Addie and Emmett

They were born seven days apart.

She bosses him around.

He pays her no attention

She names her baby dolls Emmett.

He occasionally lets her play with Papa's light switch.

They see each other far too little.

They are growing far too fast.

Christmas in Chicago 2008.................................................................Christmas in Chicago 2009

Be Good for Goodness' Sake

Growing up I had no knowledge of St. Nick's Day. There were no stockings before Christmas - my mom wouldn't even let us open a gift on Christmas Eve. Yep, she was hard core. For the record, she also wouldn't let us downstairs Christmas morning until she checked to "make sure" that Santa had been to our house. I can remember at least two occasions where she got my brother and I to go back to bed because Santa was "running behind schedule".

And yes, we went back to bed.

Yes, we were gullible kids.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that I never even knew there was a St. Nick day, replete with gift-filled stockings, until I went to college. I learned about it when my friend Kate's mother sent all of us St. Nick goody bags stuffed with chocolate and sugary wonderfulness - all things that were necessary heading into finals.

Last year my mother-in-law took care of St. Nick's day. She spoiled the grandkids with pajamas, toys and a movie. It hadn't even crossed my mind to make sure St. Nick knew about Addison's stocking. This year was a little different - I made sure St. Nick brought her goodies. She got socks, hat and mittens, a book and an apple. Her favorite goody?

The apple of course.

In addition to stopping by my house, St. Nick also stopped by Grandma Patty's house and made sure Addie got more goodies. Apparently, however, he was feeling a little more extravagant at Grandma's house.

St. Nick's treats from Grandma's stocking included pajamas, socks, stickers, a two foot tall hot pink tree and the book The Elf on the Shelf . Addie loved everything she got from her second St. Nick stash, but her favorite, of course, was the $1 sheet of stickers. Followed close behind by her pink tree. She showed minimal interest in the new book.

Within a day or two, however, the book became a favorite - 0f hers and of mine. The Elf on the Shelf is a story about a "scout elf" that lives in your house and reports to Santa each night about how you have been behaving.

I can imagine the conversation now: Santa, the little girl is behaving pretty well. But mother seems to just be drinking wine and surfing the Internet. The house is a wholly wreck.

Anyway, Addie has bought into this little gimmick hook, line and sinker. She named her elf Maggie and on her way to bed each night she says goodnight to Maggie. She also tells Maggie whether she's been naughty or nice - and is shockingly honest. She'll says things like "Maggie, I nice. I nap and listen" or "Maggie, I nice. I share and go pee pee on the pot". Some days she has to say "Maggie, I naughty. I spit and yelled and no listen" or "Maggie, tell Santa I want Jungle Book. I be nice, Maggie".

Each morning when Maggie gets back from the North Pole, she finds a new place to hang out for the day. Right now she is staring me down from the cabinet above my microwave. She has perched herself on the top of the tree, on the mantle, hanging from the dining room light, behind our map of Chicago and on the shower rod. Maggie watches and listens and reports. She can see Addie at school, at exercise, in the car, playing with her friends.

Addie isn't allowed to touch Maggie or Maggie'll lose her elf magic. But they do chat some days, even though Maggie really never has anything to say, Addie goes on and on.

Maggie is only with us for another week. On Christmas Eve she returns to the North Pole to chill with Santa until next winter.

I'll miss Maggie.

Who else is going to keep this two year old on the straight and narrow?

A new spin to the Daddy - Daughter date

He's held her hand through a lot of things. Through immunizations. On the merry-go-round. As she learned to walk. In the crashing surf of the Atlantic.

She knows her Daddy is there for her.

Even if there is Buffalo Wild Wings and what she needs is to pee.

On the potty.

And they are on a Daddy - Daughter date.

She still knew he'd hold her hand and walk her to the potty.

Even if the potty was the Men's Room.

And she knew he'd high five her when we was all done.

Even if her hands weren't washed*.

Lucky girl to have such a Daddy.

*Upon arriving home they were scrubbed and then her "pee pee on the potty" treat was given out.

The Grandmother Curse

All that hand washing is for naught - another 10 days of amoxicillin has moved into our house.

There has been an alarming trend of Addison being with a Grandma and then getting sick.

Last December we went to pick up Gramma Kathy from the airport for her Christmas visit and poor little lady came down with one of the nastiest rashes I have ever seen. February 2009, we were visiting Gramma Kathy and Addie came down with a cold, a fever and another rash from hell. What an enjoyable flight home.

This past August we spent a few days playing with Papa and Grandma Johnson in Chicago and Addie came home covered in snot and coughing like an emphysema patient. A week later she spent the weekend with Grandma Patty, while we played in New Haven, and came home sounding even worse than her visit with Grandma Johnson, not to mention she had a raised blotchy rash all over. Ooops, turns out she had walking pneumonia.

We dropped her off this Saturday for some quality Grandma Patty time (translate: we had a neighborhood party to attend that had TONS of "grown up juice"). When we picked her up on Sunday morning her nose was practically cemented shut with boogers. She was hacking up a lung, her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were red.

Today our wonderful, adorable doctor (who I wish was my friend and that we went out for wine together) confirmed that, once again, Miss Thang was sick. Ear infection. Yucky throat. Mucusy cold. Ten days of amoxicillin prescribed and a referral to an ENT doctor.

Nope, they don't want to shove tubes in her ears. They would like to rip her tonsils out. Sweet little girl has "kissing tonsils" or almost kissing tonsils. I guess her tonsils are on their way to first base, but just a little shy of making it. Those stinking tonsils cause horrid snoring, occasionally raspy breathing and apparently exacerbate her colds.

While she has inherited my amazing coordination and grace, it seems she has inherited her Dad's lymphatic tissue. Turns out sweet husband of mine had killer tonsils as a child - big enough that they made it hard to understand what he was saying (how hard is it, I ask you, to understand GO!TAR!HEELS!). His were yanked out.

And soon we'll find out if hers will be too.

Good Hygiene?

It wasn't until Addison was born that I truly became a fastidious hand washer. Sure, I would run my hands under water after, uh, using the facilities. But a scrubber I was not. I think that Purell Hand Sanitizer was the best invention in the world. I have it stock piled in my car, in my purse, in my house - it's pure genius.

I don't know why I found hand washing so tedious - maybe I needed fancy soaps, lotions, and nice towels. Either way, how gross of me. Obviously I had no idea how nasty it was to be so indifferent washing my hands. But when little bean was born I became a little obsessive about washing my hands. I didn't want to get her dirty, or pass on a bacteria or germs or whatever.

I wasn't overly paranoid about the cleanliness of other people's hands, in fact my sister was the only one who even thought to wash her hands before holding Addie in the hospital. Nonetheless, I became vigilant about the cleanliness of my hands. There is still Purell stashed all over, but my hands are now very washed and very clean - usually scented with Mrs. Meyers Lemon Verbena or Geranium soap and lotions. Hmmmm, I guess fancy soaps and lotions do factor into the equation.

It turns out that Addie is the opposite of how I was growing up. She loves to wash her hands. She loves being at the kitchen sink, at the downstairs bathroom, perched on her stool in the guest bathroom sudsing up. She'll wash her hands for as long as I let her - her hands, her forearms, her elbows, her shoulders.

I figure this is one quirk is one worth backing off of - a little OCD? Maybe...but she's clean.

And dang, those sweet little hands smell good.

For KahRen and Jeafen and Christie (and Carolyn too)

Karen and Jeafen found Addison's obsession with Beauty and The Beast a bit beyond entertaining. It wasn't so much that she loved the movie, as it was that she repeatedly, with heart, called it Boobies.

She's improved her speech pattern over the past few weeks and now calls it Bleauty and A Beast.

Unfortunately for me she is now mixing up the words peanuts and penis. I am mortified that she knows the word penis; impressed that can tell you that boys have them; and praying she won't talk too much about them in public.
However, at Thanksgiving she told Jeafen that "Ry Ry has peanuts" and today after spotting the peanut jar on the table she shouted to me "Mama! Addie want PENIS. Addie have penis Mama?".

Awesome. And by awesome, I mean crap.

Dear Mr. Nap,

I know that you have a somewhat difficult job. Working seven days a week is exhausting and you have every right to take some personal time. When we first hired you I found your work ethic to be inspiring - you provided nap time to my little darling (and thus me) four plus times a day. You were consistent. You were reliable. You were a life saver.

Time passed and I realized that you were feeling overworked and under appreciated it. I could relate. No one was high fiving me for nursing or changing diapers or doing eight loads of spit filled laundry every two days. I was sad, but not surprised, when you announced that you were limiting your responsibilities to two naps a day. I would take what I could get. And I was still thankful that you were working with us.

Time marched on, and suddenly there we were in another meeting and you were demanding your work load be decreased by 50 percent. Fifty percent! I was annoyed and frustrated and worried, but I moved on. I got us involved in play dates and exercise classes and story time. I learned the necessity of Sesame Street and Disney Channel. We continued to work together, you and I, but I could feel our rapport sliding.

And now this. We haven't seen you in days. You're not answering any of our calls and you've given no notice. That is unacceptable. At this time our organization cannot afford to have all naps taken away. We have a two year old who is irrational and obnoxious when she doesn't receive your services. We have a mother who can't get housework or blogging or gift wrapping or thinking done when you don't show up to work. We have a father who, after a long day in the rat race, comes home to no dinner, a filthy house, piles of laundry and two exhausted, unreasonable ladies. This cannot go on.

I expect that we will see you promptly tomorrow at 1 p.m. Once you have performed you duties, we can sit down and discuss at length our expectations, as well as your compensation. You are an invaluable part of our team and we are dedicated making your relationship with us positive and long lasting.

Regards,
The Mother