Nora's Practically A Money Guru.

And now, an exceptional money saving tip from the most unlikely of sources: Two year-old Nora Jane.

Looking to save a little bit extra on those peskily expensive items of produce? Live n' learn, folks, live n' learn. Here's how Nora does it:

We walk to Cermak Produce, our favorite exceptionally affordable Hispanic grocery store. Walking through its vast aisles of fruits and veggies, Nora happily announces that she wants apples! Eggplants! Whatever that spiky thing is! (One of those vaguely Dora the Explorer-shaped pinatas!)

I let her choose her favorites because, after all, hands-on toddlers in the grocery store and kitchen equals hands-on toddlers at the mealtime table! She asks to carry the eggplant. I thank her for her help and mentally pride myself on having such a helpful (and healthy!) child.

Nora surreptitiously takes two bites of the raw eggplant. I let it slide, even though I find it to be very weird.

She carries the eggplant to the checkout. I carry her sister and the rest of the groceries. We pay. Nora tells the cashier "adios." My heart simply bursts with the knowledge that I'm raising an intelligent citizen of the world.

We walk the block and a half home. Right in front of our house I tell Nora- yet again- what an awesome helper she is. She beams up at me and asks if I want a high-five.

I do.

As she lifts her left hand, she shifts the contents of her arms to her right side...

...So that she doesn't drop her stolen eggplant.

The donut was most likely lifted as well.

Can We Swap "Wordless" With "Instagram?"

Avocado Face.

The Burger Princess.

...And I call this one "Look At The Goober On The Side."

Easter Is A Full Contact Sport.

Those are some pretty special-looking eggs.

I spent a good part of last week preparing for Easter with the girls (and Peej).

We made paper Easter bunnies and plastered them to our front window. We braided traditional Armenian cheoreg biscuits to consume on Easter morning. Eggs were [carefully] dyed. We even unleashed the girls onto a wealthy neighborhood's egg hunt. Everything was in place for a cinchy, relaxing, and nice Easter morning.

Even though P.J. wanted to go to 8am mass at our church (to beat the crowds!), which is precisely two hours earlier than the usual mass that we attend/stroll into five minutes later. No worries. Because everything was set.

And even though Nora woke up at 3:30 in the morning, laughing like a loon AT NOTHING, we didn't worry. She'd fall back to sleep and be rarin' by 6ish. And when Suzy woke for the day at 5:45am- roughly an hour and a half early than normal- we still didn't fret. RELAXING, RESTFUL SUNDAY MORNING, that's us.

The girls discovered their Easter baskets- and indeed, Nora found Susannah's first and had to be pried away from it to continue searching for her own- and settled in to play with their pinwheels, Where's Waldo books, and new sippy cups. (For the allotted ten minutes before breakfast. Did I mention that we had to leave the house at 7:45?)

Nora actually went willingly to the breakfast table- perhaps fueled by an extra kick of sugar along the way- and was thrilled about the imminent egg wars. (My sisters and I have always thwacked Easter eggs against each others' eggs. The one whose egg comes through unscathed is declared the winner forever and ever Amen.)

She picked up a vibrant teal egg. I chose my trusty cherry red creation. She came at me with her egg.

It exploded.

BECAUSE THE EGGS WERE STILL RAW INSIDE.

Why? I have no flipping idea. It's not rocket science, nor is this my first rodeo. I've boiled eggs before. Like, on every Easter prior since I've had my own apartment. (Also, any time I want egg salad.) So I know how to play the game.

I was now covered in splattered egg whites and, by the time that I cleaned it all up, my allotted five minutes for breakfast was way beyond up. So I devolved into what P.J. would kindly term "a mood." He offered to scramble some eggs. I bit off his head and yelled that there was NO TIME. So I proceeded to re-hardboil the eggs, stripping them of any remaining lovely colors. P.J. attempted to help me walk away from the eggs, just walk away, but I was beyond reason. So I added a bunch of food coloring into the boiling water- all of the colors, in fact.

During this time, Nora and Susannah ate their [remaining] breakfast slowly, watching me with more than a little trepidation.

The result was a batch of weirdly purplish eggs, most of which cracked on their way to the pan. They were also entirely too hot to consume. Eat up, kids!

By now it was 7:30 and we needed to leave in fifteen minutes. I ran upstairs, gesturing wildly/rudely at my husband, and tossed on some semblance of non-wrinkly appropriateness. By the time I came back downstairs, P.J. had dressed Suzy in her starched white dress with blue trim- and it promptly wrinkled itself into oblivion. (Thanks for nothing, STARCH.) I wrangled Nora into her dress and attempted to take a sister picture of my two Easter bunnies- while Peej announced that he needed to go shave. (What? WHAT? If I had known we were taking the time for personal grooming, well then, I would have added another step or two upstairs, friend.)

The picture-taking was an abysmal failure. That's all. Just- abysmal.

A cross-section of the mayhem.

And we left the house at 8:02.

When we got to the church, it was jammed. We were led upstairs to the choir loft (which, okay, initially I was stoked about because, you know- I got to play in the choir loft!) But the view was terrible (except for an occasional glimpse of empty middle rows downstairs, come ON), and ridiculously poor audio...until P.J. turned the speakers on.

Followed up by a little boy turning it off again- ha ha! Great game! Another lady allowed her kids to run around and play video games on her phone. Someone behind me was snoring.

But Zuzu slept on me, filling me with a sense of peace (and also longing for some sleep of my own), and Nora happily placed ladybug stickers all over everything. Peej and I held hands. The sun was shining. And- despite everything that had happened in the morning and the fact that we could not hear a thing- it was a lovely service. We decided to hit the reset button on the morning's craziness and enjoy the rest of the day together. This cheerful proclamation filled us with a renewed sense of purpose for our morning.

And it lasted until we all stood up and realized that the fly on P.J.'s suit had been down the whole time.

The Big Six (Months).

Oh Susannah,

Yesterday, you turned six months old.

This is crazypants.

It's sometimes hard to believe that you did not even exist until your Dad and I said to each other, "You know what? This Kid Thing is so awesomely fun that we should have another, and then the fun will never ever have to stop, not even once."

A few things have happened between then and now, such as you grew fingernails and blood cells and simply wild amounts of blonde hair. Your sister figured out that high-pitched noises make you laugh like a loon. And food, as Nora would put it, Is A Very Good Friend.

During this half of a year (very recently, in fact), you've started to express pleasure and recognition and sheer joy by waving. Not just a simple salute, mind you. Nor is it a coquettish wiggle of fingers. Your wave is a forceful acknowledgement and request for attention, starting with the hinge of your shoulder and ending with your splayed fingers.

You're no shrinking violet. I like that.

Suzy, we like everything about you. Including all eight million of your names.

A long time ago- way back before you were even the gleam of a second baby and, in fact, Nora was barely a realized first baby- your Dad and I were at a Magnetic Fields concert. (It was great, by the way. You should see them sometime.) Then, for no particular reason whatsoever, I leaned over to your father during a quiet moment and whispered- "I like the name Susannah if we have another girl." He leaned back. "Can Mae be her middle name?" "Sure. That's pretty."

BOOM. Named.

It also helped that we had fallen really, really in love with James Taylor's version of your eponymous song.

Your nicknames- Suzy and Zuzu- are even more whimsical. Back in the mid-80s, there were two things that I liked a ton. (Okay, there were a bunch, but for the sake of time, let's just call it two): My set of Suzy's Zoo stationary and Tesla's album Mechanical Resonance, featuring the song "Little Suzi." (What kind of little kid were you, you're wondering? One with multiple penpals and a drummer godfather who liked to gift me awesome hair metal. That kind.)

And Zuzu comes from "It's A Wonderful Life's" Zuzu Bailey, the little kid with all the petals. (Factoid- that movie makes all men cry. I've seen not only your Dad well up, but also your uncles and both grandfathers, too. That's a movie.)

And so we gave you all of these monikers, knowing that you'd grow into some and outgrow others...and maybe even come up with a few of your own. That's totally cool.

I can't wait to see what kind of name you'll become.

I think you'll be a bit of a hippie (like your father). You already exude this sense of peace and subtle mirth, like- It's all going to be fine, it's actually really funny, isn't it? Let's have some more applesauce.

Or maybe you just really like your applesauce.

Either way, I hope that no one ever takes advantage of your easygoing nature- and that you never let them. The world is too wonderful to settle for someone else's mediocre plans.

The other day, as Nora was attempting to kneel on your chest and touch your eyelids, you grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and dragged her head to your mouth. The shriek you let out didn't indicate pain, didn't show exhaustion, and wasn't a cry of sadness.

It was a battle cry of- STOPPIT. (And oh, how it worked.)

So I think you'll be just fine. Because, really, it's the Slow Boils that everyone's gotta watch out for.

Especially if they have killer pale blue eyes like you do.

Come to think of it, maybe I should watch out for you, too.

I love you to the moon (and back), Buttercup-
Your Mom.