Between the kids and the cat, it’s nothing but madness and myrth here at Karnofski central this week.  Here’s what’s been going on:

Today after changing a diaper so disgusting that I barfed a little in my own mouth, I took Michael’s Thomas The Tank Engine underwear out of the drawer, waved them in front of him enticingly and said, “Gee, Michael.  Wouldn’t you like to wear some big boy underwear today… LIKE DADDY?”  Now, I have offered Michael the Thomas undies on several occasions at no avail, but for whatever reason, today his eyes lit up and he proclaimed, “O-TAY!”  So far today he has used the potty chair exclusively with no accidents, and he was even upset when I told him he had to wear a diaper for his nap.  Could it be?  Could potty training finally be working?  Sidebar: Muffin does not actually have Thomas underwear.  His underwear have Spider Man, of course.

On the big-boy front, Michael will also soon be the proud owner of a twin-size bed (thanks Bree, for the FREE hand-me-down!).  Michael will be three years old in just three more months, so it seemed like it was time for the switch (plus, I promised his current nursery furniture to my increasingly expectant sister-in-law).  I have no idea how it is going to go, but upon advice from my Sleep Easy Solution books I’ve allowed Michael to pick out his own bedding to get him excited about the prospect of moving into a new bed.  Now could my son have chosen, I dunno, sports?  Trains?  Boats?  No.  Michael picked out JOHN DEERE bedding.  Green, yellow, and blue bedding with a giant tractor on it.  In my wildest dreams I never imagined I would be raising a hick.  I mean, I’m like the ANTI hick.  I don’t care much for the outdoors and don’t even like country music.  Next thing you know he’s going to want a wee pair of Carhartts and some Romeos (Georgia Boots, for those of you who aren’t in the know).  I’ll post some pics of the new big boy bed once we’re operational.

Jenna will be 11 months old in a few weeks (!) and is becoming more mobile and independent every day.  She is now an expert on standing and cruising along the furniture and can walk behind push toys.  Though she has said “mama” and “dada” indescriminately for a while, she can now also say a bona-fide word: “bath.”  (Or as she says, “baff.”)  Our little Jenna is quite the fish and LOVES to take a bath, and at the mere suggestion of the word will crawl at mach speed to the bathroom.  Then she pulls herself up to standing and tries to hoist herself into the tub… no joke!  When bathtime is over she wriggles and bucks furiously like… well, a fish out of water.  In other news, Jenna has decided she wants nothing more to do with baby food in a jar and will now only eat “real” food.  I am thrilled by this economical development and am also thrilled to be a mere eight weeks away from her first birthday (better known in this house as National “We Don’t Have To Buy Formula Anymore” Day).

For Halloween this year, we toyed with several different costume ideas.  We wanted Michael and Jenna to be a “pair” of some kind, and ultimately we decided that Jenna would be Snow White and Michael would be one of the Seven Dwarves (which one he would be changed from moment to moment… grumpy, happy, sleepy…).  Jenna’s costume was no trouble at all to come up with but I’m here to tell you that there is not a “seven dwarf” costume available on the market.  What’s up with that?  So I scoured the Internet and found a “garden gnome” costume, which seemed close enough.  Michael seemed fine with it, although he did NOT like wearing the beard.  We took both kids trick-or-treating, something Michael has been talking about doing for WEEKS, and he was an adorable little gentleman, knocking politely on doors, then saying “trick or treat!” and then saying “thank you for the TANDY.”  (Candy.)  Back at home we let Michael eat as much candy as he wanted (it is just once a year, after all) and Jenna had her first (second, and third) taste of M&Ms.  Michael and Muffin and I answered the door for trick-or-treaters and Michael would exclaim, “Oh!  Batman!” or “Oh!  A Transformer!”  Or, “Oooh, a princess!”  What a little ham.

With Christmas fast approaching, there are toy commercials all over TV, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.  The brilliant marketing minds of the US have targeted my son as their ideal audience, and as such, with every commercial comes a whine of “Michael wants THAT toy, Mommy!”  After a few days of that, I gave Michael the whole “Santa brings presents to the good boys and girls” trip.  But not wanting to convey the wrong message about the true meaning of Christmas, I also explained that a long time ago the Baby Jesus was born on Christmas Day, and, in a nutshell, what that meant for humankind.  I’m afraid Michael is now a bit mixed up, because this morning when a commercial for the toy he wants most of all came on (it’s Rocky the Robot Truck, by the way), Michael told me, “Santa and Baby Jesus will bring me Rocky The Robot Truck if I’m a good boy.”

To close, I’d like to proudly introduce the newest Karnofski bundle, our kitty cat, Lola Belle Karnofski.  If she lives to see her first birthday with these children as siblings, I’ll throw her a party.

Hey y’all!

We just got back from a weekend getaway!  Okay, so we took the kids.  Oh, and we also went to a wedding.  And slept on a hide-a-bed.  And got up at six.  But still, it was a day or two out of town and a much needed change of scenery.

Just wanted to do a quick post before I hit the sack.  I don’t have any fantastic stories, just boring minutiae, but here’s what’s happening:

1.  Jenna is going to be crawling in T-minus two weeks, I just know it.  Two weekends ago she mastered rolling from back to tummy and can now pivot all around on her tummy, roll to get to the toys she wants, and dig in her feet to propel her forward a tad.  Seal crawling can only be moments away, so we are understandably frightened.  Just when we could finally quit worrying that the older kid would stick a fork in an electrical outlet, we’re back to those stupid plastic covers again.  Oy.

2.  Hold on to your hats, because this blog is going to look AWESOME in another week or two.  The new theme is starting to come together (nope, you can’t see it yet!), and you’re going to love the new look.

3.  Michael has replaced his favorite phrase, “I don’t want it!” with a new one.  This morning when I suggested he sit down at the table for breakfast he said, “No.  I don’t HAVE to.”  He he.  I’ve got news for you, little man.  YES, YOU DO.

Okay, gotta go to bed.  Here’s a quick, parting shot.

Look who found her feet! I swear, she did not learn this very un-ladylike pose from me.

Thank you, dear readers, for participating in my search for the perfect tagline.  I would probably be totally happy to let the tagline generator do all the work (as I'm a fan of delegating as much as possible), but I have crazy friends like her and her who insist that I can come up with something better on my own  I don't know if I can, but I gave it a whirl.  Tell me what you think and tell me by Friday, because that's my deadline (I'm having the masthead designed for me… see?  More delegating):

Naturally Carolicious: The blog your mother warned you about.

Naturally Carolicious: Can somebody peel me a grape?

Naturally Carolicious: Livin' la vida 'Licious.

Naturally Carolicious: I don't repeat gossip, so listen good the first time.  (I am aware that it should be "well," but it just doesn't sound right.

Naturally Carolicious: If you can't say anything nice, come sit by me.

Naturally Carolicious: Oh God, I hope this isn't my full potential.

Naturally Carolicious: Who are these children and why are they calling me mother?

Naturally Carolicious: Behelzebub has a devil put aside for me. (Sidebar: You get extra points if you knew this was from a Queen song.)

Naturally Carolicious: Because a closed mouth gathers no foot.

I would also like to fall to my knees, throw my hands up in worship, and begin chanting, "I'm not worthy" to my good friend Barney.  After trying to move my blog to my new domain and discovering that HOLY SHIT am I stupid, I called upon the brilliant technological stylings of Barney, a bona fide genius, to do the heavy lifting for me.  Now, Barney and I go way back.  I know people say that all the time, but Barney and I REALLY go back… around 26 years back.  We went to pre-school, grade school, and high school together, and Barney's brilliance has always been a thing of legend.  So let's all give Barney a hand for helping me be less of an idiot.

Okay, Internet.  Go forth and choose a tagline.  Peace out!

My Dear Jenna June,

Today you are four months old.  Coincidentally, it was on this exact day one year ago that I learned I was pregnant with you.  One year ago you were a microscopic cluster of furiously multiplying cells, and today you are this beautiful creature:

You'll notice I didn't write you a letter during your second and third months of life.  When you're older you'll probably also notice that there are far less photos of you than there are of your brother during this same stage in his life.  Chalk it up to being the second child, dear Jenna.  It's not that we love you any less, or that you're any less special.  It's just that, well, between you and your brother, we are just BUSY all the time.  I feel incredibly guilty about this disparity, a guilt that I'm sure you'll be able to use to great advantage later in life.  I can already see us in the throes of an argument over something you want, and you'll yell, "There are more pictures of Michael than there are of me!"  And that argument will probably end with me caving in and buying you a pony.  See?  There's your silver lining.

Your fourth month of life… it's been a really good month.  I'm going to be honest with you here, because one of my goals as your mother is to be brutally honest with you about everything; your first three months were rather, well let's be kind and call them challenging.  During months one through three you cried an awful lot.  We could never seem to feed you any formula that you could tolerate very well, and as a result I believe you were probably in pain.  We had to hold you just so or else you would cry.  You cried every Tuesday afternoon that your grandmother babysat for you, for the entire duration of your stay.  You wanted what you wanted, and you wanted it FIVE MINUTES AGO.  There were days during those three months (and again, I'm being honest here) when I doubted I could manage a colicky baby and a demanding toddler.

But this month, THIS MONTH has been totally different.  Those colicky days have long gone, and in its place I now have a little girl with a sweet disposition who is full of smiles, chuckles, and good humor (who sleeps through the night every night!).  I don't know what has brought about this change, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?  I mean, just look at those smiles!

Nowadays I feel as though I've totally gotten the hang of this "mother of two" business, and I love seeing you and your brother grow and change, and observing the ways in which you two are alike and different.

You both love playing under the Baby Einstein gym, for example…

This month was unfortunately the month in which you contracted your first head cold, and as I've already documented here, your brother was also sick, I was sick, and your father was sick.  I don't know if anybody else is aware of this, but there is a special place in heaven reserved for sick stay-at-home moms taking care of sick children…

This month also marked your first foray into the world of real food.  When Michael was a baby we waited until the baby-book recommended six-month mark to start feeding him real food, and we discovered that a six-month old (or at least our six-month old) had enough decision-making skills to refuse to eat.  Now, as veteran parents, we scoff in the face of those baby books and hook you right up in your highchair.  So far you've tried rice cereal and strained bananas, and the verdict is…

You like it!  A good eater!  Could this be true?  Could one of my children actually like food?  HOORAY!

There is one thing I know for certain about your fourth month of life, and it is that this family would not survive without your daddy.  You are every bit a "daddy's girl" and when he walks through the door in the afternoon you are all smiles and coos, telling him all about your day.

And you can't eat popsicles yet, but eventually you'll get to join your dad and brother…

All in all, your fourth month has been wonderful, though you can still be a bit of a "diva" at times.  But you know what?  I have friends who have "easy" babies, babies who are so peaceful and complacent that their parent's biggest problem is wondering what to do with all their free time while their easy babies sleep noiselessly in their cribs for hours on end.  And while an "easy baby" would probably be nice from time to time, I wouldn't want you to be any other way than the way you are.

You're Jenna June.  You're full of life with all its highs and lows.  You can smile and laugh with sheer joy and still scream and cry in anger.  You demand the best in care from those around you because you know you're worth it.

What I see in you already, even at four months old, is an independent spirit, a wild heart, a girl who is going to grab the world with both hands.  You may not always be an easy baby, be docile, quiet, and obedient, but the women in this world who make history seldom are.  I hope you never change, that you continue to demand the best from anyone who has the privilege to know you, that you always yell loud.  Never settle for second best.  Rebel a little.  Bend the rules.

See just how far you can fly.  I know you will.  And I know that when you do, you're going to soar.

I love you, my baby girl.  So, so much.

Love,
Mommy

As part of my decision to be a more focused blogger, I am expanding my web hosting horizons.  While I have loved being a Typepad member, what with its low monthly fees, design options galore, and Mac friendliness, it's time that I move on.  I am purchasing my very own web domain, Naturally Carolicious dot com, and I need a blog hosting service that will give me more bandwidth and a little more autonomy.

It will probably take weeks before the site goes live, and even longer for me to bring over all my old archives, so for the time being I will still be posting here daily.

When I've moved to a new web address, you'll be the first to know!

The Muffin returned home last night at 5:30 pm.  In total, he was gone for 58 hours, not that I was counting or anything.

For 58 hours I took care of two sick children who were up off and on all night long, snotting and coughing.  All this while I myself was (am?) also sick, and all I wanted (want?) was to pound some shots of Nyquil (then you can pretend it's Jagermeister, see?) and crawl into bed.  I would also like to thank my parents and Muffin's parents, who lended helping hands when needed.  I freely admit that I absolutely could not, COULD NOT handle being a single mother of two children this small. 

Now that the Muffin is home I have a few moments to think, and I've hatched the following plan for a new job.  While Muffin was gone at his class he bumped into one of his grad school classmates who he had not seen in a few years, and that classmate mentioned to Muffin that his wife (whom I've never met), was a reader of This Blog (hi there!).  He further suggested that I put some ads up on the site so that I could make some extra cash.

Since I like the idea of extra cash paid to me for something I already do, this seems like a great plan.  In the next few days you will see some click-thru advertisements here. 

But I also don't want to feel like I'm getting paid for nothing, so I've decided to "up the ante" as they say.  Since I intend to make a job out of this, I plan to start posting more often.  A lot more often.  Every day.  Maybe more.  The posts might delve a little more deeply into the Carolicious pool, be a little more personal (though I've already talked about my bajingo on here a million times, so where's the mystery anymore, right?).

The other part of the plan of course involves driving more readers to This Blog.  I'm sure the web is just chock full of great tips on how to do this, but I'm an advocate of the "if you build it, they will come" mentality.  We'll see.

It also seems like a little facelift might be in order, so you might also see a new look unveiled in the next few days.

See you soon, y'all.  I'm off to work!

Jenna just let out her first adorable baby chuckle!

What was so funny, you may ask?  The Muffin of course, singing "Enter Sandman"  by Metallica.  Not sure why he was even singing that, but Jenna is apparently a big fan.  Afterwards we tried a number of other tunes trying to elicit another laugh, even "Baby Got Back," but nothing brings on the smiles like some Metallica.

Awwwww.

Dear Michael,

A few weeks ago you turned two years old, and I have the following to say to you: Quit growing up so dang fast!  These days you are a full-fledged toddler, and when I look at you I have a hard time figuring out where all the time has gone.  I can vaguely remember when you were Jenna's age, can sort of recall you starting to crawl, have a hazy recollection of your first birthday, and the rest up till now has all been a blur of milestones and love and laughs.  The one thing I clearly know is that somewhere along the lines you gave up babyhood and have become the most enjoyable little… person.

When I tell people I am the parent of a two-year old, they give me a sort of knowing, smiling, wide-eyed look, as if to say, "toddlers are a handful, aren't they?"  (You should see the look they give me when I tell them I am also the parent of an infant.)  Then they inevitably ask some question about the terrible twos.  All I know is that I don't think of you as a handful at all, and so far the twos are far from terrible… they're terrific!  And I'm going to go out on a limb and say something really nuts here… I LOVE TODDLERS.

One of my favorite things about toddlers and about you, my dear Michael, is your zest for living, your joie de vivre, if I may be so pretentious.  Every morning you wake up to a world that is full of wonder and excitement, and I love being a part of that discovery with you.  You love life and enjoy learning about every part of it, from the mundane to the magnificent.  Take sweeping the floor for example.  Brooms?  Brooms are awesome!

And glasses?  Also awesome.

Your old toys, repurposed for your sister, are also, apparently fascinating…

…As are cardboard boxes.

Toddlers are a mercurial sort, changing moods at the drop of a binkie, but you are just an all-around, even keel, nice boy.  One of my favorite things is to watch you play with other children.  Most kids at this age aren't much for sharing, but you delight in having visitors to our house so that you can present your toys to them and show them how they work.  You love being around other children, and are always sweet and gentle, giving hugs out like candy (even when the other kids are not necessarily in a hugging mood):

Just wait, Sarah and Andy.  Today it's just a hug at a playdate, but before you know it, it'll be a slow dance at the prom.

Your favorite kids to play with are your cousins Jordan and Jackson, and respectively, you are aged six, four and two.  When you play together you, for the entire duration, look as though you are having the most fun that is humanly possible for one person to have.  I worry your face may actually crack open, your smile is stretched so wide.  The collective screaming, laughing, crashing, arguing, tackling, and dish-rattling rough-housing is enough to make me both happy you are having a good time and happy that birth control pills are 99 percent effective.  Yes indeed, you love those cousins of yours and after you've seen them you ask about them, ad infinitum.  "I see Jordan and Jackson?  We play cars?  Play hide and seek?"

Year two of your life has been full of the braggy milestones we mothers so love to dish about.  You know all of your letters, you can count, and your vocabulary and memory are astonishing.  You love to be read to, and since mommy's hands have been a bit full lately you've decided to begin reading to yourself.  I walked into your room the other day to find you curled up in the armchair, flipping the pages of 'Goodnight Moon,' and saying, in a very teacher-y voice, "Goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens."

In the last few months you have also become quite the little parrot and your father and I must watch everything we say or resort to the parenting lexicon of "spelling out" the words we don't want you to hear, lest we start a riot.  Words such as P-A-R-K, W-A-L-K, B-E-A-C-H, and C-A-N-D-Y.  Knowing you though, you'll soon learn to spell and we'll have to start speaking in Spanish.

Some of the cutest phrases you say lately are:

"I'm fru-frated!"  (you mean "frustrated")
"I can't STAND it!"  (courtesy of Charlie Brown)
"Don't hit Jenna."  (said as a self-reminder after one too many time-out sessions)
"Mama SO MUCH."  (he means, "Mama loves you so much," which is what I always tell him)

Since Jenna was born we have adopted the routine of watching a movie after you wake up from your afternoon nap.  This way, mommy can hold a usually sleeping Jenna, cuddle with you, and maybe even relax for a minute myself.  We all cuddle up on the couch together under the quilt your grandma made for me, and cozily enjoy whatever movie you've picked out.  Toddlers are creatures of habit, I suspect, and as such you usually pick one movie and want to watch it daily for an entire week.  So far, your "movie of the week" choices have included "Snoopy Come Home," "Mary Poppins," "Charlotte's Web," "Hairspray" (much to your father's dismay), and currently, "Madagascar" (although Madagascar seems to be too difficult for you to say, so you simply refer to it as "the zebra movie").

Speaking of habits, the other one that deserves mentioning is your bedtime routine.  A few months ago your father and I employed the help of a sleep training program to teach you to fall asleep in your own crib all by yourself, and it has worked beautifully.  You go to bed every night at 8 and usually sleep a solid 11 or 12 hours, but must be tucked in with the following items:

1.  The one and only binkie you like, a pink and yellow Nuk.
2.  Your beloved blankie, a blankie that was once a soft, cream-colored chenille and is now a rather grayish, nubby rag.  You have a "favorite nub" (or "fay-kit nub," as you say), one long piece of yarn that has come unraveled, that you always rub on your upper lip.
3.  My old, red fleece bathrobe.
4.  A stuffed puppy.

Since you are such a great sleeper your father and I are only too happy to supply you with these items although I have worried visions of you in your college dormroom, waiting until your roommate has turned out the lights so you can find your favorite blankie nub and smell my bathrobe.  I only hope you've given up the binkie by then.

You might be getting a bit old for some or all of these items, my love, but I suppose I have no desire to help you outgrow them because I wouldn't mind if you wanted to stay two years old forever.  You and I, Michael, are as close as a mother and son can be, and I enjoy and savor each moment of our days together.  You have become a little man that I am so proud to call my son, and a little man, that, day by day, is going to turn into a big man.  Can't you just stop growing up?

In the evenings after your bath, your curly hair fragrant of baby shampoo, you crawl up into my lap and we cuddle for a bit before it is time for you to go to bed.  I put my arms around you and remember the late nights I spent walking the floor with you as an infant, the boo-boos I kissed when you first started to walk, and the way you used to curl your little body against me when you still slept in bed with your father and I.  I realize then how fast the time has gone and how faster still it is going to go, and I want to throw my arms around time, to grab those grains of sand before they slip through the hourglass.  Yet in those bittersweet moments I also look forward to the years of wonderment we have ahead of us, and I squeeze you a little tighter.

I love you and I love your sister.  You are both my precious children, and I love you both with a depth I never thought possible.   But you, my sweet son, will always be my first baby, when you're two, when you're twenty, when you're 200.

And I promise to love you like my first baby, binkies, blankie nubs and all.

Love,
Mommy

Sorry for my lack of posting, Internet, but I've been extraordinarily busy with these two kiddos running around.  To be accurate, only one of them runs around (and is now tall enough to reach light switches, turn doorknobs, and pull things off the kitchen counter).  The one who doesn't run spends her time primarily eating, crying, and spitting up.

For the last few weeks we have assumed Jenna was colicky; if she was awake, she was crying.  She cried so much she made herself hoarse.  She cried so much that Michael informed her, "Be quiet or mama put you away!" 

I just figured that she was a fussy kid.  It never occurred to me that something might be, you know, wrong.  When I took her in for her two-month doctor's visit, imagine my surprise at learning that she is sensitive to cow's milk protein, protein that her regular formula was chock full of.  This was causing her poor little tummy grief all the time.  No wonder she was crying (Attention Mother-of-the-year Awards Committee; look no further).  So our doctor suggested a formula called Nutramigen and within two feedings the crying had stopped, she took a giant poo, and then slept a solid six hours.  Bliss!  Naturally, any daughter of mine would want the most expensive formula money can buy (preferably served in a leaded crystal decanter), and a month's supply of Nutramigen would literally cost as much as a car payment.  Luckily, our doctor deemed the formula medically necessary and wrote us a prescription for it, so our insurance should cover some or all of it.  In other news, we learned that Jenna weighs a whopping 12 pounds (65th percentile) and measures 22 inches (20th percentile).

Michael also had the pleasure of visiting the doc this week for his two-year checkup, and here's how he measured up: 23 lbs (5th percentile) and 33 inches (10th percentile).  The doctor remains unconcerned by his teeny-tininess, and Michael spent the entire visit wowing the office with his command of medical vernacular.  Exam table!  Stethoscope!  Blood pressure!  (I substituted the last term for him, as I figured that "sphygmomanometer" might be a tall order.  (Side note: kudos to me for spelling that word correctly on the first try).

Stay tuned for a letter to each of the kids!