It's Time to Share...

Studying for her new role.

Practicing her big sister skills with her slightly
younger buddy, Ashlyn.  I think we need to
work on her "hugging" technique.

So happy to be holding her little friend Annie.
But, this one kinda looks like a choke hold too.
Mama's got work to do.

And, yes, still making adventurous fashion
choices.  p.s. it was a very sunny day.

Big News.  The Tiny Fashionista will earn another title come January...BIG SISTER!

I'm not one to publicly declare news via Facebook and the world wide interwebs, but I feel like my cloak of denial has lasted long enough.  We're eight months into this thing, and the belly is clearly getting harder to hide under loose fitting Piko Tops...its really happening.  We're having another baby girl!

Although, to step into our casa you'd think to yourself.  Yep, they're still in denial.  Nothing has been done.  By this time in my Liesee pregnancy I had purchased more tiny clothes and shoes than an infant could possibly wear.  We painted, we sanitized bottles and pacis and we delicately washed sheets and clothes in special detergent that babies "have to have."   I'm pretty sure I'd read nearly 25 baby books, and had a birth plan...show up at hospital, get drugs.  Oh wait, that box I can still check.  Birth plan, done.

But seriously, this whole second child thing seems a lot less stressful.  At least the preparedness part.  Cause here's the thing, raising a 2 year old is blowing the lid off my stress-o-meter.  I don't have a freaking minute to worry about whether I've reached my 200 mg of caffeine per day that the baby books say I'm allotted. I drink the coffee because I need the coffee.  Chasing Tiny, and worrying about getting her to school and dance and play group on time with clothes on is about all I can handle.  

Tiny continues to be spirited.  That's the nicest way I can say she's got an opinion about every teeny tiny damn thing, and my life has become a guessing game of Which Which?  She wants to do everything "by myself!!!!"  This includes dressing, diapering, climbing in and out of the car, the high chair, the bed.  But everything takes 10x as long. Couple that with the fact that I'm pregnant (read: angry and slow) and its a real mess every morning.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays when I've dropped her at school by 8:30 (ok, ok 8:40 if we're being honest), I give myself a giant high five in the form of a Gingerbread Latte for a job done.  (Not well done, but she's there and dressed.)

We spend a lot of time talking to Tiny about her baby sister.  She participates in the conversation, but still I wonder if she gets it.  She says there's a baby in mommy's belly, but then sometimes she says there is a baby in her belly.  Like now when she tells me her tummy hurts, she says "my baby hurts."  

We read her books about the baby coming.  Her favorite is a book without words.  The idea is we can make up the story for each illustration to match our own experience.  Daddy reads this to her every night.  So, I'm putting her down for a nap this week and she wants me to "read" it to her.  A couple turns in, there is a page that shows a mommy stepping on a scale.  And, I delicately say, "Mommy steps on the scale every week to make sure the baby is getting bigger inside her tummy."  This upsets her and she starts screaming "Bs! Bs!"  I try to play along but clearly Daddy has different words for this page....when I ask him later, he says, "Oops! I tell her, 'This is where Mommy steps on the scale to find out how many L-B's (as in pounds, ya know lbs.) she's gained.'" And, my gut reaction is to punch him in the face.  Except its funny and the vain part of me knows its the truth.  

So, now when we play the weigh game, Tiny stands next to me and asks "How many lbs. mommy?!"   The flashing number less painful to process, when she high fives me and says, "Yay! Baby's getting bigger!"

Tiny Dancer...ish

1st day of school...so grown up and very excited.

2nd day of school, and already too cool to have
her picture taken.  She insisted on adding the tutu
for a little something extra. And who am I to argue?

So proud! At least school is going well!

Turns out she can stand like this for
30 straight minutes.

This picture perfectly sums up her willingness to
participate with the group.

It's been a big couple of weeks here at the Desmond house.  Tiny has started school and dance lessons.

I use these terms loosely. By school, I mean this great Mom's Day Out program two days a week at a church right by our house. This gives ol' mom a much needed break from my precious darling, and Tiny a chance to spread her wings and fly little bird! fly!

I know we both need this...  Me, for my sanity and to actually get a few things done both professionally and personally.  I'm now responding to emails, and successfully taking showers every Tuesday and Thursday.  I also have been (gasp!) making dinner and have even managed to find the bottom of the laundry hamper and its only week 2!

And Tiny, for the simple reason that I'm afraid she may be smarter than me and I feel I've taught her almost everything I know.  God help us when we get to Chemistry. Being a stay at homer, I want to make sure she's ok leaving the nest, making friends, learning to share, blah, blah, blah. That, and let's be real, its not fair to the world if I'm the only one that gets to see her fashion creations.  She now gets to see and be seen.

In addition to school, Tiny started taking Pre-Ballet and Tap Class.  Every Monday afternoon we squeeze on a leotard that is so cute it should be illegal and head to Kaleidoscope Dance Academy where Tiny learns how to properly shake her booty with Ms. Laine. In theory, this is how its supposed to work.  In reality, let's recap the last two Mondays.

We've got the appropriate attire down (kind of), although both weeks I've had to wake her up from her nap and basically wrestle tights and a leotard on a half asleep Tiny.  She doesn't say much until its on, and then she whimpers..."too tight, too tight."   And, each time I explain its supposed to be tight, they're called tights for a reason.  Following the squeezing, I mean dressing, I'm supposed to make sure she has her hair up.  This is a joke, because Tiny has been boycotting pony tails of any kind for the last 3 months.  If, by the grace of God, I actually get one in, she rips it out within minutes.  She only wants to wear bows, and knowing this is a battle I can't win I let this slide and pretend she's not the only one in class without the proper hair.

So we get to the first class, and I don't know if she's in shock or awe, but Tiny's legs are suddenly made of cement and she doesn't move.  She doesn't boogie, she doesn't bounce, she stares stone faced.  Ms. Laine is doing everything she can to engage her, and yet she continues to stare at her teacher and classmates like this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on the human species.  After class, the teacher tells me, "Don't worry she'll be fine, at least she didn't run away screaming.  Those are the ones we have a hard time getting back."  Now it's my turn to stare, Is she serious?...and yet I'm oddly comforted that we've set the (ballet) bar so low.  I suddenly feel all Lloyd Christmas kinds of optimistic..."So, what are my chances of her becoming a dancer, like 1 in a 100? No, I'd say more like 1 in a 1,000,000.  So you're telling me I've got a chance!!"  And, I leave with a dumb smile plastered across my face, because if it was nothing else it was entertaining and well, the teacher said "I had nothing to worry about," which is almost the same thing as "she's a great dancer."

That is until this Monday...Class #2.

This time, Tiny is supposed to go into the studio with Ms. Laine and the other students while all the mommies and daddies wait in the lobby for their dancing queens to complete their 30 minute session. (The first class we were allowed in the studio to get them warmed up to their teacher and fellow classmates.) Ms. Laine extends her hand to Tiny and she recoils like she is trying to hand her green vegetables.  She grabs onto my neck with a Ninja-like death hold and starts to cry...and I'm having flashbacks to last weeks words of encouragement...."at least she didn't run away crying."   Oh cr@p!

The teacher tells me I can bring her in when she's ready and let's me sit by the door and try to get my little dancer to dance.  But, she continues her hold on me.  Half way through class I can tell she's interested... I caught her tapping her toe! But still she won't let go of my neck.  Class ends, and Ms. Laine suggests we try the Mommy and Me class on Fridays to try and get her used to being there.  And, I can't help but feel like we've been demoted.  We are now the kid you have to worry about.  And, a fear runs through me...Mommy and Me?  Does this mean I've got to squeeze my butt into a leotard too?I just may run away screaming myself.

She's Cra-Cra...

Taste of Belgium in Cincy.  These are the
waffles she wants every time. And, so do I.

Liesee and LiLi.  Cousins and two peas in a pod.
We recently discovered they're not quite ready for
a same room sleepover.  Ask me about it sometime.

Despite this pic.  We had a great visit with
Aunt Holly.  Just felt you needed a visual of
Tiny's manic swim face.

This is our newest obsession.
Being nude in heels.

CRAZY.  Maybe its me, but Tiny's opinion is getting, well, more opinionated.  This morning she wanted waffles (but not those waffles), strawberries (but not cut like that mama!), yogurt (not the GREEN bowl you moron!!)  Milk! Smoothie! Water!  How many drinks can this little woman demand?!? She only has two hands!  And, what do I look like her own personal barista?

Yesterday she wanted to swim.  We swam for a good hour in the morning.  She was a fish!  I was so proud of her kicking, her bubble blowing.  She was even hoisting herself out of the pool from the side. Flash forward one nap, and four hours later and we are headed to swim lessons and I am hopeful.  But, the whole way there she thought we were going to the Splash Park (Lord knows why?), and she was more than disappointed when we rolled up at Cooper's house for lessons with Miss Courtney.  We lug our stuff poolside and she refuses to get in. She's whimpering, and whining and I'm desperately trying not to pull my hair out.  I got myself in a bathing suit for this!  I'm in the pool!  Why can't you just pull it together and get in because I want you to?  She's staring at the other kiddies, thought bubble forming above her stubborn adorable head... "you fools."  They're swimming, and they're younger than her!  Oh the shame!

Suddenly (after standing on the pool step for about 30 minutes) something peaks her interest.  Could be another mom's rousing rendition of "Pop Goes the Weasel?" I'll never know, but at last she wants to be a weasel too!  She's in.  She won't swim to the teacher, but she'll swim away from her (crying).  She won't jump in forward, but she'll jump in backward (so weird, but I'll take it).  The lesson ends about five seconds later, and I'm thinking the money was totally worth it.

Later that night I'm giving her a bath.  Tiny likes bath time.  But, typically she does not like shampoo time...until last night.  What usually generates tears, is now inspiring giggles.  The shampoo is dripping in her eyes and she's smiling about it.  Twenty minutes later, the water has grown tepid, her digits resemble prunes and its "baby burrito time!"  We wrap her up tighter than a Chipotle special and she loves it usually...except tonight she doesn't.  Tonight she'd prefer to air dry.

After a P.J. Battle... "Liesee do it!!" (Except Liesee can't do it because she can't seem to master which hole the arm goes in.  And, truth is, I think she knows this but is hoping that we don't know that she knows.  This is what they call in the toddler biz a stall tactic.)

Followed by a Book Battle..."Liesee read it!!" (Except Liesee wants you to read a different book at the exact same time she is 'reading' her book.  This reading duel has the opposite effect bed time stories are supposed to have.  I find it chaotic and unnerving.  And, again, I think she knows.)

...she is at last in bed.  The great thing about all this opinion spewing is that it makes her tired.  But, it also makes this mama tired too.  And, as a woman with an opinion or two herself I find the battles have left me too exhausted to even care what ice cream I shovel down my throat to cope with the day.   When hubs asks, I just grunt...which is code for strawberry chip in a small white bowl with a little spoon...but, not that spoon. ;)

Beach Baby

We went on vacation to Hilton Head, SC with my husband’s whole family...19 people and counting.   The family is big and loud, and I love spending time with them in a big house all together (plus it gives me a new appreciation for just how insane the Duggar family is).  It’s a special bonding experience, and great for Tiny to spend lots of time with the cousins she loves so much.   Thank you Nana and Dodo and the rest of the crew for a great week!

This year Tiny loved the beach and I am so happy, because I love the beach.  I’ve always loved to sit with a good book, a bottle of sunscreen and a comfy chair and soak it in.  Last year, I had the not so pleasant reality check that my days of sitting for hours in my old blue chair may be over.  But a year makes a huge difference, and I realize now that all hope may not be lost.  Let’s compare.

In 2012…

-Mama sits in the shade with baby because no amount of SPF is enough for her pale nearly see through infant skin. 

-Baby eats sand by the mouthful.

-Mama and Dada drag carts of stuff to the beach only to turn around moments later due to a) naptime b) feeding time c) blowout d) all of the above

Don't let this smile fool you.

In 2013…

-Toddler stands still long enough to use spray sunscreen and exclaims, happily, “it tickles!” as its being applied.

- Mama sits in sun while toddler plays in the sand with cousins

-Toddler enjoys jumping waves with Mama and Dada

-Mama and Dada drag carts of stuff to the beach but stay for several hours because, gasp!, toddler is enjoying herself.

-Mama actually reads a couple pages of her book because toddler is able to chase crabs, dig for treasure, and fill bucket after bucket with sand

She seriously was this happy.

I don’t want to blow smoke and act like Tiny has pulled it together entirely (she hasn’t), and that this vacation and all vacations going forward will be relaxing (it wasn’t and they won’t).  We are still a long way from me and a margarita staring blissfully at the crystal clear ocean pondering life.  But, I had an epiphany; this new type of vacation can be fun too.  It’s different than our kid free days, but we had a blast watching her discover and explore.  It was fun to splash in the waves and dig in the sand with Tiny, like I used to when I was a kid.  I loved watching Tiny laugh with her Dada and Nana as she hurdled waves. 

Looking back, in 2012, I had set myself up for failure.  Vacation with children will never be like vacation without them, and I failed to set this expectation with myself.  I was still holding on to kid-free vacation hopes, and dragging the kid along.  Family vacations aren’t so much about the relaxing as they are about the bonding, the memory making and just quality, silly time together.   They are really fun, but really, really exhausting, and their supposed to be or you aren’t playing hard enough.

I’m not going to lie and pretend I don’t enviously stare at couples as they stroll aimlessly hand in hand down the beach.  But, when I feel myself start to long for my old vacation style, I smile and remember there’s always naptime: a guaranteed few hours a day to sip that marg and read that book.

Have you ever seen such cute littles?

That puddle straight ahead did a number on her sperry's.

I will miss those baby rolls someday.

At the "Salted" Dog.

 

Windy Family Photo.

A Cry for Help

I've been away fundraising and vacationing, and I've missed you.  I've written in my absence and yet, still didn't find the time to pull pics and post until now.  I promise we'll catch up.  Here's a little something I wrote back on May 18, 2013.  You can see this blog isn't the only thing I've been neglecting...poor Tiny.

May 18, 2013...

I think this is what they call "A Cry for Help."  My Tiny is desperate for my attention, and she is expressing this desperation through her insane fashion choices.

I would never nominate myself for mom of the year but usually, if I'm being honest, I think I'm pretty good.  This week, however, I have been less than attentive to my dear, sweet Tiny because I am immersed in the wild world of fundraising, doing my part to help pull off another ragingly successful event for Charlies Kids Foundation.  (If you don't know Charlie's story and the awesome work we are doing at CKF, shame on you, go to the website immediately and soak up as much information as you can on safe sleep.  This is a subject I am insanely passionate about and you should be too. www.charlieskids.org).

So...with the Golf Outing just days away, I don't have a ton of time to post but wanted to give you a glimpse of Tiny's dissatisfaction with mommy's busy schedule.

I should note that in the morning when Tiny is getting dressed, I normally pull options (Rachel Zoe style) and she has to pick from several choices.  This week, she has done the picking all by herself.  I think it shows.  At best she looks like an angry teen full of angst and drama, at worst a homeless person who has just raided a Claire's boutique.

Sit back, relax and enjoy one week of the Tiny Fashionista left entirely to her own devices...over accessorized (sometimes under/over-clothed) and loving every minute of her mama's guilt, as she looks at me with "you did this to me" stares.

Matching-ish.  But demands no pants.

Noticing a theme?

Couldn't get her to wear these boots all winter and spring.
Now she won't take them off.

Chocolate is an accessory, right?  

No such thing as too many accessories or
too many snacks.

Bag Lady?  Nope.  That's my kid.

Don't Step in the....

Tiny Bombshell:
Annaliese does her very best Marilyn impression.

Cute skirt, but not so practical or "lady-like"
going down the slide.

The poo source. (sleeping in my garden)

...and she did.

I can tell summer time is almost here because Annaliese has to get a good scrub down every night.  I love the way kids smell when they've been playing outside all day.  A mixture of sweat and dirt and adventure with a lil peanut butter and ice cream on top.

Dirt on kids is not unlike sand at the beach. I find myself wondering how'd that piece of mulch get there and was that really a pebble in her belly button?  But I love it.  She's barefoot and half naked most of the time. Leggings and tights have given way to shorts and scrapes on the knees...ah, summertime.

Tiny likes to be outside.  And now that she can open the back door, she is out all the time....with or without my knowledge.  Lucky for us the backyard is fenced in and the fear of danger is very low.

I should say relative danger.  The other night we had just finished giving Tiny a bath.  We got as far as the diaper when she made a run for the back door.  She's barefoot.  We have a dog. Do you know where this is headed?

As I'm scrambling to chase after her...I'm yelling, in what feels like slow motion "watch out for the poooooo.....!"  Too late.  I know it's happened as soon as I see her face.  I want to cry, she seems ready to laugh.

She does look a little confused, but not quite as disgusted as I feel she should be.  I say (or rather schrill) "don't move" and grab her by the armpits, holding her at arms length as we head back to the tub we've just drained for round two.

The Difference a Day Makes

Tiny likes the "big girl" swings now.

Look how sweet she can be!

She even goofs with mama...

...then the wheels come off.

But, tomorrow is another day.

Tiny takes gymnastics.  We have class at Little Gym two days a week.  Tuesday afternoon is open play, and Wednesday morning the more structured "Beast" class.  (This really is the name.  Perfect, right?)

This Tuesday afternoon, after a considerable amount of effort to get Tiny up from her nap, re-dressed, and strapped in the Subaru, we pull into the parking lot for class (almost on time)...and the out of nowhere battle begins.  It's a tricky dance she and I do when I have to get her from point A to point B.  Sometimes this is from car seat to stroller, house to car seat, or in this case, car to gym.  The little voice in my head is always debating, what do I take with me? And what do I let her take?  Will any of the so called car distractions cause a greater risk of incident at end destination?

At Little Gym, I try to take nothing with me except my keys.  I've made the mistake of taking my bag inside.  Most days this is okay, but somedays when she's not feeling it, she spots my purse through the huge glass windows spying the waiting area, and wants in my purse immediately.  What she's looking for is always unclear, although I have a sneaking suspicion its snacks.

I digress.  Tuesday, it wasn't about my personal effects.  It was about hers.  We had brought along her afternoon snack for the ride to gym.  As I open her car door, I notice she's got a psychotic grip on her snack and sippy cups, a fierce look of determination on her face, and I can feel my heart leap to my throat as I very carefully try to take them from her hands. She's not allowed to bring food into the gym, and she knows this (so help me God she knows).  But, Tuesday, she doesn't like it and soon the whole parking lot knows it.  So, I do what any sane mom in my case would do and pull her out of the car into the cold misty afternoon and try to calmly explain the situation.  I tell her she has two choices, either calm down and go into gym to have fun with her friends, or get back in the car and go home. (Now, I must tell you number two was not an option for me. I didn't brush my hair, get out of my yoga pants and drive 15 minutes just to turn around and go home.)

I'm being totally calm (on the outside), but she is a mess of hair and snot and wailing and flailing.  At home I'd put her in time out and walk away until we both simmered, but it's not an option here in the freezing rainy parking lot.  So, I put her in the backseat of the car, and I climb in the front seat and we wait.  She's still screaming, but it's got this kind of confused vibe to it...after all she's never been allowed to just stand in the backseat.  I refuse to look back, finally after fifteen brutal minutes, she's done.  "Mama?" comes the sweet voice behind my ear.  "Yes, baby?" "Gym!"  And we head in for class, or at least the twenty minutes we have left.

The next morning, I'm dreading getting her out of the car before I've even strapped her in.  But, Wednesday, she is cute and pleasant and when we arrive at Gym she puts her cup and her Minnie on the seat next to her, without a word and happily climbs into my arms.  During class she participates in each activity, and we have so much fun, running and chasing and flipping.  When we leave even her teachers remark that she really had a great class!  I am beaming with pride!  

I almost let myself slip into a euphoric fantasyland, ready to believe maybe, just maybe we've turned the corner on our toddler tantrums.  But reality comes flying back at me as I buckle my belt, and turn around to give my little angel an air kiss.  And, she starts to half whine, half shout, "Mama! Minnie! Now!"

Instead of losing it, I shove it down and smile, tomorrow's another day.

Weekend Wear

The newest member of the blue man group, or
evidence of the cupcake massacre?

"The only thing that separates us from the animals
is our ability to accessorize." - Steel Magnolias 

DVF is flawless. Our new "cheese" face
not so much.

The perfect dressing room.

The typical expression upon opening the
dressing room door.

We had a busy weekend, filled with fun and spring fashion opportunities.

Tiny and I attended a baby shower for a good friend, expecting her first baby boy this summer.  Tiny particularly enjoyed the bright blue cupcakes, licking three cakes clean of their frosting.  I normally don't condone this type of sugar binging but when at an event where the focus should absolutely not be her, I tend to use whatever tactics necessary to entertain, occupy and distract.  In a party room, void of toys and other toddler treasures, the cupcakes really did the trick, plus it was the weekend.  Which means, Hubs was home to help me deal with the inevitable sugar crash that followed a few hours later.  Although, I must admit the crash was surprisingly mild, and nothing a Tide to Go pen, a little Crest and a good sleep couldn't cure. (Sounds somewhat like the adult equivalent of a few too many brewskis).

We also had a little time to do some shopping, and Annaliese has discovered a new game.  Jury is still out on whether I find this game cute, or super annoying.  I probably lean towards cute, the other shoppers and store employees, annoying.  First thing she does upon entering a store is run full speed for the dressing room.  If  the store happens to have a three way mirror she will spend hours looking at herself from all angles.  (The store soundtrack softly playing "You're so Vain" as she ooos and aaas at the cute girl in the mirror.)  This is Tiny's favorite kind of dressing room.

If there are only stalls she finds an open one, runs in and closes the door.  From the outside you can see her tiny feet doing a little dance back and forth as she gushes over her own reflection.  When she tires, she starts to bang on the door to be let out, and the cycle repeats (and repeats and repeats until we leave the store).  When the dressing rooms are near the area I'm shopping this is a win win, she's occupied, I'm shopping instead of chasing. But, when I want to venture to the front of the store, I fear someone may find her banging to be let out and call child services for leaving her motherless in a locked dressing room.   Cute, right?!?

Spring Awakening

Sunshine, baby leg rolls, and a great pirate eye,
make this mismatched outfit look great.
The fashionista was obv self-styled today.
rrrrr!

so pretty!

I could have sworn we were both smiling
when we took this self pic.  She's smiling
on the inside, I just know it.

20 month old problems.

The men relax.  (big shout out to Candace
and Craig for helping us build our little
piece of paradise.

Spring has finally sprung.  Although, congratulations Arkansas you really pulled a fast one on us.  The ol' "bait and switch the northerners" routine to entice them south.  Folks here told us it was going to be warm starting March 1.  On April 3 it was 39 degrees.  Sure we've had the occasional 70 degree day, but that was followed up by flurries the very next.  I was beginning to hate my sweaters and boots and the thought of spending anymore time trying to strap Annaliese into her carseat whilst wearing her puffer jacket unbearable. It's rather like trying to stuff myself into my skinny jeans post holidays.  It's ugly, it's grunty, but eventually, god bless, the button buttons. 

I digress, because finally, (although a month and half later than expected) the flowers are blooming, the birds chirping and the foreseeable forecast future is bright.  Time to dust off the old summer box, pop it open and give these pasty whites some color!

We've been spending a lot of time outside.  And, I don't know if its the fresh air that has changed me, or Annaliese, or both of us, but sunshine makes everything a little better.  Her temper tantrums on a public sidewalk seem a little less painful than those in a store aisle.  They don't seem to last as long, and there are no walls for her deafening screams to bounce off of.  Nature offers many distractions too....mid scream, she points..."BIRD!"  Thank you my winged-friend, for providing me the perfect distraction that could not be found in my too large bag of nonsense. 

Hubs has been getting in on the action too.  Determined to make our backyard a serene outdoor oasis, Bret has spent tireless hours digging, building, planting, spreading, hulling.  And, he's nearly accomplished it.  Our once slab of concrete and fence, is now damn near tranquil.  Tiny even has her own area complete with little house and slide (which come to think of it, is probably why our area is actually quite peaceful). 

Easter Mess...uh, I mean Dress

Ready, set, eat!

Success!

Hot Cross Buns...yummy!  (Thanks Peeps!)

Tiny rocked the FLOTUS's favorite designer
while trying her very first Peep. She got loads of
compliments at church, on her outfit...not her behavior. 

No joke, the couch looked (er, looks) exactly like this.
Think blue ink, instead of red crayon.  I'd take
a picture but it's just too painful.

We spent Easter in Bentonville, and it was a great weekend.  This is the first big holiday we haven't travelled home to see our families, and it was sad and nice all at the same time.  We usually spend most holidays traveling from one side of the family to the next trying to see everyone; brunch with one, dinner with the other.  No rest for the weary.  But, this year brunch was just our little party of three, lovely, but we actually really missed the crazy.

In keeping with tradition, we went to church, and then made a nice breakfast, complete with hot cross buns and hard boiled dyed eggs.  My mom sent us the homemade buns (a yummy taste of home!) and the eggs were dyed by yours truly.

Every year, the women and children (and an occasional man, my grandfather, Poppy, was always game) in my family dye easter eggs using an old family recipe.  For as long as I can remember we have been doing this, and the process is wonderfully messy and the eggs deliciously beautiful.  Without my big wacky family to share this tradition, I tried to get Tiny in on the fun.  She seemed curious at first, but then just stared at me as my hands turned various shades of blue, then purple.  Her technique involved less dye on the eggs and more in her mouth as she tried to eat it by the spoonful.  She ended up orange and the egg victims cracked.

While most of our eggs turned out just as pretty as they do every year, the process didn't have quite the fun factor of dying them with other, well, actual people.  Sorry Tiny, but you did try to eat the dye. Plus, its a lot of work to just do an egg or two, so we did two dozen, which, turns out, is A LOT of eggs for three people.  Egg salad anyone?

We started our own Easter tradition on Sunday, too.  It's a fun game.  Here's how it works:  Tiny grabs a ballpoint pen from mommy's purse and then when mommy is on the phone with out of town family, scribbles as many lines as possible on the white linen couch until mommy or daddy catches her!  Players then each get ten minutes to google as many stain removing solutions they can.  The player with the winning stain treatment wins.  Spoiler ALERT!!! This game has no winners, everyone is a loser.  And, if the visual wasn't a painful enough reminder, the smell of hairspray and finger nail polish remover is literally sickening me with the stench of failure.

The only saving grace is the couch cushions have one flip in them.  Once we choose to flip, it will be our last shot.  So, do we flip now, or flip only when 'good' company comes over?

Here's to creating new family traditions and memories, while still living, loving and missing the old ones.