It's Halloween up in this HOUSE!

Normally my halloween decorations consist of a pumpkin on the front porch... and that's it. But this year I decided to decorate October 1st to make it fun/special for Wendy and make the holiday last all month long. This is our halloween front door. We made this wreath with a combo of stuff from the craft store. It plays a "trick" on you because you might think it's cutesy, but just LOOK at the beady little eyes on that tiny evil bird! Come on. It's scary.

For our spooky table, we found dead branches from our yard, spray painted them black, and stuck some spiders all over. Wendy likes to hide these little guys all over the house and name them names that start with the letter S: Sally, Suey, Sassy, Steve, and Scotty.

I took these pictures during Harvey's nap, aka "Mommy & Wendy's quiet time." Someone wanted in on the action. Above is her impression of a ghost :)

Love her.

We were so excited to decorate & get ready for halloween, I made the mistake of letting us carve pumpkins the 1st week of October. The following two days were in the 90's - thanks A LOT California. Hello Kitty witch lasted less than 48 hours before it melted and filled up with black fur. We will be re-carving pumpkins 3 days before Halloween. I also found out that vasoline along the inside and a sprits of bleach and water will make your pumpkins last. Or you could just wait a little.

Clever Girl.

*practicing her smile/pose on picture day

Wendy was really excited, the other day, when I sat down to play dolls with her. She was laying them out and picking outfits for them. After she told me which ones I could "be," I picked up my assigned dolls and tried to start a normal doll conversation. 

Wendy: puts her hand out the way my mom does to the passenger seat in her car when she has to slam on the breaks, "MOM. Don't talk, okay?"
ME: "What?! But that's how you play dolls."
Wendy: "Mom...      all my dolls are mimes. They don't talk. Ever. Mimes don't talk. So don't talk, okay?"

Wow. I didn't even know she knew what a mime was. I think she really just wanted my presence, undivided attention, and to dress and stage her dolls... not so much my embarrassing mom pretend play. It was her very clever way of telling me to please shut up. Ha.

A Piggy Bank full of Penny Freckles

I recently came to the realization that my daughter is old enough to benefit from the vital life lesson that can only be learned through doing some good ol' household chores. So we went online and printed out this toddler chore chart I've been saving. She was INTO it. Her "chores" include brushing teeth, eating her breakfast (eating has always been a chore for Wendy), getting dressed, making her bed and cleaning up her toys. Even though only the last two are real chores, the consistency is good. She gets to put a sticker under each category as she completes it, then after she fills every thing up for the whole week she gets a dollar. When I told her the deal, her little face lit up. I could see the wheels turning in her head, "So... I could go to the 99 cent store and get WHATEVER I want?!" I would love to teach her the concept of saving for something bigger but that might be a little over her 4 year old head. It was an interesting week teaching her the joys of contributing. She really impressed me. Sometimes having her help is actually more work (and takes more patience) than just doing it myself, but her enthusiasm for chores was impressive and adorable. I almost got choked up watching her pick up some of her toys in the playroom (without being asked, mind you). I knew it wouldn't even make a dent, but her desire to help out was so sweet.

Turns out, a week is a long time. And, after taking out Sundays (the sabbath), Mondays & Wednesdays (the days I work) it actually took two weeks. When she finally completed her 1st chore chart, I only had a twenty in my wallet. She had waited so so SO long for some reward for her hard work, I gave her the twenty, told her it was a dollar and switched it out of her piggy bank for a single the next night after she fell asleep. She lost a little enthusiasm by that point, so I upped the ante. We changed the deal to a quarter per day she does all her chores= mo money + instant gratification.

She also gets a nickle for every night she goes to bed without any funny business (crying, yelling for us, getting out of bed, etc.). She couldn't remember what a nickle was called and said, "You forgot to give me one of those, um... you know Mom... like a... penny... freckle... thing?" So now we all call them penny-freckles. Her piggy bank is full of them & it is SO worth it.

Oh H no.

   *birds in order from left to right: bluish, whitish, peep, silly guy
awesome names courtesy of Wendy

Ryan: Uh... babe? I only see 3 birds in the cage. I think Whitish is missing.
Me: No, my eyes play tricks on me sometimes too, because Whitish gets lost against the white cage and white wall behind it. Maybe you should check again.
Ryan: ...No, there are definitely only three birds in here.

That is when I drop whatever it is I'm doing/holding, pick up my 30 lb baby and quickly exit the patio/playroom. I announce to Ryan that I refuse to go out there until the bird is found, and since that is where my treadmill is located, he is going to have a fat, grumpy, tired, unhealthy wife if he doesn't find it soon. (at this time, the room is a DISASTER. I'm talking can't-see-the-floor-under-all-the-toys disaster. Millions of little, tiny toys. Like squinkies and legos tiny. So it was actually pretty easy to loose a living, flying animal in there).

A couple days later my father-in-law found him in the doll house with all the barbies. I can just imagine that little bird checking out those hoochie dolls from across the room and planning his escape to get to them. My awesome father-in-law chased Whitish all over the patio (incredibly, without tripping and breaking his neck) and put him back for me. So, no harm no foul, but now I can't go out there without obsessively, compulsively counting the four birds a couple times. Dang pets. They're just glorified food storage. (don't tell Ryan I said that)