17 Apr
A milestone of sorts
A few weeks ago, Doug pointed out that I was close to reaching 100,000 blog visitors on this WordPress site. I somehow managed to miss the actual rollover into six-figure territory, but I felt like I needed to mark the occasion by expressing my gratitude for your interest in our lives.
Bryan started blogging before Ava was even a thought—nearly a decade has passed since he launched his first site. Once we moved to Kansas, I continued it, with the goal of creating virtual baby books in place of the paper versions I neglected to start.
Four years ago, I moved the blog to WordPress, and since then, we’ve seen about 70 visitors each day, or about 25,000 each year. Those figures are both exhilarating and scary. I often joke that the moms must account for at least half of those visits, but in reality, I know they are far too busy to keep that close an eye on us. So, that means others are reading about the day to day happenings in the Smith household. Again . . . exhilarating and scary.
It would be disingenuous to claim that nearly 15 years in public relations hasn’t shaped my decisions of what to share (and how to share it), but I’d like to think that overall, we’re pretty open about the highs and lows of parenting and life in general.
Over the past four years, a few posts stand out as favorites, at least according to WordPress stats:
- Thanks to what was an inadvertently obvious title, the post about our visit to the Disneyland princess salon has proven quite popular, though I’m not sure those who wandered in via Google were as impressed with my newly-minted five year old as the regulars around here were. Still, those photos—and the accompanying memories—make my heart swell nearly two years later.
- A few recipe posts have also brought in serious traffic, like this particular martini recipe. As for the person searching for margarita cupcakes without alcohol, move along. Nothing to see here.
- Of course, everyone seems to love posts in which I am a little too honest… Seriously. You guys like those. A lot.
- The posts about parenting are also popular. I assume it’s just because I am, ahem, so very good at it…
- This post is easily one of my personal favorites. I suppose there’s a good chance I’m at least partially responsible for skewing the numbers here, but it’s something I refer back to when I’m missing the grandparents. Or Minnesota. Or both.
- A few posts are just classics—exactly the kind of things we should be documenting in this virtual book of babies, like this post about Ava’s run in with a pair of safety scissors and the genesis of Olivia’s ongoing love affair with tiaras.
- And, in the same vein, even some rather new posts are already appearing toward the top of the list. And, thanks to the new blog category that came along with that one, I suppose we won’t have a shortage of stories and photos to share in the next four years, either.
Living apart from our family and many of our friends remains challenging, but marking this milestone makes me realize we are far from alone. Thank you for being a part of our lives—both online and in person. We are grateful!
13 Apr
Olivia Fix
At Ava’s birthday party last year, Tom gave Olivia (and really, the rest of us) a little gift. I texted him later that night to tell him he forgot to take the kazoo home with him, but sadly, it was Liv’s to keep.
Normally, small toys are either lost or simply fall out of favor over the course of time. Not the kazoo, unfortunately. It has remained. Loudly. For many, MANY months.
I shared this photo with Tom via text earlier this week, and he responded, “I AM REALLY SO SORRY.” I assured him, though, that Olivia was actually becoming quite good at it, and now we were hearing recognizable songs, rather than just noise. I mean, I still hope it goes missing, but in the interim, it certainly keeps her happy!
10 Apr
Turnabout is fair play
Ava: “Dad, let me show you proof that leprecauns are real.”
Bryan: “Oh, I know they are. They live with the Easter Bunny in the summer and Santa in the winter.”
9 Apr
Overheard
Olivia, as she prepared for a trip to the park: “Can I wear a necklace?”
Bec: “Sure.”
Olivia: “And a bracelet?”
Bec: “Yep.”
Olivia: “And a CROWN?”
9 Apr
Ava & Olivia
Olivia woke me up at 6 am on Sunday morning, just to see if it was time for the Easter egg hunt. I put her off roughly an hour, and then both girls were up and ready to hunt. They found not only eggs, but also their Easter baskets as well!
7 Apr
Easter preparations
I tried a couple of new Easter egg tricks this year, courtesy of Pinterest.
The first was an Alton Brown recipe that suggested baking eggs directly on the oven racks for 30 minutes at 325 degrees. This worked very well, at least for for the first 25 minutes—after that, the eggs began to explode. I can’t decide if the situation is helped or hindered by the fact the oven hasn’t been cleaned since roughly 2007. Either way, I have another project ahead of me this weekend.
The second trick was using Kool-Aid to dye eggs. It was certainly easier than mixing vinegar and food coloring, though I will say I didn’t have quite the spectrum for which I was hoping. We stirred up green and blue the old fashioned way to expand the palette, and then the girls set to work.
5 Apr
The night Bryan ruined Christmas
This title is, of course, totally unfair, but let me explain…
Recently, Ava has expressed that she “just feels seven,” as if the impact of this new number has suddenly hit home. When I visit her room at 7 am, I find the door closed, with holiday-themed “Elves at Work” do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. The first time I encountered this, I was most definitely disturbed, and I swung open the door, only to find her fully dressed and tidying up around an already made bed. This strange behavior has continued throughout the week, and her newfound responsibility and maturity has spilled over into other areas as well.
Case in point: My intrepid seven-year-old arrived home after school last night, looked me straight in the eye and said:
“Mom. I need you to tell me the truth. Santa and the Easter Bunny aren’t real, right? You and Dad put out the presents, don’t you?”
I sidestepped, asking what prompted such a question. Apparently, the first grade class is divided, with half believing and half doubting. Ava felt she absolutely needed to know. RIGHT NOW.
I told her that I most definitely believed in the spirit of Santa.
It didn’t work.
I tried my own mother’s line: “You know, if you stop believing in Santa, he might not come anymore…”
This also failed.
At this point, I did what I usually do when faced with tough questions like, “How did the seed from Daddy get into your belly to make the baby?” and “What’s the difference between a planet and a star?” That is, I promptly directed her to her father.
And then, everything started spinning.
Bryan sat Ava down and told her that she was a smart and inquisitive child. He said she was seven now, and that he’d answer any question she had honestly. And then, when she asked again, he simply said, “No, there’s no Santa.”
While Ava sat there thoughtfully, I burst into uncontrollable sobs, a misstep I am sure will be far more memorable than the actual realization itself.
It seems terribly unfair that there’s only seven years of the magic that comes with such a belief. I was completely and totally unprepared for this phase to end—I had honestly never contemplated it before, and now, there was nothing that could be done. It was just . . . over.
I tried to regain composure, stifling sniffles as Bryan said, “It’s okay, Mommy just really loves Christmas,” and thinking to myself, “Why don’t you just put her on the pill and send her to college?”
I will also admit that at some point (and I think it’s fair to blame hormones here), I said both “Well, at least I have the NEW baby,” and “So help me God, if you tell your sister, Santa will never bring you another present again.”
Later in the evening, somewhere around the fourth or fifth time Ava checked to make sure I was okay, I regained some sensibility, apologized for my reaction, and told her that she was now—at least in part—responsible for carrying forth the spirit that allowed other children to believe. I said, she’d have to be an “elf at work.”
She promised me she’d do her very best, and I believe her.
I mean, she is SEVEN, after all.
2 Apr
Ava’s new accessories
My parents made me wait an agonizingly long time to have my ears pierced—nine years, to be exact. (Dad took me to Dr. Knosp’s office the morning of my ninth birthday, and then proceeded to pass out during the actual piercing.)
I always said that I wouldn’t put an arbitrary age limit on this rite of passage for my girls, and so when Ava asked about it shortly before her sixth birthday, I said, “Sure.” Turns out her father had other ideas. And, so, she waited.
Finally, a week before her seventh birthday, I took Ava downtown to Claire’s, the one location for piercing in our little city. A store manager and assistant, both dressed in St. Patrick’s Day garb (including green, feathered false eyelashes), stabbed permanent holes in my daughter’s ears. There was a point at which I realized why my parents waited, but I am loathe to admit that…
Once the hole placement was marked with purple marker, the piercers worked on both ears simultaneously. Ava didn’t even grimace…
Seriously, her expression never changed.
She did manage a smile once it was done, of course.
One benefit of waiting a bit is that Ava can care for her new earring entirely by herself, with only a reminder here or there. They are healing nicely, and she’s already picked out the pair she’ll switch to when her six week wait is up.
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