My Trick-or-Treaters

My '80s Pop Star (too wet and rainy for the super fab '80's boots she had intended to wear):

My little soldier (he was pretty impressed with all the salutes that came his way):

Rapunzel (as represented in E's favorite movie, Tangled). How absurdly ridiculous and cute is that dumb wig?

And our little . . . um . . . I'm not sure what she is, exactly. We were all set for Caroline to wear the same dog costume that all my other kids wore when they were two-years-old (shown here on Elisabeth). But when it came time to put it on Caroline ran away and shrieked, "NO GOG! NO GOG! DON WANNA BE GOG!" I then had the ingenious idea of simply painting a dog face on her since, at this point, I just assumed she was scared of the costume. To the idea of face paint? "NO GOG! DON WANNA BE GOG!!!" At this point it was about five minutes before trick-or-treating, all my other trick-or-treaters were dressed and ready to go, so I ran upstairs and yanked the first dress I saw out of Ellie's dress up bin. Caroline saw the dress, smiled and said, "I be pincess." So, I guess she was a crown-less princess, or someone who, no matter what, gets her way.

Curiosity

“Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.”

--Arnold Edinborough

Toddler Terror

There is a reason I blog infrequently these days. Her name is Caroline.

If I turn my back for one second, she is up on the dining room table (where, usually, I keep a small tray handy with salt, pepper, sugar and a small vase of flowers), sometimes just sitting, but other times dumping piles of salt and sugar around the table. Or maybe she's scaling the windowsill adjacent to our big living room window (which she also fell off of the other night, and scored a black eye).

This girl is busy. Trouble. Peace is only attained when she is sleeping, and usually that time seems better spent on catching up with the big kids' schoolwork. Or laundry. Or collapsing on the sofa with a good book.

And now, there she is. Snack time is over, the Terror is out of her high chair (and therefore, her quasi-containment), and I must hit publish and be off!

Easter Recap, 2011

As long as Joe gets a vote, I think our family will be doomed treated to the early (6:30 a.m.), sunrise service on Easter Sunday. Amazingly, even little Caroline adapted just fine to being woken more than two hours earlier than normal.

Our Easter morning service was, as always, moving and wonderful after a long, somber Lent and, as a special treat, we were treated to some incredibly gorgeous music thanks to our talented organist and numerous brass players (all extremely talented volunteers).

After the service we tried for our annual family picture in front of the altar. I think we'll continue the tradition if for no other reason than to prove that getting a nice family photograph with four kids is an impossible feat.

The Easter Bunny is nice enough to accommodate our early morning schedule and hold off on his deliveries until after we leave for church. That means that following the fun of church and Easter breakfast at church we have more fun to look forward to at home. Hidden Easter eggs! Baskets! Small gifts!

After we watched the kids play around with the new loot, cut Caroline off her her jelly bean feeding frenzy and drank some coffee, I started in on getting the house ready for our guests. This year I got smart and put all the kids in the basement, which meant we were only ten upstairs, and all adults.

Shortly after that, guests began to arrive and my camera fell on my list of priorities as cooking and playing with friends and family took precedence. 

After lots of enjoyable hours spent sipping wine and, later, coffee with all assembled, Joe, the kids and I changed into our PJs at 7 p.m. and cuddled in to watch Tangled, one of the few movies everyone in our family enjoys. 

It was, if memory serves, one of the most fun, relaxing Easters, we've had in awhile.

Caroline Eats Mud

Today Caroline ate mud. On purpose. And I think she kind of liked it, which is a little too bad because the other day she put me in a position where I had to choose between catching her and preventing her from taking a nasty spill or not catching her and not preventing her from taking a nasty spill. Choosing to catch her necessitated putting my other baby, my Nikon, at risk. I chose, obviously, to catch Caroline. My Nikon, thankfully, survived the incident. My most useful, versatile lens, my 18-200 mm, on the other hand, did not.

Darn it, though, even with my non-autofocus, 50 mm she still looks good. Even with the mud all over her face.

What Caroline is like

This movie will sort of give you and idea of what eighteen-month-old, high-energy Caroline is like.

We think she's a stitch.

Eighteen Months

Poor Caroline. As the page turns on another month of her life, she marks the anniversary with a terrible fever and cold. Yesterday and Monday were spent lying prostrate on the sofa, propped up with pillows, tucked in with heavy blankets and, ultimately, the digital thermometer reaching a high of 103.7.

Sick or not, though, there is wisdom in those tired eyes. At the advanced age of one and one-half years, she is right there, midway between babyhood and toddlerhood. She talks (Mommy!, Dad!, high five!, toast!, milk!, bottle!, please!, diaper!, night-night!, bye-bye!, NO!, yeah, et cetera, et cetera), but grunts and cries of displeasure are common too. She self feeds, but she holds her spoon upside down. She runs boldly, but her short legs fail her, and she falls. She is aware of what life has to offer, but is frustrated with her inability to do it all.

Today there it is, a brief smile. A tentative consumption of a slice to toast. No digital read-outs of body temperature have been sought, but I have become an expert at discerning the rise and fall of body temperature simply through visual cues and touch, and her fever is decreasing. She is well enough for a brief bath. And now, she naps once again, recharging for the near day when she will be able to embrace her eighteen-month-oldishness without the handicap of a nagging fever. Until then, I'll hold her close, give her a kiss and enjoy this brief respite from the cusp of toddlerhood when Caroline is, once again, all baby.

Christmas 2010 Recap

What a whirlwind of traveling, overeating and celebration the past few weeks have been.

Christmas Eve. Here. Dad and Diana are here. They bring Alex, fresh off an airplane from Tulsa. Bob arrives around the same time, but falls victim almost immediately to a harsh stomach bug and spends the evening resting.

Those healthy feast on beef tenderloin, Mrs. Butland's potatoes, fresh steamed green beans tossed with butter and lemon pepper, roasted carrots tossed with olive oil and thyme and dinner rolls (of the most basic sort: flour, yeast, etc.; nothing fancy).

After our Christmas Eve service we return home where the kids open new pajamas from their parents and a new ornament for the tree from Dad and Diana.

Christmas morning. Here. Just us. The first kid is awake by 5:28 a.m. This after a night when I finally went to bed around 12 a.m. Still, though, what parent-- even a tired one-- could be upset with excited children on Christmas morning?

Cinnamon rolls. Stockings. Coffee. Christmas story from Luke. Presents.

Christmas afternoon. Silver Lake. Dad, Diana, Cloe and Alex are present. Blake has been stricken by a stomach bug and is home resting. 

We eat, and we eat well. Ham. Turkey. Twice baked potatoes. There was more, and it was all delicious and worth every calorie.

Sunday, December 26. Silver Lake. A day of nothing. Wonderful, wonderful nothingness. Unless you were Diana, in which case it was your turn with the stomach bug flying around at warp speed. 

Friday, December 31. Oconto Falls. Doug, Wicky, Steve, Sue, Cassandra, Cody and Cedar. We arrive early afternoon and within an hour or two the kids are ripping into their presents.

Later we feast on steaks. Baked potatoes. More decadent, delicious Christmas feasting. We stay up to ring in the new year (all but Caroline).

Nice celebrations, all. 

Pictures

I can finally share these pictures that I took of the kids about a month ago. They were a Christmas gift for my mother and father-in-law, who read my blog, and I didn't want their Christmas present surprise ruined by seeing them here first.

Madeleine, 10 years old.

Hank, 8 years old.

Ellie, 5 years old.

Caroline, 15 months old.

An explanation of what happened to Caroline.

A lot of you saw this pathetically sad and ridiculously cute picture of Caroline on Facebook last night. You know, the one where she has a big white gauze pad loosely taped across her face that is, incidentally, covered in dried blood and boogers. The one with her standing in an exam room with a purple hospital gown?

Yeah, this one.

Look, I went for a lot of years with kids that never needed much more than a kiss and a Band-Aid to cure their little mishaps, but these little girls? What's up with all the stitches? I blame Joe. No, no; I know these things happen and you're shaking your head and saying, "But Cate, that's not fair! Kids have accidents!"

Hear me out.

Besides my two c-sections, I have never needed stitches in my life. As a kid I climbed trees. I played in an old dairy barn with lots of glass and nails and other laceration inducing devices lying about. And believe me, I fell. I cut myself. But I never had a cut deep enough or wide enough to require stitches. Joe, however, has needed stitches one hundred fifty kajillion times. At least. So, clearly, Elisabeth and Caroline have their dad's propensity to break their skin open. The evidence seems pretty conclusive, no?

Please continue to dwell on Joe's thin skin for a moment, will you? That will help you ignore my culpability in last night's ER visit. Thanks.

So, last night I was grabbing one quick thing from our attic. One quick thing! Yes, I knew I was taking a gamble. Yes, I knew Caroline was upstairs with me as I pulled down the attic stairs. I glanced at her, absorbed in one of the bedrooms with a stack of toys, and thought, wrongly, I could make it up and down before she noticed the attic ladder was down. I did not know Ellie was coming upstairs. Those attic stairs are a magnet for Ellie; upon arriving upstairs she immediately started climbing them. Caroline saw her sister and followed. She never made it past the third or fourth stair; I heard the girls and started back down. Too late; Ellie started climbing down and pushed past stepped over Caroline. Caroline fell. I saw it all happen as if it were in slow motion, trapped on the attic stairs, just a few feet away from my little baby.

I still don't know what she hit. She fell a couple of feet, maximum, onto carpet. I still don't think she scraped her head on the stairs. There was nothing on the floor.

Yet still, fall she did, and the total damage? A lot of tears, a fair amount of blood, two internal stitches and seven-- yes, seven!-- regular stitches.

She stopped crying just a few minutes after the injury. She was smiling, babbling and laughing for the entire twenty minute drive to Children's Hospital. She was entertained with all attention she received while waiting for her mending. She screamed bloody murder, however, during the stitching despite the topical application of some sort of numbing agent and a mild sedative. After she was happy and silly once again.

Still, though, I feel wretched. I know it was an accident but still. . . something about seeing the blood, the tears, the needle. . . I won't soon forgive myself. On the good side though, I won't dash up into the attic when the stairs are down anymore either. I accept a few days of guilt; I deserve it and it will make it easier on me to let it go when I forgive myself, which I know I will.

How much you want to bet that Caroline forever grumbles about the inevitable scar that she will work at covering for the rest of her life? *sigh*

Caroline Walking

Fourteen months old. Walking. Sort of talking (though she refuses to perform on command, as you saw in the video).

Trick or Treat!

My witch, 

my S.W.A.T. member, 

my Tinkerbell, and

my Poky Little Puppy.

Each of the three kids is pictured next to the jack 'lantern that they carved (or, in Ellie's case, drew on the pumpkin, watched me carve, and then added those necessary touches, like hair, with marker).

Thirteen Months

We call this girl Trouble. It's hard to look at that angelic face and think that, but it's true; she, like most babies her age, is a whole heap of trouble.

Oh, no doubt, she's darling. And she's sweet, too; quick with a smile, a laugh or a hug.

She's close-ish to walking. She can stand now with no hands for short bursts of time, as seen above. But she's a class-A crawler and climber, even without knowing how to walk or stand confidently.

Still, though, boogers and all, she's too much cuteness for me to handle most days. I can't help but smile through my fatigue at her antics and troublemaking. 

Wedding Pictures

Many (most?) of you have seen the pictures I posted of my sister's wedding on Facebook, however a few of you have mentioned you're not on Facebook and you'd like to see pictures already.

The wedding site at Abbey Springs in Fontana, Wisconsin (that's Lake Geneva in the background).

My dad with my sister and me.

Diana with the prettiest junior bridesmaid and flower girl I've ever seen.

The bride being given in marriage by my dad.

Joe and Caroline at the reception.

And, finally, Cloe and Blake's first dance.

One Year!

As of yesterday, one year old.

It's hard to believe this little baby...



has become this little cake eating machine.

On My Lap

Picture taken, appropraitely, with Caroline aboard my lap.

There are days where, despite our best intentions, what we want-- maybe even need-- to get done, does not. My excuse, today, is a clingy, congested, coughing baby who, despite needing to do so, will not nap and refuses to exist anywhere but my arms.

As you might imagine, this hinders me from getting much of anything productive done.

I provide my family with a tidy home (usually), nutritious food (generally speaking) and clean clothes, among other things; but this, the ability to drop everything and cuddle wipe boogers and nurture, this is one of the most important things I can do for my children. What good are clean, matching socks if they've been sorted while tears streaked the angelic face of my youngest? How can I possibly ignore a chubby pair of outstretched arms in the name of cooking dinner?

These days frustrate me much more than they delight me: I relish the opportunity to cuddle and nurture my kids, but I selfishly despise being thrown off of my schedule. I feel angst-ridden as I look, impossibly, at my long list of yet unchecked items written out neatly and so hopefully in my familiar blue Moleskin notebook.

What wonderful teachers our children are. I tell my kids to be flexible; in their illness they teach me to be flexible. I hope my kids grow up knowing that, no matter what else life throws at them, their role as a parent to young children will be primary; in their illness my children remind me that their care is primary. I try and instill in my kids a sense of compassion, and the need to care for others who need our help; in their illness my children present someone, very close at hand, who needs my help.

Lesson learned, message received. Now, can Caroline be better tomorrow? Please?