The Slow Life

Just a little photo journal of sorts on life as of late. Things have been pretty slow lately. Actually, very slow. We shed all our commitments (i.e., friends) with the move, and being that we live so out of the way now, it's been easy to keep our calendar free of volunteer and social commitments. We are a good 25 minutes from base and church is 25 minutes in the opposite direction. We live in a very small community and haven't met many of our neighbors yet. 

I don't hate it. Not one bit. We've grown to love and depend on our weekday routine of getting out of the house before it gets too hot—either running outside with the duallie or going to the gym where the kids get some socialization—coming home for lunch and long afternoon naps, and spending what's left of our little afternoons playing, reading, and watching movies. 

Our new house has a bay window in the dining area that looks out to a most panoramic view of . . . a privacy fence. Naturally, it was deemed the perfect "dancin' spot" for underwear-clad hip-hop routines. As one does.

If only the neighbors could see. Damn privacy fence.

Zelie watches on in amusement.

Or is that the face one makes when teasing a mother after another failed attempt at sweet potato puree?

I have complied an extensive list of solid foods Zelie will eat:

• Dog food
• Paper
• Chalk

Slowly, but surely, we are making progress with solids. 

Solid foods that is. Human foods. She will sit down and eat a couple ounces of pureed food now without total mess. She loves Puffs, too. I don't think she'll be an early weaner like her bro. I kind of think I'll be nursing her until she hits college at this point, but hopefully that's the irrational side of me . . . 

Z is SO CLOSE to walking. She stands up on her own in the middle of the room and the other day she took her first step before carefully lowering her bottom to the ground. She seems pretty motivated. Little Will was taking his first steps at 9 months and truly took off walking at 10 months, so I'm excited to see whether she'll beat him.

SIBLING RIVALRY Y'ALL. Girls rule, boys . . .

I don't even know what to call that.

But he's a fun, sanguine kid, who can be just as naughty as the sweetness those photographs exude. 

He's lacked blog attention as of late, so aside from his weeknight serenades from the bay window, here is a little more about our little guy: He always skips H through P when he sings the alphabet. He always skips the number 4 when counting to 6 (his current max). He still pronounces Zelie "WEH-EE!" even though he can pronounce Zs. "Say Zzzz-ELLIE…" "Zzzzz WEH-EE!" He can identify all his colors and knows the letters W, M (upside down W, naturally), O, B. And Z for Weh-ee, of course. He loves all things machines, and knows the difference between a fighter jet from a cargo plane, a tug boat from a ferry, a van from a race car, an excavator from a dump truck. 

He's been repeating things we adults say in the most hilarious ways. He calls me "babe" and "dear" - "Thanks for makin' dinner, babe!" He'll ask a question and upon hearing the answer, he'll exclaim "WHAT!" as adults do patronizingly to kids. He's started repeating me saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" in a gentle tone, something I've been using to admonish Zelie when she crawls to our hallway night light or the dog food bowls like a moth to a flame.

Ask him what he wants to be when he grows up and he'll say "a happy priest!" And yet he can NOT for the life of him keep his hands folded during grace or not flail his body around during nightly prayers. Skip a prayer though (sometimes Will forgets we added the St. Michael prayer, apparently) and you will quickly and forcefully be admonished.

Getting so big. And yet . . .

Every time I get out the baby food to sit down and try and force feed his sister, he immediately comes up begging, asking for some. "I'm a baby, too! Can I have a bite?"

No. 

Two Under Two

First of all, thanks for the support and commiseration after my last post. As of this week, I've been cleaning up my diet again. I went for a one mile run today pushing the duallie in 20mph winds and it was a new level of struggle for me, but ya gotta start somewhere. Then Will offered to stop by Chickfila and pick up shakes and WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I said yes. Yeah I'm into fitness! Fitness milkshake in my belly rn. So things are off to a great start.   

Anyway, I only have one week to go to wear the badge of the honor that is mom of two under two (so pithy!), so a photo dump/overly-detailed post of how we spend our days seems in order. Little Will thrives on routine, I think, so the general flow of our weekdays look exactly the same. 

Husband Will is usually out the door at 7am before we start our day, about around the time Zelie wakes for the day. Little Will not soon after, though I can usually let him roll around in his crib while I finish giving Zelie Breakfast #1. Every morning, I enter Will's room and he greets me with an emphatic "HI MOMMY!" If he's up in time, Little Will usually protests that his dad has to leave for work, but as soon as I mention he gets to watch choo choo trains or Mickey Mouse when daddy leaves, the tears magically stop and he starts waving bye-bye and aggressively walking Big Will to the door. 

His parental affection only goes so far, you see. 

I typically let Little Will watch a show or two while I drink coffee and wake up. Zelie cluster feeds, cluster poops. Will eats breakfast, too. Usually fruit, oatmeal, or a muffin with some orange juice (i.e., water with a splash of grovestand Tropicana… last thing this kid needs is more sugar… what's the word for it? Oh. MANIAC.). I'll ask him if he made a poopy, to which he responds, "No, thanks!" I check him, find one (always), and tell him he needs a new diaper, to which he responds, "No, thanks!" I grab him, cheerfully make him say "yes, ma'am!," and change his diaper. Then we'll usually spend our morning doing something to get out of the house. Commissary, Target, Playgroup, repeat. 'Tis our life cycle.

Upon our return, he MUST be given the opportunity to "drive" the car. You see, this involves Will  crying real tears until you put him in the driver's seat of our Subaru. You MUST then shut the door ("bye bye Mommy!") and allow him at least 3-5 minutes of pushing every button in the car. There are smudgy little finger prints all over my rearview mirror. The hazards are always always turned on. There is a 70% chance a blinker is on when you start the car. I use this opportunity to bring Zelie inside along with the diaper bag and any groceries. 

At this point, I prepare lunch. Little Will occupies himself by delivering mail in his Winnie the Poo car (a $1 yard sale find), climbing on furniture, and building all manner of houses made out of blocks, Legos, and his IKEA children's chairs. The mailman truck needs a house (a "meh meh how"), the choo choo trains need a house ("choo choo how"), and—you guessed it—the school bus needs a house, too ("bah bah how"). 

Still working on pronunciations. 

There is only one thing he is guaranteed to eat and it is cheese. Anything else is a bonus, though he loves eating "bubbies" which I discovered means "smoothies," (to my surprise, not boobies, which he is obsessed with since Zelie nurses all day) only because he (crying real tears, always) pointed at the blender yelling "BUBBIES"! This is my opportunity to guerrilla attack him with spinach. 

1pm. Glorious nap time. 

I take care of chores, read, nurse Zelie, feed myself, and/or veg with some Netflix. Lately I've been watching Jane the Virgin and I'm kind of loving it. Jane is a Catholic virgin from Miami who is accidentally artificially inseminated and becomes pregnant. About halfway through the series, there's an unexpected fart joke, when I knew— I just knew—this was my type of show. Also, a singing St. Therese statue. (Just watch the show.)

The afternoon is spent—dare I say it?—running outside?!

No, I won't jinx it. But it did happen today. 

Usually Will doesn't wake until about 3pm, so we just hang out at home until dinnertime. Today I think he was trying to sing the ABCs when I went to get him out of his crib. Random. We build more houses, read books, draw, try unsuccessfully to avoid another episode of Chuggington, etc. We'll get dinner started. Little Will loves sitting on the counter, grabbing things, and declaring them his. "MINE!" he says. "Put that down," I say. "Not a toy." To which he responds, "No, thanks." I measure the ingredients, he dumps it in the bowl. Usually I can get him to sit still on the counter with some snacks.

Around 4, Little Will starts asking "dada here?" every time the dogs bark. (They bark at everything that moves outside.) By 5:30pm, Big Will is actually home and please believe his little super fan is at the door to greet him. Chance of wearing pants: 50%. Chance of wearing cowboy boots: 95%. 

The rest is dinner, running circles around the kitchen island over and over, quality time with the fun parent, bath, and bed. You know the drill. 

And an illustrative photographic display:

Morning hangout. 

"Helping" in the kitchen.

A Zelie reject paci. Declared "MINE!" by you-know-who.

Trying to get out the door. Distracted by cuteness.

One-on-one time with my girl during Little Will's nap.