Dimples? Really?

Making cute faces

So the kid with this grin - you know, the grin that we'll do pretty much anything for - just got more powerful. Quinn appears to be developing dimples. Simply not fair!

She's so funny these days. When she's really excited, she does a little stomping dance in place. When she's really mad, she falls to the ground, pushes her face into the floor, and lets out a cry. When she's playful, she's Fiona's shadow. When her Dad misbehaves, she says "Michael."

We are so impressed by how quickly she is learning things. She can pretty much drink out of a cup. We practice during tooth brushing* and she hardly spills at all anymore. She's trying very hard to learn to put her mittens on. Which is good, since she's a pro at taking them off.

Quinn wants to be just like Fiona. If Fiona plays play-doh, so does Quinn. If Fiona is coloring and using stickers, you better plop a sheet of stickers by Q too. If I put anything on Fiona's plate, I hear "too. too" from across the table. Even if she still has it.

At almost a year and a half, Quinn is becoming quite the wonderful little person. We all pretty much adore her!

*Tooth brushing has gotten SO MUCH more civilized around this joint since the stools I ordered in October FINALLY arrived last week. They can reach the sink, they each have their own stool. Magic.

Lonely?

Bestest buddies

I called my sister last night. At 6:45. On a night when she knew Mike was at hockey (because she was going to go to his game … until it got hella cold!). So I forgive her for answering the phone with a confused “Hello?” (which really meant “are you going to the ER? Or is the house on fire?”). Because I don’t normally call at 6:45 when home “by myself” with the kids. Because they’re needy.

Except they weren't last night. I got them cleaned up from dinner, set them down, and off they trotted to their room to play. So I cleaned up dinner. I peeked my head in and Fiona told me they were fine. I swept the kitchen. The dining room. The hallway. I peeked in again. Still fine. I started a load of laundry. Asked them if they wanted me to play. “No mama, we’re good.” So I went into the living room, picked up a few toys, listened to the shrieking laughter down the hall, and called my sister. “I’m lonely,” I told her. Isn’t that irony? I wish for personal space all the time, and then when I have it, I don’t know what to do with it. Because I know the second I start something I want to do, they’ll need me. Some guy named Murphy made a Law that says that.

Luckily, Mike and I anticipated the pending moments of loneliness, did a quick family headcount, and determined that there was indeed room for one more. In June, we will round out the family with one more [likely blond(e)] head. We are just over 20 weeks along and had our big ultrasound today. Baby is delightfully and beautifully healthy. Brain, heart, SPINE, organs – all where they should be, looking how they should look. Since this will be the last Mini Vanneste (at least the last one that I will grow), we decided to go for the three-peat. To its adoring public, Mini V3 will be gender neutral until birth – just like its sisters. Baby weighed in at 12 oz, which I thought was our smallest baby yet, but research (looked back at the blog) shows that Quinn was 10 oz at her 20 week peek. Fiona was a solid pound. So we are right on track with where our babies usually line up.

Debuting today, on its cousin Anna’s 25th birthday (happy bday, Belles!), is Mini V3.

You can see a hand by its face and the other hand below it

3D image of a hand and the two feet (with ankles crossed)

Why 3-Year-Olds Are the Best ... And Drive You Certifiably Insane

Face painting at the museum

The three-year-old KID living in our house is all that is wonder and magic about childhood innocence. And lots of the "are you listening to me?" and "beat head here" of parenting.

I'm not going to lie ... she's really awesome. There are lots of emotions that she deals with (that's just her) but there are now words to describe them and some base form of logic that we can sometimes use to move through the tantrum with some shred of dignity on each side.

But she is sweet as sugar. Never hesitates to hug or tell us that she loves us. She sings. all the time. Sometimes songs we recognize. Sometimes just a narration of what she's doing. Sometimes nonsensical words that she thinks are fun. She grins and giggles and tells jokes.

She's a seriously good helper at times. For example, Mike was at hockey one night. I was cleaning up dinner. Quinny was standing in the middle of the living room screaming. Me: "Bugs, why is Quinny crying?" F: "She wants the piggy out of the basket and she can't get it." Me: "Can you get it for her?" F: "Sure mama" Insert sounds of crashing toys and Q stops crying. Then I hear a shriek of frustration and with no comment from me, I hear Fiona say, "It's okay, Quinny. I'll help you open it." Dishes were finished in relative quiet (or what passes for quiet here ... read: kids not fighting or screaming!).

Then there's the part where I swear to the heavens that I say 87 times in the morning to put her pants on ... and she's just too busy chattering and twirling and basically being three to listen. And then looks at me with hurt disbelief when my patience wears out and I yell at her to put her pants on. Or where she asks what's for dinner twelve times as she's climbing into her chair and can see her plate. [the blonde curls are bouncing around me, dancing to Supercalifragilisticexpedalidocious, smiling away, and I've almost forgetten that Mike had to take over the dressing routine this morning because I was going to wring her neck and we'd manage to get a SINGLE SOCK on. Almost]

We do love age three here. And as Mike constantly says, they both make us laugh much more than we want to run screaming from the building. And so far, Fiona has shown up fully dressed at day care each day. That, in itself, is a victory.

Fearless Fish

The winter swimming lessons session has begun. We decided to give Q a swimming lessons break (although we plan some trips to open swim with her), but wanted to keep Fiona rolling. We saw huge progress in her confidence as she did her first solo class last fall and didn't want to backpedal.

Never fear, based on tonight's experience, no backpedal in sight. We arrived 10 minutes early tonight (for the first time ever in swimming lessons history!) and I thought I may have to leash her to me to keep her from jumping in the pool before it was her class' turn. She is again the shortest (by at least 6 inches) and, from the looks of it, the youngest in the class.

She is also the most fearless. Within the first five minutes of class, all the other parents knew the tiny blonde belonged to me and were commenting on her bravery. She is really excited to learn to swim and you can see her working very hard to listen to the teacher and master the skills. Such leaps and bounds even from the final class a couple of months ago. I was telling Mike how fun it was to watch her really get something out of class. (She also kept up a constant stream of chatter that we discussed after class. Perhaps the listening ears could do a little more work than the talking mouth ...)

She also asked her teacher no less than six times if she could jump off the diving board. We'll see if they let her next week. I'm not sure anyone else in her class will follow her lead. But based on her awe of the kids in the class before hers using it, I'm pretty sure she'll jump off that sucker with no reservation.

Yogi is 7

Our bestest furry buddy turned seven today! In most golden retrievers, that would be middle age. But since Yogi going to live forever, it's just seven here! 

We took the dude to the pet store and let him and the girls pick out some special treats. He has already enjoyed Fiona's choice and will probably get Quinn's tomorrow. They also picked out a new toy for him. Because like them, he hardly has any ... 

We know that he probably doesn't know that it's his birthday, but he was totally aware that he was the center of love and attention tonight. And that's really all a loyal friend needs.

Happy Birthday, Yogs!