Today You Are Two

Dear Punky,

This year passed in the blink of an eye.  You have probably changed more this year than you will any other.  One year ago, you were my beautiful baby...now you are my beautiful little girl.  For as much as everything changed, so much remains the same...

One year ago you were a mere seventeen pounds and twenty-eight inches.  Today, based on our recent ER visit, you are just shy of twenty-two pounds and thirty-three inches.  A gain of only five pounds and five inches this year...my perfectly healthy, petite, little runt...just as you were last year.

One year ago you were still fairly bald and two tiny teeth flashed us with every smile.  Today we see a full set of pearly whites and hair long enough for pigtails.  You are so beautiful, just as you were one year ago, and your smile still melts my heart every time.

One year ago you were learning to eat finger foods.  Today you have mastered feeding yourself completely, even the difficult things like chicken soup and cereal in milk.  Your appetite is still incredible and you aren't overly picky...yet.  And as it was then, you are an expert mess-maker...but now it's not always an accident.

One year ago you had just learned to walk...waddling along, learning balance, and fighting gravity with every step.  Today you are a monkey with no fear...running, jumping, climbing, rolling, and standing on your head.  You made me nervous then; you make me insanely nervous now.

One year ago you had mastered a few basic words.  Today you talk nonstop...to me, to yourself, to your dolls, to the walls, to anyone who will listen.  Your vocabulary amazes me, but my favorite is hearing you call for me.  Just as it was a year ago, there is no sweeter word than "Mama".

One year ago you were able to recognize basic colors and point them out when asked.  Today you know them all, along with all 26 letters and numbers zero through ten.  You can count to five unassisted.  Crayons are one of your your favorite things and, while you do your fair share of scribbling, you are trying your hardest to write and draw.  You've gotten the hang of making circles and the letter M.  And just as I did last year, I still think you're the smartest child that ever lived.

One year ago bath time was quick and easy.  Today bath time is a long, complicated process involving bath crayons, boats, balls, bubbles and colored water.  You roll on your stomach and pretend you are swimming.  You put your face in the water and blow bubbles.  Washing is merely an interruption in your play time.  Splashing and soaking me, the carpet, and the rest of the bathroom is your favorite part...just as it was a year ago.

One year ago you would fall asleep frequently in my arms.  Today you tell me "Snuggle, Mama, please..." and curl up next to me whenever you want to sleep in my room.  Just as it was then, those are my favorite nights.  Except now you kick.

At two, your blankie is still your favorite thing int the world, although Elmo is a close second.

At two, apples, pickles and M&Ms top your list of favorite foods...and, to your dismay, the last two are supplied in very limited quantities.

At two, you never pass up an opportunity to flush a toilet.  It's one of your favorite hobbies, along with jumping on the bed.  And the couch.  And the recliner.

At two, you've fully mastered the art of the temper tantrum.  Thankfully, redirection still works although you are no stranger to the time-out chair.

At two, you will sit and color for two hours at a clip which is quite an attention span for your age.  If unmonitored, you will color the carpet, furniture, and kitchen cabinets as well.  Washable crayons are the best invention of our times.

At two, you are challenging nap time and bedtime.  Mama eventually wins...but you can hold out for hours leaving me utterly exhausted for work the next day.

At two, your sense of humor is fully developed and you giggle in delight at the smallest things.  If I drop something or trip over a toy, you will chuckle for hours.

At two, you are in full "helper" mode.  I can do nothing without your assistance.  Washing dishes, folding clothes, taking out trash...whatever the task you do your part, and finishing anything quickly without additional work for me is not an option.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

At two, you still love books and ask to read several times a day.  This makes me so happy...and proud.

At two, you are everything I hoped you'd be and more.  You are sweet, loving, polite, smart, funny, inquisitive, and most importantly you are happy and healthy.  Not a day passes when I don't think about how lucky and thankful I am.

I am so excited to see what the next year brings in your wonderful life.  Lots of big changes are on the horizon and I can't wait to see how we navigate through them...as well as the terrible two's...

I love you with a love only a mother's heart can know.  And just as I felt last year, nothing in life will ever mean more to me than being your mom.  

Happy Birthday to my beautiful little girl!  Today you are two...

I love you, Julia Allyn.

BYOB Christmas

Christmas began for us on Thursday night.  As mentioned, Santa came one night early at our house due to our hectic travel plans. 

After a week of no sleep with no sitter (yes, I will continue that story down the road), Punky's dad had to make it through one last night on third shift...which left me to play Santa without him for the second year in a row.  His boys came and spent the night so I had help.  I hope next year he'll be home so we can do it together.

Punky's nap went way too late, and way too long, that day because her dad needed to sleep.  So, as you can imagine, add in the excitement of Santa coming and it was damn near impossible to get her to sleep that night.  She was still going strong at midnight.  Santa was finally able to come around one, and then I was way too excited to get to sleep.  I was still up at three.

Cookies for Santa

Before bed, Punky carefully chose the cookies she would leave for Santa...and she licked each and every one to make sure they were absolutely perfect.  We poured just enough milk to wet his whistle, and she also left him a juice box in case he got thirsty later.

When her dad got home in the morning, everyone was still sleeping.  I heard him come in and knew we had to get up and moving.  There was no time to delay if we were going to make it everywhere we needed to be on time.  Once the others were awake and ready, it was time to bounce Punky...and I had a hard time getting her to stir. 

New Rocking Horse

Her dad was ready with the video camera when I brought her into the kitchen to check the plate we left for Santa.  Then her eyes drifted toward the tree and she caught sight of the big rocking horse Santa brought and the pile of presents and she was suddenly wide awake.

Between the horse and the xylophone, she was a happy camper.  It took forever to get her presents open because she kept stopping to play with those two.  But each time she stopped to open one, I got to see that twinkle of excitement in her eyes and the utter joy on her face when she discovered its contents.  I can see how kids get spoiled; there is no greater feeling for a parent than seeing your child so happy and full of wonder.

By the time we were finally all finished with presents, it was time to clean up the mess and start packing the truck for the trip.  We made it to his mom's around one and left around four to make the long drive home to my parents' house.  We weren't even on the road five miles when both Punky and her dad passed out from sheer exhaustion.  I fought to keep my eyes open and on the road with nothing to drown out their snoring but Christmas music on every radio station I could get.

We arrived at my parents' just in time for Christmas Eve dinner.  My mom just finished putting all the food on the table when my nephew announced, "Mom, I have to puke!"...and then proceeded to throw up in the living room, through the dining room, up the hall, and into the bathroom.  Dinner was obviously delayed...

Half way through dinner, he had another episode and the writing was on the wall.  It looked like he had the same stomach bug that Punky had Sunday night.  My sister was in for a rough night and it was such a shame for it to happen on Christmas.  Poor kid.

We left around eight and went to my house in town to settle in for the night.  A half hour later, Punky's dad was in the bathroom enjoying Christmas Eve dinner for the second time.  Yep, just our luck.  The stomach bug got him, too, and he spent most of the night puking his guts out...

I called my parents and my sister to give them the news.  It looked like we were in for one hell of a Christmas day.  We were supposed to meet at my sister's in the morning to exchange gifts and decided it would be BYOB...bring your own bucket.  We didn't know how many more of us would be puking by morning.

Morning came and I'm happy to say that the episode passed for both my nephew and Punky's dad...and no one else fell victim to it...yet.  Punky was spoiled once again by her godfather, aunt, and grandparents, and she thoroughly enjoyed ripping open every single package.  

All puking aside, it was a nice Christmas and Santa was good to everyone despite the financial struggles we all faced this year.  It was always that way in my family.  No matter how hard the times, Christmas was the one time of year when every effort was made to make it extra special.  I hope Punky feels the same as she gets older.

The Meaning of Projectile, Volume II

I thought I had seen everything when I wrote this post one year ago.  Turns out it was just a small taste of the capabilities of the human body.  And I was totally oblivious to the horrors that awaited me as I finished writing last night and went about my normal bedtime routine...locking doors, brushing teeth, setting up the morning coffee.  I knew Punky was still awake in her crib and I finally decided to bring her into bed with me so I could relax.  The hectic weekend and all the driving had taken its toll and I was beat.

She grabbed her blankie and two stuffed animals as I lifted her out of her crib.  She wasn't acting strange.  She showed no sign of pain or discomfort, just her usual unwillingness to go to sleep at bedtime.  She trotted across the living room and into my bedroom.  I closed the door behind us while she tossed her guys up onto the bed.  As soon as I turned around, I saw her jerk and knew in an instant it would be a very long night. 

I stood there in shock for a minute and stared at the mess on the carpet.  There was a solid strip about two feet by one foot, and multiple random splatters all around it.  Milk.  Chicken chunks.  Pears.  How could that much vomit come out of that teeny-tiny little girl?  Seriously, her stomach can't be that big.

I looked at Punky and she seemed to be shocked as well.  When I asked her if she was okay, she burst into tears.  Her face, shirt, pants, and special blankie were all coated as well.  I honestly didn't know what to do first.  Where the hell do you start with a mess like that?

I wiped her up the best I could and made her sit down on the floor.  I got cold water, a brush, a new roll of paper towels, and a can of Lysol and began scrubbing the carpet.  My gag reflex was going full force and it took everything I had to not add to the mess myself.

Punky sat quietly until I finished and then we went in her room to change her clothes.  I called my mom for advice.  Would it happen again?  What can I do to settle her stomach?  How do I know if she's sick or if it's just something she ate?  I was clueless.  

A half hour had passed without another episode.  I kept asking if her tummy hurt and she said it didn't.  "Feel better now, Mommy," she told me...so we headed back into the bedroom for another try at sleep.  She climbed up on the bed and two seconds later I saw the jerk again.  I lunged forward and grabbed her but it was too late.  She got the sheets, and pillows, and blanket...and another huge spot on the floor.

Where the hell was it all coming from?  I swear it was everything she had eaten in the past week.  I just couldn't believe my eyes.  

The second clean-up went much like the first, only it included stripping the bed and starting the washing machine.  This time I was taking no chances.  I put a clean shirt on her...no pants, no socks...and covered the recliner in bath towels.  I grabbed a little receiving blanket to cover her legs, the garbage can from my bedroom, and a container of baby wipes.  We settled in to watch Blue's Clues and wait for the storm to pass.

It didn't take long for round three to start, just as violent as the first two but with less volume.  She was sitting on my lap and I had my hand resting on her stomach.  When I felt the jerk, I thrust her head forward with one hand and grabbed the garbage can with the other.  She still got her shirt, the blanket, the footstool, and a tiny spot on the rug, but it was a huge improvement nonetheless.  

Round four went even better, and by rounds six and seven I had it down to a science.  And I was absolutely terrified.  It wasn't stopping.  She would heave every twenty minutes and at this point it was a thick gagging mucus.  She would doze off in between and wake up choking.  I called her dad at work.  It was time to head to the emergency room.

It was about one week shy of two years since we made that exact same two a.m. drive to the hospital for Punky's birth.  I honestly think I was more scared this time around...my baby was sick, really sick, and my head was filled with a million horrific thoughts as to what could be wrong.

The ER visit was really rather uneventful.  She had no fever, her vitals were good, her oxygen level was fine.  They quickly deduced that Punky had a bad, twenty-four hour, stomach bug...apparently they had a parade of kids through there with the same thing in the last few weeks.  So many, in fact, that they actually ran out of anti-nausea medication and had to order more.

We never got home from the hospital until six-thirty in the morning.  After giving her something to settle her stomach, we had to wait a while and then force her to eat a popsicle so they could see if she would keep it down.  She was finally discharged but with a disclaimer: it could start all over again.  They told us no solid food until this evening and even then only something light.  In the meantime, she could have only small sips of clear liquid.

At seven I called my boss and filled him in on the night's events.  I surely wasn't making it into work for eight.  Punky and I settled in on the sofa-bed to get some sleep.  I didn't want to put her in her crib in case it started again, plus it was one of the few puke-free rooms in the house and I didn't want to spread it around any more than necessary.  And my bedroom was obviously off limits without a hazmat suit.

I was still awake at eight and realized we hadn't cancelled the babysitter who was due to arrive at nine.  I made the call and filled her in on all the gory details.  I returned to the sofa-bed but still couldn't sleep.  It was such a terrible night and I knew all the cleaning I had ahead of me later today.  Plus I couldn't help but feel guilty for missing work, but there was no way I could leave Punky.  I eventually managed to convince myself that the worst was over.  There was no where to go but up... I think I fell asleep somewhere around nine-thirty.

The phone rang around eleven-thirty and proved me wrong.  The worst wasn't over for the day; a whole new problem stepped in and took over...Punky's babysitter quit.  After being off for about three years, the company finally called her to come back to work.  Tomorrow.

After last night, and the whole two hours of sleep I had today, I don't have the energy to get into the details tonight.  To be continued...

Punky's First Haircut

Punky and I arrived home this afternoon from our weekend adventure.  Given the fact that we are driving back down on Christmas Eve, we left earlier than usual today.  The big day is quickly approaching and I still have tons to do.

The stars aligned and we actually made it there on Friday in time to make our appointment at the hair dresser's.  I was really worried about how Punky would handle the haircut situation.  Every time we'd mention it to try to prepare her a bit, she'd tell us "Hurt."  No matter how many times we promised it wouldn't, she still kept insisting.  I had visions of a screaming child with a crooked, half-finished haircut just in time for all those holiday photos.

In reality, the exact opposite was true.  My peanut surprised me again with some of the best behavior I've seen in weeks.  Seriously, the last month has had its share of rough spots.  She is definitely testing the waters and seeing how far she can push us whenever she has the chance.  The dawning of the terrible two's...

But anyway, at the hair dresser's, she was a perfect angel.  She...listened.  She didn't touch what I told her not to touch.  She kept herself busy while I got my highlight.  She made polite chatter with an old lady who must have commented a hundred times on what an angel Punky is.  And how good she listens.  And how I'm so lucky.

I smiled, and nodded, and threw in a thank-you or two, while my mind drifted to last Sunday when my child was the absolute worst I have ever seen her.  She was a total brat at the store.  She wrote all over the rocking chair stool (light green fabric) with black crayon.  She tantrumed.  She hit.  She stomped, whined, and cried.  She told me "No!" a million times.  She got two minutes in the time-out chair.  Twice.  She had me up till midnight because she absolutely refused to go to sleep no matter how I tried.  Yeah, sweet little old lady, I wish you could've seen her then.

So, when it came time for Punky's haircut, I still braced myself for the worst...and she didn't even flinch.  She sat in the chair all by herself.  I thought I'd have to hold her but in reality I didn't even need to be next to her.  I stood across the room, taking pictures and cheering her on, and she sat still and quietly ate a cookie as little blonde locks hit the floor.  Apparently, it didn't hurt a bit.

First Haircut

On a side note, the family Christmas party went well.  Everyone had a good time, lots of laughs, great food.  For me, it seems like Christmas is somehow more complete this year.  More like it used to be.  More like it should be.  I'm enjoying that feeling while it lasts because next year it's back to a house with pets.  It might be a few years before I'm able to go again.

The Holiday Begins

Well, this surely hasn't been a good month for blogging.  My intentions were good but life had other plans as usual.

Tomorrow Punky and I are heading home for the start of our holiday festivities.  I spent this evening loading the dining room table with all the bags, boxes, bottles, and such that need to somehow, someway, fit in the trunk of my car for the trip.  My goal is to get it all down there this week so there is less to worry about when we make the trip again next Friday for Christmas Eve.

I'm happy to say that, after two weekends in a row of shopping and wrapping, I am finally done.  I swear, next year I'm starting early.  Okay, so it'll never happen, but it wouldn't be the holidays without me swearing it at least once. 

Punky is definitely into the whole present thing this year.  She's already received a few from friends and has practiced her unwrapping technique.  Her eyes light up in anticipation of the treasure she will find hidden inside...and they stay lit forever while she painstakingly tears pieces of paper the size of dimes from the package.  She has refused all help thus far and I've been trying to calculate exactly how long it will take her to open all her gifts on Christmas morning.  Actually, Christmas Eve morning...

Yeah, Santa will be gracing with his presence / presents (ha ha) one day earlier than the rest of the world again.  What can I say?  We're special.  It's actually the only time we can squeeze him in again this year. 

We'll have Christmas Eve dinner with his family, and then head down state to mine that evening so we can be there for Christmas morning.  Punky has no concept of dates, and I really want her to have the "Santa came to my house!" experience...actually in her own house.  So Christmas Eve morning it is.  Besides, I am absolutely overflowing with excitement already; I don't think I could wait one day longer!

This weekend my mom's extended family is having their annual Christmas get-together and "Pollyanna" gift exchange.  It used to be held every year at my grandmother's house on Christmas Eve, but the tradition lapsed with her death.  Four years ago the family decided to make it an annual party, hosted by someone different each year.

I can't attend any year when the person hosting it has pets, so that ruled out two of the three previous years.  Two years ago my parents hosted it, and I would've gone because they held it at my dad's hunting club, but I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant and refused to be hours away from my doctor.

This year my sister is hosting...it's at the hunting club so no pets and I'm excited to finally participate once again.  I have the best memories from the years at my grandmother's house.  It was always so much fun!  And it's the thing I miss most about Christmas since she's gone.

Also penciled in for tomorrow is Punky's first haircut...and a highlight for me since someone at the store last week once again asked us if Punky is our grand-daughter.  Damn people.  I don't care when they ask him...he's forty-seven and looks even older.  But I don't want to be included in that assumption.  I know, mathematically it's possible, but it's still insulting.  So, another highlight it is.  By the time she starts kindergarten, I better switch to full color.  I'll be forty then and facing a sea of twenty-something moms.  I don't even want to think about it.

Well, That's a First

We got an early start today for a Saturday morning.  We were expecting company at nine so we had to get moving.  As usual, I didn't get nearly as much sleep as I needed so the snooze alarm was used heavily.  Eventually I managed to drag myself out of bed but I fought the yawns all morning.

A friend of mine from work was coming over with her little girl for a play date.  The girls are only seven months apart and they've finally reached a stage where the age gap is narrowing.  In another year, it will hardly be noticeable.  She is expecting another baby in the spring and has decided to leave work and take a stab at being a stay-at-home-mom.  On one hand, I am so envious...yet on the other hand, I don't know if I could do it.  I know I would absolutely love it at first, but in the long run I think I would find it actually harder than going to work.

Anyway, they were delayed due to a slight mishap that involved a call to poison control.  I heard you're not a real mom until you've done that at least once.  The culprit?  Liquid dishwasher detergent.  She saw it happen and quickly jumped into action.  Thankfully her daughter is fine and it doesn't appear that she swallowed any of it.

She was able to laugh and joke about it after the fact, but I'm sure she had that moment of sheer panic that all moms have when accidents happen.  I've had it many times...when I cracked Punky's head off the wooden arm of the rocking chair at a few weeks old, let her fall of the bed at six months old, thought she swallowed a bloody band-aid at nine months, etc.  I'll admit, it's really quite a list (as I hang my head in shame).

After they left, Punky's dad and I ended up on the topic of preggo-brain, probably since I joked that my friend has that perfect excuse to blame for the morning's events.  Of course, being a guy and all, he totally dismisses the idea that such an animal exists.  But anyone who's ever experienced pregnancy can attest to it.

I reminded him of some of the stupid things I did while pregnant, and told him how I think I still suffer sometimes.  Seriously.  I read a lot about the chemical changes that take place in the brain during pregnancy, and how sometimes the effects are permanent.  All I know is that since Punky came along, my brain gets...fuzzy.

I posted before about the brain freeze I experience once in a while at work.  My mind gets stuck looping around the same circle for a few minutes while I struggle to get on with my next thought...like a skipping 45 just begging for someone to bump the needle.  It makes me feel so...confused, almost dazed at times, but thankfully it only lasts a minute or two and then things clear up again.

And my memory...geez...that surely isn't what it used to be.  Mentally I was the epitome of organization.  Lists of all sorts tucked safely away in the corners of my mind that could be referenced when needed.  I don't recall ever feeling absent-minded pre-pregnancy, but now I have a bad habit of forgetting things.  Little things usually, like to stop for milk on the way home from work.  Stuff like that.  And it's worse the busier I am.  Seems like my mind now only has room for a certain number of things at one time...it does an auto-sort and dumps the rest at will.  Again, usually the trivial stuff.

So, I wrote all of this to preface what happened later that afternoon...

During Punky's short nap, I wasted no time running around the house like a maniac trying to accomplish as much as I could without her "helping" me every step of the way.  It's a fun stage, and she's adorable, but damn...it takes forever to do just about anything.   By the time she woke up, I had fifty things going on at once which meant something was destined to get bounced right out of my head.

She asked for some juice and played for a few minutes before telling me she needed a diaper change.  I dismissed it for a bit while I tried to finish up a couple of things, but when I finally got around to it I wished I hadn't.  It was a stinky diaper and my lallygagging gave her ample opportunity to really mush it around and make a mess.  Sixteen wipes or so later, I finally finished the job on auto-pilot as my mind focused on getting back to the other things I was trying to accomplish.

I stopped for a pee break myself about fifteen minutes later, and Punky came into the bathroom walking like she just got off a horse.  She told me diaper change again, and I said no way...until I saw that she was completely soaked. 

"What the hell?" I mumbled as I pulled her pants off right there in the bathroom.  To my surprise, I was greeted by a totally bare hiney.

Apparently I forgot to put another diaper on my child after that messy diaper change.  I'm not exactly new at this.  I couldn't even begin to guess at the number of diaper changes I've done in the last two years.  How the hell did I manage to pull her pants up and never even notice the diaper was missing?  

And geez, she is almost two.  It had to feel different not having that puffy, crinkly-sounding thing on under her pants.  For all the yapping she does these days, she could've told me that I forgot it.  If dinner is two minutes late she carries on like she hasn't eaten in weeks.  At least I'll never forget to feed her.

The Other Red Guy

Although not normally my cup of tea, I was excited to have a girls' day of shopping today.  My mom is here this week, the Christmas spirit is starting to seep in, and I couldn't wait to see how Punky would react to meeting Santa.  We headed to the mall before lunch and I was ready to shop till I dropped.  I was on a mission to finish all my Christmas shopping, dammit.

About an hour into it, I was over it.  What can I say?  I hate shopping and, no matter how much I pump myself up for it, I am quickly aggravated by the crowds, obnoxious salesmen, ridiculous prices, and sheer frustration over what to by for people.  I stuck with it for hours though...and umpteen stores later I still wasn't finished.  Sigh.

When we first arrived at the mall, we headed right for Santa.  We tried all week to prepare Punky for the thirty-second lap sit and photo in the hopes of preventing a meltdown and actually getting a half-decent picture.  We explained the process over and over, and obviously acted super-excited each time.  Enthusiasm is contagious, so they say.  

Every time we asked her what she was going to ask Santa to bring her for Christmas, she told us "Dirt."  Seriously.  Dirt.  Of all the things a kid could want, mine wants dirt.  I think maybe she misses playing outside in the dirt now that winter has arrived.  At least I hope that's the reasoning behind her reply.  Otherwise, I have an extremely odd child.

Anyway, we stood and watched Santa for a few minutes before getting in line.  Happy kids, one right after another, smiling and laughing, sitting so nicely on his lap and telling him their wish lists.  Punky was smiling, too.  She waved at Santa and was excited to get in line to take her turn.

Everything was going smoothly and according to plan.  There was only one child left in front of us and I thought it would be smooth sailing.  Until that child freaked the hell out.  Screaming, squirming, crying her eyes out.  She wanted no parts of Santa whatsoever.  No way, no how.  And watching the chaos in front of us, Punky's smile quickly faded...and it took her courage and enthusiasm with it.  Shit.

In the end, I was proud of her.  She was definitely apprehensive about the whole lap thing and she wouldn't crack a smile for anything, but she held it together and resisted the urge to completely melt down.  And when he asked what she wanted for Christmas, she boldly told him..."Presents!"  Whew.

Twenty-Three Months

I can't believe we are only one month away from the big two.  It's incredible how quickly time passes.  Geez...instant tears.  I guess it doesn't help that we sat tonight and watched our home videos from last Christmas.  Punky was so...little.  What a difference a year makes.

The big news this month happened just two days ago.  We were delayed in heading home for the holiday weekend due to illness (yes, that post is still to come) and, when we finally made it out the door Friday afternoon, we decided to try something new:  forward-facing!

My goal was to keep her rear-facing until age two.  One month and two days shy, but close enough I suppose.  She still only weighs about 22-1/2 pounds so I can't say I'm totally comfortable with the decision.  But there is no turning back now.  She loved it.

We only went one block when we stopped at a stop sign and I turned around to take her picture.  She was so excited...waving her hands and yelling, "Forwards! Mama! Forwards!"  We were in her dad's truck so she had a great view of the sights and narrated most of the trip.

First Ride Forward-Facing

"Big truck!"

"Green light! Go, go, go!"

"Red light! Stop!"

"Cars, Mama! Trees! Lights! Sky!"

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" she'd yell and I'd turn around to look at her.  She'd wave and say "Hi Mama! Forwards!"

Thankfully she did manage to fall asleep for about an hour so we could hear the radio and actually have a conversation.  She is in full chatterbox mode now.  It's constant.  If she's awake, she's yapping.  New words and phrases are still appearing daily.  I've heard a few five and six words sentences.  It still blows my mind how quickly she is learning the art of communication.  She surprises me every day.

This month she has finally mastered the spoon...messy food and all.  The hardest part about the spoon is having to hold it level.  She's easily distracted and would lose a lot on the way to her mouth.  Or she'd forget about the spoon entirely and point to something, spoon in hand, and fling food across the room.  Now she makes it most of the time with little effort.  Stuff still flies once in a while, but not accidentally.  Little stinker.

She eats most meals in her booster seat at the table now.  We still use the highchair in the kitchen for really messy stuff, but her favorite spot to eat is sitting on the stool at the counter like a big girl.  That's usually the breakfast spot.  I guess the highchair's days are numbered.  I'm still resisting.

All in all, Punky is doing well. She's everything I thought she'd be at this age.  She's smart.  And funny.  Loving and sweet.  She's curious.  And happy.  With a touch of a stubborn streak and some temper tantrums thrown in here and there.  She's perfect.  

Absolutely perfect.  

Thankful

In preparation for putting up the tree, our living room needed a major overhaul.  Most of Punky's toys are in there and, despite the various boxes, bins, tables, and shelves designated for toy storage, they usually end up scattered all over the room.  A colleague of mine once mentioned that she keeps her boys' toy levels in check by asking them to donate an old toy to charity every time they receive a new toy.  What a brilliant idea.

I always tell Punky how lucky we are because I want her to grow up appreciating what she does have instead of focusing on what she doesn't.  We may not have the best of everything but we have food to eat, a warm house, toys to play with, and a little bit of extra money to do something special now and then. That's more than a lot of people can say these days.

Last Friday night, Punky and I sat on the floor in front of her toy box and had a heart-to-heart chat.  I told her that Santa will be bringing her new toys soon, so maybe it's time to go through her old toys and give some to little kids that aren't as lucky as she is, etc.  I know she didn't understand my entire speech, it's just not possible, but she helped me sort her toys into piles based on what she still plays with and things she never touches.

I set aside a few special baby toys to keep, of course, but the rest of the rattles and such simply had to go.  Honestly, they should have gone a year ago.  Together we picked out several more toys to give away and I wondered if she understood that she wouldn't ever see them again.

When we finished sorting, we put all the keepers back into the toy box and loaded the rest into bags.  I held the bag open while Punky stuffed things in without showing any hint of sadness whatsoever.  The last toy destined for the bag was a cute little bear that plays music and says simple phrases.  She hesitated for a second but grabbed him off the couch.  She held him in front of her, looked him in the eye, gave him a kiss, and said, "Bye-bye, bear." 

Then she stuffed him in the bag and asked to watch an Elmo video.

I wiped the tears from my eyes as I started the DVD and bent down to kiss her beautiful little face.  For her, I am most thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Punky's Impeccable Timing

We decided to grab a quick dinner at the local diner tonight and Punky had a shining moment in the process: she embarrassed both of her parents, at the same time, in public...and she's not even two.  I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later...

We've all been sick for what seems like forever, but that's another post entirely and believe me it's coming...one extremely long, rant and rave, bitch and moan, grunt and groan post will follow in the days to come.  Just warning you.  Anyway, like all kids eventually do, Punky recently discovered nose picking.  I suppose being sick and stuffed up presented the perfect opportunity to learn the skill.  She has almost perfected it to an art form.  She can do just about anything one-handed while the other digs for gold.  And once in a while, she strikes some.

There we were, sitting in the restaurant, and just as the waitress headed over to take our order...Punky's finger took the plunge.  That in itself would have been embarrassing enough, but it turned out to be a lucky pick and her finger reappeared with a little something gross on the end of it.  Just to add insult to injury, Punky felt the need to hold her finger up and announce to everyone in earshot what she had.

"Boogie! Mommy! Boogie! Daddy! Boogie! Finger!" she yelled as she swung her finger back and forth between us to show off her treasure.

Punky's dad and I locked eyes for a split second and shared in the horror of the moment.  I could hear the muffled chuckles in the background as complete strangers enjoyed our humiliation.  The teenage waitress stood there patiently while I scrambled for a napkin and cleaned the tip of Punky's finger, but the look on her face seemed to score one for abstinence.

I know, it's only the beginning...

Consider 'Em Decked

The halls, that is.  As decked as they are getting this year anyway.  And I'm happy as a lark to cross something off that damn to-do list.
 
We are traveling home this coming weekend for Thanksgiving so I wanted to get all that decorating crap done and out of the way before the real holiday rush hits in December.  And besides, I was excited to see Punky's reaction to the tree this year.  She loves it, but I think we'll have to set our sights a little higher/bigger next year.  Our four-foot table top tree will seem less and less impressive the bigger she gets.

Right now for us it is simply a space issue.  We have no room to store huge boxes of tree branches and decorations.  Without a basement, attic, or garage, we are severly limited in how much hall decking we can do...or else we would need to leave it displayed all year for lack of a place to put it.

Anyway, our little tree will serve the purpose again this year.  Punky can just reach the very bottom branches...and for how often she tugs them, it's really a good thing we don't have a full-size tree.  One time I caught her standing on her tippy-toes, stretching as high as she could to reach a glass ball with her fingertips, and batting it around like a cat with a mouse. 

Punky learned early on that balls...bounce.  So far I haven't had much luck trying to reverse that mindset when it comes to glass ornaments.  I've explained it to the best of my abilities, multiple times, but I know she'd whiz one across the room to test my theory if given the opportunity.  Needless to say, all of our antique, blown glass balls will remain safely displayed in a bowl this year.  The tree is sporting dime-a-dozen cheapies, but I still don't want them smashed all over the living room.

She seems to have caught on rather quickly to the concept of Santa.  She recognizes him and understands that he brings new toys to good girls and boys.  We are going to attempt a picture with Santa next weekend so I've been trying to make her as comfortable with the idea as I can.  She seems genuinely excited that Santa will be coming to her house with presents.  Poor kid, this next month will seem like an eternity I'm sure.

Lights! Broken!

Punky and I went home for my nephew's fifth birthday party two weeks ago.  We drove down Friday and stayed until Tuesday.  We hadn't been home since Labor Day weekend so I took a few days off work so we could visit a bit longer.

My nephew's party went off just as you'd expect any five year old's birthday to go.  Screaming kids running around the house in circles, a mound of presents ripped open in five minutes flat, and little faces all sticky from cake and ice cream.  

The birthday boy insisted on a Batman party, complete with Batman balloons, decorations, and of course a Batman cake.  He also hoped all of his presents were Batman-related which is no easy task these days.  It seems like Batman has taken a back seat to Spiderman and Iron Man.  Their stuff is all over the place; Batman toys require much more searching.  Anyway, he did get a lot of Batman things, from pajamas to hats, toys and video games, activity books and t-shirts.  He was happy.

Thankfully most party guests were gone by about 4:30...because at 5:00 the power went out.  And stayed out for just over two hours.  At first, Punky was very confused.

We had a few power outages at our house this summer, but they all happened during daylight hours and only lasted a short time.  So, Punky really didn't notice.  It wasn't a big deal.  There was no need for explanation and she probably wouldn't have understood anyway.

This time was different.  We were all suddenly sitting in the dark.  My sister's boyfriend hunted for flashlights and scrambled to put a fire in the fire place for both light and heat.  After a few minutes, Punky looked at me with an expression I clearly read as, "What the hell, Mama?"  

I told her the lights were broken.  The lights were off, and we couldn't turn them on until the power man came to fix them.  She thought about it for a few seconds then flashed me an "I get it!" smile. 

Then she proceeded to explain it to everyone else.  Repeatedly.  For the next forty-five minutes or so.  Non stop.  Like the town crier in the old days.

"Mama?"

"What, honey..."

"Lights!" she'd yell while simultaneously throwing her arm up and pointing at the ceiling fan.

"What about the lights, sweetie..."

"Broken..." she'd say in the saddest tone you can imagine, complete with an accompanying pout.

Then she'd move on to the next person.

"Grammy?"  And the whole conversation would repeat itself.

By the time she was on her third trip around the room, we couldn't hold back the laughter.  It was almost like she had a true Eureka! moment and felt she needed to bring the rest of us into the know.  She was relentless.  And there was no ignoring her.  My nephew was the first to try it but she just stood next to him and yelled his name over and over until he finally caved and yelled, "What?"

She eventually got over it...possibly because we were all laughing too hard to answer her anymore...but she still hasn't forgotten it.  Any time I mention my nephew's party or my sister's name, she reminds me that the lights were broken.  It left a lasting impression on her, that's for sure.  It was big news in her little world.  I'm sure we'll end up in the dark at some point this winter and she'll explain it to me again.  And to everyone else who cares to listen.

Peas, Tanks, and Malcolm

I've got an extremely polite child.

I have no idea how the hell that happened.

Punky can be so sweet these days.  She's mastered the proper use of phrases known for getting her what she wants, when she wants it.  She still needs some tweaking in the pronunciation department, but the message comes across loud and clear.

"Punky, would you like some juice?" I say and walk into the kitchen.

"Yes! Peas!" she yells excitedly and runs after me.  "Tanks!" she chirps when I had her the cup.

"You're welcome, sweetie." 

"Malcolm," she repeats after me.  "Mama's Malcolm too!"

Contest Schmontest

It's official.  We suck.

Week seven of the trivia/riddle contest started today.  I think it's safe to say we're out of the running for the million.  Just as I suspected, I've had nowhere near the free time needed to do the level of research required.  By comparing our answers and points against others in the forums, we've missed quite a few so far.  Some were ridiculous wild guesses that others were lucky enough to make correctly, and some were so damn obvious that I could just kick myself in the ass for missing them.

I plan to stick it out till the end, but I have accepted defeat nonetheless.  Sigh.  Maybe in a few years they'll have another one.  When Punky is older.  When work is less hectic.  When life is less crazy.  Around 2018 sounds like a good time.

I'm starting to wonder if I just suck at time management.  I've always thought of myself as organized.  Efficient.  On top of things.  These days it seems like my to-do list keeps growing and growing.  For every item I manage to cross off, six more suddenly appear.  I don't know how others do it.  Between work, Punky, household chores, and whatever personal hygeine I can sneak in, there really isn't a lot of time left over for much.  My recent lapse in blogging confirms that.

I know, it will get better.  I guess I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed with the holidays approaching and all the crap that needs to get done between now and then.  Seems like I throw myself this same pity-party every year around this time.  I need to get it out of my system.  I need to whine.  Moan.  Groan.  Complain.  It clears my head so I can re-organize and get shit done.

Okay.  There.  I'm over it.  See how quick and relatively painless that bitch session was?  Look out to-do list, here I come!

Right after I finish eating my lunch.  And work another four hours.  And drive thirty-five minutes home plus a quick stop for gas on the way.  And make dinner.  And do the dishes.  And give Punky a bath.  And then play with her, of course.  And get her ready for bed.  And get me ready for bed.  And run around picking up all the toys that ended up scattered all over the house.  And set the coffee up for the morning.

Then, to-do list, your ass is mine...for about fifteen minutes before I say screw it, I'm tired, and tomorrow's another day.

Halloween, Finally

The middle of the month already and I haven't written a thing.  This has to be by far the longest stretch I've gone without posting.  While I could type a list of excuses a mile long, let's just say life's been happening and I'll do my best to play catch-up when I can.  So, Halloween...

We took Punky to the mall for trick-or-treating.  It seemed like a great idea.  Early evening.  Safe.  Warm.  And the first twenty minutes were great.  Then, in the blink of an eye, kids seemed to spew from every crack and crevice.  It was a sea of super heroes, princesses, clowns, and cartoon characters.  A continuous chain of kids lined the perimeter of the mall, all waiting to reach the one person in front of each store handing out pieces of candy.  And store coupons.  And garage band CD's - yes, seriously, Punky got one.

It didn't take long for the calm, safe, warm environment to morph into a noisy, chaotic scene.  And damn, was it hot in there.  Some kids were whining, some were yelling, and some had complete meltdowns.  Parents were cranky and losing their patience.  Stores were quickly running out of candy.  It took forever to make our way back to the entrance where we started so we could get the hell out of there.

While it wasn't an overwhelmingly pleasant experience for us, Punky seemed to enjoy it.  She insisted on wearing her Elmo costume the entire ride in the car...thirty five minutes each way.  She toted her plastic pumpkin and held it up to receive her treats.  She liked seeing all the different costumes, though the scary ones freaked her out a bit.  She ate a few pieces of candy but didn't seem all that impressed and she hasn't asked to have any more.  That's definitely not a bad thing.

We made it home from the mall just in time to turn on the porch light and welcome trick-or-treaters.  Over the course of the next two hours, a whopping eight kids popped in for some candy.  Well, we beat last year's total by one.  A big bowl of leftover candy sits on the kitchen counter.  We'll continue to pick through the good stuff little by little and end up tossing the rest.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of Halloween and it's apparent in the tone of this post.  So, for Punky's sake, I have to end on a high note.  Here's a shot of my little red monster making the rounds at the mall.  She was so proud to be Elmo, and she couldn't have been more adorable.

Twenty-Two Months

It's that time again already...

The big news of this month, of course, is Punky's language boom.  Since my post two weeks ago, she has continued to spew new word after new word.  I still can't get over the transformation.  She's a whole different kid than she was a month ago.

She tells us when she's hungry...tired...wet.  She tells us what she wants and when she wants it.  For the most part, the guessing game is over.  And life is that much easier, yet more difficult at the same time.  Now that she's learned the art of expressing herself, we need to work on the concept of patience.  She seems to think that just because she can say it, we need to do it...immediately.  If we don't move fast enough, she just keeps on repeating over and over, louder and louder, till she sees some action.  Geesh.  Demanding little shit.

She also started counting this month.  For months she has pointed and gone through the motions while I counted things in her books, but now she can recognize the numbers one through ten say them...with the exception of seven.  Seven seems to stump her time after time.

Her monkey-like antics are still going strong.  She is about three attempts away from being able to stand on her head and balance, completely unsupported, in the center of the floor.  She's been practicing that trick for quite a while and I think she'll master it soon.  And if that isn't scary enough, now she's trying handstands as well.  She still sports a minimum of five black and blue marks at any given time due to her antics.  Thankfully no broken bones...yet.  

She is all about helping these days.  Whatever we're doing, she needs to be right there with us, lending her assistance however we'll let her give it.  Without giving it much thought in advance, one night I pulled a chair over by the sink and let her help with the dishes.  I washed in one side, and passed the soapy pieces to her to rinse in the other side.  She was absolutely thrilled...and soaked.  As was the floor.  And the cabinets.  And the countertop.  I had to take her shirt off and wring it out in the sink.  Now she wants to do the dishes sixteen times a day, and cries when I tell her there aren't any dirty dishes to wash.

First Lollipop

Last weekend Punky's godfather came for a visit.  He brought her a pumpkin for Halloween and, of course, candy.  She really hasn't eaten much candy of any kind thus far and, given her parents' terrible dental histories, I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible.  One of her sets of flashcards has a picture of lollipops so she knew the word but had no clue exactly what they are.  There were some in her pumpkin so I decided to let her experience her first one.  It was actually quite comical.  She didn't know what to do with it at first, but she got the hang of it once I demonstrated how to lick it.  Twenty minutes later her mouth was blue, her face and hands were a sticky mess, her shirt sported sticky blue drool drips as well, yet the lollipop didn't really shrink at all.  I thought she'd be at it for hours but once she dropped it on the carpet she handed it over easily.  

I don't think she was all that impressed with it.  I'm kind of glad; she doesn't need to get addicted to candy.  A pile of them have sat on the counter for a week and she has yet to ask for another.  Now, let her see a piece of cheese and she'll knock you right over to get to it.  Cheese topped the list as her favorite snack this month.  She also started eating pretzels but she's usually over it after just one.  She also had her first real slice of pizza this month, pepperoni and all.  

We went to my company's Halloween party last Sunday.  Punky wore her Elmo costume and looked adorable.  One little boy younger than Punky was infatuated with her.  Apparently he thought she was Elmo and took every opportunity he had to follow her around and hug her.  It was too cute.

The party fell during the usual naptime hours, so the only nap she had was thirteen minutes in the car on the way.  She was fine at the party, and for a while when we got home, but by six she was getting cranky.  By seven, she was miserable.  By quarter to eight, her teeth were brushed, she had her milk, and I was rocking her in the living room.  I thought she'd pass out by eight.

Nope.  By eight, she was crying.  Screaming.  A complete meltdown.  She cried so hard she was literally gagging.  It took forever to calm her down only to have the episode repeat itself  a few more times until she finally fell asleep...at 11:30!  She was so over-tired and fought sleep with everything she had.  It was awful.  Her dad and I had a hard time coping and ended up taking our frustrations out on each other.  But he got to escape at ten to go to work so I had to deal with the tail end of it on my own.

No matter how many times I've seen it happen, I still can't get it through my head that my child simply can't go without a nap.  It seems like every event for kids is smack-dab in the middle of the day...during naptime.  I don't want her to miss out on things, but I don't want to see her (or us) have to go through another episode like that.  I think we need to politely decline until she is able to cope a bit better.  Of course, my nephew's birthday party is coming up in less than two weeks...at one o'clock no less...and I know we can't skip it.  I guess I can wake her up at five that morning so she's ready to nap by eleven before the party.  Who am I kidding?  That means I would have to get up at five, so yeah...it's not happening.  Maybe it won't be as bad this time.  I can only hope.

Drips, Dunks, and More of the Red Guy

We missed swimming last Saturday because Punky was battling a cold for days.  I didn't want to risk turning a runny nose, slight cough, and low fever into full blown pneumonia if she got a chill.  Every time her nose would run she'd tell me, "Dripping, Mama.  Nose.  Get it."  She finally seemed better by Tuesday.

I woke up Wednesday morning and it was my turn for the drippy nose.  By the afternoon it was out of control.  On Thursday I had so much pressure on the right side of my face.  I threw in the towel and came home at lunch time.  The couch was calling my name.  I'm still not completely over it but plan on taking her swimming in the morning.  I don't want her to miss two weeks in a row.

Speaking of swimming, the last time we went was the weekend my mom was up visiting.  She came along to watch Punky do her thing in the water.  She proudly showed Grammy all her cool moves in the pool.  Kicking.  Splashing.  Her favorite part of class is jumping in from the wall.  Of course I have her hands the entire time and she never goes under the water.  At least she didn't until that class.  The instructors told us to try letting them go under so they get used to it...

Talk about an internal struggle.  I do everything in my power to keep her safe; that's the number one priority of motherhood.  There is just something inherently wrong with purposely shoving your healthy, beautiful baby under water.  I mustered up the courage, took a deep breath, dunked her, and hoped for the best.  And she was fine.  A tad bit startled, but fine.  A few turns later I asked her if she wanted to put her head under the water again.  She said yes so I dunked her again.  Less startled the second time around...and still fine.

I know it's a reflex to hold your breath under water, but it still creeps me out.  I guess I need to get over it because she absolutely loves the water and I think swimming will remain a regular part of our lives for a long time to come.  Hopefully with time and practice I'll feel better about  dunking her.  I doubt it, but I can always hope.

After that swimming class we headed to the mall in search of a Halloween costume for Punky.  One store goes all out with the decorations, scary figures, and eerie music.  I don't think we were in there one full minute before Punky freaked out and started crying.  My mom had to take her back into the mall to calm her down while I shopped.  I just found the whole episode rather odd.

I mean, she's not even two.  She doesn't know what scary is yet in relation to ghosts, witches, monsters, and the like.  She has no recollection of last Halloween.  She's never seen a horror movie.  She has no concept of the boogie man in the closet.  She is not afraid of the dark.  She barely startles with loud noises.  Yet somehow she was terrified in that store.  I guess she'll be a big chicken when it comes to Halloween.  Just like her mama.

I hate Halloween.  Always have, always will.  I hate scary movies and no amount of money can make me watch one.  I have nightmares about scenes like that.  I hate the dark.  Every little bump in the night makes me jump.  Going trick-or-treating required conversing with strangers and my introverted, extremely shy self was never comfortable with that.  I hated trying to figure out what kind of costume I could wear.  I dreaded it every year.  I even hate candy corn and pumpkin-flavored anything.  I don't decorate the house for Halloween.  Not even a jack-o-lantern.  The only good part of Haloween for me is chocolate...and that only got me cavities and root canals.  Yeah, Halloween sucks.

As a mom, I know I need to keep my feelings to myself and not end up ruining Halloween for Punky.  She needs to decide for herself whether to love it or hate it.  My luck, she'll grow to love it.  At any rate, four stores later we finally got her a costume.  Any guesses?

Of course, Elmo.  What else would she choose?  I tried like hell to talk her into a lion because she makes the most adorable little roar.  I tried a cute little puppy costume.  I went the pretty princess dress route.  She would have none of it.  It was the red guy or nothing.  So, Elmo it is.  And I bet she'll be even cuter than the original.

Wild Guesses and Girl Stuff

I spent the better part of the weekend searching for an answer to a question in the trivia contest.  Every free moment I could manage to steal.  I stayed up till the wee hours googling, asking, and binging till my fingers cramped.  I mumbled.  I grumbled.  I cursed a bit.  Okay, a lot.  And I got squat. 

The deadline for posting an answer is roughly an hour from now.  I couldn't bear the thought of dealing with it for one more second.  I took a wild guess five minutes ago.  Seriously.  Not based on a single ounce of research whatsoever.  The question required you to put four things in order and I did.  My order.  Made up in my head.  Who knows?  Maybe my gut intuition on random letters will be correct.  Most likely not.  Ah, screw it.

Punky saved my sanity this weekend.  She provided some much needed hugs and tons of comic relief.  All her new words and constant chatter have opened a whole new can of funny in this house.  Her dad worked all weekend so, in the spirit of quality girl time, I attempted something I never tried before: pigtails.  And I discovered I suck at more than just stupid trivia contests.

The first year of her life, Punky was bald.  Okay, not totally bald...more like peach-fuzzy.  Her hair finally started really growing this spring.  It's still not long by any means; we're still months away from that first haircut.  But it's finally long enough to give her those adorable little girl pigtails on the top of her head.

She was a real trooper.  She sat still and played with a toy while I combed and parted, this way and that way, trying to get it just right.  I had one side perfect...then realized I never took the packaging off the pack of elastic band thingys.  Of course, I couldn't get it one-handed so I had to let go of the pigtail and start all over again.  I finally managed to make two little pigtails and I stepped back to admire my work and her absolute adorableness...

Damn.  I need a lesson in pigtails 101.  They weren't remotely close to even.  One had more hair than the other.  One jutted out to the side; the other stuck straight up towards the back of her head.  I seriously think she may have done a better job if she tried it herself.  She was still adorable, of course, but I just couldn't bring myself to take that "first pigtail" picture.  I need more practice.  Eventually I'll take a "first pigtail that Mommy didn't screw up" picture.

So far Punky likes pink.  And purple.  And shoes.  And dresses.  And brightly colored socks.  And admiring herself in the mirror.  I think she's on her way to becoming a girly-girl and I could be in trouble.  My tomboy roots haven't prepared me for such a child. 

Chatty Cathy

I'm not sure exactly what happened in the past two weeks, but Punky is suddenly spewing off word after word with crisp clarity.  Words that had been missing endings for months are now complete.  Sounds she had trouble making now roll off her tongue with ease.  There is no word she won't attempt.  And we get it...for the most part.  A few puzzling ones still linger.

While reading a book Saturday night before bed, the word umbrella was still the same, old umba it had been since she first said it; Sunday morning, it became an umbella, still missing an 'r' but progress nonetheless.  I was so excited!  I made her say it at least fifty times that day.  

Mo has morphed into more.  A-ga is now clearly all gone.  Bye has turned into goodbye.  Hat and bat now have a definite 't' sound at the end, although cat remains cack for some unknown reason.  Pup and pups have become puppy and puppies.  The 'k' at the end of book finally exists.  The suffix -ing is now proudly tacked on to verbs like kick and jump. The list goes on and on...

And a bunch of new words have arrived on the scene.  Pudding, plane, cute, rainbow, water, and 'puter (computer) are a few that come to mind.  Opposites like over/under, in/out, open/closed, and high/low have made their debut as well.  And her favorite phrase of all is "I got it!" as she proudly runs toward us with whatever it is she got!

It truly is like someone flipped a switch.  Something clicked in her head.  A locked door popped open.  A previously dormant neuron path has burst into life.  It is amazing how much change can happen so quickly.  She's so different than she was just two short weeks ago. 

Her life has become a never-ending naration.  And apparently there is no "off" button.  

She tells us what she wants, what she's doing, and what she has...along with what she just did, what she will do next, and what color everything is that she touches.  Hardly a bite gets swallowed without an accompanying yummy, yucky or a simple good.  She dictates the process of washing her hands...Water! It's cold! Soap! Rinse! Towel, Mommy! Dry!  At least once a day she runs through an anatomy lesson as she points to each part, from her hair to her toes, and even the little details like eyebrows.  The subtle hint of simply handing me a book has gone by the wayside.  Now I get a "Read! Mommy! Read!"  

My little chatterbox.  I'm so proud of her. 

Round One

Well, the trivia contest started on Monday and, to be honest, this first round of questions was almost too easy.  Within 48 hours of the release, we already had an answer for all five questions.  I've second-guessed them a million times since though...I just have it in my head that they can't be that simple. 

We've played the game before, and very few answers are clearly black and white.  Sure, once in a while they throw you a bone with a true/false or multiple choice question, but even those need to be double and triple checked.  And it's so easy to get confused with all the misleading posts out there.  People are modifying websites left and right and posting incorrect answers in forums to throw people off track.  I thought the new format would curb some of that activity but I was completely wrong.  I think it's even worse this time, and we've only gotten the first set of questions.

Even though we've agreed on how we are answering these five, I haven't been able to bring myself to lock them in just yet.  It just seems too...final.  We have one extra week to submit this first set and I imagine most people will hold out as long as possible.  One down, nine weeks to go...