I spent the morning with my firstborn today. Left Nella snuggled in her pink kitten jammies right next to her Daddy under a mess of tangled sheets while the bigger girl and I snuck off to the bathroom to get ready for our date. She stood on the stool next to me and glossed her lips while I brushed my teeth and twisted my wet hair into a ponytail.

I’ve missed this. Sure, there are myriads of moments where we’re together, but sometimes I’m turning the pages of The Wide Mouthed Frog while simultaneously balancing a baby. And, in the middle of a puzzle with her the other day, I jumped up to calm a startled Nella. “No, her not crying,” Lainey said as if her denial would convince me to stay and play.

I thought I’d be really good at this when I was pregnant. I had rehearsed every possible situation with balancing two and had a plan of action. We were going to have Lainey & Me dates weekly. We were going to be aware of all jealous cues and fire planned responses to fix them. We were going to take our love and carefully divvy it up in perfect equal portions, no more, no less.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t offer the Perfectly Planned option. In the ebb & flow of our home’s activities, there have been days where Lainey is rained upon with praise and puzzles and baking and book-reading and others where I’ve actually uttered the words, “Not now, Babe, Nella needs me” as if her needing me wasn’t as meritable.

And then there are days like today when I give her my undivided attention and we dress up and sing made-up “We’re going on a date” songs in the car. When there’s only one carseat to buckle and one face to focus on in the rearview mirror.

We started at the bookstore where we spent most of our time riding the escalator or, as she calls it, the “up-down.” You would have thought we were at a theme park. She held her breath and smiled and jumped off at the end with a “wheeeeee,” and suddenly, I too was feeling the exhileration. We read books and sorted the stuffed animal shelves and finished our visit with a red velvet cupcake with a thick swirl of heavenly cream cheese frosting.

It felt good to be back in the swing of things, to know that life being altered a bit doesn’t change everything and there are so many more of these dates–with both my girls–to come.

We continued our morning together at a local produce market where she picked out small potatoes for Daddy and I added shallots and garlic and a big, fat, dirt-covered onion that together tasted amazing in a pan of sizzling butter tonight.

She stole a strawberry before I noticed half of it oozing down her chin.

Finally, it was back home where we spent the rest of the morning hurdling streams of cold sprinkler water outside where the sun calmed us and the sight of my happy girl not only reminded me of every sweet memory we’ve shared so far in this yard but excited me of all the ones to come.

Then multiply that excitement times two.

Nella joined us outside for a shady nap and, after a good dose of one-on-one time with the big sister, I felt content and happy to share the afternoon loving my girls as perfectly as I know how. And, although it was soon followed with dangling a hungry ten-pound girl in one arm and a thrashing almost-three-year old in the other while I dodged sprinkler sprays to head in for naps, it still felt, might I say, balanced.

The scales will, I’m sure, tip again soon and teeter between too much and too little, but days like these will return and restore the balance of just enough love…and then some.

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And this little kitten?

The sound of our voices excites her so much, she gets all breathy and wide-eyed and worked up when she hears us, batting the air like little Karate Kid. She stretches her hands to touch Brett’s face when he holds her close, and when I feed her, she reaches up and wraps her fingers around mine in the most tender grasp. Love Machine.

Her most favorite spot in the world? Pressed up against Brett’s chest. The girl goes into a total love trance and, well, so does Brett.

And, speaking of Karate Kid, she’s a black belt in tummy time, conquering the head lift with our applause…and a smile.

Brett approaches Tummy Time like he’s a marathon coach, clocking it and coaxing her through it. And he drills me at the end of the day…”How much Tummy Time did she have today?” I’m scared of what would happen if I answered “none.” Dude means business.

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On our way to some friends’ house the other night, Brett & I were debating NY vs. Chicago style pizza, completely oblivious to the silence in the back seat when Brett finally says, “Do you smell that? Smells like nail polish.” Turns out Lainey packed some in her backpack and was having a little car manicure session, awkwardly bending over the straps in her carseat to reach her toes.

And her lips were all plastered with this frosty pink too. I looked in her bag to find Merle Norman. Girl was packin’ some serious make-up.

She never fails to make us laugh.

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Bed awaits again and, although I’ve worded it a million different ways, I can’t express how welcoming it is at the end of the day to crawl into our monster of a bed and glide into soft sheets, wedging my side next to my little willow and pulling the weight of my bunny into my chest. It is both the celebration of a good day or the reward to a trying one–to conclude a day’s worth of work nestled between what matters most. To listen to midnight rains between the comfort of warm bodies, to hear Brett’s heavy breath over the quicker, shallow ones of the girls and to close my eyes knowing we get to do it all over again tomorrow.

That’s just completely delicious.

You might as well get used to little bunny smiles…they’re happening all the time.

Happy Days.

Several readers asked about the photos on our family wall a couple posts back. I actually got the idea of the photo wall from another photographer…but it’s simple and affordable. They are 16×20 prints framed in glass clip “frameless” frames (I got mine $5 each from Ikea, but they are also available at Michael’s or Joann’s for a little more).

~k

It’s been three days of my couch looking like this now.

And I finally decided my quality of life would be greatly improved if I cleaned up and put some laundry away. My greatest weakness will always be my issues with cleaning and laundry because I’d much rather do something fun and, although I live by that whole principal of the-laundry-can-wait-but-kids-growing-up-can’t, there has to be a happy medium. At some point, I am no longer enjoying the comforts of my home because I’ve let it go too far and I can’t even read a book to my kid without stepping on some sort of crippling toy and cursing. When I finally put the pieces back together and reorganize, I am reminded, as I sip my coffee in the morning among perfectly placed pillows overlooking an orderly family room with fresh vacuum lines and flickering candles and maybe even, God forbid, a little spritz of hydrangea spray, I do enjoy it more. My brain declutters. My stress relieves. And then all I have to do is wait for it all to fall apart again.

I wonder if, back in the day, when women practically held their worth by how spit-shined their kitchens were or how the stiffness of the collars of their husband’s shirts held up, were they really this put together…or did they maintain their dignity by never talking about when they did fall apart?

I find it refreshing in this day and age that women are talking about their short-comings, their fears, their insecurities and maybe, just by doing so, we are empowering each other a little more. Accepting that we all do these things, feel these things, say these things and moving on together to overcome them.

We are not perfect. We are messy and complicated and creative and good and we try our best at so many different endeavors. And its this brew of wonderfulness that is indeed what makes us perfect.

And while I’m on the whole absence of put-togetheredness thing, I took the girls for a walk yesterday. It started good–Nella asleep in the stroller, Latte wedged comfortably on the footrest beneath her and Lainey trailing behind us, happily pushing a grocery cart full of beanie babies, a couple dog biscuits and some various barrettes.

We arrived at the lake which welcomed us with its shady tree and stretch of grass for Latte to roll in, for us to smooth our blanket on and chill out. Splendid.

Until Lainey got bit by a red ant and lost it. She wouldn’t budge. I begged her to walk, to push her cart back home, explaining that I couldn’t walk two blocks home carrying a grocery cart and holding a baby and pushing a stroller at the same time.

Turns out I can.

And the onlookers that got a view of that were, I’m sure, enthused. I rigged up the grocery cart with this elastic cord thingy hanging from the stroller and pushed Lainey while holding Nella in one arm and my camera in the other. I saw the UPS man go by and, I swear, I thought of waving him down and asking him to put us in the back of his truck and drive us home.

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Lainey has a new game. It’s called “This one Nella?” And the name of the game is I prop Nella up between all her dolls and animals and she goes down the line, pointing and asking “This one Nella?” while I “no” and “no” and “no” until she finally shy-smiles, points to the sister and I say “yes.” She loves it.

I spy a Nella in the swing mirror too…

This one’s Nella…and she is magical.

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Lainey got an early birthday present from her Poppa. I wanted to wait until she was older for her first American Girl doll, but their 2010 Doll of the Year just so happens to be named Lanie Holland. And since our girl shares the name and we kinda went to Holland this year and the doll is only available this year, it only seemed right.

And the doll has removeable shoes, so our girl is in heaven.

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She is doing better about getting into my make-up. Still does it on a weekly basis, but now, she carefully applies and tediously turns the lipstick tube. And she knows what the word “waste” means and, if I catch her applyin’, she says “not wasting, Mommy.” And that melts me, so I let her knock herself out.

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And our delicious girl has been deep in conversation with us lately, talking with her wide eyes, drinking in our faces and kicking her little legs as she works up the most beautiful coos. They come out breathy and beautiful, soft and gentle. She has a voice. My girl has a voice.

And Brett and I get very competitive with these conversations, measuring who she “likes better” with quantitative goos. Like Brett walked out of her room the other day with a victorious grin, “Seven goos, baby.” Damn. And I thought I had it good with my five. He always wins.

That’s because he has the magic touch. Putting his babies to sleep, calmly rested in his strong hands…

Stirring cocoa and eggs and pretending not to notice the pieces of shell she slipped in as he helps her make brownies…

Oh, our Daddy, you make me smile. I love you.

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Digging through my closet lately finding old shoes I forgot about. I like shoes. Especially ones that combine three of my favorites. Things that tie up the ankle. Things that are yellow. And Things that have cool cork wedge bottoms.

Now, all I need is some swishy skirts, some big sunglasses and this swimsuit, and I’ll be set for spring. I’ve been eyeing a good retro one-piece suit and found this exact suit at Marshall’s for only $20. Booyah.

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And oh, how I love a good dog-in-a-sun-spot. Especially when it’s cuddled next to a cute baby. My baby.

Sophie likes Nella because she’s mellow and happy and she doesn’t try and shove her in a baby stroller or make her sit in chairs.

And these are the random pictures we put at the end of the post because we like ’em. They need no prequel. They need no explanation.

In the meantime, we’re loving life. Twirling among the beautiful mess.

Happy Friday!