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Last weekend, Helen asked me to put hairbows in her hair. Hairbows are the code name for rubber bands in her hair. The first time I tried to put one in, I had to convince her it was the cool thing and "ponytail" wasn't going to work. I knew she'd get stuck on the "pony" part. So I told her that it would involve a BOW. In her HAIR. And the name stuck.
Anyway, she wanted lots of hairbows that day. So I proceeded to comb and section her hair into 4 different areas of approximately the same amount of hair, and started loading up with the rubber bands. I added a 5th one for her bangs at the last minute, probably because she was not wiggling like a maniac who needs his meds.
Later that night, she crashed on me before I could bathe her and get the rubberbands out. So, they stayed until the next morning.
I remember she was in fine spirits the next morning, and the little scamp managed to carry a small horde of her Little People upstairs to her crib for a nap. First they were under her blanket:
Until I took it off to take a picture:
You can see that Ms. Hairbow McHairtyPants decided to get into the photo shoot by climbing on the crib. At that point, I managed to get the most gorgeous shot of her eyes I've ever seen. Coming from a girl who's taken at *least* 1,000 pictures since the end of April, I think that's saying something.
It's the covergirl smile with the hair of a hobo. *sighs heavily*
Some of you already know this, but I spent some time this summer at home, struggling to stay sane in the presence of a two-year old.
In those few months, I discovered a much-loved program in reruns on cable: Dawson's Creek. God, how I loved that show. After growing up with the kids on 90210 and maturing with the folks on Melrose Place, viewers and TV networks longed for the next generation of teen soap operas. Dawson's Creek came along on fledgling WB network, and saved my Tuesdays with their wordy dialogue and crazy antics. Rarely witty, with razor thin plotlines, the show relied on gorgeous high-school kids, tunes from stellar singer-songwriters and a constant question of whether the characters would ever get together. I watched several seasons religiously, and even bought the soundtracks. It was my guilty pleasure, and I didn't care who mocked me. I was hooked.
Once I found the reruns, I couldn't resist seeing them again. So, my morning would start with Helen's breakfast routine, followed by a steady attention to The Creek, while Helen put together Legos or played with her Little People, and ended with Helen melting down over getting dressed. Usually, she picked the climatic final scene to have her meltdown, which would send me into a meltdown, and by the time it was over, the two of us were panting and wiping away tears in our separate corners. (And yes, she was dressed.) I never knew how the episode ended, but thank goodness the next day had a neat little wrap-up to replay before diving right in to the next one.
And then suddenly, my leisurely summer schedule ended. I would be without the Creek at a crucial moment in the Dawson-Joey-Pacey story. (For the interested, Joey is played by Katie Holmes, the young lady who recently married Tom Cruise. She spends several seasons going back and forth on her feelings for both Dawson and Pacey.)
Never fear, dear reader - I have Tivo. (Hallelujah forever and ever, amen.) Now my Tivo faithfully records each episode daily. Whether it's after dinner, or during a bout with insomnia in the wee hours of the night, The Creek is there for me.
The other night, after I had put Helen down, I quickly got engrossed in that day's show. For fellow fans out there (and knowing my friends, there are not many), I'm at the end of the season where Pacey has figured out he has feelings for Joey, and is trying very hard to let her progress in a doomed relationship with a college boy in Boston. Pacey has from the beginning, been the character I've most liked, and always hoped that Joey would choose. He's a smart aleck, quick with a comeback, fiercely loyal, and generally the life of the party in a show chock-full of people with a tendency to talk everything to death. He's always gotten the best lines and the funniest moments. He's really the best person to both challenge and appreciate Joey, and since I had a wee bit of a crush on him, I wanted them to get together. Plus, Dawson had turned into kind of a peevish little wuss, a wholly unsympathetic character. So, at this crucial point in the season, I really paid attention.
Brian, on the other hand, would probably prefer I spend our Tivo's energy on History Channel shows. He doesn't openly mock me, except to sort of roll his eyes, and comment on how unrealistic it is that these kids talk like they do. I admit, sometimes the dialogue reminds me of the vocabulary on the SATs. Why use one or two syllable words, when five will do nicely? But I'm hooked.
Anyway, he worked on the Mustang for several evenings this month in preparation for trip #2 to the paint shop. It's been so hot, it's not any fun to be in the garage, so he brings small parts in the house to tinker with and fix up. So, he's been in the living room while I watch, and sort of caught on to the basic plot lines. I realize he would much rather watch something else, but he indulges me. I love him for that, but I never suspected he even paid much attention.
Until the other night. There was a short scene with Pacey and I don't even remember what was happening, but Brian said, "I have that shirt." I looked at him, like, "Huh? I don't think so." Brian said, "Yep, I have it in the closet. Have you seen it?" I said, "No" and went back to the show. (I figured he had something similar, but I hadn't seen him wear it, ever.) A few minutes later, he came out of the bedroom wearing the exact same shirt.
Ladies, at that moment, I have never been prouder of my husband. There have been moments I've been proud, sure - but they're things you'd expect, like on our wedding day, and the day Helen was born. Both times he didn't run away screaming. So I was proud. But when he came in the room with that shirt on, it was like, wow. The football-loving, Mustang-fixing man I married dressed up like a soap opera star for me.
What a man. And he's all mine!
This past weekend, we visited some of Brian's extended family, who live about 100 miles away from us. The important part of the story for Helen is that when she visits them, she gets to see a puppy, and COWS.
Prior to the trip, we taught her how to say, "I want to ride the cows." We thought it'd be fun for her to announce this to Uncle J., and see how much he laughed. Instead, he got on his tractor and drove around until he found the cows, and hauled them home. Then he promptly invited the kids to come out to pet the GIANT bull.
When I say GIANT, I don't even begin to do this guy justice. Everyone stepped carefully around him, because one big swing of his head could have sent a grown man flying. Yet he munched on his feed and stood patiently while Uncle J. waxed poetic about desirable cow and bull features. He called the bull a "baby." And there was no way he'd let his whole family get on the same side of a fence with a bull who had a little attitude. So Helen did her petting, while I took lots of pictures of the whole herd. Believe it or not, those cows were so interested in me running around with my camera pointed at them, safely behind a barbed wire fence, that they hardly noticed the crowd standing in the field with them.
I have to say that it's a little unnerving to watch something weighing as much as my car make a conscious decision to keep an eye on me. And then proceed to do it, no matter which direction I move.
Oh, but where are these pictures, you ask?
Never fear, dear reader. I escaped the farm unscathed and am ready to unleash a torrent of pictures. As usual.
Helen ran around the farmyard, and I tried to get some good pictures of it. Oh, and by the way, her dress is from a Puerto Rican souvenir shop. No really, her grandparents went to Puerto Rico, and now that she has a pretty white party dress, IT'S THE ONLY THING SHE WANTS TO WEAR. Thanks, Nana & Grandpa.
Here's the sweet border collie named Lady that lives at their farm, herding the cattle at the slightest tsk-tsk of the tongue.
Here's a gorgeous old tractor that Uncle J. still rides all the time. He took it aross his field to find the cows, who, due to the seasonably appropriate, but blistering hot weather, were standing *in* a nearby creek.
After they heard the tractor rumbling around, they mustered up the strength to head our way, just in case we had stumbled and dropped a big bag of feed in their trough.
Here's the GIANT bull, with Helen petting him:
Brian can confirm this if you're skeptical, but I took at least 20 pictures of the cows. Nearly all of them were looking right at me. Really. It's a little scary. This one in particular was the "hussy" of the herd and pushed around some of the other cows who got too close to "her man." Apparently, that jealousy extended to a zoom lens on a nice camera, too.
The men contemplate the farm.
And here, we contemplate a beautiful day with family.
I read an article in the news today that the Duggar family just gave birth this week to baby number 17.
This family is pretty famous, with all the shows on Discovery & TLC. They have a LOT of kids, and they still want more. I can't imagine being in her shoes for one minute, and yet they seem blissfully happy to be right there. So, I say, more power to them, and no, I will not have any of your water, thank you very much.
But, two things struck me about this news today that I thought I'd share with you. First, the article mentioned she has spent over 10 years of her life in pregnancy. Now, Helen gave me a "get out of jail free" card and I got to skip the last painful, awful month entirely - thank you, sweetie - but TEN YEARS? Mrs. Duggar must LOVE her maternity clothes. I could have cheerfully set a bonfire on the front lawn when I was done.
The second thing that I noticed is the new baby's name is Jennifer. All 17 children have names that start with "J," girls outnumber boys 10-7, and it took TEN GIRLS to finally get around to naming one of them Jennifer.
So, officially and all? I'm like, offended.
So yesterday I took Helen and MY PRECIOUSSSSSSSS to the zoo. This time, I had my fancy zoom lens, and took some great shots of the animals.
Here we have a good example of Helenicus Monkinius, or as it's more commonly known in this part of the country: "Monkey Toddler." Note the squinting eyes, the deceptive grin - clearly, this creature is contemplating her mother's every move and deciding how loudly to say "no." Oh, it's a wily one, to be sure.
I took a lot of pictures yesterday, and here are some animals that stood still for me:
My favorite pictures came from the Elephant Savannah, where they took advantage of the watering hole to bathe:
And I also got some great shots of flowering water lilies near Monkey Island:
This perky bird would not sit still for the camera, but I managed to snap one of him after a great deal of patience:
And here sits a meerkat, giving us a little look that says, "Hey, I'm working on a reality show here, move it along."
It was steaming hot yesterday, but I managed to endure over 3 hours in the extreme temperatures. Helenicus Monkinius, on the other hand, wilted like a lily at the end. And as I put that sweaty creature back into the car, she mumbled, "More animals."
I've got that kid. You know, the one who doesn't want to wear clothes.
As a former babysitter with decades of experience, I've witnessed it up close. One child wouldn't wear clothes before noon. The mother told me that she just went with it, and eventually the child grew out of it to become a lovely girl who took a job in an exclusive women's clothing store. Oh, the irony.
But I was not prepared for how hard it would be to keep clothes on my own kid. Literally, a temper tantrum ensues if I try to replace the diaper left behind in some corner of the living room. I try to force the issue because she's not potty-trained yet. And even if I manage to get the shirt back on her, she takes it right back off. If I persist in keeping her clothed, we both end up in a horrible mood. It's really not worth it if we're just hanging around the house.
Needless to say, it's been a tricky month for me. I can convince her to wear clothes if we're headed anywhere outside, but like the fearless mother who has treaded the path before me, I have decided to let her be naked if she really wants it that much. And pray that she grows out of it, sooner rather than later.
This morning, Helen and I were reviewing the names of various body parts. I taught her a new one ("ankle") and eventually moved on to "boobies." I've tried other euphemisms, but for now the name has stuck. Thank you, anonymous daycare teacher.
Anyway, when I asked her where they were, she covered them with her hands and said sternly, "Leave my boobies alone."
I sniffed, and wiped away a tear. Her father would be so proud.
Recent email conversation with an old co-worker of mine, who happens to be an IT Director:
D: Can't remember - were you a big HP fan?
Me: Not necessarily. They had an envelope sorter for the HP5si printer that I asked you about.
D: LOL. No, the HP I meant was a certain Mr. Potter. But I guess I got the answer to the question anyway.
So, I've been telling you guys about the My Twinn doll that Helen got for her birthday, and I've gone to their website to try and capture some of the images that disturbed me the most about their catalog.
Turns out there are a wealth of outfits and accessories that you can buy for your doll. Here was Helen's favorite outfit from the catalog:
Should I be worried that my daughter will grow up to be Elizabeth Taylor?
Or you can go for ethnic costumes, authentically designed by a random person in a cube farm:
Does your doll play a musical instrument? If so, perhaps you need to visit a therapist because YOUR DOLL CANNOT PLAY THE GUITAR.
Here's something every doll needs - a horse! Bridle & saddle sold separately, because hey! This horse isn't going anywhere.
In case your doll just barely missed the cut in Nagano, she'll be prepared for winter:
And furniture! Oh, the furniture. Tiny hangers sold separately, because every kid throws her clothes on the floor anyway. Why should your doll be any different?
I realize that Barbie has all of these things and more. Perhaps what is on some level really bothering me about My Twinn is the large size (startling in comparison to Helen) and the idea that the girl can match the doll. I don't remember getting a chance to look like Barbie, even if I wanted to. There are plenty of outfits for My Twinn (Helen already has one that she clearly loves), including matching Halloween costumes:
Matching sleeping bags:
Matching work clothes (yes, you can buy a wheelchair and casts for your doll - in case your mother should inflict some damage when the doll won't stop asking for a horse):
And for an extra added bonus, they even sell matching Christmas outfits, including one FOR THE MOTHER.
You're allowed to laugh. You are NOT allowed to order this dress in my size and expect me to wear it and take pictures and post them on the blog. Because that, my friend, is a sign of the impending apocalypse, when I start dressing like MY CHILD'S DOLL.
I have heard horror stories from other moms at the daycare about taking their kid to get a haircut - every single one of them has cried through the entire experience. Didn't matter if the kid was in the mom's lap or sitting in the chair alone - haircuts from strangers were very scary. So I've been a little nervous about getting Helen's hair cut. I had kind of hoped it would grow out all one length, but her bangs have been doing this freaky thing for about 2 months now, where the longer layers on top are growing out and keep getting in her eyes.
Finally, when Brian mentioned this weekend that she might need a trim, I decided it might be best to work our way up to the salon experience slowly, starting at home with a cut from Mom.
Now, I know what my mother and my sister are doing right now, and that is laughing hysterically. Seriously. I was not "cut out" to be a barber and proved that constantly when I tried trimming my own bangs during my youth. It would always prove disastrous, and Mom would have to "fix it" and then I'd wind up with SHORT BANGS that looked ridiculous.
Understandably, I was a bit nervous about cutting Helen's hair. She's a bit wiggly and squirmy and I could see scissors and forehead making a dangerous combination. Also, I wasn't sure how she'd react to hearing that Mom wanted to cut her hair.
So the other night during her bath, I tried making a big deal about how much fun it would be to have a haircut. I sounded very excited, like, "Hey Helen, would you like to have ... a HAIRCUT?!?" And she fell for it. "Yeah!!!" She chattered about haircuts all through the drying off and the dressing and the hair combing. Of course, she's only two and I don't think she had a clue what a haircut was. But if Mom was excited about it, by god, she wanted a haircut.
I warned her that she had to be very, very still. And she was. She was SO GOOD. She even went downstairs and showed Daddy her new haircut. She's talked about it several times today, too.
Pat on the back for me, thank you very much.
It took about 30 seconds to clip a few centimeters off her bangs, but if you've seen recent pictures of Helen and wondered what her mother was thinking, letting her hair go all HIPPIE like that ... well, your worries are over. Enjoy.
Another quick update - her My Twinn doll mentioned here came with a set of matching clothing for Helen. However, it was too large so I had it exchanged. The new outfit arrived today, and after I opened the package, Helen wanted to put it on immediately. She wore it all day, and kept saying "Baby outfit. Helen outfit." She was very proud of it.
I hope you are just as freaked out as I am, looking at this picture.
The catalog of My Twinn clothing and accessories, however, is a good enough for a blog entry all by itself, which I will save for another day this week. Stay tuned.
Helen's Cousin M. made an appearance this weekend, along with Aunt M. & Uncle S. The fun started Friday night and didn't end until they left late Sunday afternoon. The two kids spent a lot of time in Helen's room, where Helen read books to him and showed him how to jump in her crib. Then Cousin M. made everyone a lot of food in Helen's kitchen, and built a giant Lego tower, several times. The time in between, they spent digging in the toy boxes for other things to entertain themselves. Today, the toy boxes look like someone tossed a grenade in and walked away.
Saturday we took the kids to the train museum downtown. To say Cousin M. is a huge fan of trains is like saying Bear Bryant watched football. We couldn't even tell the kids where they were going until just before we pulled into the parking lot, for fear of crying and wailing and much gnashing of teeth for the entire drive. Instead, it was a mysterious surprise with very little build up. Which, thank goodness we didn't build it up too much, because there wasn't a whole lot to see.
Here's a few shots inside the museum, where they had some old models set up, as well as pictures of old trains that ran many decades ago:
Here's a shot of a giant warehouse area behind the museum, where two giant model sets have been under construction since November. One of the owners was hanging around and offered to turn it on for us. So the kids got to see very tiny trains move.
Then Helen & Cousin M. headed outside to catch some of the action on the tracks (not moving):
Back at home that night, we cooked out on the grill. Uncle S. tried to interest the kids in some bubbles, but no dice:
Aunt M. had more luck, however, when she let Helen blow a bubble:
Sunday we would have enjoyed a lovely swim, but Helen was too tired to last for long. She begged me to take her home, and then got some kind of second wind that kept her from napping. By the time she crash-landed in the crib, she was 5 hours behind schedule and CRANKY.
Anything to stay up with her cousins, I tell ya. God forbid she miss out on The Fun.
Helen's Aunt A. just got back from a conference in China, and she brought back gifts for everyone. I got a very nice pink pearl necklace with matching earrings, while Brian scored a few pirated DVDs and a faux Rolex. Copyright protectors, take THAT.
Helen's gift, however, was perfect. Bright pink, with beautiful dragonflies - stop by to see her debut at the local Chinese buffet restaurant, seating folks and taking their drink orders. I don't think the blonde hair or blue eyes will confuse them at all, do you?
Helen's future in hostessing is only limited by the seams in this dress. Clearly, she's straining to keep it together. It's labeled a "4" which possibly would have fit Helen at 4 months. I think it's too late to put her on a diet just for this outfit.
Her Aunt A. hadn't seen her in a few weeks, and she kept saying all evening, "She's gotten so tall!" Which is a nice way of saying, girl, that belly is NOT doing you any favors right now, and your mother BETTER stop taking so many pictures of it.
Longtime friends of mine who have been to the beach with us will not be surprised to learn we are now the proud owners of a Deluxe Cornhole Set.
Essentially, a Cornhole set requires two large slabs of wood, propped up at a slight angle, with a hole cut out of each board. It also requires a set of 8 beanbags - four per team. You set the boards several yards apart from each other, and each team of two people takes turns throwing the bags at the board, attempting to land them in the hole, or at least on the board.
Like croquet, you're allowed to knock someone's bag off the board. This kind of move is not looked upon with kindness by your opposing teammates, but is sure to garner appreciative noises from the crowd assembled to watch. Plus, it improves your score. So if you can manage a throw that takes out your opponent, you definitely go for it.
By the way, the name of the game comes from the small bags tossed during the game, which are usually filled with corn kernels. If you're uncomfortable with the name, just replace it with the word "beanbag,' and you've got the gist of it.
My father, who was very uncomfortable with the name, is the creator of our set. I call it Deluxe because he takes his time cranking out even a simple wood project like this one. He is not your average carpenter, but instead excels at providing his daughters with beautiful (and free) furniture they'll treasure for a lifetime. He made the set for us as a way to break back into his woodworking habit. He has spent several years working out of state, coming home on a few spare weekends. But since April, he's finally back at home, and he used some of his newfound free time in his shop, crafting a game which is sturdy enough to survive the roughest blast of the corn-filled bags.
So, I also call this the Heirloom Cornhole Set. One day, Helen's kids will be taking a hammer to it, I tell you. "But I don't WANT that old game! No one plays cornhole anymore," they'll whine. And Helen will say, "Your great-grandpa wanted you to have it. That's why he put eight coats of varnish on it."
My father customized it with special signs from Brian's dear old alma mater. We played in our backyard at a recent cookout with friends. It was such a hit, we were asked to drag it over to Brian's brother's house for their 4th of July party. When we arrived, they had set up a bracket for couples to play each other, tournament-style. We got through the second round, and the championship game was called on account of darkness, but I expect a rematch just as soon as Brian's brother can install an extra spotlight in the backyard. At his wife's request, of course.
Helen's favorite part of the game is running back & forth to whoever is throwing the bags. Naturally, this means she's in the way of the game during at least every other throw. At the 4th of July party, there were 10 kids, and some of them caught on to Helen's trick. Others thought it was their job to pick up the bags that were thrown toward the board - even ones that had scored by landing on the board. So we had a very tough time keeping the kids corraled throughout the evening's games. Nevertheless, everybody had a great time.
By the way, Brian's brother isn't the only one with extra housework looming ahead next weekend. Dad, I've got several orders you need to fill soon:
Two Tennessee sets
One Oklahoma State set
One kid-sized set (maybe Lightning McQueen vs. Towmater?) to keep the kids busy
