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Archive for the ‘my brain is mush’ Category

Okay — it’s only a couple of weeks late –wait, no 1.5 weeks late, but here are some pictures from Emil Birk’s 4th birthday:

Hahahahaha — just kidding! We didn’t take any pictures!!! Wait that’s a lie — we took one!!! But he wasn’t in it!!!! Hahahahaha….!!!!!!!!!!!

If that’s not the hitting the fast-forward button to a future middle-child-therapy session, I don’t know what is. (insert eye roll)  Sorry Emil. Remember, mama’s love language is food, not photos. I spent weeks planning your cake… which is interesting because right now I canNOT for the life of me remember what it was.

Sigh.

ANYWAY, Emil is a very proud four-year-old. He is in the big-kid room at barnehage, is obsessed with the word poop, has had one accident since he (miraculously) agreed to wear underwear, likes bugs, animals, secrets, and ninja turtles.

That child can push all of my buttons in the amount of time it takes me to pee. He makes me pray out loud while sitting on the toilet. (Are you getting that that happened this morning?) He laughs (literally) in the face of all discipline, but is completely gutted if a big kid he looks up to is angy with him. He hits and throws things at Karel, but somehow not at Cai. His four year old world still has trouble embracing the existance of ”bad guys” in play (E: ”This is a nice thief.” K: ”But he can’t be nice if he’s a thief.” E: ”oh. But he is.” etc. etc. cueing distress and the swooping in of the mama with the solution that if the thief says he’s sorry then he’s nice.)

Emil is not shy. Emil is not small. Emil will chase the neighbor boy out of our yard if he doesn’t want him there. He is a defender of pre-school justice.  As Emil shouted ”Du er dum!!” (”you are silly!”) from the veranda to a random boy riding his bike down the street, I realised that Emil and his big brother put us in the interesting position of being parents to one child who may have a tendency toward being teased, and one who may have a tendency toward being the teaser.

His stubborness is inherited on both sides. Hah! THAT’S where he’s underestimated us. I can out-stubborn him. Push all you want, buddy. I’m still gonna love you.

A tribute to four years with our little man of many names:

eb: sleepy baby with so much hair! :)

eb: sleepy baby with so much hair! 🙂

eb: Six months old, all cheeks.

eb: Six months old, all cheeks.

eb: food enthusiast

eb: food enthusiast

eb: comedian

eb: comedian

eb: 2 years

eb: 2 years

eb: monster trapped in a cage.... just kidding.

eb: monster trapped in a cage…. just kidding.

eb: artist

eb: artist

eb: Selfie!

eb: Selfie!

eb: big brother

eb: big brother

eb: little brother

eb: little brother

eb: Ninja turtle!

eb: Ninja turtle!

eb: proficient baker

eb: proficient baker

eb: FOUR!!!

eb: FOUR!!!

 

Emil, Emil Birk, Emilian, Emiis, Birkelus… still not too big to be our baby. xoxo

 

P.S: I remembered about the cake now! One cake with plums that he picked with our friend Heidi, per his request, generously decorated by the birthday boy himself with sprinkles and M&Ms (or ”emili-ems”, as he — and now we– call them), and surprise spider cupcakes which miraculously turned out like they were supposed to. AND pizza roll ”snails.” We share a foodie heart, me and my Emis, so I think he was pleased. eb review 011

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Crazy as it may sound, there’s an upside to the tiredness a new baby brings to the mix.

A whole lotta not caring.

Kind of liberating, actually. After Emil was born I remember fist pumping in the living room after making an appointment for him –which required a phone call in Norwegian. I spoke so much more Norwegian after he was born, not because it was better than before, but because i was just too flipping tired to care if it came out right or not.

Unfortunately, my language skills are worse than ever now, so the not-caring has spilled over into personal appearance. You know, where the stain count on your shirt just has to be under three in order for it to be acceptable to wear in public. Last week for the 17th of May celebration I found, miracle of miracles, a nursing-friendly dress in my closet that was CLEAN. (What’s even more remarkable is that I wasn’t even nursing when I bought that dress. That’s a cunning subconcious right there.) I don’t remember washing it, but I must have. Honestly, finding that dress and then shoes that matched was so big of a victory that I didn’t even care that my legs were dry pasty white and i’d had no time to put on makeup. Those pasty white legs paraded through town thinking that they weren’t nearly as pasty white as they could be. (What does that even mean? Pasty white is pasty white.)

Being tired lets me pretend that we DO live in America and all dress codes fly, so I happily and confidently go grocery shopping with crazy hair and sweatpants.

Being tired lets me pretend that I’m best friends with the whole world so that it’s not a big deal if I forgot to put in nursing pads and start leaking milk all over the place.

Being tired lets me have an internal giggle at the fact that I might have accidentally flashed someone at the grocery store while trying to pacify a screaming infant in the cereal aisle. (I will not even get into the ordeal that that particular shopping trip was.)

Sure, I can’t remember anything and speaking coherently in any  language has become kind of a challenge, but this whole minimal-thinking-about-appearance thing has been pretty great. Be thou gone forever, vanity

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I’m tired, my back hurts, the baby is so low I can’t bend over (which is annoying as 87% of my life is picking things up off the floor or dressing people shorter than me)…

… so it seems reasonable (if boring) that I’m becoming well acquainted with the evening t.v. schedule. What is possibly less than reasonable is the acute (over-?) reactions I’m finding I have to commercials.

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….you see the 21 (22? how old is he?) month old in your life smearing mashed banana all over his face while looking at you and grinning… and you just. look. away.

…you wish someone would get the mama dressed as quickly and in socially/weather/ appropriate (relatively clean) clothing as quickly and automatically as the mama gets the small ones dressed to meet those requirements.

…immediately after checking your email you check your bank account…because this is shaping up to be a really really really good day to buy something. Anything.

Aaaaaaand, some mornings, writing a quick blog post about those mornings and a spontaneous hug from a cetain early-bird 21/22 month old gives you juuuust enough of a lift to put the lid on the crabbiness and get started with the day.

(Deep breath.)

Good morning, friends, and happy friday. Complete with a big banana-y hug.

 

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Alternate title: ”Just in case any one of you thinks that I have it together”

It’s Friday now; Karel is at barnehage (after his normal morning tantrum), Bjørn is at work, Emil is sleeping, and I have brownies about to go into the oven. And it’s only 11 a.m.

AND the boys stayed in their own beds all night. (Mostly, anyway. Bjørn found Emil asleep on his back on the floor this morning, which is maybe not so surprising given this is how he positioned himself last night.)

So the week is wrapping up pretty calmly. But can I tell a quick story about how it started? A tiny little incident I now feel compelled to share in the event that our beloved friends and family might need a tiny little chuckle to help them through the week?

Monday mornings are not always so good for us. Three of the four Lyngstads residing at Solvangvegen 17 are not morning people. The two that are over 30 are usually able to deal. The one under 4 is not. Anyway, this particular Monday morning, Bjørn was headed to Trondheim and thus needed to be leaving Steinkjer by 8 a.m. I was supposed to ”work,” and the boys were scheduled to be at barnehage. We (read: Bjørn, aka-super-pappa) prepared their lunchboxes the night before, got all their gear together, and had them in bed relatively early with the hope that they would subsequently wake up relatively early on their own. (Waking up Karel is almost impossible and almost never tear-free.)

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