I'm Ba-a-ack ....
Between two sick kids, preparing for a speaking engagement {that sounds so very fancy, doesn't it?}, a sick computer for a few days, and company from Australia, Canada, and the Philippines, blogging just didn't happen. I sure did miss it. I've longed for it in a weird sort of way. The therapy of it. The spewing my life out on my so-to-speak paper. The connection of it. All of which to say, "I'm Ba-a-ack." I promise.
Aunt Bobbi, this one's for YOU!
{So now to the tad-bit-overwhelming process of catching you up on life in Chicago. I think I'll do one broad post and then a few specific posts.}
Jackson:
He is almost three and is finding the need to push the limits just to see what exactly he can get away with. Friday afternoon I looked down and he was slyly glancing up at Jack and sticking out his tongue. And the very funny thing is that he doesn't really get it. Like, he tries to stick out his tongue but it goes out and down and along his mouth, all ever-so-slowly. It's not obvious at all that he's even sticking out his tongue but he thinks he's oh-so-VERY-obvious. And his eyes sparkle and he thinks he is the cleverest little thing you ever did see.
He remains fully committed to Thomas the Train and is currently toting them around in his rubber boots, enthusiastically showing them to anyone who will look at his collection.
He is my little dare-devil. Honestly, he has little fear. Workers at various stores jump headlong into panic attacks as they see him climbing and reaching and showing off his tricks. My words of assurance that he'll be fine fall on deaf ears. But I promise. He's fine.
Maddie:
She remains true to who she is. 100% outdoorsy. Dirt under the nails. No problem. Mud all over the hands. All the better.
Excellent. She LIVES for finding treasures.
The car ride home from school is only 13-15 minutes, but Wednesday it felt like three point two five hours of torture. So when we pulled into our garage, with the rain pounding on the roof, I said, "Why don't you go play in the mud, Maddie?" {And the sad thing was, I was serious.}
And she said, "Awesome!" You would have thought she'd just won the lottery.
Before too long she appeared with this lovely green caterpillar.
{and all the mommies in the world collectively yelled four to six p.m. EVERY day.}
Jackson ran OVER the caterpillar with one of his trains. Smushed it up. Dead. I suppose you can figure out how THAT went down.
Wailing and gnashing of teeth. Screaming. "I hate Jackson. He KILLED my caterpillar on purpose."
Ya, pleasant. But, before long I convinced her that spring was coming and she would find more and that some day she'd be able to get Jackson back by bringing his under-roos to school as an exhibit. I told her it put Uncle Lenny in his place so she seemed somewhat satisfied. End-of-conversation.
Parenting:
When you find something that works, you just have to do it every day; that is, until you find poop floating in the tub and you really can't pinpoint exactly how long it has been there. You see, all last week, immediately after getting home from school, Jackson wanted a bath.
Being the brilliant mother that I am, I decided that this was one of those "win-wins." You know what I mean. He can be in the tub with the door wide open, making his noises and all.
Monday and Tuesday things went SO well. Look at these cute wrinkles from at least an hour of playing in the tub EACH day. 
"Ick. Poopy. MOOOOMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY." And what began as a stroke of brilliancy ended in hours of scrubbing the tub; because poop is disgusting and grosses me out and I certainly don't want any remnants of it in the TUB. I think I was dry-heaving WHILE scrubbing.
Note to self: Don't get lost in conversation when your two-almost-three-year-old is in the tub. It's simply not worth it.