Although I've considered writing a bunch of posts to catch you all up (because I am sure you've been waiting around for just that thing), that's not going to happen.
Okay, so I tried to write something and it turned out awful enough that I'm surprised it's still in my drafts folder.
Instead, here are some snippets of my life over the past few months (in no particular order):
Tonight while rocking Madelyn (and convincing her that it's okay to pretend to nurse through my shirt if I'm wearing a bra, but on braless nights such as tonight she shouldn't because it tickles like crazy) the topic of school came up. "When you're five you'll be in kindergarten. Do you know what that is?"
"Yes." (This is her standard answer for everything.)
"What is it?"
"It's a school with plants."
"Yeah, kinder garden."
Fynnie, who is still nursing. She calls it Booboo and recently took a second to pop off, pull back and say, "Booboo, I think you're perfect."
That's right, I'm 41 (and three quarters), have spent over six year of my life nursing (OH MA GAW!) and someone still thinks my breasts are perfect. That's totally what I'm taking from this.
On the other hand, against all odds, my nipples are ridiculously ticklish. I learned this because of Fynn's new thing, which is to attack my chest with wiggling fingers while yelling, "Tickle tickle, Booboo!"
And yes, that thing with Mad. She's going through a struggle with becoming independent and trying to climb back into my womb.
Tom and I are going to be taking a parenting class in a couple weeks. It's put on by someone at my work. I told her, "We're not taking it because of the two year old. It's the four year old, oh my freaking god!"
To which she responded, "It's not the terrible twos, it's the fucking fours."
It's good to know we'll be guided by someone who understands.
Sometimes it is the terrible twos. Take this conversation over dinner one night, for example.
Madelyn said, "I need more," so I refilled her bowl.
Fynnie, who still had a full bowl, said, "I need more, too!"
I took her bowl away, moved food around and brought it back, only to have her yell, "That's too full!"
Last fall Mad had this observation, "The firework booms its paint into the sky with beautiful colors, like a tear coming out of your wet eye from crying."
Yesterday I realized something critical about my special blend of two flavored coffees, one regular and one decaf. They are both decaf.
This explains why I didn't get to sleep until 2:00 in the morning the other night after stopping at Starbucks on my way to work.
On the other hand, now that jig is up, I'm not sure how I'll make it through tomorrow morning.
Oh, yes, I do. I made a pot of my other coffee, which truly is part decaf and part regular. It's not as yummy as the flavored stuff, but it'll certainly do the trick.
Fynnie and Mad know how much Mama loves her coffee. Fynnie has begun asking for coffee in her cup. Thankfully, she's willing to pretend that water is coffee.
But the other night as I was moving her from my lap into her bed, she must have been in the middle of a dream. Arms and legs flailing wildly, she insisted that I put my coffee "right there!" Right there would have been the wall next to her bed, in case you were wondering.
During last week's staff meeting with our new boss, I heard the best, most Dilbert-worthy quote of all time come straight out of her mouth, "We need to be compliant with whatever I was just talking about." Yes, yes we do.