But What If I Forget The LIST?

Photo courtesy of Emi Clark.
Doc's color courtesy of Tide.

Packing for the girls is always a big deal.

I wish it weren't.

But the one time I pushed my borderline OCD tendencies aside and just, you know, threw stuff into a bag...No one had socks. Susannah didn't have nearly enough diapers. And I actually packed one half of a baby monitor. (The part that lets you know what the kid is doing. Helpful, so long as you also have the part that goes near the kid's head.)

Back in the old days (three years ago), back when I was way thinner and cooler than I could be convinced of by any mirror image, I packed precisely and neatly.

For our epic trip to Rome, I actually drew out each day's proposed outfits in my travel journal. Because- and this cannot be stated enough- I had too much time on my hands. (But I looked awesome. This cannot be stated enough, either.)

I seemed to have lost a goodly amount of brain cells between then and now, however, since I'd probably forget the girls' carseats if they weren't attached to the car.

So I make lists.

And even though it can be painful to know you have to write down things like "shoes" and "cups," it's more painful to arrive somewhere without the darned "shoes" and "cups."

It'll be good to get out of Dodge for a few days- even for a short road trip- with everything neatly packed into three duffels. One can almost pretend that all of one's worldly possessions are listed on one tiny little piece of lined paper. (And not jamming multiple rooms in one's dilapidated Money Pit, most of which are decorated on all sides by foam stickers.)

In other This Gal Needs Some Real News news- Doc Bullfrog has lost his rattle. That's right, Doctor Bullfroggy- the lovie who has had the green loved right off of him- has lost the soothing shakey sound located somewhere within his bulbous head.

This may be bigger news to her parents, who have long detected their eldest daughter's a.m. stirrings by the familiar tinkling rattle. Now Doc is a ninja. And now Doc is showing signs of aging.

My sister told me that there are few things sadder than having your kid say he doesn't need to bring the lovie somewhere...and the feeling of desperation where you kinda want to remind him to, anyhow. Because that object of affection is the last tie-in to actual babyhood- something Nora's been leaving behind in leaps and bounds.

And on days where she's a sticky-headed monster, a shrieky bundle of fuzz, and crabby pile of tired...seeing her clutch Doc to her nose and suck her left thumb ("Is it okay to suck my thumb, Mom?" "Sure, babe.") is a poignant reminder that my soft, sweet baby is still in there. Under all that peanut butter.

I'm gonna put Doc on my pack list. And I'll underline it twice. Because that threadbare greenish frog head is an important member of the family and a comforting, familiar face (for all of us).

At least 'til he loses his face.

Milestone Month.

Everybody feeds the baby...

...And Big Girl beds are for Big Girls.

Is This A KISSING book?

Next, I shall paint my sister.

It's totally almost Valentine's Day. And I have plans.

Huge ones.

For starters, Nora and I have already chosen pink and red outfits for ourselves. And for baby Susannah. And for P.J. (Sorry, P.J.)

We've lined up a few messy, glittery projects for the day- among them, a fabulous Martha Stewart craft that will either a) light up our home and 'hood with sparkly loveliness, or b) burn down the block.

I'm planning on pestering my best friends, sisters, and parents with badgerly texts of enduring love. They will reciprocate. Or I will be forced to use my phone to call. Or Skype. Or hit them with it at the next available juncture.

Breakfast and lunch will be eaten off of potentially non-food-safe decorative plates and platters adorned with hearts and cupids. Doilies- the ones not shredded by safety scissors- will most likely line the kitchen table, and holiday napkins will be utilized. (And if Nora decides to eat only one bite of each thing, I will not force the issue. Because on a day of Love, we all get to do what makes us happy. And if the crusts do not make you feel full of Love, then- by all means, Nora- do not eat the crusts.)

A Valentine's Day nap will be had. For it is a holiday, and I always nap on holidays. (Always.) And even if Nora and Zuzu aren't really feelin' this one, we shall nap. This differs only slightly from the Full Of Love rule mentioned just prior to this one. (Food is food, but sleep...? There are rules.)

There may or may not be an awesomely decadent dessert project in the works...which may or may not lose all of its Wow Factor due entirely to the two year-old sous chef leaving her own special li'l mark on the treat, on the counters, on the walls, and on her little sister. But I bet it'll still taste really good.

Dinner will be a ridiculously extravagant affair, naturally. What will she be preparing, you might ask? Is it her husband's favorite meal? Nope. Her favorite meal? Not so much. It is, in fact, the toddler's favorite meal; eggplant parmesan, extra parmesan. (Getting to wash the red sauce out of her hair that evening will just add to the day's festivities.)

And there are presents, obvie. Since neither girl (to the best of my knowledge) knows how to read/has internet access...I can spill the goods. An Angel Cake friend of Strawberry Shortcake's for Nora. (Since, every time she plays with her "Strawberry Girls," her sad refrain is: "I don't even have Angel Cake.") And for Susannah, a pink sock monkey. (By the time she reaches adulthood, she'll either have a deep and abiding affection for these sock monkeys...or a definite and very real fear.) And for P.J...

NICE TRY, P.J. You'll have to wait and see. (But hint: It's covered in glitter and fingerprints. Actually, that's not so much of a hint. Everything in the house is currently covered in glitter and fingerprints. It's one of the cats- surprise!)

But I do have a list of expectations for this bright n' shiny day. And it doesn't even include flowers. (Because P.J. brought me purple tulips yesterday. He knows that Holiday Flowers are way trumped by Any Ol' Day Flowers.) And it doesn't include couples massages or fancy dinners (because you cannot get fancier than our eggplant dinner- you cannot) or jewelry or even songs dedicated on the radio (a la Live 105.5. Anyone?)

I would like a Valentine from my husband. The kind where he's actually sealed the envelope. (He's notorious for not sealing the envelope, which comes off looking like it was just handed to him on the darned train. Invest the time! Seal the envelope!)

It would be great if we could watch one of the most romantic movies of all time. Here's the trifecta: The Princess Bride, The Thin Man, and So I Married An Axe Murderer. (As You Wish, William Powell, and Haggis? I'm swooning.)

Maybe a crossword puzzle in bed. Especially if I'm allowed to hold the pen, sparing me that sideways-head-cramping-my-shoulderblade thing that always happen when people share crosswords.

I live large, I know.

Wishing you a Valentine's Day of love and unironically played power ballads,
Keely

Ferris Bueller Ain't Got Nothing On Me.

But I already ATE all the sugar.

There comes a point in any illness where high-pitched whines and manic energy overtake any real cold symptoms- excepting, of course, a positively astonishing sea of boogs.

Our household reached that point roughly two and a half days ago. That said, there is nothing particularly wrong with today.

Except.

I find myself possessing less than no desire to wipe or scrub or fold or sort or sanitize anything whatsoever.

In fact, it would be terrific if today could be declared A Day Where People Don't Hafta Touch Anything Unless They Wanna.

Let's go one step further. Let's add an addendum for this Day where, because we clearly don't give a fig for organic- or even hot- food on a Day like today, we get to eat cereal straight out of the box. Maybe we'll even make cookie dough that will never even see the inside of an oven because, on this Day, our apathy makes us stronger than salmonella.

On this Day, I want to remember how wonderful it feels to pull a heavy down comforter up to the side of my face as I snuggle in for a midday nap. I want to remember it AS I AM DOING IT. The kids can come, too. As long as they know that we are there to sleep. Not talk. Not play with figurines. Not chew on my shoulder.

Today, my word count is at 45,909. I would like- for this Day only- to have the word count remain at 45,909 and for everyone currently in the house to be totally cool with this. Guilt-free. Proud, even. This will be the thought in my mind as we all settle in for the blanket-on-the-face nap.

This is also the Day where I am not The Queen Of No. So when Nora, clutching an armload of winter gear and chasing Ender, informs me that "kittens need mittens and cats need hats," I'll nod appropriately and see how that storyline unfolds. And if- just as a suggestion- I tell her that the cat might snap at her from underneath his fleece earflaps, I will take her gleeful hope that it'll turn into a choreographed number from West Side Story as a truly valid one.

Today could be the day where I find out just why, exactly, those Birds are so Angry.

It will definitely be a Day where my kids could tell you- in great detail- How To Get To Sesame Street.

And as soon as I extract my toddler from beneath the couch and remove the glittery stickers from her eyelids, I'll tell her so.