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LIFE IN ALL CAPS!

15 Sep

Whine: I CANNOT, CANNOT, CANNOT believe my little baby girl is five years old. Somebody must have accidentally hit FF on my life.

Cheese: Nothing illustrates this more than the hilarious reruns of Dukes of Hazzard I am currently watching. It seems like just yesterday I was sitting in front of the tv in my Daisy Duke Underoos waiting to see how long the General Lee would stay airborne. Or was that yesterday?

Having a baby is fun. Not the actual “having” part, but the getting to take one home with you part. Until they are up at all hours ruining your life, but that’s a rabbit trail for another day. But the really fun part of having a baby is that they turn into kids. And as they grow you get to try and figure out who the heck they are becoming.

You spend all your time speculating on every tiny accomplishment because that’s all you have to go on when they are 9 months old. “Ooh, honey, she threw her spaghetti on the floor with her left hand, maybe she’ll be an Olympic softball player and it won’t matter that we haven’t saved for college!”

Don’t get me wrong, it has it’s dicey moments. Like when your three-year-old walks around like a mini-mobster swinging a sock full of batteries and all you see is a future of long visits at the state penitentiary. Or when it seems that her most viable career option might be as a graffiti/tattoo artist.

As they grow, though, more and more patterns begin to emerge. As I’ve watched my precious firstborn, a few things have grown remarkably clear.

Big Sis lives life IN ALL CAPS. She could teach us all a thing or two about living in the present. And speaking of presents, if you are ever having a bad day, just give this girl a present. Anything, even just a pair of Cinderella socks from the dollar store. She will jump and yell and glow like she’s on the Oprah show getting a new Pontiac.

Right before she ran and threw her arms around me and made me cry.

She gets excited about making a plan then making it happen. Like planning her Candyland Cake four months in advance (I really shouldn’t let her watch Cake Boss anymore) or elaborate building-block Eiffel Towers. Or perhaps filling a 5-gallon jug with water to get a drink. Or using her new grabber toy to reach the donuts on the top of the fridge. Occasionally, cleaning up after “inspiration” strikes is a little more than we bargained for. I think I may know how Thomas Edison’s mother must have felt. And they didn’t even have Magic Eraser back then.

Eat your heart out, Cake Boss (& thank you, Kiki!)

Her hyper-planner side has another downside as well, namely that things that do not go according to plan usually result in unparalleled devastation. I have NO idea where she gets THAT from.

Her enthusiasm extends to everyone she meets, usually in the form of an enthusiastic assault hug. She loves to play dress up with her friends and her brother and even with her sister. She shares her toys with her friends and her brother and not so much with her sister. I love watching her mind work, even if I don’t always understand exactly how she comes up with the things she does.

Big Sis aka Jessie the Cowgirl

She hugs with gusto (heimlich, anyone?), laughs like her life depends on it and somehow convinces me to go play in the rain even though I hate getting my hair wet. I hope she never decides to live her life in lowercase.

Need I say more?

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Car Storys: Guest Post by Wren

15 Jun

Whine: I am completely intimidated to write on Sarah’s blog.

Cheese:  I am smiling to myself knowing that the word Storys in the title is driving some of you crazy while simultaneously answering some of your questions about how to write the plural of our last name.

Part of life in the Story household is time in the car.  Driving to see family, to conferences, to see family, to churches, to weddings, to see family, etc. In our world a 3 hour drive is a piece of cake, but you do have to gear up for the 14 hour one to Texas.  But the girls have gotten to be good travelers, and we make it.  When Daphne was a baby, if she really got her wail going, we popped in Janis Joplin, and she stopped.  We figured she appreciated someone else doing the work of expressing her feelings, so she could settle down.

But my two funny stories didn’t happen on long trips. They were in-the-car-around-town moments.  Moments that made me glad I was actually listening instead of what I usually do, which is to just try to tune out the arguments.  And they’re not my favorites because they were sweet moments…really, it’s just because they still make me laugh when I think about them.

So here they are…one for each…because they would complain if the other got attention and they didn’t.  (Daphne actually once asked for a spanking because her friend got one, so she wanted one too.  Ummm…no, not this time, honey.)

We were driving home from a friend’s house, and I heard Alice, who was 2 at the time, say, “Knock ya over…” to Daphne, who was 4.  I almost pulled over the car, thoughts of “You may not talk to your sister that way.  You may not touch her ever…” flowing through my head.  But, by the grace of God, what came out of my mouth, relatively calmly even, was “What are y’all talking about?” “Mommy, I said she’s November and I’m Knockyaover.” “You’re what?” “Knockyaover.” “October?” “Yeah. Knoc-to-ver.”  I was quite relieved that I hadn’t yelled at her. She was right. Daphne’s birthday is in November, and hers is in October. So then I had a desperate urge to teach her to pronounce it correctly, lest she overly relate herself to knocking people over. Because she would probably think that was really fun.

The next story is from a couple months ago. Daphne is now 5 ½, and Alice is 3 ½. The girls had played long and hard at the park, and we were on the way home. Because I’m a great mom, I was recommending ice cream and a movie when we got there.  But they had watched Barbie movies every day that week already. (Did I just admit that I let my kids watch a movie a day? Ignore that, and let’s go back to the story.)(And don’t judge about the B word. Barbie ballet movies are actually very sweet and little girl appropriate!)  So I said, “Y’all can pick out any movie…just not a Barbie one today.” (We needed to mix in some Disney or Leap Frog.  I mean, I want my kids to be well-rounded.)  But right as I was saying “not a Barbie movie,” Daphne was thrilled about picking and said, “Barbie and the 12 Dancing Princesses!” “No Daphne, not a Barbie movie today.  You still get to watch a movie, but you have to pick something else.”  And then I heard, in a whisper from the back seat, “You ruined my life.” And then, “I mean, I’m really angry.”  I started laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  Really?  She’s 5, not 15! “What did you say Daphne?”  “That makes me angry.”  I thought about pushing it—what did you say before that?—but the truth is, I was proud of her for catching herself already, and I didn’t want to make her say it out loud again in case out loud twice in the same minute would make a phrase stick in her 5-year-old vocabulary.

I guess I always knew the teenage years would be full of angst and me “ruining” lives, but I wasn’t prepared for it already! Maybe it was good practice.  I’ll probably wonder if there’s something I just don’t understand when she’s a teenager. But this time was easy — I knew that I wasn’t actually ruining her life — children have been known to survive Barbie withdrawal!  Phew!  Made it through that one.  Who knew I’d get it out of the way so early?  It hasn’t come up again since. But the memory always makes me laugh.  Maybe if I tell her about it when she’s 14, it’ll help her see how unreasonable she can be.  No?  Hmmm….I guess I’ll just have to treasure it to myself then.  And tell all of you.

P.S.  Shout out to Sarah.  How do you do it?  So many clever blog posts, three kiddos, amazing cakes, keeping up with everybody…You’re amazing.

P.P.S. [Sarah speaking] Thanks to Wren for stepping in for me during a very hectic time and for taking that cash I sent her to say nice stuff about me. Also, if you are a child of the 80s and you didn’t click the link up there, you should. Trust me.

Wren (aka Karen, aka Sarah’s sister) lives with her two little wordsmiths and their flip-flop enthusiast of a father in sunny Tallahassee. When she’s not pulling her children off of the unusually high places they’ve climbed, she likes to perfect her Tomahawk Chop and obsess over coordinating outfits for the perfect family picture.



Meet the Parents: Guest Post by Brother Bear

30 Mar

Whine: Mommy is always disrupting my eating and sleeping routine for inane things like changing my diaper (what? it could totally hold more) or sneaking little kisses. Doesn’t she understand that a man needs his rest?

Cheese: Revenge. Is. Sweet. Honestly, I’ve never seen That Mommy Lady move as quickly as she did when she realized she’d left my hind parts uncovered and that I wasn’t finished filling my diaper. When all was said and done, I wasn’t the only one who needed a change.

I look pretty pleased with myself, don't I?

As you guessed, I’m the new guy around here. I go by so many nicknames that I’m not sure if my real name is Lahdee, Aaron, El Rojo Grande or Stinkypants. But my newly soiled baby blanket has Aaron embroidered on it, so I’m gonna go with Aaron. But you can call me Brother Bear.

Today is my one-week birthday, so forgive me if my entry is short. I just wanted to give you a babies-eye view of this place I now call home. It sure is different than my old home–lot’s roomier, but the service could be quicker. I mean, inside I never had to wait on a meal, I just sucked it down through nature’s original curly straw. Now I might have to cry for five whole minutes before That Mommy Lady gets around to feeding me. The outrage.

But other than that, I think I like it ok. I’ve got two older sisters, Big and Lil’ Sis, and as far as I can tell they serve two purposes around here. One is to sit at my feet and gaze adoringly as they offer me toys and blankets and teddy bears and play This Little Piggy with my toes that Mommy never manages to get socks onto. The other seems — as I overheard Daddy say — to be “like a tag-team of little accidents.” I see the look on Mommy’s face when Lil’ Sis is trying to drink my bathwater and I can tell I have much to learn from them.

Lil' Sis and I meeting for the first time.

She's just that into me, isn't she?

Mr. Dad seems like a cool guy. And handsome, too. Which is a good thing ’cause everyone says we look just alike, from the extraordinarily long legs to the fuzzy red hair covering my body (I kinda look like a peach). My auntie said it’s weird to hold me because it’s like holding her brother. (That would be weird.) But Mr. Dad and I get along great. Although he teases me that I’ll never be able to eat in public because I make such rude piggy-like noises. But he usually doesn’t pester me too much with insignificant details like diaper changes and whatnot, so we just mostly chill and watch sports together to give Mommy a break from my voracious appetite.

The indoctrination begins. . .

And last, but not least, is Mommy. She’s a sentimental one, which is why I had to write my introductory post, we wouldn’t want her blubbering all over the place about what a precious gift I am, blah, blah, blah. I may give her a hard time, but man that lady is my sun, moon and stars. Or more aptly, my breakfast, lunch and dinner. And second breakfast, second lunch, second dinner, and midnight snack. And although I may not be so crazy about all those kisses she tries to sneak, I try to throw her a bone every once and while and let her snuggle me to sleep. After all, I’m not completely heartless.

She looks pretty happy to see me. Probably because I weighed 9 1/2 pounds.

Well, that’s about all I’ve got for now. It’s been far too long since my last meal and all this exertion has made me extra hungry. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who sent prayers, well-wishes and congratulations our way this week. I want to send a special and personal thanks to the people who keep dropping baked goods off on our doorstep — I have a vested interest in Mommy staying both plump and pleasant — so keep ’em coming!

Brother Bear (aka Baby Aaron) is the resident baby at A Little Whine and Cheese. In his spare time he enjoys eating, sleeping and keeping up with his fan club. He is currently president of the Support Group for Newborns Who Look Like Third Graders.

 

The Sisterhood of Wearing No Pants

26 Feb

Whine: I went from a deep, dreamy sleep to being jolted wide awake in an instant this morning. I’d forgotten all about the joys of pregnancy charlie horses. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to move my leg, as it had decided to freeze itself mid-spasm, right at the peak of the pain.

Cheese: Thankfully, Mr. Dad wakes up a lot less crabby and a lot more coherent than I do and showed that charlie horse who’s boss.

In the weeks and days before the arrival of Lil’ Sis, there was much anticipation. Big Sis was excited to meet her new little sister. Excitement turned to awe when she met that squirmy little red-haired baby. But the awe quickly faded to disinterest when she realized that babies don’t do anything. I distinctly remember the disappointment in her voice one day when she said, “(Audible sigh) She’s asleep, again??”

But the disinterest turned into irritation the minute Lil’ Sis got mobile. Her only objective, it seemed, was to be in Big Sis’ space and destroy whatever it was she was building. I spent the better part of a year encouraging one sister to acknowledge the other’s existence and schooling the other on the concept of personal space.

And then one day, it happened.

I looked over from my perch on the couch to see them playing. In the same vicinity. Almost together. I held my breath, afraid that any sudden movement on my part would break the spell and I would be back to officiating another round of NO! That’s My Most Valued Piece of Carpet Fuzz and You Can’t Have It!

As the days and weeks passed, I noticed more and more of this erratic, illogical behavior. Instead of 100% fighting, 0% cooperation, they had moved on to 99.9% fighting and 0.1% cooperation. I was ecstatic.

You can imagine my shock this morning to walk into the bathroom and see two kids with no pants on. At first I was truly alarmed. But once my heart rate slowed, I realized that Big Sis had not only used the bathroom herself, but had assisted Lil’ Sis in removing her Pull-Up and using the potty chair. AND THEN she was emptying the potty chair and rinsing it out without making a mess. Talk about heart failure.

In that moment, I saw family. Big Sis doing what big sisters are made to do and lending her Lil’ Sis a hand. Teaching her the ways of the potty. Being kind and gentle and encouraging without having a glaring mother forcing her to do so.

Just a few minutes later, Big Sis had been banished to timeout for refusing to share her toys and for yelling at her sister. Incidentally, as I was trying to explain to her why she had been disciplined, she turned around on the chair and mooned me. I suppose Big Sis should have been a child of the 70s, using civil disobedience (and nudity) to fight The Man. Well, I am The Man. With difficulty, I suppressed my grin and swatted that bare little bottom. (FGTKY anyone?)

So Big Sis sat in timeout, sulking and pondering the injustice of having to share her toys. And what do you know? Lil’ Sis wandered over and started offering toys. The next thing I know, they were snuggling in the chair together playing and chatting like best buds. 

In that moment, I saw grace. Even though Lil’ Sis had just moments earlier been the victim of Big Sis’ maniacal tirade, she has a short memory for that sort of thing. And in the end, she likes her Big Sis so much, she’s willing to put up with some ugly parts to get to the good stuff. Stuff like jumping on the furniture together, making a two-headed ghost out of what is supposed to be fabric for the baby’s quilt, and, most importantly, ganging up on Mommy.

Moments like these give me hope that my girls will grow up and be friends. Not just the kind of friends who share jeans (although noone around here seems to like wearing pants, so that may be a non-issue) and lip gloss, but the kind of friends who hang out on the porch swing and talk, just because they want to. The kind who jump in and lend a hand when their sister needs help. And who have short memories for petty arguments and bring peace offerings to heal the wounds of battle.

Speaking of battles, I’d better go. I think the now one-headed ghost is terrorizing her other half, who is running for her life.

Proof of the 0.1%.

Just a Few More Fridays

19 Feb

Whine: I think I may be gestating a hyperactive giraffe. It seems like this kid is all limbs.  It’s a little bit disconcerting to be punched in the stomach, from the inside, when you are enjoying your roast beef dinner. Or when you are sitting in church, tyring to be serious and listen to the sermon but instead keep gasping as your fetal Michael Phelps swims laps back and forth in your belly.

Cheese: I am not crazy. Well, not completely. The sonogram I had this week proves my point, well, except for that part about the giraffe. At 36 weeks, this kid weighs almost seven pounds. Which means if he hangs out for another five weeks like I think he will, he’ll completely skip the Newborn diapers and go directly to Pull-Ups.

Today is Friday. Which means that at 11 am I am in my pajamas, Big Sis has dressed herself up in ladybug costume, and we are all just kinda doing our own thing. We don’t have anywhere to be; noone needs their hair done or their lunch box packed.

I used to hate days like today. The kids wandering around, playing stream-of-consciousness style, guaranteeing that no room in the house will be left unscathed.  But as my kids get older and their social calendars fill more quickly, I work hard to pencil in some nothing time. Repairing the wreckage of an at-home day is still pretty low on the list of My Favorite Things, but having some time to teach these two to like each other and play together is a gift I can’t replace, unlike my carpet which is covered with marker.

I’ve realized in the last few months that our family has kind of found a rhythm. Mondays are fabulously free — two kids at preschool. Tuesday mornings are spent at Bible Study. (With FREE CHILDCARE!! And snacks.) Wednesdays are Mommy Time with Lil’ Sis. Afternoons are Quiet Rest Time (yes!) and Time with Big Sis. In the evenings we eat together, read lots of books and run fast from Mr. Dad who thoroughly enjoys catching and tickling people, even crabby unsuspecting Mommies. We have a pretty good time around here.

And it’s all about to change.

To heck with rhythms, predictability, clean dishes and sleep. We’re having a baby!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled beyond words to have another child. It’s hard to imagine loving this one as deeply and fiercly as I do his sisters, but I know I will. In fact, for a while I’ll probably prefer his sleepy, snuggly, Johnson’s Baby Wash smelling fuzzy little head to their wiggly, inquisitive, occasionally stubborn personas.

But his arrival in our world will mark a big, big change. And change isn’t bad. It’s just, change.

I’ll have to readjust to living my life in a continual 3-hour loop. To being on the edge of a tear-fest most days just because I’m sleepy. To not being able to play with the girls or run to their aid every time they want me (although I’m not doing a lot of running these days as it is.) But I’ll also have to adjust to sleeping on my stomach again (woo hoo!), well, when I’m actually sleeping. And to having a little buddy to carry around in my sling wherever I go. And needing to eat like a horse to feed this kid. Bummer.

The girls will have to adjust to eating a lot of peanut butter crackers (instead of the gourmet hot dogs they ususally get) and entertaining themselves and shhhhhhh being really, really quiet or both Mommy and Brother are going to start screaming.  But they’ll also have to adjust to having a teeny tiny little brother to adore. Who needs lots of kisses and hugs. And to having to help Mommy wash his soft little hair or change his tiny little diapers (just not Newborn size) or cover his feet with cute little socks. 

Mr. Dad will have to adjust to being Mr. Mom. Tending to the girls. Heating up the frozen pizzas I’ve stockpiled for dinner night after night. Keeping up with the dishes I just didn’t manage to get to. Again. Mostly he’ll have to adjust to the different woman I’ll be. You know, different like every ten minutes or whenever the wind shifts. It’s no easy task to share your wife with a greedy little energy-sucker who’s about a hundred times cuter than you are (sorry, babe!). But he’ll also have to adjust to having a son. To priming him as they rock to sleep on the lifetime ERA of Nolan Ryan and the benefits of zone defense.  To schooling him on the virtues of a high-quality bandsaw. And to teaching him that we never hit a girl, even if they did just dress up your Hans Solo action figure in a Cinderella dress.

So I’m just trying to take a moment, this moment, and think about the life I have right now and admit that I’ll miss it a little bit. I think that’s ok, normal even.  I remember when I was in labor with Big Sis, shedding a tear or two in thinking that that was the last time our family would ever just be me and Mr. Dad. And the day before I was induced with Lil’ Sis, that I probably wouldn’t be snuggling Big Sis to bed for a while. And there was just a tiny hint of sadness in those “lasts.”

But in a squalling, screaming moment filled with pushes, tears and Apgar tests, the sadness melted into a the joy of something new. Squishy and strange-looking, but new. Our new family. I can’t wait to meet you, Little Buddy.

Quiet trips to the library? Probably the last of those for a while.

Freaky Friday

16 Feb

Whine: Curse Sonic and their “Limited Time Only” ploy. I was on the verge of making a good decision and settling for a half-price Diet Coke. But then I realized that if I didn’t get the chocolate cherry shake today, I don’t know when I’d get another chance. Limited Time Only, my foot. I fall for it every time.

Cheese: The reason we were at Sonic in the first place is because Lil’ Sis used the potty chair. AT PRESCHOOL. Are you kidding me? What kind of alternate universe is this??? I don’t know, but I think I’ll stay a while. I like it here, it’s very clean and dry.

Speaking of alternate universes, I suppose it’s time to for me to hop on the bandwagon and post my “holy-cow-we’ve-never-seen-this-much-snow pictures.” Let me just say, I grew up in the frozen tundra of the midwest and I know my way around a snowbank, so last Friday was not the first time I’d seen a large amount of snow. But I’ve lived in Texas for almost twenty years now and have got to say that for us that snow was EPIC.

Now I know that while the more southern states were freaking out and cancelling school, the true northerners were probably feeling quite Snowlier Than Thou. My Uncle Dave defines this as “the attitude exhibited by persons of Northern descent towards those that are more snow-challenged after any snowstorm, whether it is one inch or three feet. Usually accompanied by eye-rolling and mocking laughter.” Don’t deny it, yous guys, you know you were.

But I sure didn’t care who was rolling their eyes or laughing, I got to play with my kids in the snow!! I have such fond memories of sledding and skiing and building snowmen and eating snow (the white stuff only), and I felt such joy at getting to let them in on what winter is actually like.

Until it was time to get ready to go outside.

First, I made sure everyone had gone potty. Those layers are a beast to peel off in case of a tinkle emergency. Then I put three layers of pants on each person, me included, which ensured that I looked like a whale who was seriously off course. Then we went for the coats, hats, gloves, scarves, etc. Which left all of us in pretty good shape. Except for the feet. Noone in Texas owns snow boots. We hardly have close-toed shoes let alone waterproof boots. I was tempted to cover the kids’ feet in plastic bags, but the fact that we’d already spent 30 minutes bundling up won out and we headed out with our inadequate footwear.

The "before" shot. You can tell because noone is crying yet.

My first order of business was to teach the girls about snow angels before the snowy yard became covered in tiny footprints. I showed them how you carefully plop down on your bottom. Then you lean back and swoosh your arms and legs across the snow. And then you gingerly get up so as not to disturb your angelic silhouette. Except I forgot to factor in one tiny detail.

I am eight months pregnant.

So there I am lying face up in a heap of snow, stuck on my back like a very unfortunate and bloated turtle. My kids are not too compassionate, mostly they are laughing at me flailing around in my eight layers of clothing as I try to return to an upright position. Forget not disturbing the angelic silhouette. I just needed to get up. I finally rolled over onto my knees and hoofed myself up, but not before making a note to myself about who should and should not do snow angels.

At that point Big Sis had taken enough direction on how to enjoy the snow and proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes engineering a snowman. Lil’ Sis spent the same 30 minutes whining, fretting  and crying. Girlfriend does not like to be cold. She finally stopped fussing and found a suitable activity. Walking next to the curb, dragging her feet through the three inches of slush. In her mary janes. Whatever.

Looks like fun, doesn't it?

Two jolly, happy souls.

The next day was even better though. First, because we got a bunch more snow. And second, cause Mr. Dad had the morning off. So we went through our layering ritual, stuffed the fluffy children into their carseats and headed to a nearby school. Then we went sledding.

What do a plastic swimming pool, a tabletop, a garbage bag and a laundry basket have in common?

Yep, you’re right. They double for a sled when you are in a pinch. We slid down that tiny hill about a hundred times. I’m not sure who had the most fun, although I can guarantee you it wasn’t Lil’ Sis, who again spent most of her outdoor time railing against the cruelty of Old Man Winter.  I feel sorry for that girl if she ever has to live where forty degrees is a mild winter. And as luck would have it, she’ll probably marry a Canadian.

But Mr. Dad and I had a blast sledding down that hill long after Big Sis lost interest. I felt a tad foolish, a grown woman who couldn’t even use her kids as an excuse for sledding down that hill again, cause one was off crying and the other building yet another snow man. But hey, we get this much snow down here once every lifetime, so I was not going to let feeling sheepish stand in my way. Even when I fell off the sled at the bottom and couldn’t get up.

Lil' Sis did not find this amusing.

By Saturday most of the snow had melted, we had used our annual bundle of firewood and the heavy coats and scarves had been returned to the back corner of the closet. And I was glad. I used to think I missed the snow. But now I know the truth: two days a year of the stuff is plenty for me. If I need more than that I’ll book a flight to Canada.

Introducing: Tiny Tura

5 Feb

Whine: We are currently on Day 4 of Extreme Makeover: Oral Fixation Edition. Meaning no more pacifier for Lil’ Sis and no more sucking her fingers for Big Sis. Neither sister has found this process very enjoyable. At all. Lil’ Sis is currently voicing her displeasure from her crib. Putting her down for a nap used to take about a minute and a half. Now it takes an hour and a half. Sigh, the things we do for their own good usually stink for us, don’t they?

Cheese: The OB told me the baby is facing head down, so that’s a good thing, I guess. And it explains the painfully sharp sensations I’ve been feeling. Apparently this kid enjoys headbutting his Mommy. He’ll fit right in around here.

The REAL cheese, for today however, is that our family has a brand new member. Allow me to introduce my niece, Victoria:

I'm not sure whether I want to snuggle her or gobble her up. Both, definitely both.

She was born on Wednesday after putting her dear, sweet mother through a month of labor. And I am not kidding about that, people, I swear she started giving her Mommy contractions in late December. But I suppose there are perks to doing that kind of prep, since she only took two hours at the hospital to arrive.

Mr. Dad and I took the girls up there to meet their new cousin when she was just a few hours old. Although Victoria’s Mommy strongly discourages nicknames (i.e., just try calling her “Vicky” and see what happens), even she thought it was pretty cute when Lil’ Sis dubbed her new cousin “Tiny Tura.”  We felt really privileged to hold and kiss and snuggle such a fresh little creature. But I think we sorely underwhelmed her, as she just kept yawning the whole time we were there. Apparently we are old news. Either that or being born in under two hours is REALLY TIRING.

Victoria and Lahdee

Victoria and her cousin. He'll be head-butting her and pulling her pigtails before we know it.

 I’ve gotta give props to her Mama for having flawless makeup after giving birth with no drugs (I know, are you kidding me??). And to her Daddy for, well, whatever it is that Daddy’s do while the Mama is doing all the work.

Welcome, Victoria! We’re so glad to have you in our family!!

Lil’ Sis, Victoria and her Big Sis Elizabeth