Two years ago Eric and I made the decision to start trying for another baby. We wanted our kids to be close in age like my sisters and I were. We wanted them to be best friends and spend hours bugging one another only to turn around and become inseparable.  So when we found out that we were pregnant we were overjoyed. We absolutely loved being parents to Henrik and couldn't wait for another little one to run around with him. Don't be fooled though, our excitement and joy was more of an accomplishment kind of joy, like we'd done it, again. It came so easy for us that we thought we were beyond lucky. But we both had this intense fear that we didn't know what to do with two babies. How on earth could we handle two of them? I can't explain the panic I had over whether or not I could love another child as much as I loved Henrik. I couldn't help but think horrible things like "what if this baby wasn't as cute or smart or healthy?" Would we still love i

Growing up in Michigan, my sisters and I spent a lot of time outdoors. When we were younger our grandparents had a cabin and we couldn't wait to get up there to go frog huntin'. As we grew older, we enjoyed camping and just being outdoors. My boys are no different. When we first moved in this house some 15 years ago, I'll never forget the first night. We had just moved from Ann Arbor, on a busy street where an ambulance or siren of some sort was the norm, to the country, where all I could hear were frogs, cicadas and crickets. It scared me to death. It was dark, but the animals were loud. Sometimes we'd hear a coyote. It was scary,  at that point in my life I'd rather have zooming cars and traffic noise to crickets. But as an adult, I've learned to love those sounds. They are peaceful and bring back Summer memories of playing with my sisters. While I'll have many fond memories of this particular Summer in Michigan, I'll never forget how my boys woke

The day after I posted this  entry about how it was damn near impossible to potty train my boys, Henrik pooped on the potty! It was quite the celebration too! But a day after that, he had an accident. And for a few days after that he had an accident. It was like I put it out in the universe that I was fed up with potty  training and he did what he was supposed to, but then a day later I was being punished for sharing my sons' bathroom experiences on the Internet. I'll never win. After a few days of no luck on the potty and even pee accidents, I was definitely feeling like there was absolutely no hope at all, but determined to stick with it, I told Henrik that if he pooped on the potty three days in a row he'd get a pooping party! His eyes widened, his smile grew, he clapped his hands and jumped up and down. REALLY? He could have cake and a candle, a pooping car and a sign! It wasn't even his birthday! We talked about the rules: No pooping in Pull-Ups at night. Alway

It had been a very long 44 days, nerves, excitement and anxiety flooded our car as I packed in the boys so we could make the three hour and 45 minute trip to Dayton, OH to visit Eric during his training. In just a few weeks we will actually pack up everything we own in Michigan and move to Colorado (where we're stationed). But even though we could make it three more weeks, Eric and I decided that a mini family vacation in Ohio was exactly what we needed.  Before I could get to his somewhat glorified vacation held up in a VOQ (Visiting Officer Quarters) on an Air Force Base, I had to get through the drive down there. Normally the trip to Dayton wouldn't be bad, but it turned out to be torturous. Yeah, I think torturous is the right word... the boys slept for the first 48 minutes of our trip. After that, things kind of went down hill:  Thornado choked on a cheese puff and puked all over himself. It wasn't actually that much vomit, but it was enough to annoy him and stink up

As I was getting ready one morning I stood before the mirror, naked. I looked my body up and down and despite the 50 pounds and four sizes I'd lost thanks to nursing Theodor, I was still a little critical of what was left behind.  Henrik was busy playing in my room and I had high hopes that Theo would stay in there as well as I examined the belly pooch, the saggy breasts, and stretch marks that remained from carrying and nursing two eight pound babies. The marks were fading, but still visible after all this time. Even that dark line that ran from my sternum to my pubic bone was still visible if I looked close enough. My stretch marks never turned into that tree shape that some women get. Instead, mine were more like tears in the skin. They were evenly spaced and had irregular sides. I remember each week of each pregnancy thinking "Man, I'm going to make it through this without stretch marks". There was this sense of pride, like  it was an accomplishment to not have

As you may have guessed, Thornado is quite the energetic child. He is full of gusto and mischief. He's sly and cunning. He can throw the world's largest tantrum , but be as sweet as a triple chocolate cake when he says things with his big eyes, his head cocked and with a soft, high pitched tone.  If we don't do things fast enough for him, he'll do it himself . If we leave him by himself we will find him stuck in a chair, on top of the furniture or locked in a room somewhere. He's so smart and so determined that he's always surprising me with his newest trick. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The kid never wanted to be a baby and since he was born he's been adamant about doing everything his brother did. From walking sooner, to speaking in sentences faster, he's blown me away in every aspect of his life. Theodor learned two very important things over the holiday weekend:  1. How to climb the baby gate.  2. How to aim a Super Soaker.

*I acknowledge in advance, that putting a three year old into an organized Sport Camp seems silly. I understand that while reading this post you may infer that my husband and I are crazy or perhaps the sport version of a "Stage Mom". While I may not sound convincing, I'll do my best to ensure that as our boys try different things, I not become one of "those parents". I also understand that there could be some expectations for our sons as their father played college hockey, was a Hobey Baker Candidate and even played in a Semi-Pro hockey game. But the pressure could also come from me, a mother who has been in love with the Detroit Tigers for as long as she can remember and has a love of sports and competition that fuels her life.* Just after Memorial Day, I enrolled Henrik in a Sports Camp through the local school district. It was called, "Sport Sampler" and was for children ages 3-6. I fully understood that my son who had just turned three, would be

4th of July- 2012 Our plans were foiled a bit by the Air Force (go figure), we initially thought we'd be able to spend today as a family, but instead, we're spending the day with grandparents! Still good! We'll actually see Eric next week for several days, and you can only imagine how wonderful that feels. Because it's a holiday and we're not celebrating with Daddy and our military family today, I wanted to make sure my boys understood that we're celebrating something important: the importance of a good idea, hard work, struggle, and freedom. They may not understand today what it means to be free, and they're not aware of the struggles that are happening in Syria, Egypt and Libya for the chance at independence. But I make sure that whenever I see a picture of someone voting (like an Afghan woman with ink on her thumb, or people standing in line at a poling station in Iraq), or I have the opportunity to vote in an election, I include them by showing t

No, there are no "Potty Training in One Day" secrets here. I'm fresh out of ideas.  An open invite for all of you who have have claimed to "Potty Train in Three Days," I will pay top dollar for you to come to my house and teach my boys in three days time. Any takers? We've been introducing the potty and have had potty training time for a year. When our oldest turned two we cracked down and got him "trained", as in he'd pee when we told him to, and he could mostly keep his underwear dry throughout the day and even at night. He never once offered to go on his own though. Now, a year later, I've been battling a three year old who is absolutely capable of peeing on the potty, but insists to the point of a tantrum and tears that he can't do it because it would, heaven forbid, interrupt play time. He has accidents because he has to take every Hotwheels car in his collection with him and, as he juggles the cars while walking with his legs