Giving Thanks

We had the pleasure of hosting the grandparents for Thanksgiving. Their visits are a big thrill for Harry, who always seems to receive some replica NYC vehicle when Paba appears (this year: the city bus). Our day of turkey began with the local Trot, which circles right around our house (Eliza and I pushed Harry and peeled off after a couple miles, while Paul finished the race -- he may have been wearing Eliza's chip, we're not sure, so were there a time-prize for her age bracket, we're pretty sure she would have won accolades).

Before dinner we visited our friends the Swansons, old neighbors from my years down the road in Del Ray. We don't see enough of them, so their pre-turkey cocktail party is always a pleasure.

Then it was home for the main event. It's the first year I haven't cooked stuffing. Instead we gorged on whipped, roasted garlic mashed potatoes (Harry helped rice the spuds), Celery root soup (surprise- it was great!), homemade cranberry sauce with a hint of orange, brussel sprouts roasted with Fuji apple, a bird (somehow not dry...not the biggest turkey lover me), a light gravy courtesy Cooking Light (it's a keeper) and Grandma Barnes' pecan pie (courtesy Aunt Phebe who sent us the recipe). It was not an elaborate meal, but it hit the spot -- might have been the seconds, not sure.

We have so much to be thankful for it could fill volumes, but the most important is surely our family -- both the babies we hold so dear and the relations we don't see very often. We love you all.

Now I Know Why They Call it "Black Friday"...

...because it's black when you leave the house to stand in line. Untucking from Thanksgiving dinner, no one thought I was serious about getting up before the break of dawn to go shopping. But this wasn't any shopping...this was yarn shopping. The newly opened Fiber Space shop in Old Town opened their doors at 6 a.m., offering a 25 percent discount on other-wise exorbitantly priced wool. And Being the sheep lover that I am, I fell for it. So there I was, in the dark, standing in the cold with other equally enthused nut-jobs, sipping coffee (thank you Fiber Space) and waiting for my turn to enter the store which was PACKED with other freakishly-serious knitters. It was so fun!! What does this have to do with the kids? Other than the fact they have a crazy mother? Well I'll tell you, thankyouverymuch, I bought yummy yarn to knit them sweaters. Confession: I can't wait for next year's sale. I think I'll get there a little early(er).

Merry and Going Around

Remembering that your oldest has an issue with motion sickness is ideal before you plunk the family on a vigorous carousel (more centrifugal forces than you'd imagine on a merry-go-round), but we forgot. Fortunately Harry kept his breakfast down and asked for a second ride, then a third. I was marveling aloud at the cost, $2.50 a ticket, when I was informed by other visitors to our nation's carousel (installed on the mall in 1967) that in fact Boston's ride is $4.50 a ticket. I stand corrected.

So yes, the lovely but brisk weather found us out on Smithsonian row where we also visited the Natural History Museum. Charlotte was the biggest fan, positively oohing and pointing at all the mammals in mid-strike, jump and run. Great exhibit. You almost forget they're stuffed. (The whole experience brought back memories of a story I wrote long ago about people who have their pets stuffed post mortem. Ah...what a glamorous career journalism).

Unveiling A Newer, Older Look

Potty Mouth is proud to unveil a new look -- our banner has been updated to reflect two (sob!) growing babies. Hardly babies anymore. Even Charlotte looks like a little lady now. In honor of this Potty Mouth milestone (I'm sure that was it), Harry used his potty on Sunday (twice), awarding himself with a self-congratulatory "I did it!" Three cheers for Harry, and for PM's technical director (Paul), who styled us up a new digital wardrobe.

Toque du Jour

Our time spent watching the movie Ratatouille (film summary: rat discovers he is a born chef, ends up in Paris where he is dubbed the city's finest cook) has made an impact on Harry. I was taken aback by his request Friday to wear not only his apron, but his matching hat. "Your what?" I asked, pulling out the rolling pin. "My Hat mommy!" The toque in question has been perched on the head of a copper dog planter in the kitchen since the day it arrived in the mail. But if Ratatouille wears one, then apparently so does Harry.

It is worth noting that mom thinks her little chef is responsible enough (or she is dumb enough) that she allowed him to pour out a bottle of molasses into the gingerbread batter.

A Tutu, a Tricycle and Thou

I chanced upon this photo this morning. Somehow it slipped by me during the Halloween, H1N1 drama. It really cracks me up.

Getting to the Bottom of it

Who needs a spoon when you have a tongue?

Ice Princess

After taking an exploratory poke in the freezer this afternoon, Charlotte decided it was a fine place to park her fanny and dive into a tray of homemade Popsicles. She's a clever one, that girl of mine. And a little chilly.

Damnit Jim! I'm a Toddler, Not an Astronaut!

Apologies to Dr. McCoy and a hearty scolding to anyone who doesn't recognize the oft-uttered Star Trek phrase. But it's on my mind, having spent the afternoon with our dear friends the Riviellos (and their terrific kids, Tote, Julia and James) at the Udvar Hazy Center. They were in town from Pennsylvania for a parents play date: a chance to hear the Alexandria Symphony Orchestra perform and dinner out. Meanwhile the kids took over the livingroom with plates of pizza and a stack of movies -- Harry is now in love with Ratatouille, thanks to our sleepover.

This morning, after heaps of waffles, we headed over to UHazy and its mecca of airplanes. Harry and Tote literally ran through the cavernous place yelling "mommy look at this plane! Mommy look at this one!" They reminded me of Irish Setters, pointing here, pointing there. (To the left you'll see them piloting a Cesna together). But the headliner of Hazy is definitely the Space Shuttle Enterprise, featured on Potty Mouth this summer. It was just as great this time, and thanks to the passage of time, Harry was at least 10 times more excited to see it, if that's even possible.

Cookie Dough: the Best Medicine

There is no better cure for the Tropical Storm Ida Rainy Day Blues than a batch of cookies. Harry and Sabrina are masters at batter-licking and cookie-cutter pressing. Still need some work, however, on the transferring-cookies-to-baking-sheet and, left alone, they are apt to try to decorate one cookie with half a bottle of sprinkles. You'd think they were, I don't know, toddlers...

But with the help of Sabrina's half-deflated balloon dolphin (worn as a hat of course) and the promise of cookies fresh from the oven, they worked very hard as little chefs and were rewarded. This morning Harry's only request was for, yes, "cookies for breakfast."

Hair Piece(s)

Harry really enjoyed modeling these beautiful hair clips made by our friend Katie. Until he realized what they were.

You Say Tomato

So robust were our tomato plants this year (by contrast the pumpkins were a complete dud) that our plants were still producing when we yanked them out of the soil last weekend. Harry and Charlotte both engaged in collecting the unripe fruit for what will soon be turned into end-of-season green tomato chutney. After the tomatoes were yanked we planted garlic, a seasonal favorite of ours. Just pop it in the ground in November, sprinkle with the hay inhabiting the Halloween scarecrow and come summer, fragrant cloves.

Knit One, Purl Two

It's a Herculean task these days finishing a knitting project for the kids. Much desire, no time. Well that's not entirely true. By the time I have time (9 p.m.), I'm just too zonked to concentrate. But I did manage to finish, at long last, a winter sweater for Miss Charlotte. China-pattern blue, to match her big ol' blinkers. I think she looks precious in the stylish wide collar, if I do say so myself.

It Takes Two....

....to dismantle the diaper bag down to the crumbs embedded in the liner. If only they were as skilled at putting things away.

Pile In, Pile On

There is no substitute for a big old pile of leave. Harry and our buddy Pearl yesterday lost themselves, literally and figuratively, in the joy that is a huge mound of crunchy dead foliage.

BFF

We don't see Lucy very much these days, but any mention of our sweet girlfriend elicits delight from Harry. While Harry isn't much of a hugger, he was happy to get a squeeze from his best girl. I'm sorry but you can't fake a smile like that.

Lucy and her sister Hannah and the rest of our playgroup contingent of toddlers joined us in the backyard Friday for not one but two jumping sessions -- to make sure the moon bounce was still in working order. Despite a sea of elbows and feet, it seemed the more kids we threw in the more fun they had.

El Diablo

Tonight, after I tuck in my 2-year-old cherub, I am going to pull back the covers and check for a small mark on his neck in the form of a "666." I know people think over-zealous moms write blogs to brag about their kids. I do a goodly amount of cooing over my all-too precious offspring. But this week, with Paul away, Harry has tested my patience in so many way that I would be a big fat liar to leave it out of the digital dialogue.

Yes, he's 2-and-a-half. But sometimes it seems like my otherwise bubbly, friendly boy goes out of his way to channel positively the worst habits of a 2-year-old, most notably when it comes to his sister. To a stranger, a friend in the park, or a preschool teacher it would seem like he is the model of good behavior. But boy, put him in the living room with his baby sissy and, like last night, out of nowhere he will tackle her to the ground, squashing her little body into a heap until she cries. Seriously, call the NFL. Sometimes he acts like she's the best playmate around. Other times he very sneakily will ask to be hefted up to look into her crib and then POW! smack her in the head. I honestly think he likes to make her cry!

These days any admonition is like a personal challenge to my toddler. "No" means do it more, make it worse, whatever "it" is. Sometimes I am totally powerless. Scolding, timeouts, walking away, they just make no dent. And I feel like absolutely the WORST mother on the Earth. Especially when I see other kids Harry's age acting so loving toward their siblings. Is it just my kids? I so want them to like each other, to be those children who grow up the best of friends. But soon I fear you may see us on one of those Nanny 911 shows. It's enough to make a mother, who wants nothing more than to brag about her kids, cry.

Halloween For Beginners

It may technically been Harry's third Halloween, but really it was his first foray into the realm of door-to-door candy grubbing. We put the kids into the wagon and off we went. Harry hopped out at each stop (if it was a spooky, dark doorway, he needed mom to pick him up, but otherwise he knocked on each door) and with some prodding said "trick or treat!" He made sure to follow-up with a hearty "thank you" or "happy Halloweeeeeen." If he received two piece of candy he offered up both.

Charlotte and Harry were both super well-behaved, which was a shocker after receiving their H1N1 shots earlier in the day. Many thanks to Eliza for line-sitting for three hours in the drizzle while the kids attended a holiday party. She's a good grandmother, that one. If you're looking for scary on Halloween, mass inoculation clinics is it.

Charlotte complained not once as we rattled down the sidewalks in the dark, her brother smooshing her toes every time he climbed back into the wagon.

Despite the on-and-off rain we had a lot of visitors, including some guests -- Cynthia came to see-off the would-be trick-or-treaters (she sewed my matchy-matchy skirt to twin Charlotte's pumpkin fairy costume) and Annie, dressed as a bear, was on our stoop waiting for us when we got home. Harry very happily settled on the steps, candy bag wedged between his legs, and gorged on chocolate and lollipops until it was time to for bed. I was sure he'd wake up Sunday and demand his many leftovers, but he's not mentioned them once. I hear the trash bin calling.

Cheerio, pip pip

Paul left for a week-long work trip this morning. I haven't been too concerned. Single-parenting is tiring but do-able. But perhaps I have not been worried enough. Moments ago the nanny summoned me to the kitchen where a very teary-eyed Harry confessed to having stuffed a Cheerio up his nose. He did not like my idea of using the tweezers to extract it. Fortunately a few blows into a tissue and there it was. (While the offending cereal would have eventually dissolved, he did not seem eager to wait it out). I can only wonder what other delights await me this week.