The First Child

Before there was a Mack or a Mimi or even a Ruthie, there was a Spike. I met Spike the first time I went to Clint's home in Germantown, and he sniffed me and walked away. I tried without avail to get him to play with me, but he just wanted to lie in his bed or run around the backyard peeing on everything. As soon as I had some food in my hand, he pretended to be my best bud, but I knew he had other motives so I decided to play hard to get. That night I heard a scratch at the door of the bedroom I was staying in and then was frightened to death when that little peculiar creature decided to hop in the bed with me, made me scoot over to give him space, and then walked around in a circle until he got as close to me as possible to spoon. And then I knew we were cool.

That's where my story with Spike begins, but the real story begins when Clint was about 14 years old in Batesville, Mississippi, and his father and brother brought home a tiny little Rat Terrier they decided to name Spike. I've heard stories about him following Clint to school, running into the gym and onto the court of church basketball games, being fed honeybuns out of vending machines, and fighting off dogs three times his size.

He reminded me a little of a cat because he made sure he was always in control of when he allowed people to give him attention, and then he would sneak away to his bed when he had enough. Spike was the kind of dog that could be let out of the house and would come back whenever he was ready. He knew how to sneak a bite off anyone's plate by staring with sad, longing eyes. Although he was normally very gentle, he had no problem letting people know when he was tired of being messed with.

When I met Spike he was about 7 or 8 years old, but he already had the personality of an old, ornery man. He didn't want anyone bothering him too much, and he was very set in his routine of eating, sleeping, and peeing on things. Let me reword -- peeing on EVERYTHING. He was never neutered and there were several times I caught him casually walking down a hallway and quickly lifting a leg. When he got in trouble he innocently looked around like he had done nothing wrong. I mean, it was his world and we were just living in it, right?

When Spike moved in with us, I tried my best to be a good stepmother. I fed him and bathed him and took him on walks and let him sleep on my side of the bed at night. And he still didn't really treat me much differently.

Then we decided to add to our little family and give Spike a sibling . . . and along came puppy Ruthie. She was sooo tiny and cute and scared to death of absolutely everyone and everything . . . except Spike. She quickly warmed up to him and followed him around the house, and he absolutely hated her from the start. Like a said, Spike was more like a cat and couldn't stand another dog invading his space.

I tried my best to make them bond -- you know like sweet little dogs that you see snuggling together in front of the fireplace, but uh-uh. Not happening. I think Ru would have obliged, but Spike had zero interest in taking part in anything that had to do with Ruthie.

So then came Mimi, and I was so nervous about how the dogs would react to her. We placed Mimi on the bed, and Ruthie happily sniffed her and checked her out. Spike then jumped up on the bed, sniffed her, and then gave her a look that said, "Oh, shit. They've gone and gotten one of these things. He then stood at the edge of the bed waiting on Clint to get him down (although he could still hop up on the bed, he had trouble jumping off onto the wood floor). After that day, I can't remember him ever attempting to snuggle with us at night again.

Within Mimi's first year, I really began noticing Spike's health deteriorate. I don't think it was because of her -- I mean, Spike was fifteen years old at this point. I can remember taking him to the vet and seeing the surprise on their faces at what good health this old guy was still in, but we never had great vet visits after his fifteenth year. His teeth and eyes were getting worse, and his arthritis was bothering him. It was becoming a little harder for him to go up and down the steps on the back porch, and you could forget him attempting to jump on the bed or couch. He had trouble chewing his food at times and would occasionally run into things he couldn't see well.

When we made the decision to move to Chicago, we also had to make the decision to leave Spike behind. He absolutely hates cold weather and there is no way he could climb up and down three flights of stairs to go on walks. So he went to live with Clint's parents, and we knew that he would probably live out his last days with them.

On Thursday around noon, Clint sent me a text message telling me that Spike had to be put down.

My first reaction was to worry about Clint and his parents who had cared for Spike for so long, but before I knew it my eyes were filled with tears as I began remembering all the car rides and Beggin' Strips and snuggling on the couch while I was pregnant and exhausted. He was absolutely the most peculiar little dog I've ever met, but he definitely grew on me and made me love him . . . and all that time I was worried about whether he loved me or not.

So my hope for Spike is that he is in heaven taking the best car ride ever and gnawing on as many Beggin' Strips and he can. I hope he has a fantastic little bed and loads on honeybuns. I hope he can lay on a porch and stare at the sun all afternoon. We'll miss you, Itty Bud.

Spike Darby

July 4, 1993 - July 14, 2011

A Hero in the Making

No, it's not me. It's that handsome devil sitting next to me.

He will without a shadow of a doubt be the hero for two little monkeys I know.

According to said monkeys, he kinda already is.

Before Clint and I were married, he was a little unsure about having children. Let me rephrase that -- he was a little unsure of being a father . . . because he wanted to make sure he could do it right. He knew already the great responsibility that comes with being a dad, and it's not something one should take lightly. But he was the one who came to me first and asked if we wanted to think about starting a family -- two years before we had originally planned. Then along came Mimi. Wowzers. And our life completely flipped upside down . . . thank goodness we love flipping :).

We were both so unsure of what we were doing, but we knew we loved this little wild thing. Clint asks me often, "Am I doing okay as a dad? Do you think she loves me?" I wish I could take a photo of Mimi's reaction every day when Clint arrives home from work just so he could be reminded throughout the day of how happy she is to see him.

But I'm not surprised at all that Mimi is smitten with her father, and I am absolutely in love with the way that Clint is taken with her. As I've written about many times, Mimi has quite a bit of energy. She runs away from us and makes us wrestle her into her shoes . . . she sings to the top of her lungs in restaurants and even told Clint he was a "doo doo head" a few days ago while jumping on the couch and belting it out in a song. Yet Clint tells me often, "She is exactly the way I want her to be." He truly thinks she is the most beautiful and smartest little girl in the world -- sorry if you think your kid is cuter because Clint will be ready to argue. She is totally his partner in crime. After Mack has gone to bed the two of them sit on the couch together and he teaches her really useful things to say such as, "What's that noise? Is that a frog in my pants?" if she happens to accidentally do you know what. Sigh. Potty humor is their fave. So I guess I can get him back with this beautiful photo . . .

I promise that's my hat and not his, but we can pretend he wore it all day just for fun.

I was at a park recently with the kiddos (the story of my life right now), and two boys were in the corner practicing their golf swings. As soon as Mimi spotted them she said, "Oh, Mommy! Let's go play golf balls!!" and she raced across the grass and almost ran into them. Thank goodness they were such sweeties, and they spent at least 30 minutes teaching Mimi how to put the tee in the ground and even let her swing their clubs and practice. Before she left they gave Mimi her own ball and tee, and before she even had them in her hand she yelled, "I can't wait to show these to Daddy!"

And then came our sweet little baby boy.

Sweet, sweet, sweet little thing, and he is crazy about his silly Daddy. Honestly, he's a bit of a
"Momma's Boy," but I can't put a smile on his face as quickly as Clint can. He knows when Daddy's around that he'll get thrown up in the air and on the pillows and tickled until he giggles so hard that he can barely catch his breath.

Clint has a different relationship with Mack already. He tells me that I "baby" him a bit too much -- he needs to be tough. Well, anyone can see how tough the little guy is when his sister pounces on him and he doesn't bat an eye. But Clint feels a special responsibility with his son. Recently Clint commented on how handsome Mack will be (Well, duh. Cutest little boy ever), and because of this he must teach Mack to be really nice to girls.

To be kind and good and smart. Just like his daddy. It's a little late, but Happy Father's Day, Clint.

Summer in the City

It's about damn time. I never thought it would come. Sixty degrees then forty. Up to seventy then down to fifty. I've learned to sport a spring scarf and wear pastel sweaters with the best of them, but enough's enough. This is the view I've been waiting on.

We moved to Chicago last July when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant, and leaving 100 degrees with high humidity behind was just fine with me. Summer here is beautiful as was the Fall, and, believe it or not, we really enjoyed experiencing the snow. But spring I do not love. In the South spring means buttercups then blooming dogwoods and cherry trees, teasers of 75 degree days, and warm rains. Then azaleas and pastel dresses and flip flops. In Chicago it means some possible snow and keeping the winter clothes in the closet and tank tops in storage for much longer than I cared to do. BUT June finally arrived and so did the sunshine. My legs are way too white for this time of year, but I'm a 32-year-old mother of two and am just happy to have two legs with which I can chase my wild monkeys.

I finally stuck some dragon-wing begonias (my FAVORITE plant to pot) and sweet potato vine in my two little window baskets. It's nothing compared to my hydrangeas and peonies and gardenias and gigantic George Tabor I left in my yard in Memphis, but it will have to do for now. I'm dying to call our renters and make sure they know to drench the hydrangeas every morning in July, but something tells me I have to let it go . . . sigh.

So summer in Chicago means walks to Scooters for frozen custard and brunch outdoors and running through sprinklers in the park.

Mimi calls these treats "pops-a-cicles"

There are street festivals every weekend and fabulous outdoor concerts. We recently saw Ray Lamontagne at Millenium Park, and ahhhhh . . . I could have cared a less that I could barely see him. Sitting in a lawn chair while drinking a beer and listening to his raspy voice felt like heaven to me.

Summer also means visitors, and I have LOVED opening our home to family and friends. If you're planning a trip to Chi-town, book your reservations ASAP -- the weekends are filling up. The Darby home has become quite popular since the snow has melted :).

Anyway, we've been busy, busy, busy, which is why I've totally let the blog rest for a while. There is lots to to write about, but I've decided to take my new job as mommy very seriously. Okay, I don't really take much seriously, but I've been having a really good time with my little clowns. Mimi is hilarious in her tutus showing me her new ballet moves and singing her beautiful songs. One goes like this, "He's a man, he's a C, he's a B, he's a Lee!" And another is, "Cindarelly, Cindarelly, she's a polka-dot princes, dada, dada, dada, dada." She loves to pretend things are phones -- a banana, a shoe, just whatever's handy -- and she'll have wonderful conversations. "Oh, hi, Poppaw. What you do today? Oh, I see. I just watching TB and doing ballet. I'll see you later!" On that note she did actually have a convo with her sweet Poppaw on the phone today. When he told her she was a sweet girl, she responded with, "No, I not a sweet girl. Mommy put me in time-out for screaming and hurting her ears." Whenever I ask her to do something such as to please stop standing on the back of the couch, she replies with, "I so sorry, Mommy, but I can't get down right now. I trying to jump and it's sooo fun." Or when I ask her to stop pulling poor Ruthie's legs out from under her she'll say, "But it's not hurting her, it's funny!"

Just so I don't forget, Mimi also says, "What dese are?" when she wants to know what something is. She still says, "Hold you" when she wants to be carried because "the stairs are so heaby."

Mack has 3 teeth on top now (5 total), and I am SO thankful that those 3 boogers cut because he has been a fussy little monkey for quite some time. He instantly starts bouncing when he hears music, and has just learned to clap his little hands. He babbles and makes lots of silly noises and sounds and thinks it is absolutely a riot to blow out all of his food (you know, by going "bbbppphhht") on me when I'm feeding him yogurt. He said the sweetest "Mom-ma" on my birthday. His little laugh is infectious. Absolutely the cutest thing I've ever heard and it makes me happier than most anything in this world. Bubby loves to feed sweet potatoes, peas, watermelon, and squash to himself which makes mealtime a little easier. A couple of times a week I cook lots of veggies for Mimi, and now he can eat them too. Meanwhile I'll eat burgers and fries:).

While my time with the little ones is so fun, it's quite a circus around the house. Mack wakes me up at 5:30 but will usually go to bed for another hour or so. And then sometimes he doesn't. Then at breakfast he and Mimi both scream and carry on until I have enough food in front of them to put a fat man in a stupor and sometime in the middle of all this I will usually attempt a shower, clothes, hair in a ponytail, and then the new edited make-up routine of tinted moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss. If it's a good day I'll throw on some concealer so it appears I'm actually well-rested. But sometimes all of this goes to crap, and I just get them out of the house as quickly as possible to keep us all sane. Thankfully there are several Starbucks in walking distance, so I usually get some sort of nourishment to give me energy to chase the wild blonde-headed girl at the park. Yes, other moms and nannies will actually stop me at the park to comment, "Wow. She sure does have a LOT of energy. How do you keep up?" I smile and tell them that I don't. I just pray that she's lucky. Then back home for lunch and the screaming, starving children, who have probably eaten about a bazillion crackers while we were on our walk, but anyway they are still starving. If I'm lucky I can get them to nap at the same time, and this is when I, well, sometimes nap myself for at least 15 minutes. Then I quickly walk the dog, throw in some laundry, unload the dishwasher, or do some other housewifely thing and attempt to put together a decent meal for dinner -- or order take-out depending on the day. I would love to say that after we get the babies bathed and in bed that Clint and I snuggle up on the couch with wine and a good movie, but the truth is that that rarely happens. Normally whoever puts Mimi to bed falls asleep with her and stumbles up the stairs around 3AM because her bed is soooo stinkin' comfortable, and we're both really exhausted by then anyway. And she is absolutely the sweetest little snuggler I know.

Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm not complaining about taking care of my little ones. I'm just really surprised at how different my life is than it was just 3 short years ago. They are the most curious creatures who keep me on my toes at all times. Mimi loves to climb on really tall dangerous things such as the back of the couch, and Mack, the fastest crawler this side of the Mississippi, can dive head-first into the empty bathtub before I've even realized he's left the room. I feel like I'm in a serious wrestling match whenever I have to put them into new clothes or change Mack's diaper. I have put Mimi in time-out a couple of times this week because of all the crazy struggling to get away when I made her put on shoes so we could go to the park which has ended up with me getting hurt. She flipped backwards and kicked me in the eye yesterday, which caused some serious cussing and making myself leave the room so I didn't do anything I would regret later. She begs to go to the park but makes me chase her and hold her down kicking and screaming to put on a shirt and God-forbid if I ever try to get her fuzzy hair out of her eyes with a bow or to put it in a ponytail (or a "fairytale" as she likes to call it). And although Mack is little he can put up a fight as well as his big sister. He reminds me a lot of Bam Bam with the way he can easily pick up his Little People farm with one hand and throw it. Any girl who has babysat him always comments on how difficult it was to put on his pj's or change his diaper.

But this little handsome thing can go naked for all I care.

I have a serious addiction to kissing and squeezing him. As Clint's mom told me this weekend, "Do it as much as you can now because there will be a day when he'll ask you to stay in the car." I tear up when I think of that. Just yesterday we were all playing in Mimi's room when Mimi started fussing for no reason. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "Mommy, I pretend to be the baby. Will you pick me up and put me in the crib?" What in the world? But she is still a baby. Wait, no she isn't. She's big and bossy and crazy and not a baby at all.

So enough of that and a complete change of subject. One of my favorite parts of summer is putting Mimi in new brightly-colored clothes. This is one of my faves I scored on Zulily.

I really think I would let Mack crawl around naked all summer, but I'm from Mississippi and I just can't let people think we do that. So I have begun sewing again. While I have a short-all cut out for Mack, all I've had time to make are a couple of pairs of shorts, but they are so stinkin' cute on him. But I don't have a photo of them so you get this one instead.

But he's still cute naked.

Mimi had a fun apron skirt last summer that she outgrew, so I had to make another. And I found an easy way to make a flower for her shirt. I think I need one for myself.
And I totally ripped this from a chick in Jackson, Mississippi, who has Meeny Miny Moe. "Like" her on FB because you will LOVE her stuff. Her things are much cuter than anything I could possibly ever make, and I'm a little obsessed with ties and shorts that she has made for little boys. L-O-V-E them. I'm all about smocked bubbles for babies, but I feel a little sorry for those big rough and tough boys in preschool whose moms still put them in giant lace collars and sissy Peter Pan collars (Kyle, remember that 8-year-old linebacker-looking kid and his brother in the matching giant collars?). There is a time to stop all of that, and these funky ties are just the thing for that next step. They are so, so cool. Mack will HAVE to have one in a couple of years . . . and a Fedora and will need to learn how to spell P-I-M-P. He he.

Once again I've been trying really hard to get M & M to love each other and our photo session this morning ended with this one being the best. The rest were full of pulled hair and screams and knocking each other over, but they were actually laughing in this one. I'll have to say that it's perfect.

And then Mimi screamed, "Ew, yucky, Mack! You need to change a diaper. Gross!"

I'm in Big Trouble

I am in time out according to this little face.

Here's exactly how it happened. A few minutes before bathtime I turned off the TV because I am really, really trying to not have it on every waking second of the day, and I needed to get her stinky little self up the stairs and into the tub. I returned to the kitchen to finish unloading the dishwasher, and I heard Mimi's little squeaky voice being very animated about something. This consumes 90% of our day, so it took a second for me to realize her drama was directed at me. And this is how the conversation went:

"Mommy. MOMMY! I need you to look at my eyes. Look at my eyes, Mommy. You DO. NOT. EBER. DO. THAT. AGAIN. You hear me?" And then she gave me the look shown above.

At this point I had to turn around and giggle a little. My first instinct was to hang her by her toes for speaking to me in that way, but I was hoping that she was just kidding and decided to play along. "I'm so sorry, Mimi. What was it that I did?

"Mommy, DO NOT eber turn off the TB when I'm watching Curious George. I'm gonna count to 3 and then you go to Time-Out. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3. Okay, Mommy, now say you're sorry."

Sigh . . . I am truly in some serious trouble with this one. The Jr. High years are going to be a real hoot around the Darby house with Miss Bossy Pants for sure.

And she's already talked her little brother into driving her around. He doesn't care though. He weighs about as much as she does and can totally beat her up if she steps out of line.

See, he even made her get out and push when they ran out of gas.

Recently I pulled out the sewing machine for the first time in a really, really long time (yipee!) and have already made a prissy little outfit for Mack that my husband looked at and commented, "Please tell me that's for Mimi." Anyway, Mimi gets all in my business when I'm sewing and likes to dig through my scraps. She found a scrap that had a few threads attached, and it became her best friend (why do we buy her toys?). She has named it her "slinky toy" and runs around the house dangling it so either Ruthie or Mack will chase her, and she sat in the floor with Mack one morning playing keep-away for at least 10 minutes . . . this is a new record.
I've been home with the little ones for a couple of weeks now, and Miss Mimi has definitely kept me entertained. Like I said earlier I have tried to keep the TV off as much as possible, but I do turn it on when I put Mack down for his morning nap to keep Mimi busy and downstairs. I came down a couple of days ago to find her in full princess attire shaking it with Laila Ali on Yo Gabba Gabba. Maybe we do have hope for a spot on So You Think You Can Dance . . .
And then she decided she wanted to be a cowgirl. She told me she couldn't wait until Daddy got home so she could tell him, "Yeehaw!!"
Mimi and her Daddy are two peas in a pod. Their new favorite past-time is playing some silly game on the IPAD where they can talk to a cartoon dog and make him burp. If they could only make him toot, I think I might never be able to pull them away from it.

But this little guy is mine. I've claimed him. He is on my side. And he usually seems to agree.

And it is all my fault because I completely spoil him and baby him and pick him up when I should probably let him cry . . . but that's okay because he is a devoted mama's boy. This is what I see most of the time when I look down. Some sweet little blue eyes looking up at me.
No matter how much I baby him the truth is that I know he's going to be even a little wilder than Mimi. He started crawling earlier, is pulling up earlier, and has already discovered how to open and close things he shouldn't open and close much, much earlier than she did. He's noisy and messy and a complete bulldozer when he moves across the floor. But he absolutely melts in my arms and likes to snuggle his fuzzy little head under my chin. Mmmmm . . . I might eat him up. But I will probably need to do it before he turns into the two-year-old that his silly sister has . . .

Better Late Than Never

So I published this post a LONG time ago with lots of fun captions and stories . . . but then they disappeared. Ugh. I will eventually rewrite it, but for now here are the pics.