Evolution of the tannenbaum

When first married, T and I bought a fakey Christmas tree for our precious little apartment. Maybe five feet tall and perfect in size, it worked. That was also the Christmas where, ahem, I raked it in gift-wise. Apparently, only in my head had we had the dollar limit discussion. T bought everything on my list. I bought some things on his list. The disparity was kinda large but in my favor. Heh.

Anyway, a year later we bought a house. The fakey tree fit in the living and looked as out of place as did all of the modern, pocket size Ikea furniture in the larger living room of our 90 year old house, but it worked. It was a great Christmas.

The next few years as we filled the house with furniture, the fakey tree was relegated to the dining room where it was a better fit near a strategic plug (the one thing I miss about newer homes?--the abundance of outlets, three-prong ones at that). But...it started to kinda look hoopty and smell like basement, so I Febreezed it and pressed on.

Last year, I decided we needed a dash of Pine. Ezra was bigger, Iris was in the hospital and my soul needed a real tree. We headed out to the local high school and in viewing all those trees in the football field, I clearly lost my way with regards to scale and dimension.

Thank the sweet Lord it was delivered for free because it was a behemoth. And full. And pine-y. And just so very, very big. Floor to ceiling and wall to dining room table. I absolutely loathe clutter and feeling crowded and this tree was all of those things. Times two.

It was a bitch on wheels to get rid of too. The day after Christmas, I told T, "It's got to GO." After treading lightly and trying to grab it just so, T just manhandled it and chucked out the front door. 98% of its needles were left in my dining room. It killed my vacuum and had me Swiffering the remaining needles out. It sucked.

This year? I told T that I was thinking we should go back to fakey, but I would try to be more realistic about size. Perhaps we could measure? That seems like a good idea. Also, pre-lit? Because only a damn fool would buy a new fake tree and choose to string lights. It is my least favorite part.

Saturday morning, Ezra and I headed out to Lowe's while T and Iris lounged and chewed on stuff and practiced waving (her) and watched college football (him). I quickly chose a 7', not to full, not too pokey, pre-lit tree and asked a kind man to haul into my cart. After chucking the tree into the VW, we headed home.

You would think by his very pleased expression that he fluffed and separated the branches. But no.

I think this is where that rogue pine needle slipped in my gimpy wrap.

My friend A came over to hang out and lounge and cackle and eat pizza and snuggle Iris and Ezra. It is always particularly bleak for T when she and I are together as we tend to gain power in numbers.

"I DO IT, Mama!"

Alrighty then.

Random useless tidbits

So just when I thought muffins and dinosaur gummie vitamins were the only things keep my son from going primal, since Wednesday morning he's been a dreamboat. Folks, dreeeeaaammieeee.

Consistent (!), unsolicited (!!) sayings of the "please" and "thank you" to everyone under the sun. Being a happy, happy traveler in the car with new library books and the tiny tv on loan from CurlyGirl. Going without a nap one day and keeping his wits about him. Sleeping in a hotel room in an old school pack and play in the super dark and falling asleep hardcore without whining. Sitting in restaurants and behaving and being an awesome listener.

It's been...lovely.

Of course, now I feel like a shitheel with the great wrenching of clothes that was my concern that he was turning into a small Lord of the Flies hellion who would never listen and give me ulcers by sneaking out of his second story window because no longer could he be coaxed into good behavior with a raisin bran muffin.

And double of course that this fabulous post will lead into me reading that he clubbed someone with a Weeble at school today.

****

Today I had my bandage and stitches taken out of my hand and inside the bandage? Oh, there was a faux pine needle. From putting up our Christmas tree on Saturday.

Also, the skin on the back of my hand (stitches were on the palm) looks shriveled and weird and kinda Burn Victim-y and kinda old lady crepe-y. My hands weren't great looking before, but this is even worse.

****

Iris was also a traveling machine this weekend. She smiled a lot and crapped in her tights at a Cracker Barrel.

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While the inside and outside of our house are decorated for Christmas, T and I have done zero Christmas shopping. The older I get, the longer I wait. This makes absolutely no damn sense given that I have umpteen more commitments now than when I was 25, but whatever.

T and I have shared what we would like from one another. We have decided to get Ezra a train table and the requisite excitement-inducing trains. Iris will probably receive a bevy of toys that will helpfully motivate her to actually crawl as she is currently, according to her numerous pt/ot therapists, a little too content to sit and smile and wave (!!) and clap.

As for the rest of the fam, I have a list of sorts. It's just a matter of getting crack a lackin'. Perhaps soon.

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It was recently discovered that Ezra knows the words to "Jingle Bells." This kinda surprised me so now I ask him to sing it whenever possible. It's awesome to hear.

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Our local zoo is hosting an all you can eat pancakes and sausage and kids crafts and visiting with Santa morning event this weekend. It sounds all kind of great especially since there would be sausage, Ezra and Iris would be free, there would be sausage, it falls at a great time so as not to interfere with naps, Iris' feedings, Ezra's swimming lessons, my need for a mocha.

And there would be sausage.

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Speaking of Santa, for those of you who were young once and those of you with kids...what are your thoughts on Santa?

I am conflicted about Santa and the Easter Bunny (but strangely not the Tooth Fairy; a concept/person I totally had to explain to T who thinks it is entirely strange and creepy that a made up entity snaggles teeth from kids in the nighttime). They seem kind of...stupid. And misleading. And like a possible crapstorm of lies to be discovered later. Plus I am not attached to having a picture of my kids sitting on Santa's lap, so I don't know.

I figure if we're going to start selling Santa, this is the year. I'm okay with the idea of Santa as one of many things associated with Christmas; I don't want to cut him out of the game completely. But the whole cookies left out/North Pole/letters to/gifts from/sitting on Faux Santa's lap at the mall while my beloved scream?--meh.

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The amount of emails I get from Gymboree about sales and discounts on their clothing is starting to annoy me to no end. I want to unsubscribe but am worried I'll miss the one email where they tell me stuff is free.

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While we're talking about free and emails, my birthday is coming up and I have gotten "Free Stuff Because You're Old" emails from: Starbucks, Qdoba, BD's Mongolian BBQ and Red Robin.

Clearly, I'll tell any damn soul when I was born in the interest of free food.

****

What's your randomness (and thoughts on Santa...)?

Breakin' it down old school

So, this morning went better.

I took deep cleansing breaths. Acknowledged some inherent truths about myself (being ignored drives me batshit crazy...kinda a la "I won't be ignored, Dan!" but minus the roasted rabbit). Had a meeting of the minds with T to plan our attack. Aaaaaand...go.

Ezra had trouble listening to me in asking him to lay still and helping me get him dressed and after a count to 3, the tv was snapped off. "I listening now, Mama! I being a good listener!"

Uh huh. That's what I thought. You little ham.

But what I said:

"Sorry! I asked and counted to 3 and you did not listen to me. That is why the tv is off. Now let's get dressed."

Then before heading downstairs, I took more deep breaths and asked for patience and told Ezra what would be happening downstairs:

"You need coat, hat, shoes. Then you can share a muffin with Papa. Coat, hat, shoes. Be the good listener I know you can be."

There was some mild dinking around when it came to picking out a hat, but after a mild threat of no muffin (who knew muffins held such power?!), coathatshoes were procured and put on.

In the car with less frustration, zero time-outs, no heavy breathing (although, I did forget to put a coat on).

Ole.

I love my son. Lands alive do I love him and his smooshy brown cheeks and little boy voice and his belly laugh and his absolute adoration of his sister since day 1 and his utmost sensitivity to others and the little space between his two teeth and his love of outer space and his still kinda baby smell and how when he says "Costco" it comes out "taco."

2 1/2, though? We're getting our run for the money. Word out on the street is that 3 is even better (snort).

Random useless tidbits

The bandage on my hand is starting to look less than new. It's grossing out the neat freak in me.

****

Because I am a list maven and we have two kids under three and I am phobic about losing sleep due to alterations in the sleep schedule, I have started an epic packing sheet for our 48 hours/1 night in Ohio for Thanksgiving.

In my defense, Iris is still moderately high maintenance (monitor at night, small O2 tank and its tubes at night, formula and bottles and whatnot), however, I don't think it warranted this conversation:

T (with ample rolling of eyes--trust me.): What the heck do we need to pack? It's ONE NIGHT.

(While not not necessarily shout-y...oh, he did say "one night" with emphasis.)

Me: Listen up, pal, it might just be clean undies for you. But for Little Miss, do you see all this here (grand gesture with arm in her room)--it's gotta come with us.

I'm sure you're jealous you're not coming with us.

And, yes, I sometimes call my Husband "Pal."

****

I am still kind of holding a grudge at work.

I need to get over myself and freaking let it go already.

****

I am chewing on my shoulder in anticipation of Christmas music. I purposefully hold off on listening to it until after the day of Thanksgiving. One, because jumping the gun makes me feel like T-day is not getting the fabulousness due to it. Two, because I listen to it non-stop through December 25.

December 26?--Christmas music, you're dead to me.

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An interesting article from the New York Times on the fearlessness of preschool aged children.

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It is currently 65 and raining here.

By Thursday it is supposed to be 32 and snowing.

Good times.

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I miss Iris on Monday mornings. Today she is wearing her first pair of jeans and T and I couldn't stop staring at her.

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Let us talk about time-outs for a hot second.

To get Ezra to listen to us and follow-through, T and I do the initial request + counting to 1-2-3 + time-out. I'd say 90% of the time, we get to the "2!" and he's doing what we need to him to do. The other 10% of the time, however, seems to occur between 8:00am and 8:12am when we need to leave the house.

He loses his everloving mind, gets a time-out, I feel frustrated because what a frustrating start to the morning, am positive J the Fabulous Nanny is thanking J.C. she's only caring for Iris, T tries to slip out the door in the midst of the madness, Ezra moans his injustice from the dining room chair he's been parked in, he finishes his time-out and we go about our day where not 10 minutes later he's saying, "I love you, Mama!" Sigh.

Anyway, I think T and I need to have a meeting of the minds re: making the morning a smoothing running machine once downstairs and trying to exit stage left. For our current situation is kinda sucky.

****

Since they're so smart and all, Starbucks should make a coffee that doesn't make my breath so damn manky afterwards.

****

A work instance has left me shaking my head and wondering, "Wtf, mate?"

Cough it up

So I've decided I want to know more about you but I figured I better tell you some more about me--just to make it even steven.

Here are 10 things you might not know about K:

1. I've chewed my fingernails for just about forever. It's horrible and yucky and the only thing that gets me to stop are weekly manicures.
2. I never, ever, ever like the way I look in pictures.
3. My purse was once snatched out of my hand in front of work and I chased down the guy who snatched it. I was pregnant with Ezra and became winded pretty quickly, but the police caught him and I got all my things back.
4. My birth mom died of brain cancer when I was 8 and my dad remarried a few years later to my current mom.
5. I am hippy and pear shaped and having Pregnancy Boobs helped balance out my lower half. Lunges would probably help too, but lunges are hard.
6. I do absolutely horribly on tests of all sorts but can clean house while watching Jeopardy and playing Trivial Pursuits.
7. I want to stay married to T for lots of fabulous reasons but also so that I have someone to take trips with and hold hands with once Ezra and Iris leave the house.
8. I give people mini-makeovers in my mind while I sit in waiting rooms or stand in line.
9. Lately, I am really fearful of how fast Ezra is growing up.
10. Thanksgiving is my all-time favorite holiday for it involves family and gravy.

So that's me.

Now you go.

Bok Bok

So yesterday I had surgery on the thing in my hand. I had it done in the hand surgeon's office rather than at the hospital because I think if I'd gone to the hospital I would've had to get nudie and then put on a hospital gown (and then felt obligated to shave my legs and whatnot the night before) as well as go without food due to the anesthia and if there are two things I don't relish it's: a) shaving and b) going without food (please take note that "getting nudie" is not on that list. Heh. Anyway.)

The surgery was fine and low-key but the shot into my hand to numb it all up I'm pretty sure was actually Hot Ass Magma because I did not like it. At All. It hurt.

Later I was telling T that it actually "felt like c-section in my hand." You know, all numb and whatnot but with a lot of pulling and bizarre-o sensations and you so know that you are wide open with bones and blood and heeby and want to look but so very much shouldn't. It was like that.

I walked out with a prescription to Vicodin which prompted a text to Fanny because, ding dong!, we are in the Vicodin Fan Club.

The texts that followed me sending a picture of the Vicodin bottle to her:

Fanny: I want it...that makes me sound like a druggy but whatev.

Me: ...and it makes me an even bigger druggie for sending you a pic because of how much I know we both love it.

Fanny: Hahaha facts, my friend. All facts.

Because of my previous fears that left untreated my hand would turn into a chicken foot, all day T would randomly throw up the Sign of the Chicken.

Thank goodness, chicken claw has been avoided but the right hand is rather hurty and mostly immobile until the wrap comes off after Thanksgiving.

I wrapped it in plastic wrap when I showered this morning and felt more than a little clumsy trying to wash my hair and body with one hand, my left one at that. As a result, my left armpit will probably remain manky until I can get that hand wet.



"Fool, you better not drop me."

Breakfast out and leftover balloons

With Iris now in a Tube Free Zone and T gone all last week and all of us in dire need of family time, on Sunday we decided to go out to breakfast. Long gone are the days when T and I would go out to breakfast on Saturday AND Sunday. Oh my. Those were good days. Heavier days in the LB area, mind you, but whatever.

We bailed on church and headed to the Home of Momma's French Toast Breakfast. Oh, that's right--I'm talkin' to you, Crack Shack. My love for Cracker Barrel knows no limits.

Thankfully, I have birthed at least one (verdict still out on Iris) sausage and french toast fiend. Ezra...well, Ezra would cut someone for some sausage. And I can't really fault him because I will to.

A strategically packed Caillou book to keep antsy-ness at bay.

Both of us thinking about french toast and big piles of butter. Butttteerrrr.

The miniature maple syrups plunged us deep into comas and resulted in naps for everyone but me, but don't you worry. I skedaddled off to World Market to peruse wordly what-nots that I didn't need but ended up buying anyway.

I came home to Ezra watching "Charlie and Lola" (love.it) and wrestling with a bunch of half-deflated balloons.

Miraculously none of them popped, so we were spared hysterics (Ezra) and laughter (us).

Get down with your bad / sleepy self

If there was one picture to sum up how Iris felt the evening of her party, it would be:





I'm sorry, but this picture has been making me snort laugh. The muffin was so damn tired it was equal parts pathetic and funny. She was a hot mess, folks.

Family came over at 4ish, Iris ate and then passed out up in her room until T woke her up at 4:30pm. Um. That was a bad move. She was angry and, I think, flipped him off bed-side.

She was snuggled with, we ate dinner and then...she started her sleepy moan/whine.



We tried to open presents, but only made it through one before she made it pointedly clear that Sheets Were Needed. Period.

T took her upstairs and put her down at 5:30.




Ezra and I opened the remaining gifts (I think, actually, that this is exactly as he planned it) and we had cake. We didn't even sing because that would've just seemed kinda silly.





The next day, in the playroom in Ezra's tent, no less; I found Iris' birthday candle that was in the shape of a number 1. Again, I think this was exactly what he wanted. More cake for him. Not that I blame him, really. Baskin Robbins doesn't play around. We've been eating that bad boy all week.





We had Qdoba cater it because I had to decorate the house and clean and dress myself and two others between 1pm and 3:30pm (the Naptime Window of Productivity), so I was not even going there with trying to figure out food for 14 people.

Qdoba brought a 4 pound bag of chips (T's hand for scale). It's...a lot of chips, people. We're about chipped-out at our house and that picture above is what was leftover.

Overall, I was kinda bummed as it felt like a big ol' bust. Iris was mildly cranky and super tired. There was no singing and no candles. T tried to make me feel better and I eventually worked through it with copious amounts of leftover queso and guacamole. Because of liquid cheese can't fix a problem, you're just screwed.

Two things + the Birthday Day

So much to show and say...

First, let me just say "Thank you..." and "You all are exactly what I need..." and "Whatever would I do without you?" I went to the Super Sad Place on Friday and you helped me feel better. I checked my email throughout the day and was given momentary bursts of fabulous uplifting. There is much awesomeness up in here.

Second, can I get a get "Holla!" (Holla!) for NO TUBES ON BABY IRIS?! Abridged version: Iris has been weaning off her oxygen for a few months and breathing like a non-toking rock star. Finally we reached a standstill in the process because we could only wean her while she was awake and, well, she was no longer awake additional hours of the day. In pressing the pulmonologist, he finally said, "Okay. Take her off it. No monitor either. We'll cut her nighttime amount in half and in early December do a weight check and then probably nix the nighttime oxygen then too." On Thursday, it was the gasp heard around the world and quite possibly the best birthday present ever. Even better than Rody.

There are no words to explain how this makes Iris the Easiest Baby Ever. We can just scoop her up and carry her around; never worrying about being tangled up in her oxygen tubing. Her diaper bag? Oh, that mutha is as light as a feather for there is no longer a five pound tank and two pound monitor inside. Her cheeks (poor things) can finally heal. Her nostrils?--no longer being pulled every which way. The circus tank in our dining room?--out the door! The curious, probing looks and sometimes in appropriate questions from strangers?--donezo.

Holla.

Lastly, Ezra and I sang "Happy Birfday" to Iris on Friday morning. I got Iris up first and then we went into Ezra's room. There are no words to describe how much Ezra loves birthdays. Really. Mere mention of "birthday" and/or "party" and/or "balloons" and "cake"? Well, he loses his mind. My mom and I have decided that being a party planner is probably in his future.

Iris on the other hand (pictures to come tomorrow), was kinda over it, kinda fast--mainly due to tiredness. Much like her mother--for Iris sleep trumps a good time.














Again, you might suspect that Iris never smiles. But she does! I promise! All the time! And she does this super cute thing of smiling while sticking her tongue out. The best birthday present she/we received was from J the Fabulous Nanny--it was a photo album full of smiling Iris pictures that J had taken over the past few months. It's awesome.

What's missing from this picture?

365 days later

Well, here we are.

The last two weeks have been hard. Last night I ugly-cried while putting Iris to bed. I've been avoiding friends. I've felt angry. I've worked with my office door closed. I've cried at work. Gosh, it's like the old days.

My partner through all of this has been in Europe all week. T is the only one who knows what this is like for our family. People send kind words, but only he knows.

A year ago at this exact moment I was having an emergency c-section for twins at 23 weeks 5 days. Anyone who knows me knows that I am even-tempered and never really become overwrought. During the c-section, however, I was hysterical. Feeling that level of emotion as well as experiencing that surgery was like having an out of body experience. There really are no words.

I'd been in labor all night; trying and praying my hardest to hope that what was happening actually wasn't. By my weekly appointment that morning, I was already dialated to 7 as Noah had lodged his foot in my cervix. By 11am, Noah and Iris were born. Two minutes later Noah was pronounced dead.

I have tried to tell myself what the doctors have "reassured" me with: that going to the hospital that night instead of at 9am the following morning wouldn't have saved Noah. His water broke at 20 weeks; he'd been struggling for awhile.

We left the hospital three days later with zero babies in our arms. Six and a half months later, we brought Iris home.

She still has not yet been home longer than she was in the hospital.

That pregnancy and the following year have left me (and T) scarred and angry and stronger and fearful and sad and joyous and more faithful and about a million other conflicting emotions and characteristics. We are different people. We are a different couple. It is wondrous to me and a testament to I-don't- know-what that we are still married.

I'm not exactly sure what else to say. There is so much yet none of it seems as critical as pointing out: we made it; each in our own way.

Q&A

Almost always the questions I ask are based on my need for feedback. Whether it be to see what the masses are doing during holiday consumerism or to gauge how unhealthy my addiction is to delightful petroleum-based products or to just be nosey--that is why I ask.

Also! I like to get to know you better. For in real life and online, Nosey trumps Shy with me. I love asking people a bunch of questions because my need to know is farely intense but this fights with my gut inclination to hang out in the corner by myself and eat food and hope I don't spill on myself (which I almost always do).

Anyway...

1. I am waffling on what to do for Christmas. So many of you responded that minimalism is key and I want to go that route. More so, though, minimalism for Ezra and Iris. I don't deny that I have the desire to buy them a crapton of things, but I just don't want Christmas to be that for them. With Ezra's first Christmas he was only seven months old and we spent maybe $40 on a few new toys. Last year we did the playroom which, in our eyes, was mostly function over gifting. This year, I'm not sure. He's in a tricky age of not being old enough to understand most games geared for 3 year olds. We get "new" books from the library. As for Iris, well, she's in the same group as Ezra was that first year. I don't know. I'm still mulling it over.
2. I am very pro-Cool Whip. So much so, that it's on the list of Foodstuffs Not To Have in the House because I freaking lose it. Enough said.
3. Often I'm on the Reference Desk until 5pm and it ain't cool to leave early if I'm down there. As a result, though, I haul buns to pick-up Ezra and then across town to make it home by 5:28pm so that J the Fabulous Nanny can leave at 5:35pm at the latest. She's super flexible, but I'm trying my darndest to respect the end time we agreed upon. But if I'm in my office and can leave even five minutes early, it gets me beating the traffic and home without sweating.
4. New calendars make my heart beat a bit faster. We're talking a 10+, folks. And now thanks to Two Braids am totally eyeballing these.
5. I think gas costs around $2.65 or $2.80 here. I can go about two weeks on a tank, but totally wince when I fill up and it costs me $35.00. Apparently, though, I'm willing to spend a buttload of money on a calendar. Although, that lasts over a year, right? So maybe my reactions are appropriate. I have a feeling T would disagree...

More pictures where I am not present

Like a zombie after my brains

On Monday I stayed home with Ezra who woke up a sad, sad sack. Multiple times throughout the night he would wake up and cry for a few seconds or moan or toss about. We, of course, mostly ignored him because we are So Very Fearful of being played like fools should we go in there to see what's happening and be locked into the cycle of "Rock me! Don't put me down! I don't care if you don't have pants on and it's freezing in my room!"

Now don't go thinking I'm super heartless. T and I have "learned" his cries and if we thought he was a super hot mess, we'd be in there lickety split. But, lo, the cry-it-out is ingrained in us.

Anyway, when he did wake up at 5:30am super cry-ey and hot and with rosey cheeks (which doesn't happen much, if at all, on his brown skin), well, I doused him with Motrin and tucked him in next to his still snoring father. Still sadder yet, Ezra just layed there; not even asking to watch television.

Poor fella.

I called into work and felt like a shit-heel. T left for work. J the Fabulous Nanny arrived and I informed her that we'd be crashing her and Iris' daytime party.

And then 8:59am rolled around and Ezra was cured as if hands had been layed on him. Oh my lands. Running around. Asking for Candyland. Eating three pancakes and a cup of applesauce. I was coerced into building a fort out of the dining room chairs. Wanting to play upstairs. Wanting to play downstairs.

Finally, due to my restless night and super lack of coffee, I layed down in the fort and kind of passed out. For five minutes. I even wondered whether or not to take him to school since clearly! he was a-okay.

But then I realized that he and I haven't had a day together, just he and I, in a long time. I didn't have to sweat Iris' needs since J was on her like white on rice. T was across the state, knee-deep in spreadsheets. And so I stuffed Ezra into his winter coat (which is looking a little small) and we headed to the library.

At the library, Ezra turned into the Stinky Kid. Because of course I forgot the diaper kit and of course that's when Ezra decided to crap. Why? Why does this always happen? Is it a special vortex in time that involves the regularity of the GI tract? Geez. I tried and failed to employ McGyver methods that involved cleaning off his biscuits and then stuffing papertowel in his diaper as a barrier between poo and skin, but somehow the commercial grade papertowel was less than comfortable and Ezra started shouting, "My biscuits! Diaper is sharp!" We left quickly.

The rest of the day involved cheese pizza, a mega long nap for him (and Iris), J and me watching "The Talk" which--balls--is sooo the poor man's View. Blech. A visit to Target which had me ready to run away from home as it was clear that a 2 1/2 hour nap did nothing to take the edge off the sleep deprivation because holy snakes with the whining.

I shudder now just remembering it.

It was so, so horrible. So horrible. Bad. Double bad. The whining makes me lose my everloving mind. It makes me sharp in tone. It is wretched. I tried to tell myself over and over, "He's tired. He's 2. He's tired. He's 2." And yet. No.

T came home and after two bouts of tears and non-stop pitchy whining within 20 minutes, T looked at me with bugged eyes. I responded with, "Dude! I know! Welcome to the Day!" And then I ran upstairs with Iris.

All this to say that the next morning, after a good 13 hours of hardcore sleep, Ezra opened the door to his room at school and slammed it (oh, yes, he did)behind him and then I skipped into work. There was zero whining happening in my office and I had the door closed to prevent any from crossing the threshold.

A Whine-Free Zone that still had me missing my son. It seems I can't win.

A day late and a dollar short

Halloween was nice.

It involved mini Almond Joys, a baked ham, cheesy potatoes, E shrieking "Trick or Treat!" every time someone rang our doorbell, Iris sweating like a mofo in her banana costume, me missing Red Door in our first Halloween without each other (lone tear), thinking of last year and how I was pregnant with two babies and anticipating leftover ham.

Ezra refused to wear his "space sleeves," so instead my mom put them on over her sweater. Later on she and Ezra both acted like sugar-crazed maniacs and were tossing the Laffy Taffy around. It was both nutty and hilarious. Iris went to bed at 6:30pm, and Ezra helped me hand out candy. Lucky were the kids who he handed it too because he was of the More Is More camp, and those trick or treaters were given a handful.

Don't worry. She's gets lots of smooching too.