Archive for the ‘feeding’ Tag

Mostly Wordless Wendesday – Gingerbread Girls…   18 comments

Bridget loves to make cookies, but this was the first time the girls got to taste some of our handiwork. After a celebratory “cheers” (is it bad my daughter tells me to drink more wine, and my toddlers know how to cheers before their first birthday?? LOL) the girls chowed down. Well, sort of… Taylor demolished her cookie and started attempting to pick up the crumbles left on KCs plate. KC kept half-heartedly gumming hers, but I’m pretty sure she was confused as to what all the fuss was about. And now that I’ve posted these pictures, i’ve just noticed that my husband has (yet again) given Taylor a mowhawk after her bath… Again?!?
 
Bridget and Taylor "cheers" their gingerbread cookies!

Bridget and Taylor "cheers" their gingerbread cookies!

Taylor's first taste of Christmas Gingerbread
Taylor’s first taste of Christmas Gingerbread
Kennedy's first taste of Xmas gingerbread
Kennedy’s first taste of Xmas gingerbread
Hmmm - KC's not sure if she really likes this gingerbread stuff
Hmmm – KC’s not sure if she really likes this gingerbread stuff
Love how she holds everything like such a little lady - pinkie raised and all!
Love how she holds everything like such a little lady – pinkie raised and all!

 

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A Poacher In Our Midst…   5 comments

 I found this just this morning.  Agony. Ack! There be a poacher in our midst!

 

Somehow, somewhere, small furry creatures have been eating my food. Small, tabby creatures (of which we have three, but who’s counting).  Of our herd, I can only think of one who might do such a thing… The betrayal stings, especially as I had shoved him off of the baby’s high chair only minutes before. For the fourty-third time. In 3 minutes. But he would only dare such treachery while I am at my most vulnerable, unable to defend my home territory. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen… Literally, behind my back, while I was busy attempting to feed two squaling twoddlers.

Yup, while I was busy feeding the babies, somehow, THIS happened. Don’t ask me how I didn’t hear it – actually, if you need to ask that, you need to drop by our house for ‘feeding time at the zoo’. When my youngest (can you say that when your youngest is only younger by two minutes? Sure, why not!) when my youngest is bouncing repetitively in her highchair, her older (by two minutes) sister is babbling delightedly, and my (seemingly much older) preschooler is screeming at me like a high school drop-out. Yup, can’t understand how I missed a small grey tabby quietly gnawing a hole in my infant cereal…

 The real question is… why?

 

My life as a squeegee kid…   1 comment

Squeegee mom in action on day one...

As the twins are now six months old, we have just embarked on a new oddessy: solids. From listening to first-time moms at playgroups and drop-in centres, and my (albeit dim) memory of doing this waaay long ago with our (almost) three year old, Bridget, I know that starting solids is generally looked apon as a momentous occasion. Dum duh duh DUUUM! My child now eats real food! No longer am I her sole source of nutrition! And look how grown up and mature she is. Soon, she’ll be holding her own utensils, sitting at the dinner table all by herself eating the same food as mom and dad and having polite dinner conversation and …

Uh huh. Right. You see the slippery slope that one takes you down? When I realized five months was rolling around with the twins and they had hit 15 lbs, a strange feeling of dread hit the pit of my stomach. The twins nursed constantly and yet still begged to eat. They sat in their little highchairs at meal time like two princesses on matching thrones, awaiting service. They watched each and every bite leave our plates and enter our mouths with the solumn fixation of starving orphans from Oliver Twist. Food, glorious  food! My husband was psyched!

I, however, was not. Part of it was the increased workload – I mean, let’s be honest! Its not like I’m keeping up with laundry as it is… Most days, there are at least two, possibly three loads waiting to be folded and put away. And now we’ll be adding in 6 bibs, 4 extra outfits (for pureed something ends up down someone’s shirt/pants at least once at every meal, always in the opposite direction the bib is oriented, and (duh!) there are two of them), and at least 16 bazillion washclothes??? But mainly, it was the fact that for the next six to eighteen months (let’s pray for the former!), I will become simply a glorified squeegee kid.

It’s amazing the psychological similarities there are between meal-time moms of infants, and those pubescent street urchins: you approach a relatively uninterested (occasionally downright irate) party with a service they either: a) don’t know they need or are b) pretty sure they don’t want, foist it upon them with fake sincerity and a Bob Moss-ian smile, and then rely on their sense of good-natured obligation for non-violent compliance and (perhaps even a small reward)! And obviously, after two to three carefully choreographed swipes of the chin after each and every spoonful of puree that goes in, the physical similarities are uncanny. Down to the angled swipe down the centre to finish the job. Times two.

Even so, however, seeing their little faces either light up with enjoyment or squeeze shut in ultimate agony after the first taste of something new that I made all by myself, makes all the chopping, pureeing, swiping, wiping,  and washing almost worth it….

Almost.