Weekly Column: The Power Of Presence

It was a slow morning. We’d been homebound due to sickness or weather for 3 days running, and my toddler was restless in a bouncing-off-the-walls sort of way.

I settled her in with some crayons and paper at the table, and wandered away to see about making the winter/spring clothing switch in her bedroom. That’s never a quick task, but with my two-year-old happy at the table and my big girl resting feverishly on the couch, I assumed the coast was clear for a few minutes of quiet sorting.

As usual, once I got heavily interested in what I was doing, I forgot all about the time. A few minutes turned into ten, and I hadn’t checked on my littlest girl. She was quiet, though; that should have been my first warning. When I realized the probable ramifications of silence, I raced to the kitchen where, sure enough, silence had led to trouble.

My toddler was coloring big, broad circles on our wooden tabletop, with a MARKER. And not an innocent, washable marker, either. She’d found a cheap, unwashable set of markers and had entertained herself by covering an 18-inch square corner of the table with deep purple circles.

The table was toast, and I was furious. I scrubbed the stains until my arms burned, mad at my toddler for her naughtiness. When I calmed down, I realized the fault wasn’t hers alone, though. Oh, no – it also belonged to the parent who’d lost track of time. The fault was at least half mine.

No matter how well behaved my children can be, no matter how ‘safely’ occupied, there’s just no substitute for me being present. Where toddlers are concerned, only a parent’s attentive presence can provide the supervision necessary to avoid such catastrophes as ruined furniture.

Water-park, Schmater-park

Who needs a water park...

...when you have a hose, a back yard, and a slide?

7 Quick Takes Friday, #65

1.  We've been enjoying (and occasionally) bemoaning the beginnings of summer this week, and it's only 85 degrees outside.  Heaven help me when real summer temperatures set in and I'm gasping for air on a humid 100+ degree day. 

How do you like your summers?  Hot, hot, hot like the deep south?  Or mild and sunny like what I imagine Canadian summers to be?

I think I'm going to be wishing for Canada in about 2 months.  Or 2 weeks.  It really depends on my mood. In the meantime, we're eating ice cream cones, wearing bathing suits, sporting sweaty hair -- the works.



2. Chocolate ice cream cones, to be specific.

3.  Hand-me-down bathing suits, to be precise.

4.  Sweaty hair, pulled back in pigtails, and drenched with hose water, to be exact.

5.  One of the perks of living on the edge of a forest (and failing to trim our property line adequately) is being surprised with tiny, young berries growing along our chain link fence.  I think these will become blackberries, but I'm willing to allow that I actually have no idea.  Do you?

6. I think it's been a while since I asked this, but I am truly and wholeheartedly interested. Plus, I'm always thinking about such deeply important issues as these and it's only fair to let you inform me of your views on this timely and heated topic:

Have you seen any good movies lately? 



7.  I think sometime in the next week or so, I'll be announcing an exciting new...venture?...with some wonderfully talented and creative friends.  I think you'll like it, so check back soon!  Like, every day, if you wish.  Because, honestly...I might just gross you out, frighten you, or make you cry in the meantime, so why wouldn't you come back?  With promises like these, who needs discouragement?


Have a fun, fun Memorial Day weekend, and be sure to stop by Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

What We Found At The Library, #18

Thanks for joining me this week! I've decided that this will be my last book swap for awhile, so if you're waiting for the perfect time to link up -- this is it! I'll let you know if/when I decide to start back up again, but let's just consider this the start of a summer break.

Mama's Favorite: Toot & Puddle -- You Are My Sunshine, by Holly Hobbie

I didn't love this book at first read, but as the days wore on, I realized that it was sticking with me. Making me think and consider long after we'd shut its pages. In this story, Toot is mopey. He just pokes around, wandering dejectedly from day to day as his friend Puddle tries everything he knows -- five-berry cobbler, parties, river rafting --to cheer up his friend, but nothing works. Puddle misses the old, happier Toot. But when a thunderstorm comes through, blowing and gnashing at the trees, Toot suddenly smiles. He snaps out of his mopey mood, one he didn't even realize he was in, and becomes cheerful again. All it took was a "big, whopping thunderstorm to clear the air." And I can so relate to that. I mope around without knowing why sometimes, and with a shift of weather -- or realization -- I snap out again. Back into happiness. I love that this book explores moods and friendship in such a supportive way, and I love that Toot recognizes the value of his loyal friend through his mopey journey.

Mama & Mia's Favorite: The Magic Hill by A.A. Milne and Isabel Bodor Brown (Illustrator)

You know we love our princess stories in this household. I was thrilled to happen upon one by A.A. Milne, the beloved creator of Winnie The Pooh, and had no choice but to check it out. Milne's storytelling plus Brown's sweet illustrations make this book one that I want to own. Mia watched with wide eyes as we read about the pampered princess Daffodil growing up with her fairy-granted gift: wherever she walks, flowers grow. But the gift turns out to be a burden: she's only allowed to walk on the gardens, while the village children must stay on the walkways. Daffodil has no room to run and play. When the royal doctor announces that the sweet princess doesn't thrive as she should, the Queen makes a change in plans. She and the King grant an entire hillside to be Daffodil's, and it becomes a flower-filled playground for the princess and the village children alike. Mia's fairy-tale soul was satisfied by this book, as well as Mama's fable-loving heart -- a match made in heaven.

Daddy & Mia's Favorite: The Impossible Riddle by Ellen Jackson and Allison Winfield (Illustrator)

(Again with the princesses...) Young Princess Katarina of Russia wishes for a husband and family. But her father, Tsar Nicholas, loves her so much that he can't bear to part with her. He comes up with a clever riddle to thwart the suitors who'd take her from him: the first man to correctly answer the riddle will win his daughter's hand. When Katarina sees the handsome Prince she wants to marry, she arranges a hint for him to solve the riddle, and an enjoyable mystery unfolds. It is SO obvious to me why this book was Justin's favorite: a loving, pinky-finger-tied father, a sweet, beautiful daughter, and a plan to keep her to himself forever. I think if Justin were a King, he'd be searching for the perfectly unanswerable riddle even now. Luckily, in the end of the story, the King is happy to give his daughter to a worthy prince. Mia loved the details in this story, and Justin loved reading it to his sweet little girl -- over and over again.

Now it's your turn! Share your recent book finds so we can have a few great suggestions going into summertime!

This Is So, So Gross

It's been an unrealistic fear, hidden in the recesses of my mind, that something like this would happen one day.

And now the day has come. The fearsome thing has happened.

It goes like this:

When Mia was in diapers, we used a Diaper Genie to hide her beastly productions. We shoved that thing full of all manner of nastiness, knowing we'd have to empty it later, but enduring the task for a lack of better options. And when we'd open it to be emptied later, well, it wasn't a fun job. It was the most malodorous, stinking heap of wadded up plastic and balled up diapers you could ever hope (or NOT hope) to encounter. I think I withered a few brain cells trying to empty it while holding my breath, choosing the more pleasant way to dizzy myself: from asphyxiation rather than odoriferocity (I'm sure that's a word, right?). Plus, the liners required to make the gadget work seemed far too expensive.

So, I wasn't a fan of the Diaper Genie.

When Lauren came along, I banned the Genie from the nursery. I preferred to walk to the garage and place the dirty diaper directly into the trash bin, a practice that became a contentious point between Justin and I. Because I became lazy about it. I'd toss the wadded-up, taped-down diaper down the garage steps or down to the garage doors where the trash bin waited, being too lazy or BUSY with the business of motherhood to walk all the way to the bin, lift the lid, and throw the diaper in.

Sometimes, though, a wayward fantastical nightmare scenario would flit across my consciousness about the possible downfall of my chosen diaper removal method. In scenario A, the diaper would be flying down the length of the garage, on its way to the floor beside the trash bin, when the tapes would inexplicably come loose, unleashing the contents of the heavily soiled diaper all over our car, our recycling bins, and our lawn chairs, before entirely exploding when it landed on the floor. Horrific to imagine. Improbable, but horrific. I worked hard to avoid the manifestation of this scenario.

In scenario B, a diaper would be flung down to the trash bin end of the garage by my admittedly bad throwing arm, landing under the back of our vehicle instead of in its intended resting place, and be forgotten about until it was run over by the back wheel of our SUV, SPLOOFing its smashed contents on the cement floor before being smudged all over our tires or dragged across our garage. And while I worked hard to avoid the manifestation of this scenario as well, I also underestimated my ability to remember when I'd mis-thrown a diaper.

Which happened the other morning. There was a hidden diaper, fouled and filled, languishing directly behind our rear tire.

Justin started the car...the girls were buckled safely into their carseats...I was nestled happily into the passenger side...Justin backed the car out of the garage...

SPLOOF.

Contents. Smashed on the cement floor. Shot out both sides of a day-old diaper.

And away we drove. Never again to return.

Except, we had to return. We did rock-paper-scissors to decide who had to clean up the mess.

The winner (loser!?) is still rocking himself in the fetal position, trying to eradicate the nightmares from his delicate mind.

Potty training should probably now be amped up to full throttle.

Peace be with you.

Medication Would Have Been Helpful

Bear with me, as this will be quite a round-a-bout way of story-telling. Wait, what? You expect that of me? Pshhhh.

Did you know that Mia was a little bit premature?

She was, by about 4 weeks, and the only harm it caused was that she had to stay in the hospital on a bili-light for 6 days. 6 days of me descending into a pit of post-partum depression, which I didn't come out of for months. The hospital was filled with people -- nurses, visitors, patients milling around -- yet I was lonely. I was not myself. I was sad and weepy and terrified. I couldn't hold my baby because she was all strapped into the bili-bed, but I wasn't even sure I really wanted to, anyway. I felt no connection with her yet other than knowing that I had to take care of her, which I threw myself into with all the gusto of a depressed new mom: uncertainly and with much paranoia.

Each time we took Mia off the bili-light, we had instructions to turn the power off. In order for the machine to correctly record the number of hours per day she'd spent lit up with the warm, blue bulbs, it had to know when she was hooked up to it. And in my weepy, morbid state of mind, I thought bad thoughts each time we turned the machine off to feed or change Mia. I dreaded flipping the switch, because the bili-bed's constant, droning hum would slowly power down into silence. To me, it sounded like a life-support machine being unplugged. It felt like I was taking my baby off life-support, and I cried every time.

When we finally got home from the hospital, my state of mind didn't improve quickly. By the time Mia was one month old, we still hadn't given her a pacifier. I was determined to let nothing stand in the way of a good breastfeeding latch, and since Mia had a bit of a rough time learning to latch on, I refused pacifiers for her. I never intended it to be a long term refusal; I always assumed we'd use one eventually. But when the day came that we finally wanted to try a pacifier, it didn't work quite like we'd planned.

After a few tries of plugging a pacifier into little Mia's mouth, she still wasn't having any of it. It made her mad -- she wanted to suck with a purpose, and the binkie just wasn't cutting it. Justin held it to her face while she continually tried to push it out, and I sat across the room, fretting. Soon, though, it worked. She seemed to be sucking on it contentedly, so Justin cautiously moved his hand away.

And that's when I lost it.

Her tiny little head -- premature, remember? -- was almost completely taken over by the plastic pacifier. It covered her mouth from nose to chin, cheek to cheek, and made her look like a robot...a machine...something unnatural. A picture flashed through my mind of the mask worn by Hannibal Lecter, and I flipped out. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I immediately put an end to the binkie. It wasn't right for us. It wasn't worth it to plunge my fragile post-partum mind into crazyville, just for Mia to have a pacifier.

I packed the few binkies we had into a box of unused baby toys, and hid them away. Mia played with them a few times as she grew up, but she never 'used' a binkie.

Lauren never even tried one. Much like she never tried a bottle. It was all mama, all the time, around Heavenly house, and it was just the way I liked it. Although I didn't have the same bluesy mood with Lauren, I felt it was better to not tempt the memory of Hannibal Lecter's mask on my child. The binkies remained in the box of baby toys, and my girls maintained an artificial-nipple-free existence.

But now. Oh, now. Everything's changed.

Lauren found the box of baby toys a few months ago, and it was like Christmas. Toys?! Bottles?! Pacifiers?! I let her keep a few baby things out, thinking she'd use them with her baby doll, which is her favorite toy, by far. She's a consummate little mother, that one, and I had no problem letting her haul off a binkie or two for her baby.

Except, she doesn't use them with her baby. She uses them for herself. And she's grown quite attached. Over the past month, she's gone from playing with the binkie for a few minutes a day, whenever she happened across it, to seeking it out at all times and pleading to sleep with it. She cries for its companionship. She quiets and calms when it's in her mouth. She loves the binkie.



And, lord help me, I can't refuse it to her. (Other than at bedtime -- I refuse it then, for sure. It's been lost behind the crib slats more than once, and that's a nightmare. No thanks.) It's like she knows I don't want her to grow out of babyhood, so she's reverting to babyish behavior. KNOWING I won't mind.

Because I'm a spineless sap.

With a mixed-up head.

But seriously. Is she adorable, or what?






Tell me I'm not the only one whose postpartum depression caused the imagining of such disturbing images. Or, if you were perfectly sane and healthy, feel free to just smile and nod at this terrifyingly strange history of mine.

This Is My Life

I think I've discovered the reason behind my unwillingness to leave my children for any length of time. (Besides the need to sniff and hold and see them, I mean. And besides the little, uptight control freak in me who wants to know exactly what they're doing at all times. And besides the sense of loss and separation which comes over me when I become more than 20 feet away from them. And besides the sense of jealousy when someone else gets to be with them instead of me. Besides all that.)

(Now, I can't remember if 'besides' is a word, or if it's supposed to be 'beside'. It looks like something I just made up now that I've written it so many times in a row. I'm so confused...)

The deeper reason isn't a pretty one. It's a fear. A selfish, lazy fear.

I've been afraid that upon spending any real length of time away from my children, I'd just...not want to be a mom any more. That I'd bask in the glow of free time and peaceful days all in a row, and be disappointed when it came time to return to my real life. That I'd suddenly see my life for what it must really be: mundane. Tiring.

When I became a stay at home mom, it wasn't because I couldn't bear to be away from my baby. At least, not entirely. There was a good portion of me that needed to keep myself firmly planted in my role. Going back and forth from a day job to my family life would have felt like pulling up roots at each place when it was time to go, and re-learning how to live in either place. I know I would have gotten used to being a working mom, but when the moment came to decide, I couldn't imagine myself doing it. I couldn't imagine being immersed in the 'real world' of adults and reason and relative calm, and then having to face the difficulty of coming back home, to the world of constant need, constant noise, and constant exhaustion.

I chose the more difficult task (for me, at that time) of staying home because I didn't want to let myself experience even a tiny bit of disappointment when the end of a workday came and I might have found myself dreading the night to come. I wouldn't let myself be disappointed.

And I think it's been the same thing with leaving my daughters for longer than a day or night. Yes, there was an honest dose of plain attachment and the overpowering need to be close to my girls, but there was a part of me that feared my own reaction. I feared the possibility of feeling disappointed with my job as a mother upon returning. And not wanting to allow those feelings, I just never left.

Until now.

I left, I missed them, I came back, and I'm still happy with them. They're still crazy and chaotic and loud. I'm still outnumbered and exhausted and impatient. But I'm also content.

This is my life, and no amount of vacation away from it can make me want something different.

This is my life, and I'm honored and blessed to have it. Every sloppy, sweet, tiring, giggle-filled, impatient moment is just as it should be.

This is my life. And I love it. And now I know that fact better than I did before.

Don't You Love It...

When you wake up after a late night with old friends and go to remove your unusually thick eye makeup, but because you're basically sleep walking, you instead pour ASTRINGENT on your cotton pad before swiping it across your delicate eyes, then wonder why it burns when it's never burned before?


Yeah, me too.

Weekly Column: Get Down To Eye Level

I know my daughters have the ability to hear me speaking -- they've passed all the mandatory hearing tests required since birth. But sometimes, magically, they're just deaf to my voice. I can call, lecture, and explain to my heart's content, but if they're in a distracted or stubborn mood, they just won't hear me. And I know I'm not alone in this frustration. Parents around the world would probably agree that selective hearing is downright maddening.

When my house starts to disintegrate into that maddening place, if I stop to look around me, here's what's probably happening: I'm calling across a room for a child to stop (or start) doing something, and that child is not listening. Out of laziness, I'm probably hoping to avoid the disruption of my own task to walk over, look in my child's face, and speak calmly.

But that's exactly the most helpful way to get my daughters' attention -- and hold it: get right down on their level. Stop talking above, around, or over them, and squat directly in their path. It makes sense, really. How frustrating must it be to be a tiny child, hearing voices above you all day, not knowing when or if they're directed at you? Probably NOT as frustrating as speaking to a non-listener, but who's counting?

Since learning the magic of eye-to-eye contact, interacting with my little ones has been infinitely easier. They can't help but hear me, and I know for SURE that they're listening. Obedience may or may not happen, but that's a separate bridge to be crossed.

When I'm down on my children's level, instructions or questions can happen in a conversational, rather than dictatorial way. I allow myself to be seen as a loving equal, rather than a threatening superior. An approachable -- not ignored -- mother.

It's Time

In general, I don't set my own bar too high. I'd usually rather drift along, happy in my mediocrity, and not worry about failing in some big task. Is that lazy of me?

(It's just true.)

But sometimes, I do actually feel the need to step outside my own boundaries and think...what if? Would it really be such a bad thing to try? To maybe fail? To be confronted with my limits?

And on days like today, I say no. It's not a bad thing to try. It's not dangerous to broaden my own expectations for what I can accomplish. Today, I want to exceed my average expectations, and I want to do something difficult.

(Tomorrow, I'll probably recant.)

So here's what I'm going to tackle: Maegan's Creativity Boot Camp. It runs (for free!) for two weeks, starting June 6th.




I want to be more creative and I want to challenge myself into thinking of my world in different lights, but I've never wanted to do the work of figuring out how. It's seemed difficult and intimidating and impossible for middle-of-the-road me -- it still does.

But with a fine group of participants cheering each other on and a talented, sweet teacher helping us learn, I'm excited.

I might, though, need some of you to hold my hand as I wade into unknown puddles. Will you join me? Will you work towards building your creativity?

Will you go to Boot Camp with me?

7 Quick Takes Friday, #64

1. A long weekend away from the girls has taught me (and reminded me of) a few things:

2. When all my attention goes to my children all day, I don't actually end up giving very much quality time to my husband. But when I can spend an entire day paying attention to my husband, I get all googly eyed and mushy around him. Which tends to embarrass him in group settings. I remembered how much I love and enjoy him -- just by himself, not in a collective family sense -- which I didn't think I'd forgotten.

3. I'll sniff and kiss a greasy patch into my toddler's fine hair on my first full day back with her. But since washing her hair clean of chapstick and mama-drool and tears more than once a day is an unsupportable habit, I'll learn to restrain myself to only a few dozen sniffs and/or kisses per day.

4. Grandma will have filled the house with new toys. Mom and Dad will be confused as to what toy is making random noises they've never heard before, as well as to how their house can physically hold any more toys. They will consider forcing Grandma to pick out 20 old toys to be sent home with her.

5. My daughters will know the word 'McDonald's' and be able to use it in a sentence, such as, "Mom, can we have McDonald's for lunch today?" And when the answer (What?? NO!) is given:

6. Mom will have become a boring prude in comparison to the super fun Grandma.

7. Both girls will have learned a new trick: "But Grandma lets me (play with these tiny doll shoes, sleep with Lauren's baby, jump off the couch, wear my Easter dress, etc, etc, ad infinitum.)" And whether or not Grandma actually allowed these things is not really the issue. The issue is, my daughters have learned the fine art of conniving. And now I'm frightened for my sanity.

Have a happy weekend! Don't forget to stop by Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

A Quick Trip

The Heavenly Travelers

do

Annapolis and Washington DC

in

5 minutes or less.

Care to join us?

Night one at the Rockfish Bar in downtown Annapolis. Justin was getting tricky so I slapped him a good one. It didn't deter him.

The Rockfish fishtank and my girly friend Mandy. She and her husband Lucas (who begged off of any blog coverage -- strange, right? It's like he's...private!!) were the perfect traveling partners for Justin and I.

My first ever bloggy friend meetup with Robin of Not Ever Still. We weren't very still, either, but we WERE instant friends. Wonderful.

Chesapeake Bay with this jokester who'd just pretended to stumble off the dock. He's funny that way.

The harbor at the Naval Academy, which had a very cool visitor's center/museum, where Justin decided he should've joined the Navy. I heartily agreed, except for the whole 'deployment' issue.

Gussied up for the wedding at the Port Annapolis Marina.

Enjoying rum punch with Sarah-Marie, one of my craziest high school cohorts.

Oh, the ceremony. Sandwiched neatly between a 'preception' and the reception, the vows were said with both humor and feeling. I was giddy with happiness for Danni and Cesar.

Still giddy, but now with choked back tears.

Lovely, ain't so? She and her mom made that dress, by the way.

Speaking of high-school cohorts...From left, Annie, Danni, Mandy, and the oddly non-y ending name, Sarah.

The Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington National Cemetery.

Rows and rows, acres and acres. Sobering.

Our favorite museum of the day, Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History.

He's a hoot. Le sigh.

The Lincoln Memorial. Waaaaay too far away.

We finally reached the Washington National Monument, by which point my feet were screaming obscenities at me.

But it's okay, because I'd been doing the same to them for hours. New shoes plus walking the Mall equals a cussing Heavenly Sarah.

It wouldn't be a trip to DC without having seen the White House, right?

There was more...

so much more...

but my camera skills

(namely the battery charging portion of those skills...)

were lacking.

Finis.

Their First Secret Hideout

Just before bedtime, I made one more trek through the house to corrall any last remnants of our messy day. A baby doll, a pair of shoes, the missing block -- the pieces of fun we'd had all day were mostly gone, picked up by a happy-to-help little girl and her oblivious accomplice; only these few items had been overlooked.

The mess-makers were giggling in the bedroom. They were each supposed to be choosing a story and snuggling in for a relaxing routine, but instead, I heard a door click shut. Peering around the hallway corner, all I could see was a dark bedroom. The shaft of light that should have been lighting the room from the open closet, was gone.

They'd hidden from me. Earlier that day, I'd finally gotten the closet organized enough that most of the floor was bare, and they'd discovered it. The giggling and chattering rose and fell, muffled by the closed door. I tiptoed closer after depositing the last toys in their designated places, and knelt in front of the door to listen.

"Here's a honey diaper for you, sweetie," cooed Mia.

"Ooh, DANK you Mee-YAH!" Lauren sang back.

Their conversation was full of pretend and wonder, drowning down into whispers before the squealing erupted again. They were laughing so hard that both of them, at the same time, had gotten the hiccups.

I couldn't stand it: it was so heart-catchingly sweet, I had to take a peek. Cracking the door open -- just a sliver -- I was immediately found out.

"Mama!" Mia scolded, "We're hiding! You can't open the door!" She drew the door closed to begin their secret games again.

Without me.

Two sisters, making secrets, building their own brand of humor, sharing memories, without me. Bittersweet waves washed over me as I sat back from the closed door. I love their budding closeness -- their sweet dependence on one another -- their tinkling laughter intertwined. I love their relationship and that they'll always have each other.

I'm proud of that.

I'm jealous of that.

But I'm happy for them. Their secret hideouts will probably become more complex as the years pass, but I'll always remember their first:

A closet full of baby clothes, princess dresses, honey diapers, and breathless giggling. An innocent closet, transformed forever.

Weekly Column: How To Brush A Toddler's Teeth

Once upon a time, there was a baby. She had a sweet, gummy smile, and blew raspberries from a rosebud mouth. Caring for her was a breeze, for she required nothing but relaxing baths and lavender-scented lotion to keep her well-groomed.

Soon, though, she grew teeth, and grooming became more complicated. Cleaning teensy teeth was harder than her parents expected it to be. Nothing at all like a soothing lotion application; not even close to a post-bath snuggle. No, cleaning their daughter’s teeth was just plain difficult. She bit, she tossed, she licked, she squirmed. What she did not do, was enjoy having her teeth brushed.

Bewildered, the parents had to come up with some helpful ideas, and fast: the health of their daughter’s teeth depended on it.

During the baby months, they used a bathtime washcloth to simply wipe the few emerging teeth. This was less complicated than a toothbrush, and worked just as well.

As toddlerhood approached, they had to resort to trickier measures. They engaged the little girl’s imagination by pretending to brush her elbow…her forehead…her cheek…until finally, they got it right and landed the toothbrush on actual teeth. By the time they’d brushed so many wrong surfaces, the toddler was giggling – with a wide, open mouth.

To speed up the seemingly endless process, they sang silly songs, counted each tooth as they went, or pretended the toothbrush was a race car, zooming around a tiny track of teeth. They plopped the toddler right up on the counter, laid her head on a princess pillow/folded towel, and became royal dentists. Cave explorers. Precious gem examiners.

With practice, the parents became expert teeth-brushers.

And by then, the little girl was old enough to start brushing her own teeth. Which is the beginning of another story entirely.

Our Favorite Snack

Oh, these little babies are delicious. It's like eating the inside of a candy bar...or a chunk of cold cookie dough...or a bite of perfection. But semi-healthy. At least until I start adding extra chocolate chips...

I've written about them before, I think, and linked to their original recipe from My Kitchen Cafe, but I've tweaked the way I make them just a little bit. So here, therefore, is our current favorite snack:

Peanut Butter Crunch Balls

1/2 C natural applesauce

3 Tbsp powdered milk

1 C honey

3 C creamy peanut butter

3 C crushed cereal

3/4 C Grape Nuts or Bran Buds cereal

1 C regular-sized (not mini - heh) chocolate chips

In small bowl, combine applesauce and powdered milk. Add to honey, peanut butter, cereals, and chocolate chips in a large bowl; mix thoroughly. Roll into 1" balls and place on a waxed paper covered cookie sheet. Place entire sheet into freezer until balls are solid. Place balls in a lidded bowl or plastic baggie, and store in freezer.

I love to make these by cleaning out all the almost-finished boxes of cereal in our cupboard, and the girls get very excited when they know peanut butter balls are in the works. Make them SOON and let me know what you think!

Happy Saturday, friends!

7 Quick Takes Friday, #63

1. I have a friend named Megan. We aren't close; we always went to school together and knew each other, but not well. Megan has a darling 6-year-old son named Easton. Easton has a brain stem tumor. He's undergone months of treatment, and not seen any real change. Last weekend, he was flown to the Children's Hospital in St. Louis in an emergency, and they found out that his tumor has grown. He's undergoing a risky surgery this morning. Please pray for Easton and his family.

Please pray.

2. Today (probably right this moment, as you're reading this) my husband and I are on our way to our first vacation away from our babies. You could pray for that, too, if you think it'll help!

3. Yesterday, while trying to talk to Mia about how many days we'll be on vacation, I said, "I'll miss you while I'm gone, sweetie!" It didn't sound like a downer, I tried for a very neutrally normal tone. Mia's response was the perfect advice, though.

"Yeah, but just don't CRY, mom," she stated.

I promised her I wouldn't, but we all know that was a leeetle white lie.

4. I was mostly successful in only leaving the grandmas with a tiny package of information while we're away. Four pages of notes regarding everything from daily schedules, to bedtime routines, to treat allowances. It felt so good to write it all down, and even better to look into my mom's eyes when I handed her the first sheet and said, "This is for Friday." Her eyes kind of went wide for a moment, but I think....

I think she's happy to have the helpful information, don't you? I mean, if I were watching a preschooler and a toddler for 4 days, I'd be all over some free tips. Wouldn't you?!

Really, I'm like a gift bearing angel, with a pocket full of emergency phone numbers and lunch menus. I just hope they understand that fact.

5. One of the really great perks of potty training is all the encouragement and congratulations I receive when I use the potty.

For example, Lauren followed me into the bathroom the other day, asking, "Mama? You need to go potty?" I said yes, and proceeded to do my business, while Lauren, hearing my business started clapping. "Ooooh! GOOD JOB, Mommy!" she yelled. She peeked into the bowl when I stood up, and exclaimed again. "Wooooah, you went some YOTTA pee-pee!" I felt so uplifted.

(Yes, I know: it would be much preferable to pee alone, but...you probably have kids...you know how it is.)

6. Wish me luck this weekend.

7. Wish the Grandmas luck, too.

Have a gorgeous weekend, all, and stop by Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes!

What We Found At The Library, #17

Lauren's Favorite: The Sleepy Little Alphabet by Judy Sierra & Melissa Sweet (Illustrator)

This cute story goes through an alphabet of sleepy kids -- mopey M, naughty N, yawning Y -- with adorable illustrations of each letter and its bedtime antics. Rhyming between each verse, the story clicks along with hilarious interpretations of each letter's personality: "F is full of fidgety giggles. G has got the googly giggles. H tries standing on her head, I and J jump on the bed." It's quick, so Lauren's toddler-attention was held, but she's also in love with the alphabet song, so this book was a clear favorite. At the end of each reading, we quietly sang the song so the letters could fall asleep, as their Capital parents wanted them to. While I secretly hoped the alphabet song would lull Lauren into a dreamy state. Unfortunately, it just left her singing to herself -- loudly -- for many bedtime minutes. But I didn't mind too much. If it hadn't been the alphabet song, it would've been something else, anyway.

Mia's Favorite: Princess Me by Karma Wilson & Christa Unzner (Illustrator)

This story about an imaginative little girl was my little girl's absolute favorite. The main character's bedroom becomes her kingdom, her toys become loyal subjects, and sweeping dress-up clothes become royal gowns. She pretends all the details of her princess life, from the knights to the ladies in waiting, and understands that having a true princess attitude -- always kind and generous -- is important. But really, she's just a regular little girl, and is very willing to pass her princess status on to the reader. At the end, the story asks, "Who is this girl? I wonder who...Of course, my love, it's Princess YOU!" Mia squirmed and smiled and became sweetly shy each time we finished this book. Being named princess by a book? It was her dream come true.

Mama's Favorite: Little Red Bird by Nick Bruel

In this book, a little red bird contemplates the world beyond her window. It happens one day that her cage door is open, the bedroom window door is open, and she gets the chance to soar across the sky, fully enjoying her new freedom. 'Then in front of her eyes was quite a surprise! The window was open! It's true! It looked scary out there. Should she leave? Should she dare? I wonder what YOU would do?' With the setting of the sun, the story ends with the little red bird wondering what she should do next. She sees the window and her cage from across the wide, free park. She knows it's full of food, water, and safety...but...she wonders....what would YOU do? Stay in the beautiful, spacious park? Or go back to the safe, cozy cage? I love that the book ends on a question for the reader to ponder and discuss. Which we did, in depth. This is a lovely read-aloud book, and its innocent, comic-book-like illustrations are wonderful. Bright, colorful, simple, and adored by both my daughters and myself.

What books did your family enjoy this week? I can't wait to put your suggestions on our book list!