100 Days

Last week, Sassy celebrated her 100th Day of School.

I don't remember observing this growing up, but apparently it's a BIG deal. They begin the count-"up" on the very first day, and the whole occasion revolves around a "100" theme. Each student took in a Ziploc of 100 items, the first graders dressed like they were 100 years old, and they did all kinds of "100" activities (see Baby Sister pic below.)

Cute stuff. And honestly. . .it's more than just cute. It
IS a big deal. When I sat back and thought about it, my baby girl has changed a LOT in 100 days. She's grown physically of course (Oops, Mom's behind on laundry, these pants aren't too short if you tuck them into your boots. . .) but she's learned SO much in 100 days. And I thought, who better to ask about what she's mastered than Sassy herself. So, in her own words:

What Sassy has learned in 100 days:
to read first grade books (This mama is SO proud!)
to tie my shoes
to get on the bus ("And where to get OFF the bus," she smirked. Very important skill as she got a tour of our entire county on Day 1 after not getting off at her stop.)
blend slides (Again, we didn't call it this when I was in school)
to pump myself on the swings
how to work a computer
how to be good in the library
what popcorn chicken is ("When you first read it to me, I didn't know what that was!")
to try new things in the lunchroom
that kids can have different colors of skin (Wow...)
how to play basketball on your bottom on a scooter. And hockey.
to listen to the teacher so you don't have to turn a card. (She broke her streak just this past month and both card-turns were TRAUMATIC. She came right home and tearfully confessed her guilt--let's hope that continues well into the teenage years.)

I tried to get her to say something about Chicken Boy but she just rolled her eyes at me. Pretty sure THAT will continue into the teenage years as well. . .

I'm so proud of the progress she's made, and the little lady that she's growing into. It's hard to believe that she's more than halfway through her first year. Even better is that this is just the beginning. What will the next 100 days bring?

Sunday Mornings

Once again, I'm starting my blog with a thank you to my parents. EVERY Sunday (unless someone was puking) my parents loaded all of us up and we went to mass. EVERY Sunday. And when I was younger, it was an 8:00 am mass. Did I mention we went EVERY Sunday? I credit them with my faith today. I'm so grateful for growing up in a religious, faith-based home. It's made me who I am, and hopefully, I'm passing that on to my girls. And now, as with other blog posts, after the thank you to Mom and Dad comes: How in the he&$ did you survive?! I can barely make it through our 9:30 mass with a fourth of the children my parents had. It's like a three ring circus every Sunday. I know we regularly provide comic relief for the "lucky" souls who sit behind us. And the things I've learned in mass. . . Stinkus can chuck a crayon three pews ahead of us and manage not to hit anyone. Don't interrupt Sassy when she's feeding her baby: "But Mommy!!!! Da baby's eating from my BOOOOOBIE!" (Extra emphasis and volume on "Boobie.") Tiny bodies can crawl away under pews. The quiet time after Communion is the PERFECT time to break out in a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells." Telling Daddy, "I take YOU outside and pank YOUR bottom!" makes it really hard for Daddy to keep a straight face.

Someone is always hot, or hungry, or thirsty. Or we've packed the coloring books but no crayons. Someone wants held, or put down, or held again. If nothing else, wrestling little people makes for a good workout. I really don't know how my parents did it.

Sassy's getting easier and more involved now that she can read. She loves to follow along with the readings and boy, can that girl sing. She hasn't quite figured out volume control though and she belts out songs in her loudest voice, oblivious to the grins and chuckles she's getting. Today I had to tell her that it was "people of good WILL," not good health, though that's important too. :) The "Alleluia" response gets both of them competing for a non-existent "Who Can Sing the Loudest" contest; even better is when Stinkus continues after everyone else has stopped.

And despite how worn out, tired, and frustrated I get, it all seems worth it at the end of mass when both are shouting "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit" and doing something that better resembles some crazy baseball signs rather than the Sign of the Cross. But they'll get it. And they ARE getting it. Every Sunday.

To Pee or Not to Pee

Every time I go shopping, I optimistically think it will be my last time to buy diapers. That was numerous boxes ago. I know now why it's called "training." She can, and she has, but there is absolutely no consistency to it. It's pretty clear that the "training" refers to us. She'll run and hide when it's time for numero dos, yelling, "Not look at me!" then moments later return with a diaper, wipes, and a command: "I pooped. Change my diaper. Now." Sure thing. I'll get right on it.

I've tried. I tried a sticker chart. She earned two stickers, then later ripped them off, found different stickers and proceeded to stick them randomly all over the chart. Which did not settle well with her Type A mama and older sister. I tried candy, which worked for awhile until I started using chocolate instead of Smarties. The chocolate didn't last long in this house (her parents have NO self-control) so when she discovered that all we had was Smarties, game over. I could buy more chocolate but let's be honest, it wouldn't be used for potty-training. I've tried holding her on there--especially after she stays dry ALL night. It worked a few times. The other times there was pee all over my floor. At least in a diaper, it's contained. Santa even brought big girl Dora panties which she's worn once. You can probably guess why we haven't pulled them out again. She just has no interest. "You wanna sit on the potty?" Her answer both cracks me up and infuriates me: "No fanks, Mom!" At least she's polite. I keep thinking that one day it will all just click. She knows what's she's doing (did I mention she brings us a diaper and wipes?) but apparently it's gonna have to be on HER terms. (I'm foreseeing a lot of that in her future. . .)

I told her the other morning that I was tired of changing diapers. "I bet Katie wears big girl panties."
"Yep, her does." I'm not sure she could be any more nonchalant and unaffected. "Wouldn't you like to wear big girl panties too?"
"Nope, not yet, Mom."
"Seriously! WHEN?" Totally exasperated.
She holds up three fingers and gives me the matter-of-fact answer: "When I free."

I'm hoping it doesn't take that long. June is still five months off. I'm trying to remember that someday I will miss having a "baby" and that she's already growing up faster than I want. But I'm still hoping that our next box of diapers is our last.

Dirty Little Secrets

Before kids, I used to turn my nose up at dirty coats, dirty lovies, and dirty cars. How on earth does a kid's coat get so filthy? And how does a beloved stuffed animal get SO disgusting?! Oh, how fabulous my words taste now. It's hard enough to keep kids' coats clean--but then Stinkus uses hers as a napkin if it's draped on the back of her chair when we go out to eat. Unfortunately, I never remember she does this until we're out in public and she has big greasy handprints all over it. Lovely. And now I understand why all those lovies I used to see were so gross--they were loved. We have one lovey whose tag has been completely rubbed off (where exactly did it go?) and Day-day just STINKS. And then my poor car. . . I'm almost afraid of what I would suck up if I ever decided to drag the Shop Vac out. Dropped Goldfish, broken crayons, plastic rings, smashed Trix, and don't even get me started on the crumbs. And let's not forget the entire cup of milk that was spilled down behind the backseat--without a way to get to it. We drove everywhere with the windows down for WEEKS. It's the car I always swore I would never have.

But in my defense, it's hard to clean. We love our SUV, with one exception: if you drop anything between the seats and the console, you can kiss it goodbye. I've spent way too many minutes of my life trying to squeeze my hand down there to retrieve some coveted object. I'm almost convinced that we're broke because there HAS to be at least a million dollars down there we've dropped. :) So today, after work, when I was sitting in my car, ready to pull out, and my keys were missing--there was only one place they could be. So I took a deep breath, tried to make my fingers skinnier (it doesn't work) and plunged my hand down. First object found: a Sonic tator tot from last week that didn't look too bad... No, I didn't. But I was shocked at how good it looked--artificial preservatives at their best! Three tator tots later, the keys were found and Sassy was giggling uncontrollably at me.

Me: Big sigh. "Why is our life SO crazy?!"
Sassy: "I don't know!" Big giggles. "But it sure is fun."

Amen, sister. Now to find that million dollars.