Seagull eyes

Every time we go to the pediatrician, the paperwork says (over and over again) "limit screen time" l and "no screen time for children under the age of two". But every time we're there, there is something playing in every waiting room. 

There's something there that I find very funny. But that's not the point of this story. 

The last time we were at the pediatrician for Genevieve, we ended up in the pharmacy, like you usually do after an appointment. The Little Mermaid was on the screen in there at what is - in my opinion, the best part of the whole movie - just before "Poor Unfortunate Souls". 

There's so much to love about this scene- but mostly a villainess who speaks some hard core feminist truths. (Look up the lyrics. They'll give you chills.) 

Whether it was intentionally written to be subversive and feminist or to show what a "bad woman" looks like, a la Roxana, who's to say? (I prefer it the former, in case you were wondering.)

So naturally, because Disney knows how to make children happy in an eerily precise way, Genevieve wanted to (a) listen to the soundtrack [which I had on the iPod (the Broadway version)**] and (b) know everything about The Little Mermaid that there is to know. 

[In case you were wondering, the message of the film, according to Genevieve, is NEVER EVER sign a contract without reading it and understanding it. Especially without an adult and/or lawyer checking it first. Also that giving up your tail, friends, and family for someone you've never had a conversation with is a bad idea. Thank you, Frozen!*** Parenting is the best.]

Since Genevieve was so eager to see the whole movie, and I'm not made of stone, we borrowed it from the library and watched it. We learned that people who do things for us aren't always nice people, we learned that parents always love their kids and will do anything to keep them safe and/or save them, and we learned about seagulls. 

Lest you think that we keep her chained up in a closet [CPS: we certainly do NOT keep her chained up in a closet], she had seen them before, but they hadn't really registered for her. Now, courtesy of Scuttle, seagulls are very interesting. 

So, we were out having lunch as a family, and I asked SuperAndrew (of the enhanced LASIK eyes) if he could see an airplane in the distance, and at which point he lost sight of it. 

"If your eagle eyes can't see it, I certainly can't," I said. 

"I can see it with my SEAGULL eyes," Genevieve said, because obviously that made much more sense. 

Since then, I have asked her to use her seagull eyes whenever we're looking for something. I really hope "eagle eyes" aren't part of an S.A.T. question in her future.

Coy seagull

** The Broadway version is fantastic, especially if you have a kid who loves the movie. There are more songs, and there is definitely more exposition. You can never have too much exposition, in my opinion. 

*** There is so much to love about Frozen. A future post, I think. 

Rex, enter stage right

On August 16th, at 7:23PM, I gave birth to our son.

Rex Tiberius, 6 lbs 8oz, 19 1/2" long

Which means that officially, we have kidS. Even eight weeks later, it sounds so strange to say it. I'll say it. Having kidS is SO different from having just the one kid. Everything is so much easier (we aren't worried about every sneeze and ... suspicious diaper) and simultaneously so much harder - like organizing outings.

Me and my KIDS!

The hardest part is when everyone needs something at the same time. Fortunately, both kids nap, and that leaves me a little time to knit in the afternoons and eat Lemon Oreos (my current addiction).

What can I say about Rex? He's delicious, he has a shriek like a mandrake, and is mostly a pretty chill dude. He has the same reflux issues that Genevieve had, but we caught them earlier, so that's good, and it just means he can't spend too much time in the carseat. He loves to be worn in a sling (or wrap), and he's only waking up two or three times a night. (Mostly.)

[I had a member of the extended family who asked if Rex was a good baby, to which I responded, "He doesn't do drugs, and he hasn't committed any crimes yet. So, I'd say yes." She answered with, "I meant, does he SLEEP?" My sense of humor clearly isn't for everyone.]

He nurses differently than Genevieve did, and it's taking a bit of time to get that nursing relationship to click, but he's growing like a weed, so something must be working. Unlike Genevieve, he has a strong need to suck, but doesn't want to nurse ALL the time, so I'm coming to terms with using a pacifier to help him.

I'm balancing soaking up all of that new-baby-ness with continuing to parent Genevieve and let her know that she is still special, I still love her, and she'll always be my best girl.

But Rex is our last baby, and with that comes all the "this is the last"s. Everything that was so exciting when Genevieve was a newborn is colored with a kind of sweet sadness. (It might just be the hormones talking, though.)

With the basic introduction done, here's the answer to the big question that we've been asked:

How is Genevieve adjusting?

She's doing really well, except for when she's not. She isn't used to having to share attention or time with someone at home, and she loves Rex like crazy.

My KIDS! KidS!

It's me she's angry with, and have been the focus of her negative feelings. (Hitting, kicking, biting. Things that are very out of character for her.)

This is really challenging for me, but I would much rather have it that way, than have her direct all the negative behavior and feelings towards Rex.

When I was at my wits' end, I posted on Facebook that I *wished* that there were a hotline/helpline from the school, because at our AMAZING co-op, there's always a solution, and the teachers are an incredible resource for all things Positive Discipline and parenting.

Like an angel from the heavens, Genevieve's brilliant teacher from last year answered my call and said:

"Yes, this sounds like a child with a new baby. I'm sorry. To Genevieve, it's like your husband bringing a second wife home when he already has you. Genevieve is really mad. And you are probably sleep deprived and caring for 2 kids is huge.

- Make sure you take care of yourself as much as possible.
- Concrete words about not hurting you will need to be repeated often to Genevieve.
- Is your mom available to take Rex a couple of short times a day so you and Genevieve can have undivided 1:1?
- Is Genevieve interested in play dates with other kids right now?
- Does daddy have time before or after work to play with Rex?
- Have Genevieve let you know what kinds of things she wants to do with you. You can have her dictate her feelings about the changes in her life or how she feels. Write them down word for word and acknowledge her feelings frustrations.
- Some families do a small candle demonstration to show the older child how there is enough love in your family for all of you. 

Hang in there!! School starts next week, maybe that will help."

(I'm posting this here because it was a lightbulb-like epiphany, and has worked REALLY, REALLY well for us. I hope it can help someone else, too.)

Genevieve really loves helping with Rex- picking his clothes, singing while he's getting his diaper changed, helping wash his hair, and most of all, getting to hold and snuggle Rex while we read bedtime stories. She does her best when she has a job to do, which she's always enthusiastic about- if it's a Rex job.

We have rules about how we hold Rex, which are (not surprisingly) the same as my parents' rules for when KidBrotherSam was a newborn: you have to be sitting and supervised by an adult. Ancillary rules also apply, like not yanking his head around or covering his nose while giving enthusiastic kisses.

... and now, what you really came for. The birth story.

O, THOU OF WEARY HEART AND WEAK STOMACH, READ NO FURTHER. THIS IS YOUR WARNING.

I had been having intermittent contractions (both real and Braxton-Hicks) for a couple of weeks, and I would have - at most - three in the space of an hour before things settled back down again. So, it was no real surprise when I wasn't feeling well during lunch that day, or that I had a couple of contractions while I was putting Genevieve down for her nap.

... and then, there was a fourth one. And then I fired up the contraction timer on my phone, because, you know. Just in case. I texted Andrew (because Genevieve wasn't quite asleep yet) to get the chargers packed, just in case, but it was probably nothing. Because I was only 36 weeks and 4 days.

... and then, the contractions kept coming. So, I called Kaiser, whose advice a few weeks prior had been, "If this is your second/third/fifteenth baby, and you *think* you're in labor, JUST COME IN." You can guess what they had to say.

So, I called our friend Colleen (who was Genevieve's designated Support Person, since The Plan was to have a sibling attended childbirth), and again, I said, "It's probably nothing, but JUST IN CASE it isn't..." With that, Colleen (and her go-bag) were on their way to us.

Andrew hustled around, finishing the packing because OMG this is our second child and WOW are we blasé about everything. Mom grabbed her go-bag, and Colleen arrived just as Genevieve was getting up from her nap.

I went into the bedroom to let Genevieve know what was going on, what the plan was for her (pee, have a snack, then come to the hospital with Colleen when it was close to time for the baby to be born), and Andrew, Mom, and I were off. (In two cars, so Mom could sleep over with the dogs afterward.)

There weren't any clear indicators of labor like last time- because, let's face it, when your water breaks, YOU KNOW IT. Contractions can be tricky and intermittent, and that makes a woman question herself.

But I will tell you, when Andrew and I were driving and he had me texting his boss to let her know that This Might Be Happening Today, I had to stop TWICE for contractions. (We are less than 15 minutes away from the hospital.)

We got checked in, changed into a hospital gown, strapped into a monitor to be checked initially, dilation checked (at 2 cm when we got there at 4:30), and Andrew set up the iPad so I could watch cartoons while I lay there, trying to be limp as a noodle.

Remember when I said "OMG this is our second child and WOW are we blasé about everything" above? We couldn't get into a Bradley Class (or a refresher) that *didn't* end AFTER our due date (which was September 9th, for the record). I had - THAT MORNING - pulled our copy of Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way, and read the pertinent bits.

All I could really remember was the bits where it said, "When it gets serious, relax and be limp." And also supported by pillows. And I'm a girl who loves to rest supported on pillows.

So, there I was, as limp as I could be, watching cartoons on Netflix. When Midwife Melanie came to check again an hour later, I had progressed to ... 2.5 cm.

We talked about how I felt about (maybe) going home, and I told her that I was absolutely not going to do that. (Not from any psychic sense, or instinct, but there was no force of nature that was going to move me out of that bed when I was finally just marginally comfortable.)

It was 6:30 and neither Mom nor Andrew had eaten dinner yet, so Mom went to pick up sandwiches, and brought them back.

While Mom ate, Andrew started rubbing my feet, and then he pushed the magic pressure point. The one that a massage therapist friend recommended "should labor not progress". Andrew wanted to go elsewhere to eat his dinner (which I can't blame him), at which point I informed him that he wasn't. Going. Anywhere.

A few minutes later, my water broke. Then the contractions got serious.

"I would like to talk to an anesthesiologist, please," I said.

"Ok, we'll see what we can do," said the nurse, "Let me know if you feel any pressure, like you need to poop."

And then, there it was. I felt it, and then a gush.

"Oh, sh*t," I said.

"Um, there's blood," Andrew told the nurse.

And then things got serious, and they got serious FAST.

The nurse *booked* it out to get Midwife Melanie (who was in with a C-Section), and both of them came in tout de suite, along with another nurse.

"I asked for pain management," I said, "I'd like an epidural."

"That's not happening," said Midwife Melanie, "He's crowning."

"No he's not," I said. Because you don't go from 2.5 cm to crowning just like that.

"Yep. If you feel like you need to push, PUSH," answered Midwife Melanie.

And, boy did I.

Everything happened so fast - which you wouldn't believe - but Midwife Melanie didn't get her fancy splashguard scrubs on until after the first push, and she recommended that Mom get out of the "splash zone" because Rex. Was. Coming.

Three fast pushes, some colorful language, and out came Rex. Somewhere between pushes, Andrew said something supportive, like, "You're doing great!" I may have answered with, "Stop. Talking." Ah, isn't love beautiful?

(At this point, a nurse asked a question, and Midwife Melanie said, "She wants it quiet." I wanted to clarify that I just wanted *Andrew* to stop talking, but as it was, I was a bit preoccupied with the having a baby and whatnot.)

Natural childbirth is terrible. It's painful. Midwife Melanie did a great job delivering, Andrew was a great coach, but WOW, natural childbirth is terrible. Fortunately for me, my delivery was more like a cannon, and not a long-drawn out situation, but I'm SO glad that this was my last pregnancy and delivery. SO, so glad.

I was so focused on getting the pushing done that when they put Rex on my chest, it took me a moment to realize that- oh, yeah- all that pushing was for a baby. (Don't judge. You wouldn't be at your best that moment, either.)

I snuggled with Rex while Midwife Melanie did the repairs (minimal, thanks for asking), and Andrew called Colleen, and then his family members.

Genevieve was really bummed that she missed the delivery but really, there was no way she would have made it, since there was about ten minutes from when things really started to when Rex was born.

Both of us were in great shape post-delivery and could have gone home after the requisite 24 hours, had Rex not been early. But rules are rules, and they held us a little longer *juuuuuust in case*. (Like I said, all parties involved were just fine.

The whole delivery experience (overall) was really great at Kaiser, except for one thing. They have a junk food jihad going on there, which does not work if, like me, you crave sugary treats to get those fast calories to turn into delicious, nutritious breast milk. Fortunately, it wasn't forever, and Andrew made sure I had sufficient sweet treats at home to satisfy my cravings.

Thank you all for the well-wishes and congratulations. I am overjoyed to be sharing the newest addition to our family with you all!

He totally loves his hat.

Busy bags

Whenever we go to a family party, or really anywhere that isn't aimed at kids, we pack a "busy bag" for Genevieve. The busy bag has evolved over time, starting with books and Latches Board, and a couple of toys; now, it's a coloring book, cars, books, and sometimes a special toy. It's also usually in a Frozen tote bag.

We started packing the busy bag when she was about a year old, and in the last couple of years, it has become Genevieve's job to pack her own busy bag. As the family has grown, we have had to have conversations with Genevieve about packing the busy bag with sharing in mind- because, let's face it: playing with someone else's toys is way more fun than playing with your own.

Genevieve has - previously - been more than happy to pack a busy bag for herself. However, part of being three years old is pushing boundaries, establishing your independence, and for Genevieve, announcing that she is a Grownup. (Whatever that means. I'm still not entirely certain that *I* am a Grownup.)

This came up the other day, we were getting ready to go to a friend's party, and I told Genevieve that she needed to pack herself a busy bag.

"I'm a grownup," she informed me.
"Grownups have busy bags. What do I always have in my busy bag?" I asked her.
"Knitting," she answered, turning to pack her bag.

One of many busy bags.

Someday she'll realize that not all Grownups knit, and that they don't all have busy bags, but until then, I'll continue to pack my busy bag. To teach by example.**

**That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

30 years, give or take

When Mom was pregnant with KidBrother Sam, we took a family trip to Solvang. While on that trip, Mom bought me a stuffed Applause pig (which I only remember because of the tag), whom I named Perfect, after the world's darkest children's book (which was also a favorite).

Memorable, right?

Perfect was my favorite stuffed animal, who I slept with every night until Andrew and I got married. Despite being booted out of the bed, Perfect was relocated to a place of honor on top of my dresser.

We talk about "special toys" with Genevieve a lot, mostly so that she understands that when she's playing with other people's things, she needs to be extra careful with them. She, too, has Special Toys, but yesterday's Special Toy may not be today's Special Toy. (Ah, being three years old.)

At some point, Genevieve asked if she could snuggle with Perfect. This was fine with me. After a week of asking to snuggle with Perfect, Genevieve said, "I would like a pig just like Perfect to be MY special toy."

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

We don't buy toys for Genevieve all willy-nilly, but after she fell asleep I thought to myself, "I wonder if I *could* find another pig like this one."

So, off I went to Google and I searched "Applause stuffed pig" under image search, and lo and behold, there was a 1985 Applause pig- who looked JUST like perfect, brand new (tags, but obviously not "brand new", since it was from 1985), and for sale for a completely reasonable price on eBay.

So, like any person would do (at 3am, because you have strange pregnancy-related-middle-of-the-night-insomnia), I hit "Buy it Now!" and anxiously awaited the new pig's arrival.

Perfect, left. Genevieve the Pig, right.

When I opened the terrifying packaging, I was very surprised to see the difference between the New Pig (later, named "Genevieve the Pig" (again, see "Three Years Old")), and my much older, very well-loved Perfect. (Aside: does anyone else get upset when stuffed animals are STUFFED into a plastic bag without air? I may never outgrow this particular bugaboo.)

A little threadbare. Short one tail, due to an unfortunate incident with my aunt's black lab (when I was 11 years old). A bit faded.

After 30 years (or so), I suppose we all grow a little threadbare, with some damage (and battle scars) from our life experiences. But it doesn't make us any less special.

If one is good, then two is better.

Obviously.

Beanzilla

So, if you haven't heard yet...

Thing 1 presents Thing 2

Are we super excited? 

"YES+" is even more than just "YES"

Of course, you want to see a baby picture. You're not made of stone.

Look like someone else you know?

How have I been? Pregnant.

My bump, my bump, my lovely baby bump.

How has Genevieve been handling it? Very well so far, if you ask me. We're handling this the way we handle (mostly) everything- with books. So far, we've really liked Baby on the Way (by Dr. Sears), When You Were Inside Mommy, The Berenstain Bears' New Baby, and The Birds, the Bees, and the Berenstain Bears (though, this one is a bit dated- they still x-rayed pregnant women).

Mom and I have a difference of opinion on Pecan Pie Baby; Mom didn't like it, I think it's important to acknowledge feelings that perhaps aren't all sunshine and rainbows. Though, I omitted the "Ding Dang" from my reading, because I don't need Genevieve picking up any extra pejoratives.

I'm knitting a bit for Beanzilla (name, courtesy of the brilliant CaffeineJunkie, who dubbed Genevieve "SharkBean" lo those many years ago. Unlike with my last pregnancy, I have knitting mojo- but it's all sweater mojo.

The Baby Vertebrae is knit out of yarn I fell in love with at Stitches West; it's "Nothing Says 'Screw You' like a Rainbow" from White Birch Fiber Arts (I know, terrible name) in sport weight. It knit up in about six seconds flat, and once it's blocked, I'll post a better photo.

Envelope, by Ysolda Teague, is brilliant, but alas, I am not. My brains are not what they were, sadly. I can't blame Ysolda; even if she was holding my hand while I knit, she couldn't save me from not being able to count. Sad, but true. (But wouldn't it be lovely? A knitting date with Ysolda? I think so.)

Once you get it, the sweater is awesome. The yarn is Berry Colorful Yarnings "Breakfast at Tiffany's", sent to us to review on the podcast. Since I have less than zero sock mojo, I thought this would make a lovely, gender-neutral sweater. So far, I love the colors, and it's holding up extremely well to being ripped out, reknit, ripped out, and reknit.

KHAAAAAAAAAN!

Yes, we're going to find out the sex. No, we haven't found out yet. Yes, I'll tell you.

Until then, Beanzilla demands tribute.

Genevieve the Octopus

Readers, meet Genevieve the Octopus.

Distinctive, isn't she?

The last time we went to the aquarium, Genevieve (the human child) pointed at a stuffed octopus the size of a body pillow and declared that she wanted to buy it.

Since we bed-share (or "co-sleep"), a stuffed octopus the size of a sofa was completely out of the question. It's a snuggly arrangement.

We went to the gift shop downstairs, and I showed Genevieve three or four appropriately sized octopuses she could choose from.

Predictably, she chose the purple, sparkly octopus. (I had lobbied for the more realistic looking one.) That is how Genevieve the Octopus joined our family.

A few weeks later, SuperAndrew, Genevieve, and I went to get our flu shots together, with Genevieve the Octopus in tow.

(At Kaiser, parents/guardians can get their vaccinations at the same time and place as their kids. It's fantastic. As fantastic as getting a shot can be, I suppose.)

After a shot, we always get French fries and milkshakes on our way home. It's something to look forward to after, and is often the incentive for getting the shot done and over with. [Mom used to take us for ice cream after shots, but Genevieve turns into a Gremlin when she has sugar. Sharing a milkshake is really as far as we can go right now.]

We went to a different Kaiser than normal because it was on our way that particular day, and the injection nurse was phenomenal- but that didn't stop Genevieve from screaming down the walls and terrifying the kids in the waiting room before anything had actually even happened.

While Maria the Nurse was extremely skilled (I didn't feel anything when I got my shot), Genevieve made use of her excellent lungs and loud voice screaming encouraging things like, "TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!" and "MOMMY, SAVE ME!" I can only imagine what the poor kid in the waiting room thought was happening in there.

Once it was finally done, we did the walk of shame from the injection room, through the pediatrics lobby, and out to our van, carrying a screaming, howling, crying Genevieve.

It took us nearly an hour to calm her down enough to get in the car seat and go home. All of our nerves were frayed, and - if it hadn't been noon - it would have been wine o'clock when we got home.

When we (finally) got home, Mom suggested taking Genevieve along the next time she needed to get bloodwork done. [Mom is on cardiac meds, and has to get coumadin levels checked fairly regularly. She is a human pincushion.] That way, Genevieve could watch Gramzie get a shot and be okay without having to get a shot herself.

[With the dogs, this is called a "happy vet visit"- where they go in, get weighed, get a cookie and belly rubs, and go home. We did these with our dogs, once a week for a few months, and it made a HUGE difference with vet anxiety. I highly recommend it.]

In the meantime, Genevieve the Octopus had mysteriously gone missing.

"Clean up your toys and she'll turn up," I told Genevieve, repeating what my mother told me at least seven million times. (It bears mentioning that she was always right.)

About a month passed, and it was time for Gramzie to get her bloodwork. We went to the Kaiser that was on our way (the one we rarely go to), and told Genevieve the deal that day: no shot, no milkshake. (She was due for a vaccine; we weren't just getting her jabbed for the fun of it.)

Genevieve decided that she wanted a milkshake, and she was ready to get her shot. Just our luck, Nurse Maria was there again, and unfortunately, Genevieve started howling like a siren as soon as her sleeve was pushed up. As I held her there, feeling like Mother of the Year, I looked to my left, and-

"GENEVIEVE THE OCTOPUS!" I exclaimed, as if I had come across a lost loved one by accident. (I had, I suppose.)

Genevieve stopped screaming (just long enough for Nurse Maria to get the shot in) to look and see what I was talking about.

"Genevieve, LOOK!" I said, "We found her! You must have dropped her the last time we were here, and she's been waiting for us to come and get her!"

After a series of questions confirming our ownership of Genevieve the Octopus (because, after all, we couldn't run off all willy-nilly with someone else's purple, sparkly octopus), Genevieve and Genevieve the Octopus were reunited at last.

I'm glad I didn't insist on the more traditional octopus; anybody could have left behind a regular octopus on accident. Thank goodness for her sparkly tentacles.

Of Elsa-s and Olivia-s

This year, Halloween was FULL of parenting triumphs. (Late, I know, but worth the telling.)

First, a little backstory:

A couple of months before Halloween, Genevieve, Mom, and I took a trip to the fabric store, and bought a pattern and fabric for an Elsa Dress. Maybe for Halloween, maybe for regular play, maybe both. No biggie.

Genevieve and I talked about Halloween, and I made a few costume suggestions.

"You could be Elsa," I suggested, "Or Olivia the pig-"
"I want to be Olivia," she answered.
"Are you sure?" I asked, "Because Mommy needs time to make your costume."
"I want to be Olivia."

Ah, to be so young and so sure. In any case, as it happened, we got a copy of Gramma Nancy's Animal Hats to review on the podcast. How timely! (CAVEAT, we gave it a very mixed review. Listen here.)

One of the great things about Olivia is that she has a fantastic wardrobe- so we had a lot of material to choose from. So, Genevieve and I looked through the books, and we came up with this for her Olivia the Pig costume:

What you are seeing are: striped pajamas (which I got on SALE! Also, double bonus of just taking off the outer clothes before putting her in bed that night), a red corduroy jumper from Nantucket Brand, and of course, the pig hat that I knitted for her. [Also, rain boots because it rained right up until it was time to go trick-or-treating.]

A month before Halloween, I checked in... Genevieve still wanted to be Olivia.
Two weeks before Halloween, I checked in... Genevieve still wanted to be Olivia.
A week before Halloween, I checked in... Genevieve still wanted to be Olivia.

And then, I made a tactical parenting mistake.

I went on Facebook (on my phone) while Genevieve was snuggling and slowly waking up from her nap. (This can take up to an hour sometimes.) There, Genevieve saw my friend Julie's daughter in the MOST AMAZING Elsa dress. Why so amazing? Because Julie sewed it herself, and it was bomb-diggety. Julie has skills and skillz.

The following exchange will likely not surprise you.

Genevieve: I don't want to be Olivia. I want to be Elsa.
Me: We are going trick-or-treating with the neighbors in ONE HOUR.
Genevieve: I don't want to go.
Me: Hmmm. Well, we don't have an Elsa costume, and we *do* have an Olivia costume.
Genevieve: I don't want to be Olivia. I want to be Elsa.

Now, I could have freaked out, and cried. I could have yelled. I could have canceled Halloween.

Instead, I summoned Andrew to the bedroom, and had him change Genevieve while I took some deep breaths and collected myself in the living room.

I had an epiphany. A straight-up, lightbulb-over-the-head moment. I went back in the bedroom.

"You know," I said to Genevieve, "Olivia is pretty great. *I* bet that Elsa would want to go as Olivia for Halloween. So, how about you go as Elsa, dressed as Olivia?"

Sold.

SuperAndrew looked at me with wide eyes, and we shared a moment of non-verbal communication done only with eyes and eyebrows that translates to something like this:

I can't believe that worked. (Andrew)
Be cool, or she'll catch on. (Me)

I couldn't believe it worked. THIS was my magic water moment. Less than twenty minutes later one previously-distraught child was now ecstatic. WIN.

*Literally* jumping with joy

The other huge win is that I pre-gamed her trick-or-treat bucket. I bought a big bag of lunchbox pretzels and put a few in her Elmo bucket. She trick-or-treated, I let her eat the pretzels, and MAGICALLY when she went to bed, all the forbidden candy turned into pretzels. You would have thought Genevieve won the lottery she was *so* happy. PRETZELS FOR ALL!

And now, the obligatory aging sequence. Brace yourselves.

Halloween 2012

Halloween 2013

Halloween 2014

Fun fact: Our pumpkin looked like grumpy cat a week later, and Mom got a picture. (I'm just so proud that Mom knows about grumpy cat.)

A little knitting

Mom has been knitting tube socks for Genevieve since she was just a SharkBean.  It's a very simple tube sock.

You don’t actually have to buy the pattern, we give it away (verbally) in Episode 258, towards the beginning of the episode.

But.

We've gotten loads of requests to write it up, and write it up I have. Every cent we make on this pattern (priced at $1) will go directly into Genevieve’s adventure account. She would thank you for that, but she’s busy (still) freezing Arendelle at the moment.

Enjoy!

** A fun variation- the hat-top toe from Lara Neel's (FREE) Fork in the Road socks. (Pictured above)