Tag: Camille

ladylike

So my little darling has decided that it’s fun to stick things up her nose and in her ears. I swear the boys never did this. Sure they stuck their fingers up their noses (and still do) and one proudly declared that his boogers were yummy because they tasted salty, but this foreign object thing up the nose is freaking me out.

First was the broken off lead from a colored pencil. She went up to Lucy and pointed at her nose a few times, saying something urgent in her baby gibberish. Then she sneezed and the pointy green tip of a pencil came flying out. Lucy saved it to show me.

Then the other night we were out at a restaurant and she snagged a kernel of corn from the salad and instead of putting it in her mouth, shoved it up one nostril. It was totally classy the way Josh had her in his lap, turned upside down, trying to peer up her nose. He thought maybe I was imagining things because he couldn’t see anything, but I insisted that the corn left her hand and disappeared up her nose. He managed to massage it down and then picked it out with the tines of a fork. Like I said, totally classy.

Yesterday it was a tic-tac. I would have thought that tic-tacs were too yummy to waste on a nose, but she ate one half and shoved the other half up her nose. A two for one, I guess. This time a pocketknife set of tweezers came to the rescue.

Finally, today we were eating lunch and I look over to see her grinning and trying to shove bits of steak up her nose. Why?! She thought it tasted so good that her other orifices would enjoy it too? Or maybe she’s realized that every girl needs a purse and has created one out of those handy little pockets in her face? Whatever the reason, I’m sure it’s going to end up in an all-expense paid trip to Muscat Private hospital one of these days.

Until then I’ve been preparing by googling home remedies for “object stuck up baby’s nose” — supposedly closing off the unaffected nostril, sealing your mouth over baby’s, and blowing hard to force the object out is the way to go. I guess that will have to do until she figures out that treasures come out of the nose, they don’t go in.

twins

Yesterday I had a new hair clip in my hair and Camille kept trying to steal it. She would climb up in my lap, grab hold of the flower and pull . . . ouch! After 3 or 4 times I remembered that I had a matching clip upstairs and ta da! Girly finally has almost enough hair to pull off a clip.

Of course she proceeded to pull the clip out of her hair every 20 seconds or so, try to eat it, and then insist that I put it back in her hair. Repeat ad nauseum and that’s what our afternoon looked like.

She almost looks like a girl now. 

sick II

The boys are better, but now I have a cold. You know the kind that makes every bone in your face hurt? Yeah, I have one of those. On top of feeling like my head is stuck in the middle of a fog bank I’ve been busy going to Christmas concerts, decorating for a Christmas party at school, finding an appropriate teacher gift . . . all these things that I never had to do or was able to do as a homeschooling mom. When I’m sick they feel more like “have tos,” but most of the school holiday stuff has been fun.

But it’s hard to write when I can hardly think. I’m not only sick, but sleep deprived.  I thought Camille outgrew her need for meds, but she was ok for only a week or two before she started screaming at night and at naps again. If you want to know how she’s been acting, just read my blog from this time last year. Deja Vu. I started her on meds again 2 days ago (I think — remember, I’m in a fog) and I’m hoping by the time my parents come visit (2 weeks!) that she’ll be back to her happy sleeping self. Otherwise I may hand her over to them at the airport and then run off into the desert.

But then she does stuff like this and I almost forget that sleep is vital to my survival:

I don’t know why, but she loves to dance on the coffee table. I promise I didn’t teach her that and I’ve already started telling her that this is not a future career option. But for now, when she hears music she runs straight to the table to strut her stuff. Hysterical. Also, probably somewhat dangerous, but that’s what happens by the time 3 and 4 come along. I need to save my parenting energy for the really dangerous stuff like cleaning chemicals and busy streets.

For those of you confused by the music: It’s a parody of Lady Gaga’s Poker Face, not the real thing. 

Princess Buttercup

She may look like a princess, but she’s a fighter. The situation: Carter has a candy cane — she wants some and loudly lets him know it. He tries to give her a piece of it. She takes the entire thing. Chaos ensues. 

tutu

It turns out that there is a whole other world of crafting and sewing that I haven’t explored because I’ve had boys until now. Who knew that it was ridiculously easy to make a tutu with some tulle and elastic? Obviously the entire entire internet, judging from the thousands of results that come up when you search for “tutu tutorial,” but I was in the dark until a friend pointed out the glittery tulle in the fabric store and said, “you could make a tutu today.” So I did.

A pair of scissors, a length of elastic, and the only sewing required is stitching the ends of elastic together to make the waistband of the skirt. The tulle is cut into 4 inch wide strips and then looped around the elastic as if you were adding fringe to the edge of a knitted or crocheted blanket. Easy-peasy.

This smart girl realizes this is where the magic happens. Someday you’ll get your own machine and together we’ll make tutus and capes for your babies. 
This isn’t the black and sparkly craft project that I thought I’d be sharing on my blog today. This is where I got side-tracked when I went to the fabric/notions store to buy supplies for my other project. I’m about 1/2 finished with the original idea and I’m hoping to finish it in the next day or two — unless I get caught up in tutus again. I have 3 different colors of tulle sitting on my dining room table calling my name. They want to be a pink, purple, and magenta skirt. I never thought I’d be a tutu mom . . .