A Very Happy Birthday Indeed

PS. Yes. That is us laughing in the background.

PPS. Yes. I only had one party hat and had to improvise for Elsa.

Granola

I never thought I'd be a person who makes my own yogurt and bakes my own bread and hangs my laundry on a line to dry. I never imagined that 'pizza night' would mean rolling out my own pizza dough and making my own sauce and shredding my own fresh mozarella. But here I am. And I feel like I've actually become quite adept at those things. I can handle it: the pizza tastes decent, the yogurt doesn't flop more than 50% of the time, my bread actually rises and I really do like the feel of clothes that have dried in the sun. But for all the things that I have learned over our last two years living at Omo, there is one thing I haven't mastered. And I don't think I ever will. My granola struggles. REALLY struggles. Just ask Caleb, he'll tell you. It's terrible. Somehow I take oatmeal, butter, and sugar and turn it into something that tastes burnt and undercooked at the same time. Really, it's like burned dry oats. Tasty.

But. Elsa loves it. My sweet child eats it like it's Lucky Charms. And says, 'Mom, this granola is delicious.' I always used to just say 'Oh, baby, you don't know what you're talking about. Just wait until we go back to America and I buy you some Life. Or Honey Nut Cheerios. Or Special K Red Berries.' So I really thought that after 5 months in the US, I'd be force-feeding the homemade granola to my children whose taste buds had matured and spoiled. But today Elsa spotted a container on top of Leah's fridge that looks like the one we keep our granola in and she about somersaulted with excitement--'Mama! Is that granola up there? Can I have some?' I had to let her down gently--no, that's just the container that Leah keeps her coffee in, but yes, it does look like the container we keep our granola in. Disappointed for a minute (you can't keep Elsa down for long), she just told me, "Okay, Mama, but can we please just go home now? I really really want to eat granola again."

So I guess 5 months in the US can't change everything. My granola will still be terrible. Apparently that is okay with Elsa. She just wants to go home.

"But Mama, We Always Go!"

"Mama, we always take so many trips and trips and trips and trips!"

That about sums up our life at the moment. We're currently in Kansas, enroute to Iowa, coming from Atlanta. I think that Daisy, at 9 weeks, has seen more states than some people see in their entire lives. (Does it count if she sleeps through the state?)

Our kids are excellent.  Maybe this is why?

DVD players very well may be straight from heaven.

But it is wearing, for sure. For example, Elsa is throwing a fit right now as Caleb puts her to bed. Meltdowns are inevitable. But this is the third bed in which she has slept in as many nights. Anyways. Focus on the positives. And the positives are many. We've gotten to spend many sweet nights with friends we haven't seen in ages and family we love. The occasional (or not so occasional, depending on the day) meltdown is worth it.

So here we go. We are headed up to Iowa for the next two weekends to share in some churches, then we'll head back down to Atlanta for a week before the kids and I fly up to Washington on May 5. Caleb will join us near the end of May and then we'll all head back to Ethiopia June 16th. Elsa, apparently, is ready to go home. She told me tonight, after saying what she said about all the trips, "I just want to go back to Omo where we can stay." Okay, baby. Soon.

Lost Without Her

Ezra has been moping all week. You know one of the stories of Toot and Puddle, the one where Toot mopes for a week? "Mope. Mope. Mope.", it says. That is Ez.

The problem?  Elsa is gone. She went up to Tennessee with Caleb (without giving us a backward glance, I might add) and Ezra doesn't know what to do with himself. He has no one to tell him what to do. Poor kid has never had a day to himself, and now that it comes right down to it, he just doesn't know what do now that he has one. Elsa gives him purpose in life--she tells him what, how and when to play, leads him in all adventures, and gives him things to laugh (or cry, as the case may be) about. What's a boy to do without his sister ? Mope, I guess.

And bug Isla. It seems that in the absence of Elsa on which to focus all of his love, adoration, and irritating pokes, Isla has become the new go-to girl for picking on. Isla, though, has evolved over the last two months of us living here with Tim and Leah--she's learned to tattle. Ask Isla what's wrong and she'll tell you: "EZ."

Thankfully, Elsa and Caleb returned this afternoon. All is right in Ezra's world once again.

Let Me Tell You About Daisy

Tiny. She is not. She never has been. But it's somewhat of an optical illusion. Because she's not all that big--6 lbs, 10 oz at birth and now 11 pounds at 2 months. But something about this child is just...strong. She came into the world being able to hold her head up (although if I am to be completely honest, it was probably due to the LACK of a neck rather than STRENGTH of her neck) and somehow the whole "newborn-I-look-like-a-bug" stage bypassed her completely.

She's beautiful. I think she's cuter than our other two at this age (hopefully they'll never read this blog when they get older). She's like an old soul to me. I look at her and she looks back. She watches everything around her with an intentness that is older than her 8 weeks.

She likes her bouncer chair. Correction. She LOVES her bouncer chair. Put that thing on vibrate and she's good for at least an hour. Although I can't say that she has always been so content for the whole of her short life. In fact, this is what Daisy looked like for most of the first month:

MAD.

Don't blame her. The poor thing has reflux. Thankfully, what used to be called "colic" now has a diagnosis--and a medication. So thanks to Zantac and Prevacid, Daisy can now look like this:

Calmer, right?

Thank goodness.

Ezra loves Daisy. When I say 'loves', what I really mean is ADORES, WORSHIPS, SMOTHERS. He is her biggest fan. I hear "Mama, she's cute" at least 20 times a day. I'm not exaggerating. I wouldn't do that about a brother's love.

And I don't blame him. There's just something about Daisy. I love this child. It sounds ridiculous, right? Of course I love my baby. But like I said, there's just something about Daisy. Leah says she's unique. And I agree. Happy 2 month birthday, baby. We're glad that you are ours.

Nola and Daisy

The girls are growing up...(Nola, 2 months and Daisy, 6 weeks)

5 or 32

Elsa: "Do grownups go to bed at bedtime?"

Me: "Yeah, we just have a later bedtime than little kids."

Elsa: "So when I'm five, or thirty-two, I can stay up and play more and eat more and stay outside more?"

You bet.

Hmm...

Things Elsa and Ezra Have Learned Over the Last Three Months:

*They can now recognize the difference between McDonalds (the big M) and Chick Fil A (the Cows) with only the slightest of glances--and know that McDonalds gives them better toys, but Chick Fil A has better playgrounds

*They can now sing "Single Ladies" (Chipmunks version, of course) and "Life as a Highway" (AKA the 'Mack' song), whereas before their repertoire consisted of "He's Got the Whole World" and "Jingle Bells"

*They know that Sundays now mean Krispy Kreme donunts on the way home from church

*Ezra now likes people--at least junior high girls (He giggled through our entire presentation to a junior high youth group last Wednesday)

*They've learned to ask the question "How much longer?" while on our trip from Atlanta to Michigan (and back a week later)