pink baby burritos

I am getting Alice ready for her afternoon nap. She keeps patting my chest, saying “buh-bye” to me before she goes to bed.

The fun and games end, though, when she grabs a chunk of boob through my t-shirt and bra and pinches.

“OUCH!” I roar. “Alice, don’t DO that. It hurts Mumma.”

Alice is instantly apologetic, rubbing the spot, “Saah-ft. Saah-ft.”

Lucy casually pops her head in the door, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“Yeah, Alice, be careful. They might deflate.”

*sigh* Already done, girlfriend, already done.

They say that after seven years together, couples get the seven year itch.

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Tonight. Girls in a MOOD. Post-weekend crabiness. Lucy got a time out for *ppplbt*ing at me after I told her to stop colouring for dinner. Alice grabbed at the hot stove, emptied three kitchen drawers and pitched the HUGEST tantrum (at my feet in front of said hot stove among the contents of said drawers) when I refused to dole out another cup of milk.

(Now I’M in a mood. And yelly.)

I call Eric my wind of calm. He arrives home from work, and the chaos almost instantly alleviates. The girls are distracted by him, there’s one more set of hands to headlock handle dinner battles, and his patience is fresh from his drive home…and untainted by 1.5 hours of 2-under-5 (years)-around-5 (p.m.) drama.

We get through the girls’ dinner. We go see my new office space, yelling at each other over Lucy and Alice screeching, giggling, tripping and throwing drywall dust in the air. We grab Thai as a treat to eat after the girls are in bed.

And when they are, we literally collapse on the couch, plates on our lap, to watch some trashy TV. We grin in the triumph of silence.
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He calls me a donkey. I pretend to stab his ear with kitchen scissors. He makes fun of my canning (“Glad we’re all stocked for the long, harsh winter with our NINE JARS OF RELISH AND PICKLES.”) and I his taste (“How can you tell if that melon is rotten when your claim to fame is once eating sour milk on cereal for three days?“).

We like to wrestle. He hates spit so I always lick him and win.

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Seven years ago at this time, we were tipsy on love, Jackson Triggs dry white wine, and the most perfect wedding ever surrounded by family and friends.

My Eric: Thanks for keeping all my itches scratched. Happy anniversary.

Mumma, Chanel got bit by a shark!

Um…really?

Yes! She showed me.

Honey, if Chanel got bit by a shark, she’d of lost limbs.

But, no-ah! It’s what she said!

Lucy, a shark has hundreds of very sharp teeth, and a strong jaw. If Chanel got BIT by a SHARK, she’d be missing an arm.

Oh.

*silence*

I think Chanel was just jokin’ with me.

Yes, I think so.

We rested and relaxed and ate and hardly left the beach and visited Wiarton Willie and bought new shoes and watched a ton of movies and made a ton of memories.

I cried when we left.

But it’s oh so good to be home.

WATER! SAND! TOYS!

Gratuitious husband shot (new swim trunks!)

Alice spent the entire week plotting ways to run away from us. Frequently she was returned like this.

We spent each day during Alice's nap watching movies. Our favourites: Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Up!

Next year both girls will be in the bunk beds (deargod how did that happen?), so we let Lucy practice being on the top on our last day.

Fresh corn from our famer's market bought before we left.

Spencer snuggles

Ingredients for a successful camp fire.

Eric says that the cottage always knows when it's your last night, and gives you the best weather. The water was spectacularly warm and calm for Lucy's late night dip.

1. From practicing somersaults to copycat head bonking to desperately wanting to play Barbies, Alice’s world revolves around wanting to be bigger. Nothing makes her happier than being handed a spoon at dinner to feed herself like the rest of us; this is actually a great trick to get kids to eat! Some foods she outright refuses until she can shovel it in herself.

2. Over the past few months, Alice has really started watching Lucy. I catch her just staring at her big sister, absorbing every move Lucy makes.

3. Thursdays, when the girls are home with me, have an unspoken rhythm. We don’t get dressed, and tend to lounge around in the morning watching TV or colouring. It also means I’m more slack with cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

1-3 combined with Alice’s climbing abilities and her want to be big like Lucy have resulted in this:

Climbing into Lucy’s chair, putting on Lucy’s bib, and finishing Lucy’s breakfast on Lucy’s princess placemat.

I was engrossed in my computer a few weeks ago, and didn’t even notice what she’d done until I heard the wet chomping of milk-soggy Mini Wheats. Followed by choke-coughing as she drank Lucy’s leftover milk from the sippy cup without a valve she’s not used to.

I fight a daily internal battle: So happy to be done the newborn stage, and loving the girls’ growing independence. But sad Alice is growing up and Lucy is starting school and we are so obviously leaving the baby stage behind.

You can’t slow the march of time. But a camera and memories help preserve the now.

Stop growing and keep growing, my wee girl.