Here I am again, finally at least writing something.
Generally, I do not think of myself in terms of “mini” anything. I tend to think of a, uh, bigger adjective. But folks, I have made the transition. No longer am I a sedan-driving suburbanite; no, I have changed my ways and upgraded. I am now a Mini-Van-Mom.
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This morning I decided to go crazy with breakfast and treat the girls to Pioneer Woman's Real Cinnamon Toast. I managed to screw up cinnamon toast; the girls were less than impressed. Serves me right for going out on a limb for breakfast. I was feeling good about the amount of eggs and yogurt they had consumed and thought a Friday treat was in order. Monday was a much bigger success; I guess I'll stick to making smoothies for our breakfast treats. Let's face it, they're also a lot healthier; I don't have to justify smoothies.
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Anastasia is finishing up yet another round of antibiotics for yet another ear infection. This makes 5 since August for her, which is more than Bella has ever had. It seems that the slightest bit of congestion settles right in her middle ear. This time it was allergies for heaven's sake!
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Just another reason my husband is my hero: Thanks to rolling kitchen cabinet drawer-shelf things (this is pathetic - I can't even figure out what they're called!) Bella can now pick out her own plate/bowl/silverware/cup and bring them to the table. She can also put away her own dishes out of the dishwasher! I love LOVE LOVE this SO much! It's amazing to me how much this little bit of independence has lightened my load, especially when you eliminate me from the Great Dish Debate that goes on in a 2-year-old's mind.
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It was an outside day today - the kind of day when cries and protests are ignored and shoes are wrestled on tiny kicking feet and the front door is opened and suddenly life is better. I knew they would be happy outside, they didn't know that until the sunshine hit their cheeks. Morale improved and we have exhausted sun-kissed Girls to prove it.
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I'm going to bed. Blame my pregnancy brain, or my lack of creativity, or those noisy busy girls who desperately wanted to be chased around the yard again. G'nite.