This is the month of the pink-eyed monster. You, my darling, sweet, incredibly smart little peach, are, to put it mildly, a disaster when you're sick. You're a nonstop Whine Parade and act as if I could have possibly forgotten (in the past two minutes since you last told me) that you, in fact, DO feel awful. Your poor eye was glued shut by three pounds of gunk. And you were NOT pleased with me having to clean your eye every hour or so. I even went so far as to wipe breastmilk on your eyes (because that stuff fixes EVERYthing). You squealed and protested "But Mommy! That stuff goes in Charlie's MOUTH!!!!" I didn't even attempt putting your prescription eye drops in your eye (pinning down a sick three-year-old is NOT high on my To Do list) - instead, I opted for the "squeeze a drop or two on a napkin, then wipe the napkin across your eye" approach. You watched approximately 683 hours of Strawberry Shortcake (awful show, in case you're wondering) and 173 hours of My Big, Big Friend (fairly cute - waaaaay better than Strawberry Shortcake). I had to keep reminding you not to touch Charlie's face. Or hands. Or feet. Or anything that he could put in his mouth (which is everything).
You've really gotten interested in helping me cook. You particularly like to make your breakfast in the morning; you've been on a peanut-butter-sandwich-with-a-side-of-banana kick, so that makes it pretty easy. I'm trying to teach you the fine art (ie: my way) of making sandwiches rather than Daddy's way (ie: the wrong way). With my way, whatever you're spreading would reach the far corners of the bread. With Daddy's way (in case you forgot, this would be the wrong way), whatever your spreading may or may not go to the far corners of the bread. In fact, what you're spreading may not even be spread - it might just be plopped in the center of the bread that that's it. You've gotten pretty good at spreading peanut butter, and I even let you wield a knife (with my hands safely covering yours) to cut your banana in half. You also like to smell spices. I love that you're interested in how things smell. You really like cinnamon ("It smells like oatmeal!") and vanilla ("It smells like cake!"). I had some Montreal Chicken seasoning and you asked to smell it. I unscrewed the cap and handed you the bottle. I turned my back to you so I didn't see this take place, but
since I saw the aftermath, I know exactly what happened. You stuck your nose right at the opening of the jar and sniffed really deeply. Not only did you find out what Montreal Chicken seasons smells like, you also found out that Montreal Chicken seasoning burns the dickens out of your nose (particularly when you have about a teaspoonful crammed in your nostrils). I tried so hard to be sympathetic and not laugh, but, well, I did. I know it must have hurt, though.
One of your favorite things to do is to 'read' to us at bedtime. Usually Daddy or I read your bedtime story, but recently, you've wanted to do it. There are about 10 books you've memorized and you love reading to us. You're quite the master storyteller, asking "Oooh! I wonder what's going to happen next!!!" as you slowly turn to the next page. I know it's just another way you dilly-dally your whole bedtime routine, but you're just so stinkin' funny when you do it, that it's hard to be aggravated.
More than once this month, you've looked at me while eating dinner and said "Thank you for cooking this food, Momma. You're a really, really good cooker." Let me tell you something, my doll: you saying that means the WORLD to me. I work really hard trying to cook good, real food for you, Charlie, and Daddy. I feel like part of my job as a stay-at-home mom is to work hard to cook most of our meals. And making sure those meals are nutritious and (reasonably) tasty. So even though I'm taking a compliment from someone whose track record of saying things that make sense isn't the best ("I don't know how to put on my shoes!", "What's a fork?", "I can't remember how to brush my teeth!"), I'm taking it gladly and running with it.
This is the 2nd year we've taken you to a pumpkin patch. Last year, you were scared of the big Box O' Dried Corn Kernels. This year, you dove right in. Last year, you were scared of the horses. This year, you were beyond stoked, and I'm pretty sure you're going to ask Daddy to buy you a pony for Christmas. Last year, you were scared of the tire swing. This year, you giggled and sang as you swung. Last year, you were scared of the sand pile. This year, you jumped right in (and ended up taking home several cups of sand in your britches). Last year, I don't remember there being a zip line, but I'm pretty sure you would have freaked out if we had suggested it. This year, you rode the zip line no fewer than 10 times. And it only took you one time of riding with Daddy holding on to you as he ran beside you before you decided you could do it by yourself. And by yourself you DID. You rocked it. Daddy and I were so proud of you for how brave you were in trying all the new things. What a difference a year makes. But just like last year, though, you insisted on looking for a pumpkin "that wasn't so dirty, Mommy. These are yucky." Some things never change.
I don't particularly like Halloween. I don't like creepy stuff, I don't like scary stuff, and I'm not a fan of going door-to-door asking for candy. It's not the candy I mind - though I really limit what you can have; last year was the first time you ate Halloween candy. (Daddy and I, on the other hand, have eaten your Halloween candy for four years. Ha.), but I much prefer Truck-or-Treating over Trick-or-Treating. The controlled environment of Trunk-or-Treating seems safer (and far less intrusive) to me than going door-to-door and asking for candy. So despite all THAT, I do, however, like finding cute costumes for and Charlie to wear. I've gotten really lucky and found an adorable costume for you each year. A chicken when you were one, a 50s-inspired sock hop dress when you were two, and Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz when you were three. This year, I found a pair of scrubs just your size. They're fabulous and you look like a natural in them. 'Dr. Natalie' has a nice ring to it. As does 'A Sweet Retirement Home For Mommy and Daddy Purchased By Our Super Successful Doctor Daughter'.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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Headlines for November 1, 2012:
- Storm kills legions of NYU lab mice
- Long road for Sandy-battered areas despite progress
- Show must go on: Broadway plays coming back
- Report: 'Star Wars 7' won't be based on the books
- Dramatic debut: Babies born amid historic storm
- Elephant can speak Korean — out loud
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