I hate haircuts

This baby is gone.














Forever.














His hair is much, much more blonde. This has happened to me before. I do not like it. The above photos were taken thirty minutes apart. Who knew thirty minutes could age you a year! Sob.

Plus, as an added bonus, Nico's hair has a few large blonde patches. These patches look like completely bald patches. Especially the one smack dab on the back of his head. A real refugee look. Nice.

Jacob (who I am more used to seeing look grown up) got his hair cut too.














Cute boy. A little bit evil, but mainly cute.

Oh, Jacob

The other day I was squeezing a lemon into my water. Jacob started asking me all sorts of questions about it. He wanted some lemon for himself. He said he wanted it on the cup. I wasn't sure what to make of that, so I squeezed the lemon into an empty cup. I handed it to him and he dropped the cup as if it were made of fire. He said there were things (pulp) in it and he didn't want that.

So I went back to the drawing board. He told me multiple times, very emphatically that he wanted the lemon ON the cup. I had no idea. Then he picked up the lemon and the cup did his best to put the lemon on the cup.

With that, I got it.


















I really don't know where he learned this since after I squeeze a lemon into my drink I just throw the lemon away.














He's so observant. And, he winks!

I'm sorry Nicholas,

but you're pretty.










































Pretty, pretty, pretty.














And pretty awesome, too.

Definition

The Mullet.

Business in the front:




























Party in the back:




























I promise we're cutting it all this week.

Here's how those mullets look dry (while pretending to eat my birthday cake). You can actually see Jacob's party in the back.














Excuse the mess in the background and the fact that this is the second recent post with Nicholas staring vacantly at the TV. We're pretty human around these parts!

Look familiar?

My Grandma gave Jacob the book No Jumping on the Bed for Christmas. This book is a cautionary tale about the risks of jumping on the bed. Risks like having your bed fall through the floor! (Excuse my copyright infringing photo booth pics.)














And not just fall through the floor, but continue falling through all of the floors beneath you! Eeeyikes! As the bed travels down the building you are introduced to the residents who live below this little golden haired boy. Amazingly, their names all rhyme: Miss Hattie, Mr. Matty, Aunt Batty, Patty and Natty, Mr. Hanratty, and Maestro Ferlingatti. It's uncanny!

I instantly liked this book after our first Christmas morning read. As I flipped through the pages I noticed the title page.

I ask you, does this look familiar?















That's right, it looks just like our building!

































Walter (the non-rhyming maverick of his building) lives a floor above us and our windows are more decorative, but aside from that it's a pretty convincing match.

Walter and Jacob's beds are even in the same spot.














Here's the view out his window (with cousin Jackson in the middle).













Here's hoping Jacob's bed stays put.

Messing

That's right. Jacob's become a messer.

He messes with Matt by mercilessly jumping on, pushing, and pinching Matt's stomach. He messes with me by pretending he doesn't like me. (That's awesome.) And he messes with Nicholas in every way one is capable of messing ALL DAY LONG.

What is messing, you ask?

Messing is, simply put, the act of pushing people's buttons. With brutal accuracy. Jacob is a master. If you don't like it when he does a certain thing (and you are fool enough to let him know it) he will do it again and again and again.

He's also adorable, sweet, brilliant and fun. But enough about that. Tonight I want the world to know that he messes with us all!

Poor Nicholas.

(Note Jacob's face. Ah the glee of messing.)

(Note Nico's bottom. Sometimes he tries to push his pants off. He never gets very far. My little crack baby.)

Chicago's pretty

And I have a new reason for not blogging this week.

I'm a fairly hearty person (at least hearty enough to keep slogging along with the mom stuff while sick) but I was driven to my bed on Wednesday afternoon in a very dramatic and Victorian fashion. After 48 hours of chills, fever, cough, sleep, and staring off into the distance for long periods of time I emerged Friday. Still sick, but functional.

The boys got a milder version and so the three of us have been a sorry sight. Matt was able to care for the boys when I was at my worst. My worst being when I tried to open a bottle of juice and the exertion made the room grow dim and my head spin in danger of blacking out. For real.

I also haven't left my apartment since Wednesday at noon. Let's see if our coughing and fevers can make it a full week! Give me a few cats and I'm ready to stay in forever.

So, a recap:

1. Come visit us in Chicago and we'll take you to see the city from the Hancock observatory. Matt took me on a date there one evening and it was gorgeous. The day (as you can see) is pretty amazing too. Actually, we'll take you anywhere...just come visit!

2. Beware the flu. If it's been a while since you've truly had the flu then watch out. And while I definitely advocate the flu shot...it didn't work for me.

Here's my best excuse for not blogging lately

I know, will I ever stop complaining about no dishwasher?

Probably not.

New blogs to come!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

The boys and I took an impromptu trip into the city on Saturday to see the Chicago River dyed green. We wanted to see if the city of Chicago could do any better than we did with our dye job.














Um, they did. We ran from home to the train station and barely made it. When we got off of the train we found ourselves on a busy Michigan Avenue, full of St. Patrick's Day die-hards. I looked pretty out of place as I pushed my two boys through it all, but I didn't feel out of place. We got to the bridge and saw that green river. Really and truly green.














Green greenie green green!




























I had thrown some snacks in my bag before we left and tried to pass those off as a "picnic" dinner. Everything sounds better to Jacob if it's couched in a picnic. Jacob ate his up and then told me that when we got home we'd have real dinner and popcorn. Hmmm.




























After a little while we crossed the river again to get back to the train station.














And enjoyed the view below and the view above.














As I walked, I remembered (here comes the introspection) the first time I ever crossed a bridge over the Chicago River four and a half years ago. It was an early fall night and looked like this:



Matt was traveling for work and was able to bring me along. He had spent all day working. I had spent all day wandering the Art Institute and the surrounding streets. While I wandered I started to feel hungry, tired, and nauseated. By the time Matt got back I was feeling yucky. A new yucky. We walked north to a restaurant that served the very best steak I think I've ever had. But I couldn't enjoy it. Then we came back to the hotel to sleep in the very best bed I've ever slept in. Then we came home to find out I was pregnant with Jacob.

I can't believe that only four years have passed since then. I would never have dreamed that four years later Matt and I would move our two young sons to this big city. Or that we'd even have two sons. And I never, ever, ever would have imagined myself capable of an outing like the one we were on.

Several years before I moved to New Jersey (for my mission) I drove through it a few times and roundly criticized it. I think the phrase, "feast your eyes people, because this is the last time we have to see New Jersey!" escaped my lips. Yet I lived there and loved it.

Several years before I moved to Atlanta I was completely certain that my mission call would be to Atlanta, Georgia. Certain. So New Jersey came as an even bigger shock! I ended up in Atlanta later than I'd thought and for a different kind of mission, but it turned into the truest of homes.

And now again, several years before moving to Chicago I had this experience that brought the city onto my radar. I felt out of place and intimidated on my trip back then. I felt a conviction that I was not made for that life. Yet here we are. And it's happening. It's becoming home.

It's cool.

As if my last post didn't make this perfectly clear: Nico is a Thomas fan

From top














to bottom.














He saw these underwear and started alternately saying "wear" and "choo choo".

How easy to please. (Don't tell Grandma Jan that I just slipped them on over his diaper and onesie.)