Maggie the Baby Sitter

Once Bitten, Thrice Shot

Smiling Super Nova Baby Tova at 6-weeks with not one, but two chins!

As if it needed to be said, because it doesn't, Tova is amazing. Today marks her 2-month birthday, with that comes the 2-month well-baby visit.

She weighed 11lbs and 8oz! I couldn't believe it. I haven't been able to find the records from the other kids' well-visits, but I think she's the biggest of them all. Isn't that nuts? She was born the smallest but has done some big-time catch-up. Her length was 23-inches, which didn't surprise me because she's been busting her toes out of the one piece jammies. Anyway, for what it's worth, she's in the 70th% for both height and weight. Fairly impressive for someone coming from a family of shorties and the like.

Last night Tova was less barky when she coughed, though when we got to the Puppy Mill she put on a good show for the pediatrician with all her hacking and barking and snot flying and sneezing. Then she ejected a massive amount of green, mucusy poo which promptly got sent to the lab to look for blood. I kind of suspect that the poos have been green and mucusy because she's swallowing all her green boogies and it just happens to be coming out in the wash. After that she was given the oral polio vaccine and 3-other leg massacring vaccines that near about made me faint when the medical assistant pounded them into Miss Growy Pants' leggies. Oh me, oh my. Tough times for this mommy.

Well, enough with baby dook and shot horror stories.

Baby Annike is a spectacular example of Viking prowess, as well. Lars and I attended her parent-teacher conference and it was said, in not so many words (so it's a good thing I can read between the lines), that Annike is the cutest and smartest student in the whole school. Her abilities far surpass those of other 3-year olds, no surprise there, and her adorableness is exceedingly exceeding. Now isn't that just something? Oh, and her teacher said she's a really good dancer.

Happenings . . .

Not much entertaining bloggable stuff of late so here's just some of the day-to-day bits.

Punk rocker Annike 3-1/2 and Jack 4.

1) In reviewing the music for Grandma Mariette/Meme's funeral, Petra proceeded to dance the Macarena to Finlandia.

2) Newborns don't blow their noses, even if you ask nicely. Instead, you have to be poised at the ready with a tissue for the moment that they sneeze and act quickly. If you don't swipe the snot stream promptly and with vigor then the boogie blob will be snorffled back in with her next breath.

3) It wasn't me! While breastfeeding, Baby Tova doesn't have the sense to unlatch during a sneeze which causes everyone to gawk at Mommy like I just cut the cheese.

4) Tova has unofficial croup. To be official croup one must be at least 6-months of age and as she is only 8-weeks and 4-days she couldn't possibly have the real deal. She sounds like a barking seal in the middle of the night (after night, after night . . . ) and she has lost her "voice" so now sounds like a wee little froggy.

5) Soren has finally connected with a boy in his class. We're so thrilled that we plan to adopt him and his cute Irish family and pay all their expenses.

6) Annike is still the baby of the family.

7) After much effort, yesterday Petra was finally able to do a front walk-over unassisted. She was so thrilled and feeling so confident right after that she did a perfect front-mill circle on the bars for the first time ever and then for good measure she went ahead and did a round-off back handspring -- the first time she'd been able to put that sequence together. Petra and Coach Lalo exchanged whoops, hive-fives and a good-old-fashioned throw-the-7-year-old-who-is-the-size-of-a-five-year-old-up-in-the-air-trick. With a bit more time, she'll be able to do those skills consistently. Also in a bit more time, Lalo won't be able to toss her 5-feet in the air because the kid is going to start growing one of these days.

8) I'm typing this one handed because I have a phobia of my baby not being held. My triceps are quivering.

9) We are about to embark on our first ever family of 6 plane flight/leaving the state trip. It gets better, since flights to the west-side of Michigan are double the expense we're going to fly to Chicago then rent a mini-van and drive to the G-Rap. I'm not sure how my little monkeys will tolerate such a long day, poor fellas. Fortunately for them, Grandpa Lee is going to take over on Monday while Tova, Lars and I are at the funeral. This is especially a relief because Petra has a funeral/old people phobia.

10) I'm wracked with guilt. It recently dawned on me that every time I birth a baby, Lars and I lose a grandparent. As such, we've placed a moratorium on child-bearing in an effort to extend the lives of our remaining family elders. Grandpa Wendell, Grandpa John and Grandma Dot: don't worry, we've got your back.

Au Revoir Ma Chere Grandemere

Mariette Bruckert

You died tonight at in your bed, in Michigan. I was getting Annike in her jammies when I found out, that's why I didn't cry for you right away. Lars and I decided we would tell the kids in the morning, Petra will have a hard time. I thought I felt you leave us when we were sitting down for dinner tonight, I told Petra that I couldn't talk about you anymore because my throat kept closing up. Yes, I believe that is when you died, I felt it. Isn't it odd we were reflecting about you at that moment? After I tucked my babies in then I stopped holding my breath, that's when you crept inside of me and then tucked yourself into my heart. Now with each beat, you pulse through me. You are filling up my form with feelings and thoughts of you. Some of them hurt a little so I have to let those out in my tears, but most of it I am trying to keep inside of me.

I'm sad that I moved so far away from you so that at the end I wasn't part of your mind anymore. I feel regrettable about the day I last said good-bye, my last good-bye to you. You knew me then, though less than before. I knew I was saying good-bye forever and ever even though you wouldn't pass away for another 19-months. I cried so hard that it made Grandpa cry, of course, he knew why I was crying.

Now I am trying, you see, trying to have some perspective, I don't want your whole existence to be about the saddest part of you -- your death. I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I'm lucky to have had you. I want you to know that I cherish the unique history that you passed on to me, the one that makes me just a little bit different from others. I want you to know that I'll think of you often for a period of time and then after a while I'll think of you less often as the days pass, but I will still love you the same. I want you to know that it hurts me to say this but I'll tell you anyway: I was relieved when you passed, but only because you deserve better. I want you to know that when I was little, you were the most glamorous person in the world with perfect hair and pink lip-stick and big sedans and a certain je ne sais quoi when it came to dollhouse furniture. I want you to know that I'm smiling at this moment thinking about my wedding day when Lars' dad was trying to teach you how to do The YMCA on the dance floor with all our college buddies, you were 76-1/2 years old. That's a really big smile Grandma!

When I can talk about you again without crying so hard, then I will tell my children all about their Meme. After I'm done telling them, then I'll plug my i-Pod into the computer and find a certain Village People number and then we'll all do the YMCA in your honor. Okay?

Grands bisous a toi! Comme je t'aime.

Ta grandfille,

Kelly

PS - I always loved your Christmas cookies.

Here you are with Grandpa Wendell and my 3-little guys, we were at Grandpa's office in the Federal Building. It was Mothers' Day 2006.

Do you remember when you first met Annike (05/2005), your great-granddaughter?

THANATOPSIS
by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Jump!

Trampoline!

It takes up half our yard but it is very fun. Bubba and Gramma got it for the kids for Christmas, we set it up on Sunday which is why I haven't blogged in a while. Well, that and I came down with mastitis and have been trying to manage it without antibiotics so I feel absolutely awful. Fortunately, Miss Pookie Pie is breastfeeding every 95-minutes and my mom and step-dad are here to help so I think we're going to pull through.

More of the good stuff when I'm pretty sure Righty isn't going to drop off my body and when I can wake up in the morning without a fever. Until then!

Link

I knew it would make me so mad but I checked it anyway. The way my brother put it to me, "in order to learn which of your neighbors to avoid."

http://www.eightmaps.com/

Dirt Devil Maggie and More From Crazy Kelly

Laying in the dirt this morning, feels about 78 degrees and sunny.

Life's Little Way of Letting You Know You're Alive, Well, and a Whole Lot Crazy

1. You feel the baby kicking inside your uterus . . . you know, the uterus that delivered her 6-1/2 weeks ago.
2. At 12:55 this morning the police are pounding on your front door because the emergency break on your 12-year old VW doesn't always hold and your car rolled backward out of your driveway and down the steep hill that you live on. Nothing like watching your husband chase a hatchback down the road in his underwear at 1:00 am. Ha! Ha ha ha ha! Oooh, it was worth waking up in the middle of the night just to see that, never mind I couldn't get back to sleep. Completely worth it.
3. You're relieved when your doggy gets to the baby puke before you do, that way you don't have to clean it up. Gag. I know, but so true.
4. You haven't told your husband that your hemoglobin is up to 10.0 mg/dcl yet because he was feeling so sorry for you back when it was less than 8.0. In our relationship, feeling sorry for one's wife = being nice to one's wife. You don't honestly expect me to give up tender loving care, even if it originates from solid pity . . . do ya?
5. You're a little bummed out that you've been given the green light to drive again (the chauffeuring bit was working out quite nicely, TYVM).
6. Your Michigan accent has gotten stronger since moving to California, plus you find yourself throwing in Minnesota-isms ("oh for Pete!") and some Yiddish slang just to keep your new California friends guessing.
7. It's tempting to chew on your dinky-fatso baby's gushy cheeks.
8. You're still terrified of the Ear Man, that pesky fellow who chases you through your sleep night after night trying to remove your ears from your Earthly form. He may or may not be something from your imagination, he's been around such a long time now that you aren't really sure if he's really real or just sort-of real. Just in case, you make sure that your own children's ears are well-hidden when they sleep. As for your husband's ears, well that'll be his own problem when they're snipped off his head by the Ear Man and shipped off to God knows where . . . he just wouldn't listen.
9. You know that the aforementioned Ear Man bit makes you sound like a complete lunatic and you just laugh and don't even consider deleting it.
10. You're considering taking on a 3rd job after maternity leave despite wracking your brains three times daily for ways in which to join up with The Cult of Stay-At-Home Mommies. When I say 'Cult' I didn't mean the bad kind of cult that puts cyanide in Kool-Aid so that you can go chasing after aliens flying around on comets shaped like pelicans, I meant the good kind . . . you know, cause the cult thing usually works out really well for most people. Don't want anyone to think I'm being negative or snooty.
    

Still

Lars is still on the payroll at Pfarma. It's bittersweet because people we are fond of have been laid off but then we're okay.
There are going to be big changes for Lars, though. He's being moved to a new group at the site, he will have a new boss and a new set of co-workers.
I guess that's about all there is to say. Scary day, glad it's behind us.

"Announcements", "That time of year", and all that Hoo-Haw

Winter '07, reviewing the information Pfarma gave us about our potential move to CA.

I sure hope we won't be doing this again anytime soon.

It was this time 2-years ago when the guys at the top announced to the guys at the bottom that Lars and 9,999 of his colleagues would no longer have jobs at the pfarma company they'd been pouring all their intellectual properties into. It was an awful day for Lars and me and that awful day stretched into awful days and weeks and even months as we faced some tough decisions about providing for our family.

Anyway, Lars' first day back at work from his 6-week parental leave was yesterday. Today, every 'colleague' at his work site is having a one-on-one meeting with HR. Apparently, there is some California law that prohibits schmucky employers from announcing specific job losses in a big group fashion like they did back in Ann Arbor. Rumors are circulating that there will be 800 cuts from a number of the Pfarma sites, most probably from their CT site, but also from their Sandwich UK site, probably from MO and then of course right here in SoCal.

Lars' HR meeting is at 1:50 Pacific time. We've been through many false alarms with this company before, where other people get laid off or the big announcement is about a new re-org chart, but since that last big announcement we are always on pins and needles despite reassurance from Lars' boss.

More news when I know more . . .

It happened to me!

I believe that today's events all boil down to one person . . . Kristen, our dear friend and former realtor. Kristen got a real kick out of Tova's middle name, Margaret, and one day announced, "I know, we can call her Margie!" Margie stuck, so did Marge, Marjorie, Marge-a-munchy-muncher, Tova Marge, Tova Margie, and so on.
In all reality, who really wants to be called Marge, or Margie? As of today, I'm almost positive that Tova does not find any of those names very flattering.
Okay, and to set the story up, you should know that Tova rarely spits up. It should also be noted that when Tova does spit-up, she sounds like a baby bull-frog (but a bull-frog no less) saying "hork." Okay, also, Tova grunts like a baby piggy when she's hungry and when she's nursing she squeaks like old barn doors. Okay?
Tova and I accompanied Little Petra to ballet class tonight. It was duly noted before we left the house that Tova was a little mouthy, sucking on her squishy fingies and drooling. When we arrived at the dance studio, we discovered that this week is parent-watch week when the parents are invited to sit inside the studio and watch their pookies dance. Happily, I schlepped all of Tova's baby gear into the studio and took a sit in a folding chair at the opposite end of the room underneath signs that read "No Talking" and "Siblings May Stay in Room if Quiet". Just as the ballerinas started on barre, Tova jolted awake from her post-car-ride nap and started snorting like the little piggy that she is. She wasn't snorting quietly, like the aforementioned sign suggested she should if she wanted to stay in the ding studio puhlease!
Anyway, this isn't Ann Arbor where nursing mommies can yank out their floppy boobies in any old situation and set right down to feeding their babies. This is Southern California, Land of Boob Jobs and Looking Fancy in Your High Heeled Boots on Parent-Watch Night. I tried, I really did. I tried to discreetly unhook my nursing bra flap from under my shirt while hushing Miss Piggy who was snorting like a litter of piglets going whole hog on a mess of pig slop. Petra was staring at me with pleading eyes, "Mommy shut that ding whippersnapper up, for crying out loud, I am Maria Tallchief-ing right now and if this is not serious business than I don't know what is!"
Okay, finally I got all pulled together, or apart as it were, and Tova latched on. Thankfully, she stopped snorting immediately, but then she began her wheezing barn door squeaking in time to the Tchaikovsky overture that was playing. A few stares from the plastic mommies in the room, but I was doing the best that I could with my size D's hanging out and my super huge postpartum belly oozing out of the bottom of my shirt. Anyway, Tova nursed, Petra danced, eventually the squeaking tapered down and then all was well. Done with Side One, I tried to burp Tova but she started with the piggy snorts again and stared at me with her little cross-eyes in a ravenous way and I just knew that if I didn't quit the burping and get her started on Side Two ASAP then she was just going to have a holy conniption. I popped her onto Side Two, all was well, I sang to her "Sweet Little Tova Marge, Marge, Marge! My little Margie baby, Mommy loves the Marge. Marge, large and in charge."
She finished nursing, I kept singing while I sat her up to burp her and then all of a sudden, "hoooork!" Then "splat", as 1/3 of her stomach contents smacked onto the studio's wood floor.
I looked at her in alarm, she looked back at me, "I dare ya Mommy, I double dog dare you."
I responded, "Little Marge, yucky ucky spitty witty. Lets burpy you!"
To which she responds, "hooooork!"
And then, of course, "splat" on the wood floor again and "splash" onto my shirt, scarf and jeans.
I gasped, all eyes on me (the plastic mommies, the west-side hippy mommies, all the ballerinas and the dance teacher), "oh, Tova Marge, what in the . . ."
"Hork!"
"Splat!"
Then screams from the little girls, "ewwwww." Petra, mortified, was cowering in the corner trying to avoid eye contact with her mommy who's D's are fully liberated and inexplicably wavering about while her baby sister bobs her big old head around on her baby neck, drool on her chin, milk pouring from her nostrils. All the while, the smell of stomach bile and warm breast milk (think spoiled cottage cheese) fills the room. The hippy mommies jump up, running to my aid with paper towels, the ends of their hemp skirts, etc., while the plastic mommies stare at me with a mixture of horror and triumph as they click their tongues and tap their precariously heeled feet on the floor.
As I stood to rush to the bathroom, toppling the metal folding chair that I was sitting on into a mangled heap on the floor with a strident "crash", I began to mutter under my breath (for the umpteenth time), "oh Tova Mar . . ." when Petra shot me a dark look as if to say "Mommy, don't you dare ever call her Marge again." Aye, aye Captain, enough with the Marge already.
In the bathroom, I tried to calm my nerves while I dried Tova off but in the end I realized that I just couldn't go back in the studio and face all those parents and little girls. I snaked my way back through the studio and out to the quiet lobby, where I got to finish watching Petra on the live-video feed to the TV monitor. Tova, all warm and dry, fell fast asleep in her car seat while I trembled in my very wet and very aromatic clothes.
It's a good laugh, really. I'm over it. Petra has forgiven me and she has mostly forgiven Tova. My big kids are all fast asleep in their beds now, looking cute and precious. Soren has his tiger wrapped in the crook of his elbow while he dreams about all the super-suave dance moves he'll be doing at his Hip-Hop class tomorrow. Annike is snuggled onto her Princess pillow dreaming about our zoo plans for the morning. Petra is up in her loft, happily dozing because Uncle Chad and Aunt Sarah gave her money to attend UC-Berkeley in 10-years where she plans to major in Cowgirl Studies and Gymnastics. Finally, curled up next to me, all hot and sweaty is my little Tova Marge.
"Hoooork!"
And splat!

A little something, something called Annike

Annike Maria is my 3-1/2 year old. Her name came to me from the pages of one of my favorite books as a child, Pippi Longstocking; and, as much as I adore spunky Pippi, our Annike shares her name with Pippi's curious and loyal neighbor. For those of you who don't hear her name pronounced, you should know that the correct way to say it is "On-ee-kah." If you ever meet her and make the mistake of mispronouncing her name, she'll set you straight. Her middle name is for my mom (her middle name) and Lars' mom (Mary, the Anglo version of Maria). Like her big brother and sister, Annike is a Taurus; according to a friend of ours, having more than one Taurus in a single home is a recipe for disaster. For now, that friend is wrong, our 3-big kids generally have a very harmonious existence.

Jumping in the waves at Torrey Pines.

Annike is our happy-go-lucky, independent little punk. She always has something nice to say, but she has plenty of attitude. A day doesn't go by when we don't see Annike with her hip popped out to one side with a fist resting on it and a defiant look on her face as she spells out the who, what, when, where and why to anyone who dares to contradict her sensibilities. Since she was a teeny-tiny pudding, she has always been her most content when she is snuggled between Lars and me with an arm wrapped around each of us.

When she isn't snuggled in with Mommy or Daddy, Soren will make a good substitute.

As it turns out, Annike is just as smart at the big guys. She's able to print very well, Spanish is her favorite subject at her Montessori school, and she's begun to 'read' Soren's early reader books to Lars and me. Today she told her siblings and me all about the 3-different penguins she learned about and concurred with Soren that their necks are, indeed, called crops.

Her best two buddies are 'Boodiana' (Ariana) from school and Jack, the next door neighbor. Boodiana is great for getting her princess and dress-up fixes. Annike and Boodi share an equal passion for all things frilly and fancy, pink and posh. Boodi's mommy is also our wonderful dentist and will regularly inspect our children's teeth during play dates in lieu of having us make appointments. Good old Jack is a superb buddy for a play session of family or baby-mommy, usually he plays the part of the Mexican nanny who anxiously searches the 'house' for the "chupetta" (Spanish for pacifier). However, usually the two of them end up in a good old fashioned wrestling match in which Annike typically holds her own. Since the two of them still have that fabulously soft toddler build they usually come out of their wrestling rounds unscathed.

If you ask Annike who her best friend is, she'll probably tell you all about Milo. Milo is Annike's brilliant and darling cousin who lives in DC. She fell in love with him when they were both tiny littles, though Milo is actually 19-months younger than her she thinks of him as a peer. Daily, she brings up Milo's upcoming visit in March and speaks breathlessly of all her plans for him (sandbox, playground, zoo, sleeping in her princess bed with her and playing family together).

Everyone who meets Annike falls in love with her. It's true! She's cute and funny and sweet and precious and completely irresistible. She rarely misbehaves and she lavishes love on Lars and me with glorious abandon. She drives her big sister nuts, but also sucks Petra in to her sweetness and vivacity. Her energy is infectious to Soren, she can bring out the best in him. And, if Tova is in the room with Annike, then Annike will have her lips locked on her and tugging on one of her limbs to try and hold her.

So, despite recently putting gum in her hair, pouring an entire new bottle of lavendar baby wash down the drain, squishing the daylights out of Tova, or doing her back-talking "3-Snaps in Z Formation" routine to her siblings, Annike is our very yummy and splendisiously super-dog amazing little girl and the Earth would absolutely fall off its axis without her.

Annike dressed as a professional football player from the San Diego Chargers.

Tales From the Crib: Horrifying Stories Brought to You By Tova the First

Chapter one: Pokey Brothers, Oh the Humanity!

Chapter Two: In Which There is Something Seriously Wrong with Daddy's Boobies
First trial run with a bottle, didn't go so well. Maybe Mommy can't go back to work?


Chapter Three: Some Freako Whack-Nut Keeps Messing with My Toys

Chapter Four: Baths . . . Enough Said

Chapter Five: Family Pictures Bite the Big One

Chapter Six: Getting Ones Nails Clipped

Chapter Seven: The So-Called Diaper Change, More Like Diaper Torture Session, Comfort Wipes My Tush! Sandpaper, I Tell Ya. No! Worse! A Brillo Pad. Egad!

Bling!

Petra woke up this morning and announced to us that she was ready to have her ears pierced. Several years ago, she brought it up so we gave her the low down on what ear piercing entailed. We told her that when she felt ready she should let us know. In the meantime, Annike developed strong feelings about having her ears pierced ASAP. However, since we were weary of violating any laws of sisterhood --as in the younger sister shall not engage in cosmetic alterations prior to an older sister -- we told Annike that she may not be pierced until after Petra was pierced. This, of course, annoyed Annike since her sister is very thoughtful about these things and mulled it over in her brain a good 3-years before taking the big leap. Anyhow, today was the day! Daddy took Petra in while I had the three younger kids out pacing the halls with me. She was a mega champ and only whispered a quick "ow". Petra picked a pretty pink daisy stud.

Following Petra's successful piercing, Annike reminded us that we told her she could have her ears pierced once Petra had hers done. Then she happily jumped up into the chair, looked at her Daddy defiantly and then picked out her studs. Lars and I looked at each other, shrugged, and then signed the paperwork for our 3-year old to have her ears pierced. I returned to the hallway, but this time with Petra in exchange for Annike, and resumed my pacing. Lars said that Annike did even flinch. After it was done she jumped off the chair, went over to the lollipop bin and picked out an orange sucker, popped it in her mouth and then walked over to a full-length mirror where she admired herself at all different angles.
After all was said and done, we took the kids to Subway and then to the zoo . . . where we left them with the monkeys.

Annike, being silly at home after getting her ears pierced. She picked out daisy studs just like Petra, but opted for the 'diamond' ones as opposed to pink.