Making progress with the hair

I am trying to quit being such a slacker when it comes to Clair's hair.

It's not as easy as it sounds because her hair is still not long enough to do all that much to it, and it's ultra-ultra curly so taming those wily curls takes time, and she still has that maddening baby baldness just a bit in the back.

Not to mention the fact that she hates to sit still to get her hair done, so half the time I'm trying to do her hair, what I'm really doing is twisting her body around, or re-positioning her head or saying, "Clair, no! Sit still. Stop it. No, Clair. Mommy's almost done! Please, Clair, stop it. Be patient. Clair! Clair! Clair!"

But today, I actually managed pony-puffs! (They're not really ponytails and they're not really Afro-puffs, so I'm calling them "pony-puffs.")

She looks happy about them, no?

I did this while getting ready for work even, so check. me. out!

I would like to point out that when I posted this photo on FB this morning, a good friend thought my Mom did her hair. Or Michelle. "I just knew you had nothing to do with this," he wrote.


And when I texted the photo to my Mom, she texted back, "Her hair looks cute. Who did it?"

LOL! That just goes to show you that I really do suck at doing little girl's hair. But I warned the world that this was the case waaaay back when I discovered I was growing a girl child in my uterus.

So I don't feel all that bad. I recognize where I fall short, people. I can't be fabulous at everything!

But I'm trying!

I got 99 problems and they're all birthday party related

The boys turn 3 on May 11. I turn 40 on June 11.

This year, Lester and I both want to plan a proper party for C & D, with their school friends and cupcakes and fun, fun, fun!

I also want to do something -- something -- to celebrate my entry into the fabulous, fearless, far-from-frumpy 40s!

But I am struggling with the logistics of planning two parties at once, and frankly, the cost.

And whereas Lester and I pretty much have decided to have a cookout party for the boys at a nearby park, I can't make up my mind about what I want to do for my own celebration.

At first, I had this grand plan to have "Tanika's Diamonique Jubilee," patterned after the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. As we all know, we ain't got diamond money over here, hence the "diamonique." That means lots of fun, but no flotilla (I know, sad, isn't it?)

I envisioned a big room full of all my friends and loved ones from various points in my life, eating and drinking and dancing, and laughing at photos of me and my various horrible hairstyles throughout the years. But the problem with being a friendly person is that you amass a lot of friends! The list just kept growing and growing (some of you were even on it!) And the funfest I'd envisioned turned from a birthday party into an open bar, PA-system-for-the-speeches-and-scrolling-photos, catered-wedding-like-affair. I looked at our checking account and looked back at the Google doc I'd started and just cracked up laughing.

So I thought maybe I'd have a nice dinner at a favorite restaurant. But I can't get the guest list down to a reasonable number and the thought of making people pay for their own food and drink at my Jubilee made me feel like a loser.

I don't want to go on a trip, not for this -- I want to celebrate with my friends and loved ones!  So a luxurious week at this Jamaican resort is out. (For our 10th wedding anniversary, though? Now that's a possibility!)

Finally, I settled on a good old-fashioned house party. But as you know, the Davis house is crammed as it is with too many people and far too many toys. There's really no room to bring the house down the way I'd want to. And there's still the cost and the work involved in cooking for a jillion people, buying the drinks, cleaning the house (before and after) and figuring out what to do with the kids while I blast New Edition and Justin Timberlake and classic 80s hip-hop.

Argh!

Not to mention the fact that I am LOSING MY MIND on Etsy finding all these cute party accessories for the boys' party. Do you think it's crazy to spend $55 on cupcake wrappers and toppers? $30 on personalized noisemakers?? Am I going MAD??

And have we picked a "nearby park" for this cookout? Noooooo. Of course not.  It's only a month away. ARGH!

Anyway, I'll figure it all out and it'll all be just lovely, I know. But I need this space to rant and de-stress, so that's why all of you get to be privy to my first-world whining. Aren't you lucky?!

Who said TV was terrible?

Yesterday, Dean was outside on the porch "talking" to our next-door neighbor, who's 4 or maybe 5. Gregory gave Dean two Cars trading cards. Dean was jubilant.

Cary was inside begging me to read the Magic Schoolbus, which is way too old for him (and annoying as &*!# to read to a 2-year-old) and so he completely missed hanging out with the neighbors. By the time he realized treats were being handed out, Gregory was out of trading cards. Cary was crushed.

For a portion of the evening, Dean enjoyed lording his two trading cards over his brother. Thank God preschoolers' attention spans are like 5 seconds long, because eventually Dean moved on to other things and the cards were temporarily forgotten.

This morning, however, the cards were back. My nerves got all jangly thinking about the whining that was about to ensue.

Much to my surprise, Dean climbed up on my bed, handed Cary one of the cards, accepted Cary's hearty "Thank you" with his own hearty "You're welcome!" and all was well in Davisville.

What the what? Whose kids are these?

I smiled at the two boys. Dean caught my approving look and said, "Mommy, Yo Gabba Gabba says (singing) 'Sharing with my toys is good!' So me have to share with Cary."

Then, they proceeded to "share" back and forth, handing their cards to one another and then waiting patiently for the other one to hand it back.

It was lovely.

And I am not mad at all that my kids barely listen when *I* tell them to share, but jump to do what DJ Lance Rock tells them to.

Now to find an episode that encourages them to pick up their *&!# toys!

Dean reports that he knows how to read!

After dinner yesterday, Dean came up to me yelling, "Mommy, I know how to read! I know how to read like Russy knows how to read!" (They love and look up to Russy so much!)

 Here's his version of "reading:"

Isn't that the cutest thing? He's so excited!

I love it!

Crowdsourcing for Kids' Music

After my post yesterday, my sister sent me a note saying that she has a favorite version of "Crawdad Hole" by a children's musician Elizabeth Mitchell.

She gifted the song to the kids through iTunes and we listened to it this morning. It was slower and sweeter than the version we hopped around to two nights ago, but it was quite pretty and the boys and I both enjoyed it. I'll add it to the repertoire.

We listen to a lot of kids' music in the house and in the car, but it's either VeggieTales, traditional kids' songs from a CD I bought before the boys were even born, or the Pandora Sesame Street station.

It's all good -- well the CD is a little lame, I'll admit -- but it's probably time to add some artists to the playlists.

What kids' music do you all like best?

The Crawdad Hole: Showing some Internet love

Last night, the boys were dancing and singing around the house as they always do and I noticed that they were very badly garbling the words to "Fishin' in the Crawdad Hole," which is a song they "learned" in music class.

So I started to try to break down the lyrics for them, saying each word slowly and carefully. But then it was clear that these city kids don't know nothin' 'bout no lines or no poles or no danged crawdad holes. So although they were trying valiantly to repeat the words after me, the looks of confusion on their faces showed me this was making no sense.

So I broke out the ole iPhone. Ole Trusty, I like to call her.

And I Googled "fishing poles." Together, we scrolled through a gajillion images of people fishing, and I pointed out the pole and the line and explained how people use fishing poles to catch fish that we can then eat! (The shock on their faces was priceless! We EAT the fish in the sea?! Say what?!)

After that, we Googled crawdads, but they looked really gross to me -- little wannabe lobsters, but short and scraggly and off-colored. Yick.

So instead, I Googled "Fishin' in the Crawdad Hole," and found an MP3 of a raucous country version of the song.

Then I played that thar song on Ole Trusty and the boys, Clair and I danced and jumped around in our living room, Riverdancing and hollering, "Yee-haw!" and it was awesome. It got even more awesome when the boys went and grabbed their red, plastic guitars and started plinking away on the strings, like they were banjo-plucking or fiddling in the band.

We all laughed and danced and had a hoppin' good time. And I wondered -- how would this night have gone differently in 1983, when no one had Internet access, and certainly not on their phones? I'm not saying it couldn't have happened. I just sincerely wondered how.

I know a lot of people have a lot to say about how "screen time" is ruining children, and how the world was so much better when electronics weren't so ever-present.

But boy, you couldn't have convinced us lunatics of that last night, clappin' and knee-slappin' and jumping around to our very own living room jamboree.

You get a line and I'll get a pole, Honey
You get a line and I'll get a pole, Babe
You get a line and I'll get a pole
We'll go fishing down the crawdad hole
Honey, Baby, mine.

New foods weekend

I love okra. Okra and artichokes are two vegetables I really love but never know how to cook.

But this weekend, I finally got around to trying this wonderful recipe my friend Stacey gave me from a traditional Jewish cookbook she has at home. Called "bamia," it combines okra, tomatoes, lemon juice, cilantro, garlic and onions in such a beautiful way, I cannot even tell you. It is yummy! And very pretty to look at, too.

Look at all that yummy okra!

Some recipes I've seen for bamia call for meat, but I decided to make this one vegetarian because lately I've been feeling like our family eats a lot more meat than we probably should.

(Don't worry. I'm not going all vegetarian on you. Never, ever, ever will that happen. Just trying to have a little pity on my intestines every now and then.)

I made it, put it over a quinoa and brown rice mix and braced myself for the Negative Nellys. But, much to my surprise, my kids loved it! Cary and Clair especially. Dean was more like, "whatever." But no one said, "Ewww!" or refused it. And then the two boys made up an okra song and danced around the house. (Okra is a funny word, I'll admit.)

And since I was in a try-out-new-foods flurry, I decided to make a saucy chicken, mushroom and artichoke dish, which also has lemon juice, and a little yogurt. It is sooo good, and is chock full of artichokes! We didn't try that out on the kids, but I'll bring out leftovers tonight at dinner. We'll see if I can go two for two with new veggies they'll eat (and like).

Speaking of Stacey -- and new foods -- yesterday the boys and I went to her house for pancakes. Much to my surprise, she makes hers with buckwheat. My boys have never had buckwheat pancakes and I was worried they'd turn their noses up, but -- true to form -- those two greedy-greedies stuffed themselves with pancakes (with bananas and blueberries) and turkey bacon and drank up all Stacey's milk and now I feel like I owe her money. That's how much they ate! (I kinda ate a bunch of food myself, so I can't blame it all on them.)

We had a great time playing with Stacey and Hugo and eating all their food. They ate so much, I think they grew. See for yourself!

Who are those big boys?? Good grief.

(Thanks so much to Stacey for the pancakes, the playing and the recipe for okra-tomato-goodness. I love my friends!)

Can't believe I'm saying this

But I have nothing to say.

I am not usually at a loss for words (that's a polite way of saying I jabber on an on all day long), but I honestly don't have anything exciting to talk about. Or even anything mundane to the world but interesting to me (which is what this blog mostly is).

I have been feeling a little lackluster with my thoughts lately, I think because I joined Twitter. I had to do it for my job because we had a presentation about how more and more reporters are getting pitches through Twitter and we can use it to get the word out about client work, etc. So I joined. And I made a few comments for a couple days. But everytime I go to the site to Tweet something, I find I have absolutely nothing to say.

And then when I pop on over to Facebook, which is still my favorite social networking site, I find I now have nothing to say there either.

And now the disease has moved over to this blog.

Anybody got any bright ideas? Any burning questions? Things you want to know or discuss? Complaints? Now's the time to get 'em in.

Otherwise, we'll see what comes of the weekend. Maybe by Monday, I'll have a thought worth sharing.

Happy weekend, all!! Pray for the end of this endless winter!!

Clair Davis: Supermodel

A friend of mine Janelle is the fashion editor of Baltimore magazine. Their staff had the brilliant idea to do a first-ever Kids Guide to Baltimore and Janelle asked me if she could borrow Clair for a photo shoot!

(Janelle has her own very interesting story about finding out she was pregnant with twins. Read it here and crack up laughing.)

We went yesterday to a fancy studio in Clipper Mill and had an absolute blast. It was awesome! Even the waiting was fun because there were a ton of kid-friendly snacks and toys and we got to watch them photograph a bunch of other cute kids in all manner of adorable settings.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Her outfit! (Sucking on the spray bottle was the only thing that kept her happy.)

I need to pause here to point out that this outfit, from a boutique called Pied Piper, was soooo ridiculously cute on her. It had a gigantic, fantastic bow in the back and it billowed out like a fluffy pillow. It was so adorably great.

 

I glanced at the tag and saw the price $11 and thought, "Hey, maybe they'll let me buy this from them!" When I mentioned this to Janelle, she looked at the tag more carefully and let me know that my eyes are failing me. The price was $71. Seventy. One. Dollars.

Needless to say, we left that adorable outfit right there.

When it was time for her close-up (hahaha!), I was really nervous because Clair is in a major stranger anxiety phase, she was really tired (we had been there since 10:30 and it was noon when they called her) and the whole thing was sorta freaking her out a little bit, unless I was holding her on my lap.

We sat her on the prop and I silently prayed. 

This is what she looked like when I walked away:

And then it got worse:

But I started acting like a pure crazy woman, jumping up and down and playing peek-a-boo and screeching like a banshee -- and something about me making a fool of myself in front of all these stylish women CRACKED Clair up, and she smiled, again and again and again. (You can't see it here in this video because it came from Janelle, who thought it was hysterical to get down on film the way I was jumping up and down like a lunatic.)

 After a few clicks and a lot of laughing, the photographer called out, "We got it!"

And just like that, it was over. We had a lot of fun and everyone said Clair did GREAT! I was actually really proud of her. When those cameras started clicking, she turned on the charm. That's my girl!

The May issue of Baltimore magazine will be out in late April and I WILL be buying up the newstands! You should too!

Tastes like chicken (and also, why I can never go out at night again)

Overheard at the Davis house at dinner, trying out a new (to-the-kids) food:

Dean: Mommy, I don't like lamb.
Me: How do you know? You haven't tasted it.
Dean: I did taste it.
Me: Really? What's it taste like then?
Dean: (Thinking)...Chicken.

(That kid cracks me up.)

And then later on before bed:

Cary: Mommy, when kids go to sleep, do parents leave?
Me: No. We just go to bed.
Cary: You don't drive away?
Me: No, honey. We're too tired. We just go straight to bed.
Cary: OK, Mommy. Don't leave!

And...now you know why I can never go on a date with my husband and leave the sleeping kids with a babysitter.

P.S. Happy, happy, happy birthday to my Dad! He turns 61 today. (Such a young man!)

As proof that I have always been a Daddy's girl, here is a poem I wrote for my Dad when I was a teenager. I can't remember how old, but this was clearly during those tumultuous years when I was aching for more freedom and he was shutting. it. down. We fought a lot then -- but you can tell from this poem (unearthed somehow by my sister last month) that I very much missed him.

Page 1

("Dumb Company" was the name of my imaginary friend when I was a little girl Yes, I had an imaginary friend. And he was "dumb," not because he was stupid, but because he couldn't talk. Duh!)

Now that I'm a busy parent, I hardly ever get a chance to talk to Dad anymore (we used to talk every day) and I still miss him.

My Dad will always be so big...so big...in my heart.

Thank God for filters

Saturday morning, I caught my three favorite guys in a moment so perfect, I stopped what I was doing, grabbed my camera (that would be my iPhone) and snapped a picture.

Ugh! It turned out terribly. Look at that! You can barely see the people in the picture, much less get a sense of how sweet that scene was when I spied it from the kitchen.

I was so disappointed.

They were sitting there by the window, reading by natural light. It was beautiful in reality, but when captured digitally, all that backlit glory was murder on my Kodak moment.

What's a girl to do when this happens? Go around turning on all the lights in the room, disturbing that peaceful scene, and try to capture it again? That would never work with my easily-distractable boys. And who has time for that?

Then I remembered that I have photo apps on my phone!

And with a couple clicks, the cropped and filtered scene was as it should be -- all warm and glowy:

When you have an iPhone as a camera -- and no photography skills whatsoever, thank God for filters.

Things I regret so far in 2013

1. I am now forced to drink decaf because of stupid insomnia. Bleh. Decaf.

2. I have not yet started my get-fit, lose-weight, stop-stuffing-myself-with snacks regimen. It's March, people.

3.  I missed one of my very best friend's birthdays by two whole days just because my life is so hectic.

4. Yesterday was Pi day and I did not eat pie. (Instead I had a brownie, which is also a regret. See # 1)

5. I almost signed up for a writer's conference that I really wanted to go to, but then talked myself out of it. (Self-doubt is a real bee-yotch.)

6. I skipped out on going to an Erykah Badu concert that my sister invited me to, where she performed the entirety of "Mama's Gun," one of her absolute best albums, from beginning to end, in a small intimate setting.

7. We're both so busy, I hardly ever get to talk to my Dad anymore.

8.  I always forget that the Real Husbands of Hollywood comes on on Tuesdays, not Wednesdays.

9. People still think Kanye West is relevant. And Kim Kardashian. And their spawn. Seriously, why?

10. My desk at work started off the year neat and organized and now looks like this:

 I must've been in the bathroom when God was handing out the organization genes.

11. My sister is not having a birthday party -- or even a birthday not-a-party -- for Matty, whose birthday is on St. Patrick's Day, so Clair has nowhere to wear this super cute green dress that some kind soul gave us.

12. My boys will be 3 in a less than two months and I have so much left to do on their synapse checklist.

13. Clair doesn't even have a synapse checklist.

14. I have run out of free pageviews on the NYT website for March and I am too cheap to pony up the cash for a subscription.

15. It's my girl Kelly's birthday, and she had a baby last month, and I have no idea when I'll be able to get to see her.

16. I don't and probably never will have a Donkey Booty.

17. (Now that we're pottying like crazy in our house) Why didn't we buy a house with a 1st-floor bathroom? Why? Why? WHY?

18. I totally forgot that today was the Ides of March when I was getting my blah decaf coffee from 7-11 this morning and spilled coffee on my shirt. If I had remembered the day, I would have known to beware!

19. I keep putting off getting my blood sugars and cholesterol tested, even though I know better. I really do know better. I suck.

20. It's not summer yet!!! (But hooray that it's almost spring!)

On race and rappers (and gold chains)

With my and Lester's permission, The Baltimore Sun published a version of my blog post about Dean, the hospital ER and the rapper comment.

If you're not sick of it yet, you can read it here.

I was worried a little bit about the backlash I'd surely receive from commenters, both the actual racists in the world, and the ninnies who enjoy judging people's parenting. But I thought that the point of the commentary might resonate with some people --and perhaps do some good -- so I put my reservations aside, closed my eyes and let 'er rip.

Since then, I have been amazed at how magnanimous and grateful, supportive and understanding the response has been. My original blog post received more pageviews than anything else I've ever written, by nearly 10 times (OK, that's not hard, since like 10 people read my posts everyday). The editor of the Parenting blog sent me a note showing that the article has been among the top-viewed and most popular articles on the site. And people have been sharing the Sun's link all over Facebook -- people I don't even know are sharing it -- and discussing what happened to me and Dean, and what it all means.

And surprisingly, most people, even if they don't 100-percent agree, have been congenial and thoughtful about it. Even the comments on the Sun's post didn't make me want to vomit.

The most touching thing that happened was that a co-worker (white, with no children) came to me and quietly told me how much the post meant to her, how she and her husband talked about it at home and felt like they'd learned something they hadn't considered before. We shared a moment, the two of us, that was heartfelt and revelatory. I feel like we're closer now.

And last night, after watching the thing take on a life of its own on social networks, she sent me this note, which made me feel all goosebumpy:

"This is the start of something, woman. Your words are moving people, causing change."

I don't know if that's true, but I do think the fact that people are talking about this is important, somehow. And I hope some good does come of it.

Meanwhile, because I can't stay serious for very long -- and because you HAVE to have a sense of humor about these kinds of things or else it just gets too darn heavy -- please consider this.

After all the fuss I made about toddlers-as-rappers, yesterday my sister called me, horrified, because her MIL inexplicably thought it was a good idea to buy Matty the one thing that all self-respecting rappers need: A gold chain.

Hahhahaha!
AH-HAHhahahaaaa! Whooooo. ROFL, for real.
 
Then she made my sister get his pictures taken in it. Haahahahaa! I don't know why but this cracks me up. Of all the things to give an 11-month-old....Really?

Anyway, we'll burn this photo when Matty applies to medical school.

Actually, Tanika, you must be kidding me.

In the last couple weeks, the boys have started saying phrases that remind me how much they're growing.

I overheard Dean looking for a toy, saying to himself, "Actually, I think it's over here."

Cary said to us last night, "You know what, y'all?" (Sidenote: Yes, Maryland is SOUTH of the Mason-Dixon line, people. So we say "y'all." And what?)

Dean has taken to calling me "Tanika."

And a couple days ago, I asked Cary to do something for me and he said, "No problem!"  So cute.

Not so cute? The time I asked him to pick up his toys and he said to me, "Are you kidding me, Mommy?"

No I am NOT kidding you, you little pipsqueak. Pick up your toys!  (That's what I said in my head. You can't really call kids "pipsqueaks" or else they'll repeat it to the people at CPS.)

Anyway, it cracks me up to hear them talking like big boys -- and it also (of course) makes me stop and take note of how fast they're growing. Sigh.  I remember when Cary used to stare up at the ceiling fan and say, "Dan!" That was just like seven seconds ago.

More importantly, it reminds Lester and me that we have to always be thinking about what we say around them. They are picking things up like wildfire these days.

What funny things are your kids saying?

P.S. Clair has become simultaneously more aggressive and more lovey-dovey in the last few months.
She whacks at us and her brothers all day long, and fusses at us non-stop. But she also hugs and kisses us -- and her stuffed animals -- ALL the time:

That's her kissing "Baby Beanie."

 I love that she is sweet AND feisty.

I have no doubt that this girl will be the kind to "lean in" when the time comes. So happy she's my sassy sweetie!

How everyone's workdays should end

How everyone's workdays should end:

Me, after talking to the boys about their day: "That's great. It sounds like you had a great day at school!"

Cary: "Mommy, what'd you do today at your work?"

Me: "Oh, I had a good day! I had some meetings. I talked to my boss. I wrote some stories."

Dean, running through the kitchen, waving his hands in the air: "Yaayyyyyy, Mommy! I'm so proud of you for writing some stories at your work!"

He stops and hugs me around my legs, "Yayyy!"

Then Cary joins in the hugging: "Yayyyy! Mommy had a good day!"

Love those two crazies.

If only all the bosses in all the world gave that kind of positive reinforcement, no?

The Good, Racist People

Last week, Lester and I read a commentary by one of our favorite columnists, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and talked a lot about it. It's called The Good, Racist People.

We loved the writing and many of the ideas in it provided fodder for lots of fun and healthy debate.
Lester thought the whole thing was a tempest in a town deli, and that Coates -- who is usually very fine-tuned in his reactions to things -- was overreacting to this particular incident. I agreed. You might recall from an earlier post that I have been feeling compelled lately to offer up more forgiveness than fury when it comes to small slights or race-related injuries, because I know that people have a lot of baggage around race and class that is tremendously difficult to overcome -- even for really well-meaning people.

But then something happened on Saturday and now I feel like I have been catapulted back to square one: Anger, sadness and worry for my kids.

To sum up the story: Dean got into the cold medicine first thing Saturday morning (this is also a potty-training story, but I'll save that for another time). I called Poison Control and the rep said based on our estimation of how much he drank, we needed to take Dean to our nearest emergency room. I asked if we could take him to our preferred hospital -- which is in a better neighborhood -- but she insisted the danger was high enough that we had to go to the closer hospital in the city.

At the registration area, techs and nurses swarmed around us trying to get us checked in as quickly as possible. A very friendly technician, who appeared Asian to me, chatted Dean up while he took his temp and blood pressure. Dean was a little bit drunk I think and was even more talkative than normal. The tech - impressed by all his toddler talking - said to me: "Hey, you might have a future rapper on your hands!"

Immediately, and without thought, my entire body heated. I was sooooo angry. A rapper? You are freaking. kidding. me.

So you see this...

 And you think THIS?

I quickly said to him, with as much measure as I could muster, "No. I was thinking maybe a future lawyer," but in my head I was thinking, "You would never, ever, ever have said that to a talkative non-black child -- even if that child was actually rapping."

I had to tend to Dean, who was frightened and not feeling all that great, so I pushed that stupid tech to the back of my mind. But as the long morning wore on, what he said just kept coming back to me again and again and again.

I have to admit that it stung. It did.

I suppose I am naive, but I keep believing that if only I can educate myself enough, and keep my kids smart, polite, neat and well-spoken enough, if I can live in the right neighborhoods and send them to the right schools, that people will look at them and see them for what they are: bright, beautiful and promise-filled.

Not criminals. Or stupid. Or scary. But valuable. Worthy. Just like them.

I keep thinking people will see their potential, and not relegate them to being basketball stars or rappers. RAPPERS. Ugh. That one just burns me up.

I wrote about this weight I carry to shield them from the world's prejudices and stereotyping here and here.

But I honestly thought I had until they were bigger, with their hoodies on as they walked through the neighborhood (Hello, Trayvon Martin)-- before I would really have to contend with this kind of kick to the gut.

I put all this down here because one day I will have to talk to my children about this country's history and what that means about how they are likely to be perceived by others. And I hope some of my friends will do the same.

Because like Ta-Nehisi said in that column I referenced earlier, "The idea that racism lives in the heart of particularly evil individuals, as opposed to the heart of a democratic society, is reinforcing to anyone who might, from time to time, find their tongue sprinting ahead of their discretion."

*P.S. Dean is absolutely fine and only had to stay at the hospital for monitoring. He even got a little tow truck from the ER doctor and now Cary wishes he had chugged cold medicine too.

See? He was fine even before we left the hospital.

We have moved all the medicines to a higher shelf. :-)

The return of the prodigal curls

Those of you who've been reading for a little while will remember that when I was pregnant with Clair, I knew I was having a girl before the doctors told me.

I knew because my naturally curly hair went flat, flat, flat.

Clair stole my curls, clearly, because her hair is even curlier and more coily than mine. And I worried that my hair would never be the same.

Well, it's taken a full year after Clair's birth, but ... MY CURLS ARE BACK!

Really bad selfie, in my office. But! You can see the beautiful necklace Lester gave me for Valentine's Day, that I LURV so much. It's got three silver discs, each one pressed with the name of one of my kids. And there's a tiny hangtag thingy you can't see that says "Blessed." Awwwww.

Hooray! Reason to celebrate! Drinks all around!


Also, in other things-we-inherit/steal-from-our-parents news, Cary is so clearly Lester's child, as evidenced by this right here:

This is one of Cary's favorite things to do -- "read" catalogs and magazines.

Yes. That is him posted up in the bathroom, intently "reading" the Costco catalog.

Like father, like son.

"Snow" Day

The weather forecasters scared the living daylights out of everyone in the DMV this week about a storm that was supposed to hit yesterday, "burying" us under 6-10 inches of wet, heavy snow.

When I woke up in the morning yesterday, schools were closed, the federal government was closed, people were canceling meetings and my boys got so excited they ran and did this:

That's their snowboots on, over their footie pajamas. As they sit on my bed, watching "Yo Gabba Gabba!" With their snowboots on.

"Maybe later, when MiMi comes," I told them, because, despite the boys' earnest preparation, the Snowmergency hadn't started yet. There was nothing but a light dusting on the lawn and on the cars, and a lot of rain.

The meteorologists were still predicting a veritable blizzard, but I decided to go in to the office to get some work done that really required me to be at my desk, and not reclining with my bootleg laptop, in my PJs.

And all day long -- alllllll day long -- this is what it looked like outside my office door:

That's our minivan! And the skyline shot is one that is VERY Baltimore.

 See all that snow?!?!?!

No?

That's because there WASN'T ANY. Not even a flake. All day.

Poor kids.

The good news is, I anticipated that the weatherpeople were full of it and that the boys' exciting, fun-filled "snow day" would end up being a "no day," so I went to the store yesterday morning and bought Pillsbury Slice 'n Bake chocolate chip cookies for Michelle to make for them.

Because all good snow days need warm chocolate chip cookies. Even when there's not actually any snow.

Confession

Not enough sleep for several nights in a row (thanks so much, insomnia) =

Not enough patience when the sun and the kids rise (not necessarily in that order) =

Not my finest Mommy/wife moments this morning.

:-(

Hoping husband and progeny will forgive and forget.

Quick kid update/Clair's 1-year-checkup

We took the kids to the doctor this week for follow-ups from all the sickness and for Clair's 1-year-checkup.

(Sidenote: We will not be doing the three-kids-at-one-appt. thing ever, ever again).

Here's the update:

Cary's ears are healed and perfect. Hooray!

Dean is fine and bossy as ever, telling the doctor -- who was using the stethoscope on Clair -- "No, Dr. Bodnar! That's not how you do it!"

And Clair is also perfect, developing normally and is a happy, healthy, wonderful baby. (I might have added the "wonderful" part.) She weighs 20 lbs., and is 29 inches long. This puts her in the 30th percentile, which my doctor called "average."

I just did a quick check and at their 1-year-checkup, Cary weighed 19 lbs. and Dean weighed 23, so she is right there in between them, which is fitting, because Clair is very much a mix of both her brothers, I think. (FYI, in case you were wondering, now C &D are 28 and 32 lbs., respectively.)

Why are we so concerned about children's weight? I honestly have no idea. But there it is -- more than you ever wanted to know about how much my kids weigh.

Anyway, let's see, what else?

Clair is walking around everywhere now, like she thinks she's a bonafide toddler.

Potty training suuuuuuccccccckkkkks. But I guess it's plodding along, and the boys are doing the best they know how to do. There are whole days when it works pretty much like clockwork, and then days when there are tears of frustration flowing -- from them and from me.

Lester's going to be doing some work on the house in D.C. the next two weekends, so I am going to be solo parenting (bleh). Keep me in your prayers.

And, otherwise, we're all good in the Davis house. Lots of Curious George-reading, Bristle-blocks-building, toddling (but no teething) and talk-talk-talking. Couldn't ask for much more. :-)