Friday, December 29, 2006


Laurel is stumbling (crawling pretty much being a thing of the past) through the kitchen. She notices a toy car underneath the kitchen table. It's Ian's, so of course she must have it. Step, step, wobble, balance, sway, and balance. Step, step, step, step, wobble, plop onto the butt, outstretching her arms so as to not fall backwards onto the tile floor. Close enough to the table, she decides to scoot on her bottom the rest of the distance. She clutches the car in her hands and cackles. I kid you not, the girl cackles with glee!

Of absolute necessity, Laurel decides to show her find to Ian. It is, after all, a little sister's responsibility to torment her older brother. She leans forward to prop herself onto her hands and knees, squats, and then slowly raises her body into a standing position. BANG! "Aaahhh, " and she quickly squats down, still clutching Ian's car.

There is only a couple seconds more of complaining before she's slowly raising her body upward again. BANG! "Aaahhh," she wails, squats down and looks upward in disbelief.

One hand still tightly wrapped around the prized car, the other on top of her head. She whimpers a few seconds more while looking upwards to figure out what happened. The third attempt begins. She keeps her eyes on the ominous table above her as she slowly stands up, and then BANG! "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

The wails continue to get louder until I finally come over and rescue her. Poor thing, she had no idea that a table could deliver such a blow. A table, that merely a few weeks ago, she could stand underneath without concern.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Cookie Monster, Eat Your Heart Out!

Counter top clean...check.

Dough made and refrigerated...check.

Rolling pin out...check.

Powdered sugar open...check.

Cookie cutters at the ready...check.

Cookie sheets prepped...check (yeah, I cheat, I use parchment paper).

Ruler out so I can figure out how thick to make the dough...check (I know, I know, I'm lame. I can't just guess 1/4 inch, no, I need a ruler.)

Empty Santa cookie jar waiting,
ever so patiently waiting to be filled

Anxious kid to cut out and especially decorate cookies...

...ummm, hello, Ian, where are you?

Ian? Ian?

Oh, there you are! Anxious kid to cut out cookies...check.

Ok, Ian. On your mark, get set, GO!

Bring on the frosting and sprinkles!!!!


A double fisted sprinkler.

You can never have enough sprinkles!

Oh, the silliness.

You're so busted!

Toxic waste land? No, well, maybe. You'll want to choose from the other pile. Seriously, they're the most beautiful cookies I have ever seen.

Delightfully fun Christmas memory made
(especially for me)...CHECK!

Merry Christmas from our family to yours!


Thursday, December 21, 2006


Ian usually doesn't care what he wears. But lately, socks matter to him. He definitely knows what he wants on his feet. Of course, the colors he chooses doesn't always color coordinate with the other articles of clothing he is wearing. But then again, that's part of the toddler charm, isn't it?

He's in the holiday spirit, wouldn't you say?

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Having a Ball

From the living room I hear Ian sweetly sing, "Here's a ball for baby, big and soft and round." Giggle, giggle, from both Ian and Laurel.

A few seconds later, I again hear, "Here's a ball for baby, big and soft and round." Giggle, giggle.

And again, but this time with lots of heavy breathing and giggling in between the words, "Here's a round." Giggle, giggle, giggle.

I peek around the corner, and see Ian chasing Laurel, desperately trying to give her a soft, fuzzy ball. She's not cooperating in his efforts to play a game with her. Every time he approaches her with the ball and places it next to her, she crawls away. She skitters ahead about three feet, stops and glances back at an excited Ian, and delightfully laughs at him.

We sing this song in tot class and we read a book about being a big brother and how you can play ball with baby when the baby is old enough. Evidently, Ian has determined Laurel is old enough, and he wants to play ball, NOW! And, Laurel is old enough to know she can tease Ian by continually running away from him. (I fear for the boys that chase after her in high school and college.) So yes, indeed, they are playing a game and loving it. So am I!

Saturday, December 16, 2006

For the Baby Who Has Everything

Laurel might get this for Christmas...

And Ian may get this...

I just can't help myself. Do I really have to wait until January 21st for the new Battlestar Galactica episode? Heavy sigh.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Baby Steps

November 30th, Laurel takes her official first steps. One step, two steps, and then plop, lands onto her padded behind. She proudly looks up at her gleeful, applauding father, and begins clapping herself. Paul delightfully calls, "She took her first steps!"

Where was I? I missed it. Even when I was made aware of Laurel's newest accomplishment, I didn't go running to see. I kept doing whatever mundane chore had to be done and simply nodded. Where was my enthusiasm and support for my ten month old daughter? Paul had to repeat the exciting news to get me to verbally acknowledge this milestone in my daughter's life.

The last few weeks, I've been trying to come to terms with the fact that with each step Laurel takes, the baby disappears and the toddler emerges. Don't get me wrong, I love toddlers, it's just in my eyes, it's too soon for the baby to leave. I'm selfish. I want Laurel to be a baby for longer than she wants to. She's ready to run with Ian, while I'm ready to sit and cuddle.

How quickly the last ten months have flown by. I want need to hold her in my arms and look forever into her sweet, blue eyes. I need to feel her hand wrap around my finger. I need to feel and hear her breathe as I hold her close. I need to watch her shake her little derriere as she quickly crawls by, most certainly off to destroy whatever project Ian is working on. I need her to spin herself around while sitting, just like a little top. I need her to babble incessantly. I need her to coo. I need her to glide her wet fingers on my cheek and squeeze my nose. I need her play with my hair while she nurses. I need her to delight in the magic of bubbles. I need her to open and close books, over and over again, trying to figure out why the picture changes. I need her to crawl after me when I leave a room. I need her to coyly hide in my arms whenever she first sees her grandparents. I need snot bubbles blowing in and out with each breath (gross I know, but funny as all heck!). I need drooly wet, mouth-wide-open kisses.

Now I realize many of the things I've listed above continue, in fact into adulthood. But let's face it, babies do it differently, the way only a baby can. The look of innocence as Laurel blows raspberries with a mouth full of food, can only exist now. We try to preserve these moments with cameras, camcorders, and by writing them down. These efforts help, but I selfishly want to freeze time in a manner that allows me to enjoy my family just as they are today, but only for a much longer period of time.

I know, I know, come back to reality. I should delight in all the discoveries Ian and Laurel make on a daily basis, and believe me, I DO!!!! It's just, Laurel, could you please slow down a bit on growing up? I need time to catch up.

Blogger Frustrations

I've been trying to post comments on several blogs, but Blogger refuses to let me log in. I'm not sure why, perhaps it is because I haven't switched to Beta. At any rate, I've found a way to post comments on Beta. I type in my comment, leave my name (because of the following), click anonymous, click preview, then publish. A lot of work, but it helps. Does anyone else have the same problem, or is it just me?

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Christmas Wish List

TAG - and I'm It. The wonderfully funny Amy of binkytown, has tagged me to do a Christmas wish list. Ok, so I had to slow down and give this some thought, what would I like for Christmas?

1. Time. I know, not original, but seriously, how do I get more of this? I want to spend time with my family and friends doing all sorts of holiday activities, and bake, and shop, blog (so many topics, so little...well, you know), and veg with hubby and watch the Lord of the Rings Trilogy uninterrupted except to answer the door to get pizza and Chinese Food.

2. Health. Poor Ian and Laurel keep getting cold after cold after cold. This week they caught some stomach virus and had to endure a couple days of upset stomach and vomiting. Today, they seem to be past the worst, and now Paul has some nasal/respiratory thing going on.

3. Ian magically potty trained. We started the process a couple months ago, but when the little fella started teasing us with, "I go pee on the floor," with a knowing smirk on his face, we gave it up for a while. Potty training scares me, perhaps because I've just never gone through the process. He's only 2 1/2 years, I figure we have some time before people begin to wonder.

4. Patience to deal with a two year old. Patience to understand that dawdling is the official pass time for toddlers. That it is not how fast you can get your socks and shoes on that is important, but that the cars, trucks and trains are lined up just so. Patience while watching my wonderful quirky son during meal times treat his sippy cup like a trash barrel on garbage collection days. (MMMrrrrMMMrrr, and up over the head goes the sippy cup.) Patience in knowing that I would learn more about the world around me if I took the time to observe it through the eyes of my children.

And finally...

5. A bike! That's right, you heard me, a bike. Not just any bike, but a pink one with streamers. Oh yeah, and a bell to warn unsuspecting quail that often run through our neighborhood.

Oh, isn't she a beauty, especially with her lovely white seat and whitewall tires! She just needs streamers, a bell and possibly a flowery basket in the front.

In the spirit of giving, I tag Elizabeth and Lady M. Tag, you're It!

Friday, December 08, 2006

Great Helper

I'm changing Laurel's diaper on the floor. She has it in her mind that this is not going to happen. Legs are kicking, arms are flailing. Her torso twists and turns as she tries to escape. I finally have her pinned so I can remove her pants and undo her diaper, but the moment they are off, she manages to squirm right out from under my grasp and crawl away. Quickly, I grab my little streaker and try to return her to a diaper changing position. Singing songs, making funny noises, and contorting my face doesn't interest her enough to calm down.

Desperate, I yell out, "Ian, I need your help. Please, get Laurel a toy."

I see his bobbing head behind the couch, as he runs over to the overflowing toy filled bookcase. He doesn't move for a few seconds, obviously considering his choices. His head bobs again to bring his finds.

"Here baby," Ian informs Laurel as he carefully hands her a floppy Winnie-the-Pooh (her absolute favorite toy) and a bumpy teether. Absolutely perfect choices in my mind, Laurel's too for that matter since she now calmly lies still.

To encourage such helpfulness in the future, I exclaim, "Ian, you're wonderful! Thank you for the toys."

Happily he goes bouncing off, and I return to cleaning and putting a new diaper on Laurel. Seconds later, Ian is back. He gingerly drops a book and a puppy near Laurel. She continues cuddling her Pooh, not even looking at the new items next to her. Feeling I need to recognize his thoughtfulness, I tell him, "Oh, Ian, thank you. That was very nice." Happily he runs off.

You guessed it, he returns shortly, this time with a Snoopy and a cow flashlight. I'm thinking hard of what to say so as to get him to stop, but not discourage his help in the future. "Ian, thank you, but Laurel already has toys. You can stop bringing her toys."

The toys are left next to Laurel and he runs off to get more, and more, and more. I eventually am done changing her, and have gone off to wash my hands and dispose of a smelly diaper. Laurel crawls off to another part of the house, and yet Ian continues in his quest. Finally, I distract him by playing with his beloved trucks, which you'll notice are missing from his generous offerings.

I like the assortment: books, stuffed animals, instruments, teether, flashlight, baseball, stacking rings and legos. He's got all the bases covered.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Who's the Parent?

It's about 6:00 a.m., and I open my eyes to find Ian staring at me. I'm thinking, "No way is it time to get up," and I scoop him up into bed between Paul and myself. A few minutes of him wiggling, tossing and turning, kicking his legs, flinging his arms and socking me in the nose, he finally settles in and falls asleep. Sleep, blissful sleep. I'm hoping for another hour of the coveted stuff.

"Aaaahhhh. Aaaahhh, aaaahh, aahhh, aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh." Laurel tells us she's awake. The clock says it's after seven, I should go ahead and get up. Oh, but it's so warm and cozy under the covers. My cold nose and cheeks tell me there's a slight chill in the room. I really don't want to leave the comfort of my bed. I stay put and rationalize that maybe, just maybe, Laurel will go back to sleep.

"Aaaaaaah. Aaaaahhh, aaaahhhh, aahh, aaahh, aahh, AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Alright, so she's not going back to sleep. Paul isn't moving, but Ian bolts upright. "Mommy, baby's awake."

I don't move, I don't say a word. I hold the covers tight around me and ignore everything outside my cozy space.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! AAHH, AAHH, AAHH, AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Laurel's screams are now continuous. Boy, she sounds pissed off someone's not there to do her bidding.

Barely heard over the crying coming from the other room, Ian simply states, "Mommy, baby's awake."

Paul and I continue being still and quiet. Concerned, Ian repeats his observation, "Mommy, baby's awake," and begins climbing his way out of the layers of sheets, pillows and covers. I feel him try to go over my legs, and he soon falls on top of me. I still refuse to move or say a thing. Paul now has to be awake, but is not letting on.

Ian wiggles his way over me and onto the floor. Somewhat disoriented due to the abrupt wake up call, he shuffles his way out our room and sweetly calls out, "Laurel, I'm coming. I'm coming baby."

Ian flips the light switch on in Laurel's room. "Hi, baby!" he cheerfully sings out, and her screams turn into giggles.