It's complicated

John Patrick and Baba

I hate you

I love you

I eat you

I'm indifferent

Yia Yia Land

We arrived on the rainy shores of Yia Yia's land to find....

Horses who live next door that we can feed apples and carrots.

All our toys, plus many new ones, waiting for us to play with.

Family members who we have not seen for a long time
and who we have missed greatly.

The kinds of snacks Mommy does not buy for us.

A fat cat named Oliver.

Wonderful new foods.

And a Yia Yia who has been waiting to spoil us again since we left a year and a half ago.

Ten years ago

Travel Day

It was a long day filled with complicated maneuvers, but since the flight was nonstop, it was fairly quick and mostly painless. The airline could not seat us all four together, so we separated three (Chris and the girls) and one (me and John Patrick).

John Patrick was the best travel companion, he just slept and ate (mostly bottle) and cooed and giggled. He actually nursed during take off and slept as we landed, not one peep of a cry. The sweet grandma behind us, who was making faces at him throughout the trip, leaned over at one point to tell me that he was "exceptional" - ahhh, warms a mother's heart.

Zoe got incredibly bored, refused to sleep, and each distraction I packed for her only held about 30 seconds of interest. The only thing that captured her attention was how many kicks she could get in on the seat in front of her before her Daddy told her to stop - again and again and again. Athena is, as always, our fantastic traveler - happily going from activity to activity independently keeping herself occupied.

After twelve hours of travel, tired and hungry, we arrive at Yiayia's house.

(more to come, later)

Leaving on a Jet Plane

We're off to New York for a couple of weeks, taking with us four suitcases, one diaper bag, two backpacks, one carry-on, three carseats, one stuffed tiger, one stuffed lion, two wubbies, two tired little girls (we leave at 4 a.m.) and one still slightly sick, non-nursing baby.

It's my Blogiverary and I'll post if I want to...

It's been a hellish day of runny poo, fussy babies and way too much whining and I have had it up to here and am in no mood. But, today marks two years since I started this blog which is cause for some reflection or something.

I have to say the second year of blogging was harder than the first. I think I posted less, I know I haven't been as consistent and as a result I've lost some family and friend readers. I was very uninspired for a period of time which I'm going to chalk up to being sick and miserable and just too darn tired.

But, I'm starting my third bloggy year with a fresh, new graphic look, a renewed commitment to documenting this time in our lives and lots of new subject matter (anyone know where to get a baby tee that says "Blog Fodder"?).

I can't even begin to say how much this little blog has meant to me: so much and so much more than I could ever have dreamed. Thank you for reading and commenting and being a part of it.

No shots for me, Mom!

What is with the ears in this family?

I took John Patrick in for his 4 month well baby visit, clutching the delayed vaccination schedule I carefully researched and was prepared to defend, and discovered he has bilateral ear infections and bronchitis.

I saw no warning signs, no red flags and was totally floored. Looking back I suppose he has been fussier than usual, a little bit congested, and he has woken up once or twice during the night where he usually sleeps through but other than that totally fine, completely himself. No fever. No ear tugging. No constant crying. No usual symptoms.

His pediatrician is concerned that he has his first ear infection already, and in the month of July, and said "We'll have to watch him." Uh, yea. I'm going to have to watch him quite a bit better it seems.

(We leave for New York in three days. Come on Amoxocillian, do your stuff.)

Every Last Drop

John Patrick is our last baby. I say that with absolute certainty, permanent measures have been taken, there will be no more.

We've had a pretty good run during these childbearing years, passed that torch and now get to watch three incredibly lovable little people grow up from front row seats.

I think it's because I know John Patrick is my last baby, without the shadow of a doubt or possibility of a surprise, that every moment of his babyhood is that much sweeter and more poignant. Every day, I burn into my brain the muscle memory of the heavy weight of his little body fast asleep in my arms or the sound of his soft breathing during a nightly nursing, the feel of his warm, fuzzy head pressed against my cheek.

I am drinking it all in, eyes wide open and slurping up every last drop.

But when a phase passes, when a t-shirt no longer fits, I can happily pack it up and put it behind us marking "DONE" in big letters across the box.

This Boy

This beautiful boy is four months old already.

Fourth Traditions

One of the best things about living in California is getting to participate in all Chris' family functions. I know Chris is thrilled to be a regular part of the clan again and I love that the girls are experiencing the fun of this big extended family.

A longstanding family tradition has been to converge at Aunt Barb's and Uncle Ron's every July 4th, eat copious amounts of delicious food, watch fireworks and play with sparklers long past the usual bedtime. This is the second year we've been able to attend and we had a great time again.

The girls were beyond exhausted after a long day of following their cousin Andre around, eating cookies, playing corn toss and watching sparklers burn. The little dude was held the entire day, handed from relative to relative (stopping frequently in Andrea's arms), and had napped so much by the end of the day that he didn't go to sleep until midnight.

Chillin' with Granddadio and waiting for dark.

The girls loved watching their cousins play corntoss.

Andrea bonded with the little dude.

She did let Grandaddio hold him for a little while.

Hey look a picture of me!

Athena really enjoyed the corn toss game.
Uncle Ron handing out the sparklers.

Going against basic parental instincts, we told our children
to run into the street with things lit on fire.

A time honored tradition of writing your name on the street with a sparkler.

Oooh. Aaah. Watching the fireworks.