Little Backpack

A quick shout-out (with pictures) to Helen's Uncle K., who came back from his Spring Break with a Hello Kitty backpack for her.

I do not have any pictures of Cousin M wearing the backpack, which is a shame, really. He loved that thing.

Ladies, you know nothing goes with a new purse better than a gorgeous new outfit for spring. She even has new sandals, too. You can see she's thrilled about it. (/sarcasm) I'm having a hard time getting her to ever wear the sandals. She really prefers her sneakers.

And here she is, just being a cute kid.

Munchkin Land

One lazy Sunday, Brian volunteered to pick up lunch for all of us at McDonalds. He came back with a Happy Meal for Helen that had a TOY. The TOY turned out to be a tiny Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, made by Madame Alexander.


My sister had a Madame Alexander doll that was well-loved in its day. She called it "Bah-bee" and took it with her everywhere. She would rock it and put it to sleep in the toy cradle. It was a beautiful little baby doll, albeit a little dirty, and when I saw that Madame Alexander tag on Helen's new TOY, I had to get the entire Wizard of Oz set.


I hopped online to see how many other characters they had. Turns out there were eight, and Tin Man was somewhere in the middle. So I had missed some, and I would have to visit McDonalds often to keep up with the new toys coming out.


That sounded like way too much work. So I went right to Ebay, where I found about a zillion auctions of the entire set, unopened. One had a very reasonable Buy-It-Now price, so I Pay-Pal'd the seller with my lightning quick internet reflexes. Within a week, the dolls arrived. But since we're so diligent about checking the mail around the Wyatt House, we didn't get them until yesterday.


They are just so darn CUTE. It appears the Tin Man is an early favorite with Helen, but I think they're all fantastic. Oh yes, I will be playing with these for the next few days.


In fact, after Helen went to bed last night, I set up a photo session so I could show you the dolls!


Here are the sisters - the Wicked Witches of the East and the West - see the red shoes?



Here's a tiny Munchkin with Glinda, the Good Witch of the North -



Here we have Cowardly Lion and Tin Man. The Lion has a long tail which you can barely see.



And at last, here's Dorothy, and the Scarecrow she'll miss most of all -



I talked with Brian last night about all the characters they could have made. Oh, say for example, I don't know, but maybe the FREAKIN' WIZARD OF OZ. Also, I suggested the Flying Monkey, but Brian told me he wasn't interested in giving Helen nightmares just yet. Good call, Brian.


Little-known fact: when I was about 12, the youth group in my church held a performance of The Wizard of Oz. It's all pretty fuzzy in the memory banks, but I sang one line as the "Munchkin Coroner." (YES, I SANG IN PUBLIC, STOP LAUGHING!!) In case you've forgotten the line, it goes as follows, very heavy on the vibrato:


As Coroner, I must aver, I thoroughly examined her,
And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead!


Please, please hold your applause until the end. Thank you.


I remember watching this movie as a kid, when I must have been about 5 or 6 years old. You all may remember that it used to air once a year, and every kid got to stay up late to watch it. I was in my pajamas, with a big bowl of popcorn. I hid my face in the pillow when the Flying Monkeys showed up. And Mom could do the perfect Wicked Witch cackle, which would make your skin crawl. It's amazing how the scary parts of that movie pop out now, even thought it's nearly 70 years old.


I'll get the DVD someday for Helen to watch. We'll stay up late, with popcorn. And when she comes to me later with a nightmare about a Flying Monkey, I'll know why.

Bubbles

Helen got a new toy for spring. Unlike real mowers, it isn't very noisy, it doesn't cut grass, and it makes a lot of bubbles.

She took her new mowing duties very seriously.



Her daddy was very excited about her first lesson in yard work, until she started mowing in circles. We'll have to work on making nice, straight rows.

We live next door to some homeowners who've started their own Crabgrass'R'Us store, so we've had to be ever-vigilant with our lawn. Helen's new skills may come in quite handy.

Kiss Me

Remember Easter morning, when your parents let you have CANDY for BREAKFAST?

Helen had 3 Hershey kisses before I hid the rest of the basket. While she napped, I ate the rest of them. I don't think she'll fall for that trick next year.

And hey, look, mom! It's her Easter dress! With hairbows!

Mine-field

Two-year olds are something to really admire.


No, really, stay with me here.


They are single-minded in their pursuit of whatever occurs to them at that moment. Juice? Toys? Hair pulling? They have a laser-like focus on it. It's refreshing really, in this world of ADD and 200 channels and drive-through wedding chapels, to find someone who's devoted to carrying out a task from start to finish.


This weekend, the task was "mine." As in, that's mine, what's yours is mine, Mine Mine ALL MINE. Oh, and in case you weren't clear on that, right over there, I don't what it is, but it's MINE!!!!


My sister and I tried teaching them the concept of sharing and taking turns but a toddler will not be deterred for long. Sometimes it worked, but then a few seconds later, they remembered that the toy was MINE and suddenly it's right back to mothers mediating again. They had meltdowns over balls and rocking buffaloes and Legos. I think sippy cups were involved at one point, but I'm not really sure. I've kind of blocked it all out with wine.


So, as long as we had two of something, we were good. Two books, two balls, 800 legos - they played like champions, running around and laughing. I loved watching the sheer joy on their faces as they saw each other in the morning.


The weather did not cooperate this weekend. In fact, like most lawns in our neighborhood, our newly green bushes are now a frozen, withered brown. So instead of taking the kids for a planned outing to the zoo's annual Easter Egg Hunt, we had an Easter Egg Hunt in our living room. Helen got it immediately. She zipped around the room, snatching up eggs. Cousin M sort of trailed along behind, picking up a couple that she missed. He definitely picked up speed in Round 2. I can't wait to see them in an official hunt with a couple hundred more kids.

Later that day, we took the kids to the mall and let them play in the kids' zone near the food court. Then we took them to the bookstore to pick out their own Easter presents. Yes, you read that right. They chose a bunch of books, but when we got home, the books had magically disappeared. Toddlers are SO EASY to fool!


They're also easy to wear out. After two full days of playing, Helen took a FOUR HOUR NAP on Sunday.


Maybe Cousin M can come back next weekend, too!


See if you can spot the kids hiding in all the toys:



Cousin M says the buffalo is MINE:



And Helen's got a BIG smile for everyone here:

TWO toddlers = TWICE the fun

Aunt M. and Cousin M. are visiting us this weekend. They arrived last night and as Cousin M. walked in the door, the two kids shrieked with excitement. They both began running around the house at full speed, with Cousin M. saying "Come on, Helen! Come on!" Occasionally, Helen would stop to scream at the top of her lungs. I had to pull out the typical mom-line, "Helen, inside voices, please." They were just so excited, and it was really fun to watch them so happy together.

Later, after everyone had settled down a bit, the kids started dragging out the toys. At one point, while he was moving them around, Cousin M. tripped and fell, and from the behind the sofa we heard a voice say, "I am OKAY."

My sister and I could NOT. STOP. LAUGHING.

There's lots of Cousin Fun planned for the weekend, if the weather cooperates. I'll be sure to post pictures and hopefully some more good stories, so be sure to check back here on Monday.

And I hope you all are OKAY, too.

The Long March

Last month, Brian spent a Sunday walking 26.2 miles with a 35-pound backpack.

On purpose.

Several months ago, our Navy friend W. mentioned a marathon march in New Mexico that commemorated the Bataan Death March from World War II. Brian, being male, said "Sure, that sounds great!" He got a pair of boots and a backpack like the military guys wear, and went out for a breezy 6-mile hike near our house.

He came back with no skin on his heels. Seriously.

So, after a trip to the podiatrist and a sporting goods store for hiking shoes, and SEVERAL bandaids later, he continued with the training hikes. He got up to 19 miles before the actual marathon event, and that particular one left him feeble for a few days.

I made lots of jokes about making sure the life insurance was paid up, asking our agent if something called Bataan Memorial DEATH March would invalidate our policy, speculating as to how I would spend the life insurance proceeds, etc. It was endlessly amusing (to me, anyway), and at the same time a little bit worrisome to realize that Brian would be hiking a marathon with a giant pack on his back. Athletic events like this can cause heart attacks, strokes, dehydration and serious sun damage.

So I did what any loving wife would do. I reminded him to use sunscreen.

Brian got to town early to register, but everyone else was getting in late at night. Late arrivals meant very little sleep the night before the race. Everyone knew this ahead of time, and then Brian learned at registration that participants would have a long wait at the security checkpoint before parking on the military base. They recommended leaving the hotel around 3:30 am.

Which meant NO sleep before the race. Optimal, don't you think?

Despite all of this, they managed to have a good time. No bad attitudes, no complaining, just set out and hike and get it done. And all three guys finished the race. W. called me afterwards to mention that I shouldn't go spending the life insurance just yet. A few days later, Brian came back with gorgeous pictures, aching calves, and a strong desire to do this again next year.

(I mentioned the part about him being male, right?)

This is W. and T. setting out at first light - W. has the orange camelback:

This is a bagpiper that kept up with them for the first 7 miles, without a break:

This is my favorite picture - I love the view in the distance, and all of the footprints in the dirt:

Trouble, with a capital T

This morning, I came in to get Helen out of her crib. As I leaned in to pick her up, I noticed her bare bottom. It's cute and adorable, in that special way that only baby bottoms are, but it also means something very important is missing.

I found her diaper on the floor next to her crib. The bars are pretty close together, so she had to either stand up and toss it over the side, or shove it between the bars. In other words, it didn't just FALL off and SLIP OUT of the crib.

So I (naively) asked, "Helen, did you take off your diaper?" She looked up at me with a big grin and said, "No-oooo."

I think this is where the robot starts screaming "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!"

The one where I get teary-eyed

I went to our local pizza place on Sunday night to pick up dinner, and discovered that's when the local high school shows up to eat together.

The noise hit me in the parking lot. But I waded in, knowing that I had a to-go order ready and waiting.

The line was a mile long. I got nervous that our pizza would be cold toast by the time I paid for it. But an alert cashier herded me up to the secret extra register, ahead of all the teenagers. As I stood in line, Helen watched everyone. She didn't even seem fazed by the decibel level. I guess it's nothing compared to a room full of 2-year olds.

I literally got antsy just standing there, waiting in all of that crowded noise. I wanted to pay and leave and just breathe. Finally, I scored my pizza and as I headed out, another older lady was taking her pizza to go, too. We both smiled as we made it out of the door. "Wow, that was crazy, huh?" I said to her as I headed to my car. "I thought I had it rough today with a fussy toddler, but that was so much louder."

"It won't be long until she's one of them," she replied, pointing to Helen.

I recoiled in horror. Helen? A teenager? NO WAY.

And then it occurred to me, YES WAY. She's getting older every single day, and one morning I'm going to wake up and take her to the nail salon so she can get a manicure for her prom. I'm going to freak out when I look at her, all dressed up and ready to go. When she trips a little coming down the stairs in her high heels, I'm going to remember the time she first crawled up those stairs. Or the first pair of shoes I bought her. Or all the times I put her hair in pigtails.

I'm also going to be wondering why Brian is muttering in the corner, cleaning that shotgun.

But really, she's growing FAST. I see little babies at daycare and can barely remember bringing her at that age. I've looked at hundreds of pictures of her during that first year and it's such a blur. None of it seems real. Did we actually buy a house and paint and put in new carpet and move in, while I held her the entire time? The second year is whizzing by even faster. Talking, potty training, Barbie. There it goes. Don't blink!

So my question is this: if I buy her prom dress now, will it cost me less because of inflation, or will it cost me more, because geez Mom, that's like, SO not the style right now? (eyes roll, heavy sigh) Because at this rate, it'll feel like she needs it next year.

Moving Up

Friends of ours were on TV this weekend! One of Brian's groomsmen from our wedding, along with his wife & son, appeared in an episode of TLC's "Moving Up."

The basic premise is that two couples buy new homes and spend 3 months with a film crew, renovating the houses. Then the former owners come back to see what you've done with the place. The viewings are all filmed so the new owners see what the old owners said.

Our friends run a business called Nashville Ghost Tours, and the show took the opportunity to let them run with a spooky theme in one of the rooms. This FREAKED OUT the former homeowners. They asked if our friends were Satan worshippers! Ha. (The answer is: only on weekends.)

In the meantime, the former owners of our friends' home are a pair of newlyweds, each with a child they brought into the marriage. They're finally getting their first place together, only to discover serious structural issues in the kitchen. Budget problems force some tough choices, and there doesn't appear to be a lot of good interaction between them during the show.

The scuttlebutt is that they were on the verge of divorce during the renovations. For anyone who's made some improvements to their own home, I'm sure you're familiar with the stress that kind of work can cause a marriage. The premiere of the show has been delayed for months, and then our friends recently heard they're now divorced. It's a shame, and I can't help but wonder if they would have made it without the stress of the renovations or the pressure to perform for the cameras. There are bits and pieces of the episode that definitely serve as foreshadowing. I wonder how hard it was for them to watch it this weekend as it aired for the first time.

In the meantime, watching our friends try to handle homeownership for the first time was hilarious. Before they got started, they bought books to try to learn as much as possible. Everything from how to paint - or more importantly, how to tape up trim BEFORE painting. How to remove a toilet. How to break up tile. How to lay hardwood floor. All of their talent, or lack thereof, was on national television for everyone to see. I think it served as the much-needed comic relief in the episode.

See here for details on the next viewing of the episode. See here for details about Nashville Ghost Tours. TLC used some footage of our friend in his tour guide costume in the episode. If you're ever in town, be sure to put the tour on your list of things to do.

Great Idea

Helen's business card would say:

Helen?
All done!
(phone number)

Independence

In stark contrast to the entry below, Helen sometimes decides that she can do something on her own. Not knowing when she needs help, and when her head will start spinning furiously in circles, is a little bit scary.

For example, these days she wants to climb into her high chair. She's been pretty good at it, but when her shoes get in the way, she gets stuck. Then I try to help her sit down. Sometimes she is okay with that. Other times she screams so loudly, I think the neighbors must be dialing DHS.

During one of the screaming jags this weekend, I was reminded of an amusing blog entry by Mimi Smartypants that I read shortly after Helen was born. MS has a small child named Nora who is darling and quite smart. Now that Helen is racing toward her 2nd birthday, I thought I'd share this memorable bit of the entry with you all:

Nora was going through my purse and found something.
Nora: What is this?
Me: That's my business card.
Nora: Where's Nora's business card?
Me: Oh, I don't think you have a business card!
Nora: I have business card? I have business card right now? Please?

We moved on to other topics and she forgot all about it, but ever since I have been wondering what a two-year-old's business card would say. In Nora's case, I'm thinking something like

NORA!
Nora do it.
Nora do it.
Nora do it.
BY HERSELF!
(phone number)

An S.O.S.

Last night Helen had a hard time eating her orange Jello with a spoon. She got a little bit of it on the spoon, brought it up to her mouth, then the Jello slid off and she ate a spoonful of nothing.

She LOVES to eat Jello, but she's at the age now where she really wants to eat with a spoon. So she held up the spoon and said, "Help. Help. Help."

It melted my heart, it really did. I put some Jello on the spoon and she leaned down to eat it. We finished the plateful with me feeding her, and she was happy.

I realized at that moment, even though I have the pictures of my pregnant body, and I was in the room and I know I delivered a baby, this child is so unlike me. I NEVER ask for help. Even if I need it desperately and someone's offering, I usually refuse. It amazed me that she tried once, maybe twice, and then she said, "Help. Help. Help." I don't know how to do that.

Sometimes I honestly wish I could be more like that little girl.

Big Smiles

Helen has begun to recognize the camera and now demands to have her picture taken. This morning I ended up with about 7 pictures of her before she decided the photo session was over.

This is the best-focused of the bunch, and it's a great example of the Happy Camper I get up with every morning:



She doesn't have to mainline caffeine to smile like that in the morning. Disgusting, isn't it?

And she meant it.

On Sunday night Helen handed me a DVD case and asked me to open it for her. It was an old movie of Michael Keaton's called "Johnny Dangerously." I was pretty sure Helen didn't want to watch it, but might prefer a Muppet DVD instead. As I opened the case, I tried to lead the conversation in that direction.

Me: Helen, do you know what this DVD is called?

Helen: (grabbing the disc from me) MINE!!!


Truer words were never spoken.

My very own howler monkey

Brian & I talked to our Navy friend W. last night. He very kindly offered me some advice on getting Helen to sleep at a decent hour.

His advice was inspired by a movie called "The Rundown" starring The Rock and Seann William Scott.

I haven't seen this movie, but Will described the crucial scene to me. The Rock and Seann are in the jungle, caught in one of those classic rope traps hidden under a pile of leaves. They're dangling upside down by their ankles from a sturdy tree branch, way up high, when a howler monkey from a nearby tree attacks The Rock. Seann screams, "Establish dominance! Establish dominance!"

For clarity, there's a picture from the scene here.

Anyway, that's Will's advice to me. Establish dominance.

Trouble is, I think that's Helen's approach as well.

Just tell me where to mail it

My sister got a new puppy last month - a gorgeous Labrador Retriever named Shadow:





My family has used the same veternarian since I was 7 years old. So my sister didn't even think twice about where to take the puppy for his first appointment.

I think it always takes our vet by surprise to see us in his office. We must perpetually live on as those same little children in his head. Then we show up with our own pets and families, plus our own checkbook to pay for the visit. It has to be startling him to spin the years by that quickly.

I called my sister to chat today. She was in the backyard with the puppy and my nephew, trying to get the dog to finish his business before they spent the afternoon trapped inside by tornadoes. I could hear my nephew whooping & hollering the background, and every so often, my sister would stop to tell him it was not okay to feed the puppy those rocks. Or to throw the rocks over the fence. Or to run with the rocks. In general, he should leave the rocks alone entirely. You get the idea.

Anyway, my sister told me that the vet and my brother-in-law had hit it off at the appointment. They talked big truck tires and enjoyed every minute of it.

Today, the vet called her to check on him. (the puppy, not my brother-in-law.)

My sister said, "Want a dog?"

Apparently Shadow was all a-twitter with the approaching severe weather, and was making a complete ninny of himself in the backyard. He was nipping at my nephew, he was running away from my sister, and he was doing everything EXCEPT the specific item on the agenda he was there to do.

When you throw in a rowdy little boy who was guilty of aiding and abetting the puppy, I had one very frazzled sister on the phone.

I think if the vet had called 15 minutes later, he would have gotten a free toddler, too.

Sleep is for the birds

Helen's transition to the new toddler room has produced an unexpected side effect. Namely, that she wants to stay up late. I usually put her to sleep between 7:30 and 8:00. The past couple of weeks, she wouldn't go until 9:00. This week, I got her to go down at 11:30. That's rough on everyone, but especially her when she's still asleep in the morning and I'm ready to leave for work.

I think she’s forming a Toddler Union. It's obvious. The whiny demands of a toddler who won't be ignored, going on a hunger strike at random meals, secret meetings with other toddlers while I'm at work - plus all those posters and picket signs hidden under her crib.

If this new bedtime goes on much longer, I may file have to a grievance with the shop steward. Waiting until contract time to talk about it will take far too long, and I’d just end up losing a lot of cheese and apples and milk in the negotiating.

So we’ve been discussing it nightly.

Me: (rocking Helen, who has a pacifier and a bottle) Go to sleep, Helen.

Helen: (takes bottle out of mouth, smiles) Hi, mommy!

Me: (grits teeth) It’s time for sleep, Helen.

Helen: (throws pacifier)

Me: (looks at clock and sighs)

A new toy

Brian's been ordering car parts like a maniac since the 1966 Mustang came back from the paint shop.

For those of you who don't know, there's a car that's been part of our lives, weekends, and garage since early 2005. It belongs to a friend in New Orleans who kindly allowed Brian to take on a new project. Brian has taken the entire thing apart to restore it.

The car has spent a lot of time sitting in a body shop or a paint shop, waiting for busy people to get around to working on it. So it hasn't lived in our garage the entire time. But the pieces are everywhere in our house. Seats in the guest room. Glass in the closet. Dashboard gauges on the kitchen table. Stacks of Mustang magazines and car part catalogs and mechanic manuals everywhere.

Now that the body and paint work are both done, all that's left is to put it back together.

That sentence implies a certain amount of simplicity. Really, there's still some significant stuff left to do, not to mention interpreting a few diagrams in the manual that look suspiciously like Helen's artwork. But everything is (slowly) coming together.

Last week, new chrome trim parts arrived at the house.

They were packed in a not-insignificant amount of bubble wrap. Brian took it apart, set it aside, and later that evening at dinner he told Helen about the "bubbles."

It's now one of Brian's favorite words to get Helen to say. She pronounces it "buh-bullsh."

Any bubble-wrap popping addicts out there? (Mom, raise your hand. Higher.)

Meet the newest one in the family:

Segway RULES

Click here to check out the hot Segway action from last weekend.

The video is only about a minute long, and Helen screams through the whole thing. She was highly peeved that I stepped away from mothering her for that one minute. I was within 10 feet of her the whole time, in plain sight, but you wouldn't know it from the decibel level she managed tosingle-handedly produce.

Dear Reader, welcome to my world.

In the meantime, I managed to one-up George Bush and NOT fall flat on my face. Extra bonus points for me.

Let me know in the comments if you have any trouble viewing the video.

Legal Ramifications

Last night, after putting Helen in her crib, I was heading back to the living room to catch the end of an exciting basketball game, when I fell down the stairs. About halfway down, my bare foot skidded on the carpet and flew off the stair. I lost my balance, and fell on my back and left leg. It brought a quick tear to my eye. I tried not to scream because, you know, heaven forbid I wake up Helen! But I did yelp loudly enough to startle Brian out of his chair.

Since I was the clumsy kid in the family, you won't be surprised to hear that's not the first time I've fallen on the stairs. Once or twice with Helen, even. And it's really painful - I actually rug-burned a big spot my back the last time, and the mark is only just now starting to fade.

I winced a little getting out of bed this morning, and I've already got a nice bruise on my thigh. So I went to the site supervisor and asked about filing a worker's comp claim. I was picturing a couple of days off from the daily grind, making sure I didn't strain my back and that I gave the bruise some time to heal properly.

Get this - the site supervisor said I had already punched out for the day at the crib! Since I wasn't on the clock, I didn't qualify for worker's comp.

Hmmm. Not on the clock, eh? So when Helen woke up at 4:00 a.m. this morning, I could have gotten overtime?

That trip downstairs from Helen's room was not part of my commute home from work. I may have to get a lawyer involved to get this claim pushed through.

She Blinded Me with SCIENCE

This weekend Helen and I drove south for a little visit with the extended family. It was her cousin M's birthday, and we celebrated with a trip to the local science museum for kids.

Now, you may be asking yourself, what in the world could a child under the age of 2 (as far as the admissions clerk at the counter knows) do at a science museum? You would be surprised. It's fully loaded with kid-friendly stuff they can't break. They get to TOUCH EVERYTHING. For a kid, I don't think there's a better day to be had. So what if I can't explain basic science principles to her yet? "Wait a second, I can touch this and you won't tell me NO?" That rocked her world.

We started with the giant game of Mousetrap, where the tiny wooden balls roll around on tracks and levers. It's mesmerizing for adults and kids alike:

Then we figured out how lightweight plastic balls float on water - did you know it's just a giant game of "get my sleeves soaking wet"?

The kids ran around for about 2-3 hours, loving everything they saw, and we enjoyed it, too. My sister and I had an especially good giggle at this exhibit:

But the big highlight of the day for the grownups? We got to ride a Segway! I have video of my journey, and once I figure out how to post it here, I'll put a link up for everyone to see.

And a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY! to Cousin M. He's turned the big T-W-O! It's a momentous occasion. He's so mature for his age - speaking in complete sentences, and sharing his toys like a champ. So I'm guessing the giant meltdowns and temper tantrums will commence in 5, 4, 3 ...

Here's What's Cooking

For Christmas, my mother gave me a cooking class. It turned out to be a 3-course Valentine's Date Night meal for couples at the local chef store. You know, the place with the monster gas stoves and every utensil you never knew you needed.

The class was a few hours on Saturday afternoon, so we got a sitter for Helen, and I got all dolled up to go cook something other than macaroni & cheese.

The kitchen was full with six couples and two chefs. Each couple was paired up with another couple, so once we had our instructions, the four of us stood around looking at each other, like "who's gonna separate the yolks?"

All different skill levels were represented. I felt kind of sorry for the couple we cooked with. Chopping fresh veggies presented a major problem for both of them. Either they eat out A LOT, or they must be pretty good at heating stuff in the microwave.

Another group just let one girl do everything. She chopped green onions like one of those fancy cooking shows where everything flashes by so fast, it's a little scary. I was jealous of her, wishing I could use a knife like that.

Brian & I made a vinaigrette for a DELICIOUS spinach salad with dried cherries, toasted walnuts & blue cheese. We also made lump crab cakes with a yummy avocado salsa, and butterfly shrimp (breaded & fried) with a tangy aeoli sauce. There was also a beef tenderloin not really worth mentioning, but the dessert was creme brulee.

We were supposed to use their kitchen torches to make our own caramelized sugar, but the torches weren't working. None of them would stay lit long enough. The chefs said they never use those little kitchen torches in restaurants, and they don't really recommend them for home use, either. One of them worked in a restaurant with 3 different flavors of creme brulee every night (!), and they used a real blowtorch. At that point, several of the guys in the class offered to head down to the hardware store to pick one up.

After watching them struggle to get the sugar browned for us, and then enjoying that delicious dessert, I realized maybe a blowtorch for Christmas wasn't such a bad idea after all.

In all, the class took just over 3 hours, including the dining portion where we all made yummy noises. Obviously we don't have that kind of time at home to cook with Helen around (when we get home from daycare, she throws off her jacket and says "Eat!"), but it was good to see how easy it is to make some of these things.

We'll definitely have those crab cakes again soon.

Helen and the Pacifier

On this blog, there are several pictures of Helen using a pacifier. For many parents, a pacifier is something of a godsend, while some see it as a necessary evil, and for others it's just plain evil. I can actually see all sides of the argument. From the day Helen was born, I actually encouraged her to take the pacifier, and she did very well with it. The first couple of months of an infant's life are typically fraught with gas pains and sleepless nights, and to top it off we had an early delivery, so if there's one thing she could take comfort in, I gladly provided it.

A friend gave us the pacifier as a gift in a bag full of baby stuff. It's a style of pacifier that I'd never seen before, and have spent Helen's entire life tracking down replacements at Target. Sort of a butterfly shape, it looked far too big on her as a baby. For a short time, she preferred it upside down. She eventually grew into it, and needed it more often than not. Especially on car rides, that pacifier became a crucial component of our lives. Everything comes to a screeching halt when you look for a pacifier. Not having it usually means a crying fit until it's located. But when that crying stops - ah, what bliss.

In January, Helen moved up to a new room at her daycare. It's a little early for this transition to a full-blown toddler room, but I've requested it because Helen is talking A LOT, and also eating with a spoon. It may not sound like much to anyone except her proud parents, but these two skills put her well ahead of her entire class. I wanted to make sure she was in a room full of kids already doing the same things.

As a bonus, it's a room full of new kids to teach her fire-alarm pulling skills.

But very quickly, we had a run-in with the teachers over the pacifier. It turns out that in the baby rooms, Helen got her pacifier at naptime, and at "stressful" times during the day. Essentially if she asked for it, her teachers gave it to her. I picked her up every evening and 4 days out of 5, she'd have it.

In the new room, however, it's a rule in our state that kids can't walk around with pacifiers. They can have them at naptime, but that's it. Because I let her have it at home as much as she wants, it was tough to go to daycare and play by different rules. Frankly, I was pretty skeptical about this law. But I sighed and made the effort to change it up this weekend. We put the pacifier away at a time in the morning when she wasn't looking for it, and kept it hidden all day except for her naptime and bedtime. Two days in a row. I was fearing the worst.

She didn't even notice.

I'm serious. It's like, "Pacifier? I didn't need it that much. Whatever, mom."

I remember the pacifier song she sang every night as an infant as I rocked her to sleep - holding it up, singing to it, then putting it back in her mouth, sometimes continuing to hum a little with it in her mouth. (My mom said I did the same thing as a baby.) Or when Helen wasn't quite through giving me grief over something, but she had the paci in her mouth - she'd sort of grunt and fuss behind it. Oh, how I laughed at that early version of backtalk.

When she's crying, it's so easy to hand her something that stops the crying 95% of the time. Do you have anything that works so well in your life? Don't you wish you did, just a little bit?

Maybe I'll have a harder time letting go of the pacifier than Helen will.

It was a *Super* Bowl of Shrimp

On Sunday, Brian and I took Helen with us to a friend's house for a SuperBowl party. We brought the required football snacks - namely, some shrimp (a fresh catch from the grocery store that morning). I make a mean cocktail sauce, so we were looking forward to enjoying some good food and company.

Upon arrival, I counted kids. There were 6 altogether, which ups the noise factor by a factor of 25. Aside from the 7-month old daughter of the party hosts, Helen was the youngest. She's not the best on stairs, so after we got the food set up (more on that later), I kept running up to check on her. There was a gigantic playroom upstairs, complete with a kiddie electric train set which I enjoyed more than anyone. The three oldest boys were watching Cars, in between figuring out how to cause maximum damage to each other with minimum parental involvement. Making sure Helen didn't get caught in the crossfire so meant missing most of the first half and about 90% of the commercials.

Thank god for the internet. Everything from SuperBowl Sunday is listed on ifilm.com, so I'm totally caught up.

Back to the food. As we were unpacking everything, I unwrapped the seafood and noticed something odd. The shrimp didn't look - well, COOKED. So I asked Brian, "Hey, did you get these steamed, or are the shrimp raw?" Oh no, he assured me they were cooked. Doubtful, I picked one up and watched it sort of flop over. He said, "I think you're used to the grey shrimp, but these are the pink kind, and they are cooked." To test it, he peeled one, dipped it in cocktail sauce and ate it.

If you've met my husband, you already knew those shrimp were raw.

About an hour later, Brian was decidedly not feeling well. Of course, with Peyton Manning's pride on the line, we didn't leave the party until the game was over. But when the game was over, we were speeding down the interstate.

Two days later, he's still trying to get the taste of raw shrimp out of his mouth. And oh, how I giggled - to myself, of course.

From the Mouths of Babes

Last night Brian had a chat with Helen.

Brian: Helen, what are you going to be when you grow up? Are you going to be a doctor?

Helen: No.

Brian: Are you going to be a dentist?

Helen: No.

Brian: Are you going to be a teacher?

Helen: No.

(You get the idea. Astronaut, scientist and librarian all get the same response from Helen.)

Brian: (grasping at straws) Are you going to be a telephone operator?

Helen: (vigorously nods head yes)

Brian: Are you going to own the phone company?

Helen: No.

Brian: Are you going to a good college?

Helen: No.

Brian: Are you going to get good grades?

Helen: (nods, a little uncertainly)

Brian: Are you going to get straight A’s?

Helen: No.

Brian: Are you going to live at home forever?

Helen: (vigorously nods head yes)

(Brian went ahead and increased his 401k contribution this morning.)

Overheard

This evening, I was changing Helen's diaper when Brian snuck into the room to surprise Helen.

Brian: Helen!

Helen: Da-da!!

Brian: Who loves you special?

Helen: Da-da!!

Brian: And who's the smartest in the whole wide world?

Helen: Ma-ma!!

Jennie: (laughing hysterically)

Brian: (through gritted teeth) And who's going to pay all of your college tuition?

Helen: Da-da!!

Jennie: (doubled over, still laughing)

Brian: (leaves room)

Check out the new 'do

You know that Neil Diamond song, "Forever in Blue Jeans"?

Without ado, I give you: Forever in Pigtails.

Next up: Movie Rights

This year my sister gave me a wonderful Christmas present: she published my first book.

On the sly, she used a self-publishing site called Lulu.com, and organized all of my blog posts through the end of the year into a handy hardcover edition, complete with pictures.

I'm already looking forward to giving copies of this book to any dates that Helen manages to slip past her father, with certain entries tabbed and highlighted. "And here, young man, is the story of Helen's first poo. I hope you enjoy it."

On Christmas morning, Mandy showed me the website on her laptop, on a page that looks very similar to any book listed on Amazon. And I cried, and cried, and cried. I'm an author! For real!

I absolutely ADORE the title, Listening Twice, which refers to this entry.

The first copy has already been purchased. That should zoom me right to the top of the Bestseller List (in our neighborhood), don't you think?

You can visit the page, purchase the book online, preview the first few pages, or even review it. I'm giving my readers a link to it here. Very reasonably priced, although it can't compete with the free archives on the blog.

It's a milestone that someone else achieved for me, and now that it's done, I can try it on my own one day. That's such an exciting feeling, and I can't thank my sister enough for that gift.

By the way, we don't get anything from the sale of this book, except the satisfaction of knowing that Helen can throw it away, and I can order another one.

Ask the Magic 8-Ball

If you pay close attention, you begin to pick up on the tiny events that shape your life and give you a glimpse of what your future holds.

Oh, dear reader, even now I can see the puzzled look on your faces, the furrowed brow, the questioning eyes. You're thinking back over the day, saying to yourself, "What's she talking 'bout, Willis?"

Let me explain.

I picked up Helen from daycare the other day. A day like any other, spent racing through my evening commute to get to the center, waving hello to the other parents and a few teachers. Helen saw me at the door and ran straight to me with a cry of pure joy. I got a big hug from her, and headed over to get her daily report.

The teacher casually commented to me, "Helen pulled the fire alarm today."

(loud sound of needle scratching across record)

I paused, and carefully asked, "She did WHAT?"

A table and several chairs sit at one end of the room for meals and art projects. That morning, while the class was playing, Helen wandered over to the table, pushed a chair up against the wall and stood in it, reached up for the fire alarm and pulled it down.

In her defense, it's bright red, perched about halfway up the wall, and apparently the teachers were busy with eleven other children at that moment. Sometimes I lose track of her, and I've only got the one to watch.

But folks, I gave birth to the child WHO PULLED THE FIRE ALARM AT SCHOOL.

I asked the teacher what happened afterwards. She said the kids do pull the alarms from time to time, and they announce on the intercom that it's not a fire. I could just hear the blaring noise she started and how she must have scared all the babies, and the teacher said Helen got off the chair and sort of stood there, looking around, not the least bit frightened. I asked if the fire department showed up, but they called them off before a truck rolled up to take Helen in for questioning.

On the drive home, I saw her whole future. Today, in daycare, she pulled a fire alarm. In first grade, she'll be the one to put the tack in the teacher's chair. We'll get hauled in for a parent-teacher conference and things will immediately go downhill from there. She'll never get into the good math class, or land on the honor rolls. She'll get fingered in some kind of sketchy SAT scandal and end up in a so-so college with a dead-end job after graduation, unable to support her parents in the style we're so desperately looking forward to enjoying.

I tell you, pay attention to these signs, folks. They're all around us. Did you realize your future was right there all along, in a daycare teacher's not-so-watchful eyes?

Material Girl

Last year I gave Helen one present for Christmas. She was just a baby then, and I figured we had another year before the concept of presents clicked with her. No need to cram the house full of things from her parents, when I'm already buying stuff all year long.

This year, I did the same thing again. She has plenty of stuff and I know how much my living room can hold. So Helen got a Sit'n'Spin, which has morphed over the years from the giant hard plastic spinning beast of my childhood to one that's oval-shaped and plays music.

(Don't worry - I didn't install the batteries. And with a little cooperation from you, dear reader, she may never know it, either.)

Brian got her just one present, too - a beautiful coin. It's a 2004 Walking Liberty proof, and he's planning to give her a new one each year. Something special and meaningful and SHINY. She really liked it.

But everyone else took up the slack in the toy department. Helen got a LOT of presents. We filled up the car and watched it sag under the weight of the gifts.

Back home, Brian & I packed up or tossed out all the old stuff. We're starting over with the new stuff, and it feels nice to have our living room so de-cluttered. And our bonus room. And Helen's bedroom. Really, really nice.

It's amazing to me how the toys become fruitful and go forth and multiply. Suddenly you have all these things piled up. I've mentioned the Legos and the Potato Head, and I'm not kidding. They were EVERYWHERE.

But now we have new stuff to spread out!

A rocking buffalo and a little t-shirt with an Inuit doll on it:




A kitchen stocked with food:



Her first Barbie:



There are way too many more to mention everything, but there are some highlights. She got a set of magnet letters for the kitchen fridge which gave me about 10 minutes of uninterrupted cooking time. WHAT A GREAT TOY.

We also got a lot of new books, which will be fun for me because I'm getting very tired of reading the same four books to her.

Her favorite new toy right now is a Magna Doodle. Coincidentally, I had gotten Helen's cousin M. the same thing, and they both really enjoyed them. Helen loves drawing, but she's not so good with keeping the pen on the paper. Magna Doodle is the perfect way to go.

I've been writing our names on the Magna Doodle for her, and now she tries it, too. She makes a little mark and say "Mama" or "Dada." The legibility isn't there yet, unless she's planning a career in medicine. As a test, I could take that Magna Doodle to a pharmacist, and if she's the future Dr. Helen, I'll come back with a really good prescription.

A Christmas Miracle

Warning: this blog entry mentions "tee-tee" and "poo-poo." Please skip it entirely if you're not up for it.

I've spent a lot of time these past few weeks preparing myself mentally for the daunting task of potty training.

Those of you who knew me back in the day would say, "Jennie! That's not you! Whatever happened to your single gal, free-wheeling lifestyle? The heady days of hefty bar tabs and late nights? The weekends spent planning and hosting a big dinner party with 30 of our closest friends, where I had to wear that crazy costume?"

Folks, if you happen to find that lifestyle, let her know that she needs to stay home once in a while and put all that bar tab money into her 401(k). Good grief.

Anyway, back to the potty training. As I was saying, it's mind-boggling to consider that I will be responsible for getting a child to do something that will carry her through polite society for the next 70 or 80 years, until someone is paid to do it all for her. You know, simple concepts like using toilet paper or washing hands afterwards. And then, there's the training tips that will prepare them for a successful marriage: which way do you hang the toilet paper? After you're done, do you put one lid down, or both?

Valuable skills indeed, and I do feel the pressure weighing down on me each day to get this right.

I bought a potty several weeks ago, brought it home and set it in the bathroom. I talked about it every day, showing her that Mommy uses the potty and now it was Helen's turn. So we have a routine: just before she gets in the tub, she sits down for a little bit on the potty. And she has tee-teed a couple of times. The first time it happened, she looked shocked. I made the appropriate congratulatory noises and moved on with the bath. She talks about it, asks to use it almost daily, even if nothing happens.

A few days later, Helen mentioned "poo poo" for the first time, and held her hand on her bottom. I thought, oh my goodness! The first step is recognizing when it's going to happen. We rushed to the potty, but apparently Helen thinks a little gas is the same as the real deal, so despite sitting there for a while, nothing important happened.

Then came Christmas.

That evening, Helen stood up and cried, "poo poo." She said it several times, appearing to be in agony. And really, haven't we all been there before? Poor girl.

I rushed her upstairs to the bathroom. We didn't bring her potty with us to my parents' house, so I put her on "Mama's potty." Sure enough, a few seconds later - well, I don't really have to type it out, do I?

OUR BABY IS GROWING UP SO FAST! (sniff, sniff)

The bonus part is that from here on out, every box of diapers I buy could be our last. And that, folks, will be reason enough to host another big dinner party for 30 of our closest friends. I'm thinking we need a theme - maybe something to do with water?

And if you know me well, you'll start planning your costume, now.

Jingle Bells

Helen's daycare has already started the onslaught of artwork. I'm never sure what to save of all the things she's done - whether it's fingerpainting, or glued cutouts, or drawings with markers. It all starts to look the same, and averaging about 3 new pieces per week means I've got a lot of paper piling up. Occasionally I'll sort through the stack and toss anything that looks boring.

This morning, I found this one in her folder and decided it was perfect for sharing with all of you.

Clearly, at 18 months, she has yet to master gluing tiny scraps of paper in a straight line. Heck, most days the Wyatt house has trouble walking in a straight line, so at least she comes by it honestly.

This year we haven't put up a Christmas tree, or taken her picture with Santa. (Here's last year's picture.) The tree would have been field-stripped in 38 seconds, and she wouldn't let go of me when I tried to get her near the old guy at the mall. Maybe next year we'll have a little more luck with both of those holiday traditions. However, I'm confident that opening presents will be no problem.

And in the meantime, a very Merry Christmas from our family to yours.

What's that word?

At each visit to the pediatrician, the nurse goes through a checklist of skills the child should be able to accomplish at that age. For example, at 6 months, Helen should be able to sit up. At a year, they ask about walking or feeding herself. Basic stuff, really - and if she's not doing certain things, that's a red flag that they look at to figure out why or what could be slowing down progress in that area.

This last appointment, the nurse asked if Helen had any words. "You know, four to ten words?" I stared at her. "She got, like, FORTY words." "Okay."

When I mentioned this to the doctor, she said that was good. "It's a sign of intelligence," she told me.

Oh no, it's not, lady! It's a sign that I won't get a word in edgewise for the next 18 years, that's what it is. Sign of intelligence. Ha! I gave birth to a chatterbox. I know it, and now you know it.

We can understand what Helen says in context. If she's pointing at her toys, saying "Beh" - that's bear. If she's pointing at the refrigerator, sayiing "Bah-bah" - that's bottle. If she says "Ba-by" - she wants her baby doll. If she says "Baaaaa" - chances are really good that I just asked her what a sheep says.

Sometimes she pops up with a new words and really surprises me. The new one this week is "bite."

At our daycare, parents have to sign an Ouch Report if a child was bitten during the day. It says what was happening when she was bitten (i.e., Helen took a toy away from another child) and what they did afterwards (i.e., hugs, ice, etc.) There's another report to sign if she's the biter. So far, I've only gotten the Ouch Report in her tenure at this daycare, but something's up lately, because it's been twice in two days.

I can always tell when it's time for her to move to the next room, because all of the kids turn into sharks and start biting each other. It's like they're sick of the toys, the kids, the teachers - get me out of here! *chomp*

Anyway, when I picked her up on Monday, I looked at the mark on her arm and she pointed to it and said, "bite." I know it's a new word, and I'm happy for her learning so much, but this isn't quite what I had in mind.

Say Cheeeeeeese

This is what happens when you ask Helen to smile.



I can't WAIT for her first school picture day.

The Second Anniversary is "Cotton."

December 11, 2004. Brian & I were getting ready for our big trip down the longest aisle in town. Marriage vows, wedding cake, first dance, tons of famly and friends there to witness the whole thing. It was a bitterly cold day, overcast and wintry. Of course half the wedding party was dressed like it was a gorgeous summer day, but that's really all they sell in the stores.

Groom: undershirt, long-sleeve shirt, vest, jacket, long pants. (Note the many layers required.)

Bride: sleeves? what sleeves?

Many of you reading this blog were there that day. What most of you don't know is that Brian & I had been taking dance lessons for about two months. For our first dance, we were planning to break out a choreographed disco number to a Bee Gees tune.

Instead, we used up all of our lessons and we still had no choreographed number (go figure). More lessons were going to be difficult and expensive at a time of the year when nobody needs either one. So, Brian & I decided it would be much better to dance to his alma mater's song: The Tennessee Waltz. And when I mentioned this part to the DJ handling the music for our reception, he arranged for a mutual friend to record a version just for us. We heard his tune for the first time as we danced to it at the reception.

It was absolutely perfect. Brian & I dressed in our finest, waltzed around the room to a custom-made tune, surrounded by a gorgeous night-time view of downtown, our closest friends, and a buffet table full of delicious food and drink and wedding cake.

Fast forward two years: we're standing in our kitchen, sharing a bowl of macaroni & cheese, watching Helen smear dinner on her face. Later, during the Muppets movie, I fall asleep with Helen on the couch.

Like sands through the hourglass, people. Sand, hourglass.

A lot can happen in a blog.

This week Helen had an appointment for her 18-month immunization shots.

Her doctor is a wonderful lady - very sharp, yet quite friendly. But the best part is, when I tell her funny stories about Helen, she actually laughs. I never noticed how many doctors don't laugh, like EVER, until I met this one. Most doctors are too busy to listen to you. They're ready to move on once you start making jokes. Maybe they all skipped the class where people in my generation figured out how to use humor as a defense mechanism. So, doc, when I'm making jokes about chest pain, maybe you better ask me if it's heartburn, or will I need an ambulance to the emergency room? I guess medical school and residency and a busy practice suck all of the humor out of life. How could a patient possibly joke about chest pain?

*sigh*

This pediatrician job-shares with another doctor, so she's only losing half of her workweek to joyless pursuit of financial freedom. Then, every 3 months, I show up as the last appointment of the day - and I bring a really funny story about Helen. How much better can your job possibly get?

So, while we were waiting to see the doctor, I thought to myself, "Hey! She clearly appreciates my sense of humor, and maybe she'd enjoy our blog. I should write down the address for her ..." (loud sound of needle scratching across a record)

I almost let Helen's doctor see all of my lousy parenting skills. Letting Helen play with pill bottles and inhale paint fumes? Ignoring ear infections, or advertising the sale of my firstborn? Hanging out for hours at a whiskey still?

Wow, that was close. I mean, really close.

Show Mommy how the piggies eat!

Mini-beef ravioli:



Sugar-free chocolate pudding, different night:



Dear reader, I will let you guess how many paper towels we use in a week.

Lynchburg Loves Helen

Last weekend we drove to Lynchburg, Tennessee, home of the Jack Daniels distillery. They offer free tours, and there's a tiny town center nearby to purchase memorabilia. Unfortunately, it's a dry county, which means sales and tastings are not possible. But they finally got special permission from the state a few years ago to sell a limited number of commemorative bottles in their gift shop, for the first time since Prohibition.

(I know what you're thinking. It's a very odd situation for a distillery in business for over 150 years.)

Every so often, they release a new commemorative bottle, and they arrange a signing day with their Master Distiller, Jimmy Bedford. There are a lot of collectors who show up to get his signature. He's kind of like the rock star of whiskey. Do a search on eBay for "signed bottles of Jack Daniels" and you'll see what I mean.

We packed up Helen and drove down early that morning. The line wasn't very long when we arrived, but someone brought a couple boxes of glassware to be signed. They set a limit on this kind of stuff, but apparently the limits didn't apply to this guy. So it took about 2 hours to get to the front. But don't you worry - I did a lot of glaring at him for everybody.

Brian bought a few bottles and chatted with others in line, while I did my best to entertain Helen in a room that really wasn't meant for kids her age. We played outside a little, but it was about 40 degrees so we couldn't do that for long. She said hi to everyone in line, played with a Christmas tree, and sent a Jack Daniels e-card to Grandpa B. from the computer in the lobby. It was 8 pages of gibberish, but banging on the keyboard bought me a solid 5 minutes of distraction, so I let her do it.

Finally, we were at the front of the line. I got out the camera, and Helen chose that moment to demonstrate her superior hair-pulling skills. Honestly, I can see the benefits of being Sinead O'Connor when she gets a fistful of my hair. Pulling back on hers doesn't work, either. We just end up looking like 2 girls in a junior high school fight. "OWWWW! Let go!!"

While Brian distracted her, I got my pictures of Mr. Bedford signing one of his bottles. I took Helen back and in a fit of spite, she took her pacifier out of her mouth and tossed it away. Normally, it hits the floor. But today, I wasn't that lucky. To my sheer horror, it landed on the table and skidded to a stop against Mr. Bedford's hand.

Time stood still. Tick .... tick .... tick. I didn't even know how to react. I honestly thought he would nod to a security guard and we'd be quickly escorted to our car. Oh well, I thought - at least we had one bottle signed.

Instead, he smiled and kept on signing. Everyone at the table thought it was funny. Brian gave the pacifier back to Helen and she miraculously behaved herself long enough for us to collect everything and leave. Thank you, Jack Daniels and Jimmy Bedford, for having a sense of humor and a lot of patience. And for not quickly escorting us to our car.





As we were leaving, I heard someone say they were taking a break for lunch. I bet Mr. Bedford was headed straight for a good hand-washing.

The Muppet Show

Our friend W., the Navy officer I mentioned in a previous post, recently sent Helen a bunch of Muppet DVDs, including movies and the first season of the Muppet Show. Helen will go to the DVD player, point, and say something. It doesn't sound like Kermit or Muppets, but that's what she means. Too bad if you're watching something. It's required that you stop and put in a Muppet DVD.



She spends the opening theme song dancing. She bobs her head around and moves her arms. Shortly after that ends, her interest wanders. Except for the Swedish Chef skits. She will stop whatever she's doing to watch Swedish Chef.



She knows some of the characters. She can point out Kermit, Fozzie Bear, Miss Piggy and Animal. She can say "hommel, hommel." That's "Animal, Animal."



It's been fun watching the first season again. Such happy memories of my childhood, watching this show with my family. I can't imagine what TV executives thought in the mid 70's when they put puppets on in prime-time, but they deserve an award for it. I wish they still had that kind of imagination today.

And I dare you to watch this scene from "Muppets in Space" without a smile on your face. 4_on the Floor fans will especially appreciate the link.

Spuds'R'Us

A few months ago, Helen's Uncle K brought over a couple of boxes of toys. They're moving to a new house later this month, and they've been paring down the toy collection. I haven't had to buy anything new in a quite a while. I just pull something out of the box.

So a few weeks ago, Helen became the proud owner of a family of Potato Heads.



She LOVES these things. One of her favorite games is to point out her ear, her nose, her feet, her belly button, etc. Potato Head is an excellent way to teach the body part game. We've even added "hat" and "shoes" to the repetoire.





However, after a few weeks of playing with the Spud Family, I've figured out why he gave us the whole set. Turns out that a nose and 6 ears and a random pair of cowboy boots can sit on the playroom floor for days at a time before she'll pick them up and play with them. But if I spend an evening cleaning it all up, it's promptly all back out on the floor again the next day. It's Uncle K's sinister way of passing the clutter back to our house instead of his. Way to go, K. Very sneaky.

Just wait until he sees what we got his boys for Christmas. I think it involves, oh, about a MILLION Legos.

Last month the family came over to out house to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. I asked K., "Won't your boys see these toys and say, 'Hey, that's mine!' " He said, "Nah, they didn't even notice the toys were gone. So they'll just say, 'Hey, we've got one just like that!' "

Tis the Season ... to tear out my hair.

It's getting harder to buy gifts for my parents. They're the kind of people who go out and buy what they want. That leaves precious little ideas about what to give them for Christmas. And believe me, I've given it a lot of thought.

When my father walks into an Apple Store, the salesmen all say "Norm!" and the stock price zooms up. That can't be a coincidence.

My mother, the Alpha Geek in the family, has a computer monitor the size of Kentucky sitting on her desk. It's tough to see what else she could use, besides a bigger desk.

I'm honestly happy for them. We kids are on our own, and they finally get to take care of themselves. Goodness knows they deserve it. I'm looking forward to deserving it one day, too! But now I'm stuck figuring out what to get them for Christmas. Here's my list so far.

Dad: white socks.
Mom: maybe some cream-colored socks?

You can see where this is headed: a one-way ticket to Yawn City on Christmas morning. So if anyone has better ideas, step up to the plate and take a swing.

All I Want for Christmas

BRIAN: You need to make a Christmas list for me. Or else I'll have to get you a bowling ball. Or a blowtorch.

ME: (silent, thinking of what I might want)

BRIAN: Okay?

ME: Yeah. I don't want to get a blowtorch for Christmas.

BRIAN: It's not really a blowtorch, as much as a cutting torch.

Classified Listings

Last week, for no apparent reason, Helen woke up at 12:15 a.m. She stayed awake until nearly 4 a.m., passed out for an hour, then was up for good.

I, on the other hand, spent the day in zombie mode. Apparently I promised everyone money and loads of free time, too. This morning, everyone called to remind me of it.

Next time, I need to remember to take the day off.

So I was complaining to a friend about not getting any sleep, and behold, there's a website that understands my pain. Here's a t-shirt I could have ordered instantly:





Unfortunately, they don't have any sizes over 18 months, and Helen "bowl full of jelly" Wyatt outgrew that size the day she learned about macaroni and cheese.

She's her mother's daughter, to be sure.

(I think they're also limited to 18 months because the kid catches on to the FOR SALE sign bit after a while.)

Anyway, the shirt made me laugh on a day I really, really needed it. But if I bought it, made her wear it and then took her to daycare, you can bet DHS will be following me home.

Mmmm, cookies.

While Helen & I were napping this afternoon, Brian went to the store. I awoke to the delicious smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Brian: There's nothing better than cookie dough icing on top of a cookie.

Me: Really?

Brian: (takes a bite) Oh my god!

Me: What?

Brian: I can actually feel my hips expanding!

Cheeky Monkey

When do you stop wanting to kiss baby cheeks all the time?

I was scrolling through photos we've taken of Helen over the past year, and what surprised me was how many pictures I have of Helen where we're kissing her. Top of head, little baby hand, you name it. Both Brian & I, caught in the act.

I kiss that little baby's cheeks a LOT. When she gets up in the morning, I get her out of her crib and give her a big hug with lots of kisses. While we're playing, sometimes I grab her and kiss her cheeks until she starts giggling. When I get her out of her high chair after dinner, she gets a big kiss before I put her down. Of course, that's after she's been cleaned up - the ravioli nights would be a disaster for both of us if I didn't wash her face first. Yuck!

And I know that kissing stops eventually, because our parents aren't kissing on us all the time. And I'm wondering, why? Do you still want to, and you just don't because we're all adults here? Do the teenage years ruin it for you? Is it because I don't have those impossibly squooshy soft baby cheeks anymore?

I'm curious. Really. If you have a theory, feel free to leave it in the comments.

In the meantime, I'm kissing those cheeks for all I'm worth.