Girls' Day Out

I mentioned already that the eldest son, Poppy, and I stayed in a hotel near the Albuquerque airport on Wednesday night. There was no reason for Poppy to come except that she doesn't like it when I go anywhere without her, especially overnight. And she does like to travel. 

I knew she was coming with us, so I purposely chose a hotel that had an indoor pool. That and proximity to the airport were pretty much the only criteria for my selection.

Of course we went swimming the night we arrived at the hotel.

I definitely did not choose to have a "pool view" room. Why on earth would anyone want to overlook--and overhear--an echoey pool?

I did not actually swim this night, to be honest. I'm not much of a water person, and the idea of having to take a shower before bed was unappealing. So I just sat there on a deck chair and monitored the fun.

Mom the lifeguard.

I had warned Poppy that coming with us would mean getting up very early and sitting at the airport for awhile, and that part would not be fun. She accepted this and was in fact very patient with our 5 a.m. wake-up and two hours checking in, going through security, and sitting at the gate until the plane left.

We left Poppy's stuffed dog, Jillian, to guard the hotel room while we were gone. She takes her job very seriously.

It's been several years since I've had the opportunity to watch a plane actually pull away from the gate, since the days of going to the gate to say good-bye or meet arrivals is now over.

But after that, it was Fun Girl Time!

The first thing we did when we got back to the hotel around 8 a.m. was eat breakfast. It was one of those buffets featuring many bread products and cereals, but this one thankfully also had scrambled eggs and ham, plus one of those ubiquitous waffle makers that you fill with the tiny cups of batter and flip over.

Poppy had a bowl of Froot Loops, some scrambled eggs and ham, a waffle, and some apple juice. This is the most I have ever seen her eat at breakfast.

After that, it was back to the pool. I do not think this pool room was heated. The water was actually steaming when we got there, even though it wasn't particularly warm water. Thankfully, there was also a functioning hot tub.

Poppy got in the hot tub first. 

This thing had some seriously intense bubbles. A bit too aggressive for me.

I got in the pool first, knowing that once I got in the hot water, I was never going to bring myself to get back in the cold pool. We spent a little bit of time working on Poppy's dog paddling and water treading before I declared myself done with the chill and gratefully switched to the hot tub. The pool had a shallow part that Poppy could stay in to play around, and I was only about two feet away in the hot tub, so I could keep an eye on her.

I did get tired of even the hot tub before she was ready to go, so I sat on a deck chair--covered in two towels because it was freezing in there after I had gotten wet--while she played happily in the hot tub.

I did have to eventually cut her fun short, however, as we had a long drive and a stop for groceries ahead of us.

After going back to the room to shower and change, we stopped by the breakfast buffet one more time as they were packing it up so I could get another cup of coffee and Poppy could get a bagel with cream cheese. 

We took these in the car with us. As we were leaving Albuquerque and she was munching her bagel, "Eye of the Tiger" came on the radio. Poppy exclaimed, "Hey, this is 'Eye of the Tiger'! I love this song!"

Then she said, "This is so great, Mom."

I asked her if she meant the song or her bagel.

"Both. I love music and I love bagels."

So easy to please, this girl.

After she finished eating, she settled herself with Charlotte's Web. Before she started reading, though, she said casually, "If you see a spa, you should stop. Since we don't have any brothers with us."

I was kind of surprised by this and asked her what we would do at a spa, wondering how she knew about spas at all. They're not places I frequent.

"Pedicures and stuff."

Oh, right. I forgot about that Fancy Nancy book. Obviously, she didn't.

In the end, we did not stop at a spa, instead stopping at Walmart to buy groceries on our way home. 

So maybe it wasn't a typical girls' day out, but Poppy sure enjoyed herself. And so did I.

Little Hands

One of the best chores for a small child to help with is pulling the basil leaves off the stems.

Small leaves for small fingers.

Other things she has done with/for me recently: 

--Skinning and pitting thawed peaches

--Bashing cabbage for sauerkraut

--Hanging the socks and underwear on the clothesline

--Sweeping the covered porch

--Dusting the couch feet/lamp bases/anything low down

--Organizing my bathroom drawer (I did not ask her to do that one)

--Chopping potatoes

--Making a fly swatter out of a stick and a piece of cardboard . . . that actually works

--Decorating for the Fourth of July

I'm not saying my sons weren't helpful as young children, but this girl is a whole other level. It might not last, but I'm enjoying it while it does.

Six

Today, my youngest turns six years old. That means that today is the day for this poem. 

Now We Are Six--by A.A. Milne

When I was One,

I had just begun.

When I was Two,

I was nearly new.

When I was Three,

I was hardly me.

When I was Four,

I was not much more.

When I was Five,

I was just alive.

But now I am Six,

I'm as clever as clever.

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

Happy birthday to my girl.

The Soundtrack of an Era

Today is Poppy's last day of preschool. Our preschool is two days a week (but long days--from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.), so she's been going only on Mondays and Wednesdays for the last two years. Those are also the days I work. That meant that Tuesdays and Thursdays were days when her brothers were at school, and she was at home with me.

Lately, our days at home together have always included music. I typically spend the mornings working in the kitchen or cleaning the house, and Poppy was always ready to put on music for us. She got quite adept at finding her favorites (heavily influenced by my own childhood in the 80's) on YouTube. Now, of course, YouTube remembers what we listen to most frequently and queues it all up for her.

She would often spread out two big blankets on the floor to make a dance floor and then ask me to dance with her. Of course, I did.

All dressed up for The Stray Cats. (She was trying on her Easter outfit.)

I know we can still dance, but it's no fun with a bunch of boys rolling their eyes. She starts kindergarten next year, which means our regular girls' days are at an end. YouTube might even forget our playlist of songs. 

But I won't. I won't ever forget.

P.S. You want to know our playlist, don't you? Of course you do. It always starts with Poppy's favorite song.

"Girls Just Want To Have Fun"--Cyndi Lauper

"Stray Cat Strut"--The Stray Cats

"La Isla Bonita"--Madonna

"I Wanna Dance with Somebody"--Whitney Houston

"Rock This Town"--The Stray Cats

"Conga"--Gloria Estefan

"Walking on Sunshine"--Katrina and the Waves

A Very Fancy Spa Morning

Poppy's Easter book this year was actually a whole set of books: Fancy Nancy. She was given one of the early reader books featuring Fancy Nancy by her preschool teacher and immediately fell in love with the character. I have to admit that Fancy Nancy is quite charming in all her over-the-top ways, and the books are not really as vapid as they sound.

One of the books in the set I got her was Ooh La La Spa! It's Beauty Day, in which Fancy Nancy treats her mother to a very fancy home spa day. Poppy, of course, was immediately captivated by this idea and wanted to do it. 

I am not much of a spa person myself, so I was not notably enthusiastic about the idea. However, when her brothers went on a field trip to Santa Fe with the elementary that she was not allowed to go on, I consoled her by telling her we would make it our spa day.

The book that started it all.

We followed some of the things in the book, and decided on some things ourselves. Poppy made a schedule for us:

The referenced "Boy Helper" was a last-minute addition when one of her brothers was home.

 As per the schedule, we started with a foot soak. I used two packets of some absolutely ancient foot soaking powder that came originally from Blackrock. They must be at least 30 years old. I have no idea how these two packets ended up in New Mexico with us, but this seemed as good a time as any to use it.

Seriously, MiL, how old do you think this is?

Because we are country bumpkins, I used a rubber feed tub as our soaking tub. Poppy added some marbles, as Fancy Nancy did, so we could massage our feet on them.

Here we are, soaking away our foot misery.

Next on the agenda was a face mask. There was actually a recipe in the Fancy Nancy book for a face mask that was just mashed banana and honey. Because I can never leave well enough alone with recipe, I also added some oats, and then a little water to make it more spreadable.

We even had a cucumber for the necessary slices for the eyes, thanks to A.'s recent trip to the Outside World. So I found "relaxing spa music" (my exact search) on YouTube and we prepared to get beautiful.

Appropriately masked.

Poppy applied my mask for me.

She was very generous with the oats. 

After cleaning ourselves up, it was on to manicures and pedicures. Poppy did this for both of us.

Pedis in the kitchen.

The end result was a lot of blue nails.

Twenty each, to be precise.

Finally, a tea party. This was not in the book, but we love a good tea party in our house. I had made cookies earlier in the day, and I made some very fancy cucumber finger sandwiches.

I even cut the crusts off, which is something I typically disapprove of.

And that was our DIY home spa morning. It was fun. And, of course, fancy.

T.T.: A Birthday Tip

Before Poppy was born, many people said something along the lines of, "That's going to be the toughest little girl ever." I myself thought she couldn't help but be a tomboy with three rough brothers to follow around all the days of her life.

I should have known by my fourth child that I can never make assumptions. They have this way of turning into people completely independent of my own expectations.

Today, Poppy turns five years old. She loves pink, purple, perfume, sparkles, my high heels, jewelry, and dancing. She also loves fishing, camping, eating fish eyes, and riding the horses.

The best of both worlds. And the best girl I know, for sure.

Happy birthday to my girl. Fly high, always.

Monday Bouquets: Birthday Flowers for the Birthday Girl

Today is Poppy's fourth birthday. My sister brought her some flowers for her very own.

In her favorite colors, of course.

And here's the birthday girl getting her hair french-braided by her flower-bearing aunt.

Too bad the birthday girl's mom has no idea how to do fancy hair like that.

Happy birthday, Poppy. Long may you reign.

Thank You!

I appreciate all the kind comments on yesterday's post, and it looks as if Tuesday Tips carry the day. 

And now for your real thank you: an adorable child story. Whee!!!

So. Poppy's hair is now long enough and thick enough that I can do things like put it in ponytails. Or pigtails. 

She also often asks for a bun, mostly because my hair is usually up in a (very, very messy) bun. 

So, we have a singular ponytail. And the plural is pigtails. (Even though both ponies and pigs only have one tail, yes.)

And then we have a singular bun. So what's the plural of that?

Poppy knows, and she told me.

Behold, pigbuns:

The name is almost as cute as the girl.

You'd better believe that I will be calling that hairstyle pigbuns for the rest of my life. And I will be sad when that girl is too big for pigbuns anymore.

Milk Jugs for St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I celebrated my Irish heritage* a day early by planting out the cabbages. It has become my own little tradition to plant them on or as near to St. Patrick's Day as I can. The appropriateness of it pleases me. 

But since Wednesday is a work day for me, and our forecast for Tuesday night was for rain, I decided to do it the day before.

So! Yesterday my lovely assistant and I went out and planted nine cabbage seedlings.

She took care of the milk jug placement and the watering after the planting.

The end result, while pleasing to me because I can envision our summer coleslaw in these beds, is not actually aesthetically pleasing.

We decided to try a new crop this year: plastic milk jugs.

Just kidding. The milk jugs protect the tender young plants from the overly aggressive sun and wind. Kind of like individual greenhouses. Except not as attractive. The rocks keep the jugs from blowing away.

We've learned some lessons in our three years so far of gardening here.

Unfortunately, our forecasted rain changed to a Winter Weather Advisory. I can't un-transplant the cabbages, so we'll just have to cross our fingers and trust to the milk jugs.

And if those fail, I suppose I can always start more seeds.

* I actually do have quite a lot of Irish ancestry. My love of potatoes and cabbage is genetic.

Boo Boo Bandaging: A Toddler Drama in Pictures

 

I just love a happy ending, don't you?

As Heard in the House

 

Poppy decided it was high time she went camping and fishing again, so she informed A. of this fact.

Me: You're a real outdoors girl, huh, Poppy?

Poppy: Yes. And I'm special.

Me: Yes, you are special.

Poppy: And cute.

Me: Okay, don't overdo it. Vanity is unappealing.

I was in the kitchen preparing to can sauerkraut, which involves first heating the sauerkraut to boiling before putting in the jars. During this process, Cubby came through the kitchen and exclaimed, "What is that SMELL?"

Me: Sauerkraut. Now move on.

Next, A. came in the kitchen and said, "Why does it stink all of the sudden? It smells like the sewage backed up."

Me: No, it's not sewage. It's sauerkraut.

A.: Oh. Well! That's some powerkraut.

And then I spent about two straight minutes laughing to myself in the kitchen. You know next time I cook sauerkraut, I'm going to tell them all we're having sewage for dinner.

Three

 

Happy birthday to

my girl.

In the Wee Hours

 

Is there anything more tedious than listening to other people talk about how tired they are? Not really. 

But I am, indeed, very tired this morning and I'm going to talk about it. Because the reasons are actually pretty funny.

The plan was to go to sleep early last night. The toddler, however, had other plans. At 8:30 p.m., she was still calling to me from her room to tell me this very important information: "Mommy! 'Rain' and 'Rainbow'! They rhyme!" It wasn't really the time to get into the difference between rhyming and compound words, so I just replied, "Well, no. But rain is the first word in rainbow. Now go to sleep."

So I didn't go to bed until around 9 p.m. Still okay, though, if I could just sleep uninterrupted until at least 5 a.m.

Ah, the optimistically wishful thinking of the tired mother.

At 3 a.m., the same toddler was calling to me from her bed so I could fix her covers.

At 3:45 a.m., that very same toddler was crying in her room. Presumably this was a nightmare because she didn't actually wake up, but did quiet down when I went into her room.

At 4:45 a.m., the five-year-old was demanding to know who put water in his bed. As if one of his brothers would rise from their sound sleep to splash water in his bed while he was sleeping.

Well, actually, I wouldn't put it past them, but this time they were innocent. Turns out, he was just sleeping very heavily with his mouth open and just woke himself up with his own drool.

But that was it for me. I gave up at that point and just got in the shower.

And so now, I am tired. But at least I have plenty of time to drink my coffee before we get on the school bus. 

Plus, I used to get a lot less sleep. Like during this crazy time:

So cute. So exhausting.

Even though I'm tired today, at least I have a reasonable chance of sleeping tonight, which was definitely not the case in the previous decade of my life with newborns and toddlers. So, you know, silver linings.

The Fourth First

The First Haircut is a classic example of what happens the more children a person has. Let me offer my own children for illustration.

Cubby the Firstborn's first haircut was at an actual salon. He wore a little cape with colorful frogs on it; I took a picture; and I paid ten dollars for the experience.

Charlie the Second Born's first haircut was in the bathtub when I noticed his hair when wet was entirely too long. No cape, no photos of the event, although I did get a couple of photos of his hair after it was done.

I have no recollection whatsoever of Jack the Third Born's first haircut. Definitely no photos, no post, not even any memory of it.

Then there's Poppy the Fourth Born's first haircut. I have a picture of it, but only because it happened in our kitchen and because A. was her stylist.

His services are very reasonably priced.

The only reason she got a haircut is because she demanded it after watching A. cut my hair.

I asked him to do this because my hair had gotten really kind of ridiculously long. I usually get it cut about every six months. Last year, that was when we were in New York in the summer, and thus only ten miles from a salon, and when I took my solo trip to a small city overnight in January, and thus had time to myself in close proximity to a salon.

I am not now, however, in close proximity to a salon, nor do I wish to drive 90 miles to get to one. So I asked A. if he could cut my hair.

Now. My hair is long, which is forgiving of, um, slightly irregular haircuts and mistakes, but it is also very curly. The curls are the tricky part. I always ask for layers. So this wasn't a snip straight across the bottom I was asking for.

However, A. is a handy guy who enjoys new challenges, so he did some YouTube research and announced himself ready. 

He collected his supplies--a comb, my sewing scissors, and two hair ties--asked me to wet and comb out my hair, and then had me sit in a kitchen chair with my head hanging down, as you see Poppy doing in the above photo.

He had decided it would be best to use the methods for self-cutting curly hair, but to do it for me. This involves combing all the hair over the hanging head and putting it in a ponytail before trimming, then sectioning some off in another ponytail and trimming again for the layering. 

There was a third ponytail for a third layer, but it would have made my hair in front too short to pull back, which is a key concern for me. So he just did the two.

It came out well. Poppy's came out even better. A. was very pleased with his handiwork, as he should be, and I am very pleased that I no longer have to try to find a way to drive a hundred miles and pay 30 dollars for a haircut.

So now I cut the boys' hair, A. cuts the girls', and we all live happily ever after. 

The End.

Masks Are the New Mittens

 

One of the most annoying things for me about winter weather is making sure all of my children have two mittens (or gloves) before we leave the house. So many hours of my life have been wasted searching backpacks, pockets, and cars, or throwing every hat and mitten out of the box by the door looking for a matched pair. Or at least a left and right of something, anything to cover hands.

I do this a lot less now that we don't live in the far north, and I am still grateful for it.

But now! Now each child needs a face covering every time we leave the house! And those face coverings are small masks that are liable to get left behind wherever they go. The boys are pretty good about hanging theirs up by the door or keeping them in their backpacks. If the masks make it home.

But Poppy . . . Poppy is the Bermuda Triangle of masks. Hers just disappear. Sometimes in the house, sometimes in the car, sometimes . . . I don't even know. 

Right now I have one for her on the bus, one in my purse, one presumably lost in the car, and one I think got lost in the house. I'm running out of masks for her and might eventually resort to duct taping her masks onto her ears so she can't just take them off and fling them any old where.

Just kidding. 

It is annoying, though.

The End of an Era

 Poppy has always had her own idea of when the appropriate time is to reach milestones. 

She quit nursing on her own cold-turkey when she was 14 months old.

She decided she was ready to use the toilet at around two years old, and three months later, we were done with diapers entirely.

She insisted I remove her booster seat from her chair at the table about a month ago. Her chin is now about level with the table unless she kneels on her chair, but she was done with that booster and there was to be no discussion about it.

And now, the crib has been retired.

Bunk bed ahoy.

That was the bed my brother made for his daughters when they were sharing a room. When they decided they wanted their own rooms, they each got a single bed and he asked us if we had any use for a bunk bed. We didn't at the time, but I knew we would need a bed for Poppy eventually, so A. brought it back with him from his trip to Tucson for Thanksgiving last year.

Then it sat in the barn for several months. But today, we hauled it out, hosed it off, and set it up. 

It was a little sad retiring the crib that has been in constant use since Cubby was born. That's more than a decade of putting babies in that old, hand-me-down crib with the cheesy lambs painted on the side that we got from my friend Alyssa.

But there's nothing but big kids in this house now, so out goes the crib and in goes the big bed.

Sniff.

Fancy-pants

Poppy recently discovered the bag of dress-up clothes and jewelry my mother left here last time she visited. I had hidden the bag in my closet, intending to save it for a literal rainy (or snowy) day, when indoor distractions are more necessary. 

She found it*, though, and I can't be too annoyed, because just look at this:

She also brushed her own hair just before this, which is why it has so much, ahem, volume.

(Sparkly pants courtesy of my sister-in-law, who sent some of my niece's outgrown things and this pair of pants immediately became the favorites here.)

She actually decided she doesn't like the tiaras, so I might have to wear those myself.

This girl has zero examples of ultra-feminine style. I certainly don't fill that roll, and the only other inhabitants of this household are bucks. If you'll pardon the woodchuck expression. 

So I guess this great desire for sparkly things is just hardwired.

And also hilarious.

* She found it because I had to clear everything out of the closet to investigate the mouse scurryings we were hearing at four in the morning. Which is when I discovered the little cache of nuts the rodent had stolen from the pantry and secreted away in between the folds of a blanket. GROOOOOOSSSSSS.

Some Small Slices

Let's just say that these photos and the accompanying explanations are small slices of the bizarre pie that is our life. Because there's really no other connecting theme.

We'll start with yesterday and work back in time.

Slice #1

In the summer, it is often the case that I spend all day trying to get my children to stay outside, and then they go out about an hour before bedtime. That means that then I have a very hard time getting them back IN.

It's very annoying.

On the plus side, though, we do all get to see skies like this as I'm marching them inside by the ear. (Literally.)

The view to the east looked alarmingly like a mushroom cloud.

And the view to the west looked much more impressive in person. (Both photos--plus about two dozen identical ones--taken by Cubby.)

Slice #2

There is a bull snake that hangs around our property. Cubby has named him Howard. Howard is liable to turn up anywhere, but the other day, the dogs' frantic barking alerted us to the fact that Howard had turned up under the bunk bed in the covered porch*.

We put the dogs in the shop to get them out of the way, then A. nudged Howard out from under the bed and out the door. The children were thrilled to be able to examine Howard up close.

Relatively speaking, that is.

Given that Howard is most likely the same snake that struck at me in the chicken coop, I don't feel quite so friendly towards him as the children do. However, bull snakes do eat rats and gophers, so I grudgingly tolerate his presence.

Slice #3

Remember that goldfish pond Cubby was excavating in the back pasture? Well, he hasn't gotten it big enough for goldfish yet, but it was certainly big enough to make a satisfying children's pond when it filled up after several big rains.

Muddy play is the best play.

Okay, I think that's a big enough pie for now. Over and out.

* Yes, there is a bunk bed in our porch, left there by the previous owner. I think his nephews used to sleep out there when they were visiting. We use the top bunk to store junk we don't want the kids to get. The bottom bunk is now a dog bed, and the space under the bed is also a dog den.

Photo Dumps Are Fun, Right?

Sure they are. And who couldn't use a little more fun in their lives?

I mean, how fun is this photo of the top of my old stove?

I do not miss this filthy black junk that got all over my kitchen.

Also fun: Blurrily captured acrobatic displays by two-year-olds.

Just after this was taken, she started to actually stand on his head, and I cruelly had to end the game.

Cookies are definitely fun, especially when they're completely made by someone who is not me. That is, by Cubby and Poppy.

Poppy was in charge of the chocolate chips, and she took her job very seriously.

And then there was the homemade pasta Cubby requested we make.

This child has definitely (and unfortunately) inherited my love of simple carbs.

There! Wasn't that fun? Back to our regular, boring lives now.

Knock, Knock

Did you know knock-knock jokes are a two-year-old's joke of choice? At least, they're Poppy's. She can even tell one all on her own.

Here is her favorite joke, just in case you need to entertain a two-year-old in your life:

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Meyer.

Meyer who?

Meyer nosy!

Okay, so it's funnier when she tells it and then laughs hysterically at her own wit. Twelve times in a row.

The repetition can get a little tedious, but I'll take all the laughter I can get these days.