The Road to Wellness, Edging Toward "Big Kids," Hearing Harry, Still Can't Shut Up About "Frozen" and Transcending It All

I've made a sort of unwritten rule not to talk about sickness here because really, no one wants to hear about your cold, right? Sufficed it to say that fifty percent of our house was felled by a nasty virus this week, to the point that Ellie sounds like she's got quite the serious two-pack-of-Marlboros-a-day-habit and I took my first sick day from work in three years. Poor Ellie has missed school all week and been (understandably) miserable and cranky and let's just say I think I may have glimpsed a view of tween/teenhood and I am afraid. Very afraid.


Looking not so tween/teen and also, pre-sickness. My Little Yentas. It might just be time to introduce Ellie to "Fiddler on the Roof."

So, yes. Hard week. Mercifully, I'm just starting to feel like myself again. It's an amazing thing really, how the body (blessedly, usually, ideally) fights off illness. Obvious but true statement of the day: As terrible as it is to not feel good, it makes getting better that much more sweet. The thrill of realizing that filling the dishwasher again is not a crushing blow but something you can actually accomplish--that is a welcome relief.

But I am living in FEAR that the babies twins are going to get sick. Please. No.

And of course, with sick kids ALWAYS come the work deadlines. Yesterday I had to stay late and called home to check on Ellie. When asked if I could bring anything (I was thinking something along the lines of Popsicles), her response was "I just want Yooooooou! I want you to come hooooooome."

Insert knife, into heart.

You will happy to learn that all was forgiven when I arrived home (after dinner but well before bed time) with vanilla ice cream. Ellie did make one request: "Is it OK if I sleep in your bed? It makes me feel more secure." Then, crossing her arms she said, "I'm sorry if I don't know what secure means." 


She felt better in the morning. Well enough, even, to make them a little bed in the living room.


Lucy was insistent that Harry take a Goldfish. No was not an option.

These two. Two and a half years old. Technically closer to three years old than two. Preschool is on the horizon. I continue to call them babies but see glimmers of kids, kids who understand and can be reasoned with, who show empathy and real problem-solving skills, on a daily basis.

Don't worry. They also still make me smack my forehead and want to tear my hear out on a daily basis.

Harry, who hasn't been much of a talker until pretty recently is suddenly busting out with new words and sentences every day. It's such a sweet and welcome joy to have him bound over to me, barreling his hard little skull into my belly and exclaim, "Buzz! I found Buzz [Lightyear-pictured above]." Admittedly I could do with out the barreling skull, but hey, he means well. He is such a little snuggler.

I'm still not quite accustomed to his little voice. I'll hear chattering away in the car or in the corner while he snaps Duplos together ("I did it!), a sentence or two, and I feel momentarily disoriented--Leo, Ellie, Lucy: they talk constantly-our house is L-O-U-D. I can recognize everyone's voice in a heartbeat (OF COURSE) but who is that one? Why, it's Harry!





File this one under, they're not really babies anymore: The other morning Lucy woke up crying around 4 a.m. It was (of course) dark as night outside (anything before 5 a.m. is night in my book). That's when I whispered to Lucy that it was still nighttime and she needed to go back to bed. And you know what? She Did. I couldn't believe it either. See what I mean? Glimmers of reason. And I do mean glimmers.


Yes, yes. We eat a lot of Goldfish in our house. Probably more than we should.


Four way ball (they roll it to each other). It lasts for all of 2.3 minutes but those are beautiful, gleeful minutes.

In the midst of the Daily Din I think you all know that I do my best to recognize those "transcendent moments," you know the ones, they make you, just for a brief few minutes even, rise above the chaos and havoc and incredible noise and clutter and overwhelmingness of it all. We had one this morning and you might not be surprised to learn that it had to do with "Frozen", a movie which has provided me with a seemingly unending amount of pleasure. Not to get too fruit ball on you all but so many parents I know have spoken of how they love it as much as their kids and they've loved loving the movie along with their children, all of which sounds pretty transcendental to me: A shared joy. A break from the monotony.

Back to this morning. Everyone was finishing up breakfast and I remembered that I'd just read that "Frozen" had a DVD release date (there's a part of me that doesn't want to own it because I know that once we can watch it any time it will no longer feel special). But the big deal for us is that when it's on DVD the babies twins will be able to see it-they might be edging toward kid-dom but I was not quite ready to brave a feature length film with them, so they have-gasp-yet to see "Frozen." And of course Erin, who has not yet had the pleasure (you know you want to see it Sweetie) will benefit from the March release.

The kids were mildly excited at the DVD news but I don't think we will really care until they can hold it in their hot little hands. Ellie then suggested we show the babies the clip she and I had watched the night before (laying in bed beside a coughing and despondent Ellie I thought "watching" one of her favorite songs would be a little treat and a break from our routine of listening to Pandora's "Soundscapes" station on my iPhone).

The next thing I knew, I had the laptop out, a cup of coffee next to me, Ellie snuggling on my lap, Leo across from me, and two babies the twins, sitting beside me in their high chairs, in complete rapture. It was the "Frozen" they'd been hearing so much about (quite literally, in the car, every time we go ANYWHERE it's Frozen soundtrack central).

Bliss. Peace. Everyone happy.

No picture.You'll just have to trust me on this one.