My Faith and Joy… and Boys!

It took me no less than twelve hours and multiple Google searches to do it, but I finally figured out the proper term for Rebecca’s design creation from yesterday (and I must note that my relentless pursuit of the term only indicates my obsession with correct English vocabulary, not obscure fashion terminology.  I’ll leave that sphere of interest to my daughter). 

Rebecca’s fashion career has officially started with the creation of a bolero jacket.  Here’s a photo of one I found online, for comparison purposes.

Of course, Rebecca has made her own modifications, such as cropped sleeves.  But I think it’s a rather stunning imitation, don’t you?

I’ve never been a fan of modern fashion, but Rebecca’s unintentional foray into the design world has made me even more skeptical of its claims on creativity.  Since I’ve now come to believe that the first bolero jacket was most likely invented because Senor Bolero’s toddler pulled her shirt halfway over her head, how did other trends come to be?  Was the first tube dress patented after an infant shimmied partly out of her onesie?  Were capri pants merely the accidental result of putting hand-me-down pants on a growing child?  So the next time you see a trendy new style, don’t thank the designer…thank her kid. 

On a good day, laundry is a rather Sisyphean task.  It seems to never end.  As long as we continue to go out in public, we will wear clothes, and those clothes will inevitably become dirtied and require washing to make them presentable for our next public appearance.  However, in recent weeks, the act of doing the laundry has even more closely resembled Sisyphus’ maddening rock-pushing.  Why, you may ask?  Oh, because I’ve enlisted a little help. 

How could you say no to such eager assistants?

These little creatures have decided that the best way to help me with the chores is to pull the piles of clean laundry off the couch (my clean laundry folding zone) and onto the floor (my dirty laundry sorting zone).  Thus, to my wearied brain, it looks like I never accomplish anything.  The to-be-laundered piles mysteriously multiply on the floor, no matter how many loads I stick in the washer. 

Granted, this problem could be averted if I waited until the girls were napping to take the clean laundry out of the dryer, then immediately folded it and put it away.  But such a solution would require a touch more self-discipline than I currently possess.  And it would deprive my girls of the learning experience.  And deprive me of the object lesson in Greek Mythology. 

Hmmm…maybe that’s what the girls’ laundry antics are trying to make me appreciate.   

Susie: “Hey Mom, wouldn’t you rather be like Sisyphus than Medusa?”

We went to our friends’ house on Saturday night, and the girls made themselves right at home. 

Becky (on left): “Sis, put down that frisbee and get to work.  We’re needed in the kitchen!”

Susie: “Matt, can you spoon me up some more of that chicken?  I’m starving here!”

Susie: “Ben, you’re such a messy eater.  I’ll help you clean up.” 

Susie: “Here…you missed a spot.”

Becky: “Hey guys – you wouldn’t be having a good conversation without me, now would you?”

Jim: “Remind me again why I have to hold this silly stuffed monkey for the photo op?”

Me: “Because we’re recreating the scene from a picture the last time we were here.”

Look at the picture below, taken last April.  Same monkey, same Jim (even wearing same clothes!), but a much smaller Becky!

Here are the stats from the girls’ recent weigh-in at the pediatrician’s office (age 13 months).  Drumroll, please!

Susanna: 17 lbs. 7 oz., 29 in.

Rebecca: 19 lbs. 4 oz. , 29 in.

In order to help you visualize what those statistics look like in the flesh, here’s a little flesh:

They may not be chunky monkeys, but they’ve still got bellies!

But I estimate that their heads are still the heaviest part of their bodies.  Here are the girls putting my theory to the test. 

Becky (on left): “My neck is getting tired from holding up my massive head!”

Susie (on right)” “Me too!  I can’t hold it up much longer!”

Becky and Susie: “Whew!  We can’t wait until our bodies catch up to our heads!”

Every few hours, I get a little knot in my stomach.

And it’s not because I’m hungry (although I usually am).

But it is because of food.  Food that’s not even going to touch my lips.  But it will – hopefully – touch the girls’ lips, in addition to their chins, fingers, wrists, foreheads, and sometimes even ears.

I get a tad nervous every time I have to prepare their meals, because it’s such a big responsibility.  It’s all up to me.  I am the sole determiner of their nutritional status.  Of course, I’m also largely responsible for many other areas of their life, such as language and emotional development, but for some reason, I feel more confident in those departments.  I figure if I talk to them clearly and often, set boundaries and discipline them when they misbehave, and give them frequent hugs and smiles, they’ll pretty much turn out okay. 

But when it comes to food, I feel like if I feed them one too many animal crackers, their teeth are going to fall out.  And if I miss one too many vegetable servings, they’re going to end up with scurvy.  And then I would have gap-toothed pirates for children, and it would be all my fault. 

So I plan, and I chop, and I wring my hands and throw in a few extra veggies for good measure.  And I end up with a meal that looks something like this: 

And then I realize I’m forgetting all about protein (Hmm…what disease do you get when you’re deficient in protein?  Google says: Kwashiokor.  Add that to my list of potential motherly nightmares).  So I cook an egg with cheese. 

The girls wolf it all down and scamper off to play.  I’m left with dirty dishes, happy children…and a few hours to kill before I have to do it all again.  I’m not sure how long I can keep this up.  They’ve only been eating exclusively table foods for a few weeks now.  I think I see Spaghetti-O’s in the near future.