Thatcher's Evening Prayer

Dear Lord, we thank you for this day and for your many blessings. Lord, we ask that you would give the "Elf on the Shelf" a safe trip back to the North Pole tonight and that you would be with Santa as he gets ready to travel on Christmas Eve. In Jesus name...Amen.

Stools

For the past several days, I have noticed an odor on the upper level of our home. At first, I thought it might be a towel I used to sop up some spilled milk. I washed it four times. The smell seemed to go away...but then I'd notice it again. I chucked the towel. The smell lingered.

Next, I started thinking that it might be a stinkbug. Stinkbugs have invaded Loudoun County, and I've noticed a couple have made their way into the house. Each time I would get a whiff of this odor, I just chalked it up to a stinkbug who met an untimely demise somewhere near my laundry room.

Tonight, I took Hadley a pacifier while Chad was tucking her in; and there it was again! It was so strong that I immediately started looking for the stinkbug. What I found...was Hadley's step stool, sitting next to her window. At this point, I should probably add that Hadley's step stool is the Fisher Price Step Stool Potty on which she originally potty-trained. She now uses it to reach various light switches throughout the upper level of our home. Apparently, though, she used it for poo sometime over the weekend. That stool in the stool has since traveled from the bathroom to the hall to the bedroom and heaven knows where else. Rest assured that it went on its final journey--down the toilet--immediately upon discovery. The pink princess stool (the one made of plastic) is now disinfected and safely tucked away in a place Stinkerbell hopefully will never discover.

Cereal Charmer

Danielle: "Thatcher, would you like a bowl of cereal?"
Thatcher: "Yes! It is so nice to be asked!"

Budding Romantic

Thatcher picked his first flower for a girl today. He picked a dandelion for Avery, the seven year-old girl who moved in two doors down over the summer. Like his daddy, he goes for older women. He was a bit nervous about walking it up to her door, but he did it! I probably won't find this nearly as cute when he is sixteen.

Midnight Snack

Harrison woke from a sound sleep at 8:30 tonight. He was hysterical, so I figured he was having teething issues. I brought him downstairs to give him a hefty dose of Motrin when he noticed the Morning Glory muffins I had just baked for the first day of school tomorrow. He lunged, grabbed one, and crammed it into his mouth. After he downed that one, he polished off another before I finally just put him in the high chair with his THIRD muffin. He ate a bit of it; and then this happened:

Mommy Meals

Tonight's menu consisted of fontina cheese eggs and a vodka tonic. That pretty much says it all.

PS - The kids had waffles with strawberries rather than the vodka tonic.

"There is No Basement in the Alamo"

Harrison and I just returned from a lovely trip to San Antonio to visit his "Tia Xandra," who is getting married in five months. Each of the children has taken a big trip around this age. Thatcher lucked out and went to Venice at nine months. That's the privilege of the firstborn. Harrison and Hadley--who accompanied me to the MOPS convention in Dallas when she was eight months--were stuck with sweltering Texas.

Harrison was a dream traveler. He drifted off to sleep as we were taking off, slept the entire flight, and woke up to eat as we started to descend. It was unbelievable. He made an appearance at each of San Antonio's major bridal boutiques (throwing up ALL over me in the middle of Julian Gold) and even tried on a mantilla. He also has now has seen more than his fair share of bridal bouquets and could probably arrange one himself. He even helped search for the perfect wedding invitation in between trying on various pimp, sheriff, and cowboy hats (photos forthcoming). In addition to his usual fare, he dined on Mexican beans and rice while on San Antonio's famous Riverwalk. Best of all, he got a new toy, a Fisher Price hauling truck that lights up and plays music, that he didn't have to share with anyone! Well, he didn't have to share until we came home and Thatcher and Hadley made a beeline for it.

With all the wedding planning, we never made it to the Alamo. We'll save that for when we head back with the rest of the family in December. Harrison and I will be able to show them the ropes, teach them about San Antonio's funky "turnarounds," and show them all the Starbucks we mapped throughout the city. Perhaps by then, there will be a "basement in the Alamo" for us to check out as well.

Go Fish

Chad: "Thatcher, would you like for daddy to teach you how to fish?"
Thatcher: "Yes, but I want to fish like the fish stick workers do."

Who ARE those kids?

Today, my children were THOSE children.

You know the type.

They ran from Nordstrom to Starbucks at the mall.

Thatcher, when not running or spinning, decided to try walking backwards...into two separate people.

Hadley, after fondling every item in the refrigerated case at Starbucks, bit Thatcher.

Apparently the spanking she received for that did not deter her crazed spirit as she then proceeded to hang--monkey bars style--on the Starbucks queue rope.

As I was pouring cream in my coffee, they apparently decided to play "Ultimate Fighting Ring Around the Rosies" and flung each other--face first--into the floor.

While trying to wrangle Chad's wailing children off of the floor, the entire cup coffee spilled everywhere. And, yes, at this point, they are Chad's children.

No, I didn't bother cleaning it up. I figured it would be a bigger help to everyone if I took the kids far, far away and never came back.

That was my ten minute trip to the mall today. Imagine if we had stayed fifteen!

The Soothing Effects of Play-Doh

Thatcher just opened a new can of play-doh and said, "Mom, do you feel how comforting this is?" Seriously?

The First (of Many) Letters to Harrison

Dear Harrison,

I'm sorry you're having trouble sleeping. You need to get over it. Because you're my last baby, I don't have the heart to sleep train you. I like rocking you to sleep. I even like snuggling with you in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, I do need some sleep of my own so that I can keep up with you, Thatcher, and Hadley during the family's normal waking hours during the day. You've got me between a rock and hard place.

Speaking of tight squeezes, you are the biggest baby I've ever had...and perhaps the biggest I've ever seen. You weigh as much as your sister does - and she's two! I tried to put you in a 6-12 month swim shirt this week. It was like trying to stuff a 20 pound sausage into a 10 pound casing. Is this your way of making sure you get your own set of clothes and not just Thatcher's hand-me-downs? It's working.

It is not only your girth that impresses me, but also your physical prowess. I should have known we'd be in for a wild ride when you started rolling over at only six days old. I get it, you have motor skills; so you can stop trying to crawl now, okay? Let's not rush it. It's fun watching you master the pincer grasp, though, especially as it means you can feed yourself. Baby food is a pain, so I really appreciate you going ahead and numbering those days.

I promise I'm going to try to get Hadley to stop riding you. Somewhere along the way, she's gotten it into her head that she can ride you like a pony. It's probably her idea of a compromise since I won't let you carry her, as she so often asks you to do. I tell her you can't walk, so I guess she thinks she can ride you while you learn to crawl. I'm sorry about that. I'll work on it. Besides, I know you'll have your revenge soon enough once you're mobile.

Love,

Your mom

Hadley's Favorite Cookie

Hadley has a new favorite cookie.

F*cking Newtons

Hadley & Chad

Chad: "You need to chill out, young lady."
Hadley: "I not a lady, Chad."

Hadley at Two

Hadley, or "Stinkerbell" as her Aunt Sherri calls her, is a source of constant entertainment in our home. Actually, it's a tossup between "entertainment" and "exasperation." She is a mass of contradictions, balancing painfully shy and quiet turns with equally painful loquacious ones. The only time I can rest assured that I won't hear a peep out of her is if we are in the presence of others. The things that do come out of her mouth, however, almost always make me laugh. Here are some of my favorites:

• "That's my baby brudder."
• "I'm going to check on my baby."
• "I freezin." (When it is 85 degrees outside)
• "I daddy's girl."
• "I do it me-self."
• "I daddy's." (When asked if she loves mommy)
• "Bad Boy!" (Usually directed at Thatcher)
• "Winston, Double-I, come inside!"
• "I need my paci!"
• "I want daddy change my doy-per (diaper)."
• "I have a bad cop (cough)."
• "I need you make me a smoovie."
• "Daddy tuck me in."
• "Say prayer; sing song; I need you stay here just a minute." (Bedtime ritual)
• "That Goopy." (Whenever she sees Goofy)
• "Daddy came back!" (When Chad comes home from work)
• "King Rocky cryin'."
• "I need take bap (bath)."
• "I tooted."
• "Hi, Birdie! That bird foo (flew) away."
• "Mommy, get me fruit snack."
• "I need Oreo."

Keepin' it Real with Nanny Bird

Thatcher, much like his father, isn't really a phone kind of guy...unless, of course, it is bedtime. He'll talk to anyone for any length of time if it can delay the inevitable tuck in. Tonight, Nanny Bird was the lucky recipient of his phone call. They talked for awhile about school. He told her about the splinter we had just gotten out of his hand. He also asked her how Aunt Sherri was doing. After about five minutes, I heard him say, "Well, I need to go because I have work tomorrow, so you keep it real, dawg."

A Conversation with Thatcher

Thatcher has been ALL about reading the crucifixion and resurrection parts of the bible ever since Good Friday. We read it at least once a day and have to start in the Garden of Gethsemane and can't finish until Christ appears to the disciples in the locked room. Yesterday, he had me show him Golgotha on a map...and wanted to know if we could take a plane to get there or if we would have to drive.

This evening, Thatcher lost his bedtime story privilege. Walking past his room after tucking the other children in, I saw him sitting on the floor "reading" the bible out loud to himself. I asked if he wanted me to read it to him. He already had made it past the crucifixion and resurrection and was on the final "story" about how Jesus will one day return to earth. That is where I started reading; after which, Thatcher asked where Jesus is now. I reminded him that Jesus is now in heaven. He then asked how he could get to heaven. I told him that to go to heaven, he needed to believe in Jesus, that he died on the cross to forgive our sins. He responded, "But, mom, I already believe in Jesus!" We then talked about how we all sin--even mommy and daddy--and that Jesus took all of the punishment for our sins. All we have to do is ask God to forgive our sins, and he wipes them away. Thatcher then told me how happy it makes God when he talks to Him. He wrapped it all up by asking me if we could sing "Jesus Loves Me" together.

I simply have no words to describe what an extraordinary privilege it is to share the gospel with my four year-old. I can only say that it gives me a taste of the magnitude of my heavenly father's indescribable, incomprehensible love for me.

Thatcherism

"Dear God, Please take the sugar out of my body so I can sleep."

Letter #5 to My Daughter

Dear Hadley,

The club has plenty of lovely, pink, linen napkins for the Easter Brunch. There is no need for you to use your dress to wipe the raspberries and chocolate off of your mouth.

Thanks,
Your Mom

The Importance of Vowels

Thatcher pUnched Chad for not wearing green today. Oh well. Maybe next year he'll get that you pInch people who don't wear green on St. Patrick's Day.

Letter #4 to My Daughter

Dear Hadley,

Daddy's hairbrush does not need chap stick.

Thanks,
Your Mom

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

Thatcher: "Mommy, I got you a present for your anniversary."
Danielle: "Really? Thank you, Thatcher. What is it?"
Thatcher: "A Kiss."

That's almost as good as the anniversary present Chad gave me last year...the one that came nine months later.

Yet Another Letter to My Daughter

Dear Hadley,

You don't know how to change King Rocky's diaper, so please don't even try.

Thanks,
Your Mom

(Another) Letter to my Daughter

Dear Hadley,

The toilet is not a trashcan.

Also, please don't beg me for a haircut and then scream your head off when we walk in the salon to get one.

Thanks,
Your Mom

Thatcherism

Danielle: "Thatcher, you look so old!"
Thatcher: "No, I don't. I look handsome."

Yellow Snowmen

It is tax season, which means Chad is rarely home...which means that every day is a weekday for the rest of the family. It's the "chicken nuggets for dinner" season of our lives; a time when the TV is on a little more than usual; a time when the nighttime bath becomes a little more infrequent; a time when we just try to make it until daddy is home again.

Of course, this is the time that Hadley chooses to potty train HERSELF! Personally, I think she is too young for this. Hadley, on the other hand, is determined and routinely takes off her diaper and goes in the potty. It is quite hysterical to hear her saying, "It's comin', mom, it's comin!" when she goes. We gave training pants a (not so) dry run on Friday and Saturday with limited success. She happily will "go potty" and beg to "go potty more," but the multiple accidents tell me her body isn't quite there yet. At least, I don't think it is...and I'm the one who has to clean up the pee pee pants...the one who is prisoner in her own home until Hadley masters this task. Therefore, in diapers she will stay...at least until tax season is over.

Not to be outdone, Harrison is also making waves in the bathroom department. As I was feeding him yesterday, I felt a massive explosion in his pants not one, but four times. The force of said explosion was so great that I could actually feel his diaper move. I stopped feeding him and gingerly removed the thick, fleece, snowman sleeper he was wearing. The entire back was covered in what my father lovingly refers to as "baby sh*t yellow." The snowmen were yellow as was the bedspread on which I had placed Harrison to change him. It had actually seeped through the FLEECE sleeper and into the bedspread. As I was cleaning him up, he proceeded to pee all over my brand new pants and the clean sheets that were on the bed (under the poop-soaked bedspread). Harrison and I were drenched in pee, poop is on everything in sight, so naturally, Hadley chose that moment to let me know she needed to "pee pee in the potty." Of course.

Once upon a time, I dealt primarily with top secret documents, war plans, foreign heads of state. Now, the tools of my trade are pee, poop, and breast milk. Oh, how far I've come.

Hadley Turns Two

Hadley's second birthday coincided with the biggest snowstorm DC has seen in more than 100 years. We actually broke the 54-inch snowfall record set back in 1899. Fitting given how much this girl loves drama.

With four feet of snow on the ground, it quickly became clear that I was going to have to scrap the bakery-bought princess cake I had ordered for "P(r)incess Wadwee." Ever the helper, she decided to pitch in and help bake her own cake.

Of course, this created something of a "mess;" and if there is one thing Hadley can't stand, it's a mess. She headed to the bathroom to clean herself up. Apparently, there was no towel in the bathroom, so she improvised with toilet paper (take a close look inside the toilet).

Did I mention it was Super Bowl Sunday? Did I mention the four feet of snow...that was also covering our satellite dish? Clearly, Chad could not let that stand. Here he is after cleaning off the satellite.

By noon, the birthday girl passed out watching "Tinkbell."

That afternoon, she was ready for presents. One sticker on the vacuum Gran and Papa gave her was a little off. It really stressed her out.

Then, it was time for cake...and candles. Big mistake. Even after we removed the candles, she wanted none of it. There would be no singing, no blowing out the candles, no birthday wishes. None of it!

Terrible twos, bring it on.

Thatcher Turns Four!

A Conversation with the Doctor

Dr. Reilly: "Thatcher, what are you going to be when you grow up?"
Thatcher: "A grownup."

Thatcherism of the Day

"Sorry I'm about to disobey."

An Open Letter to My Daughter

Dear Hadley,

If you see a sleeping baby, he does not "need song." Similarly, sleeping baby does not "need paci." If you turn on a loud song and shove a paci into a sleeping baby's mouth, yes, he will wake up and start to cry. You don't need to tell mommy, "Baby cry." I can hear it. I promise.

Nevertheless, I love you and all of your overprotective mothering instincts.

Love,
Mommy

Quickly...

I have a few posts in draft, but here are some funnies while I'm thinking about it.

• Every time Harrison burps, Hadley says, "Scuse you, baby."
• Every time Harrison sneezes, Hadley says, "Bless you, baby."