Our 4th of July.

Morning of the fourth, I put on my red, white and blue dress and proclaimed it my American outfit.

My children chose orange, green and tie-dye and proclaimed it their American outfit.

Apparently, we have not instilled much patriotism.

They had no clue.

The morning was spent playing in the baby pool.

Dinner was an indoor picnic of bratwurst, garden picked butter beans, lemonade and a chocolate cake per Henry's request.

Then we went for a walk in the cemetery.

You guessed it.

Liza quickly face planted and needed her daddy's hand.

You guessed it again.

She peed on her dress.

Naked.

In the cemetery.

This one turns four next month.

And, yes. his hair is long.

A year's worth of growth will do that.

He wants to grow his out to his toes.

And, he doesn't even know about Rapunzel.

The walk in the cemetery ended when the need for baby wipes arose and they were still at home.

Yep.

You guessed it.

I could be blogging about...

I haven't been blogging much.  My evenings are filled with emailing doula clients, working on my doula certification, reading birth research and blogs and oh yeah, mindlessly zoning out on Facebook.

Things will happen during the day and I think -- hmm, a few months ago, I would have blogged about this.

But, alas, no blogging is done.

Still not taking many pictures of my kids.  My camera is frustrating me and I get a case of "the wants" every time I take it out and it doesn't perform as well as I think it should.

But, I really want to thank all of my readers for being my outlet when life was hard post-miscarriage.  Blogging was my quiet place, my peace and my solace when my brain was in overload and I couldn't sort out my emotions.  I am in a good place now and honestly can't fathom the thought of pregnancy and a third baby.  Twinges of sadness and loss strike when I hear about newly discovered pregnancies and a part of me feels like every pregnancy is doomed like mine was.  But, then I think of the million of birth stories I read and all the birth videos I watch and it's hard to balance all those babies with the fact that I feel like pregnancy is a loss cause.

So....I didn't intend to write about miscarriage.....but, you know, this is my happy place and apparently this is what I want to talk about.

Maybe one of these days I'll get back to writing about all this ridiculous amount of baking I've been doing and how I've mastered the food processor for all my mixing, creaming and beating needs.

Or I could write about how Henry is a full-fledge devotee to Netflix.  Or not.  Because then I would have to take back that post about how my kids don't want television.  What?  It doesn't count when it's on the computer?  Great!

And, birth.  I can always write about birth.  I could write a bit about how I'm much more tempered on my opinions regarding birth.  Or not.  Because then I might have to take back all those highly opinionated birth posts from a while back.  But, yeah.  I still think those thoughts but I realize that some things might be better left in my brain.  Or not.  Because I still think elective induction is pretty crappy.

Liza.  She would be easy to write about.  She is one cute little cookie.  Even when she is hysterically throwing herself on the floor because I scooted her chair 6 inches too far to the left.  Or because I won't let her walk backwards on the kitchen counter.  Or because I stop her from trying to climb onto the sun canopy of the stroller while in mid-walk.

Or that I FINALLY left the BlogHer network.  It was an honor to be included because a lot of my favorite blogs are a part of BlogHer but let's get real.  I have been a mouthpiece for a bunch of crappy products I would never ever ever use and I got paid squat.  Diddly squat.  Buh-bye.

I do suppose there isn't much left to add to the "greening my life" page though.  Except when I turn that bulk box of baking soda into washing soda in my very own oven.  That will definitely deserve a blog post.

Here I am blogging about blogging....

Does that count?

Secret Life of (un)Schooling

Homeschool has been on my mind a lot lately.  I vacillate between going crazy with my children underfoot, being thankful we can live frugally enough to keep me at home, wishing Mississippi would stop being the bane of my existence and allow unvaccinated children to attend daycare and school and being so flipping excited at the prospect of watching my children flourish under our guidance and love.

Yes.

It's a lot of work keeping up with all those conflicting thoughts and emotions.

But no matter if our unschool plans work out or not, you can't stop the teacher in me from coming out all.day.long.  Henry is very well-versed in the natural science world of our backyard and astounds me with his comprehension of books we read.  

He refuses to say his ABC's and has little interest in identifying numbers and letters but the kid can break down the life cycle of a moth, knows exactly what plants needs to thrive, explains that baby animals that come out of eggs don't drink mama's milk but babies that are born drink mama's milk and has a firm grasp on categorizing animals into herbivore or carnivore status.  

Tonight's post-bath activity involved him wearing my cowboy boots and his cowboy hat and using my robe's belt as his lasso to drag the rocking horse into a "safe, dark place so she can have her babies".  He proceeded to rearrange the furniture so she could rest behind a chair in a dark corner and I watched as he lifted up to her tail and the announce "there is another baby!".  We could only leave for our walk once I proclaimed his job was done -- the mama was healthy and comfortable and the babies were drinking their milk.

So yeah, we are doing our little unschool thing which involves us doing whatever we want to do and knowing that our kids' lives are enriched by it all.  Our biggest little's 4th birthday is just around the corner so we are firmly planted in "preschool" mode but I can't fathom our attitude changing about homeschooling our children anytime soon. 

Of course, I can't fathom Mississippi law to change anytime soon.  Or moving our of state anytime soon.  So here we sit.

Sitting like a mama bird on her little clay eggs.

Just doing our thing.

Have I mentioned

this sister

named this brother

Heidi?

Friends. Finally.

Nothing like

an empty park

to force my children

to be each other's

best friend.

1.2.3x3

1.  Henry's hair is long.  If he would cooperate, I could just about pull it up into a ponytail.  Mr. Messy and I think his long hair is pretty cute and after all, you are only little once but I still make sure he knows that he only has to say the word and Mr. Pete will cut his hair.  Yesterday's reminder ended with Henry telling me that he wants his hair "long long long long long.....long....long.....down to the ground."  Okay, little buddy.

2. Current shoe sizes:  Henry, 7 and Liza, 6.  And, why am I always so surprised when people ask if they are twins?

3.  Liza is a mini-me.  My whole life I've heard my parents talk about my need to "do it myself".  Well, Liza gives a firm "me" with a thumb in her chest and insists on doing everything herself -- getting dressed, changing diapers, buckling herself in the car, cutting up her apple, peeling her orange, putting her shoes on.  Do you have the mental image of all these things a 19 month old can't do no matter her level of determination?  There has been a lot of screaming with this new found level of independence.

1.  I am sick of the mud.  I want my children to play outside with getting covered head to toe in mud within 3 minutes.  Actually, it isn't so bothersome with Henry but Liza doesn't like dirty hands or feet.  A difficult feat when you are playing in a huge mud pit.

2.  I am completely caught up on laundry.  My hampers are empty.  Can I get an amen from the choir?

3.  We strongly suspect Henry is allergic to shellfish due to an ug-lee reaction to a mysterious something in Mexico at 20 months old.  The plan is to keep him away from all shellfish until he is old enough to tell us his throat is closing up.  I'm a bit concerned about summertime and crawfish boils so we have been talking to Henry about his allergy to shellfish.
Mr. Messy:  Henry, what are you allergic to?
Henry:  *long pause*  Hmmmm,  I don't like soup.
Me:  Ha ha!  'I don't like soup.'
Henry:  Me neither, Mama!

1. I love unloading all sorts of random vegetables into spaghetti for no one but me to know about.  It was a highlight of my day today.

2.  I'm feeling the need to confess that my 'tv show hating' skills are currently up to no good.  Henry watches one of our 3 dvd's everyday during Liza's naptime.  And, I understand why people let their kids watch tv.  I officially get it.

3.  Liza needs me to completely surrender to sleep and fully relax my body in order for her to fall asleep at night.  Let's just say I've had a spate of early bedtimes.  Early.

Oh, Natty Dreadlock.

It really is so fitting that Bob Marley and his reggae friends are a constant feature in our house.

Um, yeah.

Maybe that is why my children always have dreadlocks.

It couldn't possibly be because I never brush their hair.

Nope.

It's definitely all the Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and their revolutionary ideas.

Revolutions don't need hairbrushes, don't you know?

Trust me.

My kids know all about it.

As evidenced by their natty dreadlocks.

Nothing was easy.

Yesterday was one of those days.

One of those days you just want to forget about.

And, forget, I did.

I would have bet $1000 that today was Monday rather than Tuesday.

Seriously.

One of those days when nothing is easy.

Zilch.  Nada.  Doodly Squat.

Personally, I think sitting in your carseat about to depart for the park to play with friends should be easy.

Not yesterday.

Nope.  Nothing was easy yesterday.

Cute kids doing funny things.

As promised:

Henry in one of his many variations of "so tight" and when he puts his head in all the way he goes "so dark". 

She can spin much faster too.  

Cuh-razy girl

My son is a photog.

Henry likes taking pictures with my camera.

Most look like this color scape.

But, this afternoon he snapped these pictures of Liza nursing after her nap.

A sweet moment captured by my sweet boy.

What Henry Knows:

Henry knows so much lately.  

He knows seeds need dirt, sun and water to grow.

He also knows his Swiss Chard never grew into a big plant because it didn't get water or sunlight.

Sorry about that, little baby plants, you never had a chance with me in charge of your care.

He randomly identified a snow leopard online yesterday.

I thought it was a cheetah.

I was wrong.

He knows all about carnivores, herbivores and omnivores.

And, he knows fossilized dinosaur poop is called copralite.

And, of course, he knows all about how eggs come from chickens.

He also knows that if you come out of an egg, you do not drink mama's milk.

I'm pretty sure he feels a little sorry for all the baby birds in the world.

Happenings

Let's just say the bite habit was easily broken with a reward, ahem, bribe, of a "big sweet treat" from the gas station across the street from our house.  Henry very much enjoyed his York Peppermint Patty and hasn't attempted to bite since the inception of his 'bite chart'.  However, it seems like pushing is going to need a daily reward since we are having a difficult time making it through the morning, much less the whole day, without pushing.  Better it is, but problem solved it is not.

Taylor got a mushroom kit from his mama for Christmas.  We've enjoyed watching the mushrooms grow and we've enjoyed eating them.  Win.  Win.  Now I just need to google a bit and find out how to duplicate the process without the kit.  Mushroom spores, coffee grinds and a box seem like it should be easy enough.

See that little bitty egg on the left?  Either one of our hens has begun laying freakishly small eggs or one of our hens is just now laying eggs after living at our house for almost 5 months.  It is a mystery.

Henry at 3.5 {video}

Henry is (almost) 3.5 years old.  He is a busy little boy and always on the go.  Literally.  He never stops.

His favorite things are:
-playing in the dirt and mud in our unplanted garden
-reading books, lots and lots and lots of books
-playing with his sister, I thought the day would never come!
-doing the opposite of what I ask him to do
-talking about and being with his Dada
-dinosaurs, we are still very much into dinosaurs and he is quite knowledgable about the topic

He is going to speech therapy for 30 minutes a week and we are working on his /f/ and his /c/ sound.  The perfect example of his mispronunciations is how he says "fork" as "tort".

2t fits him perfectly, although he still wears some 24 months and 18 months pants as highwaters.  He is a teeny little thing.

He loves loves loves life!  And, we love love love him!

Here he is "reading" to Liza.

He has finally realized he can sing along to songs and retell stories of books he is familiar with.

Of course, he doesn't perform well on video but he is so cute in his mismatched too short pajamas.

Painting of the Christmas Pumpkins

AKA

"Mama is tired of these damn Halloween pumpkins taking up space in the kitchen so let's paint them in Christmas colors."

See that tucked in chin?

That means he is concentrating.

See that paint on his nose?

We thought it was cute and it's still there 24 hours later.

Liza was excited to participate in a painting activity but not so excited about the paint on her hands.

Liza's pumpkin with my pumpkin peeking out the side.

And, as usual, Mr. Piggy Henry claimed most of the pumpkins as his own and refused to share.

And, that is the story behind the famous 'Painting of the Christmas Pumpkins'.

A morning in dirt.

Can you tell they spotted the same toy?

I was a bit worried we were going to have a replay of The Bite

but I decided to keep snapping pictures and see how they work it out.

I was pleasantly surprised.

See Henry offer a trade?

Random hand-me-down Star Wars toy accepted.

Without any drama.

Hallelujah.

Now to continue with the important matters at hand.

Playing in the dirt.

Getting dirty.

And looking cute.

Mississippi Mountains

Henry was so proud of his Etch-A-Sketch mountains,

he happily posed in front of the 

Christmas tree!

Christmas, finally.

Henry really got into the Christmas spirit last year.  He loved everything about it:  the decorations, Santa, presents, the nativity scene, special books, the lights.  You name a Christmas theme, he loved it.  It was a sad sad day for him when he requested his favorite Christmas song and we had to break the news....Christmas was over.  We promised our little Hen Hen that Christmas comes back every year and we would celebrate it in a big way next year.  And, finally, after an entire year of talking about Ho Ho and requesting the stack of Christmas books out of my closet, the Christmas season is finally here.

If Christmas is Henry's favorite thing, personal ownership comes in at a close second.  This little red tree is his tree.  It's proper place is on top of our piano but he really needed to touch it so he spent Liza's naptime bonding with his tree.  It was a big deal.

This time last year I was in a dither over Santa. (I can't find last year's post and it is killing me!)  I refuse to lie to my kids and it just didn't sit well with me to claim a fat man would slide down our non-existant chimney to deliver presents on Christmas eve.  I stressed and and stressed and finally settled on going along with Santa until someone asked if Santa was real and we would, of course, answer truthfully.  Well,  like most things concerning parenting, the anticipation was much worse than the reality.  As soon as we cracked open the Christmas boxes, I asked Henry if Santa was real or pretend.  Pretend.  If Henry knew the term "duh", he would have voiced it loud and clear.  Now we talk about how Santa is fun and we love him even though he is pretend.  We will still bake cookies and leave him a glass of milk and I am a bit too excited about leaving the reindeer an oatmeal snack and then sprinkling glitter for Henry to find their reindeer poop the next morning.  It seems like we have struck a very nice balance of keeping the magic and mystery of Christmas alive without the consumerism and non-truths of Santa dominating the discussion.  At least for this year.

See the pajama pants?  He refused to wear his blue jeans because he needed Christmas pants to match his Christmas shirt.  Thank goodness for awesome hand-me-downs.

My tree.  It has built-in white lights but like everything we own, they are broken.  I am a huge fan of big colored lightbulbs and apparently, I bought two strands at Dirt Cheap last year for a dollar a piece.  I do not recall this event yet they were in a Christmas box with a price tag just ghetto enough to hearken Dirt Cheap's post-Christmas sale.  We need at least 3 more strands to be officially merry, though.  I didn't unpack the generic ornaments so the tree seems a bit bare but I figured the less glass ornaments, the better.  It seems like only a matter of time before the tree comes crashing down on top of two busy body little toddlers...   Presents are on top of the piano with Henry's tree.  Little hands and inquiring minds are not to be trusted when my back is turned.  Henry is convinced his one present has one, maybe two, dinosaurs in the box.  He is precious like that.

There it is.  The beginnings of a messy messy Christmas season!