O. C. Bear

O. C. (stands for Our Classroom, and is pronounced "Oatsy" by Liv) Bear was sent home with Olivia on Tuesday. Our job was to show him a good time and document it in his journal. He started off well, with a trip to the Bradys and some grocery shopping. He ate dinner with us and helped Olivia with her favorite chore--raking leaves. (We have no pictures of this due to the fact that our main photographer was, as usual, tending to the nutritional needs of the youngest member of the family, thus leaving no hands free to run the camera.)
We made O.C.'s favorite food as a bedtime snack. Just look at the ingredients--very nutritious and low in sugar.
And the recipe, very complicated, but worth all the hard work.

The next morning, we took O. C. out for a morning on the town. We used our free Chick-Fil-A breakfast coupons (Free! I love Chick Fil-A.) , and O. C. posed for us as a picketing cow.
After he was shown what to do by Olivia.
O. C. enjoyed the delicious orange juice.
Olivia and Naomi enjoyed the slide in the Playplace, but O.C. was too scared, so he had to be held all the way down.
It was with heavy hearts that we let O. C. return to the school. We dressed him first, of course, in a Hawaiian-inspired shirt and some polka dot shorts that help him look like the gadabout tourist he is.

Haircuts

Two years ago, in August of 2006, Olivia Madge Wells had this cute bob of a haircut.


Which she apparently didn't like, because one morning, she took a pair of my knitting scissors to both the front and back of her head.
Giving herself one heck of a mullet.
After a visit to Cooky Cutters (maybe the greatest establishment in the Toledo area), we ended up with this haircut. And I loved it (after the initial two-week adjustment period). She even wanted it cut "like Daddy's" again before preschool started.
I thought maybe Mimi would skip this stage because of her great love for the "Sleeping Beauty" hair she has grown. (Except for that one time last February where she cut a little 1" piece off the ends, and I immediately overreacted in my usual way by saying "Mimi, if you cut your hair again, I'll cut off one of your fingers." Great parenting, Em.) And I was glad. Because child-given haircuts give me a little stress (okay, a lot of stress--my priorities are obviously wrong), and I love her long, shiny, silky hair. I love all those hairdo ideas on Hair Today. When I do twisty pigtails on Naomi, I feel like I must be a good mom who really loves her daughter to help her look so cute. So, when we were all projecting this morning--me sewing some teddy bear clothes (story later), and the girls cutting and gluing tissue to construction paper-- I didn't think to worry. Until I heard "Mom, I'm really sorry I did this thing." I turned around to see this.
Well, not precisely this, but a little blond girl with half of one pigtail cut off and a big chunk out of her bangs. She hid in shame when I tried to take a picture. (Or maybe she was hiding because she actually remembered my crazy finger-cutting threat and thought I would follow through.)I tried to fix it myself, but could see this was going nowhere. So, lovely, lovely Kelly fixed it for me this afternoon. Aided by Barbie and the Diamond Castle, which kept the patient still for the surgery.
I have these comments to make on the whole affair (with points assigned because vague, amorphous, non-competitive things like parenting still need to be quantified):
1) I am proud of myself. I didn't yell. I didn't spank. I didn't burst into tears. I simply told her how mad I was and made her sit in her room for a bit while I collected myself. +10 parenting points
2) I also didn't comfort her when she kept talking about how her friends were going to run away and not play with her because she was so ugly without long hair. I let her stew in her juices for a while, hoping that will deter her from doing this again. I can't decide if that is +0 or -10 parenting points.
3) I contemplated buzzing her whole head, just to make a point. -50 parenting points
4) I didn't buzz her. +40 parenting points.
I think I come out of this experience about even in the parenting department. Of course, the crazy bangs are going to keep us reminded of this little adventure for a while. (Do you think I should buzz just the bangs, as sort of a partial lesson?)

The Ugly Side of Motherhood

(Warning: I'm talking about grossness today. Weak stomachs should move along to the next blog.)

Let me preface this post with saying I am the oldest of eight children, in a family with six boys. (Most of you already know this.) I came into motherhood as no stranger to gross. I used to believe that toilets just naturally yellowed under the lid and around the base, but even when I realized that the "natural yellowing" was really just the natural result of having at least one brother who was new to the potty training thing, I cleaned it up with only minor grumbling. (Only minor grumbling about the fact that it was pee. MAJOR grumbling about the fact that I was cleaning period.)
My baby brother had a terrible habit of puking almost as soon as he was put to bed on the nights when my mother was away. I have vivid resentful memories of cleaning these messes up. (My mom should rightfully point out that although did wipe up the floor, clean the baby, and put fresh sheets and pajamas on, my idea of cleaning the old bedding meant dumping it in the laundry room--where she would have to deal with it the next day.)
So, all this being said, I shouldn't have been surprised with all the little yucky things that come along with being a mom. I could talk about the hundreds of thousands of diaper changes. Or changing my clothes five times before going out in public because of the spit-up that inevitably splatters a clean shirt. (The Mother's Corollary to Murphy's Law?)
But what I've recently taken notice of are all those times where I let a puddle-jumping child wipe their hands on my jeans because they are suddenly horrified by the dirt. Or how I'll actually let them spit something they have chewed and deemed disgusting into my hand rather than let it dribble down their shirt. Or how I wipe yucky noses with my own sock (my sock is less visible than any other piece of clothing), when I don't have a tissue on hand. I think I was once a relatively normal human being, and I wonder what my 20-year old self would say if she could see me now. Probably just "Gross."

Free Ice Cream Tomorrow

First: 3 oz. of ice cream is absolutely guilt-free.
Second: It's free. (Make your donation, of course, but still. . . free.)
Third: It's free Cold Stone. Yum!

(I know that I phrase my arguments in "First, Second, Third" or "A, B, C" organization WAY too often because I now hear my little Mimi telling her sister things like, "A: You have to give me back my Barbie. B: I'm going to go tell Mom." She doesn't quite have the concept perfectly clear, but obviously, she's heard it before.)

Just Because I Want to Show Her Off

Look at that smily girl!!First thing in the morning, Bella will nearly flip herself upside down trying to smile at anyone and everyone that moves. (In fact, if you give her half a chance, she will try to charm you in the middle of the night. I know my weakness. I simply cannot resist a sweet, smiling baby, so I try not to make eye contact at 3 a.m.)
Olivia was behind the camera, cooing for her baby sister. Mimi was snuggling up close, showing her supermodel posing ability.
This smile is cuter in real life.
As much as I love this teeny-tiny baby (who is not so teeny tiny and is starting to get some little blubber rolls on her legs), I think I need to admit that she is looking more and more like a baby chimpanzee. Still really cute, but kind of funny-looking too? What do you think?
Edited to add this picture found by my brother Dave: Can't you see the resemblance? Still very cute.

What I'm learning. . .

I am learning that even though three kids doesn't feel that much harder than two kids, my time seems more slippery somehow, like I look up and it's been three weeks since I last blogged, or two weeks since the lawn was last mowed, or um. . . let's not mention how long since my bathtubs were scrubbed.
We had John's mom and grandma come to visit last week. It was absolutely lovely. I learned that even when you already have 40 grandkids and 51 great-grandchildren, you still have enough room in your wonderful grandma heart to dote on one more. (It was wonderful to see you again, Grandma. Thank you for such a great visit.)

I learned (and am willing to admit) that the cuteness of my children is not only due to their Anderson genes. (Sorry, Grandma, for springing the camera on you late at night after you had already put your pajamas on and gone to bed. We had to get a three-generation shot.) It also dawned on me that with an opera singer for a great-grandma there was bound to be a little drama in my sweet Naomi.
I am learning that there is nothing that will encourage the comments of passersby more than an tiny head with a shock of stand-up-straight dark hair. I must hear "Look at that hair" 10 times a day.
I learned that just because you have a mom that is allergic to cats doesn't mean you will love your friend's cat any less. In fact, you may just love it more, especially when it is as calm and tolerant as Phelps (Sara's cat, named after, you guessed it, our fabulous gold-medal swimmer).
I don't usually like cats, given that they make my eyes swell and my nose run and my throat hurt, but this one. . . well, this one won my heart. Such a sweet cat. (Plus, the addition of Zyrtec to my arsenal was fantastic.)
I already knew that I loved Sara and her family. They are so sweet and welcoming, even when I call last minute and need a break and tell her that I will be bringing all my kids. "Can I commandeer your weekend?" And she always says yes. I learned, however, that she'll say yes even when she'll be babysitting two extra kids starting the day I leave. What a sweet friend!The little girls played tea party.

The big girls ran through the sprinkers, even though it got quite chilly.And when, for some reason, they tired of running, they stood in the sprinklers, holding their faces. Over and over and over again. You know, I was five once, but sometimes I still don't understand what they're thinking.

Who does she look like?

AnnabelNaomi - One month old
Olivia - One month old
I must confess that I can never tell who my children (or brothers, or sister, or anyone) look like. John thinks that Bella looks like Olivia, but I hear most people tell me she looks like Mimi (but with the darker skin tone). What do you think?