Fresh Squeezed

California has it's good qualities, I suppose. Despite the bazillion dollars it costs for a minute home with no air conditioning 'because it's only hot a few days out of the year,' the weather makes California a pleasant place to live. It also provides fruit trees that I never came across in the backyards of Jersey.
We've got a pear tree, a lemon...bush (it's in transition) and an orange tree that our neighbors are kind enough to pick from whenever they like.
On Saturday, the orange tree got a much-needed haircut from Daddy and Papa who removed 2 of its dead limbs. Papa held one of the branches out so Ramie could pick it's remaining fruit (she got a kick out of that.)
After that, we headed indoors to make some orange juice to go with Sunday's breakfast.

After a few rounds of 'helping' me use the juicer, Ramie took over and made about 4 glasses of fresh OJ.

She was also kind enough to remove the pulp.

Before she tired of the amazing juice machine, we squeezed some of our meyer lemons and made lemonade, then added some to our hibiscus tea which, when combined with some sweet agave nectar, offered a refreshing drink for the lot of us.
So I've filled up our gas tank 3 times this week at $90 a pop AND we live in a shoebox only suitable for a science project diorama , but our little piece of land provides us w/ tasty treats and fun times 'cooking' together.
On a sunny Saturday, what more could we want? (other than air conditioning?)

I'd like to give a little shout out to Grandmom B. (who Ramie has renamed 'B') who, upon visiting, grabs a ladder, picks our oranges and forces them down our throats every chance she gets. Without her urging, we'd probably just let them fall off the tree and die. Our oranges aren't all that pretty on the outside, so it never really occurred to actually EAT them. We're glad we did. We make the best smoothies EVER now!

(A few things worth pointing out in the photos--Ramie's wearing her new sandals. Grandmom B. gave them to her when she was just a teeny thing because the brand was called 'Rachel.' Conveniently, she grew into them just in time for Spring. Also, you can see our slate & glass tile backdrop and granite countertops. They're new-ish (as of last year). Daddy installed the tile. The man has a bit of difficulty with horizontal lines and I won't be offering his services to any of our friends, but if you cross your eyes ever so slightly, that backsplash looks REALLY good!)

Big Girl Panties

Well, the day has come--Ramie's putting on her big girl panties *sniff*

It all started with a singing potty--one of the most advanced kind with a little sensor that told you when you went potty. Problem was that the sensor was so sensitive, that it exclaimed 'You went potty!' when really Ramie's little butt cheek just broke the beam's plane. That potty sucked.
It was a fun toy at first (10 long months ago when we first brought it out for Ramie)--had a fake roll of toilet paper that played a little song 'Toilet paper, toilet paper, on a roll, next to me. I can use a few squares--maybe 1 or 2 squares. How 'bout 3. Hooray for me!' (That's right, I know the song. I've heard it so many times, I still hear it in my sleep.) That potty sucked.
After lots of playing with it and no sitting, I recently realized that Ramie was uncomfortable on it--no wonder she didn't stay there long enough to make a deposit.
So, I read an entire book on potty learning (they call it 'potty learning' now, you know--because kids are learning to use the potty vs. being trained like dogs. Hmmm...the more you know) and bought the potty w/ the highest recommendations I could find on Amazon.com. It had a soft seat and could be moved up to the big potty, as well as serving as a step stool so Ramie could wash her hands.
Well, lo and behold--give her a soft potty and she'll sit there for hours
...literally. She reads. We read. We read some more. I've memorized most of the Angelina Ballerina series, as well as One Fish, Two Fish (Ramie can finish the sentences for me) and a few others. Daddy gets to read Beetle Bug's Picnic--a gift from Aunt Stacy, on a regular basis, too. Occasionally we have to sit in the bathroom on the floor chatting with our potty princess to get her into potty mode. Other times she'll go in by herself and then come tearing out of there nekkie yelling 'You hear dat? You hear my peepees?' We jump for joy and add a treat to a little box, which she saves up until her lunchtime snack (I'm not above bribery.)

Occasionally, she invites friends over for a book club of sorts. Not really MY idea of a good time, but whatever works.

So, here she is in her first ever pair of big girl panties (actually, we're cheating a bit by using trainers w/ a titch of absorbancy in them, but Ramie doesn't seem to notice.) I've got a bunch of fun prints on order and am hoping they'll inspire the little dear NOT to pee in them.

Sometimes she goes a whole day with just 2 pair--others 5. Occasionally she'll wake up at 3am telling us she has to go potty (which really means she's already gone) and I find myself leaning up against the bathtub struggling bleary-eyed thru a page of Are You My Mother, all the while counting how many hours left until I have to get up for work.

After about a week of potty learning, she finally pooped on the potty and we ran through the house screaming. We waved goodbye to the little nugget, as he went 'to swim with his friends.' I can't help but giggle at the conversations we have over these things.

I'm sure I'll appreciate this whole potty learning thing once I see one less load of laundry ea. week when I'm done washing diapers...but I sure did enjoy cloth diapering. All the cute prints--even Ramie knew those occasional packages we got in the mail were for her and snatched them out of the mailbox before I could even hit the doorstep.

For now, I'm sad--sad that I'll have nobody to diaper (I'll bet no disposable diaper-using mama would say THAT)...even more sad that Ramie's becoming more self-reliant (translation: one step closer to no longer needing her mama.)

She can even dress herself now, but at least she needs me to be there to tell her her entire outfit is on backwards, or that her Crocs are on the wrong feet. I guess she still needs me to send the poo swimming, too. At least she needs me for that. It's something, isn't it?