Who doesn't love a good tummy flower?

Remember how I said that one month/six months/eleven months was my favorite age? I was wrong.

Turns out, my all-time favorite is a week shy of twenty months. (It's true.)

Sure, we're smack dab in the middle of the Terrible Twos on-ramp...which is really just a dramatic way of saying that someone is incredibly bossy and specific, with simply awful fall-out if not instantly heeded. (But I've worked in the theatre since the age of nine. This is nothing. Ever seen a diva with a improperly set wig head? A stage manager with a lost clipboard? A sound designer with a half-drank Snapple...by someone else?) I fear not my daughter.

Besides, I've always been exceptional at placating/distracting/tickling.

Last night, as a special treat (for me), I decided to forgo the nightly bath and let her play with her Little People instead. It was a humid night, her playroom is wonderfully cool, and her father is in tech rehearsal every night this week. (Besides, it wasn't like she was covered in blue cookie cake frosting- again- or anything.)

She set up a village for herself (out of a cast of hundreds) starring a fairy castle, airplane, carousel, train track, and small fleet of emergency vehicles. Nora sat herself in the center and quickly went about placing pets on the Ferris wheel. Fairies in rail cars. A king in the pilot's seat. When each seat and room was filled to capacity...she Godzilla'd them down. And then offered up an empathetic apology full of contrition and tears. Then she rebuilt the town. And promptly caused a car crash into a nearby farm stand. She finished it up by berating a character wearing bunny ears that We Don't Hit.

My point is- I could watch her play with her things all day long. And sure, I'm not feeling the sharpest mentally that I ever have (although I knocked the socks offa The Curious Village the other night, I will have you know). But I think I still have a pretty decent sense of humor. And this kid is funny.

She is a pitch-perfect mimicker. The phrases that she remembers (and she remembers all of them) and reuses are frighteningly spot on. And frightening.

NJ also has reached that critical age where she no longer requires my services at the park. (In her mind.) I still think that a ten foot high shaky bridge is no place for an assertion of independence- especially when its flanked by a) a twisty slide and b) a ten foot ladder drop-off. But I guess I'm just old fashioned. And way too girthy to squeeze up the ladder to retrieve my kid any longer. (For the next three months, at least.)

Last night she helped me make supper; salmon in a yogurt and mint sauce. The mint was from our garden, and every time we pass it, she needs to take a bite. ("Oh, my mint!") Every. Time. So last night I took a gamble that she'd dig the recipe. And she did. "My mint! Dip, dip, dip." The running commentary can get a little old, but hey- have you ever dined with a foodie?

Sometimes she seems impossibly grown-up, with big kid preferences ("I take my vites, now") and an uncanny awareness of exactly which devices and gadgets are capable of playing Dora videos.

But at night, after she's jammied and basted with apricot oil (or frosting), after the eight trillion books and sips of water, but right before the interrupted songs with requests for different ones...

...she's just my baby, resting her head against mine, with Doc Bullfrog pressed between us. And until she starts kicking her little soccer star legs against my sides with impatience, I can almost pretend that she's a lumpy little newborn again.

But then she kisses me- with added sound effects- and I snap back into the reality of how much more fabulous this is, anyway.

And that feeling lasts until I discover yogurt on the cat.

Cookie Cake Redux...

Starring our pal Blue Frosting.

Okay, I had WAY more than one.

This past weekend- to quote The Office- rocked my face off.

To start the festivities, our lovely friends Annie and Jared came for a visit on Wednesday night (which, I realize, is not the weekend. Unless you're 20 years old. Which I am!) and stayed through today. This is great. And I'm superbly happy that they stayed with us, as their dance card was quite full with friends and a wedding and such...that it was a good way to guarantee we'd see them at least twice a day.

Anyone want some blue?

On Friday, N.J. and I surprised Peej with a cookie cake from Jewel (the grocery store)...but it was no ordinary cookie cake. It was one that kids could DECORATE! (Apparently, when you give my child a choice of any color frosting or sprinkles or decorative cake-like things, she will choose...blue. Lots of blue. (It was ridiculously delicious, btw.)


On Saturday, A and J drove to Iowa for a wedding (which, Massachusetts friends, yes- it's possible to do from Illinois) and the mini Schoeny fam walked over to our neighborhood's block party. (Peej made brownies because he's amazing. Also because I do not bake.) There was an insane amount of food (and coleslaws. Neighborhood parties require a boggling amount of coleslaw). 


There were free snow cones. (As many as you wanted, turns out! Trust me on this one.)


A fire truck showed up- which usually signals a disturbance in the 'hood- but not this time! It was, in fact, there for eager kids- and some enthusiastic adults- to tour while wearing mammoth fireproof coats. As one kid who was a dead ringer for Jerry O'Connell in Stand By Me positively shrieked- "They're letting you GO INSIDE THE TRUCK!" (This kid also announced in the exact same voice that the firefighters were opening up a hydrant and that the prizes for all of the games were CANDY...so it's safe to say he was pretty darned excited about the day.)

Sankyou, siren.

We couldn't stay too long- for we had a barbecue to attend. (Lest people feel like we're the Swelly McPopulartons- rest assured. Come February, no one takes our calls. But we're a pretty good social occasion/big crowd bet. 'Cause, once again, P.J. bakes brownies.)


And the bbq was fabulous. Our pals Sara, John, and Owen had us over to their gorgeous backyard and we all had a blast watching our respective kids get muddy/splashed at the water table/cover themselves with creamsicles. And they have very cool friends with very cool/quite muddy/dessert-ed up kiddos. 


I even had part of a beer.


And it was really great. 


Since we had a feeling that Nora would conk out early and without incident, we planned a date night. Peej suggested taking his laptop out back and watching a movie under the stars. I mentally prepped the popcorn. 


Sheer seconds after tucking Nora in her bed, P.J. stretched out on our bed and- mid sentence- started to snore. I thought he was kidding. (He was not.) I amended the evening's plans by eating a column of brownies (don't your brownies get eaten in columns? No?) and finished Professor Layton and The Curious Village on my DS. (Because sugar makes me brilliant.) And yes, no need to tell me. I am an awesome date.

Dad, you're the daddest.

The next morning was Father's Day, and Nora celebrated by clinging to him like a barnacle, singing his name, and opening his present for him. (She made a silhouette of herself for him- I helped- and it looks awfully cute next to the one we made last year. We're also facilitating the buying of his new shoes- that he will choose. For he is terrible to surprise. Awful. The worst.) There was also a Mickey and Minnie card that, while not exactly Father's Day material, was The. Only. One. That. Would. Do. 


We even got to go to Victory's Banner, the brunchiest brunch in town! (Happy Father's Day to us all!) 


That night, after Annie and Jared returned to town, we surprised her with a li'l ol' surprise party to celebrate the big...29. Again. Again. Her loving husband threw the whole thing together and it was hosted by the gracious Brea. All I did was pick up and deliver the cupcakes from Sweet Mandy B's and show considerable restraint in not buying out their entire shelf of individual coconut cream pies. Seriously, people. 


I also got to lie to one of my very best friends for a good couple of weeks, up to and including the ridiculous whopper concerning Nora's sitter. ("Why are we spending money on a sitter for our Game Night at Brea's? Why not just have it here at your place, Keely?" "I...just feel like going out. On a Sunday. Even though P.J. has tech rehearsal. And the sitter's coming after Nora's bedtime. 'Cause we have a very specific start time to this Game Night. No reason.) Yet again, I would make a terrible spy. 


ALL worth it when we got to see her expression when a room of her closest friends began singing Happy Birthday to her...and recording it all on iPhones. Ah, the future. (Annie and I had shared birthday parties for a number of years- back when video capability didn't come on phones. Heck, phone capability barely came on phones. But the lack of documentation is most likely a check in the plus column. Ah, the past.)


The food was stellar, the company even moreso. (But seriously, the cupcakes. I had- more than one. My weigh-in for 24 weeks this a.m. is bound to be a good time.)


If this past week is any indication of the summer ahead of us, I am le stoked. 


And if I don't slow it down, I will also be le huge. 

And no baby classes this time, either!

A good friend of ours (and neighbor! Like real people who have neighbor friends!) recently lent me his copies of Brain Age 2 and The Curious Village for the Nintendo DS. This is timely. As someone who cannot for a day lapse on the staving off o' dementia, not to mention the much-debated Preggo Brain ('cause as much as I hate to rely on hormonal excuses, I showed up for work last month sans diapers and/or milk. For a  ten hour day!), I need all the help I can get.

Also, I recently remembered that I possessed a Nintendo DS. My friend Nat gave it to me back in the day (pre marriage/pre baby/pre homestead/post brunch- sigh) and I had hidden it in a fit of traumatic guilt after I had accidentally starved my Nintendog to death. (Maybe they should TELL you that, even though the game is powered off, the dog is still requiring food and rolling about in his own filth!)

I'm sorry, Nat. I didn't want you to find out this way.

So, yes. Brain teasers.

Apparently I have the Brain Age of an 82 year old. (This is the truest thing I've ever typed- it literally came up as "Uh...82. The ideal Brain Age is 20!" Yeah? So is body type, but you don't see me fretting that one.)

And sure, maybe the perfect time to try out new software/test the ol' brain is NOT at 10:30pm, in jammies, under the covers, pretending that one's husband is pretending to not drool on one's shoulder. (See, kids? The awesome does not have to fully stop after your childless twenties! Just most of it!)

I promise to give it another go. I'm clearly a work in progress as, just this morning while emptying the dishwasher, I put my full coffee mug away in the cabinet.

And I realize that I haven't posted about this pregnancy as much as I had with Nora, formerly known as The Bitsy. And yes, I also realize that it would be impossible to fill as many self-absorbed tomes as I did with my first pregnancy ("No one else has ever had an ultrasound like this"/"Turns out heartburn is REAL"/I've decided to go BPA-free...and I'm the first one, ever").

But seriously, what do we really know about this kid, other than his/her birthdate (October 4th), penchant for cured/processed meats (liverwurst and microwaved salami- breakfast of champions), and facial features (just like Nora's and P.J.'s- shocking)?

Okay, not much.

But the stuff I know I really like. I have less fear this time. (Which is an absolutely asinine thing to say- anyone who's ever even been around a kid knows that you should never lose your terror, ever.) However, the things that used to send me for the baby manual, nurse's hotline, and sister's cell in the middle of the night (sorry, Kate), doesn't freak me out so much anymore.

Crippling nausea? Take a box of Triscuits to bed. (It also discourages any pesky cuddle time.)

Peeing every hour on the hour? Nope- not bladder cancer. Just regular ol' pee. Sometimes there's nothing even there! (Oh, HAH.)

Kid kicking way too much at 3am? No, she/he's not trying to tell me that something is horribly wrong with the umbilical cord (I was a mess, this I realize). It's just the kid's way of saying hullo, thanks for the soft tacos.

Perhaps this knowledge combined with the fact that we are not rebuilding a foreclosure in the 7th month this pregnancy also helps with my feelings of well-being. I'm not [too] garishly huge [yet], my cravings are still whimsical, and this new kid already has multiple places in which to sleep once he or she makes a grand arrival.

I like The Monkey a lot.

So does Nora, but she fully believes that her sibling is already here, in the form of my swelling tummy. That's right, she kisses "the baby" and pats him/her, and believes that is that is that. Sibling rivalry NOTHING. Having a baby is easy when it makes no sound and requires no additional attention from her parents. Mainly Dad. Which is good. Status quo is awesome.

I don't foresee any major obstacles, do you?

No change needed, here!