Let's Slow That Clock Down

Last week, we celebrated Lola's birthday.

It was a whirlwind which turned into a busy couple of days and a nonstop weekend, and now here I am, nine days later, finally finding the time to sit down and write a little bit about it.

I can't believe she is three years old.

I mean, I can.
I have been awake for probably 70% of it. Maybe more. But still, in my chronic sleep deprived (yet highly functional state), it is just hard to believe that three years has passed since her birth.

This past year, like the ones before it, has been one of many transitions. The clingy, nursing, crib-sleeping, diaper-wearing, sippy cup yielding toddler has been replaced by a little girl who tonight was rocked to sleep with a story of a duck riding a bike, while she wore her Hello Kitty underwear and snuggled Mr. Bun Bun in her "big girl" bed.

While her strong spirit has always been fiercely independent at home, she has started to feel more comfortable in the world and occasionally, she detaches herself from my hip and interacts with other pint-size kids. The relief this has provided me is immense. On occasion, she will even request to go to the gym or the grocery store, just so she can participate in the daycare services those places provide.

This weekend will mark the start of another transition as she has her first independent swim lesson. Lola and I have had many discussions regarding how her lesson on Saturday will be different from the usual parent-and-tot class we take together. At the end of these conversations, she always quick to remind me that in exchange for her cooperation (i.e., getting the pool by herself), I have promised a lollipop.

Her ability to remember things, even the tiniest of details, always surprises me. I know that it shouldn't, but it does. Her curiosity, her ability to absorb information and process it in a way so she can understand the world, her need to slow down and just observe. I feel as those these things are uniquely Lola, while simultaneously knowing that they are part of this new age.

Tonight, when we left the gym, she asked if we could pause our walk to look up at the night sky. She likes to look at the stars, search for an airplane, and tell me that she is going to catch the moon.  So we stood there in the cold, bundled in our coats, holding hands on the sidewalk, and stared at the blackness above us.

She is a wonder.
She is 3 years old.

Good Morning Sunshine

He has a tender soul

and apparently, a soft spot for pink bunnies.



Just to be clear, I did not stage this grand photo opportunity.

Once Lola left the room (to take a nap in her crib), Archie slowly climbed up into the chair, careful not to disturb its order. Once he had his paws wrapped around Mr. Bun Bun, he snuggled in and took his own nap.





I embarrassed him by taking his photo, but I think this might be worthy of a frame.

Hippity Hop

With all of our traveling and minds elsewhere, it really wasn't until Saturday night that I gave Easter some serious thought. With no menu in mind, no basket of goodies for Lola, and no real plans for the day, I decided that I would just wing it.

Wing it.

A phrase for the carefree and relaxed. Frequently used by the same group of people who casually say, "no worries," when you both reach for the last banana at the grocery store. Go ahead, they say, it's OK. They'll feed their kid an orange, or an apple, or a pear, they'll roll with it.

At that moment, when I decided to wing it, I should have stopped myself. I should have began a list. What would have been on that list? I don't know, but that's the sort of person I am. A LIST PERSON. I need lists, just like I need plans, just like I need, you know, to start HOLIDAY TRADITIONS WITH MY KID SO SHE DOESN'T GROW UP NOT KNOWING WHAT EASTER IS.

But did I start a list? No. Instead, I went to bed and when I woke up, I felt a bit out of sorts.


Being that this was Easter, I asked myself, What Would Martha Do?

And that's when I said, "That bitch would improvise." (Spoken internally of course, so my little sponge wouldn't hear me.)

And so the traditions began:

First, Lola and I made bunny pancakes from peanut butter banana batter. The first pancake ended up resembling a character from Watchman. (Note to self: if you are going to add chocolate chips to the batter, just add them, don't use them for eyes, mouth, etc.)




The subsequent pancakes were more successful.



Then, I opted to dress Lola in jeans and t-shirt rather than a spring dress. Unfortunately, we experienced rain clouds and gloomy skies all day long and, on top of it, Lola has bronchitis and was feeling rotten. I felt that her spring chick tee was a good substitute.

I attempted to get a photo of her with Mr. Bun Bun, the stuffed bunny that my parents sent her for last Easter.



She's grown quite a bit since last year.

This year, she received a flamingo, who we promptly named Antonio or Tony (for short). I picked the name, as I decided that I would like to use all the baby names that family members suggested for Lola, for her stuffed animals.



There you have it dad. Please meet, Tony the Flamingo.





Later, we engage in some Easter day crafting and made bunny ears for Archie. He refused to wear them. I was able to convince Lola to wear them for a few minutes, but unable to convince her to allow me to take a decent photograph.

Gizmo wore them for a few seconds as well.

And even Josh humored me.

After dinner (scalloped potatoes, roasted asparagus, and crostini topped with kale, white bean, and prosciutto), we dyed eggs and engaged in an indoor hunt.

All in all, I believe the day was a success. Maybe not for Martha, but for me.