Moth 15 - Recap

Lawsy MERCY this month has been rough on you (and, therefore, yours truly).  You had your 15-month-shots and they really took their toll on you (and, therefore, yours truly).  I forgot, and the nurse didn't remind me to hold your arms down when you got your shots.  So you grabbed at the needle which, I'm sure, made it poke you harder.  So you screamed harder.  And the screaming pretty much lasted for a week.  You were mildly pleasant as long as I was holding you, but as soon as I made a motion to sit or put you down or hand you off to someone else, the screaming ensued.  [Just in case you were curious, it's supremely difficult to pack up a house and try to stage it while only using only one arm.]  After you recovered from your shots, you got this crazy virus that made you keep going with the supremely crabby-and-clingy-ness.  I only know it was a virus because I took you BACK to the doctor because I was certain you were broken.  That there had to be SOME reason why my mellow boy had been a nonstop crab-fest for two weeks.  The doctor did a flu test which, mercifully, was negative.  Then she checked your blood to see if anything strange showed up.  Your white blood cells indicated you had a virus but of course there wasn't a way to tell what it was.  And even if there were a way, it's not like you can do anything for a virus.  Except be the receiving end of constant whining and fussing.  Which I was.  Did I mention you're also teething?  Because you are.  Your poor hands are so red and raw from where you've been gnawing on them for the past month, and your poor gums look so swollen.  I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but if you had just simply grown more teeth when you were younger, you wouldn't be going through the pain of trying to pop through a dozen teeth at once.

You really like to color.  You especially love it when you and Natalie sit at your little table and color together.  Natalie's off in her own little world, coloring and singing.  And you're simultaneously scribbling and babbling right along with her.  Even though you two coloring together doesn't last for long, trust me, I drink it in.  I've been waiting ever so impatiently for the time when you two can play together.  And while you guys have been playing together for a while now, this is one of the first times where you're both doing the same thing at the same time in the same location.  And it's gooooooooood.

Natalie has been showing you some of the 'baby' games on Bob's iPad (yes, kid, you like the iPad.  Your kids will surely make fun of you for EVER playing on something as archaic as the iPad is destined to be.  Your mother played with a Nintendo.  Never heard of it?  Look it up.  Then write me a three-page paper on the awesomeness that is the original Super Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt.)  Natalie loves showing you how to play with it, and you, being the President and CEO of the Natalie Fan Club, think it's the best thing ever.

You're still a fairly picky - but perfectly pleasant - eater.  You still love all things carbs and cheese.  Everything else is iffy.  Though the other day, I DID get you to eat several bites of a black eyed pea salad (that was delicious, in case you were wondering).  I'm realizing that I have to feed you a bite of anything new.  That you just won't see some new food on your tray and dig right in.  You seem to try new things about 75% of the time if I feed you the first bite.  You lazy bones.

You've got a few tricks up your sleeve now.  You've been doing the Scruncher Bear face on command for a while now, but you've also started doing Growly Bear on command (wherein you growl like a very cute, completely-harmless-but-trying-so-hard-to-sound-fierce bear).  You flap your arms when we ask you what a chicken does.  You point to your head, ear, cheek, and belly button when asked.  You particularly like showing off your impossibly blubber-able belly and its associated button.  I've tried to teach you other body parts, but that's usually met with the Growly Bear noise.  Or showing us your belly button.  I have the same problem with you that I had with Natalie.  That after you show us YOUR belly button, you proceed to lift up MY shirt to see MY belly button.  Listen, kid.  You and your sister taking up residence in my belly for a total of 18 months has permanently destroyed my belly button.  It's not cute anymore.  Nobody needs to see the carnage.

You're still climbing and still not walking.  As much as I want you to walk, I'm actually quite consumed with being impressed by your climbing ability.  Despite your surprisingly nimble moves, Daddy and I have already decided that we'll end up in the ER with you waaaaaaaaay before Natalie.  And we'll probably end up in a Parent-Teacher conference for Natalie waaaaaaaaay before you.  Between your climbing antics and Natalie's know-it-all antics, Daddy and I are gonna be driving all over town.  With big, fat smiles on our faces.  (Except, of course, if you really get hurt.  Then we won't smile.  But I'm sure we'll smile later.  As we show pictures of the aftermath to your future bride.)

Hugs & smooches,
Mommy and Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for February 9, 2012:

• Storm Drops More Than 2 Feet of Snow on Northeast
• Man's Estate Left to Actors He Never Met
• Ethan Spends Birthday With Swat Heroes
• Skateboarder's Downhill Ride Breaks Speed Limit
• Return of Timberlake Among Grammy Highlights

January 2013 - Recap

Oh my dear, darling four-year-old,
So Bob told me this was true.  That there'd be no denying it.  That even though I had experienced some level of it before you turned four, it wasn't even close to what it was after you turned four.  Four-year-old girls ARE, in fact, the silliest creatures on the face of the planet.  Good heavens, with the incessant fake laughter, the made-up language (that we lovingly refer to as Natalese) that you use periodically throughout the day, and the tremendous humor you find from sticking your socks in Charlie's face for him to smell, it's a wonder we can come up for air. 

In addition to being the silliest people on the planet, I'm realizing that four-year-old girls are also the sassiest.  One of my dear friends said that she threatened to make her four-year-old daughter three again if she didn't straighten up her attitude.  I immediately stole that idea.  Whenever you start to get too big for your britches (about every 12 seconds or so), I say "Would you like to be three again?  Cuz I can make that happen.  I'm a Mommy.  I can do anything."  Then you screech and wail that you don't WANT to be three again.  That being three is for BABIES.  That you'll have to give up your super cool NIGHTLIGHT and your super cool TOOTHBRUSH (two things that are only given to four-year-olds, don't ya know?) and you CAN'T give
those up.  So you decide to squelch the sassiness.  For two minutes.  Thankfully, your analytical side hasn't decided to question my method of making you three again.  Because frankly, I have no idea how I'd answer that. 

This is the first month of 'Quiet Time' where you haven't taken a nap.  Which means I haven't taken a nap.  Which means I'm a bleary-eyed mess by dinner time.  Which means I've started having an afternoon cup of coffee.  But it also means that by the time your bedtime rolls around at 7:30, there is very little protest from your end.  You do the obligatory "I don't WANNA go to sleep!  It's no FUN being in my room by mySELF" monologue, but it only lasts a few minutes and you're sacked out.  As opposed to when you WERE taking a nap.  Where it wouldn't be abnormal for you to come into the living room two HOURS after I put you to bed talking about how it's no FUN to be your room by yourSELF.  So no afternoon nap means a quicker bedtime but it also means that both of our nerves are completely shot by 6pm.

So since you're not napping during Quiet Time, you've had to come up with other activities to do.  One of them is jewelry making.  And I have to hand it to you.  You totally milk the cuteness factor.  The rule of Quiet Time is that you can't come out of your room.  You can do whatever you want (within reason, of course - but it's not like you have a flame thrower in there) as long as you stay in your room.  Well, you've been on this jewelry-making kick this month, and you've rationalized that if you're holding a necklace that you've made for me, it's okay to come out of your room 17 times during Quiet Time.

I'm not sure where you picked this up from (probably me, but I'm not 100%), but you've recently started saying things are 'amazing' and 'outstanding'.  Except you don't say it like 'amazing' and 'outstanding'.  You say 'uh--MAZING' and 'out--STANDING'.  You say it so emphatically and with such seriousness that it's hard not to giggle in response.  According to you, Goldfish crackers are uh-MAZING.  Pancakes at a local restaurant are out-STANDING.  I'm not sure what determines if something falls into the uh-MAZING category or the out-STANDING category.  But I do know this: you are both, indeed, uh-MAZING and out-STANDING.  And uh-MAZINGLY exhausting.  Zzzzzz.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Headlines for February 1, 2013:

• Turkey: At Least 2 Dead in Suicide Attack on US Embassy
• Growing Number Of Educators Boycott Standardized Tests
• Who’s who: This year’s Super Bowl stars
• Sheriff to Alabama hostage-taker: 'I want to thank him for taking care of our child'
• Ben & Jerry's Unveils Liz Lemon Greek Yogurt Flavor

Month 14 - Recap

My darling bear,
Another month has passed and you still show very little desire for horizontal movement.  You do, however, show a lot of desire (and a heckuva lot of skill) for vertical movement.  You're a climber.  And to be honest, I haven't the foggiest idea how to manage a climber.  You climb on top of people.  You climb on boxes.  You climb on top of chairs.  Sometimes you push the aforementioned chair to a table, climb up on the chair, then climb onto the table.  Then cry when you can't get down.  One of your favorite things to do is climb onto Natalie's bed, crawl to the other end of the bed, climb down from her bed, climb back ONTO her bed, crawl to the other end, climb down from her bed and repeat.  I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed with how well you climb down from her bed.  You figured out on your own that you need to use the Scooch Yourself Down From the Bed by Going Backwards approach, rather than the Dive Headfirst onto the Floor approach.  That's not to say that you never use the Dive Headfirst onto the Floor approach. You do; it's just not on purpose.

So even though the horizontal movement hasn't come yet, it's looming on the horizon.  Just in the past week, you've gotten more and more comfortable standing without holding onto anything.  I know my world is going to get 10 times crazier with you walking, but I so can't wait for that to happen.  Natalie is going to flip her lid over having someone else to play tag with.  Even if, for a while until you get sure-footed, it'll be the slowest game of tag in history.

In keeping the tradition alive, you are a pro at the Scruncher Bear face.  It's hilarious (to me, at least) how pretty much the first thing you and your sister learned was to do the Scruncher Bear face on command.  Natalie chose the mouth-closed approach; you, however, opt for the mouth-open-and-bearing-your-teeth approach.  Both rock.

You had a double ear infection this month.  I probably should have realized earlier that something was wrong when you pitched a fit every time I sat you down or every time I walked to the kitchen or, really, every time I breathed.  I assumed it was teething.  And while your mouth might have hurt, it was definitely your ears that were giving you fits.  Thankfully after two days of being on antibiotics, my sweet mellow Bear was back in full, rascal-y force.  Side note: please work on your Tugging on Your Ear motion.  Because you didn't do it.  And that's the easiest way to tell if a non-talker has an ear infection.  So I'd appreciate it if you took some ownership of my slowness in taking you to the pediatrician.  Had you tugged on your ear on Day 1, we could have avoided the several days of screaming and misery.  Just some food for thought.

Speaking of teething, the great Tooth Count still holds steady at four.  Can I put in an order for a molar or two?  You'd probably like some more foods if you were able to chew more effectively.  Just a suggestion.

You're a big fan of OPF (Other People's Food).  You can't stand for someone to eat in front of you without them offering you what they have.  Even if what they have is the exact same thing that you have in front of you.  The exact same thing that you have in front of you THAT YOU'RE CURRENTLY EATING (or CURRENTLY DROPPING ON THE FLOOR).  If you see someone eating, you immediately drop whatever food you're holding and point and squawk at the food they're eating.  This makes you a gigantic punk.  A gigantic punk who hasn't realized that his momma does NOT fix special meals for people.  So just because you don't like what I put in front of you, it doesn't mean that what I'm eating is any different.  What you eat, I eat.  And what I eat, you squawk at me until I give you some.  And then you're all disappointed when you see that what I'm eating wasn't a cupcake.  It's best you learn this now: I save the cupcakes for after you and your sister go to bed. 

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for January 9, 2013:

• Giant squid caught on film in natural habitat
• Hospitals overflowing with flu patients
• Obama open to full Afghanistan withdrawal after 2014
• Drinking diet soda linked to depression 
• Lance Armstrong to talk doping scandal with Oprah
• Couple launches protest after city threatens to fine them $500 a day for garden in yard 
• AJ McCarron is currently the reigning Miss Alabama Katherine Webb.

20 Questions from a Four-Year-Old

I love seeing how her answers change from year to year  (Last year's answers are italicized)

1. What is your favorite color? Yellow (Yellow)
2. What is your favorite toy? My dollhouse (Fishing rod)
3. What is your favorite fruit? Grapes (Apples and strawberries and oranges)
4. What is your favorite TV show? Big Big Friend (Little Einsteins)
5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch? Turkey and cheese (Cheese)
6. What is your favorite outfit? My soup shirt [that says Miso Cute] (Shirt and pants)
7. What is your favorite game? Candy Land (Hungry Hungry Hippos)
8. What is your favorite snack? Grapes (Granola bar)
9. What is your favorite animal? Doggie (Doggies)
10. What is your favorite song? Hark the Herald Angels Sing (Silent Night)
11. What is your favorite book? Skippy Jon Jones in the Doghouse (Moo Baa La La La)
12. Who is your best friend? Kendall (Eliana)
13. What is your favorite cereal? Honey Nut Cheerios (Banana and milk cereal)
14. What is your favorite thing to do outside? Play ball (Play ball)
15. What is your favorite drink? Lemonade (Water)
16. What is your favorite holiday? Christmas (Easter)
17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night? Lauren Bear (Elephant and Lauren Bear)
18. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast? Cereal (Banana)
19. What do you want for dinner on your birthday? Pizza (Blueberries)
20. What do you want to be when you grow up? A chef (A princess)

2012 - Year End Review

Happy 4th Birthday, my precious little peach.

You're FOUR.  FOUR YEARS OLD.  A quarter of the way to a DRIVER'S LICENSE.  How on Earth is that even possible?  Daddy would like to keep you this age forever.  While I do like this age, I'm willing to let you get a bit older to see what antics you concoct this year.  You're quite possibly the funniest kid to ever walk the planet, and it's been my utmost pleasure spending these last four years with you.  Here are your Top 10 lists.

Top 10 Things You Love:

1. Eating
2. Dancing
3. Playing with Charlie
4. Tackling Daddy when he comes home from work
5. Jumping on the bed
6. Putting together puzzles
7. Taking pictures (you specialize in off-center, out-of-focus random items)
8. Your preschool teacher
9. Anything sparkly, glittery, and all-around girly
10. Playing at the park

Top 10 Things You Don't Love:

1. Brushing your teeth (for someone who likes doing MATH problems, it strikes me as strange that you freak out over brushing your TEETH.)
2. Playing by yourself
3. Chilli (4 years, going strong)
4. Baths (4 years, going strong)
5. Bugs (4 years, going strong)
6. Loud noises (4 years, going strong)
7. Toilets and hand dryers that flush/dry automatically
8. Eating your vegetables before I'll give you the fun stuff (mac and cheese, a biscuit, fruit, dessert, etc)
9. Santa.  And not because you know he's not real.  Because the movie Rise of the Guardians freaked you out. 
10. Avocados.  You SAY you don't like them, but I think you're a big, fat faker.  

Top 10 Things You're Good At:

1. Writing your name
2. Spelling
3. Sounding out a ton of words
4. Singing lots and lots and lots (and lots and lots and lots ...) of songs
5. Being a big ol' sassypants
6. Teaching Charlie new things (you especially like telling him about colors and shapes.  And 'teaching' him about not touching your stuff.  *sigh*)
7. Going to the bathroom
8. Flossing your teeth
9. Making people laugh (seriously, the things that come out of your mouth are enough to crack a London guard)
10. Math (adding, subtracting, and counting to 100 are your favorites. *cough*nerd*cough*)

Top 10 Things You're Not Good At:

1. Staying in bed - after we tuck you in at night, you come back into the living room no fewer than three times with a plethora of problems.  You can't find your teddy bear (it's usually right beside you), your blankets are "cattywampus" (no they're not), your mouth hurts (maybe it does - you cry wolf so much that we're not sure whether or not you're for real), you're thirsty (you have a cup right beside your bed), you have to go to the bathroom (then go!  You don't need our help!), you're scared of the dark (that's why you sleep with a lamp on), you're wondering what Daddy and I are doing in the living room (eating all the fun food and watching anything other than Strawberry Shortcake).  Even though we have a rule that if you get up after we've tucked you in, you get your Big Girl Privileges (all of your stuffed animals [except for one] and books) taken away for the night, you still venture out of bed. 
2. Focusing on one task (particularly cleaning up).  You'll start cleaning up something (blocks, for instance) and then you'll make it into a game where you have to pick up all the yellow blocks first.  Then you realize you need a basket to put all the yellow blocks in.  So you look for a basket, but realize that your basket is full of your pretend food from your kitchen.  So you'll want to make me a 'Clean Up Snack'.  While you're making me a snack, you realize that your oven is full of Charlie's toys.  So you'll put all of Charlie's toys back in his toy box.  When you go back to your kitchen, you see your water cup sitting on the stove.  You'll ask for more water.  After you have your cup, you'll wander around the living room singing a song about drinking water (probably to the tune of Hark The Herald Angels Sing ["I love drink-ing wa-a-A-ter, *I* love drink-ing wa-a-TER...").  Singing that song will remind you that you want to watch yourself singing "Good Morning" on YouTube.  After you watch that video, you'll want to watch videos of when you were younger.  When you get to the video where you pronounce an "L" like a "Y", you'll want me to talk about what words you mispronounced when you were little.  I will strategically say "yellow", and you'll giggle and say "yey-yow".  And then pick up the yellow block.  Which will remind you that you were supposed to be cleaning up.  (Yes, you are a real life version of "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie").
3. Asking a question only once.  Holy MOLY dude.  You have GOT to learn to give me a chance to answer a question before you ask it again.  I realize I don't answer questions as quickly as you'd like, but seriously.  My brain can't process "MommycanIhaveasnack?MommycanIhaveasnack?MommycanIhaveasnack?MommycanIhaveasnack?".  It makes my brain want to pop out of my head and hide in the closet.
4. Hiding your emotions.  When you're grumpy, you huff and puff and grouse and sulk and stomp around like a sullen teenager.  When you're happy, you squeal and jump and laugh and dance and run around like a crazy person.   
5. Not getting frustrated.  This is when it is confirmed that you're my child.  If you can't figure something out the first time, you get super frustrated your whole demeanor changes to mimic Eeyore ("woe is me .... I'll never figure this out ...").   I regret to inform you that you inherited this lovely quality from me.  My bad.
6. Keeping your toys organized for longer than five minutes.  For someone who is as particular as you are, you certainly think it's hee-larious to dump everything from your toy bins (that were so lovingly labeled by yours truly) into one big bucket.  Like a gigantic toy fruitcake.
7. Apologizing, when it was an accident.  You seem to understand why you need to apologize if you were disrespectful; you do not, however, seem to understand that you also need to apologize if what you did was an accident.  If you accidentally bump into another child at the park, you need to apologize.  If you accidentally kick me in the head in the middle of a Tickle Throwdown, you need to apologize.  If you accidentally dump 1/4 cup of brining spices on your brother's head because you forgot to be careful when you were stiring them, you need to apologize.  And in each of those instances, you pitched some ROYAL fits over having to apologize.  Fits that got you into trouble, when the thing you originally did, did NOT get you into trouble.
8. Sitting still when you eat.  You're up, you're down, you're turning around, you're shaking your head, you're physically incapable (or so it seems) to be still and eat.  I'm tempted to put you back in a highchair.  Wearing a straitjacket.
9. Being told the 'right' thing to say/do.  When you prance around the house singing "Park the herald angels sing ..." and I say "Actually, baby girl, it's 'Hark'", you protest "But I'm doing it the KIDDO way."  When you move waaaaaaaaaay too many spaces during Candy Land, and I call you on it, you say "But Momma, this is the KIDDO way of playing.  So it's cool.  Don't worry."
10. Differential equations.  Four years, going strong. 

From January 2012 to December 2012, you've gone from someone who was refused to take off her diaper to someone who's BFFs with every toilet she sees.  You've gone from a slightly fearful child to someone who's still fearful but who's also done some really brave things this year (started preschool, rode on a zipline, walked across a rope bridge, conquered your paralyzing fear of being diaper-less, climbed up and over a really tall tower at the park, etc).  You've gone from someone who's insanely funny to someone who's insanely funny AND silly.  Good heavens with the nonstop silliness.  It's exhausting.  And hysterical.  You've gone from someone who was the big sister to an unmoving little lump named Charlie to a big sister to a whirlwind little rascal who you call Charlie Badooski.  You are the BEST big sister to Charlie.  You still have some issues with him looking at (let alone playing with) some of your toys, but you're also really kind to him.  You bring him (or, you know, throw at him) toys and books if he's grumpy.  You sing silly songs to him to make him laugh.  You play endless rounds of peekaboo with him, just because you know how much he likes it.

A particularly awful thing happened earlier this month.  And it stopped me in my tracks (and stopped my heart from beating a few beats).  It refocused me and helped me to be thankful for every thing this season of your life throws at me.  I'm thankful for your sassiness - it reminds me to thank Bob over and over again for putting up with me through my sassy years (that I still think I'm in ...).  I'm thankful for your fits of frustration - it shows me you want to be good at everything you try.  I'm thankful for your whiny and/or teary goodbyes when I drop you off at preschool, the gym, or at Sunday School - it shows me you love me and miss me when we're not together.  I'm thankful for your incessant singing - it shows me how creative you are, and reminds me how singing is a good, relaxing outlet for you.  I'm thankful for YOU, my sweet angel girl.  You are so cherished, so loved, and such a little punk.  And I couldn't be any prouder to call you mine.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

December 2012 - Recap

My sweet little puddin', 
So yeah.  I'm THAT mom.  With THAT girl.  You know, that mom with that girl who informed her three-year-old preschool class that Santa is just a guy in a costume.  *facepalm*  Now I know there are different schools of thought on the whole Santa thing.  Daddy and I have chosen the route of "Santa is a fun, kind character but not an actual person" route.  [We will, however, teach you about the generosity and kindness of the real Saint Nicholas.]  I think some kids are fine having the truth about Santa's existence told to them when they're older.  But you, my darling, I think would have run straight into Nuclear Meldown Mode of the Highest Degree if we had waited until you were older to break the news.  So instead of ever letting you believe he's real, we told you right away.  And it hasn't diminished your excitement about Christmas one bit.  You still giggle and squeal when you see Santa (from a distance of course.  You've got no desire to get too close), but you also know that Santa isn't what Christmas is all about.  It's about Jesus and celebrating His birth.  We are commanded to be in the world, not of the world.  And Santa is very much in our world.  In my opinion, there's no point in trying to shield you from every worldly thing (within reason, of course.  I'm okay with you knowing who Santa is.  I'm NOT, however, okay with you knowing the lyrics to Top 40 songs.)  I want Christmas to be a magical time for you.  Not magical in the sense of "Oh wow!  Look at all these presents I got!" but magical in the sense of "Oh wow!  I love all the lights, the fun songs, the time spent with family, and the celebration of Jesus' birth!"

Speaking of Santa, he came to your preschool.  And you were having NONE of it.  Not because you know he's just a dude in a costume, but because of a movie you saw last month.  You saw a movie where Santa wasn't portrayed as his typical big, jolly, kind self.  He wasn't mean in the movie, but he was giant, gruff, and very lean.  And you were terrified that Preschool Santa was going to be like Movie Santa.  I tried my best to reassure you, but it wasn't happening.  No biggie.  You checked him out from a distance and decided you'd rather eat chocolate chip cookies than sit with Santa.  Can't say I blame you.  Those cookies were delish.

Girlfriend, you are straight up READING.  Not everything, of course.  But we'll be driving around and you'll say "Mommy, why does that sign say 'ONE WAY' on it?"  Or we'll be at Publix and you'll see the Coinstar machine and say "Hey Mommy!  That big machine says 'NO FEE'!  What's a fee?"  It floors me.  You try your hardest to sound out words, and thanks to the impossibility that is the English language, you sometimes have a tough time (case in point: tough. You think it should be pronounced 'tuh-oo-guh-huh'.  I tend to agree with you.  English is whack.)

Your current favorite phrase is "Charlie, noooooooo!"  Ahh, yes.  Sibling love.  Wherein the younger sibling just wants to do everything the older sibling is doing, which TOTALLY rubs the older sibling the wrong way and causes her to whine and moan and grouse every time the younger sibling makes a motion toward her.  You have a little brother.  He thinks you're fabulous.  He wants to investigate everything you're doing.  It's like having your own personal fan club; enjoy it.  And if you have to whine about the trials of having a younger sibling, please call Aunt KK.  She'll be happy to commiserate with you.  For this situation, I'm on the side of the younger sibling.

Daddy and I got you a marble run for Christmas.  You were so excited by it, but I have to admit - the gift was also for us.  It's as much fun for you to watch the marble travel down the different designs we make, as it is for Daddy and I to make the designs.  It's a total nerd gift, and it fits right into our house, the House o' Nerds.  Aunt KK liked it so much that a few hours after seeing it, she bought a set for her and Uncle Mike to play with.  She SAYS it's for when you come to visit them at their house, but I know the truth.  So does she.  Ha.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for January 1, 2013:

• Ball Touches Down in New York City's Times Square, Marking Start of 2013
• Senate Approves 'Fiscal Cliff' Deal, Sends to House
• Clinton's Clot Was Life Threatening
• 6 Pakistani Teachers Killed in Ambush
• 'Mary Tyler Moore Show' House for Sale

Month 13 - Recap

Sound the alarms!  Roll out the red carpet!  SOMEbody got their top two teeth in this month.  And SOMEbody's been a drooly, fussy, snotty mess because of it.  And I couldn't be happier.  Now your mouth looks like the mouth of a seven-month-old.  Hooray!  I'm hoping your other teeth will succumb to peer pressure and make their debut soon.  Because seriously, there's food I think you'd really like if only you had the proper chompers to chew it (namely apples and bell peppers).

Your whininess got fairly extreme this month.  I know your mouth hurt so it's not as if I was frantically searching for the answer as to WHY you drove me batty this month.  But it was still tough trying to make you feel better when all you had the urge to do was fuss.  And screech.  And throw food.  Ahhh yes, throwing food.  If something doesn't suit your fancy, you have the lovely habit of throwing the aforementioned food.  If I see you about to do it, I look at you and sternly say "No sir.  We don't throw food.  Put it back down on your tray."  And seriously, about 99% of the time, you put the food back on your tray.  When I DON'T see you, however, THAT'S when my floor and counters get covered in rejected food.  You seem to have an orange food aversion.  Which is lunacy, because some of the best food EVER is orange.  I take that back - you don't hate everything orange.  You'll throw down on some clementines (scratch 'scurvy' off the list of things I'm worried you'll come down with).  But pretty much everything else (sweet potatoes, carrots, cheddar cheese, Cheesy Cheesy Explosion [my favorite comfort food that Bob made when Aunt KK and I were younger - Daddy renamed it to Cheesy Cheesy Explosion]) gets the big ol' heave ho.  On to my floor.  Where I then step on it.  And then am grossed out by the ooziness on my foot.

I love how snuggly you are.  You're not overly so, such that I can't get a thing done around the house because I'm too busy snuggling (which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world at ALL).  But pretty often during the day, you'll crawl over to me and either flop down in my lap or stand up in my lap and put your head on my shoulder.  You don't stay long; it's like you need just a quick little Mommy Recharge and you're good to go for a while.  It's delightful.  You also do it with Natalie.  You'll flop down in her lap throughout the day, too.  And she just gushes about how cute you are and how sweet it is for you to snuggle with her.  She'll rub your pack and (not always) gently pat your head.  And if Natalie happens to be in my lap when you need your Mommy Recharge, you crawl over to me, stop in front of my now-occupied lap and squawk like an angry parrot.  I'll scoop you up, give you the hug you need, set you back down, and you scoot off again.  I love it.  It could be jealousy or it could be she's in a more cuddly stage, but ever since Natalie noticed how cuddly you are, she's been more cuddly too.  I love, love, love it.

Speaking of Natalie, you are her biggest cheering section.  When she stands up and announces "Mommy and Charlie, watch THIS", you indeed do.  Your eyes are glued to her, and she absolutely notices it.  She'll do her trick (a song, a dance, a ballet move, a gymnastic move, eat a cracker ... anything really) and then end with a flourish and a 'taa-daaaaaaaaa'.  You immediately start clapping and giggling. and Natalie just looks so darn proud when she sees you cheer for her.  I hope you both will always be each other's biggest fans.  After Daddy and me of course.  Cuz we've got the top spot on your list of fans.

You're saying Momma and Dada a lot.  I'm not 100% sure that you're using them in relation to me and Daddy, but we'll take it.  You also say "na-na".  A lot.  Like, a LOT lot.  Sometimes I think you're taking about a baNAna.  Then I think you're trying to say 'NAp'.  Natalie thinks you're trying to say 'NAtalie' (of course).  Maybe you have us all fooled and you're actually saying "Will you buy me a CaNAdian goose?".  Or "Let's go to a NAscar race."  Or "I sure would like a sweet pair of boots from LANd's End."  Who knows.  As long "na-na" also means "You're the best, prettiest, funniest, and most caring Mommy in the world, you deserve a long NAp, and I thank my lucky stars for you", you're doing just fine.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for November 9, 2012:

• Royal hoax DJs 'heartbroken' over nurse's death
• As fiscal cliff looms, DC wrangles over entitlements
• SEAL Team Six Member Killed in Raid to Free Doctor
• POLICE: Boys, 7 and 11, Attempt Robbery
• UK Police Unable to Identify Man Who Fell From Sky
• Another TSA Agent Accused of iPad Theft

November 2012 - Recap

My dear peach,

Well MY goodness.  SOMEbody has had on her extra-tight big ol' Sassy Pants on this month.  And accordingly, I've had to hike on my Don't-Sell-Your-Daughter-on-eBay-Unless-She-Tones-The-Sass-Down Pants.  I'm just gonna chalk it up to losing an hour of sleep (the time change was obviously instituted by someone who didn't have children and didn't understand the ramifications of the loss of those precious 60 minutes.)  If you would, be a doll and remove your Sassy Pants and put back on your Obedient Pants.

I've started to accept the fact that you may be coming out of the (beautiful) phase where you need an afternoon nap.  It took a few weeks of you refusing to take a nap during Nap Time and constantly coming in to the living room and whining that you weren't sleepy for me to realize it's time to change my tactic (yes, perhaps a brighter mother would have picked up on this sooner than I did.  Them's the breaks).  So even though you don't nap, you (read: I) still need to have Quiet Time in the afternoon.  I made it clear to you that you do NOT have to sleep but you DO have to stay in your room.  You can play with your dolls, read books, jump on your bed, sing, somersault across your floor, build a Lego tower, anything you want - just as long as you stay in your room.  And you know what's funny?  80% of the time you go to your room for Quiet Time, you put yourself down for a nap after an hour or so of playing.  It's fabulous.  You feel in control of how you spend your time, and as long as the nap is YOUR idea (ie: not mine), you're more likely to do it.  Of course there are definitely days where you still come out of your room and whine that you don't LIKE Quiet Time and that's it no FUN playing by yourself and that it's not FAIR that you have to have Quiet Time and that you've decided that Quiet Time is now over (I'll give you zero guesses as to how that last statement goes over with me).

Speaking of things not being fair, I didn't expect for you to throw that line at me for at LEAST two or three more years.  You having to put your clothes in your hamper isn't FAIR?  You having to brush your teeth isn't FAIR?  You having to wash your hands after you go to the bathroom isn't FAIR?  Seriously?!!  I hate giving you such a blanket response, but I've totally busted out with "I know.  Life's not fair.  Get used to it."

As maddening as it is, I think it's neat how predictably unpredictable you are.  Things that I think would bother you, don't (neat).  Things that I think you'll love, you don't (maddening).  Let's take a rope bridge, for instance.  We went to Houston for Thanksgiving to visit Daddy's friend from college and his family.  While Daddy was visiting his friend, Daddy's friend's wife and their two kids, Charlie, you, and me all went to a nature trail.  We came to a rope bridge - one rope that you walk across with two higher ropes on either side that you use to help you across.  I was convinced that you wouldn't want to try it.  But when you saw the older girls try it, you were super jazzed about it.  You only needed help for the first three or four steps and then you wanted to do it by yourself.  You fell off the rope several times (a grand total of about 10" to the ground) and you got back up with a smile on your face each time.  I was super proud.  I love how brave you are.  (You're not scared of a wobbly rope bridge, but you know what you say you ARE afraid of?  Brushing your teeth. [facepalm]).

When you get up in the morning, you've started bringing out to the living room your beloved teddy bear for the expressed purpose of giving her to Charlie for him to hug.  To me, it's the epitome of kindness.  And Charlie just couldn't be happier.  He loves your teddy bear almost as much as you do.  And when you hand her to him, he buries his head into her and just smiles and smiles.  I thank God often for your sweet heart.  You're incredibly kind and sensitive, and even on your most sassiest of Sassy Pants days, I am humbled to be your Momma.  Humbled enough to where I'd never really sell you on eBay.  Promise.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for December 1, 2012:

• Fla. Men Charged in Alleged Terror Plot
• Obama Warns Of 'Scrooge Christmas' Without Deal
• Missouri introduces Powerball jackpot winners
• North Korea vows to test long-range rocket
• Underwood to play Maria in 'Sound of Music'
• Kids eat better than mom or dad, study suggests

Year One - Year End Review

Well lookie there, you dimpled little munchkin.  You did it.  You survived an entire year with this house full of crazies.

10 Things You're Good At:

1. Eating.  Pretty much anything, but specifically yogurt, bananas, Cheerios, tomatoes, blueberries, cheese, spaghetti, pears, peas, and avocados.
2. Drooling
3. Making people smile.  You're quite the charming little rascal. 
4. Saying 'Dadadadadadadadadadada'
5. Crawling
6. Cruising.  
7. Playing with Natalie.  You are still so fascinated by her (and frankly, so am I) and can think of nothing better than playing with her.
8. Dancing.  You appear to have inherited Daddy's wicked dance skillz.
9. Drinking from a straw.  Not to compare you to your sister, but you're way better at drinking from a straw than she was at this age.
10. Laughing.  Your laugh is infectious and could quite possibly be the solution to the whole lack-of-world-peace problem.

10 Things You're NOT Good At:

1. Sleeping in.  (But trust me: when you're 13 and want to sleep in 'til 10am on Saturday morning, I will so be waking you up at 5:30am.  I'm not above playing dirty.)
2. Eating quietly.  You and your sister are both so ridiculously noisy when you eat.  I've finally gotten Natalie to tone the noise down, so I'm not expecting you to do it any time soon.
3. Putting your laundry away.  You have opposable thumbs, you're reasonably strong, I see know reason why you can't pitch in.
4. Standing without assistance.  I know, I know - you have a gigantic head and it throws off your center of balance ...
5. Being patient.  I know this is not a skill that most one-year-olds possess, but I'm not the mother of most one-year-olds.  I'm the mother of you.  And as your mother, you simply have to learn to be patient.  I'm old and slow.  And I blame my old-ness and slow-ness on you and your sister, so the least you could do is be patient with my defects that you two caused.
6. Growing teeth.  Two?  After 12 months of life?  Really?  That's all you got?
7. Eating apples.  I think this is directly related to #6.  Granted, this does not stop you from shoving in handfuls of apple pieces in your mouth.  So what we end up with is a mouthful of slobbery, partially-chewed apple pieces.  Yuck.
8. Saying 'Momma'.  You say 'Dada' all the time.  But no 'Momma'.  No 'loveliest lady in the world'.  No 'Mother Dearest'.  No 'maMA' (said it a cool British accent).  None of those.  Nada.  Zip.  Superpunk.
9. Varying from your routine.  This has its good points, but it's also difficult.  I'm a creature of habit, so I'm sure it's my doing that made you and Natalie both creatures of habit.  
10. Remembering my grocery list for me.  Sometimes I forget things at the grocery store.  And when I look to you for help in remembering, you just laugh at me.  And drool.  And dance.  

10 Things You Love:

1. Frozen food.  Perhaps if you'd grow some more teeth, I wouldn't need to feed you food that numbs your gums ...
2. Natalie.  Everything she does, everything she says, everywhere she goes is fascinating to you.  You follow her around like a groupie.  
3. Tackling us.  If someone is lying on the ground, you take it as your personal mission to body slam that person.  
4. Drooling.  If it weren't for your pudgy belly and chubby thighs, I'd be worried you didn't know how to swallow, with how much spit flows from your mouth on a constant basis.
5. Puzzles.  You obviously don't put puzzles together, but you do like picking up each piece, examining it, tasting it, and then putting it back (incorrectly, much to Natalie's delight - because she gets to fix it for you)
6. People.  You smile at anyone and everyone.  With Natalie, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about her willingly going off with a stranger.  She's so wary of people and always sticks close by me.  With you though?  I think I'm going to have to put a leash on you.
7. Avocados.  I think you'd be fine with a milk-and-avocado diet for the rest of your life.
8. Going with me to pick up Natalie from preschool.  Some of your favorite things are wrapped up into one trip: seeing Natalie; being hugged by Natalie; seeing lots of other little kids; being tickled by those little kids (they love tickling your feet!); being outside (Natalie likes to play outside for a few minutes before we load up and head home)
9. Greeting Daddy when he comes home.  Natalie beats you to him, of course, but you're close on her heels, squealing and giggling.  I feel very confident that I can speak for Daddy and say this is one of his most favorite things ever.
10. Hugging toys.  I don't remember if Natalie did it as much as you do, but if we put something soft in your hands, you immediately bring it to your face, lean your cheek on it, and rock from side to side.  PRECIOUS.

10 Things You Don't Love:

1. Baths.  While it's not a biggie, it's certainly a bummer to have you pitch a fit in a room with such excellent acoustics.  Ouch.
2. Lunch meat.  I think it's a texture thing.  
3. Broccoli.  

I guess that's what happens with good-natured kids ... I can't come up with any more than three things that you don't like.

My sweet bear, this has been quite a big year for you.  You got born-ed, kid, and that's a huge accomplishment (and since you came in record time, not being born in the back of Mommy's van is also an accomplishment).  You've gone from someone who loves baths to someone who, in keeping with the Smithkid tradition, hates baths.  (Though in the grand scheme of things, hating baths is really a non-issue.  They only last five minutes, and as soon as we're done, you're happy again.)  You've gone from someone who is completely immobile to someone who crawls so fast that you often fall on your face because your hands and knees can't keep up with your desire for forward motion.  You've gone from someone who just drinks milk to someone who eats just about anything and everything.  You went from having zero teeth to having two teeth (okay, so that's not THAT impressive).  You went from waking every two or three hours to sleeping a solid 10+ hours (may I be so bold as to put in a formal request that that number get bumped up to 11?).  You went from someone who had no idea what it meant to be a pesky younger brother to someone who is quite adept at the peskiness (and between you and me, Natalie needed some peskiness in her life.  Keep it up.)  You went from a boring, little lump (is it obvious that the infant stage is NOT my favorite?) to an easy-going, endlessly-amused-by-yourself, dimpled-cheeked, square-jawed, jabbering little Bear who has completely stolen the hearts of the other members of Team Smith.

I don't know if it's a Mom-of-a-Boy thing, or if it's a Mom-of-a-Girl-and-Then-a-Mom-of-a-Boy thing, or if it's a Suze-is-Weird-And-It's-Just-a-My-Thing thing, but having a boy - having YOU - has forever changed me.  I so wish I could adequately put it into words, but I'm afraid I can't.  So you'll have to settle for my inadequate version.  Practically the second you were born, I immediately started praying for your future wife.  Praying for the girl who will someday hold your heart, whose heart you'll also hold.  I pray that I can be the kind of mom who will model the kind of Godly characteristics that you'll eventually look for in a spouse.  (I don't mean for that to be creepy - I don't want you to marry someone who's just like me, because 1) that's weird, and 2) I'm a special breed of crazy that only Daddy is equipped to wrangle.  I just mean I hope I can adequately demonstrate to you and Natalie the qualities of a Godly wife).  My job as a mom is something I take quite seriously.  And my desire to model Godly characteristics for you and Natalie is one of the top things on my Mom To-Do List.  My desire to demonstrate my never-ending need for God's love, forgiveness, and mercy is also on the list.  As is 'Take Lots of Naps'.

Congratulations, my darling boy.  You made me the happiest, most fulfilled Mommy on the planet.  Just when I thought my heart was filled to the brim with love for your sister, you go and bust down all my heart-barriers and show me there is plenty of room and an endless supply of love in my heart for a drooly little heart-melter.  I love you, my sweet boy.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

Here's Natalie singing Happy Birthday to you the day after you were born.  Melts my little heart ever single time.

Month 12 - Recap

I was so busy writing your Yearly Recap that I almost forgot to talk about what you did this month.  Silly.

Your personality continues to shine and I love seeing what you'll do for a laugh.  (I'm well aware that this part of your personality will very likely get you in trouble at school.  But I'm also well aware that those stinkin' cute dimples of yours will very likely get you out of trouble at school, too).   You like to play Peekaboo with anything you can get your hands on - your bib, a towel, a sock, a block, a baseball, you name it.  And while you'll need something along the size of a beach towel or a dinner plate to actually cover your gigantic noggin, Peekaboo amuses you to no end.

Your latest trick is to put your head on our shoulder and snuggle into us when we ask you for a kiss.  I LOVE it.  And while I have no clue why you do THAT as a kiss, keep it up.  Especially when you get to be a teenager.  When you go in for your first kiss (like, when you're 18 ... or 25 ...), by all means, snuggle her shoulder instead.  That's A-OK with me.

Natalie got pink eye earlier this month, and I was 100% sure you were going to get it.  A week went by and you were symptom-free.  The very next day, I got you up from your morning nap and your eyelid was glued shut by massive amounts of crud.  I immediately burst into tears because I so wanted you and Natalie to dress up for Halloween.  I spent that day wiping breastmilk on your eyes and trying to pry your eyes open so  I could put eye drops in them.  You never had any other symptoms other than an a cruddy eye.  The next day, your eye was clear.  I was doing the happy dance, giving mad props to the impressive healing power of my breastmilk.  The next day, your OTHER eye was glued shut.  I immediately stopped the aforementioned happy dance, and repeated the breastmilk-and-eye-drop routine.  The next day, that eye was clear.  The next day, both eyes were cruddy (though not glued shut).  The next day, they were clear.  So annoying.  And it was either the weirdest case of Pink Eye EVER, or you had some funky, clogged tear ducts.  I'm leaning toward the clogged tear ducts because you were never fussy (except when I tried to de-gunk your eyes), you never got a runny nose, you never acted like you didn't feel well.  It doesn't really matter either way - the point is your eyes have now been gunk-free for a few weeks now.  And that's a lovely thing.

Speaking of breastmilk (I can practically hear you saying "Moooooom!  Don't talk about THAT!"), you decided you were uninterested in nursing about three weeks ago.  One day, I realized I only nursed you twice, and both times I had to come FIND you to nurse.  You never indicated to me you wanted it.  Since I thought it was silly to nurse a kid who's obviously not interested, I stopped.  And instead of buying a can of formula to tide you over until your first birthday, I broke the Wait Till A Child Is One Year Old Before Introducing Cow's Milk rule and gave you milk.  And dude, for real, you acted like I had just given you a bajillion dollars (if babies actually cared about money, of course).  You got so excited and sucked down every last drop; when you were done, you gave me the biggest smile.  When I started Natalie on regular milk, I had to warm it up a bit for her in order for her to like it.  With you, I gave it to you cold (this is yet another example of the classic case of second children never getting any special treatment) and you couldn't have been happier.  I have to fight Daddy off your milk - I got you the crunchy-granola, tree-hugger whole milk (the non-homogenized kind in glass bottles where you have to shake it every time you want some because the cream is floating on top), and Daddy thinks it's delicious.  And as much as I don't like to admit it, it IS really yummy.  I'd have to go back to work to support our current milk habit if we decided to make the switch to the tree-hugger milk for all of us.  Or I could just make YOU get a job. I'm sure somebody's in the market for a adorable, drooly, non-walking Scruncher Bear, right??

I dressed you up as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween.  I'm sure there were hundreds of boys dressed up like Buzz Lightyear, but I'm willing to bet that you were the only one who was named Buzz Lightyear in utero (more specifically, Buzz Yightyear, thanks to your sister's funny pronunciation of Ls).  You will always be my sweet Baby-Buzz-turned-Charlie-Bear.  And I will always be the luckiest momma ever.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for November 9, 2012:

• Storm-stricken NY wakes up to gas rationing
• Gunman sentenced to life in Giffords case
• Iranian missiles hitting Afghan soil, official says
• Hurricane Sandy may have cost Obama 800,000 votes
• It's not the 2000 recount, but voting snafus and disputes still plague Florida
• 'Twilight' Fans Camping Out for Movie

October 2012 - Recap

My sweet girl,
This is the month of the pink-eyed monster.  You, my darling, sweet, incredibly smart little peach, are, to put it mildly, a disaster when you're sick.  You're a nonstop Whine Parade and act as if I could have possibly forgotten (in the past two minutes since you last told me) that you, in fact, DO feel awful.  Your poor eye was glued shut by three pounds of gunk.  And you were NOT pleased with me having to clean your eye every hour or so.  I even went so far as to wipe breastmilk on your eyes (because that stuff fixes EVERYthing).  You squealed and protested "But Mommy!  That stuff goes in Charlie's MOUTH!!!!"  I didn't even attempt putting your prescription eye drops in your eye (pinning down a sick three-year-old is NOT high on my To Do list) - instead, I opted for the "squeeze a drop or two on a napkin, then wipe the napkin across your eye" approach.  You watched approximately 683 hours of Strawberry Shortcake (awful show, in case you're wondering) and 173 hours of My Big, Big Friend (fairly cute - waaaaay better than Strawberry Shortcake).  I had to keep reminding you not to touch Charlie's face.  Or hands.  Or feet.  Or anything that he could put in his mouth (which is everything).

You've really gotten interested in helping me cook.  You particularly like to make your breakfast in the morning; you've been on a peanut-butter-sandwich-with-a-side-of-banana kick, so that makes it pretty easy.  I'm trying to teach you the fine art (ie: my way) of making sandwiches rather than Daddy's way (ie: the wrong way).  With my way, whatever you're spreading would reach the far corners of the bread.  With Daddy's way (in case you forgot, this would be the wrong way), whatever your spreading may or may not go to the far corners of the bread.  In fact, what you're spreading may not even be spread - it might just be plopped in the center of the bread that that's it.  You've gotten pretty good at spreading peanut butter, and I even let you wield a knife (with my hands safely covering yours) to cut your banana in half.  You also like to smell spices.  I love that you're interested in how things smell.  You really like cinnamon ("It smells like oatmeal!") and vanilla ("It smells like cake!").  I had some Montreal Chicken seasoning and you asked to smell it.  I unscrewed the cap and handed you the bottle.  I turned my back to you so I didn't see this take place, but
since I saw the aftermath, I know exactly what happened.  You stuck your nose right at the opening of the jar and sniffed really deeply.  Not only did you find out what Montreal Chicken seasons smells like, you also found out that Montreal Chicken seasoning burns the dickens out of your nose (particularly when you have about a teaspoonful crammed in your nostrils).  I tried so hard to be sympathetic and not laugh, but, well, I did.  I know it must have hurt, though.

One of your favorite things to do is to 'read' to us at bedtime.  Usually Daddy or I read your bedtime story, but recently, you've wanted to do it.  There are about 10 books you've memorized and you love reading to us.  You're quite the master storyteller, asking "Oooh!  I wonder what's going to happen next!!!" as you slowly turn to the next page.  I know it's just another way you dilly-dally your whole bedtime routine, but you're just so stinkin' funny when you do it, that it's hard to be aggravated.

More than once this month, you've looked at me while eating dinner and said "Thank you for cooking this food, Momma.  You're a really, really good cooker."  Let me tell you something, my doll: you saying that means the WORLD to me.  I work really hard trying to cook good, real food for you, Charlie, and Daddy.  I feel like part of my job as a stay-at-home mom is to work hard to cook most of our meals.  And making sure those meals are nutritious and (reasonably) tasty.  So even though I'm taking a compliment from someone whose track record of saying things that make sense isn't the best ("I don't know how to put on my shoes!", "What's a fork?", "I can't remember how to brush my teeth!"), I'm taking it gladly and running with it.

This is the 2nd year we've taken you to a pumpkin patch.  Last year, you were scared of the big Box O' Dried Corn Kernels.  This year, you dove right in.  Last year, you were scared of the horses.  This year, you were beyond stoked, and I'm pretty sure you're going to ask Daddy to buy you a pony for Christmas.  Last year, you were scared of the tire swing.  This year, you giggled and sang as you swung.  Last year, you were scared of the sand pile.  This year, you jumped right in (and ended up taking home several cups of sand in your britches).  Last year, I don't remember there being a zip line, but I'm pretty sure you would have freaked out if we had suggested it.  This year, you rode the zip line no fewer than 10 times.  And it only took you one time of riding with Daddy holding on to you as he ran beside you before you decided you could do  it by yourself.  And by yourself you DID.  You rocked it.  Daddy and I were so proud of you for how brave you were in trying all the new things.  What a difference a year makes.  But just like last year, though, you insisted on looking for a pumpkin "that wasn't so dirty, Mommy.  These are yucky."  Some things never change.

I don't particularly like Halloween.  I don't like creepy stuff, I don't like scary stuff, and I'm not a fan of going door-to-door asking for candy.  It's not the candy I mind - though I really limit what you can have; last year was the first time you ate Halloween candy.  (Daddy and I, on the other hand, have eaten your Halloween candy for four years.  Ha.), but I much prefer Truck-or-Treating over Trick-or-Treating.  The controlled environment of Trunk-or-Treating seems safer (and far less intrusive) to me than going door-to-door and asking for candy.  So despite all THAT, I do, however, like finding cute costumes for and Charlie to wear.  I've gotten really lucky and found an adorable costume for you each year.  A chicken when you were one, a 50s-inspired sock hop dress when you were two, and Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz when you were three.  This year, I found a pair of scrubs just your size.  They're fabulous and you look like a natural in them.  'Dr. Natalie' has a nice ring to it.  As does 'A Sweet Retirement Home For Mommy and Daddy Purchased By Our Super Successful Doctor Daughter'.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for November 1, 2012:

• Storm kills legions of NYU lab mice
• Long road for Sandy-battered areas despite progress
• Show must go on: Broadway plays coming back
• Report: 'Star Wars 7' won't be based on the books
• Dramatic debut: Babies born amid historic storm
• Elephant can speak Korean — out loud

Month 11 - Recap

My darling, busy little Bear,

It only took 11 months, but we finally got you to do your first 'trick'.  (Yes, I know that makes you sound like a dog.  No, I don't think you're a dog.  Because a dog probably sleeps more and drools less than you.)  You now raise your arms up to the sky when we ask how big you are.  The only problem is that trick only lasted a week.  Now we can't get you do it EVER.  You also wave - never when we ask you to, of course, but periodically throughout the day, I find you waving at random things.  The one thing we can get you to do fairly consistently is to dance.  It's so awesome.  The rhythm first gets you in your head, then it moves down to your shoulders, and finally you wiggle your hips.  The urge to dance usually hits you while you eat.  Which means mealtimes just got a lot more hysterical.

You also took your first assisted steps this month!  I got you a walker earlier this month and for the first few weeks, you just beat on it with your hand and licked it - pretty standard procedure for you.  But then one day, you figured out how to put one foot in front the other.  And then immediately take a knee.  You've only taken three or four steps at a time, but trust me - that's A-OK with me.  I'm not pushing you to be an early walker.  You'll walk when you're ready.  And then I'll go cry in the corner because my baby's all growed up.

I've started letting you fuss in your crib in the mornings while I get your breakfast.  Because your 'I'm Awake and Still in My Crib so I'm Going to Scream Until You Get Me' Cries are a lot more pleasant than your 'I See You Cutting Up That Banana But I'm Going to Scream and Wail and Yell Until That Banana is Shoved in My Mouth' Cries.  I had forgotten just how impatient babies are.  Sheesh!!  Breakfast time is an uber messy time in our house.  Instead of feeding you yogurt, strawberries, and bananas, I (lovingly, of course) slop it on your highchair tray and let you go at it.  It affords me time to eat my breakfast and drink my coffee, and affords you time to get sticky and messy.  And when the carnage is complete?  You look not unlike a lion who just devoured a yogurt-filled gazelle.  Your hands, arms, cheeks and mouth are dripping with yogurt - and you couldn't be more pleased with yourself.

And in keeping with Smithkid tradition, you're a noisy eater.  Just like Bill Murray.


You're now sleeping a solid 12 hours at night and taking two two-hour naps each day.
...
...
...
...
...
HAHAHAHAHA!  MAN I crack myself up.  I am, of course, a big fat liar.  Because you, my darling bear, are a big fat non-sleeper.  Wait.  I take that back.  You're a sleeper.  You're just not an A+ sleeper.  Because it's not like you're getting up four or five times during the night.  You sleep pretty consistently through the night, but you sleep juuuuuuuust shy (10 hours) of long enough.  And your naps are juuuuuuuuust shy (1 hr) of long enough.  Which leaves you juuuuuuuuust shy of pleasant for the hour or two before and after naptime/bedtime.  So you're a solid C sleeper.

I know I sound like a big whiny baby in the previous paragraph.  But in all honesty, this little (non)sleeping adventure of yours has been a good kick in the pants in my relationship with the Lord.  When things are going smoothly and life is good, I often forget to thank Him for His blessings.  But the times when things AREN'T smooth?  Well, those times force me to my knees.  Asking for strength.  For patience.  For the ability to get through the day without freaking out.  Being a mom has been the single most thing that has improved my faith.  Because on those days when I feel like I can't keep my cool, I acknowledge that I can't.  So I don't.  I simply pray and ask God to give me HIS cool.  HIS strength.  HIS patience.  I run out in an instant; He is always full.  One of my prayers for you and Natalie is that you'll both learn from an early age not to rely on your own understanding.  Doing so is how pride and/or discouragement seeps in.  We were made to be neither prideful nor discouraged.  Recognizing the blessing you are and acknowledging 100% from Whom the blessing comes makes this mommy both proud [the good kind] and encouraged.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Headlines for October 9, 2012:

• Romney Surges in Popularity After First Debate
• Sandusky Claims Innocence, Sees Plot
• Hong Kong Couple Sues Over Sons' Harvard Rejection
• Long-Missing Colo. Marine Buried With Full Honors
• Roach-Eating Contest: Florida Man Dead
• Van Der Sloot Lawyer Denies Pregnancy

September 2012 - Recap

My sweet doll,

When I pick you up from preschool, your teacher always tells me something funny (or embarrassing) you said to her.  My favorite one so far is when you and one of your friends were playing outside at the playground.  Your friend started climbing up the slide (something I refuse to let you do - not because you could fall [which you could], but because I don't want you to be a punk kid who goes up the slide and prevents other kids from going down the slide).  You immediately went to your teacher and said "Ms. Kayla, my friend is climbing up the slide!!"  Ms. Kayla then says "Natalie, are you tattling?"  You say "Oh no ma'am, I was just reMINDing you.  Just reMINDing you."  *facepalm*

Speaking of tattling, I'm working really hard trying to get you to stop.  There's a fine line between tattling and telling me if something really dangerous is happening.  I don't want you to NOT tell me things, but I also don't want you to be a meddling little nosy-rosy who fills me on every little time-out in preschool.  A few of my friends call it "informing" and "reporting" instead of "tattling".  You are most definitely an informer.  And a reporter.  Aaaaaaand, quite frankly, a tattler.

Your teacher calls you her "little Momma".  You keep track of what everyone is doing and make sure everyone is behaving.  Hmmm ... that sounds just like what your teacher's job is.  So how about we let her do it - because she's really quite skilled at it.  And you keep doing your job of finger painting, playing at the playground, and putting puzzles together.  And eating.  Because your teacher also calls you the best eater in class.

I have to admit, I'm kind of digging making your lunch.  I don't imagine it'll last for years and years (or even months and months), but I really like it for now.  And I hope you don't get made fun of for what I pack - because it's not a typical 'fun' kid lunch.  You usually have string cheese, a few pieces of turkey, veggies (usually some combination of cucumbers, bell peppers, green peas, sugar snap peas, carrots, or celery).  I'll also stick in a few dried figs for 'dessert'.  I'm glad you like them, because YUCK.  They taste like big, gnarly raisins (and I haaaaaate raisins).

I've been going to the gym a few times a week, and while I usually go while you're at school now, you still ask me how my workout was.  And I'll be darned if you don't call me out if I "only" exercise on the treadmill.
You: What did you do at the gym, Momma?
Me: I walked on the treadmill.
You: What else?
Me: (slightly huffy) That's it!
You: What do you mean?  You didn't do anything else?
Me: Nooo ...
You: Well why not??  Why didn't you lift weights or exercise on the elliptical too?
Me: I got a good workout on the treadmill!
You: Oh.  Well maybe next time you'll lift weights.
Me: [in my head] Oh.  Well maybe next time I'll eat your dessert and you won't get any.  So there.

You've been quite cuddly this month.  Granted, your version of 'cuddly' is still probably light-years away from what is typically thought of as 'cuddly', but I'll take your version any day of the week.  You've given me lots of impromptu hugs and kisses, and snuggled up next to me for longer than four seconds at a time.  After one of your impromptu hugs, I smile and ask "Now how did you know I needed a hug just then?"  You giggle and say "Because it's the afternoon.  And you need an afternoon hug!"  Preach it, baby girl.  Your mommy always needs afternoon hugs.

I feel like I've put this in every recap for the past 10 months, but it's still so true.  You are so sweet to Charlie.  I can't tell you how much joy I get from watching you two together.  You love performing for him, reading to him, and making him laugh.  He thinks pretty much everything you do is fantastic, and you take full advantage of that.  You don't mind if he (accidentally) pulls your hair, you think it's funny when he crawls on top of you, and you love showing him the pictures in your books.  Your latest favorite thing is to have Charlie keep you in company in the bathroom while you, um, take care of business.  You don't want me or Daddy in there, but you roll out the proverbial red carpet for Charlie.  And he's more than happy to oblige.  And I am, too.  Because me?  I'm all for the Smithkids bonding over poop.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for October 1, 2012:

• Obama Leads on Expectations – But the Race Itself Stays Close
• Diaper Shortage Looms After Explosion
• American Airlines Seats Become Loose in Flight Before Emergency Landing
• Fla. Teacher Accused of Trying to Hire Hit Man
• 3 US soldiers among 14 killed in Afghan bombing
• Maya prophecies: What were they thinking?

Month 10 - Recap

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Yep.  That about sums up this month.  You are so NOISY, dude.  Holy cow.

Baths.  Yep, you still hate 'em.

Your favorite thing this month has been playing with (ie: terrorizing) Natalie's doll house.  And God bless that girl because she's completely fine with it.  You crawl to her dollhouse, go all Chuck-zilla on it, and Natalie just sits beside you, queitly setting back up what you destroyed.  It's not uncommon for me to hear Natalie say "Whatcha doing, Charlie Bear?  Oh, you're chewing on Dora's mommy?  Aww, you're such a funny little bear!"  She's immensely patient with you, and it does my heart so much good to see you two playing together.

You had your nine-month well-baby appointment this month.  Your head is in the 98th percentile (big shocker); your height is in the 78th percentile (another shocker).  But your weight?  In the 24th percentile.  Twenty-fourth!!!  I swear the scale had to be wrong because you look nothing if not chunky and well-fed.  Daddy takes this '24th percentile problem' as his personal mission to bulk you up.  He's ready to introduce you to the wonderful world of Krispy Kreme, fried chicken, and milkshakes.  Daddy's so silly.

You're a champion crawler now.  No more Army Crawl for you, my boy.  Oh no, you're on all fours now and DUDE are you fast.  I turn my back for a second and you're halfway down the hall, looking for something to stuff in your mouth.  Natalie and I like to get on either end of the hall and have you crawl back and forth between us.  You think it's a fabulous game.  Some of your other favorite games?  Rip Mommy's Glasses of Her Face.  Pull Mommy's Barette Out Of Her Hair.  Wipe Your Icky Nose on Mommy's Shirt.  Scream Like a Loony Tune When Mommy Puts You Down on the Floor.

Based on that last game, it's safe to say that separation anxiety has totally kicked in.  Before, you were all too happy to be left in the church nursery or the YMCA nursery.  As long as someone was interacting with you, you didn't care who it was.  But now?  It must be Mommy.  At all times.  And if I'm NOT there, you poke out your pitiful bottom lip and fly headfirst into the Depths of Despair.  I know it's completely normal for your age, so it doesn't surprise me.  Overwhelm me, yes.  Surprise me, no.

Speaking of overwhelming ... congratulations, my sweet bear.  You made it 10 months before I wanted to sell you to the circus.  This month has definitely been the most trying one so far; to say I'm weary is an understatement.  So your sister threw up all over me all the time and had horrible colic.  But was a great sleeper.  And you?  You're a mellow little dude (for the most part ...).  But your sleep schedule leaves a lot to be desired.  Go figure, right?  I put you to bed around 7:30pm and you wake up at 5:30am.  Ready for the day.  At 5:30.  Five.  Thirty.  In the morning.  Ready to go.  Okay, so here's the thing.  I don't mind getting up at 5:30am.  If I had my preference, I'd get up at 5am or 5:30am every day so I'd have time to eat my breakfast, drink my coffee, and do my morning devotion in peace and quiet.  But you think that idea is ridiculous.  And you make it verrrrrry known.  Now I understand that having a baby who sleeps 10 hours at night is nothing to complain about.  I would just prefer that your 10 hours occurred between 8:30pm and 6:30am.  The other problem with your sleep schedule is your naps (or lack thereof).  You get up at the crack of dawn (actually, I take that back.  Dawn has yet to crack at 5:30am.  Even DAWN thinks 5am is too early.  Take the hint, kid.) so you need a morning nap pretty early in the day.  I don't mean to compare you and Natalie (but here I go), but I distinctly remember her taking three-hour naps in the morning.  But you?  You rarely sleep longer than an hour.  You (and Natalie) take an afternoon at 1pm.  You rarely sleep more than an hour-and-a-half.  So because you wake up so early and refuse to take decent naps, you become a PILL by about 6pm.  I would so put you to bed then except then you'd probably wake up at 4am.  And I've even endured the misery of keeping you up until 8 in the hopes you'll sleep in, but alas, no.  You still wake up at 5:30.  Except then, you've only had 9 hours of sleep, so you become an even BIGGER pill by that evening.  I've tried to put you down for a third, late afternoon nap but you've totally vetoed that idea.  So to summarize, yes, I'm happy you sleep 10 hours at night.  I'm not even that bent out of shape that you get up at 5:30 (I'm a little bent, though).  What I take issue with is that you're a horrible nap taker.  I love naps.  Daddy loves naps.  Natalie won't admit it, but she loves naps too.  So hop on the bandwagon, kid.  Because if you don't, you might be the latest thing that Ringling Brothers shoots out of a cannon.  And I mean that in the nicest, most loving way possible.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for September 9, 2012:

• Chicago teachers to strike for first time in 25 years
• Obama motorcade cop hit by pickup truck, killed
• Broncos close strong, make Manning's debut a win
• Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively get married
• West Nile cases climb 25 percent in a week
• The biggest gas guzzlers on the road

August 2012 - Recap

I'm no doctor but I'd be willing to bet you'd be diagnosed as having highly sensitive hearing.  Loud noises seem to really REALLY bother you, especially public toilets.  You're fine with using them but you ask no fewer than 10 times that I wait until you're off the toilet and have your ears covered before I flush it.  Despite my constant reassuring, you still ask over and over.  Granted, I know I'm scatterbrained at times, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you'll dive headfirst into Panic Meltdown Mode of the Highest Order if I flush the toilet and you don't have your ears covered.  Thankfully you don't require that everyone in the adjacent stalls warn you as well before they flush - except if you know them.  If you know the person, you'd like for them to warn you before they flush.  And if it's an automatically flushing toilet, you start getting really nervous until I reassure you that I'll cover the sensor and keep it covered until your ears are properly covered.  Despite hating the noise from public restrooms, you have no fear about walking into them.  As soon as we walk in, you want to know if the flushing is going to be loud and if it's going to do it automatically.  Once your ears are properly covered and the toilet is properly flushed, it's time to wash your hands.  All right all you Tree Huggers out there, I get why you like the hot air hand dryers.  It saves on waste, it's more cost effective, I understand all that.  But do you know what ELSE they do?  They freak the living DAYlights out of my girl.  And don't even get me started on that horrible XLERATOR dryer that sounds like a jet engine.  It freaks ME out and I have average hearing.  If there aren't any paper towels, I won't turn on the hot air dryer for you - I'll go back into a stall and pull off a handful of toilet paper or have you wipe your wet hands on your shirt before I turn on the dryer.  I say all that to say this: for someone who appears to have highly sensitive hearing, you sure seem to have a hard time hearing me when tell you it's time for bed.  You goober.

You ask questions to Daddy and me verrrrry differently.  Let me paint you a picture.

You: Mommy, why are the windshield wipers going really fast?
Me: Because it's raining really hard.  (Seriously, Florida Summer, ENOUGH with the rain.)
You: Why?
Me: Well, because there's lots of rain in the clouds and it needs to fall somewhere
You: But why is it not raining really really REALLY hard?
Me: Because there's not a super duper lot of rain in the sky, just a regular lot of rain in the sky.
You: (smiling, because you SO know what you're doing ...) What are windshield wipers?  What's rain?  What's the sky?  What's 'regular'?
Me: *brain exploding*
Daddy: *giggling like a little girl*

Same scenario, different parent.

You: Daddy, why are the windshield wipers going really fast?
Daddy: Because it's raining really hard.
You: Oh, ok!
Daddy: *gives me a smug look*
Me: *glares at Daddy*

Either you feel Daddy has a more authoritative voice or you just like hearing me scramble for answers (because I really, really try to give thoughtful answers and not 'because I said so' ones), but seriously. These are what conversations are like in our house.  It's a wonder I'm not in a padded room somewhere.

You also want to know about future conversations.  Again, I'll paint you a picture.

You: Momma, how come I can't run when I'm holding a fork?
Me: Because if you fall, you'll get poked with the fork.
You: And what will I say?
Me: Probably something along the lines of 'OWWWWWWW!'
You: And then what will YOU say?
Me: Um, probably "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry you're hurt'
You: Will I cry?
Me: Yes, probably.
You: Why?
Me: Because getting poked with a fork hurts!
You: Will I cry a lot or a little bit?
Me: Probably a lot.
You: Why won't I cry a little bit?
Me: Well, you might.  But I bet you'll cry a lot.
You: A LOT lot or just a little lot?
Me: A lot lot.
You: What will you say when I cry?
Me: I'll say 'Oh sweetie, I know that must have hurt.'
You: What will I say?
*this line of questioning continues ad nauseum*

Again, same scenario, different parent.

You: Daddy, how come I can't run when I'm holding a fork?
Daddy: Because if you fall, you'll get hurt by the fork.
You: Oooh yeah, I don't want to get hurt.
Daddy: *again with the smugness*
Me: *again with the glare-ness*

On more than one occasion this month, you've gone over to Charlie and said "Hey Charlie Bear, come to my room for some 'Nattie-Charlie Time'!"  It is so, so adorable.  Charlie would like nothing else than to play in your room.  I can't wait for the time to come where I don't have to come supervise, but for right now, I do.  Because there are approximately 14,000 things in your room that are the exact size of his trachea.

You had your first day of preschool this month - and you did GREAT! You weren't necessarily thrilled to walk into the classroom, but that didn't surprise me.  I don't think you'll be the kid who's ever super jazzed about being dropped off - whether it's Sunday School, preschool, or medical school, I think you'll always be a little hesitant. But your teacher said you were awesome.  You participated in everything except playing at the playground ... you told me "I just wanted to check it out today.  I'll play another day."  I so hope preschool will be good for you.  My prayer is that you'll become more confident in yourself and make some new friends.  I wish you were as confident in yourself as I am.  Because you fascinate me.  With your grown-up words, your never-ending curiosity (incidentally, I won the Neverending Curiosity award when I was in 1st Grade.  Boo yah.), and your fantastical imagination.  I find myself thinking about the future, and wishing I could just catch a glimpse of what you'll be like when you're older.  I pray often that Daddy and I will raise you to be the woman that God created you to be.  I so can't wait to see what the Lord has planned for you, because, listen up, my girl. With the combination of your hilarious sense of humor (you're welcome for that, by the way ...), your sensitive heart, and your sharp mind, you'll be quite a force to be reckoned with.

You gave me one of your few, unprompted "I love you, Momma"s this month.  You're more than willing to reply with an "I love you, too", but rarely do you go first.  And you did this month.  Several times.  And of course, I had to inform you that I loved you more.  And you, of course, had to inform me that no, you loved ME more.  And then I had to inform you that no, I loved YOU more.  Ahhh ... if only this was ever the extent of our 'arguing' in your lifetime.  Please know that when you're driving me loony tunes, when you're a gigantic Bossy McSassyPants, when you won't take a nap, when you pitch a fit in the middle of Target, when you tell me that you don't like the food I cook, I still love you more.  Always.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for September 1, 2012:

• Flood threat at troubled La. canal lock eases
• Melting glacier reveals World War I ammunition
• College Football Talk: Alabama shows it is still the best
• Monster truck mishap: 3 in Ore. hospital
• Even after chair skit, Obama says he's a 'huge Clint Eastwood fan'

Month 9 - Recap

Oh my sweet, funny little Bear,
You are now dual-toothed and impressively mobile.  You've fully adopted the Sliding-On-Your-Tummy Method, deciding that the ol' Hands-And-Knees approach is passe.  Your method is a mixture of an Army Crawl and a I'll-Ignore-My-Left-Leg-So-I'll-Just-Use-My-Right-Knee-and-Right-Toes-To-Help-Propel-Me-Along.  You like to get up on your hands and knees and you'll sometimes crawl a few steps like that, but you always end up flopping down on your belly and continuing on your merry way.  You're a kneeling rockstar and you can also pull yourself up to a standing position.  How is it that you, my tiny little bear, are already pulling yourself up?  I swear I was JUST writing your birth story.  Which I now have to go reread ...

I think you're going to be a climber.  A mischevious little climber.

You still roll your feet.  You did this when you were itsy bitsy and you still do it now.  When you sit someplace where you can dangle your feet, you roll your feet around and around at the ankle.  It's really funny.  It's also an excellent Good Mood Detector.  The faster you roll your feet, the happier you are.

I'm enormously impressed with your pincer grasp.  It seems like the first time I put some Puffs in front of you (three or four months ago), you immediately knew what to do.  It only took you two or three times before you figured out how to pick them up and successfully deposit them into your mouth.  You're a Smith boy, and Smith boys love their groceries, so it only makes sense that you would be an excellent food picker-upper.

Hey, you know what's annoying?  How you rip off your bib every single time you eat.  Every.  Single.  Stinkin'.  Time.  [Seriously, Bib Manufacturers, is it possible to make a bib that's Velcro can withstand a 9-month-old tugging on it?]  Daddy finally suggested that I safety pin the ends of the bib together.  And I did.  And while that stops you from ripping it off, it does NOT stop you from turning your bib over and upside down and sideways and whatever else way you can think of to make a mess.  You also like to drop food on the floor.  See, I had a girl first.  And she wasn't messy.  When I put a bib on her, she kept it on.  She didn't like to get messy.  She rarely dropped food on the floor on purpose.  But you?  YOU?  You're a yuck bucket.  A messy, messy yuck bucket.  A cute yuck bucket, sure, but a messy, messy yuck bucket nonetheless.

Speaking of the girl, you ADORE her.  You couldn't think of anything more fun than playing with her.  She's a great sport and does really well at bringing you toys to play with.  And she lets you play with most of her toys (I firmly believe that she should have one or two special things that are just hers and she shouldn't have to share.  I'll have the same rule with you - you get to pick one or two toys that you don't have to share.  However, those toys shouldn't be paraded around the other one to make them jealous.  You have to play with those toys in your room.)  Anywho.  You get so excited when she bounds into the kitchen in the morning, squealing "Good MORNING, Charlie Bear!  Did you have a good sleep?  Didja?  DIDJA?!!" And you two giggle at each other while you're eating.  It's slightly aggravating as meal times take forEVER now, but it's also ridiculously adorable.  I love that you two are so amused by each other.

You hate baths just like your sister.  That can't be a coincidence, right?  I must be a bad bather.  I'm thinking of hiring someone to take over Smithkid baths.  Because really, this is just ridiculous.  You have a cute yellow duck and the water is the right temperature.  I'm using water and not hydrochloric acid.  Your washcloth is nice and soft - not made out of glass shards.  All of these are ingredients for a good bath, right?  Negative, Ghost Rider.  You scream the whole time.  And the acoustics in the bathroom make your screeches sound even more terrible.  I've got the speed of a NASCAR pit crew come bath time.  Get in, get out, be done.  Because munching on freshly-bathed baby cheeks is way more fun than listening to you regale me with how much you hate baths.

You're still not the best sleeper.  You're definitely better than you were (Mr. IMustGetUpFiveTimesEveryNightWhenI'mSixMonthsOld), but I hope you continue to get even better.  You tend to, um, evacuate your bowels at the most inopportune times (like 5am), and you appear to be extremely sensitive to sitting in your own filth.  Makes sense, sure.  But so does evacuating your bowels when the sun's up.  Silly head.

You're jabbering a lot lately.  You love to say "dadadadadadadadadadadada" and you always seem enormously impressed with yourself when you're done.  I'll have to look back through Natalie's recaps to see when she said "Dada" on purpose - I think she was close to your age.  I wonder what you'll call Natalie.  "Natalie" seems like a big feat for a munchkin.  Maybe "Na" or "Nat".  As long as you call her something nice, and as long as you refer to me as "Dearest Mother, Fairest Lady, and Best Cook in All the Land", you'll be A-OK.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for August 9, 2012:

• Bolt, Blake set for 200-meter showdown
• FBI: Sikh temple gunman killed himself after being wounded by police
• Walsh, May-Treanor Win Gold in All-American Final
• High School Sweethearts' Class Ring Recovered After Nearly 40 Years
• Olympic Competitor Kirstin Holum Gave Up Gold for God
• Mars Crater Looks 'Earth-Like'
• Wallenda Books Major Tightrope Walk

July 2012 - Recap

So you read your first non-memorized word earlier this month. It floored me. Absolutely floored. You're kind of a letter and spelling freak anyway, spending much of your time sounding out letters and reading out loud the books you've memorized. But this was the first time you, on your own, saw a word, pronounced each letter, and then strung the sounds together to make a word. We were watching Good Morning America (Momma loves her some GMA) and for the weather segment, they showed a map of the US. It's been annoyingly, achingly, and miserably hot this summer and on the map was the word HOT (complete with little flames shooting out of each letter). You saw the word and proceded to break it down. "Huh ... Ahhh ... Tuh ... HuhAhhTuh ... HuAhT ... Hot ... HOT! Hey MOMMY! That says HOT!!!!" Perhaps I went a little overboard with my excitement (it's a big deal, kid - back off!), because after the 3rd or 4th "I'm so proud of you, baby girl!", you said "Um, Mommy. It's okay. Take a deep breath."

You were on a big Super Why kick a few months ago, and while you haven't seen an episode in a while, you still sing one of the songs from the show. One character (Wonder Red) teaches about rhyming. She'll say a word, like HAT. Then she'll say something like "Oooh, HAT is an AT word, and I love AT words. It's time to rhyme. AT, CAT, BAT ... wonderific, you're terrific ... FAT, SAT, MAT ... wonderific, you're terrific ... AT!" So you like singing that song a lot. Except that you take some creative rhyming licensing. Case in point: JESUS! You say "Oooh, JESUS is an ESUS word, and I love ESUS words. It's time to rhyme. ESUS, MESUS, BESUS ... wonderific, you're terrific ... WESUS, MESUS, FESUS ... wonderific, you're terrific ... ESUS!" I can't say I blame you, though. Jesus IS the best ESUS word.

The Olympics are on, and let me just tell you this straight out - I am an Olympics FREAK. I love them. I'll pretty much watch any and every event (though I'm not jazzed on boxing), but my favorites are gymnastics, swimming, and diving. We don't watch a whole lot of TV during the day - a show or two after breakfast and another show or two after naptime is the max I'll let you watch. But when the Olympics are on? Well, that rule gets shoved under the rug for a few weeks. Because there's Water Polo to watch! And Badmidton! And let's not forget Table Tennis! I have to admit, though, that you aren't all Olympic-y like I am. Only diving and gymnastics hold your attention. And that's A-OK with me. You think it's awesome when "those big girls dive into the water all by themselves. Look, Momma, they're not scared!!" And you get SO excited to watch the gymnasts fly though the air. You wonder why the gymnasts keep switching between the high bar and the low bar. You think balance beam dismounts are equivalent to falling and want to know what the gymnast's mommy is going to do to make her feel better. You love their sparkly leotards. One of my most treasured memories is watching the women's gymnastics team compete in the 1996 Olympics with my two best friends from kindergarten. Remind me to tell you about that one day.

Okay, I don't know what's gotten into you (besides simply being three and a gigantic wackadoo) but you're on this kick of taking things from people - not necessarily 'hiding' since it's usually out in the open or easily find-able, but you take things from one room and put them in another room. It drives me BANANAS. (Hm ... I guess I've answered my question as to why you do it ...) You take the hand soap, your toothbrush and toothpaste, your dental floss, your hairbands, and whatever else you can find from your bathroom and put them in your room. Sometimes the things are just sitting on your bedroom floor, other times they're stuffed in your dresser drawers. You take Daddy's hair brush from his counter and put it in the kitchen. You take the hand sanitizer and put it your toy box. More recently, you took the cheese from the counter as I was making grilled cheese sandwiches. I don't think you quite understood (or maybe you did ... because, as I've said often, you're a punk) what you were doing. The only thing you accomplished was to have grilled buttered bread for lunch as opposed to grilled cheese sandwiches. 

You've started calling Charlie "Chuckie Banana". You find this positively hilarious.

You're starting to pronounce your Ls!! I'm a little heartbroken since I think there are few things more adorable than hearing your Ls as Ys. But I knew it had to happen eventually. And I'd so prefer you start doing it now rather than be potentially teased for it when you're older (don't worry, there are plenty of other things you have to be teased about when you're older ...) You speak a lot slower when you pronounce your Ls properly. You're not used to speaking in this new fashion, so you're very deliberate and focused when you do it.

You are such an amazing big sister. Oh sure, you still yell when Charlie cries (my rule of "If you can't say anything to help Charlie, then please don't make any sounds" is a hard one for you to remember), but seriously, kid, you floor me with your sweetness. More than once, I've found you on the floor with him, reading to him or singing to him or letting him grab your hair. And you insist on coming in his room with me when I get him from his naps, and seem genuinely excited to see him. The look on Charlie's face is too much for words. It's a mix of pure admiration and pure enjoyment (and also pure slober, but that's a given when you're dealing with the Bear). He is verrrrry interested in your toys now. You're usually okay with it (there are those moments, of course ...) And at least temporarily, I've kept you from freaking out if (who am I kidding - when) Charlie knocks over a tower you're building. I can see you're about to whine, but then I clap my hands and cheer "Yay Charlie! You did it! Good job, Buddy!!" You start joining in the cheer-fest and immediately begin making another tower for him to knock down. I know that's not completely fair to you - you worked hard building that tower and I essentially gave Charlie a high-five for knocking it down. But I'm trying to teach you to roll with the punches, to relax, to be good natured when things don't go as planned. And in trying to teach you these things, I'm trying to teach myself these things too. We'll learn together, you and me.

I've decided to make a new rule - you and your brother must be tickled to the point of belly laughs at least once a day. Your belly laughs are so good for my soul, and on those days when I feel like a bad mommy or you're acting very, um, three, hearing you and your brother laugh is like a little shot of adrenaline. A little reminder to stop taking myself (and my mothering skills - or lack thereof) so dang seriously. Love covers a multitude of sins. And I submit that the Bible should have a little footnote after 1 Peter 4:8 to say "Also a good cover-er? Belly laughs." 

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines for August 1, 2012:

• Chick-Fil-A Supporters Plan Appreciation Day
• Another Needle Found in Airline Sandwich
• Obama campaigns in Ohio
• Olympic gold was their destiny after all (Go Women's Gymnastics Team! Woo hoo!)
• Lochte, Phelps advance in 200 IM at Olympics