A little death

As I wrote before, things around here are changing quite a bit. And what better way to ring in a new era than with a little death? Ends and beginnings and ends again, you know?

Oh don't be upset. It was a pet death. We haven't had one around here for quite some time. Not since our hamster Oreo Lazarus Strong broke free in our backyard and ran to a better life.

 I was fumbling around the kitchen Saturday morning, in a clumsy pre-coffee way, when I heard Chris yell from the basement.

PUMKIN'S DEAD!!!!

Only it was Mama Mia.

Poor Mama Mia. She laid down to sleep in her cage of filth and died in the night. As I was preparing myself for Bela and Mae's storm of sadness, I started to feel really uneasy myself.

 I have been semi-silently waiting for the mammals in our house to die. It's a cold and callous thing to say, but I have been. I'm tired of cleaning up all the poop. The pee. The cage. Taking care of so many aging animals.

But when she died I felt truly sad and sorry for her. Such a lonely death, it seemed. And the girls were sad too. But you know? Only for a minute.

Bela did the whole "Can we go get another guinea pig today?" routine. I said no way.

And the tears subsided slowly, we got on with our day - circus class, soccer game, sleep over. And it struck me: not only were they okay, they were kind of sort of cold and callous themselves.

There was a funeral. Mae wrote a note (a very sweet one that ended with "we loved you very much and that's why we chose to put you to sleep"), Bela did a google search for "Funeral Song" and came up with some weird pop song about breaking up. And sang it.

The girls and their friend painted a tomb stone, dressed for the occasion, held a ceremony. And that was it.

I watched them all day for signs of true sadness, and I couldn't find it. Had so many pet deaths made them immune to this? Was there something wrong with them? Why did Mae keep trying to dig Mama Mia up ? (She wanted to see her bones).

I was working in the front garden and found a big fat worm. Mae grabbed it, looked at it with her face all screwed up, and said in an evil little girl sort of way: "you're gonna die today!!!"

And proceeded to toss it to the chickens.

You missed the weird little funeral. But you can re-live part of it here.

Day 1

Do you know that feeling you get when you realize you made major decisions in your life without intending them to be major decisions?  Is that how most major decisions work? Do they sneak up on you? Do you make a decision, say, because you're a new mom, because you're a mom-to-be, because you just need to make a little extra money and provide your family with benefits like insurance... And then 10 years later you wake up and realize that, oops. That was one of those major life decisions. The kind that shape you for decades. And you made a huge, impactful, life-altering decision by choosing not to make a conscious decision?

Have I been watching too much Neil DeGrasse Tyson?

No matter. Today is day 1. MY day 1. New job. New me. And you know what? I made this one on my own. Not as a Mom, or someone who needed to insure her family, or as someone riddled with responsibility guilt. I just made it. 

So this is me on Day 1. And I'm a little scared, but feeling adventurous. And happy. 

Easter bunnies

We spent a very beautiful two days with family last weekend, full of sun and laughs and baby bunnies and ham. And eggs. More eggs for Gill.

My mother-in-law came down with a stomach flu, and was out of commission ever so briefly from mid Saturday until mid-Sunday, but being the trooper that she is, she was up and about, cooking and laughing on Easter Sunday.

The girls ate repulsive amounts of chocolate, cleaned out Grandma's pool in the hopes of getting a swim in (gross!), and played in the drainage ditch per tradition. (double gross).

We got home late, got our filthy, exhausted children off to bed, watched a bit of Game of Thrones, and called it a night.

Until 3 am. Bela came stumbling down the stairs and I immediately smelled trouble. She muttered some incomprehensible words and then started to throw up the remains of many small and 'krispy' chocolate Easter bunnies.

I've written about Bela and throwing up many times before. And each time I've found it necessary to let you know that she has terrible foresight and worse aim when it comes to vomiting. And last night was no exception to that rule. Most of her body made it into the bathroom, and from the pattern on the floor and wall and cabinets and garbage can and wall convector and bathroom towels it seemed like she was facing in the general direction of the toilet. But the inside of the toilet had but a drop, crusted to the side of the bowl.

I didn't get out of bed. Chris went to her immediately and I felt that three might just be a crowd. He rubbed her back and wiped her tears and got her back upstairs with a pot under her arm, and I thought he was doing a bang up job all on his own.  Really super. I rolled over and pulled the covers over my shoulder.

Now, he's not the kind of guy to say "Can you help me in here?" He is, though,  the kind of guy to make a lot of noise as he gags and sputters his way through the cleanup.

I didn't get out of bed.  I was busy doing some mental math. Some co-parenting weighing of options. Stay in bed and play the "overcome by exhaustion" card and risk being an asshole? Get out of bed and clean up what was sure to be a nasty little mess? And exactly how long can I remain motionless, not helping, before I cross some line? What would I, Katie, say to me if I didn't get up and help?

And then I knew I had to, I had to help, because if he were lying in bed I'd be throwing dirty vomit towels in his face while I listed off every reason it was extremely unfair that I was managing the situation on my own.

Oh but it was a nasty little mess. We tied pleasant smelling t-shirts around our faces and stuffed bits into our mouths and nostrils while we mopped up the chocolate sludge off of every surface in our bathroom. and giggled and gagged like little kids. We used an entire roll of paper towels; filled an entire paper grocery bag.

I'll never eat another Easter chocolate for as long as I live.

And tonight, the girls are tucked into their beds - large, wide-mouthed metal bowls by their sides, surrounded by kitchen towels - slowly digesting (or not?) the Costa Rican take out meal I thought was such a great idea to order tonight.

And my stomach is burning as I sit here and write this.

The good stuff

Toddlers are pretty great. Aside from the sometimes violent temper tantrums and the fact that poopy diapers from a 2 year old are far nastier, in my opinion, than the poopy business of a 2 month old, pretty much everything about them makes you smile. Makes you enjoy mundane moments all the more. Adds humor to your life when sometimes it feels as though it's lacking.

Gill does this for me. She does it for all of us.

I heard her call out for me this morning as I was stepping out of the shower. And when I went to her, she said:

"Hi mommy. I wake up in the morning. Oh! Are those your boobies?"

She insisted on packing a well-loved-but-starting-to-smell hard boiled Easter egg in her "packback" to take to play group this morning, along with 6 pull ups with monsters on them., and a tube of cheap chapstick.

And in the middle of my students' oral exams today, I remembered that Gillian had been rummaging through the bathroom cabinets while I dried my hair. I had intended to relay an important message to the play group teacher when I dropped my babe off, but in my haste had forgotten. I had to send her the following text:

Oops! My goodness! I meant to tell you that Gillian *insisted* on wearing that maxi pad inside her diaper. It's there for no other reason. I promise. 

Oh man, sometimes this all just feels so good.

Grocery store

The very worst part about working out a lot is what happens when you stop working out a lot. 

After every marathon, every mega event I've "trained" for, gotten really fit for, I like to sit on my butt for a good one to two months after, doing just about nothing. Because I earned it. 

And then I look in the mirror and I think, hey. Not fair. I worked hard! I don't get a free ride for, like, 60 days?

Of course, I've turned this on its head and come up with this rationale for my "in-between-events-laziness". If I worked out hard all the time, and then I felt out of shape... Well, I'd have to find ways to work out even harder just to maintain that level of fitness. 

And I'm not embarrassed to say that I'm not the kind of person who works out hard, just to work out harder. So sitting on my butt for 2 months is my way of getting out of shape just enough so that any level of activity still does its magic. 

But it's not exactly the same with nursing.

See, what I knew deep down but was refusing to acknowledge on a daily, conscious level, was that I was having my cake and eating it too. Twice a day.  And the only reason I wasn't gaining gobs of weight was because I was nursing Gillian.

Except that I'm not nursing that much anymore. And I never will again (!). And with freedom comes pounds. And fast. Sheesh.

But you thought this was going to be a long entry about post-nursing weight gain and body image. Don't worry. I'm not going to talk about my few extra pounds. I'm going to talk about the grocery store.

Because as soon as I decided that I needed to lose a couple pounds and drag my butt off the sofa, I took it straight to the grocery store. It's the first place I always go when I decide that I've been eating too much. I ask myself, what can I eat that will make me feel thinner?

This is a post about taking trips to grocery stores with hilarious 2 year olds.

Mine is called Gill. After a couple of days of icky sickness, we ventured out of the house to buy some asparagus and dandelion greens, avocados and yogurt. She had an immediate breakdown in the floral department, spurred on by a particularly fetching pink balloon. 

Crying fit number 1 over, she finally sat in the cart clutching her new bawoon and we headed for the produce department. Many shoppers, drawn to her cute, tear-stained cheeks and chubby little face, greeted her as we ambled along, but she refused to speak.

"Gillian, you should say hi to people when they say hello to you," I lectured.

Lesson learned, as we cruised aisle after aisle, any "hello!" by a stranger brought on a "Hi People" by Gill.

By the time we hit the canned tomato aisle she was clearly bored and not interested in staying in her seat. She swung her legs over the side and tried to get comfortable. "I'm sweeping, mama. I'm sweeping." 

I turned the corner and headed for the granola and she farted.

"I farted! I farted! I farted! I farted!"

I tried to acknowledge it and move past it, but she wouldn't stop chanting her secret. An innocent store clerk, unloading boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios, mused aloud "I wonder what she's trying to say?"

We had a melt down in front of the salami; the bawoon broke over her head when it touched the cold case holding the hummus, and everyone in the elevator was serenaded to the tune of 'Let It Go' from the movie Frozen.

And in the car ride on the way home, I treated us to a cookie. But just one :)

Diet schmiet. We deserved it.

Alone together

An unexpected plot twist found Mae and me traveling alone together over the weekend.

As we zipped in and out of Whole Foods for dinner for the car, as we sped quietly along the highway listening to non-pop-music, as we snuggled closely in the guest bed usually reserved for children only, I realized that we'd never done this before. 

My family and I remarked on this repeatedly over the course of the weekend: Mae and I had never taken a trip alone together. 

It was lovely. It was harmonious. It was restful and peaceful and fuzzy and I felt like a good person. Like a decent mother. Like all the doubts I have about myself were based on nonsense.

We checked activities off our list. We enjoyed most of them. We had our favorite breakfast at our favorite spot; we went shopping for clothes; we went swimming, went out for tacos, saw some college gymnastics. We caught a movie, we rode our bikes. We napped. I napped. There was knitting. There was even wine, even adult company and conversations. And pie. Two kinds. 

My middle child is on middle ground - that peaceful lull, the eye of the storm? Between toddlerhood and pre-teen emotion. Middle Mae.

Tonight we found ourselves alone together again. With Gilli passed out on the couch after work and Bela on a trip to the DePaul Women's Basketball game, Mae and I read two chapters in Harry Potter. We ate fish sticks for dinner. We snuck ice cream. Gill woke up and we all took a strangely pleasant walk in the dark to the girls' school, to wait for Bela's bus to return from the game.

We stomped in mud. We splashed in puddles. SOME of us kicked off our boots and rode the teeter totter in the snow.

And the bus came, and from the bus descended Bela and her cloud of tweenage drama and all slowness disappeared in a puff of dramatic smoke. Things got loud and fast. There was crying and yelling and talk of skipping school due to embarrassing posters and presentations gone wrong and no one, just no one liking her. 

And I became mean mom. Tired mom. Doesn't know how to handle 9 year old drama mom. Needs a good self-help book mom.

Oh dear, sweet, dramatic Bela. I love you so. Maybe we could use some time alone together.

Signs of spring

The girls have been pestering me about Spring for days on end now, as though I had it in me to magically turn the seasons - or at the very least, to know the specific day this incredibly long winter would change its course.

Mae has been especially persistent.

How many more days? This, she asks every morning.

My response is aggravating: Same as yesterday. Minus one.

But MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!

Same as yesterday. Minus one.

And yet there have been signs. Robins. Yes! Robins! And we're above 20 degrees. And the sun, it's different, has more power to it. More glowy warmth, more gold in my living room after 5:00pm.

 And who can forget the Spanish Compositions?

Every Spring semester, just when I think I can't take one more day of cold and gray and drear, my students turn in their first drafts of their first compositions.

In the moments of my life when the professional burdens pile high, you will be sure to find me head first in my wool cabinet, going through my yarn. And so this too, this retreat into my wool stash, it serves as a harbinger of Spring around these parts.

How many discarded projects I came across I don't care to admit. The dollar amount in yarn alone is embarrassing, not to mention the hours spent knitting something that was never worn. Never even finished.

I brazenly scooped up all the half-finished lace scarves, the single socks and the worsted weight sweaters missing sleeves and yokes, along with the impossibly tangly and knotty bundles of unusable yarn, and I marched them into my sewing room.

And instead of grading, instead of tallying, instead of planning, I did this.

A mess of mercerized cotton.

Cotton, wool, silk. Impossible.

Winding, winding, winding.

Making progress! 

Over the course of the last week, I have spent several hours just sitting in there, untangling yarn, unwinding sweaters, winding them back into usable yarn, for a second life.

And I have been happy. So, so happy.

The sun illuminates our living room in the most beautiful of ways these days, for 13 minutes each late afternoon.

Gill shadow head

Here it comes.

Huh?

One thing we take for granted in (most of) our adult relationships is the ability to understand, and to be understood. This all gets stood on its head when your interlocutor is a 26 month old ball of chub.

Take for instance Gil's new word: at once indispensable and maddening, this word happens to be huh?

As in:
-- Gillian it's time for breakfast!
-- Huh?
-- Breakfast!

-- Mommy, uppee! 
-- Oh, you want uppee?
-- Huh?
-- Uppee. Uppee! You want uppee.
-- Huh?

--Bay-wah. Mae Mae!
-- Are you looking for Bela and Mae?
--  Huh?
-- I said, are you looking for Bela and Mae?
-- Huh?
-- You said you were looking for Bela and Mae. They are ..
-- Huh?
-- ...they are up in their bedroom.
-- Huh?
-- Their -
-- Huh?
-- I said, their bedroom. Do you want them?
-- Huh?

I get it. She learned it from us. We say it all the time because we can't understand her. And she gets it, too. Say Huh? and the people in your life will begin to repeat themselves over and over for a sanity crushing eternity.

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to come up with a plan, which has simply been to ignore all requests completed with the word huh? deemed unnecessary and of little use to her growing brain.

So now our exchanges go more like this:

-- Mermaid find!
-- You want me to find your mermaid?
-- Huh?
Silence. Wait. Wait. Wait.

-- Yes.

Leakage

Yesterday was a beautiful day, underscoring how cooped up we've been feeling this cruel, mean winter. The sun was shining, the air had the faint smell of thaw to it, and the girls proclaimed that Spring had arrived.

But I couldn't keep my eyes off my ceiling. All of this snow and ice (and soon, melting) has done a number on the back of our house. We have an attic bathroom addition - part of the girls' upstairs penthouse fantasy land. In addition to some plumbing issues in the shower that caused water to cascade down the kitchen walls and through the ceiling during that first polar vortex, we also have an issue with flashings.

Oh, what's that you say? Don't know what flashing is? Neither did I until I bought this 100 year old house. Where the roof line meets the exterior (dormer) walls of the addition, they failed to properly seal. So we have water, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, wreaking havoc on our kitchen and dining room ceilings.

When the babysitter arrived yesterday, I asked her for the strangest of favors. She followed me to the girls bathroom, where I proceded to tie her up in rope. I then tied the other end around my waist, and to Gillian's astonishment climbed out on the roof of our house, through the bathroom window.

I shoveled the foot of wet, heavy snow from our back roof.

Here's hoping the ceiling plaster stays intact until this mess is gone for good.

PS - on a brighter note, this happened too.

The middle child

Somehow Mae and I - amidst the craziness of having three girls, in spite of the fact that daddy has been traveling on and off for weeks - have managed to spend some good time together lately.

She's such a funny girl, a good conversationalist when given the chance to speak, which is rare.

The girls and I started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone several weeks ago. They love it - Bela so much so that she checked the book out from the school library and blew us out of the water in terms of speed. She's on book two now, and has little interest in sitting down with me and Mae at night to read book one. So Mae and I have been plugging along together, and got up early this morning to finish what I just could not possibly read last night. (The chapters are a wee bit long). We have 2 pages left in the book, and have a post-school date to finish.

I've enjoyed the time with her, and it somehow seems to connect us more during the day as well. She has been helping more in the kitchen, cooking with me at dinner time while Gillian "washes the dishes."

This time together has produced some funny exchanges I want to record for future Mae. And here are but a few:

In a conversation about Grandma Paula attending a baby shower, Mae asked me to explain what a baby shower was. I said something about the expectant parents and a party and gifts to welcome the new baby into the world.

"You mean like Jesus?" (and the three wise men).

Yes. Like Jesus.

When noticing that my good friend Karen had purchased for me some beautiful scissors to wear on a chain around my neck while I work on projects she smiled with a wise old smile and said:

"Oh, you two are just so connected."

And the other night, after suffering through a dramatic display at the dinner table because she was displeased with my offerings (a crustless broccoli quiche, salad, roasted potatoes) she wrote me this:

Dear Beautiful Mommy, I love you. I'm sorry for complaining about the box tops and the dinner. you are the best mom ever. Thank you for making dinner. It was very good. Mostly the salad. I bet when you were a kid you were sooooo healthy! Can you write back please on the other piece of paper? You don't have to write back. Besides, Marine came and gave me my blankey back. Love you

Oh Mae. My sweet little Mae. My middle child.

Days 4 and 5

The last two days of Chris's absence went fairly smoothly. Bela recovered slowly, Gill took her place but got over her illness quickly. Mae didn't get sick until several days later. And somehow, I was spared.

We managed to leave the house for a trip to Garfield Park Conservatory. We had lunch at a favorite spot. We dropped Gill off at her new daycare (more info to come!).

We even made something: Pine cone peanut butter bird feeders. Felt like the old days. Gill even joined in, and they hung them all in the backyard on the chicken coop fencing.

And in doing so we, to our surprise and delight, lured a rare and exotic species - we couldn't even find it in our Backyard Birds book. A real beauty.

This little bird likes our pine cones.

Well, after a weekend of some family time and circus classes and crazy 3rd grade girl playdate, Chris is packing to leave again.

Let the adventure continue.

Day 3

Bela was sick in bed all day, cuddled up to my (new!) computer watching our entire iTunes library's worth of movies. Swiss Family Robinson, The Little Mermaid, The Princess Frog, The Scarecrow.

Gill, Mae and I only escaped the house once to run a few errands. I'm on a roll with the wiring of the lights, man. Or at least a wavering, wobbly stumble. Today, I set out to install the lovely sconces I ordered a month ago from Etsy. Our dining room has had two holes in the wall with wires sticking out since I ripped out the ugly ones the day we moved in. That was almost 2 years ago.

I didn't accomplish the task. I got as far as Home Depot. Standing in the lighting aisle with zinc plated nipples in my hand, I struggled to find the "female loop" I needed to go with my nipples and my hickey. And I couldn't bring myself to ask.

After many minutes of chasing Gill and squinting at the offerings on the shelf, I found (I think) all the strangely named girly parts I need to illuminate the dining room. And I think I'll do it tomorrow.

Mae was a very sweet bedside assistant today, until she wasn't. That happened around dinner time. She came storming into the kitchen on another "errand" for sick Bela.

"Mom, I'm tired of always having to do what Bela wants! She asks me to do everything for her!"

I kneeled down to her height and said in my calm, wise mommy voice:

"Mae, you cannot control what Bela does. You can only control how you react to it. She will always ask you to do things for her. If you don't want to, then you have to say no."

"But she'll yell at me!"

"Again, you cannot control what Bela does. You can only control how you react to it."

I know, I know. I really choked on this as it came out, because I KNOW this is true, and yet I NEVER follow it myself.

Anyway, feeling very wise and very mommy, I went about my cooking and cleaning until it was time to wrangle the loose monkey in the house and put her to bed.

I called from the couch where I was nursing Gill for the night - "Girls! Please shut the bedroom door and turn down the volume on the movie. I'm trying to put Gill to bed!"

I heard Mae sigh and start to get mad, and then it was like a light went off. I heard her mutter to Bela: "I'm not going to do that. I can control me."

Backfire.

Muffin thief

Adventures in single parenting

I'm crafting a positive attitude about this upcoming single parenting bit. Thought I could document it for posterity here - the positive attitude and the single parenting part.

Chris has been gone for 36 hours.

We are still alive.

I knitted while listening to music last night (we currently have no TV), and the girls stayed up late playing with their buddy who spent the night. This was a good thing.

I'm 1 1/2 inches away from finishing Bela's Christmas Cardigan. I anticipate this will take me at least another 48 hours at the rate I'm going, and then it can join all the other hand knit sweaters at the back of her closet. But before she tosses it in, a photo session will be in order. Stay tuned.

Anyway, at about 4 am Bela crawled into bed with me, snuggled up real close, her germs touching my germs, and whispered: Mom, I feel really sick.

Today.

After circus class, after errands, after peanut butter and jelly, she threw up.

Now, Mae is the expert vomiter, always makes it into the bowl, can even reach the toilet. Not a drop out of place. But Bela? She is always so surprised by the whole affair. Remember a few years back when she threw up from the top bunk down into sleeping Mae's bottom bunk? Usually she creeps into our room at night, sidles up to the side of the bed and says "Mom?" blarchhhhchchchchhhhchchchhc. All over.

So today, she threw up on our cool old chaise lounge, and the carpet in the basement apartment, and the down comforter she was snuggled in. The smell in the basement is unspeakable; I refuse to go down there.

In fact, after scrubbing the vomit out of our carpet, I spent an inordinate amount of time hard wiring a new ceiling light fixture (ikea) in the girls room. It only took 1 1/2 years, but today we went from bare bulb hanging by some wires to cheap ikea ceiling fixture that almost cost me my sanity.

This was, ultimately, a good experience.

What shall tomorrow bring?

Party

We celebrated Bela's birthday yesterday with some so- so pizza, a big fat (store bought) cake, and a few presents at La Villa Restaurant. So much more manageable than 20 girls crammed into our dining room, or sleeping on our living room floor.

We've always done it up big for Bela come birthday time. The funny thing is that I'm absolutely NOT a party person. Don't get me wrong, I like to go to one, most times, especially if I don't have to get dressed up. But throw a party?  It fills me with horror and dread.

I don't know where this comes from.

So after the birth of our number three, I simply decided that I could not be forced to throw three big parties a year.

On the one hand, there's the dread.

On the other hand, even the simplest of parties that involves children coming to my house seems to cost a ridiculous amount. After factoring in the cake, the goody bags, the crafts and activities, the food.... not to mention the presents. Added to the fact that Christmas was just two stinking weeks ago...

There has to be some alternating going on. So this year, Bela was out. On a practicality level, she completely understood. But she still made us suffer.

Anyway, I don't want to get all emotional here, but guys... my first baby is nine years old. Next year she'll be 38. Nobody understands the enormity of this, until they do.

Well, the ladies and I are coming down off of birthday high, enjoying the long weekend, but missing Chris. He walked out the door this morning and we will not really see him for many weeks to come. He'd headed to India, Boston, Chile, Mexico, and China in the coming weeks and months.

At least there's leftover cake.

And wine.

Homesick

I'm back at work after a long break, and the craziest thing just happened to me. I all of a sudden had an overwhelming desire to be back at home, lying on the couch with Gillian running circles around me. I would love to sit on her floor right now too, and read her The Little Engine that Could for the 450th time in 5 days. I'm so homesick right now.

Since I can't walk away from my job, I'll blog instead.

Tomorrow is Bela's birthday. Her 9th. It's hard to write down. 9 years. 10 years ago we unexpectedly found ourselves expecting, and now three kids later she's turning 9. Nine nine nine nine nine.

We're celebrating her big day in a small way for once. Dinner out with family and a few friends. Cake. Laughs.  And as her gift this year, aside from a couple wee little things, we have signed her up for acting classes - theater, actually - at Emerald City Theater. She's slated to begin in a few weeks, working with a group of kids towards a musical ensemble production in May.

You see, Bela likes to perform. Bela likes to be on stage, and Chris and I have made it our goal to find this girl some outlets. Circus performance, chorus, music lessons, theater. And after attending two musicals, two ballets and a play with her this year, after watching her face and her excitement, we knew it had to be theater.

I hope she likes it.

And we're financing this gift partly with the money some of you have donated to our "Project" fund. Thank you so much! We really wouldn't be able to sign her up for so many things if it weren't for your help.

Sigh. Back to work.

Scary Stories

As part of her third grade requirements, Bela has to read 10 non fiction books, 10 fiction chapter books, and 5 books of her choice.

She's read about 15 books so far on her own this year, all of them fiction.

I understand why they want to push non-fiction on the students, to prepare them to read and comprehend all types of texts, and to score better on their tests etc. But I can't help but share her preference for fiction, and am thrilled that she loves to read so much in the first place that I'm not about to put my foot down. In fact aside from buying her a book about identifying birds and a book about the planets and the constellations, I am almost no help in motivating her to fulfill her nonfiction requirements.

Chris and I even recently bought her the collection of scary stories by Alvin Schwartz - Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. This was something that Chris read as a kid and loved.

Bela loves it too, fiction lover that she is. But she can't read it at night. In fact, although she loves to read them, loves to scare herself silly (and just finished the last of the three today) she couldn't even keep the books in her room. She had to put them in a special box that she kept downstairs. Far from her sleeping innocence.

Her routine? Spend a portion of each afternoon reading from the scary books, lock them in this cute pink box, ceremoniously carry them downstairs, and deposit them into our safekeeping.

I think that within the set of three, the stories get scarier by the book. She finished the third one today and was also reading it late yesterday afternoon.

It's not really surprising that between me and Chris this morning I woke to find two little blond girls cuddled up and fast asleep.