Dreaming of words

Most of my husband's family (and maybe much of the rest of the world) plays an iphone app called Words with Friends. Everyone kept telling me how fun it was and how much they thought I'd enjoy it. But I kept ignoring them because a) I have a slightly addictive personality when it comes to stuff like that, and b) I really, really like to win (and I don't like to lose).

Words with Friends is like Scrabble, only cooler—cause it makes cute little sounds when you put words together. Except the not-so-cute sound it makes when you pick a word that doesn't actually exist... like maybe duen or qay or onoy or something like that. Not that I've tried to play such words or anything. Not that I've tried about every letter combination that you can do with three o's, two i's, one u, and one t. (And for the record, not so many combinations work with those letters.)

Over the weekend, my husband added the app and got me to do it as well. And within like two minutes, I was completely hooked. As a lover of words in general, it's the perfect game for someone like me. And the worst game for someone like me. I keep having dreams of cool double and triple word scores I can do in games. I'm plagued by nightmares of x's and q's that I just can't get rid of.

I'm not great at it yet, as evidenced by the fact that out of three games completed, I've lost two. But even when you are a great player, the letters you get are the luck of the draw and could either be amazing or awful.

But I'm officially hooked. Completely and totally hooked.

Bits and pieces

I walked in on N the other day, perched in her highchair right next to the kitchen counter, carefully licking the frosting off homemade pumpkin cookies.

I was able to talk my husband into purchasing a new Christmas tree. It's nine feet tall and it was kind of a pain to decorate, what with having to get up on a ladder to do the top and all. But it's super bright and absolutely beautiful. I love Christmas.

I totally enjoyed the new Disney movie Tangled. However, I felt rather stressed out about the actual length of her hair. I kept thinking, "She's going to trip over it... Other people are going to trip over it." I visibly relaxed when it got all braided up. I think that's a sign that I'm a bit too OCD.

An update on the "unknown quantity," otherwise known as T. He's doing rather well in school. Even more so than the older kids at this age, he comes home with all sorts of stories about what he's learned, which kid misbehaved, and the art projects he finished. It's been rather surprising, actually. One day, he came home with a little paper with his name written at the top and then, "I go to bed in the night." I keep it on my nightstand because I love it so much.

Lastly, lucky for little N, crayon comes off microfiber couches.

Lessons learned

Yesterday afternoon, my husband's family suffered a tragedy. Almost a year after our beloved Boppa died, his daughter Deanne, my husband's aunt, died of complications from breast cancer. Deanne has been suffering with this wretched disease for over seven years and she has fought such a valiant fight. Even though Deanne was not technically my aunt, I still feel like she was. When Boppa died, it was like my own grandpa had passed on. And I feel the same way about Deanne. Oh, what a wonderful, loving family I became a part of when I married my husband!

Deanne took great care to love my kids as if they were her own grandkids. Often she would say, "I bought this (some small toy) for my grandkids, so I bought it for your kids as well." How I appreciated the love and care she always showed my family.One of the greatest things I learned from Deanne was to not sweat the little things. Too often, my tendency toward OCD kicks in and I care far too much about the messes and inconveniences caused by life. Whenever my kids would play at Deanne's house and make a big mess (perhaps riding big wheels through her kitchen), she would always say, "It really doesn't matter." What a wonderful perspective on life!

Yesterday, just a little while after we learned about Deanne's death, I heard S say, "Uh oh! Mom, I'm sorry!" I ran into the kitchen and saw that she had spilled some crackers on the floor. As she was apologizing, I thought of Deanne and said, "Don't worry, sweetie. They're only crackers." And it was so true. Only crackers. Nothing important.

Last night, it was S's turn to say family prayer. During her prayer, she sweetly said, "Please tell Deanne that we miss her."

And we do. We really, really do.

This girl...

frequently tests my patience. She is so crafty and sneaky sometimes—well, actually most of the time. She has recently started to grab pencils (and pens, until I hid those in an out-of-reach shelf) and draw lovely pictures on the walls. She has also learned how to turn her little body around while sitting in her highchair and squeeze down so that she can just barely reach the floor with her toes. It's quite an effective way to move around the kitchen and get to forbidden items on the counter.

But with all of her toddler naughtiness, it's hard to stay mad at this face for too long.

This boy...

loves to carry small things around, much like his little (and eight-minutes-younger) sister. But where N's choices almost always center around puppies and babies, A2's choices are usually a little more eclectic. He'll hold a bouncy ball in his hands for an entire day. He's been obsessed with a stuffed elephant (also known as a "puppy") for weeks. He enjoys carrying around toy airplanes, cars, and even measuring tapes.

Yesterday, he somehow got a hold of T's Spiderman hat. He put it on in the morning and never took it off. I tried to take it away at naptime, but that didn't go well. He just set it next to him in the crib, and did the same thing when he went to bed last night. When I went to check on him before I went to bed, he was fast asleep, with his beloved hat clutched in his fingers.

Madness

The scene: Mealtime at our house

A2 yells about the fact that I accidentally switched the bowls that I usually give to him and his sister. I switch them back and all is good.
N proceeds to spit her milk out all over her clothes, highchair, and the floor—you know, just for fun.
A2 yells again because whatever I've given him to eat is not what he had in mind. Since I can't understand what he actually wants, he continues yelling. And yelling. And yelling.
N shrieks periodically for fun. Who doesn't love a good shrieking?
The older kids surround me while I get dinner ready, asking me questions, tattling on each other, and telling me that they don't think they'll like what I've made.
A2 chucks his cup across the room. Don't you do that when you're done drinking a beverage?
N chucks hers as well, just to be like her brother.
T throws in a few yells, just for good measure.

And my ears begin ringing... again.

In the midst of all this, about ten times or more, N asks me, (yes, N) "You ok, Mom? You ok, Mom? Mom, you ok?" While I am concerned that a two year-old seems to be so attuned to her mother's moods, her constant questions do make me think. Sometimes I realize that yeah, I am ok—not great, but ok. And then other times, I decide that what I really want to do is run far, far away from the noise and sheer madness that is my house.