Virtually delicious

In a world of iPads, cell phones and kiddie laptops, my mom says my love of making muffins is kind of a heartwarming reminder of simpler times. The fact that I love making muffins on the computer...not so much.

A couple weeks ago she staged an intervention. Partly to lure me away from the computer and partly to be sure it was clear that baking isn't generally something you do with a mouse.

Directorial debut

As part of my recent obsession with taking pictures and video on my mom's phone, this weekend I began filming/directing a new movie starring my dad. He takes direction extremely well, but am seriously considering getting myself a new assistant, as the one I currently have gets a little too excited about the talent.

The hunt is on!

For the past several weeks, there was much hype around the Flashlight Easter Egg Hunt my mom was planning for me and Rowan and all our friends in the neighborhood. I went to one last year with my dad and had SO much fun, but this year the closest flashlight hunt was for ages five and up. Pretty sure we weren't gonna be able to pass Rowan off as a kindergartener, my mom decided to make our own flashlight Easter egg hunt...but better!

It's like they say, If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.

Sadly, Friday night (the night of the hunt) Mother Nature had other plans -- which coincidentally also involved flashing lights (and a little bit of thunder for dramatic effect). Because my friends' moms are a pretty conservative bunch, no one was allowed to come outside.

We were pretty bummed, but my dad said the Easter bunny would come back the next morning instead. And that bunny was true to his word. He left 500 Easter eggs outside our house! Each one was filled with a magnificent treasure, like gorgeous plastic smiley face rings, spinning tops and playing cards so tiny and thin you need tweezers and a magnifying glass to use them.

The Easter bunny clearly spared NO expense.

Hope your Easter was happy, too!

Ladies who lunch

We took advantage of a couple days off from school this week to invite our besties over for a luncheon. Small talk. Big mess.

Spring training

With warmer weather just around the corner, my extracurricular schedule is beginning to fill up. In addition to gymnastics, this spring/summer I'll be taking ice skating lessons and joining a baseball team. Since these are sports I've only tried my hand (or feet) at a couple times, I capitalized on the warm weather Sunday afternoon to squeeze in a bit of practice for both.

First, I dusted off my rollerblades. Although they kept knocking me down in the fall, apparently I managed to break them in, because now they work just fine.

So fine, in fact, that I've started working on a few tricks. My dad's out back building some ramps as we speak. JUST KIDDING! (But my mom's pretty sure he's working out the specs in his head.)

After my skate, Dad and I hit the front yard for a little baseball practice.

Good to the last drop

I would describe Rowan's eating style as thorough.

Eye yay yay

While getting eye drops is uncomfortable for many people, we have a history of taking it to the next level in our house.

My job, upon being asked to come get drops, is to pretend that someone's just asked me to sit still while they poke a hot stick in my eye. I'm assured that it will only take a moment.

I scream and flail according.

My dad's job is to hold me still/down, while my mom's job is to administer the tiny drop into my tightly squinted eye. When my dad's at work and it turns into a one-person job, things really get dicey.

This is why when the doctor told my mom I had pneumonia a couple weeks ago, it was No Big Deal. But when pink eye followed the next day, it was The End of the World.

After asking hopefully whether there was ANY possible way that the pneumonia meds could perhaps cure pink eye, my mom returned to the pharmacy, accepting the eye drops like a death sentence.

After battling with me for 10 minutes to get the drops (at least half way) in my eyes, she wondered whether a chart -- the device that got me out of Pull-Ups and out of my funk of not wanting to go to school -- might once again deliver a miracle to our house.

And in response to the proposal of a toy at the end of 14 more rounds of drops, I walked up to my mom, opened my eyes wide, and stood perfectly still and silent while the medication was administered.

While my mom had intended to take me to Target for a modest selection from the toy aisles, my dad assured everyone that he had the prize covered.

To appreciate the prize, you need to know that for almost a year, my dad and I have been collecting and building Lego sets together. We have at least 60 of the collectible Lego figures, which I occasionally like to line up like an army.

We've built a train, a helicopter, a jet and a space shuttle. And we display them proudly (i.e., keep them out of reach of clumsy hands) on the top of an armoire.


So after four more days of complete cooperation in the eye drop department, my dad unveiled my prize: the Lego Shuttle Adventure.

Sure, we already built a Lego shuttle. But not one with a detachable fuel tank and booster rockets. Not one that could deploy a satellite with unfolding antenna and solar cell panels. Not one with retractable landing gear, an opening cockpit and an opening cargo compartment with a crane that can hold the satellite. Not one marked for ages 16+!

And after four nights of building the shuttle, I proudly displayed my dad’s grand prize on my dresser.

My mom says this experience has been eye opening in more ways than one.

Overdressed

Sunday Ya Ya and Papa took us to the zoo for our first visit of the year. As you can tell from the picture of Rowan on the Merry Go Round, it was finally warm enough to head outside sans jacket.

What you can't tell from the picture is that it wasn't First-Real-Day-of-Spring warm, it was like Whoa-Nelly-It's-the-Middle-of-July warm, which made it extra unfortunate that my mom didn't check the weather before packing Rowan a sweatshirt tunic and leggings.

In addition to reinforcing the importance of checking the weather forecast before packing an overnight bag, the sudden 82-degree temperature was also a wake-up call to my mom that our wardrobes are not in order for warmer weather. So while she escorted me to a birthday party for my friend later in the day, Dad was given the mission of securing a pair of sandals for the chunkiest feet this side of the Mississippi. (And probably the other side of the Mississippi, as well.)

Mom thought it was a bit of a gamble to leave the responsibility of selecting summer sandals in the hands of my dad. After all, the sandals have to not only be functional and fashionable, but they need to be neutral enough to coordinate with the majority of Rowan's summer wardrobe.

Oh, and Rowan has to not hate them.

A tall order.

My mom was so surprised when Dad arrived home with one of the cutest pairs of neutral sandals she's ever seen. (He would have earned extra points had he not confessed that they were the only pair of sandals in the whole store that fit.)

Mom was so NOT surprised that the shoes were accompanied by a new necklace, bracelet, kaleidoscope, stamp set and pink iron with realistic steam sound effects.

Equally vital, of course, for our big transition into warmer weather. Happy Spring!

This sun also rises

I've been meaning to blog for the past few days, but the truth is that there hasn't been much going on. Partly because our social schedule was pretty quiet last week, and partly because I was home with pneumonia for three days.

People hear the word "pneumonia" and get all freaked out, but the truth is that it's not so bad. You get to hang out with your mom for a few days, enjoying complete control of the toys and television programming while your sister is at school. You get medicine that tastes like cherries...or bubblegum...or maybe both. And if you're REALLY lucky, your dad gets pneumonia, too, and you get to spend all day hanging out on the couch with him, watching TV and verbalizing every single thought that pops into your head.

If you don't mind the loss of appetite and hideous cough, I kinda recommend it.

But, anyway, so I'm back in action! And thought I'd start my first day back at the blog with an update on Operation Big Girl Bed.

So now that Rowan is reliably going to bed without incident and requiring minimal middle-of-the-night retucks, my mom thought it best to address the last (but not least critical) step -- wake-up time.

My mom's decision to leave the working world several years ago was based 99 percent on her desire to spend more time at home with me. The other 1 percent was so she could sleep longer in the mornings.

Luckily, both Rowan and I have been supportive in this department.

Although I had a brief stint getting up at 5:30 am or 6 am a little over a year ago, Mr. Holiday gave me a quick lesson in appropriate and inappropriate times to get out of bed for the day and all order was restored in our house. (For all interested parties, 7 am = appropriate; all earlier times = not appropriate.)

Rowan's generally been a great sleeper. Oftentimes she sleeps til 7:30 am, and on rare occasions, Mom will have to go wake her up in an effort to get us to school by 9 am. But now that she's exercising her independence in the Big Girl Bed, Mom decided it was time to introduce Rowan to the "official" wake-up time in our house.

Enter Mr. Holiday's twin brother. Rowan has named him Mr. Sun.

Although his first day on the job was technically Saturday, this morning was the first day Rowan woke up before Mr. Sun.

So the good news is that both of us have respect for the concept behind this night light. Rowan, however, deals with Mr. Sun in her own very Rowanesque way.

Whereas I quickly accepted that I had to read in bed until Mr. Holiday "woke up," Rowan spent the first few minutes of her morning whining about the fact that Mr. Sun was still sleeping. The whining quickly turned to anger, at which point she started yelling at Mr. Sun to wake up. After a little coaching from Mom, though, Rowan proceeded to read quietly from 6:15 am til 7 am.

As you might imagine, my mom was thuh-rilled!! Her only disappointment in the entire process has been the fact that Rowan settled on a name as seemingly unimaginative as Mr. Sun. My mom says after a name like Mr. Holiday, it's kind of a let down.

So she's pretending that Rowan cleverly settled on the Chinese surname.

Snappy as a clam

Imagine sitting back to relax for an hour or so in a comfy recliner.

Only the comfy recliner is more like a clam shell. And the bottom half of the shell is wavering precariously, as if at any moment it may snap closed and digest you whole.

And then maybe you'll understand why Rowan had a little trouble focusing on Sunday when we took her to the movie theater to see "Hop."

While my sister is not what you might call "slight of frame," fact is that 32 pounds of chunkalicious toddler is, in fact, not enough to hold open a theater seat.

Luckily, the popcorn, M&Ms and Coke (hey, it was the "kids" pack!) kept her agreeable to remaining awkwardly seated in the crack of the chair. And just when she could eat no more (i.e., mom hid the M&Ms) and started to contemplate roaming the theater, the star of the movie busted out into our favorite Taio Cruz song, buying us a good 20 more minutes.

Oh, the power of music!

It may not have been pretty -- the floor was covered in popcorn, the seat was saturated in Coke and I'm pretty sure those people behind us didn't appreciate Rowan's periodic surveillance -- but we made it through the whole movie.

It may be a couple more months (and a few more pounds!), though, before Rowan gets invited back.

Family portrait

Success!

Exactly one week after the transition, Rowan found peace with her big-kid bed.

Maybe it was because she didn't see the point in fighting the system (i.e., Mom and Dad). Maybe it was because she just needed a little time to "sleep on it."

Or maybe it was the gigantic wall blocking her only exit out of bed.

Whatever the case may be, all the kinks have been worked out, with the exception of the 2-4 times Rowan calls out in the middle of the night for a retuck.

And her insistence on sleeping with a copy of a Strawberry Shortcake book between her head and the pillow may also ultimately need to be addressed.

One mountain at a time, my friends. One mountain at a time.