Self-explanatory... :)

America's Next Top Designer?

Evie found a box full of burp clothes and flat diapers this morning and said, "Mama, wear it!"  This, friends, is the result.  Work it, Evie.

Why you shouldn't leave your one-year-old alone with Crayolas...

I left Evie in her high chair for about two minutes while I ran to check my email.  When I got back into the kitchen, she laughed and gleefully exclaimed, "Mama!  Color face!!"  Really, Evie? Thanks.

PS-- Just an FYI-- those markers really aren't as washable as they claim.

Come on Puxatawny Phil!

I never put a whole lot of thought into the whole tradition of Groundhog Day, beyond casually following the Today Show's newscast as I got ready for work.  I mean, I am old enough to know how this works; I would be more inclined to credit El Nino or, I don't know-- God?!? with the early arrival of spring than a rascally little rodent.

But this year, the game has changed.  I am *DONE* with winter.  Seriously, absolutely over it.  My former co-workers used to get mad at me when I'd be the solitary figure in the

parking lot, flailing out the awkward moves of a snow dance in March.  Hey, I'll admit- the first seven minutes of playing with a one-year-old in the snow is fun/endearing/cute/etc.  Beyond that, it's cold.  (That is, assuming, that aforementioned one-year-old makes it out of the house without a meltdown.  Leg warmers followed by long underwear followed by overalls followed by six shirts followed by three pairs of socks followed by PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! into snowboots two sizes too small followed by...

 you get it.  It's a tantrum waiting to happen.)  

So all that to say, I am summoning the Groundhog powers that be, and praying for an early spring.  Evie and I miss our old haunts-- the playground, the walking trail, Echo Tunnel (as we so christened the slightly grimy walking trail tunnel that goes under Newport Road).  I will not be sad to retire Brownie, Puffs, Beauty, or P. Diddy (as we so christened her various winter jackets, so as to not become confused by the various and sundry options) and pull out a lightweight fleece or *GASP* go coat-less.  I am anxious to open the windows in the house, and roll down the windows in the Maz, and let the wind blow through Evie's hair... err, head.  

 

Don't call me on February 2nd.  Don't email or text.  I'll be the solitary figure in the parking lot (perhaps with Evie Ergo'd on my back) flailing out the awkward moves of a spring dance.

Useless...

Jodi Picoult  makes me a bad mother/housekeeper/wife/Stray Lights book-keeper :).  I shouldn't be allowed to go to the library.

Some pics I ganked from my sister's facebook...

Evie, surprisingly enough, did NOT poop in the tub while Abbie was in there.

A "special treat"--ice cream!

Evie specifically chose this itickets hat and put it on herself.  Maybe she's mad in the picture cause she just realized it doesn't match her outfit.

This is actually a little doll diaper bag that Evie thinks is a hat.  Weirdo.

Deputy Evie.

Oh, and PS... Evie would like to put out a PSA for those who haven't already heard.  She's going to be a big sister!

Emily Post would be proud...

We try to be vigilant about teaching Evangeline her manners. And thus far, she's been a good pupil. She always says "Bless you, Mama" when I sneeze and very often remembers to say "please" and "thank you" without being prompted.

Tonight we were having dinner, and I was attempting to squirt some mustard from the almost empty bottle onto my plate. And let's just say the bottle made a very *ahem* "unladylike" noise. Evie Grace, perched in her high chair, gasped and exclaimed, "Oh! Excuse me!!"

Now if I can just get her to stop smacking me across the face all the time.