Today You Are Four

Dear Punky,

I can hardly believe that title.  Four.  It's amazing how quickly time passes.

As I sit here in complete silence, my mind can't help but drift back to your birth and the nineteen long hours of labor leading up to it.  I suppose it's normal to remember those excruciating moments every year on your birthday.  I guess it's what most moms do, no?

Even though I saved my very last vacation day of the year to have today off for your birthday, you went to school.  You wanted to go.  You wanted to bring cupcakes in for the class, and hear them sing to you, and pick a special surprise out of the birthday chest like the other kids all got to do on their birthdays.  That's okay though, I understand.  Plus, your Dad and I had big plans for the day anyway.

After we left you at school, we headed to the toy store to get you the perfect birthday present.  But things began to fall apart before we even arrived, thanks to the ultra-convenient cell phone world we live in now, and quickly spiraled downhill from there.

Your godfather was at the emergency room last night - he has bronchitis. Your Pappy is at the hospital right now - he's very sick, too.  Your godmother is sick.  Your cousins are sick. There's a big winter storm set to hit tonight. And the toy store didn't have the present we wanted in stock.

We had to cancel your birthday party for tomorrow.

I'm so sorry, Punky.  I have to break the news to you after school and I'm dreading it.  You will be so disappointed and heartbroken.  Believe me, I am, too.

But I promise, as soon as the weather breaks and everyone is feeling better, you will have the best birthday party we can manage.  And your Dad is en route right now to another toy store an hour and a half away to get you the present we planned on buying this morning.  By the time you get home from school, he'll be back.

While I have a rare window of quiet time alone, it's the perfect opportunity to write this birthday post.  Three was certainly a challenging age, for both of us, and I'm excited to see what four has in store for this year.

I know I tell you this all the time, but I really am so proud of who you are. You amaze me each and every day.  We are so very different, yet exactly alike in many ways.  I love watching you grow, and change, and laugh, and learn.  Through my eyes, this is who you are at four:

Adventurous, spontaneous, and downright daring at times.  You make my heart stop with your tendency to leap before looking, but there's never a dull moment around here.  You'll try anything once without hesitation, and twice if the first attempt is even remotely successful.  Even at this early age it's clear you'll never be a wallflower.  I admire your bravery, your spunk, and your persistence.

Intelligent, witty, and curious beyond belief.  You have yet to meet a fact you didn't memorize.  A far stretch from the typical kid your age, at your request we end each night with a series of questions before bed.  Addition, subtraction, spelling, and science are your favorite categories these days. You told me you want to know everything, and that you will when you're one hundred years old.  There's no doubt in my mind you'll get there.  I hope you always approach learning with the same hunger you have now.  You might just change the world some day.

Silly, funny, and a total giggle machine.  You love to laugh, and you love to make others laugh even more.  Our house is filled with the sweet sound of little girl giggles and the hiccups that follow shortly afterward.  I love how one tiny chuckle can totally change my mood and brighten my day instantly.  I love your silly, playful side.  I love that you can never brush your teeth without racing us to the bathroom.  I love that your socks never match your outfit when I let you choose the pair you want.  I love your silly faces, wacky dances, and funny stories.  Keep on laughing and inspiring others to laugh with you.  It sparks friendships, deepens bonds, and creates memories that last a lifetime.

Stubborn, independent, and impatient.  All typical for your age, but frustrating for your parents nonetheless.  Nothing makes you more angry than something you can't master in the first three seconds of trying.  Your independent streak runs deep, and your insistence on doing everything yourself makes us all crazy at times.  You want what you want when you want it, and have no patience when things don't go exactly how you envisioned it.  Unfortunately these traits likely stem from my half of your DNA profile, but hopefully you'll grow out of it.  At least some of it.  Maybe.

Your favorite things haven't changed much over the years.  You still love your blankie and sleep with it faithfully.  You still love macaroni and cheese, apples, pickles, and watermelon, but have recently discovered your love of chocolate (yes, my DNA as well).  Hershey kisses top your list of sweet treats these days, followed closely by candy canes and sweet tarts.  You have finally taken an interest in baby dolls and play with them more than your musical instruments lately.  I'm not sure what to make of this new trend, but the house is a hell of a lot quieter, that's for sure.

And, of course, at four you are still my favorite little girl on the planet.  Being your mom is the toughest job I've ever had, yet the most satisfying bar none.  There's no doubt we'll hit some potholes as we continue our journey down this road together, but I look forward to the bumps just as much as the moments of smooth sailing.  We will continue to learn and grow together. Just take it easy on us - your parents aren't exactly spring chickens, you know.

I love you, Julia Allyn.  

Happy fourth birthday!

Three and Three Quarters

Punky started her pre-K class the beginning of this month.  So far, she is doing really well.  She is so proud to be one of the big kids, and I love hearing her daily report on all the fun things they do in class.  She has her own tool box stocked with crayons, pencils, glue, scissors, and other miscellaneous craft supplies.  She has learned to write her name on all her papers.  She absolutely beams when she gets to be the line leader or the one who passes out papers to the class.  

There's no doubt in my mind that we made the right choice by letting her move to this class a year ahead of schedule.  She's definitely holding her own with the older kids, in fact the teacher told me Punky is currently helping her teach the others the letter sounds.  Even though there are only eleven kids in the class, they added another teacher in the room which really allows for individual attention.  It's especially great news for Punky because a teacher has time to take a lesson a step further for her since she already knows much of the core material.  And, as always, she's soaking it all up like a sponge.

Punky is now at the age where she's asking to do things, and the hardest decision for us will be deciding what, where, and how we can even pull it off. She wants to take karate.  She wants to take dance lessons.  She wants to be a gymnast.  She wants to learn how to really play too many instruments to type.  She wants to go to friends' houses and have them visit ours.  All of those things take time and/or money, neither of which we have very much of these days.

Enrolling her in any activities will be especially challenging given where we live. We are at least twenty minutes away from anything, and most of those activities would require a good half-hour drive.  On weeknights, I'm lucky to be home by five-thirty.  Getting her to a dance class that starts at six will be nearly impossible.  Not to mention that we're heading into winter and bad roads will only further complicate things.  I told her to wait until after her birthday in December, and then she can pick one activity to try.  I think karate will be her first choice.  We'll see come January.

There is another new phenomenon in her world: TV commercials.  Ninety-nine percent of her television experience thus far has been commercial-free kids channels, but now she's getting into shows on other networks that don't have the same policy.  Plus, her favorite channel of all has recently abandoned its pledge and now suddenly allows advertisements.  What this means to Punky is an eyeful of toys and games she never knew existed, and a Christmas list a mile long with months yet to go.  I guess it was bound to happen sooner of later, and I guess it's good for us to have an idea of what she's thinking so we aren't speechless like last year when it's time to write her letter to Santa.  

We managed to sneak in one final trip to Knoebel's two weeks ago.  I found an envelope full of ride tickets, and my sister brought a cooler full of food, so it didn't cost us much beyond the gas to get there.  Punky was so surprised, especially since I told her the park was closed for the season.  It wasn't a lie, honest.  I really thought it closed after Labor Day.  She was thrilled to have one more day at an amusement park before winter arrives.  She's a ride junkie, no doubt about it.  I really hope she's tall enough to do some of the bigger rides next year.  She's dying to tackle a real roller coaster.  That's my girl.

Sometimes I look at her and simply can't believe how fast the time has gone. She seems so grown up, so independent, so damn smart.  Like she hardly even needs me anymore.  She can feed herself, dress herself, wipe herself, and entertain herself.  When she wants a drink, she gets it.  When she's tired of TV, she turns it off.  When she's bored she bounces from one activity to another, destroying the house and leaving a trail of toys in her wake.  But eventually something happens and she wants or needs my help, and all seems right with the world again.  

Three Point Five

Punky is officially three and a half today.

The sentimental Mommy side of me is screaming, "No! Slow down! Stop growing up so fast!" and reflecting on the little baby I brought home from the hospital and all the amazing milestones she reached in last few years.

The realistic Mommy side of me is cheering, "Come on, four!" and dreaming of her next birthday in December.

If I'm being honest, three sort of sucks.  She's defiant, temperamental, stubborn, and demanding.  In other words, she's a completely normal three year old.  And her dad and I have come to the realization that we aren't very good at dealing with her normal three year old behaviors, not because we stink as parents, but because in every other way she is not typical and we tend to treat her like she's much older than she is.

For example, one night a few weeks ago, Punky and I spent about an hour playing with her chalkboard in the living room.  She drew a face with one eye about twice the size of the other, and I joked with her that it was a silly face and hardly symmetrical.  Of course, she latched on to the word 'symmetrical' and I spent the next half hour tying to explain the concept of symmetry to my three year old.  I drew a line down the center of the chalkboard and drew shapes mirroring each other on both sides to demonstrate.  I repeated the process several times, some symmetrical and some not, and she caught on and was able to tell me with accuracy which drawings were symmetrical and which were not.

Next she wanted to do math on the chalkboard, so I spent the next fifteen minutes writing simple addition and subtraction problems for her, drawing lines under the corresponding numbers for her to count on the harder ones.  She ended our chalkboard playtime by drawing the solar system, naming each planet in order as she drew them around the sun.

Then we shared an ice cream sandwich and she proceeded to wipe her chocolate-coated fingers on the back of her white t-shirt and I literally wanted to slam my head off the wall.  She started this habit a few weeks ago, ruining shirts left and right, and no matter how many times we tell her not to do it the message simply isn't landing in her brain.  And this is the type of thing her dad and I struggle to comprehend.

Behaviorally, she's three.  Intellectually, she's much older.  The disconnect between the two makes it so difficult sometimes.  How can she seem to understand a concept like symmetry, but not understand to use a napkin?  It's simply mind-blowing. 

Aside from these typical behavior issues, Punky is a sweet, loving little girl, and this age is so much fun.  Her imagination is running full speed ahead and she can turn any mundane task into an incredible adventure in her mind.  We often brush our teeth while sitting on the bathroom counter so the tiger passing by won't see us.  We have to sneak past the bear hibernating under her trampoline.  Some annoying imaginary dog is always barking so loud that she just has to turn the TV up to hear Dora the Explorer.  And we can't do anything without me ending up the rotten egg.  What can I say?  She cheats.

As far as school goes, she finished the year in the older group she joined in March and the plan is still for her to move with them into pre-K in September.  The daycare director loves stealing her now and then for some one on one time.  She keeps telling me she wants to write a book about Punky, and she can't wait to have her in her pre-K class full time.  I'm excited, too.  I hope she's able to challenge her and help fill in the blanks.  We have a big decision to make next May, private school kindergarten or another year in daycare pre-K, and I know we'll rely heavily on her teacher's opinion.  I suppose my winter project will be to research the options available in the area in case we go the private school route, though I don't know how on earth we'd ever afford it.

Not much has changed in the way of Punky's favorite things.  She still loves books, snuggling her blankie, and soaking the carpet during bath time.  Macaroni and cheese, celery sticks, raw green peppers, and watermelon are her foods of choice these days.  For some reason, and I have no idea why, she's taken to calling me mama again instead of mommy, and it totally cracks me up when her vast array of stuffed animals address me by my first name.  She loves playing outside and has mastered her tricycle, scooter, and the battery-operated car we bought last October.  Impressed with her driving skills and obvious need for speed, her dad took the pin out to give her a faster gear for zipping around the yard.  She still loves music and prefers to watch shows with singing and dancing and mounds of annoying kid songs that get stuck in my head and cause me to get caught singing "Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes..." at my desk at work. 

With summer in full swing, Punky and I have been enjoying some quality girl time.  We spent a day at a nearby park and enjoyed a real picnic lunch, complete with a comfy blanket to sit on, our favorite foods packed from home, and a minor ant invasion when we jumped on the swings for a few minutes before finishing our dessert.  We spent another day at an amusement park, just the two of us, and it was so much fun.  She rode her first kiddie roller coaster and she was so proud.  And I was so proud of her too, even though the bumpy, jerky, extremely uncomfortable ride cost me my sunglasses which flew right off my face and into the creek below.  Now that I finally found out, after almost five years in this area, that there is a community pool just three miles down the road, I'm sure we'll be spending a lot of time there this summer.

Three and a Quarter

Let's all just ignore my utter failure at blogging this month while I hang my head in shame and try desperately to catch up in these last days of March...

Ahem.

So, as you've probably already noticed, the usual monthly updates went by the wayside once Punky turned three at the end of December, partly because they are no longer needed and partly because it's difficult to find time to write the last few months.  But, since I truly started this blog for her benefit years down the road, an update type of post every so often can't hurt.

When we were staring down the barrel of the terrible twos a year ago, experienced moms everywhere told me the twos are a breeze compared to the threes.  Wise women indeed.  So far the threes are no barrel of monkeys, and I can honestly say a part of me is hoping four comes quickly. 

I think the biggest issue in her life at this point is navigating her emotions.  Minor events that are no big deal in the grand scheme of things sometimes cause an entirely over-dramatic outpouring of feelings, and major ones that beg for a reaction get hardly any at all.  If I turn a light off out of habit, she freaks out because she wanted to do it.  She cries, she whines, she demands I turn it back on again so she can turn it off.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, when she slipped getting off a stool in the kitchen and cracked her chin hard enough to cause a nickel sized black and blue mark under her jaw, she cried for twenty seconds and got on with her day.  It's a total crap shoot; we never know how she will react to anything these days.

Her need for independence is often trumped by the fact that she's three.  She wants to do everything herself, but she lacks the skills, co-ordination, and experience to do so.  She gets so frustrated when she can't do something and, unfortunately for her, she seems to have inherited my lack of patience.  It's the perfect combination of traits to spark mega-meltdowns. 

Her eating habits have shifted with the onset of the threes.  She was never a picky eater; from baby food on up, she always ate whatever we served with very little resistance.  Now she has a list of about ten things she'll eat willingly, and any variation from the norm causes a fight at the dinner table.  At least some of the things that make the cut are healthy, like carrots, apples, and celery.  But, given the choice, she would happily eat mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese for dinner every night, with an occasional chicken finger here or there.

To our surprise, she managed to make it through the rest of winter without another ear infection.  She had some colds and coughs along the way, but nothing doctor-worthy until two weeks ago.  As soon as she got out of bed that Friday morning, the puke-fest began.  By sheer coincidence, I'm usually the one home at the time when the vomit volcano erupts.  But not this time.  I was already at work, so her dad was on bucket juggling duty for the day.

Even though her list of acceptable foods has shrunk, her appetite certainly has not, and the poor kid was complaining of hunger all day.  Every time her dad gave her something solid, she brought it back up within minutes.  Apparently he's a slow learner because when I walked in the door that evening she was devouring a plate of macaroni and cheese.  He headed for the bedroom to get a quick nap before going in for third shift that night, and he closed the door just as the living room carpet was showered in projectile macaroni and cheese.  Needless to say, he got clean-up.  After all,  I wasn't the one who thought it would be a good idea to feed a puking child a heaping mound of pasta and cheese sauce.  But I did, of course, get her all cleaned up while he was scrubbing the carpet.  Thankfully, that was the last eruption.

The next day Punky had no appetite whatsoever.  I mean zip.  She didn't have a solid bite to eat all day, but what worried me was that she didn't want to drink anything.  Not even a popsicle tempted her.  I know that stomach bugs can linger a few days so I wasn't super-concerned, but I didn't want to see her get dehydrated either.  The germs altered their plan of attack that evening and opted for explosive diarrhea instead.  At that point she hadn't eaten in 24 hours, and everything prior had already exited through the front door, so I was completely baffled by the volume.  I was convinced the worst was over and she would return to her normal, hungry self the next morning.

For the next three days, we begged her to eat.  I offered cookies, candy, and whatever else I could think of just to get something in her belly.  She adamantly refused and would only take one little nibble here and there when I forced her.  She was a little more cooperative with drinking, but not by much.  She was a totally different child.  She kept complaining she was tired and actually napped on several occasions.  She hadn't jumped on her trampoline in days.  She didn't want to play games, or read books, or ride her scooter.  She was content on the couch in front of the TV, and every evening like clockwork she made a mad dash to the bathroom for another round of diarrhea.  

By Wednesday, a trip to the doctor was inevitable so I called off work.  It was understandable that she had no energy because she hadn't eaten a solid meal since the previous Thursday.  Through it all she remained in good spirits and swore nothing hurt each of the thousand times I asked.  I began to wonder if she swallowed something she shouldn't have, but she insisted she didn't.  Nonetheless, it was time to see the doc.

After a full check-up, the doctor thought a stool sample would be the best course of action.  She said it could very well be a rotavirus because some are known to linger up to ten days, but Punky's shift in behavior warranted some further investigation to rule out parasites or bacterial infection.  I left with a goodie bag full of vials, labels, latex gloves, wooden sticks, and a plastic bowl contraption that fits on the toilet for easy specimen collection.  The worst part was that it needed to be at the lab within two hours, so I was instructed to take it to the hospital emergency room if it occurred after hours.  I immediately envisioned a forty minute drive at three in the morning to drop off the gross, little tubes for processing.

That evening she actually ate some dinner, not much but at least it was an improvement.  I waited for the regularly scheduled bout of diarrhea that night, but it didn't happen.  Thursday morning she ate two pieces of toast for breakfast and we decided to send her to school.  Neither of us could miss more work time just waiting for a poop.  We made the right choice because she didn't go that day either.  She ate some at school, and had a bit of dinner again.  Things were looking up.

Finally, at the very end of the school day on Friday, she went.  Needless to say, we missed the opportunity for specimen collection.  That night she was an entirely different kid.  She ate dinner, twice.  She asked for cookies, crackers, gummy snacks, and candy.  In a matter of three hours, she ate more than most people do in a day.  She hadn't really eaten in a week and she was making up for it big time.  Come Saturday, her appetite continued to race and she ended up using the bathroom at the grocery store, so we blew another opportunity to provide a sample.

The doctor called Sunday morning to see why she hadn't received the lab report yet.  When I filled her in on Punky's insatiable appetite, her triumphant return to her bouncy, energetic ways and normal bathroom activities, she told us to skip it.  I can't say I was disappointed to hear that.  It must've just been one hell of a stomach virus, and luckily she didn't share it with Mommy.  Daddy, on the other hand, suffered a small bout of the shits for two days, probably because he had to clean the four-foot stretch of vomited mac-n-cheese off the living room carpet.

In other less disgusting news, Punky transitioned to her new class at school this month and so far all is well.  She is so proud to be with kids older than her again.  They should've never kept her back to begin with last September and it still makes me angry.  I'm so excited to see what happens this fall when she starts pre-K at only three and a half.  

Another big change I've noticed with the dawning of the threes is her thirst for new books.  Instead of reading the same old books over and over again like she wanted before, now she asks for new books constantly and simple stories spark great conversations between us.  I have no problem saying no to new toys or candy at the store, but I can't say no to a new book.  The tiny, public library around here is only open a few hours a day, during the week of course, so it's not an option.  I think children's books are ridiculously expensive but it's not killing me to buy a few each month, and I know I can always donate them down the road to kids who aren't as fortunate.  

Punky's vocabulary continues to grow with leaps and bounds.  She regularly uses words like stupendous, proceed, hypothesis, and evaporation.  I swear, she talks like she's thirty.  And when she hears a word she doesn't know, she immediately asks what it means.  She still plays the Spanish flashcard game on the iPod, and throws random Spanish words into sentences from time to time.  When she's bored, she'll grab her chalkboard and ask me to do math with her.  A few weeks ago, I taught her how to play Crazy Eights and Go Fish so they are currently her games of choice.  

We made another trip home last weekend.  I had a dentist appointment on Friday morning, and we both got long-overdue haircuts that evening.  On Saturday, my mom had the bright idea to take all three grandchildren to get their pictures taken together.  Getting a six year old, three year old, and one year old to all sit still, look at the camera, and smile at the very same moment was impossible.  Obviously, the photos were far from spectacular, and we were left to choose the least goofy of the bunch.  And my mom vowed to bring vodka with her the next time she gets the brainy idea for a photo shoot.  For her, of course, not the kids. 

Thirty-Five Months

As we enter the last month of the terrible twos, I'm sad to see it end.  Yes, she can be a real handful these days, but truth be told, I wouldn't change a thing.  She's acting up, acting out, acting downright annoying at times, but she's acting exactly as she should at this age.  The only way to learn the limits is to test the boundaries, and she's an excellent tester.  She's sneaky.  She's intelligent.  She thinks outside the box.  She's a challenge.  She's perfect.

I mentioned before that I wondered if something triggered her sudden change in behavior.  I think I got my answer.  A few weeks ago, the daycare sent their seasonal newsletter home.  We discovered that the rest of Punky's group moved on to the next class, so to speak, but Punky stayed with her old teacher and three younger kids moved up into her group.  This transition occured mid-September, and the behavior change hit hard by the start of October. 

When Punky started daycare in January, they wanted to keep her with the babies.  She had just turned two the week before, and it was their policy for kids age two and under to be in one room.  Of course we fought it, and once they realized we were telling the truth about her ability to count, and recognize all 26 letters and numbers one through ten, and her knowledge of all the colors and shapes, they quickly agreed that she would not do well in a room full of newborns and baby toys.  In the next group, the closest child to her age was almost eight months older.  At her evaluation two months in, her teacher told us that her biggest challenge was teaching the other kids because Punky would answer before any one else had a chance.

So now, all of her friends have been moved to a new group and she's left behind to repeat the exact same curriculum she had last year.  She has to be bored out of her mind.  As much as it angers me, I have not said anything to the daycare director because I don't think it would change anything.  I'm sure they would argue that she's right where she should be based on her age.  Plus, the other group now has around twelve kids the way it is while Punky's only has four, including her.  And it's not like she has no contact with her friends from her old group.  They only spend around two hours a day in their groups; all of the children are together for the rest of the activities and free play time.  But, I still think this change at daycare was a catalyst for her sudden behavior shift. 

I know she's the exception, not the rule, but I still wish they could spend more time really working with her on her level.  This month, the lights started to flicker.  Sounding out words for reading is beginning to click.  She's very interested in written words right now, and can read/recognize around twenty.  She always wants to know what stuff says, like the signs on the highway, the banners at the store, or any random piece of paper that mysteriously ends up in her hands even though she was told sixteen times not to touch the pile of mail on the edge of the counter or the novel on my headboard that's been collecting dust since before she was born.  At this rate, I probably won't read it until retirement but I want the pages to remain unwrinkled until I do.

Thirty-Four Months

This month can be adequately summed up with one small word:

No!

No! I won't eat my dinner! 

No! I don't like that! 

No! I won't hug you! 

No! I don't want to do that! 

No! I won't take a bath! 

No! I don't want to wear that shirt!

No! No! No!

And the one that cuts like a knife...

No! I don't love you, Mommy!

Ouch.

We made it almost to the end of the infamous terrible two's with very little terrible, but apparently she's been saving it up for one magnificent grand finale.

Seriously, I have no clue what happened to my sweet, loving, agreeable, little girl.  It's like someone flipped a switch this month.  She disagrees simply to disagree.  No task is easy these days.  Mundane routines that went off without a hitch for months are now individual battles of wits.  She fights with us over every little thing for the sake exerting her independence.  I know she's trying to understand and confirm her identity in the world, but these power struggles are getting old quickly.  

I've always tried to let her make decisions when possible.  Instead of asking her open-ended questions, I offer her choices of a few acceptable acceptable answers.  When she picks one, it's a win/win.  She feels like she is in control of her world and she ends up eating something healthy for a snack.  This tactic has worked so well that I smugly thought I had it all figured out, but she turned the tables this month.

"Sweetie, do you want an apple or banana for a snack?"

"I want cookies!"

Shit.  She cracked the code.  Thankfully, reverse psychology is still working to a degree.  She is so determined to drive us mad, she'll choose anything that we don't offer.  

"Do you want to wear your pink jacket or the purple one?"  Both are light and it's really getting too cold for her to wear them now.

"No! I want to wear my princess coat, Mommy! That's the one I want!"  Her heavy winter coat, the one I wanted her to wear in the first place.  Success in this case, but it's not a fool-proof method.  It's backfired several times.

I really hope she gets through this stage quickly.  We both hate to resort to yelling but at times she gives us no other choice.  She tantrums, and cries, and screams over the silliest things, and the only way to get her attention is to yell louder than she is.  It takes forever to calm her down and get back to the task at hand.  She completely tunes us out and refuses to listen to anything.  It's exhausting. 

I know it's probably normal and something she just needs to work through, but I still can't help but wonder if something triggered this immediate turn in her behavior.  By no means is it constant but we can count on a few outbursts each day.  Her dad asked the teachers at daycare about her behavior and she's had a few incidents there, too.  

Other than her sudden over-appreciation of the word 'no', everything else is going well.  Potty training is a thing of the past and diapers seem like a distant memory at this point.  We are about seven weeks into this new world and there has been no signs of regression whatsoever.  She's had no accidents, night or day, so I think it's a done deal.  I gave all my leftover diapers to my sister for my niece, the changing table is gone from her room (well, actually I'm using it in her closet for storage), and I've thrown away the diaper bag.  There's no going back now.

Punky has been been really into coloring again lately, and I've had to buy her some new books and tablets.  I swear she colored for six hours off an on one day recently.  She tries to draw letters and shapes.  Sometimes she's close, sometimes she scribbles, sometimes she uses her imagination and sees things no one else would even consider in her works of art.

Our bedtime reading has been taken over by longer and longer books these days and by a greater variety than she's allowed in the past.  She's taking a greater interest in words and can recognize a handful on sight now.  I still say she'll be reading before age four.  

Here's to hoping next month brings an end to her sudden defiant streak.  My hair is graying far more quickly than I'd like.  If this behavior continues, I'll need a full dye job by Christmas.

Thirty-Three Months

It's obvious that this month's crowning achievement has been Punky's complete turn around in potty training.  The rest of the month played out with only one more accident.  She was at school at the time and in a pull-up anyway.  Other than that, she's doing fantastic.  I always said it would be all or nothing with her and that's exactly what happened.  She's even sleeping in big girl undies now, provided she pees right before bed.

Aside from potty training, our trip to the children's hospital, and the head bangs two weeks ago, there isn't all that much to report.  So, I thought I'd use this month's space to document some of the wonderful things we've heard roll off her tongue recently.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.

A sweet moment at the dinner table as she shoveled it in like she hadn't eaten in weeks:

P: "Daddy? What's this stuff called again?"

D: "Goulash, honey."

P: "It is so yummy! Thank-you so much for making this good dinner today, Daddy!"

Her tone was so sincere that my eyes instantly filled with tears.  What a little angel.

While goofing around on the bed one night, my shirt came up a bit so she took the opportunity to stick her finger in my belly button:

P: "Mommy! I'm tickling your belly button! Tickle, tickle, tickle!" as she wiggled her little finger.

M: "Ewww! Don't do that! It doesn't tickle, it just feels yucky!"

P: "Yeah, it feels squishy to me!"

M: "Squishy? What do you mean squishy?"

P: "Like a cow, Mommy!"

Did she just call me fat?  

On the way to her friend's birthday party a few weeks ago:

M: "Now that Victoria had her birthday, you are both two!"

P: "I'm two and a half, Mommy. And on my next birthday, I'll be three!"

M: "I know, sweetie, but for right now you are still technically the same number. Your birthday is months down the road."

P: "Mommy? What number will you be on your next birthday?"

M: "Me? I'll be thirty-nine."

P: "Whoa! That's a big number!"

Did she just call me old?

As I removed her potty seat from the toilet so I could pee:

P: "You can use my seat, Mommy, if you want to."

M: "Oh, thanks honey, but your seat is only for tiny tushies like yours."

P: "Yeah, when you take it off, the other seat is for big butts."

Did she just call me fat again?

While eating lunch one afternoon, just the two of us:

P: "Mommy, can Aidan come over to my house today?"

Aidan is a four-year-old boy at school.  I think she's a bit smitten with him since she's asked several times if he can come over and play. 

M: "I told you before, sweetie, I don't even know who Aidan is. If I ever see his mommy or daddy at daycare, maybe we can talk about a play date some time."

P: "Okay, Mommy."

Thirty seconds of silence.

P: "Mommy?"

M: "What, honey?"

P: "Can Aidan use your car?"

Somehow I don't think Aidan will be visiting any time soon.

A moment of confusion while looking for her stuff after Mommy rearranged her bedroom:

P: "Mommy? Where's that thing with the things inside?"

M: "What things, sweetie?"

P: "Those things that were inside the white things."

M: "What white things?"

P: "The white things with the handles."

M: "What handles?"

P: "The round handles."

M: "Are you looking for a thing with a white, round handle, or the things inside the thing with a white, round handle?"

P: "The things."

M: "Which things?"

P: "My things!"

She was growing impatient with Mommy.

M: "I'm sorry but I have no clue what you are looking for, sweetie. Can you show me?" 

P: "I can't, Mommy! I don't know where they are!"

M: "Oh yeah. Right. I forgot."

She glared at me like I was as dumb as a stump.  In my defense, I was preoccupied with putting everything away in her newly rearranged room and wasn't listening as intently as I should have, I suppose.  With her hands on her hips, she stormed over by the window and went off on a tangent with vivid arm motions.

P: "It was right here, Mommy! The white, square thing that was right here! It has two drawers in it! What happened to it? I want my things inside it!"

She was looking for her nightstand that I moved across the room into a corner.  If she would've just asked for her puzzles, we could've avoided that entire conversation.

Thirty-Two Months

This month has been a whirlwind of emotions, that's for sure.  I have to start with a quick update.  We finally got our appointment with the children's hospital in Rochester.  Tuesday, September 13th.  It can't come fast enough.

If things continue as they have been, I'm expecting to see another fever this coming Wednesday.  The poor kid, I have to be driving her nuts.  I feel her head every time she's within arm's reach.  I'm constantly asking her if everything is okay.  I inspect every inch of her at least once a day in search of any bizarre rashes or bumps that could indicate one of the zillion medical conditions I've read about at two in the morning when I'm up walking the floors and worrying myself sick.

My paranoia has seeped into her play time.  We've treated almost every stuffed animal she has for a fever in the last few weeks.  "Oh no! Mommy! My cow is running a fever! He's hot! He needs medicine to help him feel better! Hurry, Mommy! Get the medicine! No, not the bubble gum one! Cow likes grape, Mommy! The purple medicine! Quick!"

Then I have to run into the kitchen, shake the purple medicine, and pretend to pour the exact amount necessary to cure a fever in a stuffed cow.  Punky grabs the cup and runs to her toy while making siren sounds.  The cow feels better in an instant.  If only it would bring her fevers down so quickly.

Potty progress is still very slow, but at least we're finally seeing a bit.  Some days she seems a bit interested, some days she could care less.  But the interest is definitely growing and she's accumulated about fifteen stickers on her potty paper.  Her dad taped a page to the back of the bathroom door and, every time she pees, she gets a sticker to put on it.  It wasn't much of a pull at first; she's always had access to stickers.  So, I told her that once her potty paper is full, and all of the white is completely covered in stickers, we will go to the toy store and get her any toy she wants.  You know what they say, if you can't beat 'em... bribe 'em. 

There's only one problem with that: my child is no dummy.  We were just at the toy store a few weeks ago when we bought her new bike.  She was totally smitten with the little battery-powered cars and trucks; she sat in every one they had on display.  And she's been asking for one since.  The fact that a few kids in the neighborhood have them is only fueling the fire.  The thought never even crossed my mind when I made my proposition about the coverage of the potty paper, but it took all of two seconds for her eyes to light up and a smile to appear on her face.  "I want a car, Mommy!" 

Those little cars are ridiculously expensive but it was too late.  I couldn't take it back just because my two and a half year old out-smarted me.  Plus, I'm desperate to put an end to the diaper changes.  When I told her dad how she took me for a ride, he pointed out that a few months without diapers will more than pay for the car.  I hadn't thought of it that way.  Of course, if this potty train keeps moving at a snail's pace, she'll be too big to fit in one of those cars by the time her paper is covered in stickers.

Punky continues to be extremely curious about everything.  We've had in-depth discussions about how bones break, why mold grows, and the rotation of the earth around the sun.  She is already asking us questions we can't answer and I've had to google things on more than one occasion.  The most amazing part is that she remembers every single bit of info she gets, word for word, and then explains it to anyone who will listen.

When she first started repeating bad words a few months ago, we had a talk about which words are okay to say and which will get her in trouble.  When she slipped a J.C. a while back, I told her to say gees Louise instead because the other isn't a nice thing to say.  When damn became her bad word of choice, we gave her options like dang, darn, and even dagnabbit.  We quickly scrapped that last one when we realized she couldn't pronounce it right.  It sounded like "damn rabbit" which defeated the purpose altogether.  

Of course we know it's not funny when words like that roll off her tiny little tongue, and we fully realize it's entirely our fault, but it is so damn (there I said it) hard not to laugh sometimes.  I'm proud of myself though.  I think I've done an excellent job at selecting my words since it became an obvious problem.  Her dad, on the other hand, still has some work to do. 

Earlier today, I was busy doing something when Punky asked for a juice box.  "In a minute, sweetie.  Mommy just needs one minute."  I turned around to continue the task at hand and heard a stern, little voice behind me.  "Come on, lady! I've got shit to do today!"

That was an unmistakable excerpt from her dad's daily road rage driving commentary.  I had a few colorful words for him when he got up for work.  And yes, Punky was out of earshot when I let him have it.

Thirty-One Months

This month brought a fantastic milestone moment for Punky: she learned to pedal her tricycle!  And she is so proud!  Now we just need to tweak her steering.  She has left down pat; right and straight are proving difficult.  I suppose she'll figure it out eventually when she tires of going in circles. 

And she had another milestone moment that was far less than fantastic and truly caught me off guard.  Many people told me the day would come, but I really thought it would never happen.  Not with my kid.  Not with my sweet, loving, clingy little girl.  But it happened yesterday.  When I went to pick her up at daycare, she was playing with blocks with one of her teachers.  She took one look at me and yelled, "No! I don't want to go home, Mommy! I want to stay at school and play!"  Then she burst into tears and ran in the opposite direction from her stunned, heartbroken, devastated mother. 

I had no clue what to do.  Normally daycare pick-up goes off like a scene from a movie:  I walk in, she sees me and chirps an excited "Hi, Mommy!" as she runs to me at top speed.  She jumps into arms, I give her the biggest hug and kiss.  I tell her I missed her so much, and she tells me she missed me, too.  Then she asks, "Can we go home now, Mommy?"  A picture-perfect moment indeed. 

Yesterday I just stood there with my mouth open and watched the tantrum unfold before me.  The message was clear: she wanted to stay at school.  Of course, my brain immediately twisted that message into something like this:  She doesn't want to go home.  She hates her home.  She wants to stay with someone else.  She hates her mommy.  She's happier at school.  Her mommy sucks. 

I ended up having to carry her out while she continued to cry and whine.  The crying stopped by the time I buckled her car seat.  The whining was over by the next stop sign.  By the time we pulled in the driveway three minutes later, order was restored in the universe.  I got a big hug when we got out of the car, followed by a kiss and a sweet, "I missed you today, Mommy!"  Crisis averted, but those ten minutes were pure torture. 

In other news, the potty train is still stuck at the station.  The new "music plays when you pee" potty went over about as well as a new stove would in the eyes of a two-year-old.  For the most part, she could care less.  In the past month she peed in it twice, once for me and once for her dad.  She did, however, announce to everyone in the produce department at Walmart that she needed to pee in the potty and insisted I take her to the bathroom. 

I decided to humor her, and appease the crowd, by going through the motions.  Off to the bathroom we went.  She picked a stall.  I pulled her shorts down and removed her diaper.  I lifted her tiny hiney onto the toilet.  With no potty seat available, she had to hold on to the sides to avoid falling in the hole.  While I watched her swinging legs and thought about the gallon of sanitizer I would need to use on her hands afterward, a funny thing happened.  She peed.  And not just a tiny tinkle, a long bladder-emptying pee.  Of course I was absolutely thrilled and nearly peed myself dancing around the bathroom and praising her up and down. 

For the rest of our shopping trip, no one was safe from Punky's big news.  She told everyone who even slightly glanced her way that she peed in the potty at Walmart.  And that she used toilet paper.  And that she flushed it all by herself.  And that she washed her hands with the blue soap in the bathroom.  And that Mommy is so proud of her.  She's nothing if not thorough.  

I even went as far as to buy her training pants.  I put a pair on her and explained that they would feel cold if she peed.  I encouraged her to keep them dry and tell me if she needed to use the potty.  Six hours, two juice boxes, half a bottle of water, and a cup of milk later, the training pants were still dry.  But she hadn't asked to use the potty either.  And it was bedtime.  Apparently she chose to simply hold it rather than face a cold tush or a few minutes on the potty.  I made her try the potty before starting the bedtime routine but all she did was sit there and stare at me.  Two minutes after changing her into pajamas and a diaper, she peed.  

Ugh. 

Two and a Half

I'm not sure how the hell that happened so quickly.  But here we are, smack-dab in the middle of the terrible twos, and truth be told...they haven't been so terrible.  Yet.  We are back from vacation (more to come on that later) and although Punky had some moments on our trip, she was really well-behaved most of the time.  And she had the time of her life.

There's no denying it now: she's a little girl.  All of her baby features have disappeared, physically and otherwise.  Now that I've come to that realization, I can't help but feel a bit sad.  I get teary when I look at old pictures of the tiny baby I held for hours at a clip.  I truly love this stage, and I'm so proud of her for all she's become, but I also miss the snuggly baby days.  Not enough to have another one, mind you, but enough to make me pout when I see little babies.

In some ways it's hard to believe Punky's only two and a half.  She's so smart, and independent, and tough.  And she talks like a teenager.  From her choice of words and complex phrases to her animation and dramatic tone, she sounds like a child much older.  She also stumbled into the world of bad words this month.  I knew it was only a matter of time until she repeated something we tend to let slip around here.  Just a few minor offenses, no eff bombs or anything, but still things she shouldn't be saying.  We're trying to nip it in the bud before it gets worse...which means her dad and I really need to work harder on our own word choices.

For Punky's future knowledge, here's the facts at two and a half:

Favorite meal - chicken fingers and mashed potatoes.  Throw in some apple juice and string cheese and she's in heaven.  Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal still tops her list for breakfast, and it's usually the first thing out of her mouth when she wakes up in the morning.  She has probably eaten it five out of seven mornings for the last year now and she never tires of it.

Favorite snack - orange cheesies.  I got away with buying her the nutritious, whole grain, slightly tasty, toddler cheese puff snacks for a long time.  Then her dad introduced her real junk food.  Now she specifically asks for the big, orange ones and flat out refuses to eat the smaller, yellow, healthier ones.  Way to go, Daddy.

Favorite things - her blankie is still number one, and her glow-in-the-dark drumsticks are a close second with books and baths remaining near the top of the list.  She plays a lot with her Disney character toys, her kitchen set, and all her musical instruments.  She still likes to color, and paint, and make a mess with play-doh.  Now that we've finally had some warm weather, we filled her baby pool a few times.  What a difference from last year; she's really too big for it now.  Unfortunately we're not allowed to have anything bigger where we live so it needs to serve the purpose yet this year.  Next year it will become a sand box, I suppose.

Favorite phase - "Absolutely super dee-dooper!"  It's her response to almost everything these days.  Her day at school, her macaroni and cheese dinner, the flavor of her new toothpaste, the color of Minnie Mouse's dress, my suggestion to go for a walk...apparently they are all absolutely super dee-dooper!  I have no idea where she learned it.

New skills  - catching almost any size ball thrown to her, counting by twos, and removing the child safety locks from the kitchen cabinets.  She seems to suddenly have a better understanding of numbers and how they relate to one another.  If I ask her a basic math question, like two coins plus one coin for example, she answers correctly.  I think that's pretty impressive for two-and-a-half.  I've been trying to get her to sound out basic words since she knows the letters and the sounds they make, but it isn't quite clicking yet.  She can, however, tell me what letter a word starts with by the sound of the letter so I don't think it will be long until it all falls into place.  I still think she will do some basic reading at age three.

Her sweetest moments - "Did you have a good time at work today, Mommy?"  She asks me this almost every day when I get home.  It's too cute.  She went through a bit of a no hugs and kisses phase but now she's over it.  Hugs are plentiful these days, and when she throws in a squeeze and an "I love you so much!" my heart simply melts.  And when something delights her fancy, she lets out an excited "Holy moley guacamole!"

Two and a half

Potty training - no way, no how.  And I still don't get it.  She's caught on so fast to everything else.  I have no idea why this is proving to be so difficult.  We didn't push it in the months before vacation.  She obviously wasn't ready and we figured it would be easier if she weren't trained given the nineteen hour drive and waiting in line at the parks.  Now that we're back, it's time to get serious.  She's only had a potty seat thus far; now I'm buying her an actual stand-alone potty.  The next few months ought to be interesting.  I wish I knew where to start.  

Her well-child visit isn't for a few more weeks yet so I don't know exactly how much she's grown but it seems like she had a spurt recently.  Her legs look so long now and she's definitely gotten heavier.  Or maybe it just seemed that way when I had to carry a sleeping child through Disney World in one hundred degree heat.

Twenty-Nine Months

Punky can be a handful these days.  She really learned how to push the limits and challenge us every chance she gets.  And the worst part is that she seems to push me more than her dad.  Me.  The one she clings to, the one she wants to do everything with, the one she begs to sleep with, the one with the two-year-old stuck to her butt cheek at all times.  Me.  I just don't get it.

I can tell her a thousand times to stop doing something she's not supposed to be doing...and she ignores me no matter my tone of voice.  Her dad shouts, "Knock it off!" from another room and she stops immediately.  Go figure.  By no means do I want her to be afraid of me, but I want her to listen when I talk.  It's almost like she tunes me out just to see what I'll do about it...how I'll handle it...what it will take to make Mommy lose it.  It's making me crazy. 

Her mouth is in constant motion and she comes off with some real doozies.  She counts everything these days...how many bites of cereal she eats, how many toys she can carry at one time, how many cars we see on the way home from school, how many times she can jump off the stool before we tell her to stop.  And at some point this month she learned to count backwards which usually ends with a "Blastoff!" and accompanying jump.

She is still so interested in music, instruments, and singing.  She sings her head off while playing random notes on her little keyboard.  A harmonica, tambourine, or drum is always within reach.  At least once a day we have a music parade where we walk laps around the house while singing and playing instruments.  The neighbors must think we're nuts.  Punky is too short to see if someone glances in the window, so her dad and I must look like idiots marching in circles with Mickey Mouse maracas and light-up drumsticks. One thing I noticed this month is that she is really starting to sing in key.  Her favorite song this month?  The Beer Barrel Polka.  Yes, seriously. 

Also new this month...nightmares.  At least I think she's having nightmares.  She screams in her sleep often and it scares the hell out of me.  I go running only to find her sound asleep.  And suddenly everything under the sun scares her, or so she says.  The TV, my pink robe, her pillow, the fan, a rock, and even her toothbrush made the list of things that are now scary.  Although it's mostly silly stuff, in the moment she seems genuinely afraid.  Thankfully it passes in an instant...or we'd have an empty house.  

She's really into shapes lately and what things are made out of, like wood, plastic, glass, etc.  She'll look around the room and point out everything she sees that's a certain shape.  "See that clock, Mommy?  It's round.  It's a circle.  It's made out of plastic and glass.  See that door, Mommy?  It's a rectangle.  It has four sides.  It's made out of wood."  She has a fondness for wood.  In the midst of a bedtime story, she'll interrupt me and say, "Let's talk about wood!"  And then we discuss everything in her room that's made out of wood, where wood comes from, how you can get splinters from wood... I have a very odd child.  

She is so excited about our upcoming vacation.  When we booked the trip months ago, I was worried she'd be too young to really understand it or enjoy it but I have no doubts now.  She'll have a blast.  Every night she asks if we're going on vacation tomorrow, and I tell her how many days are left till we go.  It's getting close; we're in the final countdown.  Look out, Mickey Mouse, here we come!  Okay, Mommy's a bit excited, too!

And I can't end this month's update without sharing some fantastic news.  Punky had a doctor appointment on Thursday...a follow-up visit to check her ears...and for the first time since January we left without a prescription for antibiotics.  No ear infection.  All clear.  Phew.  Maybe that nightmare is finally over.

Twenty-Eight Months

My lack of posting this month left me with a pile of stuff to cram into this monthly update.

McDonald's Play Place

On our trip home at the beginning of the month, Punky got to experience a few firsts when my sister and I ended up dedicating the entire Saturday to the amusement of our little munchkins.  We started at McDonald's for lunch and Punky's first visit to one of their indoor play things.  She was anxious to climb, but the hard, plastic steps were about a foot too high for her to make it up own her own.  My sister and I took turns squeezing ourselves in and lifting her from landing to landing until she reached the top.  My nephew led her through the maze of obstacles and down a spiral, tubular slide.  Somehow she ended up on her stomach and she was less than impressed with the whole ordeal.  From then on, she'd reach the top, play a while, and then expect us to climb back up and help her down.  

Climb-A-Lot

So, on the heels of that experience, we decided to head a mile up the road to another indoor play place with softer padding, open slides, and an easier climb to the top.  We weren't there two minutes when Punky disappeared.  She had no problem climbing, jumping, sliding, and hiding in the corridors filled with huge balls, soft mats, and other obstacles to tackle.  She loved every moment of it and we stayed for hours.  It really is a great place for kids and I'm sure we will visit again.

Then, like gluttons for punishment, we decided it was the perfect day to get them on wheels for the first time.  Punky was so excited when I told her we were going rollerskating.  So many of her books have pictures of kids/characters on skates and I always hear, "Mommy, I want to skate, too. Pleeeeease!"  My mom loves to remind us that she had us on skates on age two, and Punky has great coordination and balance for her age.  Not only did I think she'd love it, I also thought she'd catch on quickly and be good at it.  Well, as good as she could be at age two anyway. 

I couldn't have been more wrong.  She absolutely hated it.  She cried the entire hour and a half we were there.  I think a combination of factors led to her meltdown.  First off, we had been on the go all day and she was already tired from hours of activity.  Secondly, other than breakfast, she barely ate anything all day because she was too busy playing to stop and eat.  I stuffed a few bites in her here and there, but nothing substantial enough to sustain my normally wonderful eater.  The skating rink was dark with swirling disco lights and extremely loud music that made it impossible to have a conversation.  And, lastly, I think she expected to put the skates on and go... When that didn't happen she immediately got frustrated because she couldn't do it.  I tried explaining that learning to skate takes time and practice, but rationalizing with a tired, hungry, emotional two-year-old is like trying to open a can of soup with your teeth. 

And let me tell you, if you need a quick reminder of exactly how old you are, throw on a pair of roller skates.  Holy shit.  When I was a kid, I lived at the skating rink.  Every weekend, without fail, for years of my youth.  I mean, I could skate.  Forwards, backwards, fast, slow.  I could spin in circles, do the limbo, jump over those who fell in my path, and even do handstands and cartwheels.  It's been at least eighteen years since I've done it though.  After lacing up my skates, I jumped to my feet...and promptly fell right back on my ass.  I struggled to balance on the damn things, and doing so required action from certain obscure leg muscles that probably haven't moved like that since the last time I skated.  I managed to make a couple trips around the rink to see if I still had it.  I assure you, I didn't.  I stayed within inches of the handrail and sneered at the six-year-olds zooming by me like I was standing still.  If I plan on teaching Punky to skate, I need practice.  And a thigh-master.  I have some time, I suppose.  I get a firm "No!" whenever I ask her if she wants to try rollerskating again.

Before heading home on Sunday, we stopped at the mall for a quick visit and photo with the Easter Bunny.  She fell asleep in the eight minutes it took to get there so I thought for certain it wouldn't go well.  When I put her in the stroller, she opened her eyes for half a second and fell right back to sleep.  My plan was to push her around the mall for a while to avoid a meltdown with the bunny, but she woke up right as we reached the photo spot.  As soon as she saw the bunny, she wanted out of the stroller.  There were no kids in line for pictures so she literally ran right to him and jumped on his lap.  She smiled ear to ear for the picture, and then continued to talk his head off until I pulled her away.  "I would like some new crayons in my Easter basket, please."  I swear she told him about six times.  She was completely fascinated with the bunny, and when we finally walked away she made an astute observation.  "The Easter Bunny doesn't talk, Mommy."  And she seemed really disappointed by that.

We made the trip again last weekend for Easter.  Thankfully it was far less eventful than last year's holiday.  On the drive down, Punky had another first.  She managed to stay awake the entire two hours and twenty minutes.  And she talked non-stop for about two hours and nineteen minutes of it.  "Mommy, there's lots of trees over there! Mommy, that's a red truck! Mommy, that's a blue truck!  Mommy, it's a very sunny day today! Mommy, I see a cloud! Mommy, another red truck! Did you see it, Mommy? There it goes! Look!" 

And, of course, she's learned the phrase that all kids love.  We had this conversation at least once every twenty minutes:  

"Mommy, are we there yet?" 

"No, sweetie."

"How about now?"

"No, honey, not yet."

"Now?"

"Sorry, kiddo, but no.  We still have a long way to go.  Close your eyes and take a nap.  When you wake up, we'll be there."  

Silence for twelve seconds.

"Mommy, how about now?"

"Look, sweetie! A blue truck!"

Just think, we're driving to Florida in a few weeks.  Thirty-eight hours round trip.  Do I need my head examined or what?

Dying Easter eggs

Anyway, Easter was nice and Punky was spoiled as usual by the generosity of her grandparents, aunt, and uncle.  She got to dye more Easter eggs at Aunt P's house on Friday.  We did some at home a few nights before and she loved it.  We skipped it last year because we figured she wasn't ready.  Considering that we ended up with about a half dozen cracked eggs, she wasn't quite ready yet this year either.  She didn't do bad with the dying part itself.  She made a royal mess but most of the eggs survived the process.  It was the sticker application that did the damage.  She dropped 'em left and right.  Good thing her dad was in the mood for egg salad that night.

The bunny was here!

Grammy and Pappy did an egg hunt for the kids again this year.  The sneaky bunny even hid some in the camper.  It took a while for them to find seventy eggs but at least we beat the rain that followed shortly afterward.  And, of course, the kids had overflowing baskets waiting for them in the house.  After Easter dinner we made the drive home to see what the bunny left for her at our house.  Lo and behold, he scattered some eggs around here, too.  When all was said and done, she ended up with enough sidewalk chalk to last through the summer, enough bubbles to last through the next three summers, enough piggy money that I really need to remember to grab coin wrappers at the bank, and enough candy to sustain a sugar high until she's about twenty-two.  Of all the stuff she amassed between four baskets, her favorite thing seems to be the harmonica that her uncle got her.  And she was thrilled to see that the Easter Bunny didn't forget the new crayons she requested. 

Next topic.  Don't hate me.  We had Punky back at the doctor's today.  Any guesses?  Yes, another double ear infection.  Her pediatrician had a baby last week, so she saw a different doctor in the group.  In the past, I inquired several times if these "colds" could actually be allergies, and the usual doc said it was too early to tell.  Given the fact that Punky recently entered the daycare world, she leaned more towards viruses.  The doctor she saw today took one look at her chart and prescribed allergy meds, along with yet another antibiotic for her ears.  I hope this is the answer we've been waiting for and the ear infections disappear once and for all.  Not likely, but I can still hope.  

Twenty-Seven Months

Well, this month Punky reached a milestone I thought she never would: size 4 diapers.  I figured she'd be potty trained before ever needing those.  She's still a little runt and, truth be told, the size 3 ones still fit her fine in the waist and legs but we needed the extra height on her abdomen.  Her new bed prompted the switch.  Most of the time she wakes up dry; for the rare occasion when she doesn't, we need that bit of extra protection.  Changing crib sheets was a pain, but I've discovered it was much less of one than stripping, washing, drying, and making her big-girl bed three days in a row.  So, size 4 it is.

And despite yet another spontaneous success a few weeks ago, she has once again turned her nose up to the whole concept of potty training.  She doesn't want to do it, see it, or hear about it.  She's completely ignoring it.  She just has no time for it yet, I guess.  At least I knew better than to get excited this time.  

Also new this month: counting in spanish and italian.  A few months ago, it was becoming more and more difficult to get through the bedtime teeth-brushing so I started counting and it worked like a charm.  She already knew how to count to ten, thus she knew exactly how long she had to sit still with her mouth open.  Ten on the top, ten on the bottom, and ten for her beautiful smile.  When she started to grow tired of that routine, I had to get more creative.  I started counting in other languages and she quickly caught on and began to repeat them.  On the heels of that success, I started teaching her the colors and a few simple phrases in spanish.  It's been quite a refresher for me, too.  Despite the college degree, I found myself needing to look up a few words I had forgotten over the years.

Her mouth still runs non-stop, her vocabulary is growing and growing, and she makes me chuckle every day.  I have no idea where she hears some of the things she says, but she manages to say them in the correct context... like the day her brother was ignoring her and she told us he must have lost his hearing.  She carries on full conversations with her toys and I can't help but giggle when I overhear her chatter. 

"Do you want to sit on the floor with me, Elmo?"

"You do? Great!"

"Do you want to share my blankie?"

"Awesome!"

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, you're right! It is very soft!"

"Who got (bought) it?  Hmmm... I don't know, Elmo."

"Let's go ask Mommy!"

She has really taken to singing lately and knows many kids' songs word for word.  She'll be playing quietly and suddenly burst into random verses.  It's adorable...and funny.  My favorite so far is her rendition of "There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza..."  That one made me snort and coffee came out my nose.  

She is definitely suffering a bout of cabin fever, especially since we made that first trip to the playground last weekend.  She loves going, well, anywhere we are willing to take her.  She has a fascination with restaurants and asks to go almost every day.  Thankfully I can't blame my poor cooking skills since her dad does most of it.  I think she just loves to people-watch and be out of the house for a bit.  I can't wait until we can take walks again in the evening, and kick the ball around the yard, and play in the dirt.  I don't know where I'll get the energy to keep up with her in the coming months.