It was a good year, even though I forgot to post anything on the blog. This year, I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing.
In 2015 we bought our first "real house" along with Brian's parents. They have closed the bed & breakfast and are in the process of selling the house on the coast and moving permanently in with us. Currently, they're staying with us for about a week and a half at a time and it's working out well for everyone involved. Fortunately, the house has a master suite, so everybody can have their own space. Very important for when small people have nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night, stumbling into someone's bedroom looking for comfort.
Mental-health-wise, it was a good year. After spending 2014 trying medications seemingly at random to help with the postpartum depression/my regular depression which returned with a vengeance, I finally got on a good "cocktail" of medications. (My co-workers at the county took a vote and told me how much they liked it!)
Mimi started 2nd grade, then promptly told me "Mama, it's really embarrassing when you tell stories about me." So even though she's so cute it's hard not to gush, I probably won't be commenting on her doings as much.
Carol has started talking in complete sentences. She didn't bother until she was 3, because Mimi made sure she got most of her needs & wants met and "interpreted" for her. Her first complete multi-subject sentence was "Me hug the kitty that lives under our deck."
Which brings me to FizBit. Although he theoretically belongs to the next door neighbors, he resides under our deck. Why? He's seen the writing on the wall and decided he'd rather run the risk of being hugged by an overly affectionate 3 year old than regularly live with his 10, 7 and 4 year old humans. Who like to do things like dress him up in doll clothes and pretend he's a puppet. It's not the same thing as having a "real" cat, but it's a nice substitute.
Carol likes having a cat around so much that she regularly hugs him and says things like "Me love you kitty." And then insists that she herself is a cat for the rest of the day. When she was a newborn, her cries sounded like mewing because she was a bit premature, but this is slightly ridiculous.
"Carol, it's time to use the potty!"
"But mama, me kitty! Kitties no need to use the potty."
So on this blog, I'm just going to refer to her as Kitty.