Month 25 - Recap

Oh my sweet little love,
So on your 2nd birthday, I asked for a kiss ... and you blew in my face. Perhaps you were confused and thought my mouth looked like birthday candles, perhaps you were all hopped up on sugar that you
forgot your manners, perhaps you're just a punk two-year-old. Whatever the reason, you still blow in faces when asked for a kiss. You BLOW in our FACE when we ASK for a KISS. You think it's hilarious! And I admit - it was moderately funny the first time. Maybe even the second time. But the 374th time? Eh. It's exponentially less cute now. KISS ME. I AM YOUR MOTHER, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE. KISS ME,
KISS ME, KISS ME.

A few days ago, Natalie proudly announced that she was going to marry you. Your response? "OH NO. NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOOOO!" My thoughts exactly, my boy. I want you to marry someone
wonderful, but your wonderful sister is not the gal for you.

Speaking of you and Natalie, you two have played so well this month! Of course there are always those screechy, pouty, whiny moments, but for the most part, you two have been joined at the hip this month. She's spent a lot time trying to teach you about shapes, colors, numbers, and letters. You're good with shapes and colors, you're batting about .500 with numbers, and you have zero interest in learning individual letters other than an M and a W. You think it's funny that an upside down M is a W and vice versa.

You've always loved being read to, but you've never been interested in any of the words until recently. Even though you have no interest in having Natalie teach you your ABCs, you're all about the words we read. You point to the same word over and over and over (and over and over ...). You also love finishing the lines in Sandra Boynton's Pajama Time ("But we can all pajammy in whatever we've ..." "GOT!!!"). You think Fifteen Animals is especially funny because all the animals (except one) are named Bob. To even out the score, though, you sometimes call one of the animals 'Pep'. I love, love, love your sense of humor.

Christmastime always feels magical (and stressful ...) to me. But when seen through the eyes of a child? The magic gets multiplied ten fold. You love Christmas carols; you even know that O Holy Night is my favorite, so whenever it comes on, you screech "Ho-wee Nat!" You're in awe of our Christmas tree. You always talk about how tall it is (it's only six feet tall, but to a shortstuff like yourself, it must look enormous). And you get so excited when Natalie plugs it in. You're really gentle with the ornaments (Natalie constantly reminding you to be gentle also helps) and I often catch you just standing in front of the tree, soaking it all in. So I soak you in.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for December 9, 2013:

• Winter woes for commuters, travelers as relentless storm cancels 1,000 flights
• Who's who of world leaders descends on South Africa to honor Nelson Mandela
• Brees tops 50,000-yard passing mark as Saints rip Panthers
• Paul Walker Memorial Draws Thousands
• Sisters hoping for new parents use ‘prayer balloon’
• Keepsakes, notes by Nancy Drew author sold at Ohio auction

November 2013 - Recap

We went to the park earlier this month and you were playing with two older (five and six) boys. You held your own with them, I was pretty impressed. When the game they came up with was deemed too hard by you, you walked over to their moms and said "Those boys are being tricky. They don't make any sense." Then you laughed and ran back to the boys and convinced them to play a 'less tricky' game. Like chase. Your shoe fell off while you were running so you trotted over to me with your shoe in your hand, wanting some help putting it back on. Not one minute later, your other shoe fell off (clearly your cute little shoes were meant for just that - looking cute. Obviously Gymboree had no intention of these shoes being run in.) Before you could come to me to get help with that shoe, the six-year-old boy said "Oh I'll help you!" So you sat on the ground and he knelt down in front of you and carefully put your shoe back on your foot. It was beyond adorable. A few seconds later, his mom came running over because she thought her son had knocked you down and taken your shoe from you. Once I told her what happened, her face softened and she made the appropriate "Aww!" sounds that mommas are famous for.

Apparently you were being a chatty Cathy at school, and your teacher had to move you to a new table. There was no fussing and no freaking out on your part (thank you, Jesus) but you did assure your teacher she didn't have to tell me you got moved. According to your teacher, the conversation went something like this:

Teacher: Now Natalie, you know I'm gonna have to tell your Momma that I moved you, right?
You: Well of course you don't! Look - I've moved! I've taken care of it! No need to tell Momma!

This month marked the first time you apologized - unprompted - for acting rudely. You were a big ol' sassypants, you got corrected, then a few minutes later you came up to me and said "I'm sorry I spoke rudely to you, Mommy." I scooped you up and we had an epic cuddle session. It was glorious. (And in case you were wondering, not 10 minutes after that, you were a big ol' sassypants again and did NOT apologize for it. I'll take what I can get.)

This is the first year where Daddy and I are actually giving you some say in your Christmas and birthday presents. (I know, I know - it's a travesty that you've had your presents chosen for you for the past four years.) Since you love to write, we asked you to write out your wishlists. Some of the stuff I knew you wanted (a scooter, Magformers [though that one was due to my coaxing - they look really fun and *I* want to play with them so I talked them up a LOT]) but then you went and threw some random stuff on there that I had no clue you wanted. But then I realized you had put things on your list that were advertised on the commercials after some of the shows you like. You love the commercials that come on after Bubble Guppies. You ask to watch that show JUST so you can see the commercials. Some of the toys that are advertised are straight-up creepy, dude. A strange, gigantic-eyed monkey is NOT my idea of a best friend, thankyouverymuch.

This is your last month as the big 0-4. You are unbelievably (no - make that believably; it's totally understandable) excited about your birthday. You're excited about cake (you've requested strawberry
cake this year - and we're not talking vanilla cake with strawberries on top. No, you want pink strawberry cake and pink strawberry frosting), you're excited about presents (we're trying to teach you to ease up on the whole materialism thing, but it's pretty hard when your birthday is one week after Christmas), you're excited about being a big kid. Hopefully maturing to the ripe ol' age of five will lessen your big ol' sassypants-ness, but I'm not holding my breath. You are my child, after all.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for December 1, 2013:

• 'Fast and Furious' actor Paul Walker dies in high-speed crash
• Etsy-nomics: How crafty artisans stitch together a living in shaky economy
• Canine crowned world's ugliest dog in 2007 dies
• ObamaCare site deadline passes
• Ranchers send livestock to SD after blizzard losses
• Why You Should Give Your Kid an iPad This Holiday (riiiiiiiight - not gonna happen in THIS family)

8 Questions from a Two-Year-Old

These answers are ridiculous. And they totally crack me up. Asking serious questions of a two-year-old should be an Olympic event.

1. What is your favorite color? Bown (Brown)
2. What is your favorite toy? NANNIE! [Natalie]
3. What is your favorite food? Pee. Pee? You mean, pizza? Uh huh!! 
4. What is your favorite TV show? Mit-mow (Mickey Mouse). No, Bubble! (Bubble Guppies). No, Peh! (Peg + Cat)
5. What is your favorite animal? Cow ... MOO.
6. What is your favorite book? Bo-gug [Goldbug]
7. What is your favorite drink? Pee. Um, come again? Pee! 'Pee' like 'pink'? Uh huh!! No, not your favorite color [which you said was brown not two seconds ago]. What's your favorite thing to DRINK? Ohhhh. ICE (ice water)
8. What do you want to be when you grow up? Vroom, vroom! You want to be a car? Um, no. Choo choo! Oh, a train? Um, no. Tow-tow! A tow truck? Um, no. So what, then? Ummmm ... pee! You want to be pizza? YESH. 

Year Two - Year End Review

Oh my sweet, little pumpkin-headed Bear,

My goodness, you delight me. I can't believe you've dimpled up Team Smith for two whole years; it seems like it was only yesterday I was worried that you were going to be born in my van.

10 Things You're Good At:

1. Sleeping. Thankfully, you rarely put up much of a fuss. When I tell you it's naptime, most of the time you yell 'BYE!' to Nat, grab a random toy (to add to the 833 already in your crib) and run down the hall to your room.
2. Making other people around smile (this is a trait you inherited from Daddy. It's like you two just bring sunshine wherever you go.)
3. Driving your sister bananas. 
4. Speaking of bananas, eating bananas. You eat a banana so quickly, you should be a sideshow act. 
5. Making an entrance into a room. When we drop Natalie off at school, you walk in and cheerfully holler "Hi!" to all the kids in her class and wave to everyone, too. When we leave, you holler "Bye!", wave, and blow kisses to everyone. The little girls in Natalie's class think you're adorable. 
6. Climbing. You can climb stairs and into the van and up into your carseat like a champ. 
7. Being funny. You caught on quickly that we here at Team Smith run on silliness. Being all stoic and dull just won't cut it around here.
8. Building towers out of blocks.
9. Dancing. Clearly you and your sister inheirited your Daddy's wicked dance skillz.
10. Being a mimic. You repeat sounds and words (and whines ...) like a champ.

10 Things You're NOT Good At:

1. Eating non-beige foods. Could you just for once, just for kicks, just on a goof, eat something orange or something green? I promise you won't die. 
2. Helping me fold clothes. Your version of helping involves running around the living room with undies and towels on your head.
3. Being still and/or quiet during diaper changes. I submit giving an enema to a lion is on par with changing your diapers. As is giving you a bath.
4. Behaving in a restaurant. I distinctly remember this phase with Natalie. You don't want to sit in your chair, you get mad when we won't let you wander around the restaurant - and couple this with you being a picky eater and we have ourselves an unpleasant evening. It helps that Marianna isn't the mecca for fine-dining establishments, so it's not like we have the opportunity to GO to nice restaurants anyway.
5. Sharing. Whoever said that "second children are just born having to share; they don't know any different!" is a certifiable crackhead. You haaaate sharing. You haaaate taking turns.
6. Letting me pick out your clothes. Dude, you're two. And dude, you're a dude. Why must you have such strong opinions on what clothes you wear?
7. Sitting in your carseat for a long car ride. You get antsy and crabby after about 20 minutes. 
8. Sleeping in. You're a good sleeper, but you're allergic to sleeping past 6. (ps: I hate you, Fall Back. That extra hour of sleep [that I didn't get anyway] was so not worth messing up both Smithkids' sleep schedules.)
9. Spelling. Natalie is a great speller but still needs help on some big words. It'd be awfully nice of you if you'd learn how to spell big words and help her out.

10 Things You Love:

1. Animals in theory 
2. Playing on the bed with Natalie and Daddy after Daddy gets home from work
3. Trucks and trains and cars and planes (hey look, that rhymes!)
4. Books
5. Dairy products (yogurt, cheese, milk, and ice cream)
6. Sports. You lose your mind when you see a basketball, football, baseball, or soccer ball. You could sit on Daddy's lap and watch football for hours.
7. Mickey Mouse
8. Riding your bike (and by 'Riding your bike', I mean 'Being pushed around in your bike by Mommy or Daddy')
9. Ice water (ice-less water is always met with a loud and insistent "EYE-SH!!" [ICE]
10. Bubble Guppies

5 Things You Don't Love (you're good-natured; I could only think of 5 things):

1. Animals in real life (I get it; we don't have pets, so when you see a real-life dog up close, it understandably freaks you out)
2. Baths.  Two years going strong. You're certainly a stubborn (and loud) thing.  
3. Healthy food (except for the aforementioned dairy products)
4. Being bossed around by Natalie. Which is unfortunate because it's on Natalie's 10 Things She Loves list.
5. Loud noises. It's a Smithkid tradition.

Oh my. The difference between 12 months and 24 months is staggering. You went from a crawling and cruising little dude to a walking and running little Energizer Bunny. You went from someone who just said 'Dadda' to someone who says mouthfuls of words. You went from someone who charmed people with his two-toothed smile to someone who charms people with his ten-toothed smile (your award for Slowest Tooth Grower in the History of Earth is in the mail). You went from someone who ate anything and everything to someone who prefers to only eat food that resembles the color of a manila envelope (not cool; let's work on that in Year Three, shall we?). You went from someone who was only just discovering how to have a relationship with Natalie to someone who has definitely found his niche with his sister. And it's glorious (for the most part).

You're funny. You're observant. You're charming. You're silly. You're excitable. You're affectionate. You're cautious. You're content. (Unless you're teething ... in which case, all the aforementioned characteristics get thrown into a proverbial chipper-shredder). You remind me so much of Daddy. Perhaps that why I cherish the mornings that you and I have to ourselves; it's like I have a miniature version of Daddy to hang out with while he's at work. You say hi to everyone at Winn Dixie, just like Daddy does. You smile extra big at the ladies, just like Daddy does. Your marvelously silly personality leaves me in stitches, just like Daddy does. Just like I said in your Year One recap, this world needs a boy raised by your Daddy. I wasn't wrong. It does. And he's doing such a great job.

You are dimpled goodness, my boy. I pray for you often. One of the (many) devotional books I read talks often of being a thermostat instead of being a thermometer. A thermostat changes the temperature of a room; a thermometer rises and falls with the temperature of a room. I pray you'll be a thermostat. That your warmth and charm will draw people in and draw people to Jesus. That your cheerful light would burn bright in a world full of Gloomy Gusses. Because just like the song says "... hide it under a bushel? No! I'm gonna let it shine!", I pray you shine. Because let's keep it real, my sweet Bear, your head wouldn't fit in a bushel.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

Month 24 - Recap

Hello, my darling TWO year old little fella,
You're such a boy. Every time you emit a gas from the, um, lower half of your person, you giggle and say 'toot'. Actually you say 'too' because you still insist on ignoring the last letters on 99% of all words. And every time you cough, you say 'bo' [bone] because I've always asked you if you're choking on a bone. And now you just go ahead and tell me that yes, in fact, you ARE choking on a 'bo'. And finally, every time you pitch a fit, you roll your shoulders roll forward, get a grouchy look on your face and say 'pow' [pout]. It's so nice of you to let us know what you're doing. And when I ask you if you are, indeed, pouting (because pouting is a big ol' no-no in our house), you un-roll your shoulders and say "No, nuh uh!"

I've stopped putting you in the shopping cart when we go grocery shopping. You insist that you want to 'wah' [walk], so I oblige. And since we live in a city that has a really small population and since we usually go grocery shopping at 8am during the week when there are only a handful of (usually elderly) people in the store, it's not a big deal. It's a good learning experience for you. You're learning to stay by me and you're learning the consequence of not staying by me (going back into the shopping cart - and it's only taken one time of going back into the cart for you to learn to stay by me). We usually start by looking at the toys for a while. You're now to the point that you don't (usually) pitch a fit when we leave the toy section; you even holler "Goodbye" to the toys as we leave. Side note: It seems that toys are getting creepier and creepier as time goes on, so I fully expect that in a few years, they'll say "Bye" right back to you.

You're highly annoyed that Daddy and me switch off reading you bedtime stories. If it were up to you, Daddy would do it 100% of the time. Alas, you get stuck with me 50% of the time. I can usually distract you with a Richard Scarry book (because looking for Goldbug is *almost* as fun as Daddy is), but when it comes time to put you in your crib, you poke out your bottom lip all pitiful-like and wail for Daddy. It doesn't hurt my feelings one bit. Excuse me while I go sob in the corner.

Daddy and I are debating on when to move you to a toddler bed. That we have hardwood floors in our rental house makes me worried that you're going to break your neck if you try to climb out of your crib. It took (what felt like) forEVER to get your sister to stop getting out of her bed once we switched her to a toddler bed. Many nights, I stopped counting at 50 for the number of times I put her back in her bed. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. It was rough, but there wasn't another Smithkid to worry about. With you, if you decide to pull the same antics, you could easily wake up your sister (or just generally freak her out with your noise). And if that happens? Two unhappy Smithkids makes this momma cuh-RAZY. You just may be the weirdo who goes to college in a crib.

I'm flabbergasted that you're two today. You've been excited for weeks about having cake. And pizza. If you'll be 1/10 as excited for your train table as you are for your Carb-a-Palooza lunch, I'll feel like a million bucks. Or just surprise me with one of your awesome spontaneous leg hugs and cheek kisses and I'll feel like a million bucks. You are scrumptious, my sweet Bear. Let's rock this thing, Year Three.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy.

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Headlines for November 9, 2013:

• Philippines tallies the damage after 'most powerful storm ever' kills at least seven
• Why do JFK conspiracy theories endure? 
• Obama administration report details cost of last month's shutdown
• 'It gives me strength': Dancing double mastectomy patient inspires others
• Boy's bone marrow transplant wiped out cancer -- and his peanut allergy

October 2013 - Recap

Well hey there, honey bunches, how y'all doin'?

You have developed quite the Southern accent over the past few months. It's not Marianna. It's the uber cute little blonde friend in your preschool class who sounds like the classic Southern Belle. You've changed your speech pattern to match hers. And it's HYSTERICAL. Aaaaaand kind of annoying. Because I have to muster extra brain cells to translate from Southern Belle to Normal Folk talk. Case in point:

Me: What would like to drink, peach?
You: Hmmm ... I think I mat like some aaaassss water.
Me: EXCUSE ME? What did you say?
You: [have zero clue why I just started yelling] Uh, I just said I mat like some aaaaassss water.
Me: [thinking in my head] Okay, let's translate to Normal Folk talk. 'Mat' means 'might'. And let's hope for her sake that she did NOT just ask for THAT kind of water. She must mean ice water. And just happens to sound like a debutante.
Me: [out loud] You'd like some ice water?
You: Yes! That's what I said!
Me: Nooooo, you said aaaaassss water. Let's say aye-ssss water.
You: Well, I like saying like aaaaassss water.
Me: I see. And that's a problem.

Here's a simpler version:
You: Good nat, Momma!
Me: Huh?
You: Good nat!
Me: You mean, good niiiiiight?
You: I like saying like this: 'nat'

Your current favorite show is Peg + Cat (it's 100% adorable, so it wholeheartedly gets the Mom Seal of Approval). One of the things Peg does is count by 2s. You asked what she was doing and I explained that she was counting every other number (I figured there was no need to explain that the numbers also had to be divisible by two). You cocked your head to the side and thought about it for a second. Then you were all, "Like, two ... um, four ... six ... uh, eight ... and ten?" (You then kept going all the way until 30). Um, yeah, kid. Just like that. Side note - I like being smarter than you. I can't keep being smarter than you if insist on catching onto concepts this quickly. Keep this up and I'll make you memorize the 50 states in alphabetical order. (I've tried, but after 22 years, I still can't get un-memorize that).

You're all about 'the law'. I have no clue where this 'law' came from but it royally defies any and all logic. If I tell you to brush your teeth before Charlie has brushed his teeth, you fall apart and sob "But Charlie hasn't brushed HIS teeth! It's the LAW that I go SECOND!" If I come to your pretend school and you suddenly realize that I don't have a desk but I try to shrug it off, you wail "But you HAVE to have a desk! It's the LAW! I'll go to JAIL if you don't have a desk!" It would appear that you think that jail is full of rule-breaking four-year-olds. Rule-breaking four-year-olds who brushed their teeth first and whose mothers didn't have a desk at make-believe school.

When I picked you up from school the other day, your teacher came up to me and said "I have GOT to tell you what Natalie did." (That sentence always makes me nervous, by the way). At chapel that day, the teacher asked if anyone wanted to lead the prayer. Well apparently you jumped at the opportunity to pray. You ran right up to the front of the room and, according to the teacher, you "prayed like a grownup". Daddy hadn't been feeling well that week and during your prayer, you asked God to touch Daddy's body and help him feel better. When I heard that, I just wanted to squeeze the stuffins out of you. I was so proud of you. We pray a LOT in our house (because living with two young kids? I either pray or go crazy/crazier) and it delights me to know you're actually absorbing something when we pray. Because most of the time, you fidget or pick the fuzz off your socks or whine because praying takes SO LONG or get in trouble because you insist that you don't know how to be still for 30 seconds.

As you inch closer and closer to five, I inch closer and closer to the time I had intended on stopping these monthly recaps for you. I thought, "I get how babies change from one month to the next, so I definitely want to write monthly recaps when the Smithkids are babies. But I'll probably stop when they turn five. Because how interesting could a four-year-old be from month to the next?" I'll tell you, self. VERY INTERESTING. While I'm not 100% sure I'll keep up with them, I'm 99.8% sure I will. You're too funny not to document. While you might not learn something major from one month to the next, I'm almost guaranteed from you a story that either leaves me in stitches or brings me in tears (or both). You are such a treasure, my sweet doll, and I cherish the memories you've allowed our family to experience. You sweet thang, you.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for November 1, 2013:

• 'Panicking' families brace for billions in cuts to food-stamp benefits
• Midwives sometimes better than doctors, study says [Your mommy agrees!]
• How the NSA snoops: What happens when you hit 'send' on your email
• Cocaine smuggled in pumpkins at Montreal airport
• Boston Red Sox Win World Series! 

Month 23 - Recap

I'm so glad that Child Protective Services doesn't have a bug in our house, because if they did, DUDE. I might have some 'splainin' to do. Your current favorite thing to say is "ow". And coupled with your favorite volume of 'TODDLER BOY LOUD', it makes for a delightful recipe for "Hello, ma'am, may we come inside? We'd like to ask you a few questions ..." You say EVERYTHING is 'ow'. Diaper changes are 'ow'. Baths are 'ow' (as they have been for the past 23 months. ENOUGH WITH HATING BATHS, OKAY? I GET IT. LOUD. AND. CLEAR.). Cleaning you up after you eat yogurt is 'ow'. Putting your shoes on is 'ow'. Kisses are 'ow'. Hugs are 'ow'. Me coming TOWARD you for a hug is 'ow'.

Natalie was such a late talker, so I'm probably over-impressed by how much you're talking. You said your first three-word sentence early this month. We were at the beach with our dear friends John and Amanda and you were playing peek-a-boo. You poked your head around the couch and said "I see you!" Granted, it came out more like "I shee-oo", but whatever. Fast forward a few weeks and you say "I see you" as clear as a bell. You say dozens and dozens of words now. I can't even keep track of what you say; you seem to say new words on a daily basis. You're still leaving off the last few letters off most words though. 'Couch' is 'cow'. But 'cow' is also 'cow'. 'Please' is 'pee'. 'Pink' is 'pee'. 'Pee' is 'pee' [not that you're potty-trained; you just have an older sister who loves to share her bathroom adventures with you]. 'Bike' is 'bye'. 'Bye' is 'bye'. 'Yellow' is sometimes 'yellow'; other times it's 'lellow' or 'lay-oh' or even 'pee' [pink] (or who knows, maybe you really do mean 'pee' and potty humor has already started. You are a boy after all.)

Your hand-eye coordination is pretty good. You've gotten really great at stringing big, wooden beads onto shoelaces. [Don't tell your sister, but you're way better at it than she was at this age]. You're your best cheerleader, though sometimes this gets in your way. Just before the shoelace pokes through the other side of the bead you get so excited because you just can just start to see the top of the shoelace. So you immediately drop the bead and give yourself a hearty round of applause. Then you realize in the chaos of your clapping, the shoelace fell out of the bead and you have to start all over again. Such are the trials of being a one-man applause section.

You insist on reading your book of BIBLE stories before bedtime. Yes, I meant to type Bible in all-caps because you yell the word in all-caps when you say it. After your jammies are on, your teeth are brushed, and you've properly dodged all good-night kisses (because they're all 'ow', as I've mentioned above), you lunge into your rocking chair and yell "BIBLE". You like making all the animal sounds on the creation page. You like pointing out that Noah has a boat, and when I ask what kind of boat it is, you say 'bown' [brown]. You like pointing out Joseph's angry brothers (and the really adorable sheep who are also on the page; you say they're 'cyoo' [cute]). You talk about how Baby Moses is sleeping (complete with your impossibly adorable snoring sounds) and you quack (incorrectly) at what you think is a duck (it's a crane, I believe) that's standing by his basket. Your favorite page, however, is David and Goliath. I make a big point of showing how large Goliath is and how small David is, and apparently you find this enormously entertaining. You point out Goliath's 'so' [sword] and his 'soo' [shoes] (why? I have no clue). You also like David's sling. The illustrations in your Bible are precious - they're really fun, totally adorable, and a little bit quirky. Just like you, my boy.

One last thing. YOU TURN TWO NEXT MONTH. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for October 9, 2013:

• Bend it like ... Samsung? Galaxy Round is first curved-display smartphone
• Government Shutdown’s Fiercest Feud: Boehner vs. Reid
• New $100 bills finally hit the street
• Tom Hanks reveals he has type 2 diabetes on 'Late Show'
• Vote to Name the Twin Panda Cubs at Zoo Atlanta!
• Man Cured of Lifelong Crying-Laughing Seizures

September 2013 - Recap

[First, let me preface this: this will be woefully short. September was awful. I had a headache for 95% of the month. You and Charlie were Certified TV Zombies.]

There are many times when I think "Dang, kid, you're too smart for your own good." But, alas, September wasn't full of those times. This wasn't your most logical month, my sweet girl. Allow me to paint a few pictures.

• You are still noise sensitive; Charlie is still noisy. Instead of covering your ears when he gets on one of his noisy kicks, you cover your face with your book and then wail that he's too loud. Let me say that again. You cover your face with a book. Your face. Not your ears. Your face.
• I cooked several new meals this month [to make up for the Mommy Guilt I felt by you two watching so much TV, I tried to cook some fun new meals - some were hits, some were misses] and while I was cooking dinner, you came into the kitchen to ask what we were having. When I told you, a look of horror fell upon your face and you wailed "But I don't like [insert new meal here]". My response was always "You've never had it. How do you know you don't like it?" And your wackadoo response was always "But if I've never had it, how am I supposed to know if I like it or not?" And I said "Right! That's what I'm saying!" And you'd say "But I can't say I don't like something if I've never had it before! And I don't like [insert new meal here]!" And I'd be all "Wait, whaaaaa?" Pure lunacy, I tell ya.
• You've forgotten how to fix your own blankets on your bed. Particularly at 3am. We had this problem last year and it took a month or so to break you of the habit of coming into our room, waking us up, asking us to fix your blankets (which did not need fixing, by the way), us informing you that we were not, in fact, going to fix your blankets, telling you that you had to go back to your room and fix your own blankets. And now you're even a year older! You now even more capable of fixing your own silly blankets. I totally understand waking us up if you have a bad dream or if you can't find your teddy bear - those are Critical Situations. But that your blanket is pushed down to the foot of your bed? That is most assuredly a Situation Whereby You Sit Up and Reach Over And Grab The Blanket And Pull it Back Over You, You Silly Person, You. Mommy and Daddy are not needed. You can tell us all about the fascinating blanket escapades in the morning.

When you don't get your way [which, admittedly happens a lot, because, you know, you're four and also, much to your dismay, YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS], you've developed the delightful habit of stomping off down the hall to your room and announcing to God and everyone "I AM POUTING". This is only after you dramatically throw yourself down on the couch in a gigantic huff (and if you're not sure we didn't take good enough notice of the aforementioned huff, you huff again. And again, if necessary.) It's ever-so charming. And it ever-so must stop because now when Charlie gets frustrated? He throws HIMself down on the couch in frustration and stomps down the hall and hollers in his half-decipherable-half-indecipherable ramblings. Daddy and I are trying as hard as we can to teach you positive ways to vent your frustrations because, clearly, Charlie watches you like a hawk. We'll certainly take the stomping off as opposed to throwing a toy or biting when you're mad, but still - trying to bring down the mood of the house with your incessant pouting and huffy attitude has GOT to stop. We're trying to teach you to take a deep breath a count to four. For a smart kid, you seem to forget how to count to four a LOT. As such, I've had to repeat Galatians 6:9 to myself a LOT this month.

You've heard live music several times in your short little life, but you've never really cared up until now. Francesca Battestelli happened to be performing in Destin as part of Harvest America (a Christian outreach). When Daddy and I heard about it, we knew we had to take you. She's one of your favorites. You prance around the house with your Disney Princess microphone singing 'Strangely Dim' practically 24/7. That's also your song of choice when you spot a microphone in Target or Books-A-Million. You feel that it's your job to serenede the customers. There was more to Harvest America than just Francesca Battestelli, but you didn't care. You were just focused on hearing her. Daddy and I would have loved to hear more, but we understand the season of life that we're in. Sitting still and listening to a speaker for an hour just isn't on your and Charlie's to-do list. You and Charlie wanted to run around and play hide-and-seek - so that's what you did. But when Francesca Battestelli came on stage, the fun and games stopped. Daddy put you on his shoulders and you were mesmerized. She opened her set with 'Strangely Dim' and you were the happiest girl in the entire world. You were the best backup singer Francesca Battestelli never asked for, and watching you watch her for those three minutes were absolutely worth the four hours (round trip) it took to get you to see her.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for October 1, 2013:

• No Deal: Government Shuts Down for First Time in 17 Years
• Twitter won't shut up about 'Breaking Bad' finale, why should you?
• 10-year-old gives gift of running to disabled brother
• UC Berkeley campus evacuated after explosion; injuries reported
• Pa. woman, 102, gets honorary high school diploma
• Number of world hungry drops to one in eight: UN
• Muslim man becomes Christian after recovering from brain aneurysm

Month 22 - Recap

Why hello there, you talkative little thing, you,
At the beginning of last month, I started to keep track of the words you were saying (bowl - to tell me you want a snack [BO], apple [aah-BO], cheese [CHEE], bath [ba]), but now, you jabber so much that I can't keep up. I'm hesitant to say you're full-on talking, because I think it takes the heart of a Mommy or a Daddy to fully translate the gibberish that pours from the mouth of an almost-two-year-old, but you're so close, dude. You're so close. You'll pretty much repeat any word we ask you to (as long as you're in the proper sure-I'll-play-along-with-your-silly-little-game mood, of course). Your words almost always leave off the last few letters and I've never heard you pronounce the letter S before, but other than that, I say you're talking. And since this is my blog, I can say whatever-the-heck I want to.

You had your first appointment at a dermatologist this month after it was determined that your poor skin rash wasn't caused by a food allergy. I would have bet money you were allergic to something (and I'm sure you still submit you're allergic to all vegetables), but the blood test indicated otherwise. Shows you what I know (ie: nothing). We're trying the medicine the doctor prescribed but I'm not holding out much hope for it. It doesn't seem to be doing much good. I might be going the crunchy-granola-hippie-all-natural route if I don't see any improvement. There's no sense in covering you in chemicals that don't work if something natural will help. Wouldn't it be a kick in the pants if rubbing broccoli on your legs would clear them up? HA!

Speaking of veggies, I have found one veggie (or pseudo-veggie) that you'll eat! Alexia Sweet Potato Puffs. But you'll only eat them cold (not frozen but from the fridge, leftovers from the night before [of which you ate zero]) Of course, now that I've said (written) something, you'll stop eating them. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

The first radio song Natalie ever sang to was Luminate's "Come Home". Yours is Matthew West's "Hello, My Name Is". Now, I'm not 100% sure you've done it, but I'm pretty sure. It wasn't while that song was playing on the radio, but it was when your sister (who happens to be a human radio) was singing it a few days ago. Just as she was about to sing the impossibly catchy little part of the chorus, you busted out with "whoa oh oh oh oh oh". Yes, it could have been a coincidence, but I like to think that it's not. Goodness knows you've heard that song a bajillion times. KLOVE and WAY-FM are just as guilty as, ahem, popular stations of overplaying music. Though I have no problem of overhearing music about Jesus.

You've stopped calling us Momma and Dadda in favor of the more knock-our-socks-off adorable 'MomMEEEEEEE' and 'DadDEEEEEEE'. And instead of calling Natalie 'Na-naaaaa', you've started calling her 'Nattie', only it sounds like 'Nannie'. Shut UP with the cuteness.

Natalie started preschool last month so you and I have had a lot of Charlie-Mommy time, and it's been so, so precious. I've forgotten what's like to just have one kiddo to wrangle. And I've forgotten what it's like to just have that one kiddo be a toddler. When Natalie was your age, she never really liked playing by herself, but you're pretty content by yourself for short periods of time. You're becoming a block stacking CHAMP (your current record is 11 wooden blocks). You love laying on your stomach while you color a picture. You love running your trucks all over the playroom. When you get bored, you come find me and grab my finger and pull me towards the playroom. How can I ignore such a blatant display of adorableness? You don't always want to play with me; you just usually want an audience. I don't mean to pat myself on the back but I'm a darn good audience.

You say everything is blue. So as long as we point to blue things and ask you what color it is, you appear to be a genius.

While you still love your trucks and trains and All Things Boy there is one particularly girly thing that you cherish almost above all else. I don't mean to rat you out here on the interwebs, but, well, here goes. You love Dora. Like, LOVE Dora. So much so that you have to have not one but TWO plastic Dora dolls (from Natalie's Dora dollhouse) in your grubby little paws when you sleep or else there is some serious wailing, gnashing of (still far-too-few) teeth and pitiful cries for Googa (what you call Dora - strange, I know). You also sleep with a plastic dog on a leash (the one that goes 'yip yip yip' as you pull it along the floor), several books, a see-through backpack full over rubber ducks and finger puppets, your giraffe lunchbox, a Barbie car (driven by a Minion from Despicable Me), a Toy Story mini Manga Doodle, a front-end loader, no fewer than 6 stuffed animals and a blanket. YES, THEY ARE ALL CRITICALLY IMPORTANT TO YOU BEING ABLE TO SLEEP. YES, YOU ARE SO WEIRD. If A&E ever does a show about Toddler Hoarders, you should be profiled on the first episode.

It's not that I wish this stage would hurry up and be over - because I don't - but daggum this age is so. hard. It's hard on you because you're perpetually frustrated by not being able to express yourself. You're perpetually frustrated because you hate sharing. You're perpetually frustrated because you hate not being taller or bigger or older. And you choose to express that perpetual frustration by screaming and yelling and fake crying and throwing yourself down at my feet. And I have to be the adult (verdict: BOO) so I can't be perpetually frustrated by living with someone who chooses to behave like a complete whackadoo. But then all is forgotten when you clomp over to me, grab my finger, and lead me to the playroom to show me your latest masterpiece of crayon-and-pen scribbles on construction paper. And it's beautiful. I mean, handsome. So stay this age, my yelly little fake cryer. I still love you. Aaaaand you love Dora.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 9, 2013:

• Obama legacy on the line as Syria vote looms
• Technology may spell end to the art of cursive handwriting [NOT FOR THE SMITHKIDS - YOU TWO WILL LEARN CURSIVE!]
• 'Good dad': Kim Jong Un has baby girl, Rodman says
• San Diego marks panda’s birthday with ice cake
• Cuddly kitty or killer? Evolution explains why cats are grumpy
• Crocodile traps island tourist for two weeks

August 2013 - Recap

Where, oh where, is my Natalie???
I'm trying to find my daughter. Do you know where she is? You know the girl I'm talking about, right? My daughter who pitches a fit every time I drop her off at school and church? It didn't matter if it was the first day of school or the last day of school, she was still going to pull the waterworks? You know that girl, right? Well I have no clue where that girl is. She's been MIA this month. THIS month she's been replaced by somebody who wears pigtails just like my daughter, who giggles just like my daughter, who's a big ol' sassypants just like my daughter, but she doesn't pitch a fit like my daughter. AND IT'S BEEN AMAZING! From the first day of VPK, you've run into class like it's no big thing. Like you've done it your whole life. I am so proud of you, my sweet peach. Like, I have to physically restrain myself from squeezing my proudness out of you. You probably won't understand this until you have your own kiddo. And even then, you probably won't understand it unless you have your own kiddo whose constant crying causes you to get called out of 13 consecutive church services when she's one and continues the sobfest at church and up through K3 (not that I wish that on you. But I kind of do. Not really. Yes I do.) You are growing up into such a rad kid. And I simply can't hear enough of "Momma, school is uh-MAY-zing. I totally love it."

I'm not sure if you think I'm falling down on my job as Mommy or if you just like to assert authority over Charlie (or both) but lawsy mercy, how you like to mother that boy. And I'll give you zero guesses as to how that goes over with someone whose current favorite words are NO and MINE and whose current favorite volume is SCREECHY LOUD BOY. And I'll give you another zero guesses as to how THAT goes over with someone who is extremely sensitive and takes everything personally. Suffice it to say, there has been a lot of hollering and tears this month. And that's just from me ...

Fun fact - I gave you a little language quiz earlier this week. According to your score, you have the vocabulary of a fifth grader. Surprising? Negative. Funny? Youuuu betcha.

Speaking of language, you think you can speak Spanish. You know what hola means, and you take that to mean you know the entire Spanish language. I hate to break it to you, but you don't. You do know what hola means. But that's it. Though it doesn't stop you from trying to speak "Spanish". [I mean no disrespect to anyone who reads this blog who actually speaks Spanish]. Case in point:

Me: Natalie, please get your shoes on. It's time to go to the store.
You: Fleeb. Flarb. Floob.
Me: Um, huh?
You: Fleeb! Flarb! Floob!
Me: Riiiiiiiiight. You. Shoes. Feet. Now.
You: I'm speaking SPANISH! I just said 'OK, Mommy!'
Me: Well, I don't speak Spanish. I speak English. Please speak English when you talk to me.
You: You speak Spanish, silly! You know what Hola means!
Me: Um, well, yes. Yes, I do.
You: See? So you should know what 'Blugga blarga flarby blarby' means!
Me: I should?
You: YES!
Me: Uhhhhh ... I don't. I'm sorry, peach.
You: MOMMA! It's SPANISH! It means 'I like bananas!'

You've surprised me a few times this month. You often ask me what Charlie and I do while you're at school. Part of me thinks I should just tell you the boring parts so that you don't feel left out. But then I figure that I should just go ahead and tell you all of it. One day I mentioned that I took Charlie to a new (not like 'brand new' new, but 'we've never been there before' new) park and I braced for the inevitable "You took Charlie to the park without MEEEEEEEE?!?!?!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" But you truly surprised me! You said "Oh how FUN! Did Charlie have a good time? Can the three of us go again after quiet time today?" It's sweet and rational comments like that which make crackhead and irrational comments like "Charlie [who was buckled in his highchair across the table - at least 3' away] is trying to reach for my grapes! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" make me want to poke a fork in my ears. Or better yet, your ears.

You're still a non-stop crafting machine. You turn out no fewer than five pieces of art each day during quiet time. You were really into painting earlier this month but currently you divide your time between coloring with markers (you particularly like coloring scenes of a boy and a girl swinging under an apple tree [a pink swing for the girl and a blue swing for the boy - of course] and a momma reading a magazine under an umbrella so she won't get too hot - it's like you're reading my mind!!) and making Play-Doh pizzas and spaghetti dinners. And the other day, you drew the girl next a teeny tiny slide. I was just about to ask why the slide was so little when you said "The slide isn't actually that little. It just looks little because it's far away. Did you know that things look little when they're far away?" I had no idea you knew what perspective was. Your. brain. fascinates. me.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 1, 2013

• Does Obama's decision on Syria diminish the power of the presidency?
• Nelson Mandela leaves hospital, condition still critical
• Your phone is blabbing your location to snoops all the time
• Patriots release Tim Tebow — are his NFL days over?
• Burger King Rolls Out With 'French Fry Burger'
• Couple who died hours apart after 71 years of marriage described as inseparable by family

Onslaught of NICE-IES

As we got out of the car to go to our sweet Aunt Lucy's funeral, my shoe broke. Not "Oh, poo, the heel broke. How inconvenient." This was "DUDE. Two of the three straps just separated from the footbed, so the only thing that's keeping this dumb shoe even ON my foot is one tiny strap and now I have to shuffle or risk breaking my ankle or leg or neck or all the above." [Perhaps this was a preview of what was to come that day ...] The plan was for us to say hi to the family and to leave before the funeral started. (Lee and I both agreed that funerals are no place for a one-year-old and a four-year-old.) Apparently I bemoaned my shoe straps bit too long because by the time we got inside the church, the service had already started. We stayed in the foyer during the funeral and I had hoped to see some family members after the service, but the kiddos were getting squirrelly and they needed lunch. So we walked (correction - they trotted, I shuffled) back to the van and headed back to town. I turned on my GPS and begged her to get me back to Crestview (the funeral was in Escambia Farms and to say my sense of direction is atrocious is a gross understatement). The kids were (understandably) fussy and were so ready for lunch (as was I) and finally my lovely GPS lady told me that Cracker Barrel is just ahead. Then I see the sign. Then she tells me AGAIN it's just ahead. Then I get annoyed. I GET it, GPS Lady. You don't have to keep telling me. I SEE Cracker Barrel. It's right there. Therefore I shall turn you off, Annoying GPS Lady.

Then my day changes.

I look down to turn my GPS off. I look up and am all, oh DUDE that lady in front of me stopped quick. Oh DUDE, I'm going to hit her. Yep. No doubt about it. Ooooooooooh, here it comes. BAM.

UGH.

I was pretty proud of myself, because nary a cross word came out of my mouth. I just kept repeating "I am so MAD! I am so MAD! I am so MAD!" And Natalie, in her adorable little four-year-old voice said "Are you mad because you broke the van, Momma?" Yep, kid, youuuu got it.

The lady I hit, me, and the gentleman in the car behind me all pulled into the turn lane (to go into a Burger King, no less). I rushed over to the lady and apologies start spewing from my mouth uncontrollably. She was beyond precious. These were pretty much her exact words: "Oh my GOSH, honey! Don't even sweat it! It happens to everyone! I'm okay, you're okay - it's just a CAR! And look, mine's not even damaged that badly." And it wasn't. Her late model Toyota Camry had a nickel-sized hole in the bumper. My van, on the other hand, looked like a hot mess. The front end look liked it exploded. She took my hand, looked me in the eye and said "Seriously, my car isn't new, it's not a big deal. It's not even worth reporting! I'm going to give you my name and my phone number. I don't want your name or your insurance information. Call me if you need ANYthing." She is my NICE-Y #1.

The gentleman in the car behind me didn't rear end me, but he just wanted to make sure we were all OK. I called Lee to let him know what happened and when I started crying too hard, I gave the phone to this man and he talked to Lee. He was so kind and so friendly and told Lee exactly where we were. He assured him we were all OK, that my crying wasn't due to any injuries (I'm sure Lee knew that - he knows he married a crier!), and that the van didn't look that bad. This man also talked to the cops and the fire department (who some other driver must have called one nanosecond after the wreck because I didn't call them and the lady I hit didn't call them). This gentleman is my NICE-Y #2.

We all drove into the Burger King parking lot (so we can get out off the main road). As I'm driving the short distance, I heard something rubbing against the front tires. I'm thinking, "Well THIS can't be good ..." We parked in spaces that look like they're not actual parking spaces because they were off to the side, but they were, in fact, legal parking spaces. This will be funny (?) later on in the day.

The officers and the EMT were also extremely kind. They made sure there were no injuries, and although I know they were just doing their job, I did think it was silly I had to sign a paper refusing any medical treatment (medical treatment for WHAT?! Being an uncontrollable sobby mess? Because do you have any drugs in your bag for that???). They didn't scold me or give me the side eye when I told them what happened. I was really tempted to leave out the part about looking down at my phone because I haaaaaaate that's what I was doing. I wasn't texting but I was paying attention to my dumb phone and not to the road. The officers were very sweet and very understanding. I asked them if it was safe to drive my van and they said that because I was so far from home (1.5 hrs) and because my airbags didn't deploy, that I ran the risk of them randomly deploying as I was driving down the road. Yeaaaaaah, that's enough for me to nix that idea. I can just imagine me bee-bopping on down the road and BOOM go the airbags. How awful. These officers and the EMT are my NICE-IES #3-#5.

After everyone left, the reality of the situation quickly set in. I now had two broken shoes (my first broken shoe had now completely fallen apart and I was holding the footbed to my foot with a hairband. I looked so ridiculous and it was just as uncomfortable as it sounds. Two of the three straps on my second shoe had now broken. So I two painful feet, one broken car, a husband who was in a meeting an hour away, two starving and whiny kids, and the only food option was Burger King. Greeeeeeeat. I put on a cheerful face and we shuffled/marched into Burger King. The kids and I get food and lo and behold - this Burger King has an indoor play area for kids!! I couldn't have hand-picked a better place to spend the next three hours of my day.

The kiddos waited at the table while I waited at the counter for their food. And in the span it took me to get the food to the table, Charlie had successfully dumped an entire cup of ice water in his lap. He was only half crying though - I'm sure the other half of him was thinking "Dude, this feels awesome! It's hot as fire outside and now I feel cool as a cucumber!" The kids ate and played on the jungle gym as I talked to the most delightful USAA representative and regaled her with my woeful tale. She is my NICE-Y #6. She was sympathetic, funny, patient, and very reassuring that this whole process would get taken care of quickly. We had four or five different phone calls because I wanted to keep talking to Lee to confirm with him what she and I were discussing, namely whether to tow the van somewhere closer to home or just have them tow it to a place in Crestview.

In between the phone calls, I spoke with the nicest people in the play area of Burger King. One man volunteered to rescue Charlie from the slide when he climbed too high and couldn't get down (because me in my dress in jacked-up shoes? I can't rescue ANYbody). He's my NICE-Y #7. Another gal, who looked a bit younger than me, had her two young kids with her. Her oldest was Charlie's age and her youngest was eight months old. She was so funny and so cute, and I loved seeing her oldest son and Charlie play together. She is my NICE-Y #8.

Another woman was particularly special to me. She was there with her 10-year old son, and she and I were talking about my wreck. Then I asked her if she knew if the gas station next door sold flip flops - and I motioned to my shoes. She looked very sympathetic but said she wasn't sure about that gas station. Just then Natalie marched up to me and loudly announced that she had to poop (seriously, why can't she remember to just say "BATHROOM" when we're in public?!?!?!"). This nice lady said that she'd gladly watch Charlie while I took Natalie to the bathroom. And if Charlie didn't have an unfortunate diaper situation himself, I would have left him. I know I just met this woman, but I could just tell she was just one of 'those' people. Those good, kind, lovely people. I did ask her if she'd watch my purse while I took them to the bathroom, because minimizing the gear that I had to shuffle to the bathroom would just be easier. And I know leaving my purse with a stranger is a crazy notion, but really, my day couldn't really get much crazier. When I got back to the play area, she and her son were packing up their stuff. I told her thank you and said I hoped she had a great day. She smiled and said "Stay right there. My son and I are going to run across the street to Walmart and buy you a pair of flip flops. I teach high school, so a lot of my girls come to me with shoe problems. I know how to fix a lot of broken shoes. But yours? There's no saving them!" My mouth fell open. It was such a simple gesture, but it caused my eyes to well up and tears to pour down my face. Her simple gesture meant I didn't have to shuffle two hot, sweaty kids across the parking lot to a gas station that may or may not have had flip flops. Her simple gesture meant that my feet wouldn't hurt any more. Her simple gesture lifted my spirits more than she could possibly know. I thanked her profusely and then reached for my purse to get her some money for the shoes. She laughed and said "Oh my gosh, it's Walmart! Their flip flops are $1! We'll be right back!" She smiled her wonderfully kind smile and left. It's no surprise that this precious woman and her sweet son are my NICE-IES #9 and #10.

Before I knew it, woman's son stood before me with a Walmart bag and a half smile. I thanked him and asked him where his mom was. He said she had to stop at the restroom but she'd be right in. I open the bag and tear up again. She did NOT buy me $1 flip flops. These were more like $10 flip flops. They were squishy, incredibly comfortable, and hot pink. They were perfect. And to spend that kind of money on shoes for a stranger just baffles me. And even as I type this, there are tears running down my face.

I have one final call with my sweet USAA lady and she confirms the tow truck and rental car. She said the tow truck should be there in about 30-40 minutes, so I give Lee a call to let him know to leave his meeting in Pensacola and head over to me in Crestview. Because we're both thinking: 30-40 minutes really means 60 minutes. Or it means SEVEN MINUTES. I hang up the phone, said hello to a friend of my NICE-Y #8 (who had just gotten there a few minutes ago, and had an impossibly beautiful eight-month old baby girl), looked up and saw the tow truck backing up toward my van. I jump up and yell for the kids to get their shoes on. This went over like a lead balloon with the Smithkids. They both start sobbing because I didn't give either of them any kind of warning that we were leaving, I'm fairly panicked at this point because he's already got my van on his truck (he seriously did that in what seemed like 30 seconds!) so I'm using my Exasperated Mommy Voice, and neither kid is a fan. But at least I have my comfy shoes on. Nat gets her shoes on, but I don't even bother putting Charlie's shoes on; I just throw his shoes in my purse and carry him and we run through Burger King and across the parking lot.

I call to the tow truck driver and that's when I see her. The only non-NICE-Y of my day. She appears to still be working off the effects from last night's partying. She looks slightly dazed and won't be winning any Walking in a Straight Line contests that day. When she sees me running (with two sobbing kids, no less) towards the tow truck, she yells at me "Yeah, lady, you're not supposed to PARK there! That's not a parking space! See those spots over THERE? THAT'S where you're supposed to park! THAT'S why you're getting towed! HA!" Had I not had my kids with me and had I not been already rained on in droves by my NICE-IES, perhaps I might have shot back with a snarky response. As it was, I just responded with an confused "Whaaaaaa?"

I got to the tow truck driver and pointed to the intoxicated gal and he laughed and said "She needs to lie down somewhere." He talked to Natalie and complimented her pretty dress and gave lots of high fives to Charlie. This guy is clearly a Daddy. I ask him to not take the van yet and explain how I needed the car seats for the rental car. He was so kind and so helpful, even with a heat index of 105*. He said that he had been out of the car seat world for a while, but said he'd be happy to try to help me get the car seats out. [Lee is Team Smith's car seat guy. He is a car seat ninja. He puts car seats into cars with an unparalleled force. So when he puts them in, I have a hard time getting them out. The tow truck driver even commented that he had never seen car seats installed so securely.] Again, logistics come into play. What do I do with the kids while I'm helping the tow truck driver take out the car seats? I'll tell you what I did. Natalie stood in the shade on the median (still whining because she's convinced we're never going back to the play area in BK). I turned the car on so the AC was blowing. Then I put Charlie in the back of the van and closed the lift gate - not unlike what you do with the family dog when you go on a road trip. [Side note - Natalie didn't want to get in the car with Charlie because she was worried he's start crying and she was in NO mood for his crying shenanigans].

It didn't take long for the tow truck driver to get the car seats out and he carried both of them as we all marched back into Burger King, like one big, tired, sweaty parade. The tow truck driver is my NICE-Y #11. As soon as the car seats were on the floor, Charlie and the oldest boy of NICE-Y #8 climbed in them and start playing with the buckles and clasps. It was precious. I also talked more with the friend of my NICE-Y #8. She said that her friend had just told her what happened and that she was so, so sorry that happened. This gal just oozed genuine compassion. I can see why she and NICE-Y #8 are friends. She also said she was glad we weren't hurt and that a van can be fixed. That it's just stuff. Preach it, girlfriend. She is my NICE-Y #12.

Not long after that, Lee got there. And a few minutes after that, Enterprise got there. In a gigantic quad cab truck. Lee was in heaven! The Enterprise gal as incredibly kind and helpful. The pickin's were slim at Enterprise and the truck was all they had that wasn't the size of a Chevy Aveo. It cost a bit out of pocket for us to have the truck, but she walked us through the process of what we can do if we want to downgrade to something smaller. She is my NICE-Y #13.

Thirteen strangers in the span of three hours who drastically changed my day. Thirteen strangers that may or may not have known they were showing me beautiful glimpses of Jesus. Salt and light, they were. They set such good examples of how we should treat others. Getting into a wreck was certainly not the highlight of my day, but the love shown to me by those 13 people far outweighed the frustration, embarrassment, and annoyance brought on by the car wreck. I would have missed out on the onslaught of my NICE-IES had I not hit my NICE-Y #1.

Romans 8:28 - And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose

Month 21 - Recap

My darling Ch,
"Ch", you might ask? What's that? Well I'll tell you. You appear to be all about efficiency. You see no need to say the whole names to things. You've decided that abbreviations are far better. For instance, saying 'Bob' takes much too long. You've shortened it to 'Bah'. And Pep is now 'Peh'. Buzz Lightyear is 'Buh'. Door is 'doh' [side note - 'door' was your first non-Momma-non-Dadda-word-that-you-said-unprompted word]. Cookie is 'cook cook'. Mickey Mouse is 'Meh Mow' [rhymes with 'now', not 'oh']. Your belly button is 'buh bo'. You seem awfully proud of your ability to shorten the English language. I'm sure the folks over at Oxford and Cambridge (if they ever lost their collective minds and started reading my ramblings) would likely choke on their bow ties.

It's funny how a kid born into a family with mainly pink and/or flowery and/or glittery and/or princessy toys turns out to be a Truck Boy, but you are. You sooooo are. You love trucks to the point that you're probably going to get laryngitis from making so many truck noises. You make anything a truck - a bristle block, your sippy cup, a piece of broccoli [you're certainly not going to eat it, so why WOULDN'T you use broccoli as a truck?]. Not to mention that you have a cement mixer in your crib and a front end loader beside your carseat.

Changing your diaper has become a feat of epic proportions. It is a feat for which I am not equipped. I need at least three more arms to properly change you. You flail, you holler, you twist, you lock your legs. I expect you to turn green and rip off your shirt. Then as soon as the diaper change is over, you turn back into my impossibly sweet, impossibly rascally, pasty-pale little Bear. As with practically every recap since you were three months, I blame your lack of tooth growth. Teething causes you to have some pretty funky diapers, usually in rapid succession. So I get it. I really do. Now get a move on with that tooth growin' business. MERCY.

One of your favorite games is to say my name in silly voices and get me to reply back with your name in the same silly voice. I didn't know there were that many ways to say 'Momma', but now I do. Your gravelly voice is funny, your high-pitched voice is adorable, your silly voice keeps me in stitches. Much like your sister, you'll do anything for a laugh. And much like your sister, I see myself in five years, sitting in the principal's office, trying to keep a straight face as the he/she tells me that my child (ie: you) is a bright child although a constant source of disruption (ie: class clown) for the other students. I'll do my best to put on my Disapproving Face, but inside I'll totally be wearing my What Can I Say, His Daddy and I Breed Knuckleheads? Face.

You still like playing with Natalie's dollhouse. You particularly like making Natalie's Little People princesses take a nap in Dora's bed. You grab one of the dolls and try to smush her in a bed. And then yell because you don't understand why plastic doesn't smush. The doll rolls right off the bed and you yell "NO NO! NIGHT-NIGHT!" as you point accusingly to the disobedient doll and try to smush her in the bed again. I realize that there's no way to effectively explain that the princess's dress is keeping her from being able to lay down properly so I just try to redirect you to a different, flat-backed doll who will, in fact, lay down and properly go night-night. You reject my flat-backed doll and instead choose a Weeble. Need I go on in describing the madness that ensues? I know it's bad if Natalie steps in and is all "Charlie, seriously. Weebles WOBBLE. They don't fall DOWN. This will NEVER work. Just pick another DOLL. UGH!!!!". Then she stomps off all teenager-esque and you and I are left looking at each other like "Dude, she's YOUR sister" and "Dude, she's YOUR daughter".

Hmm, what's left, what's left? Oh yes, this. YOU ARE STILL A TERRIBLE EATER AND YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY WITH YOUR NON-EATING. I COOK GOOD HEALTHY FOOD. NOW EAT SOMETHING THAT'S NOT BEIGE BEFORE MY BRAIN FALLS OUT. I apologize for yelling. NOT REALLY.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for August 9, 2013:

• Is she or isn't she? Panda sparks another UK baby watch
• Suspect hunted in teen's kidnapping may have homemade explosives, police say
• Powerball winner: 'I don't want to work' ever again
• Spain to Review Train Speeds After Deadly Crash
• Why Drug Tests Can't Catch Doping Athletes

July 2013

You sweet little muffin,
You still love to make up songs. You often come into the room and announce that you have a new song to sing us. But first you want to hum the tune for us. It goes a little something like this: "Hey guys, GUESS WHAT!  I have a new SONG!!! First I'll hum the tune for you. Here it goes. Mmm mmm mmmm mmm mmmmm mmm mmm mmmmmm mmmm. Now I'll sing the words: Thank you, Jesus, for the world You made and for all the Earth that You gave us and help us not to be mean to our family and teach us to share our toys and eat healthy food and my dress is purple and I like peaches." You are the master of random song lyrics.

You've suddenly learned to color in the lines! And, like much of your other milestones, there was never really any 'in-between stage'. It was like one day you were scribbling and very next day you colored in the lines. And I have to hand it to you, you're really good! You take a lot of creative licensing with your colors, however. Like, you feel Minnie Mouse should have pink ears. And purple hands. And Elmo should be blue. And Cinderella should have one arm purple, one brown arm, one yellow leg and one green leg. And why the heck not, right?

There's a sunroom in our new house in Marianna and we've turned it into a playroom. It's AWESOME. We've set up a little craft corner for you with a table, some chairs, and a 4' tall craft organizer. You are in HEAVEN. In the month we've lived here, you've made approximately 384 puppets (complete with popsicle stick handles), an entire ream's worth of notes and drawings (your specialties are playground scenes and Mike and Sulley from Monster's, Inc). You spend Quiet Time in the playroom surrounded by glue sticks, scissors, stickers, paper, crayons, markers, pipe cleaners, and yarn.  It does my heart good to listen to you hum your comforting little tune (a five-note diddy that you sing/hum over and over while you craft - it's as comforting to you as your teddy bear is at bedtime). And it does my heart even more good to see both you and Charlie playing in the playroom. Sometimes you play together (and I hear the Hallelujah Chorus), but mostly you two do your own thing. You craft and Charlie bounces between rolling his trucks across the floor, reading, and wreaking havoc on Dora and the gang in your dollhouse.

You like to write books for people. What prompted this was my leaving on a girls' trip. Bob and Pep were going to come help Daddy wrangle you and Charlie while I went on a girls' trip with some dear friends from high school, and you wanted to have some special crafts ready for Bob for when she arrived at our house. Side note - you thought it was HILARIOUS that Bob and Pep were coming for a sleepover.  And that they were bringing jammies (Bob even bought special rubber duckie jammie bottoms for the occasion!). In your mind, I guess, only your family wore jammies.  And it never occurred to you that other people did, too. Anywho, you started writing books for Bob. The pages were filled with pictures of Bob's favorite things and favorite people. It was really precious. When I told you I was going on a trip to see my friends from high school, and that Manda (one of your most favorite people ever) was picking me up from the airport, you screeched "I HAVE TO MAKE A BOOK FOR MANDA!" Your first book was titled "All About Manda". I was excited to see what you had come up with, especially since you  hadn't asked me any questions about what Manda liked. Here's what the book was:
Page 1: picture of Manda
Page 2: picture of John (Manda's husband)
Pages 3-5: pictures of friends from your preschool
Page 6: the word Good and the word Bad with a line through it
The End
Yep. It was all about Manda, that's for sure. You wrote another book for Manda and completely redeemed yourself. The book was absolutely precious - and you even stuck in a few pages that read "How do you like my book?" and "This is a very good book." Subtle, kid.

You are growing up into such a neat kid. I'm proud of the non-Stepford girl you are. You're quirky, you're silly, you're clever, you hum in an odd manner to calm yourself, you're a worrier, you're overly sensitive to loud noises - and you're slowly learning to be all those things, to find your own way to be all those things, in a socially acceptable way. You're becoming more and more independent and more patient with problem solving right before my very eyes. More than once, you've gotten really overwhelmed and come up to me with big ol' fat tears in your eyes and said "Momma, will you pray for me?" Daddy and I will always ALWAYS pray for you and Charlie Bear. It is one of our highest honors and greatest delights.  And on some days, it is the one thing that stands between us and selling you two knuckleheads to the circus.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for August 1, 2013:

• Cleveland kidnap survivor visits to thank neighbors
• Officials: Texas 'running out' of execution drug
• Singing 'Happy Birthday' makes the cake taste better
• 4-year-old boy is re-elected mayor of tiny town in northern Minnesota
• NYC residents using fake 'service dog' tags to take pets everywhere
• Oh baby! Mother gives birth to 13-pound girl in Germany 

June 2013 and Month 19 - Recap

Here's how this month went:

I packed boxes. You watched too much TV.  I packed more boxes. You played a lot with Bob and Pep. I cleaned. You two watched Monsters, Inc and Despicable Me no fewer than 57 times. I daydreamed about having my own personal Minions to pack the house for me. You ate too much food out of boxes and bags (and consequently, Charlie ate more food this month than he's ever eaten in his entire life). I pretty much win Most Negligent Mom of the Month. It's not a title of which I'm proud. But our old house got empty and our new house got filled. And nobody got committed to the loony bin. The end.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for July 1 and 9, 2013:

• Something happened
• Something else happened
• Something good happened 
• Something bad happened
• Something political happened

Month 18 - Recap

My little charmer,
You've taken it upon yourself to blow kisses whenever I ask you say 'bye bye'.  Your dimples coupled with your blowing kisses makes you quite the flirty little charmer.  It makes me smile to see how much you make other people smile.  You're a fun dude to hang out with.

I can't tell for sure if you're saying new words or not, but I think you have.  Last week, Natalie came out of her room wearing a shirt that had red and blue stars on it.  You pointed to her and said "DAR!"  You totally could be saying STAR.  Or, just as likely, you're saying the nonsense word DAR.  Yesterday, you had on a shirt that had a turtle on it.  I asked you what animal it was and you said "toeTOE!"  Again, you could totally be saying TURTLE.  Or again, you could be just shouting random syllables that happen to sound slightly like TURTLE.  And being the overly-enthusiastic mom that I am, I'd like to think that you are, in fact, learning new words.

You took your first non-hysterical bath this month!  Coincidentally, this was also the age that your sister finally stopped freaking out in baths too.  I put you in the tub and it was like a lightbulb went off.  Hey!  Splashing water is FUN!  And hey!  Pouring water out of this cup is FUN!  And hey!  Mom ISN'T bathing me in acid!  This warm soapy water feels NICE!  Better late than never, huh?

Natalie has a little plastic Strawberry Shortcake doll with a removable hat.  You love that thing.  You put her hat on, take it off, put it back on, take it back off, then guffaw at your brilliance.  Because there is that one toy with a removable hat, you've taken this to mean that EVERY doll's hat (or even head in some cases) is removable.  Which means you get frustrated a LOT (because that particular Strawberry Shortcake doll is on the short list of Dolls with Removable Hats).  Which means you whine at me a LOT to help you remove a hat that is permanently affixed to another doll's head.  All because one single Strawberry Shortcake doll had the nerve to have a hat accessory.  I've got the Superglue on standby should your efforts of hat/head removing ever become successful.

You are in full-fledged toddler mode.  You say 'no' a lot.  Like, a LOT.  To everything.  Like, EVERYthing (well, everything except a banana).  It's nothing out-of-character for someone your age, but it's certainly causes my eye to twitch after hearing it for the 314th time that day.  You also snatch things from Natalie.  What makes it worse is that when I tell you to give the snatched item back to your sister, you hold it out as if you're going to give it back, but as soon as Natalie makes a motion to take the item back, you quickly yank your hand back and yell NO.  Your incredibly sensitive sister does not handle that so well, as you might imagine.

So you say 'no' and nod your head 'yes'.  I thought you had learned to shake your head 'no'.  But then I realized that you were just looking for an Eskimo Kiss.  LOVE.

Like I said, you won't ever say 'no' to a banana.  You do, however, say 'no' to almost every other food on the planet.  Wait - I take that back.  You say 'no' to practically every HEALTHY thing I try to feed you.  If it's green or orange or yellow, you won't eat it.  If it's a banana or apple sauce, some type of dessert, or some highly processed carbohydrate, you're all about it.  Anything else gets the ol' heave ho.  White bread? The more processed, the better!  Animal crackers?  Sure thing!  Chocolate cupcake?  May I have another?!  Sweet potato?  Don't be a moron.  Broccoli?  Negative, Ghost Rider.  Eggs?  You've got to be kidding me.  You're the poster child for Typical Kid Food Eater.  I'm sure you wish you were born into a family where all we ate was chicken nuggets (not homemade, of course), French fries (again, not homemade), macaroni and cheese (Blue Box please - none of that whole wheat noodle nonsense), and some type of cracker (made with no fewer than 20 chemically-laden ingredients, please).  Alas, my boy, you were born into our family.  And your momma is too stubborn to let you win.  I keep telling myself that one day you'll eat something green.  Maybe it'll be 30 years down the road, but it's gotta happen eventually.  You've got an incredibly sweet and charming personality and you sleep 11 hours a night.  So what if you don't eat vegetables?  Maybe I'll just leave that feat for your future wife to overcome.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for June 9, 2013:

• 'He's the best': Rafael Nadal wins record eighth French Open
• Want more time off? Some jobs let you buy it
• 'I will be made to suffer for my actions': Self-identified source for NSA leaks comes forward
• Daredevil to tightrope walk over Grand Canyon live on 'Skywire'
• 'Madiba is a fighter': South Africa prays as ailing Nelson Mandela spends 2nd day in hospital
• Coke or soda? Coo-pon or cyu-pon? Maps reveal how America speaks

May 2013 - Recap

My silly little goober,
You and some of your friends from preschool like to play outside after the mommas pick you up.  Lately, your favorite game to play is 'Puppies'.  I don't quite understand 'Puppies' and I don't think you girls actually ever sat down and decided on anything about the game further than "Let's run around and play 'Puppies'!"  It's fascinating to watch.  One of you is usually the Mommy Puppy and the others are designated as the Baby Puppies.  The Baby Puppies seem to hide in the bushes a lot.  And the Mommy Puppy yells a lot.  "Go to bed, Baby Puppies!"  "You're in Time-Out, Baby Puppies!"  "Come HERE, Baby Puppies!"  It's apparently a burdensome job, being a Mommy Puppy and all.  You silly girls have also decided that you have to go to the bathroom as a group.  I mean really.  You're FOUR.  I had NO idea this notion of girls always going to the bathroom together started this young.  Now I know.  You silly Puppies.

I adore how clever you are.  You were rifling through your dress-up clothes the other day and found a visor.  You held it up and asked "What's this called again?"  When I told you that it was a visor, you looked at it and giggled.  You said "It looks funny.  Like a convertible hat!"  I couldn't have come up with a better description myself.  Another example - Daddy just traded in his (gas-guzzling but manly) truck for a (gas-friendly but not-at-all-manly-but-at-least-it's-blue) Civic.  It's got a sunroof, which you love.  After riding in the car for a bit, you proudly declared that Daddy's car was a half-convertible. Seriously, kid.  You slay me.

Your current obsession is automatic doors.  You want to be the one who the door 'sees' to tell it to open.  And you get MAD if someone else causes the door to open.  You always ask if we can just wait for the door to close so that you can be the one to open it.  Sometimes I oblige; sometimes I don't.  I'll give you zero guesses how the 'not obliging' part goes over with you.  We were at Lowe's recently and our checkout lane was right by the exit door.  There were several people in front of us in line.  While we were waiting for it to be our turn, you took it upon yourself to be the Official Door Opener.  You stood by the exit and jumped in front of the door to open it if someone was about to leave.  Thankfully nobody seemed too annoyed that a little squirt jumped in front of them as they were trying to leave the building.

You've stopped waking us up in the middle of the night (thankyouJesus), but you've started this thing where you'll come into the living room 12 seconds after I tuck you in.  You try to put on a sad face, but since you're such a bad faker you just look silly.  You muster up the most pitiful voice you can and say "I had a bad dream."  Oh, really?  A bad dream?  In 12 seconds?  11 of which were spent singing to your stuffed animals about going to sleep and the other second spent walking into the living room?  Really?  But I put on my Sympathetic Mom Voice and say "Oh no, honey, I'm so sorry.  What was your *ahem* bad *ahem* dream about?  Your response: STEALING.  "Because stealing is so, so bad, Momma.  It was a so bad dream."  *facepalm*

You love writing notes.  You spend much of your Quiet Time writing notes to people.  You write me notes when I don't feel well (which, unfortunately, has been a lot this month), you write Welcome Home notes for Daddy, you write sweet notes to Charlie about how you hope he sleeps well at night.  It's precious.  And just the other day, you came out of your room dressed up like a 'ghost' (ie: you had your big pink blanket over your head) holding a note that said "BOO!  HAH HAH HAH!"  It was so awesome.

You also love writing notes to 'your girls' (all the girls in your preschool class).  Each girl gets her own note with a personalized message.  Case in point:

DEAR OPHELIA (names have been changed to protect the, well, the four-year-olds)
SO NICE
LOVE, NATALIE

DEAR BETTY-LOU
YOU'RE FUN
LOVE, NATALIE

DEAR WINNIFRED
HAPPY FUN DAY
LOVE, NATALIE

Speaking of preschool, I was on the fence about putting you into it last year.  I was all "What if she hates it?  What if nobody plays with her?  What if someone's mean to her?  What if she gets beat up on the playground because she won't stop singing 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing'?"  I knew very soon after the school year started that preschool was the right choice for you.  But if there were still lingering doubts, they were erased when I watched you play with your friends after the last day of school.  You ran from one friend to another, chattering about everything and nothing.  You ran to the teachers to give them a hug.  The biggest thing was that you were in a bounce house WITH A TON OF OTHER CHILDREN.  If this had happened last year?  You would have taken one look at the full bounce house and headed for the hills.  Some of it has to do with you being a year older, but a lot of it has to do with you and your learning to handle social situations.  You still get nervous when places are really loud and/or crowded with people you don't know, but to say your socialization has improved this year would be the understatement of the century.  You fascinate me, my little peach.  It's an honor of the highest order watching you grow up.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for June 1, 2013:

• Storm-battered Oklahoma a 'war zone' after deadly twisters strike
• 'I'm free': Mexico drops drug charges against US mom
• Obama urges Congress to follow his lead to extend student loan rates
• Woman beats incredible odds to win $1 million prize on 'Wheel of Fortune'
• Brawl erupts at Ohio kindergarten graduation, 8 arrested
• Memorial set for Newtown gunman's mother

Month 17 - Recap

Well my, my, my, looks who's turned into a jealous little fella?  You know, for someone who's never NOT had to share me, you certainly get annoyed when the time calls for it.  We went to see a good friend's new baby earlier this month.  You were totally uninterested in him and didn't seem phased that I was ooh-ing and ahh-ing over him.  Until I held him.  Then you came over to me with a look on your face that can only be described as pure devestation.  You seemed absolutely crushed that I would have the gall to hold another child.  It's not unlike how you've been acting when I'm reading to or playing with Natalie.  You bulldoze your way in and squawk loudly to let us know you will NOT be left out without a fight.  The squawking hurts Natalie's feelings, and I often have to remind her that since you can't talk, you squawk.  I think she understands (as well as a four-year-old CAN).

I rarely pay full price for things for you and your sister.  It's a blessing in many ways, but it's also a curse.  The thought of paying more than $5 for anything for you two causes me some heartburn.  And when Daddy and I talked about getting you a tricycle, we knew we'd have to fork out more than $5.  We couldn't get just a regular tricycle (which I probably could have gotten for $5 at a consignment sale).  You're a bit too young for one of those.  We needed one that had a seat belt.  And we wanted one with a parent-steering-handle-thingee.  So we got one for you.  And Natalie was so excited when we brought it home.  She loved that you could go riding with her.  And in Big Headed Smithkid tradition (Natalie wears a helmet made for an eight-year-old), you have one made for a five-year-old.  It has Transformers on it.  It's rad.

You LOVE balls.  You are never as happy as when you have a ball in your hands.  You yell BAWWWWWWWWWW as you wander through the house holding onto as many balls as you can hold.  When we read books, you look for anything that remotely resembles a ball-shaped item: an orange, the sun, a watch face, a crumpled up piece of paper, you name it.  When you hone in on one, you point to it and get ridiculously excited as you holler BAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.  You try to say 'basketball'.  Except that it comes out like 'butt-ball'.  Thankfully Natalie doesn't yet know that 'butt' is a less-than-desirable name for a rear end, so she doesn't quite see the humor that I (silently) do.  She does giggle, though, and she tries to correct you.  "No Charlie!  It's not a BUTT-ball!  It's a BASKETball!  Buh buh BASKETball!"  Then you say 'butt-ball' again and the cycle continues.

You're still a crib gnawer.  And you've gnawed to the point where the wood is literally shredded in a certain area of your crib.  It's so gross.  So I've covered up that area in an old towel, taped to the crib in blue painter's tape.  You don't appear to be eating the tape (much) - you seem to prefer to just pull it off.  In case you were wondering, YES, you're still a gigantic punk.

You've really gotten excited about the animals in our backyard.  There are several random neighborhood cats that periodically sunbathe (and, you know, poop) in our backyard.  Add that to the assortment of birds and squirrels that show up, and you're thoroughly entertained.  You squeal, you point, you bounce up and down.  If only those silly animals knew how much you liked watching them, maybe they'd put on more of a show for you.  But you seem perfectly happy watching the cat sleep, watching the birds stand on a tree branch, and watching the squirrels run from one tree to another.

So I did this with your sister, and I'm happy to do it with you.  I COULD be teaching you 'better' stuff, but there are far funnier things to teach you.  For instance, it's way more fun to teach you to say "la la la" when I ask you what three singing pigs say.  Sandra Boynton for the WIN.  [Side note - you don't appear to have the problems with saying your Ls like your sister did.  Three years ago, the book was called "Moo Baa Ya Ya Ya".]  It's so fun teaching you silly stuff.  I'm sure we'll eventually get to 'important' stuff like colors and shapes and stuff, but in case we don't, I apologize in advance to your preschool teacher because you'll be the kid who thinks pigs say "la la la".

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for May 9, 2013:

• House Homeland Security Committee holds hearing on Boston Marathon bombings
• Late to the crafty party: 'Pinterest stress' afflicts nearly half of moms
• 2 Aboard Carnival Cruise Lost at Sea After Falling
• Top diplomats claim major Benghazi missteps
• Cleveland Kidnap Suspect Now the 'Captive,' Prosecutor Says, as Bail Set at $8M
• Eating peppers may lower Parkinson's risk

April 2013 - Recap

Oh the stories you provide me with for this little blog ... your latest one happened at Target. One of my favorite things to do is take you and Charlie to Target (or Walmart or Toys R Us or Kohl's - wherever really) and let you guys play in the toy aisle for 20 or 30 minutes. There are many reasons why I do this:

• it's air-conditioned
• there are fairly clean bathrooms close by 
• you learn that we don't buy things every time we go into a store 
• you learn to put back what you take down 
• I've found insanely good deals for some toys in the clearance section
• it's free (except for the times I need emergency chocolate and the aforementioned clearance items) 

So this particular time, we were wandering around Target before I dropped you off at preschool. You picked up a toy microphone (the battery-less kind, where it just makes your voice sound really echo-y and weird). I was showing Charlie something when all of a sudden I hear you loudly ask "MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?" I look over to you, and you're standing at the entrance to the aisle with this hugely expectant look on your face.

Me: Um, excuse me? 
You: I SAID, 'MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?' DO I HAVE EVERYONE ATTENTION?" 
 Me: Yes ... what would you like to say? 
You: LET US PRAY. DEAR GOD, PLEASE HELP US OBEY OUR MOMMIES AND DADDIES AND HELP US TO BE NICE AND KIND. AMEN. 
Me: Amen! 

Then you lower the mic and look at the Barbies as if nothing happened. It was one of the funniest and heart-warming moments I've had as your momma. I tell ya, kid. If evangelism is in your future, I say go for it. Target's a good place to start. 

You had your first bout with pneumonia this month. I didn't even realize it was pneumonia until I took you to the doctor. I took you in because you had had this wet, yucky cough for two weeks with no other symptoms (other than wailing that your head hurt - but you often say that, so I didn't hold much value it ... turns out it was valid. My bad.) I took you in and you were diagnosed with sinusitis (which explained the headaches) and pneumonia (which explained the coughing). This has also been your first bout with hating to take your medicine. You're usually a rockstar at taking medicine. But the antibiotic that you were on smelled terrible; I can only imagine that it tasted even worse. 

You got a fever after a week on the antibiotics, so being the worry-wart I am, I got worried. I took you back to the doctor and she couldn't figure out why it happened. Your ears and lungs were clear, so she did some bloodwork on you. You took the finger prick like a CHAMP ... until you saw the blood. And then you lost your ever-loving noodle. "The blood HURTS, Momma!! WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" And as soon as I took the gauze away, and you saw that the blood had stopped, so did your tears. Amazing how that happened. 

So you still come into our room periodically during the night with an assortment of problems. The funniest (most aggravating?) one is that you can't sleep. Really? You can't sleep at 2am? You know who can? ME. So go back to your room and be awake, while I roll over and go back to sleep. 

I couldn't have hand-picked a better-suited girl for me than you. You show me what's good in this world; you show me what I need to work on about myself. You keep me on my toes; you keep me doubled-over in laughter. You fill my heart; you baffle my brain. I see so much of me in you; it's incredibly humbling. And it makes me want to run to Bob and give her a gigantic hug and apologize for how I acted when I was four. It also makes me look forward to when you have a daughter ... and she turns out to be just like you. And while your brain is being baffled, I'll just be in the corner with a huge smile on my face. 

Hugs and smooches, 
Mommy & Daddy 

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Headlines for May 1, 2013: 

• Fukushima's leaks spark new health fears 
• Tsarnaev's best defense: Judy Clarke, who keeps clients off death row 
• FDA approves Plan B without prescription for girls as young as 15 
• Bush Library Opening to Public 
• Toddler Without a Windpipe Gets Artificial Trachea 
• Amanda Knox says what happened to her 'could have happened to anyone'

Month 16 - Recap

My sweet, mischevious Bear,
What I've waited for for months has finally happened.  You and Natalie now chase each other through the house.  And it's beyond wonderful.  You chase Natalie, and since she's quicker than you, she frequently laps you and then starts chasing you.  Then you both get plagued by the same invisible trip-wire, fall to the floor, and giggle like a couple of loons.  Seriously.  It's beyond wonderful.

You are the huggiest and kissiest child I've ever met.  Granted, my only other real exposure to children has been your sister and it took YEARS for her to give hugs and kisses.  But you?  All I do is open my arms and you walk as fast as your little uncoordinated legs will take you.  You fling your arms around my neck and rest your head on my shoulder.  And I effectively melt into a little Mommy puddle.  You also love giving Natalie hugs.  Your hugs to her often turn into tackles wherein both of you end up on the floor in a Pile o' Smithkids.  And the kisses.  OH the kisses.  You give the most sweetest and slobberiest kisses this side of a Basset Hound.  I try not to make a big deal about drying my face off after a Charlie Kiss.  Your sister, on the other hand, squeals incessantly about your wet, slobbery kisses.  She makes quite a production about wiping her face off.  You think it's hee-larious.

So you definitely say a handful of words - Dadda, Momma, NaNa (banana or Natalie or snack or night-night, whichever fits the situation), ball (bowwwwwwwww), and bye-bye (complete with a wave).  For a few days you said "beebee" (baby) but I haven't gotten you to do it again.  You turn into Growly Bear when I ask you what a lion says.  You say "ah ah ah" when I ask you what a monkey says.  You yell "OOOOOOH" when I ask you what a cow says (apparently you don't care about the 'M' part of 'Moo').  You pant when I ask you what a dog says.  You flap your arms when I ask what a chicken does (and then Natalie busts out with the Chicken Dance).  I'm trying to get you to say "la la la" when I ask you what three singing pigs say (we love Sandra Boynton in this house).

You are fascinated with doors.  Especially closing them.  Which, in turn, sends your sister in a tizzy.  Because if a door is shut and SHE didn't authorize the shut?  Woo doggies.  Watch out.  When you shut a door, she loses all ability to remember that she knows how to OPEN the aforementioned closed door.  She seems to think that if you shut a door (to a room that she's in), she'll be trapped forever and ever and never be able to get out for the rest of her life.  Yeah.  She's not dramatic at ALL.

So you grew two more teeth this month.  Which means your poor cheeks and chin were raw and drool-covered for yet ANOTHER month.  Seriously dude.  Pick up the tooth-growing pace.  It's killing me.  You are a wet-faced, wet-necked, wet-nosed (your nose is super runny when you're teething), raw-fingered (you chew on your fingers when you're teething) mess who cries if the wind blows wrong across those swollen gums.

The 'Terrible Twos' is such a misnomer.  I know of no momma whose kid didn't start tantrums until he/she turned two.  And I'm no different.  Natalie started her fits at about the age you are now.  So it's only fitting that you follow suit.  Her fits were more dramatic and loud.  Your fits are textbook, throwing-yourself-face-down-on-the-floor-sobbing-into-the-carpet little gems.  That last part rocks, by the way.  The carpet muffles your sobs and it's not nearly as loud.  So thanks for that.  You don't do it often (about once or twice a day) and they don't last long (less than a minute), but they're over the most ridiculous things.  I ask you to keep the blocks on the carpet and not to throw them at your sister.  Cue faceplant-tantrum.  I ask you to back up from the TV because standing 2" from it isn't good for your eyes.  Cue faceplant-tantrum.  I ask Natalie to get a tissue for me.  Cue faceplant-tantrum.  I have a hard time remembering that this is a tough age for you.  Things that don't make sense to you or things that don't go how you want them to go really throw your world upside down.  And since you don't have the vocabulary to talk about it, you faceplant.  I truly feel, though, that if your mouth felt better, you'd handle some things (like me asking Natalie to get a tissue for me!) with a bit more grace.  The takehome message is grow some teeth.  And if you insist on throwing a tantrum, keep up with the faceplant part.  It's much easier on my ears.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for April 9, 2013:

• Cardinal rule: Louisville wins NCAA men's title
• Annette Funicello, beloved Mouseketeer, dies at 70
• JC Penney ousts CEO after no-sales strategy flops
• Flight diverted after family complains about movie
• California hiker: Four days missing felt like a dream
• McConnell: I'll filibuster Obama's gun bill