Dadadadada

 Dear Andrew;

Happy Father's Day! The day Genevieve was born was the day we became parents, and the day Rex was born, our family was complete. But really, without us (and let's be honest, mostly me), where would they be? So, it all starts with us.

2 kids: achievement unlocked!

Thank you for being an awesome partner. We've been together for a long time. So long, that when you "solved the puzzle ball while you guys [Genevieve, Rex and I] were sleeping", and I answered, "Suuuuuuuure you did. While we were sleeping. Right."

... You produced a photo. Because you knew I wouldn't believe you.

And when I FINALLY beat the puzzle ball, and I sent you this:

Victory... Is... MINE!

This is - allegedly - rated for 4 year-olds. It took us [Me and Andrew] MONTHS to beat it.

You sent me this:

(And on a related note, take a moment to observe this:)

No resemblance, whatsoever. Or drool.

But enough about our bizarre unique marriage. On to the kids.

You go to work, drive in traffic both ways, and then we slide straight into the nighttime routine. Dinner, shower, books, bed.

I understand (at the very least, the basics) of biology, but moments like these make me marvel at how wonderful and strange having children can be:

Again, with the resemblances!

(If you look closely, you'll notice the SAME SLEEPING FACE.)

I love how you look at our kids.

How was Rex ever this small?

You're also the dad:

... who went on a closing hour run to the store for

- last minute glitter for cascarones
- a replacement Sophie
- Lemon Oreos, because I NEEDED them, like I needed air to breathe.

... who played the part of Elsa, exclusively, FOR A YEAR. (I was cast as Hans, remember?)
... who goes to the store with Genevieve and recognizes her for the evil genius that she is.¹

... who kept filling water balloons, even when that meant that Genevieve IMMEDIATELY threw it at you WHILE YOU WERE FILLING THE NEXT ONE, which you knew she was going to throw at you the instant you handed it to her.
... who helps Genevieve with her - sometimes complex - costumes and jewelry

... who helps Genevieve find solutions to her problems.
... who takes Rex after he's bitten me, and reminds me that Genevieve went through a biting phase, too, and we persevered and were able to preserve our nursing relationship.
... who WD40'd the squeaky swings because it was giving me panic attacks. (Just because they squeak doesn't meant they'll fall, just because they squeak doesn't meant they'll fall, just because they squeak doesn't meant they'll fall...)
... who went and got the torn window decal out of the trash so that Genevieve could have closure, because she told you that she "...would never be happy again." (Quelle dramatique!²)
... who laughs when Genevieve sighs and says, "Dad-deeeee!" in that exasperated, teenage voice. (Funny now, we'll see how funny it is in ten or fifteen years.)
... who is brave in the face of terrifying monsters, and also giant spiders.
... who still appreciates our inside jokes from YEARS and YEARS ago.
... and who still seeks my counsel, personally and professionally.

So, what I'm saying is that even when I'm tired, and short-tempered, I see you. I see all the things you're doing. I'm noticing.

Someday, I'll get over the fact that Genevieve told me she loves you first, and Rex did, too, "I la dadadadada!"

... and someday you'll get over the fact that "dada" means both "Daddy" and "I have a wet diaper".

I love you, and the kids love you.

Happy Father's Day, Andrew. I wouldn't and couldn't have done it without you. 

Love,

Me

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Also, since he definitely bears mentioning...

They ended up in matching outfits, UNPLANNED.

To my own dad...
... who taught me that sometimes, we are the source of our own problems.
... who taught me the importance of being polite, firm, and persistent when solving problems.
... and who told Genevieve she could have cookies for breakfast EVERY DAY, and then told me that - as a grandfather- it's not his job to say "no" to the kids. (Perks of the job, I suppose.)



<sup>1. [Apples and trees, amiright?]↩
2. [See "1", "Apples and trees"]↩</sup>

Lookin' good, Daddy-o

We were at a graduation party (for LittleJ) last Sunday, and Mahvelous Margot mentioned that fatherhood looked good on Andrew.

Baby press-ups: good for the body, good for the soul.

I couldn't agree more.

I mean, who else would think that doing pushups with their baby facing UP would be so much fun?

BEEBO!

Andrew is a phenomenal father. He sings, he dances, and he uses Genevieve as his own personal home gym. That's frugal, responsible, AND stellar parenting.

He wants to be an involved father, so there isn't much that he *doesn't* do, including learning how to brush hair (without pulling on the tangles), and executing a fantastic set of pigtails.

Hair by Daddy

But it's more than that. Being a good parent is about being engaged. He's outdoors-y and adventurous when it's appropriate, and quiet and cerebral with Genevieve when it's time to calm down.

Andrew, I love how you follow her cues, letting her lead you to what she wants or needs. You are a great listener, even when the cues are (mostly) nonverbal.

Like today, when Genevieve wanted to play in the pool. She got her swimsuit and swim diaper, towed you to the changing table, handed them over then said, "Daddy?"

Like any Daddy worth his salt, you melted where you stood, and then got her ready to go for a swim.

I hope that as Genevieve grows up, she never stops thinking that you're the greatest guy in the whole world, and that she never stops looking at you like this:

Best. Daddy. EVER.

Happy Father's Day, Monkey. You're the best Dad a kid could ask for.

Thirty and thankful

I turned 30 two weeks ago, and while I - mostly - believe that age is just a number, I really feel like something has changed inside me. I say "mostly" because there are things that I am "too old" for. Like sleeping on the floor, eating bad food, and navel piercings. (You're welcome, World.)

That being said, I am NOT too old to eat cake for breakfast. I will never be too old for that.

My birthday and Thanksgiving have always been close together, and occasionally overlap. This year, I tweeted something I was thankful for (almost) every day. Even if I didn't get the chance to tweet, I still thought about it every day, which I think is a great approach to life: being thankful for all the good things.

It sounds trite, but I realized that I have so much to be thankful for.

Om nom, indeed.

I am thankful for my DangerMouse. I am thankful for all of the joy she has brought to our family. I am thankful that she is growing up to be funny, generous, clever, *and* beautiful.

A changing table with a view

I am thankful that she is happy, healthy, and a joy to be around.

Seven teeth and a killer smile

I am thankful for the smiles, the giggles, and - of course - the belly laughs. Oh, the belly laughs.

Niki, prepped for his SECOND CCL surgery.

 I am thankful for my dogs, who always take good care of us, and have quickly absorbed Genevieve into the pack. I am thankful that - though Niki tore his *other* CCL on Thanksgiving (and the meniscus, too) - he is recovering nicely from the surgery. I am thankful that in a few weeks' time, he will be back to his usual shenanigans. (And, according to Elphie, not a minute too soon.)

Caught sharing the teething bling

I am thankful for Andrew. I am thankful that he is my partner, through and through, and that on those long nights we can tag each other into the parenting ring. I am thankful that he is a loving and enthusiastic father. Also, he's pretty handy for reaching stuff that's on the high shelves.

I am thankful for a large kitchen table, and the ability to frequently share meals with our friends around it.

I am thankful that the LSATs are over, that KidBrother Sam will be around more, and he'll be able to stop agonizing over that blasted test when he *is* here. (No photo. Thanks a lot, LSATs.)

Thick as theives

I am thankful for my dad, who has found a whole new kind of love in Genevieve. I am thankful that he reminds me to finish my dinner while he attends to Genevieve for a few minutes. I am thankful that, when she is fussy and I am tired, he takes her for walks in the fresh air.

Ain't nothin' like a nap with Grandpa

I am thankful for his moderated approach to giving me parenting advice, and reminding me that I need to take care of *his* baby so that I can take care of mine.

Deep in thought.

I am thankful for my mom. I am thankful for her wisdom, her patience, and her unflagging support. I am confident that I am a good mom because *she* is a good mom; always a pair of extra hands, a sympathetic ear, and she is pure comic GOLD as far as Genevieve is concerned.

A mouse and her auntie

I am thankful for friends who understand that my absence is not from lack of interest, but because Genevieve comes first, and that means occasionally declining when it comes to social activities. I am thankful that the invitations haven't stopped, and that when I need to stay close to home, the party comes to me. A sedate, naptime appropriate party, but a party nonetheless.

I am thankful that my friends have forgiven my flightiness, flakiness, and general forgetfulness. I am especially thankful for their guidance and love; they remind me that while I am Genevieve's Mom, I also am Jasmin. Same person, different uniform, you know?

I've decided. Thirty is going to be a great year. Now get off of my lawn.

Me and my shadow

I love it when Genevieve and I match. I think it's partly because she looks so much like Andrew and my mom, it's nice to have our outfits say, "Hey, we're together!" (It also cuts down on people asking if she is mine.)

It's one thing to spend all of our time together; it's entirely another thing to do it in style.

Wearing our matching Mondo Cable Cardigans at the wool auction

We may have bought an outfit for Genevieve *because* I have a dress just like it. (Also, my mom has a serious Thing for polka dots.)

Polka dots are the new black, you know.

Genevieve is getting older, and Andrew and I were talking about Stitches, and the possibility of my taking classes this year. She'll be more than a year old by then, and Andrew is nothing if not supportive.

"We need to practice having you away from her," he pointed out, logically. "Now that she's not exclusively breastfeeding, we can do that."

To that end, on Saturday, once she had been nursed and put down for her afternoon nap, Mom and I made plans to go to our knitting group. I took the extra ten minutes to put on makeup, high heels, and my good pearls. I carried a tiny, cute purse. Despite the superficial things that normally make me feel fab-U-lous, I felt sick to my stomach.

I can honestly say that leaving Genevieve at home with her incredibly capable, loving, and involved father was one of the most painful things I have done (to date) as her mother.

I stood on the stoop next to mom, holding my keys. I considered skipping going to knitting altogether and just sitting on the stoop- just in case she needed me. Instead, I pulled myself together, took a giant step for Momkind, and went to knitting at Laura's.

I took a lot of deep breaths, talked through my anxiety and guilt (oh, the guilt!) with Mom. I watched my cell phone like a hawk the whole time, so that I could be in the car and home in 10 minutes if I was needed.

I didn't cry, even if I did tear up a few times because OHMIGOD, I'm a terrible mother for leaving my baby to go have fun with my friends. (See?! THE GUILT.)

My phone didn't ring, chirp, or buzz the whole two-and-a-half hours I was there. When I got home, everyone was as cheerful as could be, and Genevieve was SO happy to see me. The feeling was mutual as I swept her up in my arms and gave her the kiss attack of her life.

Sharing the teething bling

They did *just* fine without me. It turns out, it was only tough for me. This "growing up" thing is hard to do. Especially when it's your baby doing it.

Foggy with a chance of exhausted

The other night, I dreamt that we had another baby. Not that I was actively *having* it, but that - boom! - we had a second baby.**

I woke up, looked around, saw Genevieve, but not the other baby. I panicked.

"Andrew," I whispered, so as not to wake Genevieve, "Andrew!"

"What? Is she wet?" he asked, only partly awake.

"Where is the baby?" I asked, insistently. When he looked at Genevieve, I hissed, panicking, "The OTHER baby."

Andrew looked around, worried, then got up and started pulling the sheets off of the bed, looking for the missing baby as if it had slithered to the bottom of the bed like an errant sock.

After the bed was thoroughly checked, Andrew looked at me.

"Wait," I said, "I think we have just the one baby. We just have one baby, right?"

Andrew paused for a moment. "Yeah."

"Ok." I sighed, relieved, and we went back to bed.

Just the one baby.

The best part of this? Genevieve stayed asleep through the WHOLE thing.

**KidBrother Sam pointed out that this would be quite a feat, considering that Genevieve just turned eight months old on Monday.

33

Andrew turned 33 this last week. To celebrate both his birthday *and* Genevieve's rolling over milestone, he took the week off of work to get cracking on childproofing our house. (We will NOT be caught unprepared again.)

You can see the Danger Gleam_TM in her eyes.

I listed a number of his good qualities last year, but with this year's Major Life Change, that list has grown.

Genevieve brings out the best in you: you are patient, kind, and calm.

SuperDad in action!

Even when she is screaming her head off, you keep your cool and rock the 5 S's like a champ. You've worn a groove in our hallway bouncing and shushing and - even though we need to refinish the floors - I think it's a testament to your excellent parenting.

You regularly get up early on the weekends to give me a couple of hours of precious, precious sleep while you spend quality time with our daughter. Once I get up, you make breakfast and coffee.

Quality time in the glider

I love our morning Civilised Breakfasts_TM- where I get up during Genevieve's morning alert time, make breakfast, and then we drink our coffee and eat breakfast without computers, phones, or any of the other modern conveniences that could rob us of our civility while she plays.

I love that you are on board with all of my Attachment Parenting ideas, including limiting/restricting Genevieve's access to television- and that we started listening to the Hunger Games Trilogy together. I also appreciate that you didn't say ONE WORD about me weeping into my dinner at the end of Mockingjay. (You are the "nice one", after all.) I love that you're asking about what we're going to listen to next.

I love that you are into wearing Genevieve (in the Moby or the Ergo), and that you know that the measure of a man isn't being cowed by other people's opinions. (Except for mine, of course. Babywearing dads are super-hot.)

I love that you are thoughtful, and that thoughtfulness extends out to my mom, too. We are both still enjoying our bouquets of roses for Mother's Day.

I love watching you play with Genevieve.

Super-wiggly baby!

I love how your eyes sparkle when you look at her.

You see it, too, right?

I love how you've risen to the challenges of parenting, and you make it look effortless.

Okay, some times are easier than others.

Most of all, I love that you have a sense of humor when it comes to me, my crazy ideas, and the honey-do list I set up for you on Pinterest. I love that you still heckle me over thinking that Queen was a one-hit wonder band for Bohemian Rhapsody, since I didn't realize that I know (and like) a lot of their songs.

I love that you pick cute clothes for Genevieve. I am simultaneously terrified and intrigued at the thought of what you'll pick once I really start sewing for her.

Parallel impromptu naps!

I hope Genevieve marries someone just like you someday. But not in a creepy Electra complex way.

Happy (belated) birthday, hubs.


[SIDE NOTE: I swear he owns more than just the "Got Crabs?" t-shirt that he got at The Crab Pot on our honeymoon.]

With a little help from my friends

A few years ago, Andrew and I figured out how to juggle the holidays so that neither of our families felt jilted. We would follow German tradition and do the bulk of our celebrating on Christmas eve, have breakfast (*coughbrunchcough*), and open our gifts in a leisurely manner.

In the afternoon, Andrew and I would mosey over to his family celebration and have Christmas dinner with them. It was such a simple and elegant solution; I felt like a genius for working it out.

Christmas eve dinner is always crab, and we invite our closest friends to join us. It's the BEST. Sure, it requires some planning, but it's totally worth it.

This year, I couldn't do most of the things I normally do to plan. Andrew has been running around like Buddy the Elf, trying to get everything done, and I'm directing via lists from the couch. The tree isn't up this year because there just wasn't time. But Christmas isn't about the tree.

We made our list this morning, and we went through the timeline for the day to make sure that (a) dinner went on as scheduled and (b) I didn't "overdo it" (Andrew's words). As the guests arrived, I was told to sit and direct; so I did.

Laura (the Joy of Cooking Fairy) took care of the crab, Andrew roasted a chicken (for my father, who is not a fan of shellfish), Bromantic Brandon picked up ice for the drinks, Mom did dishes, Snackary lined the table in paper, and MacGuyver Colleen cracked the eggs for the homemade egg nog. Our one-butt kitchen was a-bustling with activity.

(Side note: The egg nog recipe from The Joy of Cooking is AMAZING.)

It was a team effort, and that's really the message of the holidays, right? Nobody was stuck cooking all by themselves, or cleaning up solo. The Holiday Cheer^TM was abundant, the food was delicious, and we had enough egg nog to share with our neighbors.

The evening wouldn't have been the same without the company of our family and closest friends; it wouldn't have be do-able without them either. That's the sign of real friendship; everyone seems to come together when times are tough, and when times are good, we all just bask in the goodness.

I'm a little sappy about it, but this is my first year needing help, and for this type-A, control-freak, it is incredibly reassuring to know that - believe it or not - I don't have to do everything.

Slipped deadlines

There are 9 days left until 2012. It appears that I will not be finishing Andrew's sweater before the ball drops. I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am that I won't be meeting this goal.

Andrew understands; I can't knit with swollen hands, with my feet up and my torso reclined, *or* through the hormone-related joint pain. Still, his sweater sits on a TV tray next to the couch, with its half-knit sleeves mocking me with how close I got.

If I was a less confident person, I would worry that Andrew took the not-finishing-his-sweater as a sign that I don't love him. Since I'm not, I'm taking a sweater-half-done approach; I'll have to keep him around long enough to finish the sweater, which of course, is a sign that I love him even MORE, right? (I'm glad we're on the same page.)

With any luck, the swelling and joint pain in my hands will subside, and I'll be able to finish it up before SharkBean makes her debut. If not, then Andrew will just have to wait until I get around to finishing it. Let's face it, if a handspun, handknit sweater isn't worth waiting a little longer for, then I don't know what is.

Two dog night

I mentioned in an earlier post that Andrew painted in anticipation of our Grownup Furniture^TM. Part of painting included dismantling our very well-loved bed, and sleeping in our guest room.

When we bought the bed for the guest room, I *insisted* (all those years ago) that we spend a little extra and buy a queen-sized bed. I hated people who would invite couples to stay over, only to have them (us) on a twin bed; either we'd have to squish, or rock-paper-scissors for the bed. Even if Andrew *had* ever won, his feet would have dangled over the edge. I vowed to never be that hostess.

The salesman, when we splurged on a high-end mattress for the guest room, asked us were we really, really sure? Considering that our guests sleep soundly, Mom recovered from cardiac surgery, and one of us sleeps on it when the other is sick, yeah. I have never regretted this decision, except when I end up on a subpar mattress when traveling. My own fault, really.

We sleep on a California King bed, normally. There's enough room for my beloved but oversized Andrew, myself, two dogs, and the Snoogle. (The Snoogle is the best invention, ever, by the way. I have to wrestle both dogs *and* Andrew for it. Every night.) The dogs come and go as they please, and usually it's one dog or the other on the bed- unless it's REALLY cold outside. You know, like 40 degrees.

(For the record, the house never gets below 60ºF/15.5ºC. My dogs are both double-coated Chow mixes, and they're indoor/outdoor dogs. Who don't like the cold. It gives entirely new meaning to a two dog night.)

What I have observed in the last few nights is the following:

The smaller the bed, the more creatures want to be in it at the same time. Proof:

Andrew took this picture when I was sleeping, sick on the couch. Charming man.

I'm just lucky that we're not all sleeping on a twin. If the theorem holds, we'd have to share it with an opossum. Or something.