Commencing Girliness

Over the past few weeks Mark and I have started noticing ways that Anneliese is becoming sort of... girly.  It's interesting because we've never really pushed any particular toys or behaviors with either of our kids, and much like Nathan has never been too stereotypically all boy, Anneliese hasn't yet been very typically girly.  She loves books and legos (neither especially boyish or girly), and anything Nathan is playing with.  She has a particular affinity for airplanes but I don't know if that has more to do with her big brother or her.  So it's funny to us that now, in the last month or so, she's tending more and more towards behavior that's traditionally assumed feminine.

(Actually, come to think of it, this is about the same age when Nathan started showing a real interest in trucks and planes and things that go -- his one real streak of stereotypical boyishness.)

Anneliese is newly prone to a maternal streak in taking care of Hattie, she frequently pulls diapers out of her bins and tries to put them on a variety of stuffed animals, and now she's apparently craving the world of dress-up.  Any shirt or dress (or hey, Daddy's underwear, why not?) that she can find in a laundry basket or drawer or bin comes out rapidly and goes over her head. 

(We keep wondering how it's possible that she's already better at dressing herself -- at least when it comes to tops -- than Nathan at three.)

She's also exhibiting some behaviors that make us nervous for her teenage years: a flirty streak, a well-practiced art of playing hard-to-get (her favorite response to almost anything is to shake her head no, but she grins sweetly the whole time and clearly wants to be asked again), and shows no hesitation in using her "feminine wiles" (she's not even two!) to get what she wants.  And you'd be surprised at how many people it works on.

This is stuff we've never seen from Nathan, and might be more indicative of her second-child personality than any true girly streak.  Maybe.  I mean, she's still not overly girly.  But still, I think we're on the verge of a trip down a girly lane we've not been on yet as parents.  And this one will be complete with airplanes. :)

A Tick Story

If you know me at all, you know I don't like bugs.  (Understatement of the century.)

They make me cry.  They make me holler, loudly.  They make me panic.  In many cases, they make me vomit. (Gross but true.)

On some level, I know they're perfectly harmless and benign little creatures.  But then I picture them crawling on me or seeing their little nasty legs moving and [note: I just freaked out and gagged a little writing the first half of that sentence] I get all panicky and heebied and jeebied and eeeeeeeew.  I know it's irrational.  But I really really don't like them.

I'm pretty sure I can blame my mom for this.  (She's the one who once saw a cockroach, freaked out and jumped so hard -- and landed so wrong -- that she broke her leg.  Yeah.  That happened.*)  And unfortunately I think I've passed it onto Nathan.  He has seen me freak out over bugs enough times that he now hates them too.  Flying near him, crawling near him, generally existing while he also tries to exist.  He's not a fan.

He's even scared of butterflies.  Sad but true.  Even I'm not that bad.

So picture this:

We're at the new house right after lunch.  Nathan is sitting on the potty trying to poop (for the third time in twenty-four hours; his ongoing Poop Issues are a story for another day) and I see a bump on his leg, and I try to scrape it off and it won't come off and then suddenly the little bump has legs that are wiggling and moving and eeeeew it's a tick and it's still alive and drinking my baby's blood and eeeeeew and I can't even see the head and then I practically throw my child off the potty so I can vomit into it.

Mommy fail.

His poop pain crying is promptly replaced by there's a bug on me get it off get it off shrieking.  And can I just say this?  Naked constipated three-year-olds in bug panic mode are loud.

So we both hold each other in the bathroom and cry for a few minutes until I finally get it together enough to make four phone calls:

1- to Daddy.  What do I do? Help me! Bugs are your parenting jurisdiction!  No answer.

2- to Another Nathan.  Because... I don't know, he's like our family's go-to person for panic mode these days.  And he works in an office with a computer and he's a fast and efficient googler even when he's on the phone with a crying crazy person. We quickly determine that if I can't get a firm grasp on the head with tweezers (eeeeeeeeew) -- and I can't -- I need to get a doctor or nurse to do it for me.

3- to Nathan's doctor.  Who can see him in twenty minutes.  Super.  That is, if I can get someone to stay with Anneliese (who is somehow sleeping through the crying vomiting buggy constipated chaos).

4- to Daddy again.  Come home now. Help me figure out a sitter for Anneliese so can get the bug off our son who is still standing pantsed in the bathroom freaking the f out.  He comes home.

Through all of this, there is a very loud and steady stream of I don't want the bug on me it's hurting my bottom hurts I don't like the bug get the bug off me my bottom hurts I don't want the bug mommy I don't want it to be on me happening in the background very front and center of my awareness.

It took the doctor two lollipops and about fifteen minutes of digging to get the tick out of Nathan's thigh.  It had been there since last night (I think he tried to tell me about it this morning, but I didn't understand or wasn't listening carefully... mommy fail, again) and it fought the good fight but in the end was no match for the variety of tools (and calmness) at our doctor's disposal.

(Incidentally, did you know that tweezers are a tool and that they're silver?  Like an airplane?  And that silver commercial jets are Nathan's favorite planes?  Because I heard all about this through a stream of tears in the exam room.  And I thought I should share.  It seemed like urgent news at the time.)

After the tick: a milkshake makes everything better

If Nathan has a fever or flu-like symptoms in a few weeks, someone remind me that this happened, ok?  Don't let me chalk it up to just a bug or something.  (Pun intended.  You're welcome.)

*In case we needed another one for the I'm-not-the-klutzy-one record.

Renovation, Days 23-27

This weekend was a strange combination of feeling great about how much progress we're making.... and feeling completely overwhelmed by how much work still needs to be done, how much it's costing us, and how we've spent money in a few short weeks that took us years to save.  It's both scary and exciting.  I think I might or might not be too pregnant (or just generally emotionally volatile) to handle this kind of project gracefully.

But.  It will get done.  It will get paid for and it will get done.

Here's Mark painting the trim in our downstairs half-bath.  I think he looks even hotter than normal when he's working on our new house. ;)

Nick, working on the same bathroom.  I am ashamed to say *I* took this picture, not Nathan, although it looks like it was done with the mad photography skillz of a three-year-old: 

Our new bay window for the bonus room is finally in!  I love it and it makes me oh so happy!  Now who wants to make me a cushion for the window seat bench?

Another Nathan is either doing touchups or yelling at me to not take his picture.  It's one of those.  Maybe a little of both.

Somehow I hadn't been making many lists for the renovation itself, but I finally remedied that... and I am so much calmer and feeling better about what all needs to get done and when/how it's going to happen.  Yes, I took pictures of my lists.  Roll your eyes if you must.

Master bath color samples.  *Sigh*  Yes, I'm at it again.  I picked none of these three, for the record.

Nathan and Anneliese have gotten very good at entertaining themselves if we need to work some while they're awake.  Some days are easier than others.  This is one of the good days, playing together in Anneliese's huge new room (yes, we're giving our middle child the biggest bedroom -- somewhere out there, Ashley is hip-hip-horraying):

In just a few weeks (because it *will* get done) we will be living here!  Wow.

Hattie

Remember Hattie? 

She's a delightful little frog wearing a delightful little pink gingham dress who came into our lives in October, from my Aunt Debbie, as a gift for Anneliese's first birthday.

I was taken with her from the start (cute, quiet, lightweight non-licensed character? win) and I'm sure that my own Hattie-snuggling encouragement has played some part in this, but....

oh man.

Anneliese is hella attached to this thing now.

Nathan has spurted in and out of toys he's attached to, some longer than others, but almost always replaceable by something new or cool or just distracting.  He has never loved a toy the way Anneliese loves Hattie.

(I think the attachment is breeding more attachment.  Hattie is almost always a surefire way to soothe tears, so we use her.  And then she's out of the crib.  And involved in all the playtime.  And then... even more attached.  Even more likely to soothe tears next time.  And so the cycle continues.)

(I'm sure this is a totally normal thing for toddlers, but because we didn't really go through it with Nathan, it feels like brand-new parenting territory for us. How attached do we let her get?  Under what circumstances does Hattie leave the crib?  The house?  (Right now, it's only if Anneliese needs to sleep somewhere else, like an overnight trip or naptime at the new house.)  Do we need to buy a backup Hattie?  How does this whole lovey thing work?) 

Anneliese has finally picked up on the fact that if she throws her toys out of her crib, we're not going back in there to pick them up for her.  Dropsies is a game that might work on her big brother, but it definitely doesn't work on mommy and daddy. So she might throw her other toys on the floor at night, but she's learned not to let go of Hattie.  She snuggles with her all night and frequently uses her as a pillow when she needs a playtime respite during the day.

Hattie comes with us most days to the new house to snuggle during naptime.  And then gets dragged around on the floors afterwards.  And did we mention the new house is kind of hugely dirty and grody?  So Hattie gets kind of dirty and grody.

...So Hattie had to have a bath.  In the washing machine. While both Nathan and Anneliese hovered around on the laundry room floor (Nathan's favorite t-shirt was in the same oxy-soaking load, recovering from a paint smudge).  It was an amusing juxtaposition of sweet and sad.  (Everyone survived the night with minimal tears, in case you're wondering.)

Yesterday Anneliese spent at least half an hour (that's eternity in toddler time) trying to buckle Hattie into the spare car seat at the new house.  I like that she's maternal and, well... girly in a way.  It's like her first doll.  :) 

So for anyone who likes Anneliese, I hope you like slobber-covered paint-stained well-loved girl frogs too.  Because Hattie is here to stay.

Yale (Not Scream)

Our friend Mary brought this shirt back for Nathan after she spent a good bit of last summer at Yale (she's smart like that).  Nathan looks adorably collegiate and scholarly in it, don't you think?  Like such a smarty boy. 

If you think so, it's only because you can't hear him talking about it. 

Your daily Nathan: with a sweet southern accent

Turns out our sweet little genius baby can't say Yale.  He can say... yell.  No matter how many times we try to get him to say it, and how many words we try to get him to rhyme it with (say tail like what's on your tiger, say mail like your mail truck, say whale like in your book, say yay like you're happy), it still mostly just comes out yell. 

At one point when I asked him what his shirt says, he replied matter-of-factly, Yell. Not scream. It's not nice to scream. Is that a little bit naughty?

{sigh}

We're officially giving up.  He can call it whatever he wants.  He's clearly not going to school there anyway.  :)

Renovation, Days 20-22

Today begins the fourth of a "four week" home renovation.  Someone tell me this house looks like it's a week from being done.  Someone?  Anyone?

{{cricketschirping}}

This week has brought our most expensive and frustrating construction "surprises" (those lovely things everyone warned us about with home renovations) to date.  The termite damage under the guest house is far more comprehensive than was originally estimated, and when they pulled up the floor to treat the foundation and prevent future infestations, they found...

Nothing.  Those blasted termites ate every floor joist, down to absolutely nothing. See where those beams end? 

That's the difference in using pressure-treated wood (which termites apparently won't touch -- they have picky toddler appetites, don't you know) and regular old termite-yummy wood. So this half of the guest house was basically being held up by air.  Comforting, no?  Who wants to be our first guests?

So instead of just treating for termites and laying new flooring, they're now basically rebuilding the whole underside of the house.  And the bottom half of one of the walls, both inside and out.  Oh, and added some construction scaffolding and beams so the workers can do their jobs safely without the whole thing, you know, falling down.  Good times, good times.

This is the guest house from the back.  Budget stretched tight though it is, we're definitely putting doors back on, don't worry. 

In other parts of the house, a paint elf stopped by earlier this week and did almost all the touch-ups needed in the living room and kitchen.  The new bedding for our master has arrived and we love it.

And the bonus room is being pieced back together, bit by bit... still waiting on that new bay window, as you can see:

Oh, and the big truck perpetually parked in our front yard is currently sporting Czech plates on the front.  Because... of course it is.

We're meeting with lots of pool renovators this weekend and we hope to pick one and get the work started super-soon.  We figured out this morning that it's a fancy saltwater-chlorine system and is in better-than-expected shape, which is making me even more excited to swim!!  And that's what I'm thinking about today.  Because pool fun totally trumps termite damage.

Every time.

Marsh Creek Playground

One of the things we'll miss most when we move into our new house is the plethora of playgrounds in and around our current neighborhood.  We'll need to find some new parks and playplaces near the Anderson house when we move. 

Last week, when the weather finally got for real warm, we took an afternoon off of painting and went to play at Marsh Creek Park, which is a newish option (both for us and for Raleigh in general) for outdoor rambunctiousness, with lots of thoughtful details -- a separate smaller climbing area for kids under five, rubbery springy ground (softer than pavement or dirt, not as messy as mulch or sand), and puzzle- and musical-type play equipment (like this) for those children who might not be so, um... athletically inclined.  Ahem.  Oh, and a fence enclosing the whole area.

She can't climb up to him.  He's scared* to slide down to her.  They just sort of reached for each other and whimpered a lot.  Star-crossed siblings on the playground.  Whatevs, they still had fun and we're all so glad spring** is really here!

*Add it to the ever-growing list of things Nathan is timid about: slides.  No, really. 
**Mark dressed Anneliese.  I dressed Nathan.  Note the weather discrepancies.  Also note that both children were sweaty by the time we went home.  (Read: I was right.)

Tuesday Mood Miscellany

I'm in a Mood today.  I started off this morning feeling great, but then expensive construction surprises and church exhaustion (don't you hate it when church gets in the way of church?) got the better of both me and Mark for the day.  I can't quite bring myself to make a happy-things list, which is usually a surefire way to force a good mood out of myself.  But I can at least think about some other random things than what's frustrating me at the moment.  Right?

**********

Someone please tell me I'm not the only one who has fallen for the recent onslaught of ads for Honey Bunches of Oats Raisin Medley. After several weeks of painting with the radio on (and not changing the station for commercials), I couldn't resist it anymore and I had to buy some.  Even though I hate myself a little for falling for their ad campaign.  But you know what?  It's delicious.  And I just finished my third box of the week.  That's right, I have no shame.

**********

My couch has a funk.  It's true.  It smells like a mix of feet, butt, and that old stale dog hair that hasn't been cleaned out of the vacuum cleaner in a month (you know you know exactly what I'm talking about).  In other words: gross.  And we only smell it when we sit on one certain part of the couch.  Weird?  So we have vacuumed out every crevice, oxy-wiped every exposed surface, and febreezed the non-exposed surfaces (while temporarily exposing them to dry).  Not sure if this is nesting-related, or if my ueber-sensitive pregnancy smell palate (smell palate? is that a thing?) just prompted an odd spawn of motivation.  Either way, the funk has to go.  Pray that our cleaning efforts today will work.

**********

Nathan took this picture of himself standing in our new backyard.  Try not to be too freaked out.

This image might or might not have made appearances in two recent nightmares.  Someone tell me this is funny instead of freaky, ok?

Renovation, Days 15-19

Happy spring!  It's still quite cool in our new house, but the weather outside is awesomely warm, and every hour I've spent painting has included several longing glances outside (at the dump of a death trap that is our current pool situation), wishing I were in a lounge chair or splashing in the clean water with my kiddos.  All in good time, right? For now, I'm happy with the progress so far. 

Painting the trim in our bedroom:

Full disclosure:
That bag of doritos was totally mine, not Mark's.
Likewise the package of oreos cropped out of this shot.

And now I like the color we chose even more than before; the fresh trim makes it look even better: 

Trying all those sample colors was totally worth it!

Living room trim is done, and fireplace is scrubbed (there's nothing several buckets of oxyclean and a fair amount of elbow grease won't fix, right?) and painted:


Living room: fireplace before and after


Painting the trim in Sprout's nursery:

Getting ready for baby!

Sprout's room, complete with hand-me-down crib from Nathan's church friend Frank:

I remain secretly jealous of the dormer windows in each of my children's bedrooms.

The bulk of this weekend was spent painting the kitchen trim, including all the cabinets.  We had a little helper underfoot at times:

Can I climb this? Can I touch that?
Does the paint on my chin go with my outfit?

But Another Nathan has mastered a new kind of multi-tasking:


Even like this, he's a better painter than Mark and I are.
Be impressed.  Be very impressed.


A black and white kitchen isn't exactly my taste, but black and white is so much better than black and cream (all together now: ewwww), and wow does this fresh white paint make it look better in here now!


white > cream


Still lots more painting to do.  Lots more renovating to do, in general.  Hopefully we can slow down the hemorrhage of renovation dollars and get everything done!

Best Wakeup Ever

This morning, Nathan woke up for the day right as Mark was getting home from night shift.  To buy me an extra hour of sleep (awesome), Mark settled Nathan on the couch in front of Sesame Street before he went to bed himself. 

After the show was done, Nathan came upstairs and quietly ate his yogurt at the desk in the sitting room next to our bed.  And then climbed up next to me and scratched my back til I woke up.  And then we snuggled.  For a long time.

Your daily Nathan: first thing in the morning

I cannot, cannot think of a better way to wake up in the morning. 

(I've been accused of having "mommy wood" in these situations.  And I stand guilty as charged.  Oh man these moments make me so stinkin' happy.)

Still Sweet Sleepers

Clearly I am still not cured of whatever disease causes me to take pictures of my children any (and every) time I catch them sleeping.  I doubt a remedy is coming any time soon.  I hope not, anyway. 

Try not to keel over and die from the sweetness of Anneliese during naptime, ok?  It will be hard not to, but you can do it.  Dare to live for another day of sleepy cuteness.

Your daily Anneliese: sweaty with a hitched up dress... very ladylike

There is something about the way Nathan's face when he's sleeping that makes him look exactly like his newborn self to me.  No one else sees it, but that's ok.  I think it's something in the way his mouth puckers.  I look in the rearview mirror, and I don't see my dozing big boy like everyone else will see in this picture.  I see this.  It makes me cry a little.

Your daily Nathan: that chocolate milk must've
had sedative properties we didn't know about!

Til the day I die, I will maintain there's not much sweeter than sleeping baby.  (And yes, they will always be babies.)

Renovation, Days 12-14

We're two weeks into this renovation!  In theory that means we're halfway done.  I'm not sure what the reality is.  I'm not asking yet.  But things are definitely moving along.

Our bay window is gone! Don't worry, a new one (with no termite damage! awesome!) is on the way.  But also the hole in the house is gone, now we can work on getting the furnace fixed and running!  Words couldn't do justice to explaining how tired I am of painting in the cold.  Or how tired my co-painters are of hearing me talk about how I'll never get warm again.

Um, there's an old roof in our backyard. (But a new one on the house!  So we'll take it!)

Blogging on the back deck. Apparently I make this face whenever anyone* points a camera at me?

*including my darling son, who took this picture

These arched doorways are one of Mark's favorite things about the new house, and I have to admit I like them a lot too, especially now that the paint and trim work is done in here!  (Not in the kitchen, ignore that part.)  Also the fact that this banister is no longer black, but white to match the rest of the trim, is still making me insanely happy.  :)

My sweet girls Anneliese and Bowden love all the activity on our new busier street:

Look, I totally took pictures of the house progress this time.  Someday I'll catch our builder Brad working away and capture his smiling face for bloggity posterity.  He's kind of cute.  Just sayin'. Til then...

Addicted to Baby TV

I've recently gotten completely sucked into that new baby show on Lifetime, One Born Every Minute.  It's the newest manifestation of a trend that for me started with A Baby Story, and over the years has included Deliver Me, Birth Day, Adoption Story, Special Delivery, and even (don't judge) I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. 

I know I should probably stop watching.  Birth stories in real life don't actually neatly tie themselves up in time for the end of a tv episode, and the notion of a baby finally in a mommy's arms is the end of the story is off the mark too.  But... I just can't look away.

Five reasons I am completely addicted: 

1.) I am simply a sucker for a good birth story.  I read them online, I drink them in on tv, I hang onto every word after each of my friends has a baby.  I love it.  Every labor is different, every story is different, every family and hospital and situation is different.  Maybe for some people, it's a lot of the same thing, but oh not for me.  Anyone who has a birth story I haven't heard, call me.  I will relive every minute with you.  In legitimate fascination.

2.) Dads in the delivery room are never not hilarious.  The ones who are freaked out by their wives' down there parts all babyfied, the ones who don't seem fazed at all and stare in gory fascination, the ones who cry the whole time, the ones who complain that their chairs are uncomfortable or they're tired (really guys? really??), the ones who pass out at the sight of the mess, the ones who are sweetly (but usually naively) over-educated about birthing and have all sorts of their own ideas, the ones who are clearly terrified of their laboring wives, the ones who can't put down the cameras, the ones who stand by uselessly and look dazed and confused... I love 'em all.  Endless entertainment on the daddy front.

3.) I secretly love it when moms go into their deliveries all set with fancy birth plans and talking the big talk about going all natural and having an unmedicated birth, and then they cave when they see how much it really hurts.  Yes, I know that's a little bit terrible.  No, I am not opposed to natural births or the moms who go for that, and I'm genuinely happy for any mom who gets exactly what she was hoping for out of her delivery.  But really, I just adore rolling my eyes at the first timers who are so sure of what they will want and need.  I have so much more respect for the moms who go in saying they want to try it a certain way, but seem to have an understanding that sometimes things don't go how people plan them.  But the first-timers on a preachy pedestal about it?  Not cool.  Because here's the thing about labor pains: until you've actually done it, you don't even know.  The ones who come in on a high horse, I kind of love to see them knocked off.  Don't talk the big talk unless you know what you're talking about, mmkay?

4.) I am an awesome armchair childbirth quarterback.  Seriously, I'm an expert.  (I've done it twice.  That makes me an expert, right?)  I love fussing at the nurses I hate, praising the ones I love, questioning a mom's refusal to take a nap once the epidural is in (sleep! this is your last chance!!!), yelling at her to stand up for herself when she needs something that isn't happening, explaining to her what her cervix is doing and what that means for her in terms of contractions and timing, what her back labor means and how to manage it, encouraging them not to get scared (sunny side up? no big deal, you can do it!), and most of all throwing in my two cents about the terrible baby name choices some parents make.  I'm an excellent supervisor.  From where I'm sitting (on my couch, not in their actual lives), it really looks like I should be in charge of all these births.  Just sayin'.

5.) I'm juuuust foolishly sentimental enough that the sight of a baby being born and crying for the first time and the tearful chorus of happy birthdays coming from anyone in the room... oh man it makes me cry every. single. time.  It doesn't matter if I've been invested in the show for an hour, or just caught the last thirty seconds and final push, it never doesn't hit me.  Hard.

Halfway to Sprout

Twenty weeks.  Just shy of five months.  We're halfway through this pregnancy!  (Well, we're halfway assuming she comes on time, anyway.  But is anyone actually assuming that?  Doubtful.)

Just last night, at twenty weeks exactly, I felt her squirming around in there.  Such an awesome feeling, and I had been craving the reassurance that an unborn baby's constant movements provide for my mommy worries.  She's ok.  She's in there, she's alive and kickin'.  And she's doing well. 

Today it's still new and exciting, and I know that in a matter of weeks I will feel her so much and so often that I almost won't notice it anymore.  But I also know that come August, when she's finally on the outside, my body will feel too still and too quiet, and there are no plans for any more babies to flutter around inside me again.  So I want to drink it in while it's happening now.  It makes me feel like I'm hanging out with her, and it's a good reminder that she's with me all the time (even though I know she always was).  I like that her little squirms and kicks and wiggles make me feel close to her.

I swear, when I look in the mirror I don't see this much belly.  But, yeah... there it is.  (Also when I look in the mirror, my bedhead hairdo looks cute and tousled and sporty, and that's not what the camera shows either.)

Happy halfway, sweet Sprout!  See you this summer!!

Renovation, Days 8-11

Lots more painting in these parts.  We've moved on to the trim work.  It's... tedious frustrating necessary something.

Mark working on the living room wainscoting:

Only a three-year old could get excited about naptime simply because we put a hand-me-down crib mattress on the floor of the dormer window in his new room!!!  Oh, sweet Nathan.

The horrible black steps and bannister are going away!!

Yes, Another Nathan painted all afternoon and then changed a diaper* (and then, not pictured: let two kids drive cars all over him then helped with dinner).  Yes, he's up for sainthood.

Nathan is never happier than when he's helping, so we let him paint some shelving.  (Try not to notice how gross and scary the pool is right now, mmkay?)

And then he got to "help" Daddy put them up:

The paint dripped like this, all on its own!  Not as cool as a Jesus face, but still... no, I take it back. It's just as cool as a Jesus face.  Especially for the three self-confessed music nerds in the room at the time.

Yeah, um, I just realized these are all pictures of us, not pics actually showing how the house itself is coming.  I'll totally take better pics this week, I promise.

*He only knows how to work cloth diapers, I had to talk him through changing this disposable.  What have we done to him????