“Mom, can you cut my nails? It hurts when I put my finger in my nose.”
The request comes from the back of the car on our way home from preschool. I guess she’s been doing some nose excavations while at school….

Jeremiah and I were brewing a batch of beer Saturday morning when the kids came out asking for lunch. “Right, I’ll get you a sandwich in a minute,” I promised, as I checked the pH of the cooling wort. I must have said “just a minute” a few times before they disappeared, prancing back with fully laden plates, pleased as punch with their independence (and their chocolate cookies).

Here’s one of the many forts Milo’s building these days. Hurray for removable couch cushions–they’re the main structural element for most of the creations. “You know, when I was your age, I used to LOVE building forts too,” I told Milo. “Were you good at it?” he wanted to know. “Yes, I was good at it.” I don’t objectively remember how good at it I was, of course, but that’s besides the point. Milo seems to think that daddy’s good at building things and mommy’s not, an unfair judgement which I’m doing my best to shift.

It’s the fate of the second born, to be always one step behind the older sibling in doing new stuff.  The advantage (though she doesn’t know it yet) is that nothing is REALLY new.  She’ll have been going to this massive classroom filled with 70 rapidly moving red bodies for two years before it’s her turn to don the uniform.  

I have, however, been working on bike safety on the way to the library. Do I earn bonus points for that?

Naomi’s latest social development is play dates–both hosting and being invited. They’re entirely more peaceful affairs than Milo’s play dates; no wrestling, no racing. The biggest controversy is over who wears the pink dress-up. I left Naomi at her friends’ house for two hours one afternoon, while I worked cozily on the computer and sipped a coffee. I used to have interludes of quiet like that EVERY DAY while Milo napped. It really is true that you don’t know how good something is until you lose it.

Every night Naomi tucks Nina and Scarlett into the safe wall-half of her bed, while she sleeps precariously on the outer half. Strangely Milo, who has never been very affectionate to his stuffed animals, has started to copy her.

Gardening is a patience-testing activity for a child. Just a week after Milo planted his lovingly-watered carrot transplant he was asking if it was ready to pick. Thankfully, he soon forgot about its existence until this week, and it really WAS ready to pick. There’s a very proud gardener.

Milo wrote a sign for his bedroom door. See if you can interpret it. I needed help….

This one has the translation written beside it. Notice that the same words are spelled differently than they were on the last sign.  Crikey.  The poor boy. He didn’t get any good spelling genes from me.

Naomi is lovely. She really is. Here she is admiring the floating lanterns as she biked along a lake in Hagley park.

And here she is admiring yet more floating AND hanging lanterns….
We soon left the park and headed towards the library, with a stop at a cafe for a treat since mommy had forgotten the packed lunch on the kitchen counter top.  She sat at the counter and ate her half of the ginger slice with relish.

Then she stopped. I don’t know why. Maybe she was tired? Maybe she was just sick of me telling her to come along and wanted to assert her own decision-making ability. 
I can’t carry both her and her bike, so, needless to say, we both stopped. For 30 minutes we stopped. I could SEE the library ahead, for crying out loud.
I sat down. She pulled down her eyebrows. I weathered the concerned looks of well meaning passers by. She cried. I didn’t cry (or yell)…a small victory for motherhood. I observed a rich lady do an abominable job parking her fancy car. Naomi stuck out her bottom lip. I read national geographic on my phone. Thank goodness for downloadable media! Finally she moved again.  I honestly don’t remember why.