Greatest Show on Earth, Take Three

To Grandma Kathy's chagrin, the girl on the chair is eleven years old. The circus is a family enterprise, though, and, really, if you didn't start doing that at eleven, who in their right mind would be brave enough when they were older??!

They had a sort of cool, retro-type atmosphere for this act.

Everybody loves the elephants! Miss Mouse was pleased they did a sleeping pose "just like on Mr. Rogers'!!" We've been watching Mr. Rogers' episode called "Day at the Circus" over and over and over and over......

In addition to the elephants, there were tigers and pigs. Yep, pigs. They were really funny. The clown wasn't so funny for our sensitive Miss Mouse; he just kept pretending certain areas of his body were injured, and I kept reassuring her he was pretending to try to be funny. She had a less-than-amused look on her face the whole time. The tight-rope-walker who walked right over our heads was cool, too, although Grandma pointed out that he could save himself by hanging onto the rope if he tipped, but he'd have to drop the 65-pound metal bar onto us. Ugh. Thankfully, he was good at his job!

Overall, it was a super fun circus. Grandma bought us 'reserved' section seats, so we were way, way closer than last year up in the nosebleed section (when I bought the tickets!). I'm quite opposed to the commercialism piece of the circus, where the announcer tells the kids "you'll all be winners if you have your special light-saber toy, so get your parents to go buy you one now during intermission", but Miss Mouse did get a hat with her name on it and a picture of her and Grandma with the singing pig. Who could oppose those types of cuteness?! Baby Mouse received her own name hat when we got home, too. Even though Miss Mouse had attended her first circus when she was Baby Mouse's age, it was such a different setup from the larger area here. When Miss Mouse was tiny, we were right down in the midst of the action, so her attention was captured the whole time. I'm really glad Baby Mouse stayed home with Grandpa Dick and Daddy this year, though I'm betting she'll have fun next year!

To One Mr. Wylie Coyote,

At the composition of this letter, I hope you are well on your way to a wilderness far from our neighborhood. I sympathize with your plight; I really do because you were likely displaced by flood waters. However, I will have no hesitation in ordering, yes, ordering, my loving husband to defend our life and limb and that of our sweet pup, Hubert, if we see you in our very own yard. Yes, Wylie, it is imperative for your safety that you stay out of our yard.

It severely displeases me that the situation with you was handled so poorly yesterday. I hope not so much for your destruction as for the safety and security of my own two, darling, little Mice. You see, your presence in our neighbors' yard shatters the serenity of my own sleepy, shady little backyard complete with its six-foot fence. Your presence there, regardless of whether you were displaced by flood waters, means that you, and others of your kind, potentially may run through my neighborhood again. The next time, perhaps, the girls and I won't have terrible colds and be stuck inside. Perhaps we would be out planting flowers in the front yard, blowing bubbles, or chasing butterflies. Should we not be able to engage in these activities freely, with a sense of confidence in our own well-being? Should I not be able to have my children in our very own yard for fear of their safety? Your intentions are known solely to you; knowing others of your kind, I dare to doubt your honor a bit.

It is fair to say I am enraged not so much by your presence as by the directive of the city to our neighbor. Our neighbor, the best in the world, by the way, called the police for assistance in your, er, removal only to be brushed off and transferred to the Humane Society of our city for assistance. While I respect their work in many areas, their directive to him to "open your yard gates and let him go" with regard to your removal astonishes me in its irresponsibility and disrespect for the safety of the children of this neighborhood. As I stated before, I assure you that I hold you no ill will and wish not for your death, though I would not have mourned you long; I find it physically sickening to think that our city believes it holds no responsibility to at least tranquilize and relocate you, that, instead, our city apparently believes that a large (large) coyote running wild through blocks populated with small children out playing in their yards poses no threat. Perhaps it poses no threat to you, Mr. Coyote, but I happen to believe you pose a significant danger to my 29- and 19-pound Mice. I am not one to think that children should be left in the front yard to play alone, but it is difficult for me to believe that in the near future, when my Mice would be, say, 2 and 4 years old, they cannot even play safely in their backyard. Alas, this is what your presence has taught me. This and the fact that our city has become too large when the rights of you, Mr. Coyote, trump the rights of my little Mice.

Do not return, Wylie. Your life depends on that.

My sincere regards.

Pictures, Pictures, and More Pictures!

We have turkeys on our block. Chuckle, chuckle.

A week ago today, the girls and I were up to view the river in the park. We could still get most of the way around the jogging path. Note the seepage of what was to come. This path is nonexistent today.

Note the trickle under the stroller wheel, an almost imperceptible portent. I'll try to get some current pictures this weekend and post them this week.

Baby Mouse puts the hat on herself these days. It's Miss Mouse's hat. It's also Miss Mouse who is being paged in this picture.

Miss Mouse decided to break out the Fancy Nancy tiara and sunglasses one evening. Baby Mouse was not to be left out. She strutted her stuff in her cute, hand-me-down sunglasses. I had a hard time ever getting Miss Mouse to wear them, so they're like new. Baby Mouse loves them.

Yes, folks, it's true! She zipped that all by herself!!! She reminds me that she "can do it myself" everytime we go outside these days. We were pretty proud of her accomplishment.

Our latest "preschool project" was homemade paper. Miss Mouse helped with the whole process; ripping the newspaper, getting our hands very dirty with newsprint, mushing it up into a pulp, mushing, mushing, mushing, squeezing out the water with a tin foil strainer, placing the leaves and flower petals we had dried in anticipation of this project last fall, and finally peeling off the finished product from the tin foil. It was really a hit!

What a difference six months makes (i.e.)

Happiness Is Not.....

*A 12-month-old with her first official cold...and a strong gag reflex leading to lots of choked up yuckiness.

*Precipitation. Specifically rain. Here. Now.

*Being told that breastfeeding my slightly-over-12-month-old, who has trouble swallowing solid foods or using a straw with a cold now (refer back to the gag reflex piece above, please) and who refuses to let a spoon within a foot of her body (she's getting at least three molars and two "filler" teeth...I'd refuse a spoon, too, I think, but would probably opt for a fattening milk shake of some sort...), is creating an extraordinary lack of nutrition these days that she is getting mostly breastmilk because "it has no vitamins and is no different than letting her drink whole cow's milk all day". Yeah, thanks Madam Nurse Practitioner. I get it. Moo. Thanks for making my day and comparing me (unfavorably, at that) to Bessy out back. Thanks. Again, moo.
---Sidenote: I did look at her funny and comment that I thought breastmilk did have vitamins and nutrients in it even for an older baby like my daughter is...she gave me a blank stare and said "breastmilk has vitamins? I don't know. I thought it was basically like cow's milk." Needless to say, I'm not starting any weaning processes based on this gal's advice.....I'm not sure what she would have preferred Baby Mouse be partaking of now when she can't eat solids with all her snot, can't suck a straw (again, the snot issue), and is refusing a spoon. Perhaps intravenous fluids in the hospital would be preferable to breastfeeding? Yeah...admittedly a bit bitter here. Moo, again. I'm probably more bitter than I should be just because I know how scandalous it is that my year-old is still nursing a bit, so feeling self-conscious about our choice anyway, and then being unfavorably compared to a Jersey cow, well, it's been one of those days. Moo.

The Socratic Method

I haven't been in school for quite awhile, have I? Might it be possible that I remember the Socratic method of learning as being one that asks questions? Maybe? Could I be confused? Could this possible memory have been brought on by the recent death of my parents'/sister's beloved barn cat, Socrates? Could this fluffy, black kitty with soft, wispy black-with-undercurrents-of-white hair have caught my Miss Mouse's heart in a most loving way? Might it be so?

Might I have decided not to say anything about his strokes and subsequent death to Miss Mouse until she brought him up? Might that time have occurred on Monday when she, while listening to On the Way to Grandpa's Farm (a song), brought up that we should go to the farm to visit Socrates?

Could it be that I told her Socrates' body got very old and very worn out and that he died and went to Heaven? Could it be that she responded by equating his wearing out to batteries' burning out? Could it be that I agreed those two things were somewhat similar?

Could it be that that similarity led to Miss Mouse's supposition that "Socrates wore out why's (i.e., because) I pet him too much"?

Might I have explained, with tears in my eyes, that she had nothing to do with said kitty wearing out and that all bodies wear out eventually and that Socrates was very, very happy with all the petting she gave him? Might she have looked relieved at this information?

Could it be that later in the day she began working through this new death? Could it be that her pretending friend Piglet was dead? Ugh. Oops, that wasn't a question, was it? Could it be that before bedtime she told me Christopher Robin and Pooh got a "new Piglet"? Could it be that I suggested she had been mistaken about Piglet dying in the first place? Might it be that she said "Oh, yes, it was Socrates that went to live in Heaven, not Piglet"?

Might we have had several discussions such as this, including questions such as "will Socrates come back and visit the farm from Heaven?" Might we also have handled several meltdowns associated with separating from parents (i.e. not wanting the typically-popular "quiet time" or bedtime?)? Might I have discussed with her that Daddy and I are not planning to go anywhere and are planning and intending to be with her here? Might I have worried about the possibility of slipping and saying we would always be there for her? Might I have worried about the possibility of this not being true? Might I have worried about turning her against God Himself by promising something that is not mine to promise?

Could we have had a sad girl in our room at 3 a.m. telling us "there is something scary in my bedroom"? Could I have gone in to lay with her for awhile? Could I have been called out by Baby Mouse (could she have been up all night with gas??)? Might Mr. T have taken over the shift in Miss Mouse's bedroom?

Might we have searched all day for the Mr. Rogers When a Pet Dies book?

Could all these things be true? They just might be; they just might be indeed.

Happiness Is....Week Two

*Giving my tired, stressed out hubby a kiss (on the lips - a real kiss) while holding Baby Mouse only to have Baby Mouse stretch around to look me in the face and press her lips firmly onto mine. Keep in mind, I don't kiss the girls on the mouth (I'm a germ freak and think it's rather germ-spreading), so even though Baby Mouse has blown kisses for weeks and weeks, she's never actually planted a smooch on my lips. It was adorable and so fun to see her mimic us!!

Happiness Is....

I'm going to be adding to this post throughout the week. It just seems like a good exercise in "positivity" to me. I need that when the news talks nightly about flooding potential, and the weatherman warns of yet another impending winter storm....

*Taking a break from the Olympic wrap-up coverage to watch some "Mr. Roger's" and singing the closing song as a trio complete with a one-year-old dancer. Truly, this is happiness and contentment all wrapped up in a warm, zip-up sweater.

*Being told at the grocery store, by a manager who I noticed was staring at my children while I bagged broccoli, how well-behaved my Mice are and how nice it is to have children like that at the store. What a nice compliment! I explained to Miss Mouse that the manager likes having her and Baby Mouse come to his store; she cracked a shy smile. Baby Mouse stared him down. How wonderful to have fun on shopping trips with my girls (we had a trip to the mall last Friday for Mr. T's birthday shopping, too; give the girls a fountain, and I get whatever I need done!). I'm well-aware that many people don't have the luxury of fun shopping trips with their children, and I chalk it almost completely up to...well, good luck, I guess. Laura and I were well-behaved in public, and I'm sure Mr. T. and Steph were, as well. I guess it just passed to the next generation. But, happiness is definitely wheeling around a grocery cart being stared at by two pairs of happy, big, blue eyes.

*A three-year-old nearly bursting into tears a few nights ago when her Daddy tells her that her hair is "to die for". That answers my wondering as to whether she has any concept of death yet. Guess she does. We had quite the discussion trying to explain that one!

*That same three-year-old again fighting tears tonight when (poor) Daddy tells her that Mommy's head is full of spaghetti (he meant my thoughts go in curvilinear fashion rather than in the linear motion of his own....and on this point, he was correct....most definitely...the miscommunication which led up to this comment was epic). "No, no, honey, Daddy just means Mommy is confused....Here, look in Mommy's mouth; see no spaghetti, right?".

*Miss Mouse calling Mr. T by his first name this morning. "Come in the kitchen!" she shouted. He slowly "obeyed" and then asked what is the name that she can call him...a blushing Miss Mouse said "Daddy". This afternoon, however, she and I were talking, while taking Baby Mouse on a walk down the block for some fresh air, about how Daddy and Mommy do have names that other people call us. I read somewhere that it is a good idea for children to know their parents formal names. So she tells me that Daddy has another name. She tells me what it is. I ask if I have a name. Yep, she says. What is it, I ask. "Mommy". Duh. Of course.

*Baby Mouse having half a top molar on the left side. She's currently eating only freeze dried fruit and avocado - really, she's getting about eight teeth right now; I wouldn't be eating either!

*Watching the two Mice chase each other around on a long work night for Mr. T. What did I do for amusement on his (many) long work nights before we had two kids to chase each other around?? I must have had a boring life! Miss Mouse was "running up and down the blog" with Baby Mouse hot on her heels. Tonight, a night at home for Mr. T., Miss Mouse pounded on the basement door and shouted "Daddy!" Not a minute later, Baby Mouse was over at the door pounding and yelling "Daaaaaa! Daaaa!!" Love it! Love it! Love it!