Lucky Number 7

Birthday season at our house extends from the end of March to mid-June, with Julia's, Spencer's, my, and Savanna's birthdays all falling within a time span of just a little over a month. (We also celebrate our wedding anniversary and Mother's Day within a couple days of Savanna's birthday, just because we like to keep things interesting. Or because our lives revolve around our children. Take your pick.) 

That being said, I just realized that it is the last day of May and I have yet to post anything about Julia's or my birthday, though both were incredibly fun in their own right. But since it's May, and the actual month of Vanna's birthday, I'll go ahead and do her first. Then I'll do the others. Then I'll squeeze in that Hawaii trip of mine from two years ago because I know that you haven't given up hope and that you still can't wait to hear all about it.

We may have figured out the perfect formula for birthdays around here: take the kids out to eat with two or three close friends. Dinner. Presents. Dessert. The end. No party planning or outrageous shopping lists or messes at home. I really think we're on to something, people. 

Van picked Chuck E. Cheese, replete with inflatable guitars, microphones, and birthday hats. And tokens. Oh, the tokens. (Only those weren't inflatable. But they were magical.) Another secret: If you are going to do a Chuck E. Cheese party, do it on a Wednesday afternoon. At 5:00. Almost nobody is there, and chances are, yours will be the only party that day. Did I already use the word magical?

We all had a blast, Savanna felt like the most loved and important child in the world, and we got to eat a decent amount of sub-par pizza to boot. I mean, what could be better?

they say it's her birthday...

Party on, Savanna

Three words come to mind when I see this picture: "Heh, heh, heh..."

Oh yes, he was the cutest boy in the room

Delicious rainbow birthday cupcakes, anyone? Anyone?

 I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a birthday cupcake today...

I bet she wished for world peace. Her birthday list, after all, 

included "clothes, fruit, nail polish, love, and respect."

Bet you're dying to know what my secret to Chuck E. was.

But that's between the mouse and me. My lips are sealed.

Bomp bomp. Chick. Chicka chicka. Oh, yeah.

Holy Fur Real pet on a skateboard, Batman!

(Spencer is terrified to death of this toy.)

Easiest girl to please you'll ever meet.

Happy birthday, our sweet, loving, most excellent 7-year-old!

Selfies by Lex

Okay, so I hate the word "selfie." In my brain, it resides somewhere in the realm of "nummers," "boo boo," and "totes adorbs." But alas, I don't really know another word for the images that I found of Lexa when I last uploaded the pics from the camera, so selfies I'll call them.

Here are just a few, in all of their unassuming, hilarious, non-self-conscious glory.

I can't pick a favorite, but pictures two and five are real contenders.

Lex, you and your future boyfriends can just go ahead and thank me later.

(P.S. In a recent unrelated conversation, Lex referenced her "nose holes." I asked if she remembered what those were called, and she stared at me blankly. I gave her a prompt: "Nos..." and she jumps in with "Nospitals? That rhymes with hospitals!")

Greek to Me

Miss Julia did a unit on Greek culture in her third grade class this year, and one of her assignments was to make a Greek meal for her family. I inserted the idea for gyros and baklava into her brain while she was asleep (Inception, anyone?) because I was pretty sure those were the only two remotely "ethnic" foods that anyone in our family (okay, the children) would actually eat. Turns out I was right. Except that they didn't really eat the dinner besides the bread part of the gyros. But they sure loved that dessert.

I was so proud of the way that Julia worked on this assignment, gathering all of the ingredients and working her little heart out on the meal part like a Greek sous chef, and then typing away for literally hours to finish everything that she wanted to put on her project board. A sampling:

"For dinner I had gyros. Gyros are kind of like flat bread with toppings on it such as meat, tomatoes, feta cheese, onions, and a yogurt sauce. The yogurt sauce has 4 ingredients: plain yogurt, cucumbers, dill, and salt. It took us a long time to make it. We chopped meat and I stirred the yogurt and measured all the ingredients. It took me and my mom 1 hour to make dinner at least!

For my dessert I picked baklava. Baklava is really good, it has one ingredient that is healthy for you and that ingredient is water. I know it sounds weird and gross to you but that is part of Greek culture."

It was nice to have so much help in the kitchen, I'll tell you that. But I didn't have the heart to let her in on the secret that most times dinners take at least an hour to make, barring oven pizza and cereal nights, anyway. She'll have to learn that one when she's a little older, I suppose.

And what's a Greek end-of-unit celebration without a third grade toga party, I ask you? Nothing but grape juice and cucumbers, that's what.

Summer Is (Almost) a Bad Word

It's that time of the year, people. The time of the year when my sweet children are out of school for the summer and I just about have an anxiety attack at the thought of them spending all day at home with me, and, more dangerously, with each other. I know that they love each other. They really do. They laugh, they play, they serve each other in sweet and remarkable ways sometimes. But they are also related, which means that extensive periods of time together often result in disastrous and ridiculous blow-outs, leaving it up to me to referee their fights and disagreements with much more gusto than I actually want to have to muster. I shudder at the thought.

With a newborn last summer, we didn't do much of anything that involved leaving the house for any noteworthy amount of time, and, when we did, we certainly didn't do anything very fun. I am hoping against hope that a summertime schedule, along with some regular excursions to my parents' swimming pool and the Science Center this summer will work towards keeping all of us a little more sane and calm with each other. Or at least keep us from screaming at each other all day long for no real reason. (A mom can hope, right?)

I remember when school was out when I was a kid, my mom would relegate all of us to our respective rooms sometimes for days at a time because, as a whole, we could not get along, and it absolutely drove her crazy. At the time, I never really understood what I assumed was her lack of patience with us, but now, believe me, I get it. It wasn't that she wasn't patient. I am sure that every day she started with a significant measure of love, kindness, and patience, ready to take on a never-ending summer day with five children at home. But just as I am sure of that, I am also sure that every morning by about 10:00, with our relentless fighting, abhorrent messes, and miscellaneous drama, we had most definitely bled her dry of every good intention and patient gesture with which she had managed to start the day. Because that's what kids do, folks.

And now I'm on the other side. Instead of the bleeder, I've officially become the bled. Desperate to keep myself alive, I am hoping that excursions, schedules, and continued diversion are the key to not only surviving the summer, but somehow enjoying it.

But if you don't hear from me again, you'll know why.

All the Women Who are Independent...

Ever the awesomely (and occasionally infuriatingly) independent child, Lex has begun to show her culinary skills at lunchtime. She's on quite the peanut butter and honey sandwich kick lately, and she has, at 4 years old, taken to making her own sandwich every day. Literally. She gets out her little chair and gathers all of the ingredients from the pantry and then sets up shop on the kitchen island and gets to spreading. The only thing she needs help with is the sandwich cutting (half in triangles, half in squares is the daily request) and then she is good to go, happy and beaming at her accomplishment.

I both love and am stunned by her constant willingness to try to do things on her own. Sandwiches today, choreographing a high school play tomorrow.

She's a smarty boombalarty, I tell you.