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4 kittens

Two mouthfuls of Scope

Posted on 2015.02.22 at 17:14
Sometimes spit up looks like a happy face:

Feb 22, 2015 (1)

The eyes were easier to see in person.


Hawaii told me, "I wanted my hair to do [some elaborate description]. Plan A was to [more elaborate planning], and Plan B was [even more]. I really hoped that one of those plans worked, because there was no Plan C!"

Who knows what happened to her hair, but I was tickled by her elocution. No plan C, indeed!

We had our teacher conference with Hawaiian Punch's kindergarten teacher this week. The teacher is very pleased with Hawaii. It's nice to listen to someone rave about your kid.  "When I leave the room, to go to the bathroom or something, I put Hawaii in charge," the teacher said, "I can count on her to tell me exactly who did what wrong while I was out of the room." Sounds spot on.

Feb 22, 2015 (2)

This was on the hallway wall at school, to celebrate 100 days of the school year.

I think Hawaii has been going through a mental growth spurt over the last 2-3 months. Both reading and reading music clicked into place, in very similar ways. Something became automatic.


Hokey Pokey is knee-deep in the packrat stage of childhood, where the plastic lid found at the playground, and Hawaii's old toothbrush, and the handful of rocks, are all items with a deep emotional attachment.  He's also getting a bit more able to tolerate frustration without losing his shit, which is a relief.

Also he's at the stage where there is so much sand in his shoes, from the sandbox, that you'd think it would displace his feet. Really, he can dump an actual pile of sand, with volume in the square inches, out of a single shoe.

Feb 22, 2015 (7) Feb 22, 2015 (6)
Feb 22, 2015 (5)

It's hard to be 20 months old, because sometimes you're stuck in a bean bag and can't get out.

Feb 22, 2015 (4) Feb 22, 2015 (3)

Everyone thinks it's hilarious and takes photos, and you lack the core muscles and are just so upset.


My hair started to fall out!
 I'm so happy to be post-post-partum. Exactly on schedule - Rascal turned 3 months old on Wednesday. I had the worst senioritis, waiting for the three month mark. All due to vanity - I have never lost an ounce of weight in the first three months post-partum.

I'm three months old!

Feb 22, 2015 (10)

He's looking at Ace:

Feb 22, 2015 (11)

who was rocking him.

Rascal had his first formula on his three month birthday, because I took the big kids to see some African acrobats this week, performing free at Heebie U. They were great - dancing, flipping, lots of African drums. It felt like a high quality America's Got Talent act, which turned out to be prescient of me.

We had good seats:

Feb 22, 2015 (16)

I was going to screen grab some photos from their website, but those are all a bit more impressive than anything we saw. But the show was fantastic, nevertheless, and the kids woke up the next morning chattering on about it.


On Thursday I met with the genetic counselour. I told her ahead of time that I was positive, and she tailored her information accordingly. She was exceedingly helpful, and gave me the name of an oncological gynecologist for the oophorectomy, which I'd had trouble locating.

I don't remember giving the genetic sample 15 years ago - maybe they drew blood? were cheek swabs a thing yet? - but it sure as hell wasn't this:

Feb 22, 2015 (8)

I was told to swish Scope for 30 seconds, and then spit into the test tube. Repeat until the test tube was half full.

Feb 22, 2015 (9)

It took two mouthfuls, not as bad as I'd feared.


Some last thoughts:

I'm starting an herb garden:

Feb 22, 2015 (15)

The kids helped. Lots and lots of basil!

- and -

"I've got all the core muscles I need, thank you very much."

Feb 22, 2015 (14) Feb 22, 2015 (12) Feb 22, 2015 (13)

With that, Mr. Spit up Sleeve bids you adieu.

Feb 22, 2015 (1)

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