Nudists

Each morning last week when I went to fetch the girls, everything on their beds --  blankets, babies, stuffed animals -- was sprawled on the floor. And the first thing Claire said when I walked in the room? "I trow bankies on da plor." (I throw blankets on the floor). 

Yesterday when I walked in, same thing. All blankets, babies and stuffed animals piled in a heap right in front of their beds. 

As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I noticed a few additions to the pile. Pants, shirts, DIAPERS. I looked up . Sure enough, I had two stark naked babies looking back at me. 

Hilarious and gross (re: diapers) all at the same time. 

I Can't Like That

Lately, Claire has taken to saying "I can't like that" in response to anything that she doesn't want to do -- well, that and the ol' standard "no."

"I can't like that book."

"I can't like pizza."

"I can't like take nap."

I much prefer it to the straight "no" because it's usually said with less sass and more  "Mom, I really want to eat my vegetables today. Really, I do. I just can't."

How can you argue with that?

On Being 30

This week I turned the big 3-0. How strangely different it feels than when I turned 20  -- mostly because it doesn't feel strange at all. 

I feel like I know who I am the most on this birthday than any birthday before it. And I wouldn't trade that confidence for any carefree year of my 20s. 

As I was laying awake the night before my birthday, Scott asked me "Are you scared to be 30?" 

I laughed so hard, I nearly choked. 

Scared? Heck no. 

I welcome the confident, wise, mature person I'm becoming. 

I welcome the "I don't care what you think about me" attitude as I walk into Target unshowered after a long work day. 

I welcome the "I'm a pale, freckle-faced ginger who doesn't tan" pride that my younger self never had. 

I welcome the ability to put myself in others' shoes in a way I didn't experience before. The exhausted mother who snaps at her whiny kid in Target doesn't mean she's a horrible mom, it just means she's surviving. The guy who cut you off in traffic isn't necessarily a jerk, he might just be late to work after his kid had a meltdown that morning. 

So … am I scared? 

Nah. I'm ready. 

At least for the next nine years. Then I might reconsider.  

Spring Awakening

So, there's something I've been keeping from you. 

Mostly because I would rather you love me than hate me. 

And, if you're a parent, my secret is definitely something that would make you hate me.

It started last fall. Around November-ish. We were staying at my parents quite a bit during that time and got into this strange schedule where the girls kept getting to sleep later and later -- and subsequently started waking later and later. 

We were eventually to the point where they were going to bed around 11 p.m. and sleeping until 11:30 or noon. Eating breakfast when everyone else was eating lunch, eating lunch when everyone else was eating snack and napping from about 4:30-6:30. 

It was a crazy life we were living. But it worked for us. By the time they were waking up in the "morning," we had nearly eight hours of work done. 

But, alas. Spring has come, and my little hibernating bears have crawled out of their caves.

  

This past week, we have gone to bed at a fairly consistent time, but each day they woke up about 15 minutes earlier than the day before. This morning it was 9:45. So, so early compared to our winter schedule. 

As I'm writing this, complaining about the early hour of 9:45, it occurs to me that you actually probably still hate me. 

Maybe I'll just shut up now.