When The Moon Hits Your Eye

I am pretty much a mutt.  I am part Irish, part Scottish, and maybe even a little Norwegian.  The closest thing my family ever got to celebrating holidays of our heritage was when my mom dyed all of our pancakes green on St. Patricks Day  (Don't worry, Mom, the tradition is alive and well.  Morgan will totally know her roots.) -

David, on the other hand, is 100% Italian.  So Italian that he actually knows which one of his relatives came over on a boat. So Italian that he actually had a grandmother who would squeeze his cheeks and yell out phrases in a language that he couldn't understand. So Italian that he thinks a major component of parenting includes teaching our daughter and her friends how to make their own pizza.



Frankly, I couldn't agree more.

The Apple Does Not Fall Far

I am prefacing this post with the following disclaimer:  My husband is vehemently opposed to me posting the picture below.  For some strange reason, he thinks the picture is unflattering.  I don't know what his beef is - I didn't catch any plumber's crack or toe jam...although you may be able to see a little belly button lint if you squint really hard. 

The point of this post is really much more about those funny moments as a parent when you can't help but appreciate how much your child resembles each of you.  Last month, I asked David to put Morgan down for her nap.  This process usually takes about 5 minutes.  When he hadn't returned 30 minutes later, I started to wonder what the hell happened.  I slowly cracked open the door and discovered two little sleeping beauties, one in her bed and one crashed out on the floor.  I thought about leaving him there, but then I realized his snoring had the potential to not only wake Morgan up, but scar her for life.



Not two weeks later, Morgan randomly started falling out of bed every night.  I found her under her window, next to her dresser and even behind her door.  Then one night, I discovered her sprawled out on the floor like some crime scene photo, looking just like David.  There are so many ways that I am glad Morgan takes after her dad...I'm just not sure this is one of them. 

Let's Talk Turkey

I thought long and hard about posting about how grateful I am for everything in my life...then I decided that would be predictable and boring and that it would be much more fun to keep it real. Maybe a little too real.

Despite our best efforts, our Thanksgiving dinner was slightly botched.  We had all agreed that we would try to simplify things this year and go out to supper dinner.  We made reservations for noon and got all gussied up.  My dad even put on his fancy jeans.  Unfortunately, when we got to the restaurant, we discovered that someone had mistakenly given our table away.  Our rowdy group of 15 was now going to be seated at three different tables, which would not only prevent us from having any meaningful conversations but would also keep us from being our obnoxious selves -- boo.

Then I remembered a friend of mine likes to take pictures of her family eating at every major life event. Because we didn't have a lot going on with our group, I decided to give it a whirl. I started with my mom, who was totally lame. Rather than looking awkward or unflattering, she looked like some sort of Cool Whip model:

So I moved on to the boys...they did not disappoint.  The fact that several of them didn't actually know I was taking their picture is irrelevant.  They were all clearly enjoying some dried out turkey and one of them was even eating his muffin wrapper.  Toddlers rock.





By then I was feeling a little guilty. Here we were, gathered at this special time, trying to enjoy each other's company, and all I want to do was capture people at their worst. So I redeemed myself. I got a few cute pictures of my aunt and uncle, as well as a sweet photo of my cousin and her fiance. Unfortunately, their newborn was asleep and I had recently suffered from a case of the black lung, so there was no baby fix for me. Also boo.





I was, however, able to snap a few pics of the big kids, especially my niece, who is actually asking for her two front teeth this year (don't judge me, I love that song). 



In the true holiday spirit, I thought I should at least try to get a shot of my brother smiling.  Joke's on me, apparently he just looks like that.



Happy Belated Turkey Day -- I hope you got your eat on...cuz you know we did! 

Minding Our Manners

David and I don't really fight.  Don't get me wrong, we can bicker like nobody's business, but we're not the couple you're going to see on the news for distubring the peace.  I've never locked him out of the house and he's never threatened to have me committed.  It's a beautiful, harmonious relationship...either that, or he just lets me win because arguing with me is exhausting and he would rather spend his time eating a sandwich.

Regardless, we got into a bit of a tiff on Saturday morning as we were headed out to run errands.  This was complicated by the fact that our daughter is like a real person now.  She regularly takes sides in our discussions and is quick to tell either of us if we're being rude or need to apologize.  I would be okay with her participation, except she usually sides with David - not cool.

While we were arguing in the car on Saturday, I realized that Morgan was hanging on our every word.  Her eyes were wide open and she kept looking back and forth between us like she was watching some sort of bizarre ping pong game.  David and I needed to shut it down.  However, I was not AT ALL going to take responsibility for him being crabby with me (Remember what I said about sandwiches?  Without them, he's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). David, on the other hand, was just as committed to being right.  But we're good parents, and we need to set a good example.  Hence, the following:

Me: I'm sorry we fought in the car. (Notice I am not admitting fault)

David:  Yeah, I'm sorry, too.  And I'm sorry you were such a jerk. (Notice David has now apologized for me being mean to him)

Me:  And I'm sorry you were hungry and cranky and took it out on me. (Notice I am on to him and am not about to concede)

David: Yeah, I am hungry. (Notice me still winning...every time.)

Poor guy doesn't stand a chance.

Pancake Pride

As are most toddlers, Morgan is OBSESSED with her name.  She points out letters wherever we go and assumes that any word that starts with an "M" is going to end in "organ" -- Not surprisingly, she's usually wrong.  As a special treat last Sunday, David decided to rock her little world.  Not only was she getting pancakes, but the whole plate was going to be dedicated to her.  

Her reaction did not disappoint.  She was shocked, she was awed, she was ecstatic.  In fact, Morgan was so pleased that it took her nearly 20 minutes just to decide which one to eat first.  When I tried to get in on the action, she was only willing to share with me after biting the leg off her "R" -- as a result, her name briefly resembled the word "Mupgan"  (or yeah, she'd also taken a taste of her "O") --  Let's just hope she doesn't ask for the whole alphabet next week -- we haven't got that much time or batter. Plus, David needs to start making those pancakes in cursive...

Don't let that smile fool you.  Get too close to those pancakes and she WILL take off a finger.