Family-of-Three Weekend

Turkeys.

Charlotte looking at a cow while standing next to her mommy who looks rather cow-like herself.



Exploring the farm, all decked out. Charlotte LOVES this pink hat her omi bought her at the zoo in Palm Springs and wears it ALL the time, including to church on Sunday. (Hey, I pick my battles.)

With Daddy!

With Mommy! I love her smile here--it's SO Charlotte.

Picking an apple.



How do you like them apples?

Deep inside a tree to get that perfect apple . . .



Charlotte munching on the peeled apples while watching football. (For the record, my kitchen island rarely looks this awful. Really. I can't stand messy islands.)

Helping with the cinnamon.

As time with Charlotte as our “only” winds down, Chris and I decided to postpone things like weeding, car-washing, and ironing (not that we’re not scurrying around like crazy mice during Charlotte’s naps). Instead, we wanted some solid Charlotte time, some family-of-three time.

Oh, what a weekend we had. Early-ish on Saturday morning, Charlotte got a haircut (nothing major—just bangs and a general trim), and she was SO proud that she got her hair cut, just like Daddy! Post Charlotte-haircut (while Daddy got his done), Charlotte and I walked to a big park that was brand-spanking new to her. It still being pretty early, we were the only people there, and she had blast, exploring this new playground and discovering a terrifyingly fast slide that she slid down over and over again.

Next, we walked over to McDonald’s for a family breakfast. (Don’t judge, all ye “fast-food-is-evil” folks; she had the yogurt thing with fruit and granola.) At McDonald’s, there was a rough-around-the-edges, gruff older guy in his trucker’s hat who kept flirting with Charlotte, and she flirted right back. It was hilariously adorable--these two people could not have been any more different. They entertained each other all through breakfast, and finally Charlotte loudly labeled him as “papa too!” (I swear, she really does know who her REAL papa and grandpa are), which cracked the old guy up. And probably made his day.

Next, we went to a nearby farm (here in The Sticks, you need not travel far) to go apple picking and look at farm animals. Charlotte tried to speak their language, with the appropriate moos and baaaahs, and when that failed to get their attention, she belted out verses of “Old MacDonald’s Farm.” She LOVED picking apples and putting them in the bucket. Just loved it. I’m tempted to take her again, if her baby sister holds off a couple days on being born, once my maternity leave starts. We beat a bunch of thunderstorms moving in (leftover from the hurricane, I think), so while it was only 86 degrees and sunny, the humidity was a bit thick for a mommy in her 9th month of pregnancy. But honestly, my internal thermostat is so out of whack, it’s quite likely that it was actually a beautiful, not-too-hot day.

We bought 35 pounds of apples (we could’ve bought more—the trees were oh so plentiful, but really, I don’t have time to make tons of pies and apple butter). Charlotte helped Daddy pick out some produce for the week and proudly carried butternut squash back to the car that she will never, ever eat, because she has hated squash since she first tasted it at 5 months old. But hey, it’s fun to carry, right?

While Charlotte napped at home, Chris hustled to deal with the lawn and I hustled to get the house in order and laundry moving. Once she woke up, we had the whole family loaded up in the car for a much-needed Costco trip as a thunderstorm approached. “Hmm, what do you think?” Chris said, looking at the black clouds and already-whipping-around trees.

“Let’s bail,” I said. “It only takes one tree to fall and crush our car, and us with it. I don’t want to risk it.” Yeah, it probably would’ve been fine, but my WHOLE family was in that car, including in utero Lorelei. So, we ran back into the house as the first drops splattered, then the downpour started. As a family, we snuggled up on the couch and waited out the storm by watching Toy Story 3, which I had (brilliantly, right?) recorded off the Disney Channel. Charlotte was fascinated by it.

Alas, about halfway through, Charlotte started crying and saying her bottom hurt. (This next part is gross, fyi, unless you have toddlers.) Her so-called poop earlier that afternoon consisted of what looked like two rocks, so the problem was pretty obvious. She was absolutely distraught and in so much pain, which broke my heart. I held and rocked her (as best I could with my giant stomach) and sang all her favorite songs to her, and I sent Chris to the drug store down the street. In the meantime, I gave Charlotte raisins—that was all I had on hand that could possibly help. (Getting clogged up is VERY rare for Charlotte, so I wasn’t terribly well prepared.) Chris returned with a bag full of stuff the pharmacist recommended for toddlers, and voila. Within an hour, the deed was done, and Charlotte happily shouted, “I feel better now!”

We then went to our favorite brewery, Dogfish Head, for dinner, and again had a jolly time. Though we stayed out past Charlotte’s bedtime (we got a tad delayed with the poop drama), she behaved beautifully. She was obviously having a grand time, enjoying being in the center of attention. The place was packed and buzzing (college football), and I think she was pretty caught up in the excitement, noise, and activity. It was SO nice to be able to take her to a restaurant and not chase her around or deal with tears and screaming. Generally, she’s very good at restaurants, but we’ve had a couple trips that were NOT fun for anybody. This time, though, she stayed put in her seat and didn't make a game out of dropping things. The only thing I had to get off the ground was a crayon that rolled off the table. Not bad, eh?

An awesome Saturday.

Sunday morning, Chris went to church early to help the first day of Sunday School classes run smoothly. The thunderstorms had cleared the way fo a beautiful early fall day, so Charlotte and I walked to church later in the morning in 70-degree, non-humid, sunny weather. After church and after Charlotte’s nap, we bolted to Costco and got home in time to watch the season openers for the Seahawks and 49ers. Chris made not-from-a-bag popcorn (Charlotte got her own bowl, which immensely delighted her), and all three of us watched some football. Charlotte was so stinkin' cute, mimicking Daddy with such phrases as “nice pass” or “come on!” or “good block” or, of course, “TOUCHDOWN!” At one point, she tossed her water bottle to Chris, telling him, “Daddy, I pass it to you, okay?” He was so proud of her newly acquired football lingo, he damn near changed his views on Title IX.

To prove that autumn is indeed on its way, Chris claimed one Dutch oven for his awesome beef stroganoff, which simmered throughout the games, and I claimed the other for an enormous batch of applesauce. I spent forever peeling apple after apple while sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, watching football. Charlotte sat on the other barstool, taking random bites out of the peeled (but still whole) apples I had set aside. It looked like a mouse had invaded my apple bowl. She was desperate to help and donned her apron and everything, but peeling and cutting are not the best toddler jobs, hence her biding her time with apple munching. Finally, she got to add the lemon juice and cinnamon and stir the apples, which satisfied her. FYI: This is, um, VERY cinnamon-y applesauce.

Predictably, Charlotte was ready for bed by the time 7:00 came. I read my girl her stories and got her settled into the weird sideways sleeping position she favors. “Mommy?” she said. “Mommy, Charlotte isn’t going to wake up now. Charlotte is going to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good idea, pumpkin,” I said. I kissed her and told her I loved her, then turned out the light and drew the door closed.

“Night, night, Mommy,” she said before the door shut. “I love you, Mommy.”

Oh, my heart!