loose ends.

Make your own pudding finger paint:
In a stand mixer prepare vanilla (or whatever flavor white) pudding according to package directions. Add food coloring. (I suggest swimsuits for this activity and if a friend is going to participate, individual "paint" dishes).

Some time ago I asked for help identifying the meaning of a certain license plate around town. I even offered a prize. Then I completely forgot that I have a blog. Stephanie correctly solved the mystery of ILMEGU. Because our winner recently moved out of town, I thought a fitting prize would be something only found locally. Word on the street is she'll be back to speak at MOPS soon and I was hoping to give her a little gift card love that she could use while she's here. Any ideas?

Also, changing my profile picture now, Alida. So no one gets any ideas.

Lastly, a girl on her horse, because you can never get enough giddy-up.

colors are brighter.

In those first early, blurry months of having two babies, I wondered if it would ever get easier. If it would ever feel fun again. Today there was fingerpainting with pudding in my kitchen. Later, a little girl danced circles around me while I made dinner. On her feet were the ballet slippers that I wore as a child. I stopped to spin her and I felt more like myself than I have in months.

3 is the perfect number. yes it is.

Girlie,
Today you are three. How did this happen? You were just born.

Now you have so much to say. You crack yourself up. This week, when I've asked you what you want for your birthday dinner, every time you say, "Sheet metal. It's really good, Mama" with a completely straight face. And it never stops being funny.

Some of the moms at soccer have been asking me which preschool you'll go to in the fall. I sheepishly tell them that you're staying home until you're 4. That we're not ready. The truth is, you'd go right now and be just fine. It's me that's not ready. This time with you is precious and I know once you go, it will be like a train we can't jump off.

There's this thing that I always say to you when I leave the house and you start to turn on the tears. I always come back to you. Lately, in the midst of playing and running wild, you've started saying it to me. This time is precious. I'm so glad you're my girl.

Happy Birthday, Pooper.
Love,
Mama

hallelujah chorus.

Yesterday Everett did that thing that babies do when you walk in the room and they lift up their arms signifying, pick me up. It was the first time he's done that. And it was magical. Before he was born, I wondered if all of this would be as exciting the second time around.

Mushy peas, arms in the air and gummy smiles all look new on this guy. I am in awe.

sprung!

It's rare that I'm alone in public with the Mister. Usually, I am too busy with both of them to notice people checking out my baby. But yesterday, Claire had a playdate and he and I hit Costco alone. Ladies swoon over this one. Multiple people suggested that he model. And today, Japanese tourists wanted to take pictures of him at the Tulip Festival.

Not that I can blame them. The camera loves this guy.

I'll sit in this huge shoe, but I'm not smiling.
In years previous, no one ever asked to take pictures of the girlie. Probably because she is always in motion.

Also there was this.

resurrection sunday.

The other day Claire tried the drinking fountain at the park and found that they were working again. Her eyes get wide and she squeals, "It's SUMMER!" Not quite, kid. But springtime is pretty great too.



Hope your Easter morning was a magical as ours. With matching outfits, one tiny tie and plenty of reasons to smile.

the triumphant return of ILMEGU

Years ago I worked as an advocate at a social service agency. It was inspiring, heart-breaking work and I loved my co-workers. We answered crisis hotline calls and somehow it became normal to stop mid-conversation and counsel women in serious need. One of the conversations that we repeatedly engaged in during downtime revolved around a license plate on a neighborhood car. It read, "ILMEGU." For two years, we talked about ILMEGU. We wondered about him. We guessed at the meaning of this license plate.

Fast forward eight years. Claire has been enrolled in Soccer Tots for a few weeks now and imagine my surprise when parked next to me is a shiny blue minivan with that enigmatic license plate. ILMEGU, who are you? What are you trying to say? Why have I still not been able to crack your code these EIGHT YEARS later?

I am desperate, folks. If anyone has an idea what ILMEGU means, please, take a guess. Believe me, it can't be worse than what we imagined it to mean.

A prize to the person who correctly identifies ILMEGU. What is the prize, you ask? That, my friends is a mystery as old and exciting as ILMEGU himself. And, because I am shameless, I will wait in my car for the driver of this illusive blue minivan, and crack the code of ILMEGU once and for all.

baby v 2.0

in sickness.

Today I celebrate 2 colds, 2 flus and five years of marriage with this guy.

I love you, Nate, even on Nyquil.