Prepare for the Cute

Teddy, 3-1/2 months; Ada, 4 years; Ellie, 7-1/2 years. Also starring: cousin Abby, 4 years.

I love my kids, and wow, am I smitten with this baby. I won't bore you with Teddy's most recent stats, mostly because he hasn't hit his 4-month check-up yet. But I want to note some of his latest activity, so here it is. If you're not interested in drool and coos, feel free to enjoy the photos then click along!

I feel like Teddy skipped the newborn phase. I look forward to seeing this child grow up (crawling! toddling! driving?!!) but I'm not in a rush. I'll keep the middle of the night diaper change grin fests and my ability to cure anything that ails him with a single rendition of The Noble Duke of York as long as possible, please.

He's so alert and engaged, which I love. He's easy going. I spend zero time walking laps around my house, pleading for him to settle down enough to sleep. He has a schedule. He lets his sisters hold him. He's willing to tag along wherever, whenever. In short, he's a perfect third child.

A couple of weeks ago, Teddy found his right hand and began sucking it vigorously and regularly. Less than a week later, he found his left foot with his left hand, and, presto: a perfect self-soothing mechanism. One hand in mouth, opposite hand gripping toes. Good thing it's summer and he's usually barefoot.

He loves his new exersaucer dealie. (Thanks, mom!) He joins us for meals at the dinning table, frequently in his little booster chair. And I know he's my son because he a) needs some awake alone time every day, and b) already loves books. What three month old shrieks with delight when you sit him on your lap to read picture books?! He's also chatty and Paul thinks he's trying to talk.

Perfect baby.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

that my kids say:


After two solid days of trying to convince Paul and me to go out on a date so they could stay home with a babysitter, the girls gave up and tried a new tactic.  "OK, now Ada and Ellie go out on a date. Mommy and Daddy stay here with Janelle!"  Tempting . . .

"Shoe-kick" is Ellie for music.  And it's wonderfully descriptive, don't you agree?

"Some-evabody" is Ada for both somebody and everybody, depending on context.

"Assinick" is Ada for accident.  It's pronounced "ass-in-ick."  And again, I say, these kids are powerfully good with description.  I could learn from them.  (As a sidenote, let me explain that Ada believes that a "car accident" is a messy result of two cars slamming into one another. See illustration, above, for the source of her confusion. Go, Dog. Go!)

Have I mentioned that Ada's two stuffed dinosaurs are named "Bite" and "Chewy," respectively?

Today, Ellie had her annual visit with her cardiologist.  (It went very well.)  At one point, as the doctor listened to Ellie's chest and described what she was doing/observing, Ellie said, "Just like a scientist!"

Just like a scientist, indeed.

It's all linguistics over here.

She Flies Like a Bird

Ada's preschool is doing a winter Olympics unit this week. Today they competed in "ice skating" (after taping paper plates to their shoes) and made gold medals to hang around their necks. Each child got to choose his/her own medal-worthy event. Ada's was "Eating toast for breakfast."

When we got home we made lunch together, then she carried her plate over to "the little table" in the TV room. We use this for special occasions like popcorn on movie night and 6:00 am weekend breakfasts in front of cartoons while Mommy and Daddy try to sneak a little more sleep.

"I wanna watch the 'lympics, Mommy," she said, digging into her yogurt. I'm not going to deny that request! It's rare that anyone is excited to watch my favorite televised entertainment with me.

It soon became apparent that she wanted to watch last night's rebroadcast of ice dancing.

"That's MY show, Mommy, not your show."

No argument from me on that one. I fast-forwarded to Virtue and Minor so she could see the gold medal performance before nap time.

"Look at that pretty princess dress, Mommy! That's a really pretty princess dress. It's just like an underwear shirt!"

I love my baby girl.

We also got to start an interesting discussion I'd hoped to put off for several more years. Men's Team Large Hill ski jumping came on as I fast forwarded to ice dancing. She liked watching the athletes fly through the air.

"Dat's a girl, Mommy?" Ada's really into figuring out who's a boy and who's a girl lately. She's also playing with pronouns and inventing her very own "jokes" about gender (like mixing a girl's name with "him" and watching me slyly to see if I pick up on the subtle switch).

"Nope, that's a boy. His name is Michael."

"When da girls gonna jump?"

"Women don't do this type of ski jumping at the Olympics."

"Why not?"

I don't know.

It's Not a Tie

Paul and Ada were walking out to the car after gymnastics tonight.

"I went to de store today wif Mommy. We bought you a present. It's white."

All true. Unprompted, unscripted, unexpected. She's only two! Not even two-and-a-half!

Father's Day is still over a week away, but Paul said that he can wait to find out what white present we bought for him at the store today. I wonder what other secrets Ada will be soon revealing. After a bit of consideration, I decided against teaching her the concept of "secrecy" just yet.

On an unrelated note, we participated in our neighborhood garage sale last weekend and still have a few pieces left over. I'm fine with that, as I enjoy accumulating stuff. But some stuff is too big to accumulate. While we managed to get rid of the matching chair and loveseat, we have not yet found a taker for our old spare couch. I can't imagine why.



(Note how nicely Paul staged the first shot in front of a garbage can to give it that extra je ne sais quoi.)

Mother Earth (or, Bosoms)

A couple of weeks ago, I went shopping for some summer clothes. I came home with a dress to wear to a wedding, two pairs of long shorts, and three knit tops. All three shirts are patterns in shades of green and blue. I noticed this at the store and thought, why not? Clearly, these are the colors I'm drawn to this summer; I'll just wear green and blue until my recurrent autumnal fetish for brown sets in. And as I've been wearing the new shirts, it's not been the colors, exactly, that's bothering me.

The first shirt (not pictured) is a v-neck t-shirt. In the store I thought the wide hem at the V was a nice detail. Once I wore it out in public, however, I realized that it looks like a scrub top. Not exactly the look I was going for.

The second shirt is my favorite. I've already worn it 3 times, and on the third occasion I realized that the pattern is actually a sort of camouflage. This inspired a bit of dialogue I expect will find its way into my next novel.

"You do realize that you're wearing a camouflage shirt in shades of aqua and teal, right? Where are you trying to hide, the '80's?"

The third shirt I wore for the first time today. The girls and I were sitting on Ellie's bed, reading stories before naptime, when Ada interrupted me.

"Watcha got there?" She patted my left breast. This in and of itself is not unusual. The comment that follows is usually nursing related or basic anatomy review.

She answered her own question. "Thatsa Earth."

Clearly, she was referring more to the color palette than to actual matters of scale. Still. There you have it, folks, my left breast: the entire planet.

If only she'd been at the wedding Paul and I attended a couple of weeks ago (see first paragraph above, the dress purchase was the reason for the shopping trip resulting in the shirts, the story comes full circle right here).

I am busty, but the bride is in a whole different league. At one point during the reception I actually apologized for staring like a letch. I mean, wow. I wonder what Ada would have to say to her!

Another of Ada's favorite things to say to me is, "Whatcha got der? Thatsa belly." Ah, the age of uncensored honesty and observation.

Two New Languages

Ellie had a little tickle in her throat last week and was having a some trouble with it as she and Paul were walking at the park on Friday night. "Give a big cough, just like this," Paul directed, demonstrating. "Is that better?"

"Si, un poco," Ellie replied. (Yes, a little.) Like it was nothing! Just . . . Spanish! For fun! Bless her heart.

But that impressive display was the lesser of Ellie's two big accomplishments in expression for last week. When it's time to color, she scribbles in the middle of the page for a while and then is "all done." Her OT believes that this is because of Ellie's fine motor weakness; holding a pen or crayon properly and carefully drawing lines or coloring in entire pictures is hard work for her. But during their session on Wednesday, Carmen asked Ellie to draw a picture of herself. As usual, Ellie started to scribble.

Carmen gave her a new sheet of paper and said, "You need to start with a circle for the head."

For some reason, that really "clicked" with Ellie. She drew a head, hair, eyes, nose, arms, and legs, explaining each piece as she drew it. Amazing!

She's a Problem-Solver

A couple of weeks ago, we had dinner at Bar Louie in downtown Kirkwood. The girls each had a strand of Mardi Gras beads to occupy their hands during the down times, which works wonderfully when beads can be anything from dolls to decorations. It was a lovely evening, and after dinner we hung around Station Plaza and tossed coins into the fountain. Eventually, Ellie decided to contribute her beads to the cause at the bottom of the pool.

"Alas," I said. "The beads are gone. No more beads."

Ellie was OK with that. Daddy went to get the car and the girls and I headed up the street; we made arrangements to meet at Coldstone for an after-dinner treat. As we walked, enjoying the warm, breezy evening, we chatted about the week, the weather, the scenery. Ellie lagged behind a little bit, as she is wont to do.

Suddenly, Ada stopped. She had a solution to the problem I'd nearly forgotten.

"We need a duck! To gedda necklace! From fountain!"

I concurred that a duck would be helpful in retrieving the beads, and we strolled along.

A few steps later, Ada had another idea. "Nemo get 'em beads. Dori help."

Well, that solves that! Ada still talks about the missing necklace nearly every day, but she hasn't yet come up with a better retrieval scheme than those she concocted on the spot. And I have to admit that the ideas were pretty clever.

And the Academy Award for Language Development Goes to . . .

Ellie's on a bit of a Latin kick. By which I mean that she speaks in a little bit of Dora the Explorer level Spanish (like, "No embuje, Ada!" and "Ándale, Mama!"). It's always entirely appropriate and in context; she absolutely knows what she's saying.

Also, two of her favorite library books this week are Oh, No, Gotta Go #2 and Let's Make Tacos.

Let's Make Tacos is entirely in English and is an easy reader. ("Next I put cheese in my taco shell. I put the cheese on top of the meat.") It's just photographs of a kid and his mama making tacos for dinner accompanied by simple directions. We've averaged tacos once a week for the past three weeks, and although I enjoy and support Ellie's enthusiasms, I'm almost ready for this book to go back to the library. On the positive side, neither of my girls would eat tomatoes before, and now they both insist on them!


(Ellie's just playing around on the booster seat; she doesn't usually sit in one anymore.)


Oh No, Gotta Go #2 is addictive and fortunately I enjoy reading it over and over. I hope I memorize it before it has to return to la biblioteca. "My parents and I were out walking la calle. Mamá packed a basket, with every detalle, I sat on my trike and was ready to roam. I’d gone to the baño before we left home..." So lyrical!

The only downside with this book is the line, "'The salad! The spinach! The green espinaca! Why that means,' Papá said, 'she has to go caca!'" Yes, you guessed it, Ellie now insists on using the word "caca" as frequently as possible. Super.

Seriously, though, I'm incredibly proud of mi hija.

And since this is Friday photo blogging, I'll toss in a couple of pictures. Our church had an Oscar night pre-party complete with homemade pizzas, a viewing of Wall*E, and a red carpet photo event. Here we are!

Full-Day Kindergarten

This morning, I was interviewed on camera by the preschool director for our school district.

"What do you look forward to with your child to experience in kindergarten?"

"I hope that in kindergarten, learning to read, she really starts to develop an independent love of learning, and the realization that she can teach herself new things. I also hope that she'll develop her sense of independence."

"What concerns do you have about your child entering kindergarten?"

"My husband and I loved school so much and we want that for our daughter, too. I'm just so afraid that she'll find kindergarten too hard and will want to give up. I'm afraid that she won't like it, that it will be too different from play-based preschool. And I'm a little scared of all the independence she'll have and the room for making bigger mistakes."

Then we went next door to Ellie's classroom and the teacher attempted to interview Ellie. We'd practiced at home, of course, but she was absolutely not really into it. And who could blame her? Sure, we blather on about "kindergarten" from time to time. But what does this strange word mean? It sounds like our beloved "Musikgarten." Come to think of it, what is "next year," anyway? And new schools are nothing big to her; she's been in five classrooms in three preschools already.

"I wonder what you will do in kindergarten?"

Ellie did this little mutter thing she does where she doesn't make eye contact and doesn't use actual words but mumbles along like Charlie Brown's teacher. This is not unlike what I do when I don't know the words but want to keep singing. Or when I feel like I should know the answer the rest of the group is reciting.

"Ellie, what do you think you will do in kindergarten?"

"New friends," she said very quietly, smiling at her sister playing on the trampoline directly behind her . . . and turning completely away from the camera.

"What do you think you will learn in kindergarten?"

I can tell you what she did not say. She did not talk about computers or reading, as her father and I had suggested to her during our earlier practice sessions.

"I wonder what you will like the most about going to kindergarten?"

Ellie did not mention eating lunch at school or riding the bus. In fact, it was pretty obvious that she was not into this scene and was so done. She headed off to play.

I shrugged at the preschool director and cameraman. It happens. And there were lots of other children to interview.

Back at home, over lunch, I flipped through the day's mail.

"Dear Parent,
We received a number of applications for our Full-Day Kindergarten Program and twenty children for one class were selected through a random drawing. Although your child's name was not drawn . . . "

Ack! Not even in kindergarten and already a rejection letter, if not a personal one. We applied for the limited full-day program because we know that Ellie will be pulled out of the classroom some for therapy serives and we worry about her missing too much class. But all that will be addressed after her transition I.E.P meeting and we're not too worried about the schedule yet.

A couple of hours later, after naptime (we're sort of back on naptime) I was chatting with Ellie about kindergarten again. She still wasn't very into it. The phone rang.

Ellie's principal is an interesting dude. We know him from her stint in the early childhood room at the local elementary school, and he's very nice, easily approachable, and extremely accessible to the children. He's young and handsome: tan with white teeth and curly blond hair. He also has the highest voice I've ever heard from an adult man. It's much, much higher than mine. I don't type in pitch, so you'll have to use your imagination here.

"I'm calling with good news!" he said. "So many families were interested in full-day kindergarten for next year that both classrooms will be full-day! Eleanor will be in Mrs. X's class or Mrs. Y's class, and . . . "

It's starting to feel almost real.

Next year, I will have a child in elementary school. She'll be doing things like going into the building on her own. And losing baby teeth.

I'm sure I'll be doing things like turning grey and biting off my fingernails.

Just Chatting

"What did you do in school today, Ellie?" I asked last Thursday, as I do over lunch every weekday. But this time, she answered me. Really answered me.

"Hockey," she said. Her teachers had taught her about the game of hockey, and she played it with one of her aides and a couple of her friends, each of whom she named for me.

Hockey! We don't ever watch sports on TV here, and Paul and I haven't played hockey for years. This was a completely foreign concept that she learned about at school and successfully communicated to me!

Tonight, as we snuggled together on her pillow at bedtime, Ellie started talking about the book we'd just finished reading (Love Is a Handful of Honey). Then she made a very natural segue.

"Carl is my best friend," she said. "And Callahan. Callahan's sick."

"Was Callahan at school today?" I asked, to make sure I was understanding.

"No. Sick. And Umar sick, too."

Carl, Callahan, and Umar are all boys in Ellie's class.

Alleluia! My child is an amazement, a delight to me, and increasingly impressive at conveying her thoughts, the more abstract thoughts we've long known she has, but had such a hard time interpreting. These are the kinds of things I talked to my mom about when I was five: I learned this at school, these kids are my friends, this is who was out sick today. I've long suspected that she had all this going on inside her head, but it's far better to hear Ellie's own words from from her own mouth.

This morning started rough, but my day ended great.

Follow the Leader

Ada turns two in a little over a week, and she's well aware of it. She's been full-on two for quite some time, in every sense but weight and chronology. Pre-academics aside, she speaks in full sentences. She's a sponge with a chatty older sister and mommy with healthy reading habits.

Yesterday, Ada had her informal 24-month developmental screening with our Parents as Teachers Parent Educator. After Ada scored 60 out of 60 in every category, the Parent Educator said, "I see no cause for concern." She's somewhat lacking in sense of humor, perhaps. Or maybe it's just insufficient enthusiasm for my child. (Who's seeking impartial professionalism here? Not I, Super Fly!) In her defense, however, she did suggest that we check out some book about parenting a strong-willed child. And that really does describe my Adelaide.

She is an opinionated little girl. She knows exactly what she wants to wear and when she wants to wear it. She knows which toys/stuffed sheep/blankets she needs to be carrying at any given time. She knows what video she simply must watch on Friday night. (I know, I know, I am a lousy mother.) Try to impose your own will on this child at your peril; I've done just that and experienced temper tantrums lasting a full hour.

But she finally, finally, finally is willing to (occasionally) separate from her mother! Ada has always been a fantastic sleeper, bless her heart. But she's been a bit . . . clingy when she's awake. That's a massive understatement, by the way.

In September, she started a Kids Day Out program 2 mornings a week. The first two weeks were difficult, but since then she's been increasingly excited to go. She loves her teachers, her classes, the whole structure and routine of the gig. She gets frustrated on the days when we take Ellie to school and she doesn't get to go herself. She's even attempted to blend into Ellie's classroom at drop-off, perhaps with the hope that no one will notice the interloper. She might have a shot, actually. She's a bit taller than the little person in Ellie's class, and she'd probably keep up academically too. There'd be a bit of a problem with sitting still, though.

Despite her happiness with her "school" experience, today was the first day that Ada has not wanted to leave with me afterward. I opened the classroom door this morning and was met by an overwhelming barrage of motion and noise. A herd of tiny people ran, yelling their heads off, directly at me. I froze, and they soon reversed course.

The room is set up like a U, with the door to the hallway near the top of one arm and the door to the interior bathroom/changing area at the top of the other arm. Soon the motion resolved itself into pattern. The children were touching the bathroom door, taking a deep breath, then running full steam for the hallway door, hollering all the way, where they're repeat the process. Deep breath, run and yell, touch door.

One of the teachers had stepped out for a moment to pick up her own child from another classroom, and she returned as I stood, ignored and befuddled after an initial and exuberant greeting from my usually eager-to-leave child, holding a tiny backpack and fuzzy scarf.

"It looks like they're playing a game of follow-the-leader."

It did, indeed, though I hadn't noticed it before. And guess who was the leader? Once I was really paying attention to the group dynamics, I saw my little brown-haired pixie leading three blond children on a mad adventure. Deep breath, run and yell, touch door, repeat. True leadership.

Where on earth does she get it?

Notes for posterity: Ada knows her numbers (though not always in order), letters, phonics, colors, and shapes. It's unreal and a little silly, sort of like a party game. When she says "trampoline," it sounds like "jumping beans," which I love. And when Ellie says, "banana," it sounds like "boiana," which I also love. Today we unsuccessfully practiced playing hide and seek for ages. They are a delight!

Unrelated note. Why is it that air conditioners never fail in 75 degree weather in October? And heaters tend to conk out in the middle of the night on the coldest day of the season? Not that that's happening right now to us or anything. (Note: we just replaced our A/C in August.)

Ugly Butterfly

This afternoon, I was exhausted (my own fault, of course) and frustrated. My girls weren't exactly thrilled to be going down for their naps, but we all needed the rest. And the break from each other.

Ellie, exhausted toward the end of her first full week back in school, was particularly contrary. And she would not stay in bed.

Finally, I had Ada down. Not sleeping, but in her bed and quiet for a minute. Here was my 15 minute break! But no, here came Ellie again, complaining about a butterfly on her arm.

What?!

I sent her back to bed, carefully lifting all the layers of covers to check for bugs. Perhaps it was a spider that she brushed off without seeing it clearly? I saw nothing except the usual carpeting of toys.

She came right back out, holding her arm and complaining about a butterfly. Again. I looked at her arm; it was fine. I put her back to bed, a little more angrily.

The third time she came out complaining about a butterfly, I was really frustrated. I was just trying to go to the bathroom, pick up my book, get a glass of water, before joining her in her room and keeping her company while she went to sleep. Couldn't she wait a moment? She's 4-1/2 years old!

But she was really anxious, so I got over my frustration and listened more carefully. I set down my quarter-filled water glass and went with her to her room, sat down on the bed and tucked her in.

Almost immediately, a mosquito swooped in for the attack.

I smacked it against the wall, killing it.

"It's all done!" Ellie exclaimed, excited. But she was still a little freaked out. "Clean the wall! Clean the wall!"

And she wouldn't stay in the room alone while I went for a Kleenex. So, after I cleaned the wall and washed my hands, I took Ellie to my room and settled her on Paul's pillow. I lay down next to her, soothing her gently until she fell asleep.

And then Ada started screaming about being neglected in her crib for so long.

But just then Paul came home from work early! And took Ada with him to pick up our freshly repaired lawnmower (sorry about the ugly lawn this week, neighbors). So - I got to climb into my soft, comfortable bed, snuggle in with my favorite 4-year-old in the world, and rest for a while.

When she woke up, Ellie gave me a great smile and lots of cuddles. Then she saw a piece of lint on the bedding. "Butterfly!" she cried, with concern.

Wonderful afternoon.

The Equality State

It's 1000 miles from our house to Paul's parents' house, and we tried to make the drive in one long take again this year. Since it was early May, we figured that was reasonable. Imagine our surprise when we got stuck at a rest stop, then, a little later, a gas station by black ice covering the interstate in western Nebraska. It took us 22 hours to get there, and we arrived exhausted. On the way back, we stayed overnight in a Country Inn & Suites. Nirvana! We arrived home much happier than we would have if we'd tried to drive all night.

The girls were really really really excited to take this trip. Ellie asked about it every day for a few weeks beforehand. And they were not disappointed. Nana arranged for Ellie to have a therapeutic horsemanship session, which was sort of the highlight of her month. We looked at the pictures again today, and she said, "Walk, Targo!"

Both of their language developments (can you say "language developments" like that?) are really blooming right now. I love hearing them voice their preferences. During the trip, they actually argued over which movies to watch on the car's DVD player. Today, Ada told me that she was done listening to "Ralph" and wanted to hear the ABCDs song. And, while we were at the Outback with Paul's folks, Ada flagged down the server to order a pizza. Seriously, she yelled at him, "Pazza!" Too cute. Meanwhile, I've discovered a way to help Ellie go to sleep at night (sometimes). We now talk through her day today and tomorrow, which helps her process all the stuff running through her head that she's still developing the ability to really talk about.

These kids are great.

Second Child

A couple of weeks ago, Ada and I went over to a sick friend's house to take her some Gatorade. I told Ada what we were doing, but she was absorbed in putting on her beloved rain coat ("Coke! Coke!") and then in her current car book, an interactive board book about John Deere tractors.

When I lifted her out of the van in my friend's driveway, she looked up, saw where we were, and said, "Hey, Elizabeth's house." It wasn't that clear, of course, but have I mentioned that she's 14 months old?

The other night, at bedtime, as she lay on the changing table and I was removing her clothes, she gave me a critical warning before I got to her diaper. "Poopy," she said. And, indeed, she was.

She's had some success on the potty lately, actually. I'm not planning on eliminating the Pampers line item from our budget any time soon, but I do sometimes sit Ada on the potty when Ellie's going, if she seems interested. At least she's unafraid of it and seems to have some awareness of the process, so we're in great shape there.

Parenting is a little like riding Space Mountain at Walt Disney World. It's a wild and unpredictable experience, undertaken completely in the dark so that there's no hint of what's coming up.

Ada and Ellie both love playing doctor. This game involves slinging a stethoscope around your neck - both can do this expertly - and running around the house busily, tending to doll, stuffed animal, and parent patients. "Make you feel better" involves draping ribbons across the patients, oddly enough. Ellie invented the game, but Ada's all into it.

She loves our music games, too. In one, we "make soup." And when it's Ada's turn to contribute an item to go into the soup, she always gets this sweet, hopeful little look on her face and says, "Paz Pocka?" That's pizza pocket, for those not up on their Ada-lingo. Sounds like a yummy soup to me.

Ada wants upease-upease-upease on my lap at my writing desk so that she can see outside to watch for any possible school buses that might be driving down our street. "Bus? Bus?"

She's so good with pictures, too. She recognizes herself and the rest of us, and by "the rest of us," I mean that she gets excited by pictures of Grandma "mah-mah," cousin Ahb-bee, and cousin Arr-ah (Arria) as well as her parents. Surprisingly, she doesn't say Ellie's name very often, though she's obviously enamoured with her big sister. Lately, the two of them have been playing nicely and independently together for short periods of time, a development that thrills me.

Ada only drinks water, but calls every drink "mulk." She loves pizza and pumpkin loaf and broccoli and mashed potatoes. Her new favorite game is to make the Jaws sound (bum-bum, bum-bum, BUM-BUM etc.) while moving her little pinchers in to "get" us, laughing hysterically all the while.

Her eyes are a beautiful, dark hazel, though I bet they'll turn brown in another year or so (like mine did at that age). She is currently obsessed with shoes, and is starting to reject her little leather Robeez in favor of hard-soles. She'd still love to wear underpants over her pants every single day, and I've never seen such a child for clutching onto security items, though fortunately she's not attached to one specific lovey.

This is amazing. I wouldn't change a thing. Well, except maybe if she'd sleep in more. And let me leave her from time to time, like in the nursery during church, for instance.

But really. She's perfect and this stage is a wonderful gift.

Even If You're a Plumber

Because I watched Season 4 of Project Runway, I now know that low-rise pants are on their way out, and I say: Thank God! It's about time!

Ellie feels the same way. She's beginning to develop definite preferences for things, which I love, and one of them is for her shirts to meet her pants. As she's a bit long-waisted, and styles being what they are, this has become an area of concern. She doesn't want an exposed midriff, and she doesn't want to feel like her pants are in danger of falling off.

Ellie will tug up on a pair of low-rise bikini underpants sent by her Nana and say, with great frustration, "It's not working!"

I think that pretty much nails it, right there.

I have a couple of very lovely friends who regularly expose their very lovely bottoms, but I don't think that seeing anyone's butt crack while they're sitting down in a pair of jeans is very lovely. (I include my own backside in this same prohibition, though I know I've been guilty of flashing my underpants upon occasion; it's simply very hard to find an entire wardrobe of shirts that are long enough paired with pants that stay high enough.)

I've long offered Ellie choices between acceptable alternatives, and it warms my heart to see her developing true preferences. She's never been a kid who cares if I put her milk in the blue cup or the yellow one, but lately, she really would prefer to be the green Hungry, Hungry Hippo. And she currently loves Calling Doctor Amelia Bedelia above all other books (courtesy of our local library).

Most fun of all, Ellie now has two dolls with names. You might recall that many of Ellie's dolls have consistent names like, "Baby," and "Dolly." A few months ago, she inherited my first Cabbage Patch Doll, who is a little black boy named Edgar. She loves Edgar and calls him by his given name. Paul recently noticed that another of Ellie's dolls has a particularly distinctive name. She's an inexpensive little doll (plastic head, hands, and feet, soft body, about 6 inches tall) found near Ellie's stuffed stocking at my parents' house on Christmas morning, and her name is Nellie. Ellie hasn't been watching Little House on the Prairie, and while Paul and I know a couple of adult women named Nell, we don't believe that Ellie has ever met either of them. Somehow, however, she has decided that "Nellie" is a wonderful name for her new little doll, and she's perfectly right. It's a lovely name.

My girl has all-around good taste. Have I mentioned that she is completely uninterested in the Disney Princess hysteria? Bless her heart.

Pink!

Whenever members of our church have babies, a woman named Sharon calls to set up a good time to visit. She arrives bearing a dinner and a baby blanket, as well as coos and praises for baby and parents. It's a lovely gesture.

The blankets are all the same: pastel fleece with knotted edges. Ellie's is pink, and unusually large. ("A special blanket for a very special baby!" Sharon said.) Ada's is yellow and about 18 inches by 12, which is the perfect size for a snuggley to be carried around the house without dragging on the floor and tripping toddler feet.

Ellie has no current interest in her blanket, so I made an emergency substitution once when Ada's yellow blanket was in the laundry basket. Ada is a child who loves to hold a lovey - or two or three - whenever possible, though she will (usually) happily accept substitutions. Dolls, toys, stuffed animals, blankets, books, small bottles of lotion, all have taken their turns.

Right. So imagine my surprise when one day last week I picked up Ada from her crib after her nap only to find her lunging back down toward her mattress, crying like she was physically attached to it and I was ripping her away.

"What's the matter, sweetie, do you want your doll?" I handed it to her and she cuddled it tightly but continued to reach for something in the bed, saying her word for blanket when pressed.

"Oh, you want your blanket. Here it is, honey." I handed her the yellow blanket, both because it is hers and because of its aforementioned perfect size for hauling around the house.

No, no, no, this would not do at all. "Pink!" she said, reaching for Ellie's blanket. And so you have it. I have a 13-month-old who can label similar items by color, and Ellie's short one baby blanket.

For her part, Ellie is doing some amazing things as well. She still doesn't usually answer general questions, like, "What did you do in school today?" But a more specific question, like, "What did you play with in the sensory table at school today?" got the appropriate answer, "Dinosaur bones!" rather than the usual reenactment of a scene from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Generally, she's just looking and acting very grown-up lately. I can really see the little girl she's becoming, with occasional glimpses of the teenage she will be someday (so help me, God).

As always, it continues to be a constant struggle to remember not to talk down to my children, subconsciously assuming that they can only comprehend as well as they can speak. Knowing that this is not so is much harder than acting on it at all times.

Fortunately, Ellie's on the case, helping me out with daily reminders by way of perfect mimicry.

"Good job, Mommy," she says, clapping for me when I successfully complete a trip to the toilet, or, "Good singing," when I burst out with one of her favorite songs. My current favorite is, "Try again!" when I've done something she really likes and would like to repeat, like one verse of Ring-Around-The-Rosie (which, despite popular belief, is not about the plague) or an especially funny dance move/silly face/tickle attack.

They're perfectly wonderful, perfectly adorable, perfectly delightful. Why, then, do I have such a hard time going to bed at a reasonable hour, so as to better have the patience to enjoy them the next day?

Snapshots

I have cute kids. You can't see them right now, because of our faulty hard drive situation, so I'll try to relate their anecdotal cuteness as best I can in a sans serif font.

Ellie still has a few really cute toddlerisms, and it will be a bittersweet occasion when I realize that she's left them behind forever. I think it's adorable that she calls Mickey Mouse's best friend and loyal companion "Plu-dog." I am intrigued by the way she says blanket: "My pickely!" And my friend loves the way Ellie says her name. "Mommy! Mommy! E-widdi-beff is here!" Already, Mommy is sometimes Mom. Surely it was only a year ago that I was still Mama?

Ada has her own little adorablenesses. Like her lifelong obsession with underwear. It's always been a challenge to keep her away from underpants she finds in laundry baskets, both clean and dirty. This weekend, we gave up. She sees her sister wearing big girl underpants, of course. Then she brings me a pair. "Help please! Help please!" She wants to wear them. And why not, I say?

Sure, she just turned 13 months old and her tiny bottom slips one cheek at a time into the potty seat - she's not even big enough to sit on the little potty chair without falling in! And she looks completely ridiculous toddling all over the house wearing a pair of Ellie's clean underpants over her own pants and diaper. But it makes her so, so happy. Ada wins! Underpants for the baby!

First Down

Happy first Birthday, Adelaide! The year has gone so fast.

2007

2008


Yesterday, Ellie and Ada and I went to Cici’s for lunch. The girls were munching on pasta and breadsticks while I got drinks and pizza to share. When I sat back down, I distributed drinks (lemonade for Ellie, water for Ada) and handed Ellie her plate of pizza, Ada her homemade quesadilla with chicken, cheddar, and pureed broccoli.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma” she said, “I want pizza.”

I’d rather expected that she would, so I had a piece of sauceless cheese on my plate for her. But seriously. It was the day before her first birthday. "I want pizza?!!" Don't get me wrong, she still sounds like a baby much of the time. Most of her words are very hard to understand out of context. Cat and car both sound a lot like, "cah," for example. Still, Ada's amazing, beautiful, wonderful; it's been a great year.

Yes, a Jewish Carpenter

Ellie's in Sunday School for the first time this year, rather than just childcare while Paul and I are in Sunday School and church. I've been pleased with how smoothly she's made the transition from: church is a place to play to and learn, too. Just like preschool.

I know and trust the teachers, so I'm comfortable that she's unlikely to be learning a lot of theology I'm uncomfortable with. But I admit that I didn't expect her to absorb a lot of it.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Christmas rolled around and she seemed to get it without any prompting from me. First, let me admit that I haven't spent much time at home educating Ellie about the wonders of Santa Claus and his North Pole dwelling, gift giving ways. Nor have I spent much time explaining about Jesus. I know, I know.

"Later," I thought. I'm not sure where to start, and where to stop. Sure, Christmas is the birthday celebration of the baby Jesus, a reasonable concept, but Ellie's very literal. Won't she expect an actual baby? And what do I do in a few months when it's Easter? "Hey, Ellie, remember the baby Jesus? Well, some people really didn't like him when he grew up, and . . ."

"Maybe next year," I thought.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Ellie was very engaged from our first reading of Who Is Coming To Our House? in early December and, on the last page, she answered the question before I could read it:

"Baby Jesus!" she said with great excitement. Except that, with her adorable little Ellie voice, it sounds like, "Baby Jew-zus."

I nearly fell right over. So we have talked quite a bit about him lately. I'm still not sure what I'll say at Easter, though.

Baby Talk

Ada's focused on walking right now. She gets this intense and excited look on her face, then rushing stumble walks over to you, never breaking eye contact. She laughs and laughs.

This is really saying something, given that my poor baby has been a CRANKY girl for these last several weeks, gums swollen and bleeding as 4 molars and 4 eyeteeth try to break free at once. By the time she turns one in a few weeks, she might have all of her baby teeth. A long break before the 2-year-old molars would be nice for all of us.


Ada's increasingly comfortable taking 3-5 steps between things. Any further distance, and she attempts to map out a cruising route. Failing that, or in a big hurry, she just drops down and speed-crawls, which is the most adorable thing ever. I will be sad when this stage is over (not the teething part!).

When I say that Ada talks, it's hard to give an accurate reflection of what that means. Let me try a little harder. Ada babbles a lot, like many babies do. I love her fast angry babble, "Gah!Gah!Gah!Bla!Buh!NaNaNaNak!" There's her happy, keep-holding-my-hands-I-love-walking babble, which sounds like a little piece of song. And there's her singing itself, which transitions us into Ada's speech.

Ada labels things correctly, a scary lot of the time. She was 8 months old when her Uncle Rob said, "Quack!" across the room and she said, "Duck." By that time, she'd already been telling us some things (Mama, Dada, Wawa, etc.) for quite a while.

Lately, we might be reading a book that is not about teddy bears or kitty cats but if she sees a teddy bear or kitty cat in an illustration, she'll point it out and name it. I couldn't begin to list all of her words, partly because it's only gradually that I realize what they are. She's hard to understand a lot of the time - she's 11 months old! - but I suspect that quite a lot of her babbling sounds are actual words. And that it pisses her off that I don't recognize them.

Unlike her big sister, Ada's very much a schedule girl. If I don't have her in bed by 7:00, I'm likely to see quite a bit of this sort of thing:


She still nurses. She's very clear about what she does and does not want to eat at mealtime, though "Chezzo" (Cheerios) is one of the few foods she asks for by name. She loves to pinch my nose until I honk. She loves to say, "eye" and poke finger into her own, and then mine. She ate beef stew for dinner Saturday night, with a biscuit, just like her big sister, her parents, and her godmother. The next night was the "meatloaf" and "mashed potatoes." Tonight we all had cheeseburgers (with zucchini and mushrooms on whole grain) and baked sweet potato "fries." She eats some jars of food for convenience and nutrition, but at dinnertime she eats what we eat and loves it.

She does some of this:

And this:




Hopefully these pictures have have brightened your January Tuesday a little, just as their subject brightens mine.