreamed and plotted for. His problem seems to be getting high centered on the root beer belly. *




Lately, the Youngster has left his days of piracy behind him and when I say that, I merely mean that he has less hiding spots for his treasures. In fact, there are only three in existence now: the first and most hygenic is the bathtub. This morning I found Daddy's laptop in there. The second is the toilet. We won't mention what I've found in there. The last is the trash can. I had to fish out, one by one, the entire contents of my purse/diaper bag the other day. Check book...credit cards...makeup...sunglasses...keys...all nicely coated with a protective sealent of squashed banana and the remnants of a spaghetti lunch.




I don't know if it's just me or if my children are seriously more clutzy than the norm. We all know, and love, little Anna and all her misc. (yes, I am abbreviating it cause I can't spell it) bruises and battle scars. Now we have Gianni, who bless his pea picking heart, seems to be every bit as graceful. This morning at church, while NOT in child care, he found endless and hilarious entertainment with a glass door and window. He seemed to think that running behind it he could see me but perhaps I couldn't see him. Or maybe he knew I could see him but he thought I wouldn't be able to cross over to that side and get him. Who knows what goes on in the minds of toddlers? Anyway, this game went on for quite a while, as he charmed little old grandmas and cackled his evil laugh at me through the door (all the while blowing blow fish and licking said door). Well, those windows and door were darn shiny and clean. Poor kid. We don't wash windows at my house. He was mesmorized by the clear sparkles, made even clearer and sparklier by the snow right outside. Have you guessed the outcome yet? He ran smack dab into the door, going full speed. Lest you feel guilty for snorting a bit, don't: he's a tough little guy (when not fainting) and he picked himself up and dusted himself off and didn't even really look too embarrassed. He did sport a nice pink forehead and nose for the rest of the morning. It reminded me of when Anna had not one, but two black eyes. At the same time. From two seperate incidents. Try explaining that to nosy women in the grocery stores who stare at you like you probably boil kittens in your spare time and mutter under their breath about child abuse. The first shiner came from falling over in the shower. The second, well, the second was my fault and I still periodically and randomly apologize for it. We had locked ourselves out of the house and Anna, bitty little munchkin that she is, was the best bet for squirming her way through the only unlocked window. This window was a bit high up, and I'm not exactly tall (I am pretty tall for a short person though) so I had to climb up a stepladder with her. You know how you can lift a good amount of weight as long as it's held close to your body? But you can't really give it the ol' heave hoe and lift above your head and outstretch your arms? No? Well, trust me, it's really difficult, or maybe I have spaghetti arms with the strength of gnats. So, yes, I dropped her and yes, she got another black eye. Yes, I will stop typing and apologize again.




I also feel the need to apologize for the way my paragraphs don't always come through and the way the captions to my photos aren't always symmetrical. When I am writing these posts, everything is perfectly lined up and exactly even. Then when I publish it, due to some evil genius at blogger twirling his handlebar mustache, they get all weird. This bothers me. And now that you probably never noticed, you will now and will judge me.


* no, I don't feed my 1 year old root beer.

that's why we call it three kid adventures

-not sure if Gianni is blessing his friend, Quinn, petting him like he does Milo, admiring his coiffure, or elevating him to the status of knight-

-cousins at Christmas time-

-Gianni resorts to surrender and torture by tickling after a game of chase with Mommy-

You may notice that the photo of the girls isn't the most recent, but strangely enough there are lots of new pictures of the youngest monster and none at all of the Firstborn or the Middler. This is strange because, as anyone with more than 1 child knows, the first is spoiled rotten, the next is spoiled but not excessively, the third is lost a bit in the shuffle, and so on and so forth. With Cora we took photo after photo, lovingly recording every feeding, smile, burp, laugh, haircut, holidays, vacations, change of clothes, bathtimes, mealtimes, sleeptimes, rolling over times, colorful bowel movements, well, you get the idea. Now, Anna was born a scant 18 months later and we were a bit more forgetful about things like putting batteries in the camera or remembering where we left the camera last, or actually owning a camera. But here and there we hastily scribbled cute things in her baby book and if there are a few pictures that may be Cora and not in fact, Anna, well, everyone says they look alike so who's gonna argue with the name on the back of the snapshot? Now the only thing that is saving Gianni from complete and total lack of personalized memorabilia, it's that he was born 6 years later to parents who had forgotten how fun babies could be. So yes, there are photos of him at most every stage. No video however and the baby book has a thick, protective layer of dust, but we mostly know where he is at all times, his middle name, and if we have to think real hard about birthdates, well, attribute it to old age on our part.

Oh by the way, if you get a phone call from someone with a high squeaky voice asking you if you ordered a large garlic and pepperoni pizza... it's Anna. And she will be grounded.

In other news, we have decided to quit tormenting the child care workers at both our church and the YMCA. Those poor people do not get paid enough (and in the case of the former, their reward is in heaven, and hopefully a long way off) to watch our grumpy little gnome. The wailing is hard on their ears and the turning blue/passing out is hard on their nervous systems so we're letting them off the hook. He can sit in service with us, sticking pencils in our shoes, flirting with the preacher's wife, scooting under pews, contributing loudly with the sermon, and in general forcing us all to patiently recall the scriptures about letting little children come to Jesus. As far as the YMCA goes, there will be no more sneaking out of the house without the moppets (yeah, yeah, I heard ya, Dad) so I guess I'll just get fat. We'll try the whole tough love thing again in a month or two, but in the meantime G. can party to his little heart's content and so can the babysitters.

Oh, and if anyone has a surefire way to memorize the times tables, please let me know. Cora knows a lot of fun and interesting and little known facts, but the pluttification tables (shout out to Pippi there!) is not one of them.