Away We Go!

She's three! Despite her best efforts to get either Chad or I to do her in, she's made it to three. If she weren't so freakin' cute, I think she'd be history. I think it's payback. She was an exceptionally easy baby, if you don't count the not sleeping till she was 9 months old part. She's ornery, stubborn, clever, and willful. And yet, from time to time, she can be the sweetest, most endearing girl. 

I think that it's a built-in survival mechanism. It goes something like this:

• Friday, 8:00 am, spend 1/2 an hour throwing a screaming tantrum on the floor because Dad unrolled her socks
  
• Friday, 8:30 am, spend another 1/2 hour saying "no way!" to Mommy about the size of bites I cut
  
• Friday, 9:00 am, spend an hour running around the house, refusing to listen. We especially like the "if mommy wants me to do it, I'll do the very opposite game." This generally consist of things like taking clothes off, rather than putting them on.
  
• Friday, 10:00 am, spend two brutal hours making our way from store to store on errands.
  
• Friday, 3:00 pm, just got up from a nap, "Mommy, Grandma and Grandpa are here!!!! Now, you and I both have our mommies here. You and I both have our daddies here. I'm so happy!"
  

You get the picture - almost kill her, almost kill her, almost kill her, awwww she's so cute! Repeat - all day, dawn to dusk. I, for one, am exhausted.  

On the Drawbacks of Wearing Panties

I just found this photo on our computer. Chad must have snagged it.

Keira alternatively hates and loves getting her picture taken, but mostly she hates it. That makes it really hard to get good candid shots of her because she's always focusing on the camera whenever it's out and won't go on with whatever she's doing. 

The result is that every photo of her looks relatively similar. It's either the top of her head or her grinning like it's a contest. But, this gem really captures her personality - for better or worse, that sinister grin sums her up really well. 

Now, on to the topic of this week's post - undies. Or, should I say, why we've now discovered that undies aren't always the schiznit. You see, sometimes when you wear panties, you get budgies. Yes, you heard me correctly. According to our daughter, if you hike up your undies too far, you end up with an avian infestation of your nether-regions. And, then you have to pull out your budgie, or ask your mommy to pull it out for you - and yes, you caught that correctly as well. I can now add to my mom resume, budgie extractor. Poor parakeets, they never saw it coming.  

Inheritance, Part X

Ah, the wonder of budding sarcasm. Now that I know what I was like as a kid, I can see that I was  - and likely still am - a right pain in the ass. This afternoon I offered to show Keira the motif on one of our towels (Misdo boy towel from Japan). 

Her reply? "What is this, show and tell?" It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Fortunately, I thought to reply that no, show and tell was Thursday, and this was only Monday. Then - what's Thursday?

Gotta love it. We're not really sure what the days of the week are (aside from Saturday, which we like) but we have mastered the art of the smart-assed reply. 

Outsmarted!

Q: What do you do when your toddler outwits your husband?
A: Laugh maniacally, then post about it on your blog so everyone can share in the fun. tee hee.
So, Chad and Keira love to wind each other up. That's nothing new. A week or so ago, Keira was singing the ABC song and at the end, sings "now I know my ABCs" when Chad jumps in with "No, they're my ABCs."

For several days, the two of them go back and forth with a mostly constant stream of "my ABCs," "no, my ABCs" and so on. Thanksgiving day, Chad starts in again. Keira marches into the kitchen, pulls two of her magnetic alphabet toys off of the fridge. She brings them into the dining room and in front of everyone says, "see, Daddy. They're my ABCs."   Point 1, Keira. 

Tonight, Chad thinks he's gotten one over on Keira. She'd taken two of the magnetic letters off the fridge and had left them in the living room. By way of asking Keira to put them back Chad says, "Hey, Keira, can you put my ABCs back on the fridge?" Keira takes them, pauses for a minute, then hands them back to Chad. As she does so, she replies "dey your ABCs, you put it back." Point two, Keira. If Daddy knows what's good for him, he'll stop while he's ahead.

Omnipotence and the Karma of Ewe

Ah, omnipotence. I am now all-knowing, at least, in the opinion of a certain two year old. And, woe be it to me if I don't have the answer. No, really, I am actually required to know the answer to any question that might happen to be raised, even if there's no bleeding way I have the foggiest clue.
Take our rides home for example. "Mommy, what's that mommy's name?" "Where's that guy going?" "What's in that truck?" And, if I admit ignorance she responds, "No, mommy, you tell me!" So, I make shit up. It's full of basketballs, the mommy's name is Ginger, and that guy is going to the podiatrist. Then I have to explain podiatrist.
Keira has also been honing her theories on cosmic justice. Keira and I were reading a book and we came to a page that describes sheep being sheared. Keira wanted to talk about what happens to the wool that they cut off of the sheep. After establishing that the wool was indeed something I knit with, Keira pounced on a prime teaching opportunity. With much clarifying of point and reviewing for comprehension, she was finally able to impart her lesson. While it was okay for me to knit with the sheep's yarn, when I was done playing with it, I had to knit something for the sheep to wear. See, the sheep was only sharing with me and I have to be a good sharer. Oh, and the sheep would be cold. {what is it with her and things getting cold?}

It's All Perspective

with a different perspective, a size 5 diaper does fit a 4" penguin (and 4" penguins need diapers)

A comment during yesterday afternoon's commute home made me think about perspective. It's easy become lulled into the assumption that everyone sees things the same way you do, even in the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary.
Take art. We have a gallery within walking distance of our home, and we're not infrequent visitors. I love art, but I'm not good at art appreciation. I know what I like, and what I like is literal. A tree must look like a tree. A pretty swirl of colors can be a pretty swirl of colors, and I may even buy it and take it home, but don't tell me that it's a tree.
It's the same story with appreciating the skill involved. I'll be the first to admit that I'm incapable of producing at least 90% of the art I view. However, just because you can paint a duck with a blender coming out of its head, doesn't make the painting a worthwhile endeavor. I mean really, who wants that?
But it's really all just perspective, right? I mean, someone out there - and probably lots of someones - really wants to see the duck with the blender. Any day, that painting will be sold, taken home, hung on a wall, and the lucky purchaser will think what a funny statement that makes. Surely, at least half of the people who've tried to read this blog have thought "dear god, who writes this shit." And, that's okay.
And, you ask, what's the comment that spurred this philosophical musing? Well, on the way home, larger than life and planted right next to the car on an on ramp is a billboard with a more-than-almost naked woman on it. In fact, if you squint your eyes, you can see oh-hint-oh-nipple (which, by the way, I can now recommend not doing while you drive.) Each time I see it, I cringe a bit because it's for cosmetic surgery, and this body image is being crammed down my daughter's throat every day. Lest you should begin to commiserate, I'll let Keira herself dispense with this line of thought. As we approach the billboard:
K: Mommy, is that a mommy? (mommy = any adult female)
M: Yes, that's a woman.
K: Mommy, it makes me sad.
M: Why?
K: That mommy is so sad.
M: Why is that woman sad?
K: Her shirt fall on the floor. She's going to be cold.
Gotcha. It's not objectifying a female or promoting the slicing and dicing of women for aesthetics. She's cold. She doesn't have a shirt, so she must be cold. I can live with that.

External Monolouge

Clearly I have some catching up to do, so keep checking in as I'm hoping to have the posts going up pretty hot and heavy over the next few weeks. I finally sorted out the laptop connection at home, so I think I'll be able to get back to a more regular posting schedule.
While it's been a really crazy last month or two at Chez Cerda, I'll bore you with more Keira stories today, and work on catching everyone up over the next week.
As just one more indicator that Keira takes after me to an alarming extent, she's developed what Chad and I refer to as her external monologue. She's constantly muttering to herself while doing things, and many times insists that I chime in to reiterate her own advice. Example? Keira is getting read to drink some juice:
Keira: "Be carefuw Keira. Don't spill it Keira. No spill the juice. Hold da lid. Be careful Keira, don't spill it, be careful - Mommy!"
Me: "Okay, Keira, be careful and don't spill any of your juice."
Keira: "Okay Mommy. I be careful. I not spill it."
And on it goes. She's her own little coach.
Perhaps the most chuckle-worthy manifestation of this trait is when she's really had it with me. She'll sit there fuming and muttering to herself "don't bite Mommy. No bite Mommy." Hmmm. I wonder what it is that she really wants to do?

Further Evidence

For all of you crafty gals, I'd just like to point out that Keira is reading a recent KnitPicks catalog!

Her first words, walking, first numbers, full sentences - all of these came oh, so easily to Keira. So why, I wondered, was she having so much trouble with colors. Everything was blue. Next, everything was green or purple, often both at the same time. She seemed to know color words, but couldn't seem to apply them correctly. I worried that she might be color blind, and even asked her pediatrician about it. And then, I caught her showing off her knowledge of colors to someone else.

She's been messing with me.

She turned two less than a month ago and she's having me on. A few nights ago, she had her yellow bath crayon* and here's the conversation that ensued:

Me: "What color is your crayon, Keira?"

K: "Ummm, black."

Me: "Nooooo, that's not black. What color is it?"

K: "Light green." She says emphatically, and in all seriousness.

Light green. Light, f*&%ing green. Hmmmmmmm

*For those of you without kids, yes there are actually crayons made specifically for the bath

O-berday!!!

after cramming a whole fistful of ice cream into her mouth, Keira discovers that yes, ice cream is cold!

Two.


She's two.


Simply impossible to believe, but she's really two.


Yesterday was Keira's birthday (her second, if you couldn't guess.) This is the first special occasion that she's been able to anticipate, and seeing her develop the ability to grasp an abstract concept and get excited about it makes me realize how much she's changed in just 24 short months.


Since her last birthday, she's honed her walking skills and learned run; started to speak in full sentences; begun to grasp pronouns; figured out how to pick up, put down, and manipulate pretty much anything with her hands; has learned to try and share (not consistently, of course); decided to stand her ground without being a bully; started to offer hugs and kisses; learned names and relationships; has developed an imagination; and has figured out how to start holding up her end of the conversation. In short, she's no longer a baby. But I can say that baby or no, I really like the person she's becoming. Now, if we can only keep it that way.


She was so excited for her birthday (or as Keira would say, her O-berday.) She knows Saturday is her party, and that Grandma and Grandpa are coming, so the excitement isn't over yet.


For me, Saturday equals:

• Sixteen kids


• Twenty-some adults


• Pony rides


• Picnic food


• Games, and


• One homemade sheet cake with a jungle theme

Please, for the love of all that is holy, wish me luck.

Toddler Glasses

It absolutely rocks that when you have a kid, you actually get to be a kid again. Well, vicariously at least. Seeing things in a whole new light is hysterical. Recently, I've learned that having a boy hiding in your food isn't necessarily bad, and that you don't need a potty or a diaper if you're just a little poopy (which was, for the record, the understatement of the millennium.)

I broke down and just couldn't do dinner one night. Chad was out for guy's movie night so it was off to McDonald's. We went, we hamburgered, we played. On the way home, Keira decided to talk about her Happy Meal toy, which happened to be a doll from the Wizard of Oz. "Mommy, my boy (referring to her new little doll.)" "Keira's boy." "My boy hidin', mommy. Boy hidin' in my food." To me, the idea of a very small boy hiding in my food is a bit disturbing. Apparently, as a toddler, it's just one more mysterious way that toys come to be in your possession. Hell, if eggs can make their way outside, down to the park, and hide, why can't a little boy end up in your Happy Meal?

And the little poopy story, you ask? I'm on the phone with my Mom and I see Keira 'working' on something. This goes on for a couple of minutes, and I ask her if she needs a new diaper. She looks over ever so casually and says, "No mommy, it's just a little poopy. No diaper, mommy."

Crack Smokin'

It was below freezing for the easter egg hunt!

Nope, crack smoking isn't yet another bad habit I've acquired, it's the look that Keira now gives me from time to time. She has actually started rolling her eyes (I really must take this opportunity to remind you all that she's not yet two.)
This past weekend, we took Keira down to a fun little Easter egg hunt hosted by the church near our house. They have three areas, separated by the ages of the kids. It's quick and it's within a 3 minute walk of the house - a total no-brainer.
Since this was her first hunt, we wanted to get her up-to-speed on the concept so that she'd have a fighting chance to get one or two eggs. So, when I went upstairs to get ready, I asked Chad to give Keira the low down.
When I'm done getting ready, Keira runs up and says, "Mommy, go for walk, go for walk - eggs." The expression told me that while she knew that both a walk and eggs were on the agenda, she wasn't certain how the two related. But, maybe we were going to the store?
So, I asked her if we'd find some eggs on our walk. She hesitates, then says yeeeessss? I confirmed that yes, we would go for a walk, we'd then find some eggs, and that the eggs would be hiding.
And I quote - "Eggs hiding, eggs hiding Mommy?" Then, she give me a look like surely I'm on crack and says, "Nnnnnnoooooooo, Mommy. No eggs hiding. Mommy." I could see that I'd just lost a notch in her esteem. If I believed that eggs might suddenly decide to hide, what next.
Imagine her surprise when we went for a walk, then really did find eggs hiding. She is still talking about it in awed tones (now she thinks I'm magic and can make eggs hide.)
You should have seen her face when I told her that a bunny was going to deliver presents (it didn't help that she thought I meant Bernie, our cat, whom she knows isn't in any lines to get her presents.)
((postscript: if you think that's humourous, you should have seen the look she gave me when I casually mentioned that I had a song stuck in my head))

World's Best Mom (Or: how I'm vying for the title)

Yes, a horsey ride. A real, live pony that I let Keira ride. About half way through I was pretty well convinced that I was more likely to be on my way to the worst mother in recorded history contest, but she didn't fall off, the pony decided not to try and get away (which he was decidedly considering at one point), and Kiera had the time of her life. How do we know that she really got into it? Well, here was the conversation after the ride:

Dad: Did you have fun?

Keira: Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey.

Mom: What was the horse's name?

K: Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey.

D: Did you like the ride?

K: Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey.

M: Did you hold on tight like a big girl?

K: Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey.

D: Is it time for a nap?

K: Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. Horsey ride, riding horsey, Keira ride horsey. [passes out cold]

I've really let things pile up, so bear with me as the posts roll in over the weekend. I actually meant to post this last Monday, if that tells you how behind I am.

Lest Thee Be the Repeatee

(photos illustrate what happens when you cross 'da babe)

It's official, we have a parrot. In the last day, dear daughter has begun to mimic things that Chad and I have said. So far she's not selected anything, shall we say, tangy. But really, it's just a matter of time.

I've already rolled back the salty, sailor-home-on-shore leave vocabulary - for the most part anyway. And, generally, we try not to talk about anything inappropriate, at least not using vocabulary words that she understands. I fear, though, that even that must cease. I can tell she's saving up, she's listening to every little thing (especially when you don't think she is) and she's just trying to determine which little gem she's going to pull out and show someone.

Before any of you feel sorry for us, which as the doting, sympathetic people you are, I know was forthcoming, I should point out that this is just payback time. She's getting ready to get us back for every time that she's had to go to bed when she didn't want to, didn't get a cookie, didn't get to watch Elmo, had to go to school when she didn't want to, had to come home from school when she didn't want to, had to take a bath, in short, for pretty much every little thing that she couldn't control - now, she has this. She can listen and squirrel away verbal ammunition like she's Russia rolling into the Cold War. Boy, are we in for it.

Now, all I have to do to prevent the impending embarassment is to a) not be quite so sarcastic, and b) keep Chad from teaching Keira to say 'interesting' things on cue.

This ought to be fun.

Insanity? Why Yes, Don't Mind If I Do

Ever come up with an idea and think, "wow, am I going to regret this later," and then sally forth to execute the exact same idea. Nope? Just me? Figures.

I've been contemplating exactly how we want to celebrate the two year anniversary of keeping one small person alive for two whole years. An accomplishment that's even more impressive when you realize that I've wanted to strangle the little dear no less than a dozen times - today.

At any rate, this morning when I dropped of the lil' darlin' the subject of her birthday came up and her three closest little friends piped up, "Birfday? Keiwa Birfday? Oh, birfday party, birfday party." and I said, "Okay." We'd been contemplating a party anyway, but we want to have a big summer shindig so we'd hoped to keep the birthday to a dull roar. No dice says the hoard.

So, I am willingly and with open eyes planning a birthday party for a mass of screaming two year olds who bite, have trouble sharing, and love each other to bits.

It will be the best of times, it will be the worst of times... wish me luck.

Yeah, I got it.

I'd like to conduct a small poll. After realizing that you are essentially raising yourself, when does one opt to jump off the bridge?
For your consideration, I give you this week's newest language developments (keep in mind that she's 22 months old - imaging what we'll get by 3):

• when Dad tries to wake her up, he gets a groggy "what?"
• when I try to help her with her napkin, I get an oh-so-slightly testy, "yeah, I got it."
• when I tell her it's time to get pajamas on I hear "well, just a minute"
• when I ask if she wants to go outside to play, "in a second, I'm cookin"
• constantly, "come on, Daddy, come on"
• while I'm driving (and I'm a very good driver. no, really) "fareful Mommy, fareful"

Who, exactly, has enrolled my toddler in assertiveness training? Clearly she gets none of this from me (except perhaps, all of it.) How hardwired is this stuff, 'cause I'm in for more trouble than I'm up for.
Last but not least, I must shed one single tear in farewell to Keira's current classroom. I've tried to be thoughtful about this next big transition. After much consideration, angst, and deliberation, I finally decided that we should start transitioning to the next classroom. She's simply just too much older than most of the other kids in her current room. Preparing myself for a couple of weeks of transition and some hiccups along the way, this morning we dove into the move and she spent time visiting her new classroom. Need I have bothered? I come to pick her up and, I quote, "yeah, I go twos now. Play with friends, play outside. Bye bye babies."
Yep, bye bye babies, sniff, sniff...

What's With All the Questions?

Admittedly, the obvious question is, what happens when you feed a baby black frosting. I can tell you, but I'm somewhat certain that you really don't want to know; or that you could guess but don't actually want confirmation.
Yet, I digress. Those aren't the questions I meant. Over the last week, Keira's gone from using statements to get what she wants, to actually asking questions - just for the hell of it. Mind you, her word order is about as random as the shrapnel pattern across the face of Dick Cheney's hunting partner, but questions are most definitely progress.
What's the best question we've gotten so far? That would be Keira asking a school bus where it was going, as we drive down 465. "Baaasss, where go bus? Where going, bus? Where you go?"
And Robin, thanks for the - um - interesting diaper.

On Mimmits, Pippers, and Beeps

Okay, day three, and already I'm a day behind. This is actually yesterday's post, but it's taken a whole day to get to my computer. Hmm, see where this is all heading, don't you?
This blog thing is kind of interesting in that it really forces you to decide which single thing you want to tell people about. It seems like the hard part should be narrowing the field. Sadly, that's not the case. After burning numerous brain cells without producing a single candidate worthy of two sentences, Keira demands that I help her with her mimmits - and it hits me. I'll be so sad when the cute baby-isms are one more thing in the rear view mirror.

Mimmits are mittens. Pippers are slippers, and beeps - well, beeps can be buttons, binkies, belly buttons, our cat Phoebe, most anything that starts with a B and doesn't merit the effort of full pronunciation. I realized how quickly she's acquiring language when my dad, my mom, and my sister respectively went from Gagum, Nagum, and Geeky to Grandpa, Grandma, and Becky within the space of one month.

Before I forget just how damn cute they all are, I thought I'd share. So, without further ado, here is the Keira Phrasebook:

Mimmits - mittens, preferably the red ones with little hearts

Faffles - waffles

Sinerds - dinosoaurs

Pippers - slippers

Beeps - buttons (as in elevator buttons), belly buttons, anything starting with a B

Yay-yo-yo - I don't know

Nack - snack

Beeebs - bib

Mommies - my breasts

Chickens - kitchen

Pretties - anything that she can put on by herself

Eeenee - Ernie from Sesame Street