Well, folks, we’ve made it. Election Day is here. After today, we won’t have to endure attack ads and mailboxes full of political flyers and canvassers knocking on our doors and waking the baby who *just* went to sleep for the love of all things holy.
It’s not a stretch to say that most of the country is feeling a tad anxious today. That’s why I want to fill the internet with happy.
Read on for a smile. Then please—please please—do your own small part to spread happiness and fill the internet with happy!
Happy Halloween, everyone!
I know the Ghost of Halloween Past isn’t really a thing—that’s more Dickens’ Christmas territory—but today I was blown over when Halloween history repeated itself. Read more
Despite the two years that separate them, Kiwi and Peeper sometimes look like twins—well, a long-haired twin and one with barely enough hair to put up in a whale spout. But this past month, Kiwi’s love of doing everything her big sister does means I have two kids who give me twice the trouble and twice the joy. Because Kiwi is a walking, talking, singing copycat kid.
Kiwi the copycat kid does just about everything else we do. She blows her nose when I have a cold. She combs her hair with a sock when Peeper’s getting her pigtails in. She washes Peeper in the bath just like I do.
In one part of the Cinderella CD we listen to every single darn time we get in the car, Peeper sings along to the chorus—“Ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhhh!” Kiwi does the same, though without much of a tune.
Peeper is learning how to turn a cartwheel in gymnastics. She was showing us the other day, and Kiwi tried to mimic her—and actually got pretty close! Kiwi’s cartwheels were more like headstands, but she did accidentally do a somersault, too. Peeper was thrilled: She clapped and exclaimed, “She’s doing it! She’s doing it!”
Kiwi is all eyes—and then she gets it. After watching Peeper or another one of us, she launches into her own version, whether it’s dancing or scrubbing down her high chair.
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, well, Kiwi is really buttering us up. Read more
Happy Independence Day!
My aunt and godmother just sent around this photo. My Grandpa Ryan is the tyke in front with the flag. He was also a WWII veteran.
The email from my aunt came shortly after I was complaining about fireworks. Our neighborhood is full of kids, which I absolutely love: They play tag, ride bikes and zip in and out of each other’s houses from breakfast until dusk. They even knock on our door to see if Peeper can play, and they take turns jumping on our mini-trampoline with her. We have a beautiful community.
But they also light fireworks. Perhaps the local fireworks tent had a buy-one-get-five-hundred-free deal, but good grief the explosions. Read more
The other morning I was sitting on the floor, playing with Kiwi. I snuggled in close to her, ruffling her downy hair with my nose.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Then I looked up at Peeper, who was drinking milk at the table.
“Psst,” I started. She looked at me. “I love you.”
Peeper set her glass down.
“Now can I have a popsicle?”
And that’s how I know the value of my love: It is preschooler leverage to get dessert.
In certain circles (*cough, cough* Portlandia), kale is shorthand for all things healthy. Want to make a smoothie? Kale’s in, spinach is out. Whipping up a frittata? Make sure those eggs come from organic-free-range-vegetarian-fed-deliriously-happy hens, and throw in some kale, too, obvi. Making a salad? Forget the romaine; you need to massage some kale instead.
But if your kid is anything like my picky preschooler, kale is not on the menu.
How my kid started to eat kale
This was the first year Peeper truly did an Easter egg hunt—and she made up for lost time.
Our friend had hidden dozens of plastic eggs in her back yard. We let the kids loose, and Peeper delighted in each egg she found.
At first, she put them all in Eric’s pockets, since we forgot to bring her a basket. (Noobs.) Then a one-year-old friend lent her his, and all bets were off.
Peeper ventured into the baby area, where eggs were simply strewn across the lawn. “I found SO MANY EGGS!” she yelled, showing her full basket to anyone who would listen.
Then it began to rain. We all went inside to say our goodbyes and eat a last deviled egg (or eight). But Peeper did not bother with such trifles.
Instead, she found another kid’s basket and without any hesitation emptied the entire thing into her basket.
You gotta admit, she’s resourceful.
To all who celebrate, happy Easter!