Jennifer’s

Twenty-six weeks in, here are the ten things I cannot live without:

1.  Gap maternity skinny jeans:

2.  Gap maternity easy straight jeans:

3.  Gap leggings:

4.  Steve Madden booties: (these are not quite the pair I own, but close enough)

5.  Too Faced Natural Eye Shadow Collection:

6.  Asics Gel-3010:

7.  Palmer’s Lotion: no stretch marks yet, fingers crossed!

8.  Origins Make a Difference moisturizer: my face was coming off in layers before I started using this cream day and night!

9.  Origins Clean Energy: again, used to combat the dry, dry skin I have this time around!

10.  John Frieda Root Awakening Health Infusing Shampoo and Conditioner:

Dear Isabella:

I love your silly moments, of which there are many, your intelligence, which continues to amaze and frighten me, your utter domination of language, about which you receive numerous compliments and looks of astonishment from people when they find out how young you are, your love of music and Guitar Hero, and your passion for letters, their sounds, and words.

You have quite an unusual taste in music for one so little, Isabella.  Your loves range from Veggie Tales to Susan Boyle to KISS to Coldplay to Beatles to Raffi to nearly any song on Guitar Hero.  Your wide musical preferences collided, in true Glee form, in your own mashup of “Rock ‘n Roll All Night” and “Goodnight Irene.”  You even have your own rock ‘n roll hat that you don whenever you and Daddy play Guitar Hero.  I love watching you grab your microphone and listening to your sweet little voice sing or yell out, “I can’t hear you!”  You even like to tell me that you, “like to rock and roll all night”!

You often break out into song or sing little tunes as you are busy playing.    I, too, am a lover of music so often I will join in or start up another song.  You used to be tolerant of this, but as you become more musically savvy I think my days as a songbird are numbered as evidenced by your remarks when I broke out into melody.  “Mommy, what’s that noise?”  After I said I was singing you told me to stop.  Clearly, your ear for music is far more developed than mine and the sound of my voice makes it bleed!

You are fascinated with knowing people’s full names and then love to assign those names to other people than to whom they belong.  You also love pretending to be someone else and then forcing the person your playing with to call you that name and take on a new name for themselves. Over the last few months Daddy has been called “Daddy Rae Woolsey”, “Prince Charming Keith Woolsey”, “Shrek”, “Marv”, “Tim”, “Sleeping Beauty”, “Sir”, “Mowgli”, and “Baloo”.  I have personally been called “Mommy Rae Woolsey”, every Disney princess under the sun, “Grandma”, “Rhi Rhi”, “Grams”, “Lola”, “Lotta”, and “Princess Fiona”.  For better or for worse you were introduced to Shrek while in Indiana and ever since then you have been fascinated with reenacting scenes from the film and calling us by the characters’ names.  It’s a little hard to keep up with your imagination sometimes, so we often call you the wrong name, which results in a very bossy, “No, call me…”.  The best was when Shrek (aka Daddy) called you Princess Fiona, you glared and demanded, “No, call me donkey!”

Speaking of imagination, they don’t really come much bigger than your’s.  You are just as content with no toys around as a room full of them because anything you can grab becomes a useful tool in your mind.  I recently bought a new pair of running shoes and as I was replacing the insoles your eye was caught by the factory insoles as they had a pretty pattern in bright vivid colors.  You immediately asked if you could have them and over the next few days they became everything from your beach shoes to skates to pencils that we had to cart around everywhere.

Somewhere along the line you’ve learned about ghosts and often come running up to me, grab my legs, and pronounce, “Mommy, I’m scared.  See that ghost?”  Of course, we tell you that ghosts aren’t real, and you know this, but for some reason you love to pretend to be scared.

You only have to see or hear something once and it is forever etched in your brain.  Thus, you are able to open any of your books, glance at the pictures and can give a near perfect reading of the book.  Many times our play involves acting out some scene from a Charlie and Lola book or a scene from Jungle Book, your absolute favorite movie.

Did I mention that you are quite the talker?  The things that come out of your mouth and the level of sophistication of your words and the thoughts behind your sentences is mind blowing sometimes.  You are extremely fascinated with stars, the moon, and the sun and where they go during the day or night.  On an evening walk you asked me if there was only one moon, so we got into a discussion about planets and moons.  You then paused, looked up at the sky and then at me and asked, “Is there only one Venus, Mommy?”  On another walk you stopped to admire a neighbor’s Halloween decorations and then commented on their landscaping, ‘There are literally thousands of rocks in their yard, Mommy.”

You have already figured out how to manipulate language in order to get what you want.  On the drive back from CO this past Thanksgiving we grabbed a cookie before returning to our hotel for the night.  We all had a little bite and then put the bag away for another time.  You kept begging for another taste, which was continually denied.  You then looked at us and said, “I just need to hold the bag.”  The look on your face was priceless; you honestly believed that if you were clever enough to think it we were surely dumb enough to buy it!

You’ve also become very fascinated with the concept of love and figuring out who loves whom.  You weren’t satisfied until you’d gone through every person you know and determined who they love: “Mommy loves Daddy and Izzy”, ‘Sir loves Grams”, “Grandma loves Tim”, etc.  And to that end you are becoming more expressive about your own affections.  You say adorable things like, “Daddy, I’m sure glad you’re my Daddy” or “Daddy, I sure love you” or “Oh baby, I like your eyes.  They are beautiful” or “Mommy, I sure like playing with you!” Keep it up kid; you might get that pony after all!

I love when we are playing and all of the sudden you’ll demand we sit Indian style and cross our arms.  You then look at me and say one of two things; either, “So…what should we do now” or “I’ve got a good idea, Mommy.” From there you usually try to boss me around into doing whatever you have decided is our next move.  Recently, this has involved proceeding to your big kid bed, climbing under the covers, and waiting while you go get presents for me to open.  This game is a tad difficult to play well as the presents are always imaginary ones, but my reactions have to be geared toward whatever gift you see in your mind.  More than once I’ve been chastised that I am not responding correctly or I’ve named the wrong gift!

We’ve been transitioning from baths to showers of late.  This is really a result of your mother’s laziness as it is far easier to throw you in the shower, soap you down and rinse you off.  Two minutes and you are clean!  You love prancing around in the shower stall, but you are less a fan of me using the hand nozzle to rinse your hair.  As the water pours over your head you often yell out, “This is not good for me!”

Isabella, you are turning into quite the helper.  I cannot put a pot of water on the stove without you dragging a chair over and asking, ‘I can help too, Mommy.  Okay?”  You love to stir up ingredients or wash dishes.  If only the latter would last into your teen years!  When Daddy was disassembling your crib you were right there in his hip pocket helping and supervising the project.  Every time he’d carry a piece out of your room you would yell, “I’m right here, Daddy” as if to reassure him that if he needed your help you were just a yell away.

You had your first experiences with snow this winter.  Your first encounter was over Thanksgiving break in CO.  There was just enough snow for you to walk in, touch it, and taste it, which upon your initial, hesitant taste, “Snow tastes like…food.”

Based on your nonchalant attitude towards snow we figured it wasn’t your thing, but then came our Christmas vacation to IN and a lot of snow (at least by AZ standards) and you suddenly became a much bigger fan because you realized snow meant being pulled around in a sled, snow angels, and snowball fights with Sir!  All you could talk about after that second experience with snow, boots, and getting your coat on to go outside!

When you were born I couldn’t imagine loving you anymore than when your eyes first looked into mine; yet, here we are nearly two and half years later and I am completely amazed at how the love I feel for you now completely diminishes that first love.  You are my pride and joy, Isabella.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy

I don’t what your meal planning routine is like at your house, but here in the Woolsey household we have a fairly wide pendulum that swings between being very daring and trying a new recipe every night to sticking to the same basic meals week in and week out.  Brian and I both love to cook, but after a full day’s work, running errands, coaching for him, etc. sometimes cooking up another exciting meal is beyond us.  That doesn’t mean, however, that I am not constantly looking for easy to make meals that are cost efficient and tasty.

When Mom Central contacted me about participating in a blog tour for Rosarita Salsa I jumped on the chance.  We love salsa and I figured this would be a chance to try something new in the kitchen.  I was sent two of the three new salsas Rosarita’s created: Mild Salsa Mexicana (a mild Mexican salsa) and Medium Salsa Verde (a zesty, green salsa).  If you are a fan of spicier varieties of salsas don’t be dissuaded by the terms mild and medium as both my husband and I thought both salsas spicier than the normal mild and medium salsas sold in stores!

The other great thing about Rosarita’s new salsas is that while they are great for dipping they also work really well as a topper in Mexican dishes like tostadas, enchiladas, and tacos.  Part of the salsa package I was sent included two recipe suggestions for the salsas I was given to test.  One of the recipes was for Enchiladas Verdes (Green Enchiladas) using Rosarita’s Medium Salsa Verde.

Ingredients:

• Cooking spray
• 1 jar Rosarita Medium Salsa Verde, divided
• 3 cups shredded cooked chicken
• 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
• 12 corn tortillas (I substituted four for corn tortillas)
  

Directions:

• Preheat oven to 375,  Spray 13 x 9 inch baking dish with cooking spray.  Spread 1/4 cup of the salsa over the bottom of dish; set aside.
• Combine chicken, 1/2 cup of the salsa and 1/2 cup of the cheese in a medium bowl; mix well.  Set aside.
• Spray both sides of each tortilla with cooking spray.  Heat one at a time in skillet over medium-high heat on both sides until slightly puffy and softened.
• Top each tortilla evenly with about 1/4 cup chicken mixture; roll up.  Place seam-side down in prepared baking dish.  Cover with the remaining salsa; sprinkle with remaining cheese.  Cover baking dish with aluminum foil.
• Bake 30 minutes or until cheese melts and sauce is bubbly.

Both Brian and I really liked this recipe and found that it was even tastier when reheated the next day.  The salsa verde added just the right amount of spice and flavor to the chicken and cheese!

The other recipe I was provided with was for Spicy Chicken Tostadas using Rosarita’s Mild Salsa Mexicana.

Ingredients:

• 1 (16 oz) can Rosarita Traditional Refried Beans
• 12 tostada shells, heated according to package directions
• 3 cups shredded cooked chicken
• 4 cups thinly slied iceberg lettuce
• 1 jar Rosarita Mild Salsa Mexicana
• 1 cup crumbled queso fresco cheese
• Fresh avocado, peeled and sliced, optional

Directions:

• Place beans in medium microwave-safe bowl.  Cover; microwave on HIGH 3 minutes or until hot.
• Spread each tostada shell evenly with beans.  Top each with chicken, lettuce, salsa, and cheese.
• Serve with avocado slices, if desired.

I was pleasantly surprised by this recipe as I am not a fan of refried beans AT ALL!  The flavor of the salsa, chicken, cheese, and avocado blended nicely and did a great job of masking the taste of the beans.  This was a very quick and easy recipe and again, provided tasty leftovers for the next few days.

Overall, I highly recommend Rosarita’s new line of authentic Mexican salsas.  At $ 2.99-$3.29 for a 16.75 oz jar they are reasonably priced and do lend themselves very well to dipping and cooking!  The only downside to Rosarita’s new salsas is that they are only available in four cities- LA, Dallas, Phoenix, and Denver- at select Walmart and grocery stores.  If you live in one of Rosarita’s new markets you should definitely try out these new salsas!

“I wrote this review while participating in a blog campaign by Mom Central on behalf of Rosarita and received a sample to facilitate my candid review. Mom Central sent me a gift card to thank me for taking the time to participate.”

Today is the day of reckoning: at 3:30 this afternoon we will find out the baby’s gender.  I am one part excited and two parts nervous about the news.  It’s no secret I am a girl’s girl and have thoroughly enjoyed every. single. moment of raising a girl (thus far- get back to me when she turns thirteen!).  I know nothing of the world of trucks, toads, punches, broken limbs, and rumble tumble boys.  And, to be honest I really don’t want to.

Ultimately, I want what every parent wants: a healthy, intelligent, well-adjusted child.  Beyond that I am crossing my fingers and sending prayers heavenwards that we get all of that in another girl!

This time around we turned to the internets to see if we could do a little self-diagnosing and determine the baby’s sex ahead of time.  The Old Wives Tales to predict gender are vast, bizarre, and well,  just plain hokey, but nonetheless very, very entertaining and, as you will see from the results, fairly accurate.

Test 1:  Pick up a key.  I picked it up by the round part.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 2: Coughing, numbers, letters, and names.  I coughed while eating, chose the number 25 which corresponds to Y, and picked a girl’s name.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 3: Previous child’s first word. Isabella said Daddy first (punk).  The baby will be a boy.

Test 4: Mother-to-be’s age and year of conception. Both were odd (31 and 2009).  The baby will be a girl.

Test 5: Salts vs. Sweets. I don’t really have cravings during pregnancy (no vats of cookie dough or fries for me), but in general I prefer salty things to sweets.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 6:  Tree trunks vs. Trim and Fit. My legs are far more trim and fit (thanks to running and spinning and genetics) than to tree trunks.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 7: Crabby vs. Cordial. I don’t really have major mood swings, pregnant or otherwise.  I do think I was fairly crabby towards many students during my first trimester; it is hard to say if that was due to pregnancy or dealing with immature freshmen all day.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 8: Heel vs. Middle. Again, another test about cravings.  I don’t like the heels of bread, so I had to choose the middle.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 9: Dry vs. Chapped. My hands are ALWAYS dry (despite obsessively slathering them in every hand lotion known to man).  The baby will be a boy.

Test 10: Eating vs. Throwing Up.  I have not had so much as a hint of morning sickness through both pregnancies.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 11: Pregnant all over vs. Pregnant in the front. During my first pregnancy, and thus far with the second, you cannot tell I am pregnant from behind.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 12:  Ring test. The ring swung around in circles.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 13: Clumsy vs. Graceful.  I don’t know if I would ever be described as graceful, but I’m not exactly falling all over myself, so I went with graceful.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 14: Heartbeat. Isabella’s heart rate was always in the 140’s.  So far Baby Woolsey #2’s heartbeat has been 145.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 15:  Interest Amongst the Toddler Set. The boys at Isabella’s school love to talk to me and vie for my attention whenever I arrive to pick her up.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 16:  Ask your current child. Isabella says we are going to have a baby sister and then we are going to have a treat.  The baby will be a girl.

The results: 16 very scientific tests later it’s a virtual tie.  Eight tests say the baby will be a boy and eight tests say the baby will be a girl. 16 tests later we know what we knew when we started: we have a 50/50 chance of having a boy or girl!

Your challenge: In the comment section tell us your prediction for Baby Woolsey’s gender.  We will contact you with the joyous news  in the order in which you comment!

It’s no secret:  I am not that great in social situations.  As a rather shy person, I much prefer the anonymity of large crowds in which I know not a single soul over a small crowd in which I know not a single soul.  The fewer the numbers the more chance of actually having to talk to someone beyond the formalities of polite society.  I’m just not good coming up with idle chatter and so spend the entire time in a small crowd searching for some kind of hole in which to crawl.

I have no trouble going shopping, out to eat, or to a movie by myself, but ask me to attend a party or meet up with a small group in which I know no one or only a few people and suddenly I become very, very uncomfortable and generally do anything I can think of to avoid such situations.

Brian and I have been together for six years now, so this personality quirk should be more than apparent to him, especially when you consider that he, too, is less than comfortable in social situations.  Thus, you can imagine my surprise when he announced that our next door neighbor stopped him to extend an invite to me to come over later that night for a “Girls’ Night”  and he told her I would probably be interested. (Bare in mind that we have lived in our house for three years and in those 36+ months I have maybe seen this particular neighbor about five times and have said “hello” to her about three times.  I don’t know her name nor would I recognize her if I saw her out of the context of her front yard.) 

At the time I was about ten weeks pregnant and suffering a horrid sinus thing, so I wasn’t apt to go for a “Girls’ Night” even if my BFF called let alone haul myself over to a virtual stranger’s home to subject myself to an evening of  prolonged awkwardness.  After berating Brian for saying I would be interested I put the whole thing out of mind and settled in for a night of hanging out on the couch reading to Isabella. 

Brian had to leave for a bit, but when he returned he mentioned the party again and asked if I was going to go.  Given that I was in the same spot I was in when he left, wearing my jammies, and hocking up snot I thought the answer obvious, but he would not let it go.  He suggested that he would at least go over and let our neighbor know I wasn’t coming.  Listen, I may be socially inept, but even I know it strange if a 32-year-old woman sent her husband over as some sort of courier. Instead, I sighed deeply a few times (just so he’d know how out out I was by the whole thing), donned some flip flops, and walked over to the house. 

I rang the doorbell, but of course was greeted from yelling inside to just come on in.  Our neighbors’ house is such that upon entering the front door you are immediately deposited in a long hallway that empties directly into the living room, which is where the majority of the guests were located.  Those that did not have a direct line of vision peered around to see the new arrival.  So there I am, facing a sea of unknown faces thinking to myself is one of these ladies my neighbor and I’m just not recognizing her and why did I have to choose the track pants that make me look about ten .lbs heavier?  I decided to hide out in the dark hallway and call my neighbor’s name, which I learned mere seconds before heading over to extend my apologies for not being able to stay.

At the sound of her name, the neighbor came around the corner and gave me a great big hug as if we were the best of pals.  Perhaps this would have put any other person at ease, but for me it just added to the uncomfortable feeling washing over me.  I dove right into explaining how appreciative I was for the invite, but that I was not going to be able to stay due to a long work week and a nagging illness.  I think I said something about not wanting to get other people and their kids sick.  She looked crestfallen as she said, “But there aren’t any kids here, so don’t worry.”  I replied that I meant that I was fairly contagious and so would fear spreading germs that would continue to be spread to other households.

At that point I should have taken a bow and made for the exit, but I found myself opening my mouth and saying, “How’s it going?  Looks like you’re having fun.”  How in the world I would know if they were having fun is beyond me because all I’d done since arriving was avoid looking at anyone for fear of having to talk to someone else I didn’t know.  She then said, “Yeah; hold on a second…” and ran to grab something.

It occurred to me, then, that this “Girls’ Night” was really just some guise to get people to come over for some kind of jewelry, candle,  kitchenware party and was relieved I was not staying.  If there’s anything I hate more than going to some social function where I know few people, it’s a social function that is tied to the obligatory feeling of having to order something so the hostess can get enough sales to get some free crap.

When she returned she handed me two catalogs and before glancing down I said, “Oh, I’ll look through these and let you know if I want anything”.  I then glanced down and it is a wonder my eyes did not fall out of my head for this wasn’t something as innocent as overpriced measuring spoons or handbags; it was a Passion Party.  As I tried to recover a guest yelled out, “Stay.  We’ve got drinks, too.  What’s better than sex and alcohol?”  My mind still reeling, all I could think to say was, “I’m ten weeks pregnant, so no drinking for me and well, I guess the sex has already happened.”  I really don’t remember what transpired after that, but it felt like another ten years before I made my escape.

I sprinted back home and when I busted through the door Brian said his suspicions about the party’s true nature were confirmed.  Of course he claims nowthat it only occurred to him that this was a sex toy party after I left to give my regrets.  I still think he suspected all along and sent me over there just to see how I would handle myself.

There couldn’t have been a worse person to invite to such a fete.  If I don’t like discussing bodily functions, then I sure as heck don’t want to talk about the nature of my sex life with other people, let alone complete strangers.  When I told this story to a good friend she, of course, was laughing at my misfortune but said that if she had to make a list of 1, oo0 people to invite to a Passion Party I would never, ever make the list. 

Call me a prude, but when I glanced through the “literature” I couldn’t believe the products being sold for home use.  I figured on a little lube, maybe edible panties, and a few marital aids (Please, someone explain those to спални комплектиBri.  How does she, of all people, not know?), but oh no, this was full on pornesque.  I felt like the catalogues needed to be burned and that I needed to wash out my eyes.  I still break out into a sweat when I think about the awful nature of that party and the awakwardness of the night and how that awakwardness returns everytime I see my neighbor’s house.  I am forever scarred.

What awkward social moments have you experienced of late or what awakward social moments has your significant other put you in?

So, this little corner of my life has been neglected of late.  It’s quite odd, really.  I have plenty of things to write about: Isabella continues to amaze us each and every waking moment with her humor, intelligence, and sweetness, there’s work to rant about, there’s the awkward social moment my husband got me into, there’s the new baby/second pregnancy thing, and of course, all the lovely, lovely fashions I mourn I will not be able to wear in the upcoming months.  And yet, even with a two hour prep in the middle of the work day, I find myself using that time for what it was intended so as not to linger after school or to drag anything home.

1) My school schedule is cake this year, have I mentioned that here?  I teach a Fashion Design class, a Life Facs class (common sense life skills that apparently most parents no longer feel essential to teach their children so the state does in hopes that all those bottom feeders will at least know how to sign those welfare checks), and honors English.  My fashion class is not really even work to me; I enjoy planning, teaching, and grading the student work.  Life Facs is such a joke that I generally leave the grading to my TA and the planning is done by another teacher who has taught the class several times.  She passes along what she’s doing the following week, I copy it, give it a glance, and then just b.s. my way through the lessons.  English is something I’ve taught since day one, honors now for eight years, so I could never plan and be just fine.  So far, the most I’ve had to do at home is read a couple chapters or go over my teaching notes for a class! 

You would think this would make me enjoy my job more.  And I suppose I have to admit it is far less stessful than years past, but it doesn’t mean that I enjoy shaping shapeless minds and dealing with parents who must overcompensate for everything any more than I have the last decade. 

2)  I am 3 1/2 months pregnant.  I never experienced morning sickness or crippling exhaustion.  The worse I’ve suffered, so far, is a nagging cold/sinus funk that never leaves.   It has presented itself in coughs, runny nose, sore throat, and gunky eyes but this is all preferable to hacking up at that mere thought of food.

I am, however, suffering from extreme jealousy.  Why you ask?  For a very, very silly reason.  I am ready to train for another marathon, but obviously my body is preparing itself for an endurance event of another sort.  I have several friends who are in the midst of training and while I really hope all goes well, I cannot help but wish I was joining them.  Which is just crazy because hello: new life in May and the rest of my life to train for a marathon.

3)  A few weeks ago I received an email from Gap with regards to their maternity line.  It emphasized that their current line was designed with pregnant women in mind: the need for casual comfort.  I looked at the clothes and immediately got fired up.  For the record, I do think Gap has some great, comfortable maternity wear; I may or may not have dropped a few dollars on some stuff during the recent Friends and Family event.  However, what I was taken back by was that fact that Gap, like most maternity lines, assumes that comfort means t-shirts, cotton pants, which are glorified sweat pants, and a general lack of uniqueness or styling.

It’s no secret that I love clothes, perhaps to a fault and somewhat vainly.  I love feminine detailing, ruffles, unique design/construction, and pieces that aren’t just run of the mill, picked this up at Old Navy.  Being pregnant throws that part of my personality for a loop.  Right now all is good because I can still wear my normal clothes with the exception of a few shirts or dresses that are more tailored.  However, the end draws nigh, I know, and then I will be stuck with the shapeless maternity wear that every store, that I can afford anyway, calls fashionable…Oh, J.Crew, why don’t you do maternity wear?  I feel like you and Jenna could get this right.

Where is the materntiy version of this:

or this:

4) Two weekends ago we moved Isabella’s big kid bed into her room, which means currently her bedroom is more of a storage area and less of a bedroom.  To give you a little perspective: her crib is shoved against one wall, the big kid bed (a twin with a trundle) is in the middle of the room- we’ve pulled the trundle out so it is between the bed and the crib in the event the little monkey rolls over a little too much-, and her changing table/dresser and the big kid dresser (a tall, five drawer beast) are against the other wall.

Isabella is beyond thrilled about the bed.  When we settle in for the night she says, “Do you see my big kid bed?  It’s so pretty; I like it so much.”  The most thrilling part, however, is that now she can just get up as she pleases.  This is partly our fault because we had been doing naps in the big kid bed to get her used to sleeping in there and had never really talked about not getting up when you awake because a two hour nap is acceptable.  However, she now assumes that this means it is okay to climb out of bed, pad down the hallway, stand by my side of the bed, holding Gloria (a stuffed hippo), and announce, “Hi, Charlie!”  (I am Charlie; she is Lola from the hit series Charlie and Lola.)  The good news is that even though she has somehow managed to climb out of the bed (in a super dark room), walk down the hallway, and awake me from a deep slumber she is, in fact, still sleepy herself.  I just scoop her up, whisper in her ear that I love her, but it isn’t okay to get out of bed in the middle of the night, tuck her back in, and within a few minutes she is out again.

We are going on eight nights in the big kid bed.  So far she has slept a couple of nights all the way through without suddenly appearing by my side of the bed, a couple nights it has happened once, and a couple nights it has happened twice.  Is this a learning curve?  I can remember getting up in the middle of the night to awaken my parents or to crawl into bed with them, but in my mind, anyway, that was generally associated with an illness or fright.  Isabella is simply getting up because she can.

I’ve heard of people locking their kids in at night or putting a baby gate across the door to prevent the kid from exiting if they get up.  I don’t know that I’ve reached that state yet.  Right now it’s no big deal to pick her up, tuck her in, and go back to sleep; however, I don’t want to create a monster and I do want her to learn to stay in bed.

Any suggestions?

Sorry for the not so great quality:  I took this photo of a photo in a shadowy room.

Timeline: Nine weeks two days; due date around May 25th, 2010!

Weight gain: 0 lbs (so far), but seriously my boobs are reaching disgusting stage…sorry if that’s too much info!

How I’m feeling: TIRED, TIRED, TIRED!  No throwing up or feelings of such, though, so I’ll take tired any day! 

Exercise: Still running and weight training.  I will probably switch to spinning only in a few months!

Baby names:  (as suggested by Isabella)  Becca or Isabella (for both a boy or a girl!)

This is a review for the Harry Connick, Jr. project with One2One Network. The only compensation I received was a copy of Connick’s new album, Your Songs, released on September 22, 2009.

Let’s just go ahead and address the elephant in the room: Harry Connick, Jr. is one handsome devil, isn’t he?  Combine his physical hotness with his vocal hotness and well, you have the perfect package for a crooner who sings about the nuances of falling in love.  We, the listener, cannot help but being swept away in the romance, the tension, and the longing.

With Your Songs Connick takes much beloved songs by artists such as Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Tony Bennet, and Nat King Cole and puts his own special spin on each track.  The songs are one part familiar and one part new as Connick attempts to reinvent each track with new vocal arrangements and instrumentation.  At times, Harry Connick, Jr. makes you forget that these tracks were ever sung by anyone but him and, unfortunately, at other times, Connick’s rendition makes it glaringly obvious that some tracks and some artists are never meant to be reinvented, imitated, or copied.

My favorite tracks on the album are the ones in which Connick’s iconic vocal stylings are front and center.  Amongst my favorite tracks are: All The Way, Besame Mucho, The Way You Look Tonight, Some Enchanted Evening, Smile, and Mona Lisa.  Each of these songs is reminiscent of Harry Connick, Jr.’s predecessors from the age when crooners ruled the stage and airwaves.  This is the music my grandparents listened to and the only music they said was worth dancing to. As I listened to each track, I realized they were right.  These tracks are easy to listen to and discuss love in a way we all hope it exists.  As Harry Connick sang, I couldn’t help but imagine myself in some candlelit romantic comedy, and while that may not be reality, shouldn’t good music, like good literature, art, film, and food, transport us to another, better place, if even for a few minutes?  When these songs play you want your dance card to be full!

On the other hand, some tracks paled in comparison to the aforementioned ones.  Connick’s unique qualities were lost on tracks like, Just The Way You Are, Can’t Help Falling In Love With You, And I Love Her, and First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.  Unlike other tracks these songs don’t conjure images of romantic dances; rather, they are somewhat like listening to cheesy, karaoke, albeit well sung, covers.  I am a firm believer that some tracks should never be touched because the original artist made the song so iconic that you cannot separate the two.  This was very true for some of the covers on Your Song, which was never more true than when Connick covered Elvis Presley’s  Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.  Obviously, that song is a staple in the Presley catalog and Connick just didn’t do enough to make the song his own.  I found myself simply comparing the two artists instead of being swept away by Connick’s voice.

On the whole,  Harry Connick Jr.’s Your Songs is an album you can put on and never have to advance through a song.  If you would like to see more about the album follow the link to watch the “Making of Your Songs“.

Dear Isabella,

You would think I would have gotten my act together for something as monumental as your SECOND birthday, but alas, my failures as a mother are many.  This has been a rough fall for me as I struggle to get back in the groove of teaching and reconcile myself with taking you to school three days a week.  I find I devote all my time at work to getting work things done so that I have the freedom to devote all my non-work time to hanging out with you; thus, many other things not required to do either one of my jobs tend to get pushed aside.

But, back to you…so you turned two almost two months ago, which you happily announce to anyone who happens to ask.  You proudly hold up your pointer and middle finger and proclaim, “I AM TWO!”  Two means so many things to you: sometimes it means you are a big girl and can do anything that’s everything all by yourself and other times it means you are a little girl who will not ever give her Sir her thumb; it means some days you are all about potty training and princess pull-ups and other days you are content to hang out in a wet, steamy diaper all day; it means learning that some things are just for you and other things are meant to be shared; it means hugs and kisses and snuggles and emphatic insistence that, “No, thank you” you would not like a hug or kiss or snuggle; it means that some nights you want to sleep in your big girl bed and other nights your crib is just fine; it means coloring to fill the blank spaces in the coloring book and coloring to fill the blank spaces on your arms and legs; it means talking excitedly about school when you are not there and crying about school when you have to go; it means you named your babies “Brian” and “Mommy” and confuse Mommy and Brian every time you say you want to see “Brian” or “Mommy”- do you want animate or inanimate “Brian” or “Mommy”?-; it means you got your very own seat on our most recent flight and promptly climbed out of that seat onto my lap; and sadly, it means that every. single. second whatever vestiges of your babyhood remain are vanishing and that every. single. second you sprint towards really and truly being a big kid.

Given that you are the first two- year- old Daddy and I have been personally responsible for, we’ve wondered whether the intelligence we see in you was nothing more than the syndrome of proud and prejudiced parents.   At your two year well visit our suspicions were confirmed: you are indeed rather advanced for a two year old.  When she went through the laundry list of items that a two year old should do we couldn’t help but chuckle.  The PA asked if you talked in short, two-three word sentences.  Um, let’s see, you talk in entire chapters with words that most of my high school students are unaware exist.   The PA was very, very impressed with your verbal skills.  When she came in and asked how you were doing, you replied, “I am good.  How are you?” and paused for her response before telling her about what you were playing.  Later, when she started to listen to your heart and lungs she gave you a tongue depressor to play with.  You turned to me and said, “Look, Mommy.  I do my nails” and proceeded to “file” your fingernails.  The PA, your dad, and I looked at you in shock.  The PA was shocked because of your imaginative play, but your Daddy and I were trying to figure out where you had even seen a fingernail file before because goodness knows the last time a file was taken to my nails was when I got them manicured for my own wedding!  Later, while the PA was checking your vagina, you said, “Mommy, she’s checking my diaper.  That’s a good idea!”

We talked about the fact that you love books and have been pointing out objects in books practically since day one; you are extremely curious and want to know what everything on a page is called or want to show that you know what everything on the page is called.  What I didn’t tell the PA was that you also sit down with books for hours on end and “read”.  You have many books nearly memorized and if it’s an unfamiliar book you merely look at the pictures and make up the story, which always ends with “The End.”  Charlie and Lola continue to be your go-to book series; we are slowly building your collection- I think you have 15 or so now- and you frequently go around reciting lines or reenacting scenes from the books.

Recently, your Grams purchased you some red, shiny shoes just like Lola’s, and I thought you were going to lose your mind when you first saw them.  You immediately sat on the ground and demanded that you wear your new red, shiny shoes, which by the way, are always referred to as “red, shiny shoes”. Whenever you wear them you proclaim, to whomever is within ear shot, “I’m wearing my red, shiny shoes!  Look!” (I think you really expect people to kiss those fabulous red, shiny shoes! ) For quite a long time you needed them on every waking and sleeping moment, but what especially makes the red, shiny shoes so special is that with them you learned the difference between right and left!

Your Daddy had been occasionally working with you on this, but then Grandma got the brilliant idea to mark the bottoms of the red, shiny shoes with a L and a R.  Within the day you learned the difference between right and left!  Of course, now this means that the infamous two year old independence rears its head and you demand to put on all your shoes with a “I’ll do it myself” and then a “I got it!” once the shoes are on the proper feet.

About that independent streak: over night you decided that being two meant there really wasn’t much you can’t do on your own.  You went from still needing some intervention when drinking from a cup without a lid to demanding you could do it without me, and successfully I might add.  You rarely want help except when it comes time to do clean up and then suddenly, you turn into a helpless creature who cannot possible be expected to put all the toys away without aid.  I’m on to you, Isabella!

One of your birthday presents was a target gift card from my friend, Shannon.  You were over joyed to see the Target logo as it truly is one of your favorite places to go.  We, and by we I mean Daddy and I, decided to use the card to purchase another princess nightgown because HOLY MOSES if we even dare run out of one of those and have to offer something far less pleasing to THE PRINCESS we might as well beat ourselves with chains for all the guilt via tears and pleading you throw our way.  We also bought a Leap Frog toy that basically tells you the letter and the sounds it makes when you insert a specific letter into the toy.

You are so in love with this toy.  Whenever you want to play with it you ask, “I want my letters, please!” as if to imply that all 26 are truly just for you.  You have known your ABC’s and the song for quite some time now and can even recognize big A and little a, big B and little b, C, M, O, P, Q, S, W, V, Y and Z when you see them on paper, so I figured the toy would serve to help you hear the different letter sounds and begin to recognize more letters.

When we went to IN a few weeks ago you had only had the toy for a couple weeks, and as it was still new and exciting I thought it would be a perfect toy to bring along.  On our flight home we were playing with your letters when you chose “A”.  After the toy went through the info about “A” you turned to me and said, “There is an A in Isabella.”  I wasn’t too surprised you knew that because I often spell and write your name for you.  I followed up by asking, “Who else has an A in their name?”  To my surprise, you responded, “Sarah, Brian, Rhiannon, Daddy, and Grams.”  I nearly lost it; while you certainly know every one’s names and various roles, we have yet to work with you on the spelling of those names as we wanted you to get your own name down first.  Later, you were able to repeat this amazing feat with other letters and other people’s names.

Another new, and oh so exciting, skill you developed of late, is the ability to reach up and turn a light on or off.  You love nothing more than to do a sneak attack when Daddy is working in the office.  You take off running, turn off the light, squeal and run straight for my arms in the event your Daddy tries to get you!  You laugh and laugh and then with perfect comedic timing you wait just until Daddy gets comfortable again and then you repeat the joke…over and over again.  And you get quite upset with us if we usurp our roles and dare to turn a light on or off without first giving you the option of doing so.

I am amazed at the stuff you know.  I am sure you’ve picked it up from listening to people, reading, etc., but sometimes it really seems you just know things instinctively.  Recently, we bought some raisins and as you were eating them you looked at me and said, “It’s not a grape anymore, Mommy.”  I knew I had never talked to you about what a raisin really is, and when I asked Daddy he said he hadn’t either.  How can a two-year old just know that kind of stuff?  Your creativity, humor, temperament, memory, and just general adorableness continue to amaze us daily.

One of your favorite birthday presents this year was the kitchen your Grandma got you.  You love to cook up fabulous meals like boiled pizza and baked milk; we never want for a gourmet snack around here.  You are also very, very interested in helping me in the kitchen.  Whenever I start to cook, you drag a kitchen chair over and demand to help!  I’m looking forward to making Christmas cookies with you this year!

Isabella, it is hard to believe that two years of your life have already passed.  I can still remember the first time I saw your sweet little face and realized that my life was forever changed- in the best possible way.  Being your mother has been nothing but a blessing and full of fun and adventure.  As you continue to test your independence just remember that you will always be my Little.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy