This is what I made for dinner tonight: Eggplant Parmesan Except!! Except!! I also made lentils and kale and mixed it up in the Vitamix and added it to the marinara. This is how I try to do veggies with the minions. They always have so many opinions. Minions with opinions!! I also added lots of parmesan cheese. Can't go wrong there, right? Who can resist cheesy, melty fried eggplant? My children can, probably. They will most likely cry. If my husband read that he'd say, "Why do you always have to be so negative?" To which I would begin to protest and stop because--why argue. But what I would like to submit is that I can anticipate a negative response because I am the one with them five nights a week in which I attempt to get them to consume reasonable amounts of good food. Why? Because I'm a health nut? No. Because I want them to poop. If that makes me a health nut, then... Did I mention the wine? I added wine to the sauce, too. Yip. EE.

Kids, I started this for you. There's a lot that happens in this lovely life of ours. Sometimes I don't always take the time to write it down. I've spent a lot of time thinking about stuff and wondering why I don't write it down. It comes down to fear. I don't want to be judged. I'm starting anew because you're worth it. It's fun to look at the record of our life together. So bit by bit I'll get this ball rolling again. I have lots to share with you.

She Asked Me...

"What's a 'toots'?" asked Stella.

"It's like someone calling you their sweetheart or honey."

She's ponders for a moment and asks again, "So I'm like Jesus' toots?"

Yes. Kinda. It was too sweet to explain the nuance.

Did I Just Say That?!

"Don't put rubber bands in your underwear!"

"If you don't want her to hit you with a spider don't play spider games with her."

Her Ways

Rowena favors the "h" sound these days. For example:

She really likes to eat "hoop," which is a warm broth that usually has vegetables and/or meat.

She asks for "How-wah" for breakfast. This is grain that is a complete protein and starts with the letter "Q."

She's a little too happy to tell you when she's gassy--"I hartin'!"

She calls my friend Cindy "Honey."

I'm so used to deciphering sentences that lack articles and sensical nouns, etc, that when she talks to me in a complete sentence these days, which is (sadly) more and more frequently, I don't understand her. It requires an opposite paradigm shift.

It's also important for me to communicate what a great little worker she is. She loves to help with chores. She folds clothes with abandon I tell you. Quite indiscriminately picking up the dirty with the clean and folding them into tiny squares and putting them in piles. This is why you might open up John's shirt drawer someday and find a bunch of kitchen towels.

Sweetest thing ever.

Her Growing Vocabulary

If Rowena approaches you and says she wants to "him" with her "hoaties" what would you do?

Help her swim with her floaties of course.

If she exclaims "A harwk!" you should look out for Jaws underwater.

If, at dinner, she asks, "Halt. Peez," know that she's politely asking you to pass the salt.

And when she's riding in the car down 15th Ave and screams "Mom! Dub-dub! One, two, one dub-dubs!" She wants you to know that there are one, two, three horses.

Sent from my iPhone

My Truly Naked Chefs

This is how I'm getting help lately. Making an egg frittata? In the crock pot? Yes! Gianna and Rowena mix up my eggs. It takes them ten minutes because they enjoy it so much.

Stella Starts School

"I'm going to miss you tomorrow, Stella."

"I know. My cute little voice when I say prayers?"

***

And then at dinner we're talking about Stella finally getting to go to school. Little Gianna scoots next to me to say, "I'm going to miss Stella."

I think I'll make it in the morning without crying. But I don't think I'll last long if Gianna starts to cry because she misses her constant playmate of the last four years of her life.

Sent from my iPhone

A Childlike Faith

Stella informed me that God spoke to her in the middle of the night the other day.

"What did He say," I asked.

"He said, 'Do not be afraid.' And then Mary said, 'I'm praying for you and your sisters.' And then my Guardian Angel said, 'I'm watching out for you always.'"

Truly good news.

It's a Workout

Upon completing our ascent on some stairs out of Oak Creek Canyon in Sedona, Stella is a bit winded and sighs, "Whew! I'm breathtaking!"

Gianna concurs, "Me, too, I'm breathtasting."

***

After lunch the girls are talking in their bedroom, Stella leads the discussion, "OK, girls, girls: let's play...let's play 'Darling'!"

About John

What does little Johnny enjoy these days?

He likes to eat. He likes to sleep with a pacifier. He likes to follow his sisters around the house. He likes his dad.

He likes to wave. He likes to stand up. He likes it when the girls dote on him. He likes his dad.

He really likes his dad. He especially likes it when his dad punches him in the gut over and over until John smiles like a schoolgirl. John also like to be shot with fake guns.

He likes it when Jamie bursts into the room pretending to rain down artillery fire upon him mercilessly. But even more, he likes it when Jamie picks him up and stabs him in his little chest and twists the knife to the side to finish the job. Then John likes when his dad drags the knife up his chest and pulls out his fake little beating heart in his hand and holds it in front of John's face (signified by Jamie's pumping fist and the noise "gu-dung, gu-dung, gu-dung").

John really loves that.

They're Pretending

Stella's playing baby, Rowena's playing detective and Gianna's playing pirate. John's watching.

Gianna says to Rowena, "Mrs. Lump! Mrs. Lump! There are pirates in your yard!"

Noni gives a subdued, "Oh!" and goes to her front yard to...shush them.

Stella cries, "Me want out!" and Rowena sympathetically pats her and says, "Oh, honey!"

She wants to 'him!

And she wants to do it with "hodies. on."

That's how Rowena asks to swim with her floaties! Cutest ever.

Sent from my iPhone

Things They Say

Gianna told me, "I'm gonna buy you something really, really, really pretty with my money. It's gonna be a shirt for you. And for dad. You cam share it."

Sounds flattering.

Sent from my iPhone

Lots of swimming lately. The big decisions are: diaper or no diaper?

John LOVES to be in the water. He tries to bolt over the side of his little flotation device. His sisters pull on it and push him around the pool. I try to keep him alive.

We had popsicles after lunch (Rowena calls them pock-e-pull!!). Being the resourceful third child that she is, Rowena headed to the bathroom to clean herself up. All was quiet except for the pleasant sound of running water. It kept running and running but I was so enjoying the quiet. Finally we wonder, "What's taking her so long?" Jamie shouts, "OK, Rowena, that's enough." No answer. Upon inspection this is what we find:

Our sink runneth over with Rowena. Aren't we lucky?

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

pretty

Really: What's My Problem?

Where do I start? I have lots of "problems."

Not really.

I have problems with sharing: over-sharing, under-sharing, worrying about peoples' opinions of my sharing, people knowing things that I wouldn't share with them in person, (people knowing things by reading my blog and me not knowing that they read).

I split mental hairs over this. Then I think about all the people who share on their blogs and who really make a difference in my life. People I don't know. People I wouldn't recognize on the street.

The difference between them and me...am I too prideful?

It's embarassing to think about people knowing that I don't have all my life together. I have these four beautiful children and I'd like to have more but I (in no feasible way) have all this parenting of many small children thing figured out.

It's very humbling.

I want my children to know how very hard I tried. And even how very frequently I failed. And had to ask forgiveness. And had to think about how impatient and awful I was at night following a day of impatient spewing.

Stella likes to remind me to avail myself of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. "Mom, you know how you have to go and talk to the priest and tell him all the things you've done wrong?"

"Yes, my sweet," through clenched teeth.

Different Ashes

Four years ago I was recovery from surgery. I was pregnant with Gianna and they were coming in to tell me that the baby was still alive. Phew. To say the least. I didn't realize how much I cared until they were wheeling me back to prep for surgery and my eyes started to sting with tears. We found out the baby was a girl the day before. We named her Gianna after the saint. I said goodbye to Jamie and went into the cold--really operating rooms are freezing--cold room with the surgeon and his assistants.

This Ash Wednesday finds me neck deep in children. I took photos to illustrate but, appropriately, Stella was documenting the day and now that she's in bed I cannot locate the camera. I remember asking her where she put it...

I don't take for granted how charmed my life is. Even at this point: months from Jamie's conclusion to las school, two babies in less than two years, a small house, an Arizona summer heading our way--I am lucky. All my children are well. We have no major problems. I love my husband and he loves me back. I cannot avoid those ashes that we all return to, but this Ash Wednesday I can give up some things and offer prayers of thanksgiving for all that I have and prayers of supplication for all that so many others want or need.

I'm trying to get back in the groove of writing. Can you tell.

Insert precious progeny photo here: X.

Classic

In the car on the way to the store:

Me: Shoot! I forgot to bring water.

Stella: That's OK. We can drink our spit!

Our Gingerbread

Little Rowena is getting to the point where she calls for me and it sounds like a big kid is calling me. She can articulate, "Mommy!" so clearly it startles. I find myself frightened by the urgency until I realize it's the voice of a tiny person stuck in her crib. And she wants out. And how.

There's nothing quite like her chubby little hands wrapped around my neck pulling me in for a smooch on her pillowy-soft, slightly damp little baby lips. She's so sweet when I say, "Can you say, 'I love you, Mommy'?" She says, "mmm hmmm."

"Say it then."

"Mmm mmm Mama."

That's all she can manage. It doesn't matter. I can hold her tight and breathe in her soft smell, her sweet, chubby neck and rub her sweet cheeks. Nearly two and I can harldy believe how time has flown. It's both wonderful and heartbreaking. Entirely cheesy and true. I just want her to be little and cuddly forever. But be able to speak and get her own water without spilling it all over the floor.

We call her Gingerbread. Our friend came up with this when she saw a picture that she took of Rowena on New Year's Eve. Little Ro's hair has a glow, her chubby face is straight on in the photo and she is neither smiling nor frowing, just being. But now this moniker, Gingerbread, has stuck. We like to use it in her most tragic moments of the day.

"Awww, Gingerbread, you fell down."

"Awww, Gingerbread's getting tired."

"Awww, Gingerbread has an owie. Let's kiss it."

Let's gobble her up. She's irresistible.