Did You Know

Stop. Before you scroll down any further go and grab anyone under six. Boy, Girl, happy, sad, democrat, republican, or steadfast green party member, go and get one of those little ones.

Ready? Now scroll down and ask if they know who this is?

Anna does. She pointed him out among the other popular titled books that Smith's carries. I wasn't there and had to prove the theory. I pulled out the only copy a good moderate-republican home would have(unless we are living in Idaho then we are democrats, just to give the state some sort of balance) a copy of Reader's Digest with only his profile showing and the other half being of his old enemy. Did I say old, well nothing is meant by that Senator McCain, I promise. So, she then in her toddler dialect recited his name: "Baraka Obama." Then she held it to her little hear and said, "My Baraka Obama." Her new found liberalism confused the older one who we were worried about breaking down the day after the election when he discovered the outcome. Luckily, he held back his tears of rage. So Jake, my outwardly liberal brother, who Anna loves because he owns Copper, a dog who will actually let Anna pat him, must somehow fit into this equation. Maybe it is just the way my two year old is trying to find herself, which I'm O.K. with. Now, if she starts tucking a portrait of Nancy Pelosi under the arm opposite her one selected for her "Baraka Obama" mag, that might be a different story.

Editor's Note: This is the second time I have posted a picture of our Commander in Chief. I do try to reach across the aisle, sometimes.

Maybe I should run away

FYI: I got a code yellow at Kohl's yesterday. One hopeful thought that spring must be close if the already are selling capris and that little escape artist, who would have much rather been home in her lamby slippers broke loose from her strolling prison, belt and all, and was off. Me, and the full Kohl's staff bushwhacked our way through the racks for which seemed like 3 hours, but only ended up to be five minutes, when here she came prancing down the slick white tiled aisle holding some other little girl's grandma's hand perfectly content. The grandma probably was some other little girl's mother and had gotten a Code Yellow too. I folded her in my arms and then she said, "Let go home now," hoping I had learned my lesson.

An Issued Apology

I must apologize for having to be your mother. I am sorry that I must beckon you to emerge from your covers on cold snowy mornings and make you eat more than a handful of Frosted Mini Wheats for breakfast. I regret to have to make you wear your coat, shoes tied, and pants,minus holes in the knees, to school. It is a bit embarrassing to have your mom as your fashion consultant. Twinkies, Cheetos, and pizza lunchables are all the rage, I understand, and all you get is a measly peanut butter sandwich, yogurt and pretzels. I regret that you have to be run around by me to scouts, basketball, and school activities with leaving you little time to play with your Webkins. It must be excruciating to have to do your homework before you indulge in the pleasures of after school: friends, T.V., computer, and snow fort building. It pains me to have to be the mom and ban you from these things when your behavior is not to my liking . I hate to have to tell you to vanquish your temper or lower your jovial voice so your sister can continue napping. I regret that I have to stand as referee between you and your sister and not let the living room turn into the WWF. I would much rather grow with you, spend hours adoring you, and allow you, and me, to eat nachos for dinner every night. The only thing is that I am trusted to be your mother and that is what I'll be, much to both of our great disappointment. That is because I like you. I like that you remember funny lines from the old movies Dad and I make you watch. I love that you like the Monkees a group fifty years before your time. As I watch you brother Anna, you present me with gratitude. Just Remember, as you get older I may not be as cool, my ideas for desserts for the Blue and Gold Banquet a bit lame, and not understand who you are trying to become but, I am you mother and always will be.

My attempt to save three dollars and become a Greeting Card Poetess

Dearest,

Roses are red, Violets are blue.
This is from me, whose back is askew.
Grapes are sour and honey is sweet,
I just stepped on your shoe with my bare feet.
Since it is yours I will forgive
because it is a part of where we live.
You put up with how much time I jog,
and when I put mushy stuff all over my blog.
I ask you to be mine and I’m not being trite,
even if sometimes I confuse my left with my right.
Yet you still work hard to bring home the dough,
as I rush around town with two kids in tow.
Our children we cherish from dawn until dusk,
Yet it is our evening solace that I lust.
I might be the only one who has seen you do yoga
or for that matter, dancing, shower sing, or wear a toga.
These are the things that I daily look forward,
knowing the goals we are together moving toward.
If my rhymes are a little bit slanted,
just remember our tree we have planted.
All my love I give on this crazy holiday,
with much more than I really need to say.
For the one thing that makes me feel grand
is when we are alone and you still hold my hand.

Patch Anna or Our Princess Pirate and her Spectacles of Wonder

For four hours a day we will be pirates. Guarding our bounty (Anna has excelled in this feat) and swabbing the decks. I wonder if real pirates have pink patches. I guess if their bounty includes Elmo colors, princess fruit snacks, and Barney stickers, they would. All two year old playmates please excuse Patch Anna when she pillages- she takes her role very seriously.

More tales of our swash-buckling princess to come.

Why I Love Date Nights

1. I don't have to bring my ten gallon bag with me. Extra changes of clothes, tissues, and Ernie squeaky books can stay with the sitter. A compact purse dangling on my shoulder or wrist suits me just fine.
2. I actually can put on lipstick for someone who cares more than the grocery clerk what I look like.
3. I don't have to worry about if the restaurant has cups with lids, detailed kid menus, yellow and pink crayons, and something with out onions on it.
4. My son is nine, so my two year old daughter actually has two babysitters. My worry meter gets to go down a slight degree.
5. We practice the art of witty and enlightened conversation. Although, we sometimes slip and start talking about our facinating kids who are just omnipresent, even on date night and that's o.k.
6. I get to hold Aaron's hand for more than five seconds during a movie when usually we must release or lovers' grasp to make sure our daughter isn't pulling the ladies hair in front of us.
7. I get to feel like, the Queen of Sheba, Audrey Hepburn, and the Queen of England when doors are actually opened for me. (Side Note: Aaron and Harris both open doors for me when they are in my company. But, when you aren't trying to get a two year old from hanging limp from you clasped hands, it is a treat.)

And sometimes, after the kids go to bed on a Saturday night and it is a bit late, say, past 8:30 p.m., it is fun to snuggle in bed and watch Move Over Darling. The whole time, remembering that night on our honeymoon when we watched another Doris Day flick and only to mention it the next morning to know your thoughts were aligned with mine. Those are the best date nights.