In your FACE

This evening, we had company over to watch the Monday Night Football game. Since most of the real estate on the furniture was taken, Brian hauled out one of the fold-up chairs we have stored in a closet, and set it up in a prime viewing location.

Helen immediately decided she wanted to sit in that chair. And not in his lap, either - she wanted the CHAIR. Brian was unwilling to give it up and eventually she abandoned that mission.

Or, so he thought.

About 5 minutes later, Helen found a "hairbow" and insisted that her daddy put it in her hair. Not only that, but she planted herself on the other side of the room from him and insisted that Daddy come to her. Brian was watching the game and chatting with his friends, and was a bit distracted. But like any good dad, he got up and crawled across the living room to assist with the requested hairpiece.

Helen promptly walked over and climbed into his chair.

He's definitely going to have to up his game a bit.

Flapping those butterfly wings

Saturday Helen & I checked out possible Halloween costumes. I was leaning toward Cinderella, because Nana bought the movie for her and she watched it twice last week. She LOVED it. I haven't seen her sit still for that long, like EVER. But she was totally enthralled with the whole movie. And the scene where the evil stepmother sweeps grandly out of the house after her evil daughters have destroyed Cinderella's gorgeous dress, and the poor girl runs weeping into the garden - well, Helen turned to me with her first words since the movie had started, and asked, "Cinderella crying?" When the movie ended, she had a big smile on her face.

So naturally, when we got to the store, I pointed out a Cinderella costume, and she was interested in all the accessories, like the shoes that were too big and the tiara that I pictured her losing after 2 houses on Halloween night. I started adding it up, and decided to let her roam the aisle for a short time, to see if anything else caught her fancy.

And indeed, it did. We narrowed it down at long last to the Hello Kitty butterfly costume. It came with wings and a headband, for much, much cheaper than the Disney princess package. I knew I liked that girl.

We brought it home, and of course she wanted to crack it open right away. Take note of the pile of clothes on the floor next to her:



Later, she stripped off the dress and ran through the living room with just the wings. She was so thrilled to be "flying."





I don't think this outfit will hold up until Halloween. But this smile was worth every penny.

It Just Might Work

Last night I headed off to bed after a long football game went into overtime, while Brian stayed up late to play PS3 with a friend. I must have quickly crashed into the deep sleep of a single girl with no responsibilities in life, because I slept through a late-night slumber party with Brian and Helen. She woke up before he was through with the PS3 game, and they tried a few different rooms, but she didn't sleep much. When she did try to pass out, it involved a lot of flipping and flopping. At night, Helen is hard to cuddle. It's like hugging a washer in spin cycle.

This morning, I was dreaming, something about eating pancakes and taking care of birds, and the sound of pounding feet running through the hall snapped me straight awake. I got out of bed, and found Helen & Brian in our guest room, where Helen was having a conversation with Daddy.

Helen: I need to be under the covers.

Brian: You know what might work? If we put you under the covers, and wrapped you tight, tucked you in with ...

Jennie: ... duct tape.

Brian: ... compression straps.

Ol' What's-Her-Name

The other day, I was in the kitchen with Helen and Brian. Helen was sitting in her high chair, while I was making dinner and talking to Brian. I don't remember what the conversation was about (typical), and at one point, my rusty memory failed me yet again, and a particular name escaped me.

Jennie: Oh, you know ... I can't remember ... what's-his-name?

Helen: (pipes up) Helen. My name is Helen.

Okay, so fair warning: she's paying attention to our conversations. Good to know. REALLY good to know.

But it reminded me of the times my mother called me and my sister by the dog's name. We reminded our mother all the time what our actual names were, not that it really helped much.

Clearly, a mother's brain just overflows, and the minor details (like names) fall right out. It's a good thing Helen is getting started early on reminding me.

Nothing's Better Than Bubbles

I'm going to reveal a secret to you folks. The #1 way to get Helen to stop crying is to suggest a bubble bath. She gets so excited, she races up the stairs, shouting at the top of her lungs, "A BUBBLE BATH, MOMMY!" Over. And over. And over.

Not 15 seconds earlier, she was in pure meltdown mode over not getting to put the lid on her cup of milk. You would have thought I'd explained the massive failure of the sub-prime lenders and the slowing housing market, and that she'd sunk her entire 401k into aggressive construction industry funds. I mean, it was THAT BAD.

But mention bubble bath, and she's happier than the kid who convinced his parents to buy ice cream from the truck on the street - right now, right now, hurry or we'll miss it! Those kids will end up selling something for a living. Nothing like an 4-second sales pitch for ice cream at 4:30 in the afternoon sounds right. Spoiling dinner, costs too much, I don't have any cash, you'll ruin your clothes - there's plenty of ways to get turned down. I should know, because I heard them all growing up. But the kids who succeeded, and flew to the truck on wings of pure speed, and later paraded around with those AstroPops and their red & blue tongues like they were the kings of the neighborhood - THOSE were the kids to worry about.

Wait - where was I? Oh yeah - she was happy about the bubbles.

Isn't it obvious?

Tonight as I sent Helen to give her daddy a goodnight hug and kiss, Brian asked her, "Helen, is it bedtime already?"

Helen responded with the following list: "Umm, pajamas, big hug, taking bath, brush teeth."

These are all things she does right before she goes to bed. I think all we're missing is eye rolling, the big sigh, and the "I mean really, Dad. DUH."

She's on to us

This evening, Brian's empty dinner dish sat on the ottoman as he watched the end of a football game on television. Helen walked past, noticed the plate and offered to take it to the kitchen. Brian nodded, still watching the game.

Helen picked it up, and waited expectantly, looking at him.

When he looked back at her, she asked, "Careful?"

Headline News

On Monday, Helen decided she wanted to wear panties all day. Exclusively. As in, no more diapers.

I haven't been this scared since I brought her home from the hospital.

We hadn't discussed it before, and I hadn't prepared for it (except for the panties I bought optimistically about 8 months ago and left in a drawer after one disastrous day). She has a few friends in her class who wear panties now, so I figure that was the inspiration. Instead of a diaper change, she gets to hang out in the potty room every hour. I bet if all the cool kids jumped off a cliff, she'd think about it, too.

But this time, I'm okay with the peer pressure. Because it saves me $20 a week in diapers and wipes, and honestly, I didn't have the first clue how to teach her. Instead, a room full of two-year olds took on the challenge.

She's also been pooping on the potty, which is a Very. Big. Deal. I've given her some extra incentive to make sure this happens - she gets a little Hershey's kiss afterwards. She is thrilled about this bonus, and will often ask for it. The first few times it happened, I was so excited to share the news with the grandparents, we would hop on the cellphone right away. Now, whenever she's done, she asks for chocolate candy and "call Nana." And now, instead of burdening both Nanas with all of the calls, I've tried to share the wealth with Grandpa and Pop-Pop, too. But I'm sure it'll get old soon. So one day, if you get a call from me and Helen tells you that she's eating some chocolate candy because she just pooped in the potty, I don't care if you're in a cubicle at work, or saying your wedding vows. You better stop and give Helen her props. Something like, "Aren't you a big girl! I'm so proud of you!" would be perfectly appropriate.

Where the sky is not cloudy all day

Labor Day weekend was inappropriately named. You get paid *not* to Labor, plus it's a Day, but everyone calls it a Weekend. So it really should be renamed "Labor-Free Three-Day Weekend." People, let's get on this. Write a letter to someone in Congress. I don't think they're busy right now. Certainly not with anything this important. We could have this wrapped up before next year rolls around. Really.

But I digress. After a busy summer, Labor-Free Three-Day Weekend was a chance for the Wyatt family to truly enjoy No Agenda Whatsoever. Unless you count cooking a mess o' ribs for the first Football Saturday, we really didn't do much of anything.

So, when I asked Brian if he wouldn't mind being a tourist in his own town on the holiday, he was pretty easy to please. We traveled down the road a ways to visit a former President's homesite. The 9th President of the US, Andrew Jackson, once lived nearby, and we got a chance to see his place up close.

I've always enjoyed finding new things to do like this, and it turns out this little place was much more than we expected. There's quite a large home that was rebuilt a few times (once due to a fire) and grew into a large stately manor over a period of a few decades. Much of the hardwood floor and even some of the hand-painted wallpaper in the house dates back to 1830's, which was the period of the last major renovation. In addition, several original log cabins on the property have been well-maintained and kept as part of the general tour of the property. There's a tomb with the President and his wife in a beautiful garden next to the home. It was really lovely to see it all and hear stories about General Jackson and his wife Rachel.

One of the funniest stories, though, was about a slave named Alfred. Alfred was born to Betty, the cook. He grew up with his family on Jackson's farm, working his way up to a high position in the household. When the property was sold in the 1880's to the current owners (an historical society), Alfred offered to work for them as a tour guide, if they would agree to give him "a nice funeral" and bury him in the garden near the General. The society quickly agreed to the deal, and Alfred continued to live in his cabin behind the house, giving tours to the public. The story goes that if you showed up at the front door, asked for a tour, and gave Alfred a little tip, he'd show you around the parlors and the library and the upstairs bedrooms, as well as the kitchen and smokehouse. If you didn't tip him, he'd take you in the front door, straight through the front hall to the back door, and let you right back outside.

And in the early 1900's, when Alfred died, he got his "nice funeral" - they held the service in the large front hall of the manor. There's a great picture of the assembled group at the service displayed in Alfred's old cabin. He's buried in the garden near Jackson's tomb.

Now, for the pictures!

Here's Helen under what had to be the biggest magnolia tree I've ever seen. I didn't even attempt to take a picture of the tree, or else you wouldn't have noticed My Doodlebug underneath one of the branches! And most of the leaves are on the ground because of the heat wave.





Here's Helen in the garden, with the flowers (I don't think they worried about the water restrictions!):



Here's the tomb of the President and his wife:



Here's the back porch of the house, where Helen is enjoying running up & down, while Alfred is probably spinning in his grave:

Reading Comprehension, or "Get out your #2 pencils."

This summer we had a record-setting heat wave. There were ten days in
a row with a high temperature over 100 degrees. It didn't rain for three weeks
at my house now everything in my yard is brown. The leaves fell off the trees,
even though it's still summer. The flowers are dried up. The grass crunches
under my feet. The bushes are like dried twigs stuck in the ground. I hope it
rains a lot this fall my yard really needs the water!

The paragraph above:

(a) sounds like Jennie hasn't had enough sleep this week.
(b) was a sample paragraph written for a 3rd grade class editing exercise.
(c) naturally leads into a discussion of global-warming. Again.
(d) gives Jennie an excuse to complain about yardwork.

________________________________________________________________________________

Heat Wave

This summer we had a record-setting heat wave. There were ten days in
a row with a high temperature over 100 degrees. It didn't rain for three
weeks at my house and now everything in my yard is brown. The leaves
fell off the trees. Even though it's still summer, the flowers are dried up.
The grass crunches under my feet and the bushes are like dried twigs
stuck in the ground. I hope it rains a lot this fall. My yard really needs
the water!

The paragraph above:

(a) sounds like Jennie got some sleep and finally edited her blog entry.
(b) sounds like Jennie got SUPER SMART THIRD GRADERS to edit her blog entry.
(c) makes you wonder if global warming begins at home.
(d) reads like a subtle invitation for family, friends and neighbors to help with yardwork.





PS - I'll give you a hint: "be" smart about picking your answers.

PPS - THANK YOU, KIDS! THIRD GRADE RULES!

You're gonna love it in an instant

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*

Up a creek

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!

Farm living is the life for me

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.

So you think YOU'RE tired ...

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.

Zoo Trip + Camera = Joy

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."

Helen gets ready to date

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.

The One Where I Don't Get It

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.

My Freakk

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.

It's the little things

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.

Licky Licky Licky, Here Comes Helen

Helen's newest trick is to snuggle with her dad and proceed to LICK HIM ON HIS FACE. It's great fun to watch him squeal and protest while she pursues him.


:?


The funniest part is that she can dish it out, but she definitely can't take it:





The first night, he called her the Dreaded Tongue Monster. By the next night, it had changed to the Licky Monster.

Her father seems to be the only victim at the moment. She wandered over to try it out on her mother once, but got the reproving, stern look of "Don't even think about it, kid," and wandered right back to dad.

It's good to be Queen.