I thought maybe we’d passed our Fancy Nancy stage, but today she called me Bree for most of the day and kept insisting that she is Fancy Nancy. I went along with it and we had some pretty elaborate conversations. It wasn’t until I came across her brushing her hair in front of the mirror with Audrey’s baby brush that I laughed out loud.
When she saw that I was watching her, she told me that she’d found her ‘fashion brush’ and continued to brush away. And as she talked her hair became one huge poof.
When we were in the car a couple hours later, she had to say it two times until I responded…I just wasn’t used to being called “Bree” yet.
“Umm….Bree, do you know where my beautiful fashion brush is?”
“Uhh, No, Fancy Nancy, I don’t. Last time I saw your ‘beautiful fashion brush’ you were brushing your hair in the hallway.”
“Okay, Bree. It is such a beautiful fashion brush, isn’t it?”
**She told me how the brush is ‘decorated’ and I didn’t have a heart to tell her that the ‘big red T’ is actually a symbol for the American Red Cross.
***She also insists that we call Sydney “Frenchy” and Audrey is “JoJo”
****Barry is my mom and if we ever leave the house Maggie – I mean Fancy Nancy – likes to act like any car we see is driven by ‘my mom’.
maggie is learning to wink. this is her wink face.
I will not get tired of these two little chickens sitting togehter. Not ever. I heard myself complaining to my mom on the phone today about answering Maggie’s trillion questions and not being able to put Audrey down for one second. The poor girl is teething and really just wants to nurse all day long and Maggie is curious as ever, something I really love about her.
As those complaints were rolling from the tip of my tongue, I knew it wasn’t how I REALLY felt. Today was a mother of a day – we did some major grocery shopping, I tried to weed a bit in the garden, we filled Maggie’s big pool up, and I decided to organize three of our closets. I’m a bit too proud to take and post pictures of the disaster zone that my house currently is. For every pile that I made to get rid of, Maggie sifted through it and announced that she suddenly had an interest and we shouldn’t donate it. So my house is double messy – please don’t come over if you live in the area.
I REALLY wanted to be outside with the girls, working in the garden and splashing in the pond, enjoying the weather. After trying to focus on the garden, the closets, the groceries, answering a million questions and accommodate Audrey, I finally threw my hands up and announced that we were having a popsicle break on the blanket outside. When the sun is out, I toss a blanket out in our grass in the morning and it becomes the sort of home base for the rest of the day.
As we clinked our popsicles together, and Audrey sucked on her frozen teether, I made a conscious decision to just let the rest of the house go for the remainder of the afternoon. I sent Barry a warning text so he would ‘t feel like he was coming home to armageddon. After we finished our popsicles, I hoisted Audrey on my knee and sat down next to the pool and tossed floating fish toys to Maggie as she ran around acting like a fisherman. It was exactly what I had been wanting to do all day. Instead I’d placed importance on making sure that the olive oil was in the right spot and table cloths folded – ummm, not my priority!!
I know that when I wake up tomorrow and walk down the hallway to the living room and kitchen I am going to wonder who came over and threw a rager – and then I’m going to make a huge sign on butcher paper that says “IT WILL ALL GET DONE.”
And it will all get done. The things we don’t need will get donated. The things we think we want to hang on to will be organized and ready for use.
I’m just feeling glad that tonight I can fall asleep with the memory of Maggie running around in her pool jumping and twisting trying to catch all those floating fish that I tossed in while I held a squealing Audrey on my knee.
She once helped me in the kitchen all the time, but since her little sister has arrived, those times have fallen to the wayside. We’ve started up again – working together in the kitchen – and I love having my helper back. I love the conversations that we have while we’re mixing, measuring and mashing. I love to see how confident she is knowing where we keep things, what tools to use and what ingredients go into our meals.
She has graduated to doing certain jobs at her own table and it makes her so proud. Opening butter, cracking eggs, measuring flour.
Eventually we’ll have Audrey in on all this. . .
Is it true that the heartbeat of a home is from the kitchen?
