Ben, the Two of Us Need Look No More

Last night (and I use the word "night" loosely) the whole Duncan fam got dressed up and went out for dinner. As it turns out, Alicia's (my favorite Katy restaurant) is pretty empty at 445 on a Wednesday afternoon evening. Go figure.

This turned out to be a brilliant move on our part as the kids were not yet so tired as to be melting down and no other customers (as we were basically it) were bothered by Nils' insistent yelling and squawking about the fact that he does not yet get to eat fajitas. Carolena stayed in her chair the whole time, ate an entire taco kid's meal, and was an absolute doll. Nils ran through chips, rice, beans, and a thing of baby food.

I had one, one, margarita. It was happy hour so I assumed it would be weak.

Let's just say Chris drove us when we left the restaurant. We went to the pet store (free fun for all) where Carolena and I wandered into the small mammals section. Chris and Nils found us there engrossed in conversation with two blue haired teenage girls, one of whom had a pet with her. Most people go into pet stores with dogs. This girl had a rat on her shoulder. A rat. We chatted for a while. I let Carolena pet the rat.

So, wow.
Yeah.

All I can guess is that the waiter took one look at this young mom with a husband and two kids in tow, a young mom who had her family dressed up to go out to a casual restaurant for dinner in the afternoon, and assessed the situation correctly: "Mom at table four ordered a happy hour margarita. Let's do her a solid and make it a triple."

W.O.W.

Words of Wisdom
By Carolena

Start each day as a baby animal. Always. Each morning when you wake up, check to see if the alien is awake and then scramble out of bed. Grab your whoppie frog and Howie and head to the kitchen to see if Mommy is already awake. Say to her, "The alien is awake. I'm a baby chipmunk" or wombat, or kangaroo, or monkey, or... well, you get the gist. The key to this game is that Mommy must agree to be the mommy animal. If she tries to pull some shenanigans in which she is a different animal or just mommy, don't put up with that nonsense and call her the mommy animal name anyway.

Sometimes, it's advisable to branch out from baby animals. Spend an afternoon calling your mother "Grandma" and insist that she call you Olga. Olga, your "big girl name." Duh. Ask "Grandma" to ask you how old you are and when she does reply, "forty."

Time spent reading is time well spent. Time playing with small animals is time well spent. An entire afternoon doing both? Heavenly.

Age Before Beauty

First children have strict nap routines around which everything in the world revolves.
Second children... take naps. Ahem. Yeah, they take naps.

First children rip toys out of second children's hands.
Second children remember this and seek their revenge on younger children.
Second children remember this and also seek their revenge on the older child once they are both comfortably in their thirties. Bwa ha ha... excellent.

First children have tranquil cozy bedtime rituals.
Second children try to snuggle and nurse while an older child wanders around the room talking at best or lies on the floor screaming.

First children take leisurely cozy baths with a variety of toys to choose from and enjoy.
Second children get tossed into someone else's bath water and just suck on a wash cloth when they can't reach all of the hoarded toys.

First children are funny.
Second children will do anything for a laugh.

First children recoil in horror when told to go ask for more ketchup at McDonald's, or pack up their belongings in college so that they can move out, or request an extra water cup from the snack bar at Target so that their child can have a cup for popcorn.
Second children grab the first children by the hand, drag them along, and just get that shit done.

It's My Party & I'll Cry If I Want to...

Sometimes hormones get the best of us. Women that is. We are certainly the stronger sex, it's just these damn hormones.

I hosted a baby shower for one of my best friends today. I spent months day dreaming about the shower: what I'd serve to drink (iced tea with several options of simple syrups), what I'd wear (the only dress I had that was ironed), what decorations I'd use (handmade banner and some puffs I made for Nils' baptism lunch).

And then the party weekend arrived.

And that was when I realized that throwing a baby shower when you have two kids is... challenging.

Yesterday I looked around our filthy house, thought about the fact that I had not yet ironed tablecloths, made the iced tea (which I accidentally left until the last minute and was still making when guests arrived), or finished folding origami hearts (yes, really). And then I announced that I was going to go workout. I threw on my gym clothes, loaded Carolena into the car, and headed off for some BodyPump and quality time with my workout buddy (yay! Megan is back!).

And then I came home. To a filthy house and a huge list of things to do. I spent the rest of the day and into the night working to get things done. I woke up early and shipped Chris and Carolena off for their day of fun.

I scrambled to get the house clean (read that as "I threw, literally threw, things into the bedrooms and closed the doors"). I cursed myself for not making the sandwich fillings earlier. I imagined my mom saying to me "Get dressed. You can finish plating desserts when people are here." Thank God for that one. As it was I only managed to put on mascara!

Thankfully, Nils was a perfect angel all day (when is he not?) and even though I answered the door to the first guests as a sweaty mess who hadn't made iced tea yet for an iced tea party and was holding a baby who wasn't dressed yet, everything turned out great. Any party is great as long as you've got food, drinks, good music, and good people.

Nils was eventually dressed. Although, he outgrew that particular outfit sometime recently and had to wear it unsnapped so it looked like a dress. Poor Nils. Hmm... that was the last nice outfit that fit... I wonder what he'll wear to church tomorrow. He had a blast today. He took a long nap this morning (he actually fell asleep in his jumparoo!) and enjoyed some peace and quiet. He was a party animal at the shower and wooed everyone to the point that the little charmer skipped an afternoon nap.

So, I left everything to the last minute. I was Martha with Jesus in her home. I hid tons of stuff in our bedroom rather than actually cleaning our house. I didn't put on makeup (mascara only counts as the bare minimum of having makeup on in my book). I had to frantically make finger sandwiches in such a crunch of time that I pretended it was a Top Chef Quickfire challenge. I hid all of the stuff in our kitchen in the dishwasher like it was a cabinet. And yet, none of that can be blamed on hormones. That was all just procrastination and taking care of my children all week rather than cleaning the house.

At the end of the party I started chatting with one of the guests. She is pregnant and due any time now. She talked some about her first pregnancy and delivery so I asked her the age of her older child. As it turns out she lost that son to SIDS almost two years ago when he was just four months old. She pulled out a locket with a picture of him to show me. And I started crying. Yep, crying. Oh, hello nursing mother hormones, good to see you again.

It was weird. But also, not weird at all. In that moment, seeing his beautiful chubby little face, I just felt her sorrow. This was a woman I had literally just met. This was our first ever conversation. And I found myself crying (not sobbing, but a little more than tearing up) over a picture of her deceased child. She teared up too and it was a strikingly wonderful, beautiful, raw moment between two young moms. We ended up chatting and crying and finally laughing for a little while longer. It was a strange and beautiful end to a strange and beautiful day.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry to if it happened to you.

W.O. W. Swim School Edition

Words of Wisdom: Swim School Edition
By Carolena

There will come a time when you parents will start talking about "swim lessons" or "swim school." School? That sounds fun! But... don't be fooled... swim lessons are evil.

The first day will seem exciting. Put on your swimsuit and sunscreen and head out the door! Woo! Drive to the Y and lead the way out to the pool. Oh what fun this will be! Meet your teacher and join the kids. Swim lessons! Hooray!

Get in the water.
Swim lessons?
Put your face in the water.
Swimmm lesssonsss?
Lie on your back in the water.
Swim lessons! Noooooo!!!!

Beginning on the second day you should fight tooth and nail against swim school. ("School" hmph. School is fun. This is not.) Each morning give your mother a reason that you should stay home. Don't actually ask to stay home. Instead, casually throw the reasons into your morning conversation. "I'm really tired" and "my foot hurts" are two great examples.

When your mother insists that you go to the pool, go along with it. For now. Put on your suit and politely ask that sunscreen be applied once you get there. Remind her that you'll want a snack after the lesson. Get in the car. Go through all of the motions... until it's time to get in the pool. Then, pull out the big guns. Scream, cry, fight! Kick at your teacher! Scratch at your teacher! Persevere!

At the end of each lesson, return to your mother with a smile on your face and boast to her about your accomplishments. She will shower you with love and attention and compliments. Bask in your glory as an Olympian.

Later in the afternoon get in the backyard kid pool and show your mother some of your new moves. Teach her how to swim. Back inside, gather stuffed animals and pretend that you are the lifeguard and you are teaching them to swim. Perhaps your mother will be amazed by your swimming abilities and not send you back. Although, that swim teacher is pretty great. Casually mention to your mother that you might like to call him sometime. She'll probably reply that we don't call older boys... and that we're the kind of girls that get calls from boys, we don't call them... hmm. So, if you can't call Mr. Brandon, perhaps going to swim lessons the next morning is a good idea after all.

Nope. It's not.

Continue to fight swim lessons until the last day. On the last day, smile, go to your class willingly, be kind to your teacher, enjoy the water, and give your mother a taste of what might have been.

Note from Nils: Swim lessons are hot. Just snooze. Or eat. Or eat and then snooze. Yes, that last option is always the way to go.

Bees Will Buzz, Kids Will Blow Dandelion Fuzz

While other families are getting into "back to school" mode, our family is still in the midst of our summer o' fun. Others are shopping for school supplies and dreaming of cool Autumn days (won't they be disappointed?), while we are sitting at the start of a calendar month filled with swim lessons and beach trips. It's a strange place to be when everyone else is dreaming of pumpkin spiced lattes and I'm still thinking about margaritas on Bolivar.

Don't get me wrong, Fall is my favorite. But... I'm just not quite ready for it. I've still got two weeks of sitting by the pool while Carolena works on learning the backstroke (at least, I think that's what they were doing. It involved lying on their backs and making their arms go "chicken. airplane. chicken. airplane."). We need to pop Carolena's new life-jacket on her and bring her out for her first ride in Jimmer's boat. Our children's museum pass is still hanging on the fridge and our Sonic giftcard has not yet run out. We haven't had nearly enough picnics for dinner at the Y pool. None of the summer bbqs I dreamed of having were ever planned (perhaps that will be a fall thing?). We haven't even had our first snowcones of summer yet! And, as always, Bolivar is calling my name.

So, September, I will welcome you will open arms when you arrive... but we're just not there yet. Here's to finishing out summer 2014 with a bang!