Pocket Aces

Threedux

And another one turns three. It's official - I no longer have any babies. Big tall kids have come and taken their place.

It's ok, though. We're not here to talk about me. Not today, at least. Today is for her:

And for her:

And her, too:

And how she fits so well into this:

And how much I love this:

 

And this, I just can't get enough of:

She says or does something that surprises me every day. She hates hot dogs, loves yogurt, loves Mickey Mouse and Aladdin and kitty cats and horses and anything resembling a princess. She's just like me in the morning - she hates waking up. We can hear her at 10:30 at night, singing to herself and reading in her bedroom, her favorite lamp on. She wants to put on her own pull-ups, which she almost doesn't need anymore. She's also stubborn as hell about anything she doesn't want to do just quite yet. 

She likes to pull her leggings up above her knees. She gets mad if you try to fix them.

She doesn't snuggle much - not like her brother - but when she does, it's so worth it. She kicks in her sleep, steals the covers, bosses us around like she was born to it. She wobbles her way around the house in Mommy's heels whenever she can get her hands on them. When she decides it's time to be a kitty cat, she throws herself into it, licking and all.

She runs up to me, throws her arms around my leg, asks me to pick her up. I do, and get a quick, strong hug as payment. I try to prolong the moment and steal as many kisses as I can. She obliges me one, then dodges me artfully, demanding "Let me down. Let me go." I do, while thinking, "Not quite yet, little angel."

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Happy third birthday, Mason Angelina. Mommy's having fun watching you just be so... so MUCH. I don't think I have to worry about you always knowing how much you're loved. And unlikely as it is, if anyone else forgets, you'll be sure to remind them.

Distracted.

The whole way home, I pictured the worst, and tried to determine if I had been careless.

Upon entering the grocery store, Riley noticed, for the first time, that mass of little vendor machines by the door. You know - mostly gumballs, a few huge gobstoppers, plastic bubbles holding fake spider rings. He was interested. I searched for something appropriate - yes, bouncy balls. Perfect. I thought back to being allowed the occasional gumball as a kid

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The above blurb is the first urge I have had to write something here in... well, I don't know how long. You can check the archives and count for me. But the small amount of time I tried to grab for this has been stolen by my children who have decided that naps are for pussies and were only willing to sit for two paltry episodes of the Backyardigans and just spilled A LOT of dried beans all over my kitchen floor (with gleeful cackles while doing so) and are now screaming about going outside to jump on the trampoline and I have relented, feeling guilty, so I have to go find pants (for them, not me) but I can't find any underwear for Riley because he has pooped or peed in I swear to God every pair he owns because he has forgotten that toilets exist and oh shit, now they are in the basement with me literally tearing things apart.

So I have to go do all that and dinner and baths and all I really want is a shower and to go to bed. But if you must know the ending to the story I was going to tell, you will have to be satisfied with knowing that it involved Riley chasing a dropped bouncy ball (yellow and pink!) into the middle of the parking lot where a car was being driven toward him, very slowly and about 50 feet away, but I calmly freaked the fuck out anyway, but that's over. More important is that after all that trauma, our bouncy ball survival rate since coming home a few hours ago is only 50%. So while I've convinced myself that CPS is not about to come knocking on my door, I am pretty sure that the Bouncy Ball Protection Agency is giving me the serious stinkeye.

You know what? I'm pretty sure the story came out better that way.

Two.

Dear Mason,

Yesterday, you turned two. And suddenly, right before my eyes, you grew up. Gone is the baby who needed to be in a stroller, and in her place is a little girl who runs holding hands with her brother. You got a brand new potty for your birthday that you are already excited about sitting on, and though you still sleep in a crib, you don't need to anymore. A big girl bed is in the works.

As should be expected, I'm both happy and sad at this development. I cheer your independence, love that you are determined to do anything your brother does - only better. I love that you ask me (ask me!) for more juice in the morning, and that you're learning how to play hide and seek. I love that, even though I am hardly a morning person, you never fail to make me smile with your cheery play when you wake up. I love that, after waking, the first thing you want to do is go find your brother and play. I love that when I put you down to bed at night, after a requisite snuggle and book in the rocking chair, you lay down in your crib and turn over and - all by yourself - close your eyes and lay quietly till you fall asleep. I didn't know such a thing was possible, until you.

But there are things I'll miss. It's very likely you are our last baby, and these days I find myself a little sad looking at clothes you've outgrown. Toys you're done playing with. Sippy cups abandoned for bendy straws.

Enough of that - this letter isn't really about me. It's about you, and how I never want to forget that right now you are a beautiful, energetic little angel who loves Mickey Mouse and the Backyardigans and coloring with crayons and eating yogurt with your very own spoon and your Lambie and climbing on all the furniture in the house and shoving all the wooden food into your toy microwave until the door won't close and dancing with your brother and your daddy and your mommy. And french fries. Oh, how you love french fries.

I may not be much at predicting the future, but I'm willing to go out on a limb and say that while some of the things you love will change, those french fries are probably here to stay. So are your mommy, daddy, and brother. We all love you very much.

Happy Birthday, Mason Angelina.

Love, Mommy

Oh! (Or, I am a lying liar that lies.*)

SNOW!!

 

Words cannot fully express how happy I am to get some snow this year. It's not much, but I'll take it.

 

 

I loaded the kids in the car and we went to the store. Needed chili supplies. And sleds.

I really, really miss snow. We get maybe one storm a year here, on average. I miss driving in the snow. I LOVE driving in the snow. Being from Colorado, I possess a fair amount of skill in it - not that I am better than other people who know how to drive in the snow - just that I don't have a problem saying that I'm better than most people in Maryland. There's something about it that makes me really miss driving a stick shift. It makes me want to get stuck, and then get myself out. Second gear, reverse. Second gear, reverse. Keep going, slowly, till you roll out. I really miss that. Driving an automatic has its perks, no doubt, but it's also drained some of the lifeblood out of driving. I really can't explain that one.

Side note: Marc is a wonderful human being, but without realizing it, can get a bit sexist on me in regards to driving in the snow. He'll pull that, "No, I should drive." And while I respect the courtesy in that, it also makes me enjoy reminding him of the time, years ago, when we were driving down from Winter Park. It had been snowing all night, all weekend probably, and was still snowing the following morning when we set out. It was going to be rough over the pass, and until we hit 70. I offered to drive - he gallantly refused.

Somewhere on the way down, on the tiny 2-lane road that is Highway 40, he pulled to the side and asked me to take over. Marc may jump in and deny this in the comments, as he often insists I remember things wrong. But not this one, sweetie. This is not a knock on you - you are an excellent driver, exceeding me and many others in myriad ways. Just not that day. Not in that weather.

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A snow day here is a great time to run errands, because nobody else is out. And the world is just so much prettier with snow all over it, don't you think?

 

Mason agrees.

 

Riley was about to agree, but was distracted by the UPS man. Rain or shine, indeed!

And my feet (and red scarf!) make it unanimous. Hooray for snow!

*My misinformation campaign worked, it seems. I knew as soon as I publicly announced I'm taking a break from the blog, I'd have things to say. Victory is mine!

We fly 1700 miles to go bowling.

What we did today:

 

 

 

 

Gotta work off the gravy somehow.

Hope everybody had a wonderful holiday. Life's good here in Boulder.

All the leaves are brown.

We don't get a lot of leaves in the fall, which is plenty fine by me. I've lived on a tree-covered lot before, and I loved it except for the three straight weeks I'd spend cleaning leaves.

Here? Only a few leaves. But enough for jumping. Wanna see?

 

Riley's learning to do his share of the work. Only fair, since he'll get all the fun later.

 

"What, me help? Hmmm. Let me think about it."

 

"Yeah, I don't think so. Other things are requiring my attention."

 

"Like having the trampoline all to myself."

 

"And practicing my best poses. Am I doing it right, Mommy?"

 

Back in the front yard, things have progressed nicely. See that tidy pile of leaves? Yeah. I can totally deal with that. Just enough for some jumping, then it's gone. Can I get a Hallelujah?

 

Hallelujah!

 

The jumping commences. Neighbor kids join us, because we so totally rock, dude.

 

Sweeet.

 

We try to get Mason in the game, but she's not digging the leaves yet. This was the photo before the one where she's crying. Oh well, next year.

 

Yeah, Riley, better check out those leaves before they're gone. Won't be long, now. Daddy's gone to get the lawnmower.

 

One more jump? Well, ok then. It DOES totally rock.

Now, bring on the snow. I'm ready.

Well, at least it's not on the table.

Riley's really into playing hide and seek now - which is loads of fun, especially when he is giggling so madly while hiding that it's impossible to not know where he is. There are also the times when he can't stand the suspense of being found, so he jumps out of his spot and finds YOU finding him. We're having a lot of fun with this, and I would like to put this out there in a place where it will live permanently - I sorta hope this period never ends.

I will totally take that back tomorrow evening after he has had his fifteenth meltdown over God knows what, but for now, that's how I feel.

A little evidence, both of Riley's new love of the game and what clean laundry is really used for around here (hint: it's not for covering the bottom halves of my children - we believe in pants amnesty for all):

Untitled from Robyn Guerrasio on Vimeo.

Happy Monday!

And now, on to more serious topics.

Like the naked monkey infestation that has taken over my shower:

 

Seriously, where did these monkeys come from? And how is a girl supposed to get clean around here when they're always in her shower? AND ARE THEY USING MY EXPENSIVE SHAMPOO???

Not cool, monkeys. Someday, someway, I'll get you back for this.

Goodbye summer, Part II

As previously stated, here's Ocean City, MD - mid August.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And much like these photos of children running at dusk, it was all a blur. A really fun, really noisy, often sticky with ice cream running down your chin type of blur. See ya next year, Summer.

Goodbye, summer.

**Edited to clarify any photographic images that may or may not be me.**

Fall is officially here, and I'm starting to collect the photos to prove it. Before I can post any of them, however, I have to finish off summer. I'm gonna go chronologically, and probably won't work all my faves into one post.

First, let's finish off Vero Beach, FL - end of July.

 

Her first pigtails! It was a very big deal. I'm pretty sure that means college starts next week. Also, despite there being a visible foot in the shot, this is not me. It's my sister.

 

Also my sister.

 

Hey! This one IS me! Don't say I never show off for y'all!

 

None of those people are me.

 

Still not me.

 

Try and think really hard about this one. "Let's see... there are feet, so it might be her. But there is leg, which I doubt she'd show, since she's obviously a big scaredy-ass."

Answer? Yeah. It's me. Look at me getting brave with the ankle baring.

 

Though I have been topless on a beach in the past, this one's not me.

 

 

 

These last three? Not me. They're my sister. She's pretty and everything, but I discovered she doesn't take fantastic low-light beach photos. (Sorry, Jill.) So apparently, I DO have to do everything around here.

 

I'm very, very tempted to say this is me, if only it could get me out of having to ever post a photo of myself. What do you think? Would you fall for it?

Up next - Ocean City, MD.