I'm a slacker

Oops, I just realized I haven't updated this since the first day of school. What a slouch I am. But in my feeble defense, life's been a wee bit busy here in Whoville.

There's been the adjustment to kindergarten, including the infamous frame-it-to-show-to-your-boyfriends note that read: "Dear Who I's parents: Who I has been kissing some of the boys. We've put her in time out, had the center director talk to her and another teacher talk to her, and she won't stop. Please talk to her." Yes, I'm the proud mom of the kindergarten floozie.

We've had new ballet classes for Who II, and the insanity of sicking the killer bees on the neighborhood for Halloween. Oh, and a visit from grandpa during which I discovered neither he nor hubby had ever carved a pumpkin. What's with THAT???

Then there's been the birthday season. Whos I and II celebrated in October with a rousing time at the local gymnastics spot, where the zip line was all the rage (and even Mama Who gave it a whirl and lived to tell about it). And Baby Who is now 3 and celebrated with five of her closest 3-year-old friends at our house (I'm certifiable) with the help of a wonderful children's entertainer.

Oh yeah, and we've squeezed in a trip to South Carolina to deliver three gorgeous flower girls to their Uncle Dave's wedding.

And did I mention we got a new dog? She's now officially my fourth child. The cats, well, not sure where they rank.

So maybe it sounds like excuses. But life is churning along here in Whoville. Maybe the photos will speak for themselves.

Bring on the holidays!

Milestones

It's been an eventful week here in Whoville. The cage is gone. So is Cousin It. and the first 12 years of life inside a school have begun!

We kicked of the week in grand style, disassembling Baby Who's crib and officially agreeing with her indignant declaration that "I a Big Girl now!" We hadn't planned to set her free to move about the cabin just yet, but a scheduled visit from our friendly window installer necessitated moving all furniture at least two feet from the windows. And since Baby Who's room was starting to resemble a furniture showroom, with the twin bed just waiting for her to grow into, it seemed like it was time to say a nostalgic farewell to the crib that has kept the little monkey confined so well for almost two years. Oh, and did I mention we did it on a school night? No, we're not right in the head.

But she loves it.

A few days later, it was off to the marvelous Zefan for haircuts. Only this time, Baby Who got to go too. Mind you, the child is nearly 3 and has never had her locks trimmed. And, um, it showed, though Grandma Mimi was uncharacteristically tactful in not mentioning that her youngest grandchild had long ago begun resembling Cousin It. I knew I was going to have to do something when the dermatologist, who was looking at the Who-lette's skin, NOT her hair, said abruptly, "You really should cut her hair." That was in May. I finally got the guts to do it in August -- not because I didn't like the Pebbles Flintstone look that kept her scraggly wisps out of her eyes, but because Uncle Who is finally getting hitched, the Whos are going to be flower girls, and I don't want his future in-laws to think we're really the great unwashed. Or, in this case, the great uncut.

Baby Who, by the way, did marvelously. And she can see now without hair devices and no longer resembles a TV character or a shaggy dog.

Both events would have been enough to send this Mama Who into tearful sniffling as she realized her babies were growing up. But today was the final straw -- the Big Whos started kindergarten!

We took the traditional front step photo before heading off to school. Then I took some more when we got in their classroom at the church where they'll attend kindergarten.

As you can see, Who II was psyched -- it's nearly 9:30 p.m. and we're still scraping her off the ceiling as she continues to declare, "I had a very good day! I love kindergarten!"

Who I? As my dear papa knew so well, a picture speaks a thousand words. And I don't think any of them are printable.

If you haven't heard about baby Stellan ...

This is little Stellan. He and your family need your prayers right now. It's amazing to see how his MckMama has kept a journal of her faith even while facing the darkest times in her life.

Sometimes you're the windshield ...

And sometimes you go "Splat!"

This is what I walked into when I dropped Big Who off at school yesterday after learning that four of her no-enamel teeth needed fixing (thank you, Third World crappy nutrition).

Baby Who had just become one with the pavement. Apparently, she was pushing a bike at full speed (she really doesn't have any other speed) and tripped. Bike kept going -- and apparently she did too, earning a lovely case of road rash right down the middle of her face.

My immediate reaction was "What HAPPENED?!!!" Followed quickly by, "NOT THE FACE!"

The pediatrician assures us she'll heal, though we're going to have to work hard to prevent scarring. Daddy's already looking for plastic surgeons and a plastic bubble to keep her in. Baby Who? She's barely missed a beat after the initial reaction.

Ah, drama. Enough, already!

Nostalgia

I remember as a kid being overjoyed every time the ice cream truck came past our house. Our folks, as I recall, were pretty indulgent, and I know I ate my fair share of the patriotic red, white and blue bomb pops. Anything to make your lips look extra ghoulish, right?

Our neighborhood now reminds me a lot of the one where I grew up. Lots of families, kids out playing and riding their bikes. So it was no surprise when the familiar tune of the ice cream truck showed up a few weeks ago.

What was surprising was my reaction.

Maybe it's just innocence lost. Maybe I've read one too many stories about Bad People who prey on children. But the ice cream truck creeps me out now. So I've resisted the eager eyes who look imploringly upon Mean Mama Who, begging for a treat. No sugar before bedtime, I say. We have ice cream at home, I add.

Today, I caved.

I've been feeling crappy for weeks, and we're still trying to figure out why. I've had enough blood tests to make even a vampire feel full. We've ruled out a bunch of bad stuff but still haven't figured out what's messing me up. It's sucked, quite a bit, because I know I haven't been a lot of fun to be around. I haven't had energy for much more than what absolutely needs to be done many days. Who I, my deep thinker who worries about whether her body will stink when she gets big and still cries over the dog we lost a year and a half ago, has even asked her daddy, "When you and mommy die, what happens to us?" and told me, "Mommy, when you die, I'll be sad."

Sheesh.

But today, finally, was a good day. I spread mulch, with the help of Who I, and my flower garden doesn't look like a weed patch. I finished the laundry and did the grocery shopping. My house doesn't look like pigs live here for the first time in weeks. So when the ice cream man hit our street and they heard the music, I didn't say a word. I just grabbed some cash and said, "Let's go."

Yes, the ice cream man creeped me out. I'll probably have the same reaction when we take them to the fair. There's no way they're going to ever go without adult supervision. And my husband simply shook his head at me when he saw I was letting them have SUGAR that close to bedtime. (This is the same man who thinks the cinnamon rolls from the place with the yellow arches count as dinner for the wee folk.)

But sometimes, even Mama has to break the rules. And the joy on their sticky little faces was a much-needed reminder of how incredibly blessed I am.

A sprinkle(r) a day

Five years ago this week, we got a phone call that changed our lives. There was a little girl in China who was waiting to make us a family.

Little did we know that we would meet two of our daughters that day, or that China would beckon a third time. It's probably best that we didn't know that back in June of 2004, because we'd have freaked out. Big time.

But the best plans are often the ones made for us instead of by us, and as you can see, the joy of Three Whos is hard to beat.

Money well spent

Today was Who II's first dance recital. They actually didn't call it a recital, but a year-end demonstration. I think that's to take pressure off the kids. But mom was a mess!

The stress started with the very explicit instructions about hairstyles. "Style however you want, just don't do pigtails (oops, there goes my area of "expertise") and if you do a bun, make sure it's on top of the head, not on the back (oops again. How do you keep slick little Asian hair on top of one's head???)." So being the smart mama I am, I called in reinforcements. $20 later, we had princess hair, courtesy of the wonderful Zefan!

Part II of Mama Who's mania came when we tried on the tutu (I just love saying that word, don't you?) and it promptly slid down Who II's nonexistent hips. Remember, this child is nearly 6 and weighs a mere 35 pounds. And that's being generous. So out come the needle and thread. Mind you, home ec was not my best subject. Needles are best suited in my household for removing splinters. But I managed to take up the waistband without bleeding all over the lovely lilac tulle. Victory!

So off we went to said YED (code for year-end demonstration), where Who II was most definitely the best ballerina of the bunch. She's only had four months of lessons, while the other girls have had at least a year. Even the teacher told us how good she was and what a quick study she'd been -- to the point that the other girls followed her lead.

It was wonderful to see her smile and to see how self-confident she was. This is a child who's found her element. So guess who's on tap for more ballet lessons?

Plie, anyone?