Merry Christmas from the Wellmans!

Mr. Postman, look and see...

Reagan's Nai Nai and Papa love her very much...and she knows it.

Today when we came home at lunchtime, there was a package on our front porch. We could see it from the car. I picked up the regular mail and we drove inside the garage. As soon as Reagan spotted the package she got hyper excited and exclaimed (multiple times) "Nai Nai present me! Nai Nai present me!"

I quickly corrected her and explained that not every box on the front porch was filled with goodies from her grandparents. Perhaps someone had sent Danny or me a package. It's just possible a few people remember that we live here, too.

Reagan was insistent and relentless. "Nai Nai and Papa surprise me cute clothes! Cute clothes!"

"Well, yes, it could be cute clothes, Sweetie," I purred at my now bouncing up and down daughter. "But you need to calm down. We don't know what it is."

We were out of our coats and racing for the front door by this time. Reagan reached the lock first and cried, "I do it! I do it!" I stepped back and after a tiny struggle, Reagan released the lock and was working on the door handle. She looked up, red faced and breathing hard: "Mommy, help me, please."

I opened the door and reached out to pull in the mystery package.

You guessed it. Addressed to our little princess and the return address? Papa and Nai Nai, of course.

The contents? I cut open the end of the bag and Reagan stormed it like a bloodhound on the scent of...cute clothes. Reagan pulled each item out and rubbed it against her face and said softly, "Cute clothes, so cute!"

When she'd finished examining her booty, she smiled up at me and said, "Nai Nai present me, Mommy."

I'll never doubt her package identifcation skills again.

No Whining...Mommy

Again, evidence that Reagan's ears work...

Reagan has a rather large collection of plastic food. She has hamburgers and fries, fruit, peas and corn, even what could be either a chicken or turkey leg. My child has ice cream cones, hot dogs (yuck!) and potato chips. She has little miniature boxes of cake mix, pasta meals and milk cartons (these are never the same once they come out of the plastic box they arrive in; why the company can't make them from plastic instead of cardboard is beyond me). Reagan also has a wide variety of dishes in pastel colors. All of these items live in a tub in her room.

Yesterday, we cleaned up this all-you-can-eat buffet...three times. When I discovered the mess the last time, I said, "Reagaannnn....whhyyy did you dooooo thissss??"

My little listener looked up at me and said, "No whining, Mommy!"

Bible Cliff Notes

So yesterday afternoon I put myself to bed for a while. I've been struggling with allergies or a maybe it's a head cold, for several days. The wretched disease worked its way into my eyeballs and they were burning and itching so badly I could barely keep them open.

While I was stretched out on the bed, in the darkened room, Reagan "comforted" me. She carried babies back and forth to put beside me. She sang me songs. She brushed my hair and finally she read to me. Reagan has a picture book Bible and from it she read the story of Noah's Ark.

Here it is, according to Reagan (imagine this in her little, toddler voice):
build boat
elephants and giraffes
raining
bird
dry
rainbow

Well, she hit all the highlights anyway.

Jedi Master

Halloween 2008 photos are now up for your perusal at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/page2/

New flickr photos!

We finally uploaded some new pictures to flickr.

Check them out!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/

Preview of Coming Attractions...

We actually do still take pictures of Reagan. We've just been lazy about posting them on Flickr. Last night we started the process of sorting through them and I thought I'd share some of my favorites here...

Little Dipper

Reagan is a dipper, have I told you this?
She dips everything from goldfish to chips to crackers to cheese slices to pizza to her stubby, little fingers.
Her dips of choice are salsa and ranch dressing but she’ll settle for bbq or marinara sauce if she’s desperate.
What’s worse is that Reagan can be, if left unsupervised (and by unsupervised I mean we glance at our own plates for three seconds now and then) a double dipper. I know it’s gross. Probably your kids are above it but mine feels that one chip can be dipped at least half a dozen times. The chip is literally bending with sogginess from multiple dippings and she’ll dip again, completely unfazed.
If there is even the slightest bit of dip left in her bowl and she’s run out of dipping material, Reagan swipes her fingers around and around until the bowl gleams as though fresh from the dishwasher. This trick often leads to “dip mouth” which means she has a ring of the evening’s selected sauce all around her lips. She then attempts to stretch her tongue this way and that and chase the dip around until it’s all been secured away in her mouth.
Waste not, want not, I suppose. And the dipping continues….

The Lure of the Older Man...

Reagan has often mistakenly called our friend, Jenn, her husband's name--Matt. We correct her, she gives us her "that's what I said" look and life goes on until 20 minutes later when she runs to Jenn with open arms crying, "Matt!"

So today when Reagan kept pointing at pictures and sighing with pleasure..."Matt," I thought nothing of it. She was obviously seeing Jenn in those pictures and was confused, as usual. I started paying attention when she began blowing kisses to the photos...and when I realized Jenn wasn't in them. We have approximately 987 images of the Haraders in our house. They're exceptionally important to us and have been part of many photo-worthy moments in our lives. However, the shots my daughter is most interested in today are those with Matt sans Jenn.

Then we drew some pictures and whenever we do this Reagan asks me to write names. She always, always, ALWAYS asks for Jackson's name first but today she asked for Matt's name before all others.

At lunch she named her tator tots. Guess who's name came up first?

Just now I broke it to her as gently as I could.

"Reagan, I think Matt is great, too. Yes, he's smart and handsome both. Umm...but, Sweetie? He's also happily married and there is a slight age difference between the two of you."

Reagan stared at me, smiled and nodded her head, toddling off laden with two purses, a baby and a red hat. Not even 30 seconds later I heard her in her room singing a song, "Matt, Matt, Mattttt...."

One More Minute

So maybe Reagan listens to us after all.

Yesterday morning she tiptoed into our room at 7:09 a.m. I sensed her presence more than heard her. She stood about 1.5 inches from my head and breathed and tried to keep herself from giggling. I knew she was there but I didn't want to wake up yet. She couldn't take it and finally whispered, "Mom." When I didn't perk up, she said it again, "Mom."

I opened an eyeball and stared at her but still didn't speak. Once she had my attention, she was just all wiggly and bouncy and she said "Good morning!" 45 times or so.

She calmed down, realizing I wasn't joining her enthusiastic greeting of the dawn. She pointed to my alarm clock and said, "one more minute" as I have I don't know how many mornings. Then she sat on the floor, cross legged to wait.

Reaganisms

A few Reaganisms...
When she sees us doing something she wants to do: "I, too! I, too!"
When she wants to be held: "Hold it, Mommy. Hold it."
When she's cold she wraps her arms around herself and says "brrrr" and shakes and makes a horrible face.
When she's done with the tickle monster: "No tickle me!"
When she's put her babies to sleep: "Baby night, night. More baby night, night."
**This deserves some explanation. Reagan doesn't say "another" baby. She says "more baby" meaning any other baby other than the one she's currently holding. She lines them up in a row on her window seat and kisses them. Then she covers them in a blanket and sings them a song. Then we both tiptoe out of the darkened room and shut the door.

And finally...
Reagan knows the cats live outside and she takes this living arrangement very, very seriously.
"Kitty, outside! Outside!" (If Psalms or Autumn so much as look at us through the glass)

"Kitty, out, out!" (As we leave the house, if they're within a 10-foot radius of her; this expression is accompanied by a kicking action that I swear she hasn't seen from her mother).

If one of them manages to dash inside the house, Reagan immediately starts yelling, "Get kitty! Get it outside!" Then she chases the invader all through the house (which leads me to wonder why they even try) the whole time hollering at me, "Oh, NO! Mommmmmmmy!! Get kitty! Get kitty!"

I'll give you some more Reaganisms as they hit me. Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I've just been swamped with LIFE and haven't had time to write about it.

Goldfish Pond

So yesterday was rough around here. I had a gazillion writing assignments due or soon to be due and my toddler was restless. I managed to save some time by recording my voice saying "No, Reagan. Put that down, Reagan. Why? WHY, REAGAN?!" and just hitting play when appropriate.

In the afternoon it got a bit warmer (or I just didn't care anymore; not sure which) so Reagan and I went outside for a while. I knew I needed to get a proposal done so I let Reagan play in the backyard and I sat at the dining room table watching her through the screendoor and writing longhand. She came in and out to show me things (including her little beach bucket full of water) while I listened to my stomach growl and tried to think of what to write next. (It's a teensy bit difficult to concentrate on hotel management trends when one is face to face with a cold, wet toddler holding an open container of bubbles over a semi-clean floor).

I decided we needed food. I gave her a few goldfish crackers in a bowl and she sat on the back step to eat them. I poured myself some and we both munched along feeling better already. Then the phone rang. Like an idiot, I went to answer it.

After hanging up on a person trying to sell me something I certainly don't need, I came back to the dining room. My goldfish were gone. The bowl was there but the tasty, cheesy treats were lost to me. I whipped around to see Reagan standing at the door with an excited look on her face. She cried out, "Mommy, see goldfish! See goldfish pool!" I looked past her and there on the cement patio was her little plastic, purple bowl filled with all our goldfish...and rain water.

"Goldfish swim," Reagan announced and she clasped her hands together in satisfaction. Of course I was instantly furious combined with a furious pride in my girl. How smart is she? She made me a pond and for far less than the landscape guy wanted for it. She's brilliant and...horrid.

Reagan went down the step to further delight in her now-bloated and sickly pale goldfish and I sat back down to write...and tried not to think about my growling stomach.

The Toddler Bed Trials Part II

I'm terrified of the teenage years. Reagan is a party animal. Her toddler bed is the means to the biggest, baddest showdown we've ever faced. In the end, we put her back in her crib. I know. She might jump out and break her neck but it's doubtful because frankly, she's quite skilled in her escape. She lands with her hands up in the air like a gymnast. She can even go into stealth mode and then stand beside my bed breathing on me until I wake up and scream.

Reagan is definitely physically ready to leave her crib. She's just not mentally/emotionally ready. Her toddler bed scared her to death and made her cry and cry and we had the worst fights and then finally I was just like, "Why are we torturing this child?!"

So for those of you who wondered what happened...now you know.

We figure we'll try again in a few weeks but this time with a bit more preparation and also Danny has suggested that he sleep in the basement until she's toddler bed trained. Wimp.

The Toddler Bed Trials Part I

Friday, my angel turned 2 years old and she also went from sweet baby in a crib to monster child in a toddler bed.

Let me explain.

Reagan slept perfectly fine in her bed Thursday night. Upon waking Friday to discover everyone and their dog exclaiming "happy birthday!" to her, Reagan felt some inner calling to launch herself out of her crib...multiple times over the course of one day. We were all telling her what a big girl she is now, how she's all grown up, not a baby anymore, etc. We completely brainwashed her into believing she'd be leaving for college next week so naturally, Reagan deemed her crib unworthy of her new big girl status. She plotted her escape carefully and then made her move during nap time while the rest of us puttered about (not knowing our world was about to change forever) preparing for her birthday party. We didn't suspect a thing and by the time we realized her evil plan, it was too late to save the Earth.

Reagan nonchalantly walked out of her room (like a kid who's just stolen a piece of bubble gum and is trying to be all cool about it) and said, "hi!" to us. We stood as a collective unit--doting grandparents, amused aunt and uncle and terrified parents--and watched her come down the hall as though she was an actual person, capable of her own decisions instead of the baby we all truly still see her to be.

At once opinions began to fly and options were considered. In the end, the same conclusion was reached by all--it was no longer safe for our Little Ruler to slumber in a crib. We were just asking for broken bones. Images of my toddler wandering the house at night filled my brain and I had to sit down from the horror of it all. I half-heartedly mentioned a little boy I know whose mother says he simply doesn't realize he can get out of the toddler bed and so he stays there all night long, polishing his halo. The silence in the room swallowed me whole. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking but finally, my father put his hand on my shoulder and said, "No way Reagan is that kid."

2-year photo shoot...

I feel like I was just posting about her FIRST year photos and here I am again!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

Happy Birthday, Little Ruler

I know I've been dreadful at blogging this month. Life with Reagan is one surprise after another with a bunch of routine tossed in between. I'm hoping that makes sense to other parents out there.

Today we celebrate our baby girl who isn't a baby anymore...

Our Future Olympian...

The Olympics are big in our household. They always have been but this year, as the host country is Reagan's first country, they're extra big. They're also extra emotional because while we love the Chinese people and are grateful for our sweet Reagan Ru...we abhor Communism and the lack of individual freedom it offers its people. We are particularly moved by the plight of Chinese Christians, women and unborn. These are not just images on Western televisions. They're actual people living (or dying) through horrible circumstances that are out of their control. China needs to clean up its act and our prayer is that the Olympics will help it do just that. It is a great nation with great potential and we believe it can reach and exceed the world's expectations someday.

...Stepping off soapbox to brag about child...

You've heard me mention Reagan's bendy-ness before. She regularly hangs out with her legs above her head as though that's an actual position God intended for the human body. She runs, skips, hops and slides all over the house. The other night as we watched amazing Olympic dive after amazing dive, we realized Reagan was imitating the athletes by diving (really, literally DIVING) head first off the edge of the couch. She has absolutely no fear. Obviously, our parental instincts kicked in and we stopped Reagan from her just-waiting-for-a-head-injury antics.

Then moments later the commentator casually mentioned that one of the Chinese divers makes $3 million annually off her endorsements alone.

Wordlessly, I let my grip on Reagan loosen and she immediately threw herself off the furniture again, landing with a somersault on the floor. I made eye contact with my husband and could tell he was thinking what I was thinking.

I'll have to finish this post later. That's Nike on the phone.

Peanut Butter As Body Lotion

Today Reagan got a nasty bug bite while outside and despite the fact that I slathered it with hydro cortisone, she still complained of the itch. I finally took her shirt clean off and put her in her high chair for lunch with only her jeans on.

I made her a peanut butter sandwich, found some grapes and milk and plopped the food in front of my "Itchy, Mommy. Ow. Itchy" child.

Then I left the kitchen, walked down the hall and slid out of my flip flops. I put my wedding ring and watch on my dresser, pivoted and returned to the kitchen. I was gone maybe 30 seconds.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Reagan had turned her sandwich peanut butter side out and SMEARED it across her chest and tummy region. She'd also applied the PB lotion to the outsides and palms of her hands as well as her cheeks.

I literally checked the clock to make sure the bedroom wasn't in some sort of time warp and I'd actually left her alone for an hour instead of mere seconds. Nope. The clock confirmed my suspicions--Reagan lives to blow my mind.

As true testament to how much I've grown accustomed to the general disaster a toddler creates, I sat down and ate my lunch. Reagan finished her meal and then I tackled the cleaning process.

After laboring over her skin, I pulled her out of the chair only to discover that her jeans and the chair's straps were completely covered in goo, as well. Please note, there just wasn't that much PB on the sandwich to begin with; I believe it grew in size and stickiness somehow though I've yet to solve that mystery. I'll let you know if I do.

I carried my beloved angel at arm's length down the hall to her room. The whole time she's jabbering about her baby, the weather, offshore drilling options and when she'll see Jackson next. Not a word about the fact that she's a peanut butter-covered wiggle worm.

I'm pulling off her sticky jeans when it dawns on her. She said, "Hmmm....me messy."

Ya think?!

Accept no substitutions...

We're leaving for the airport in a matter of 58 minutes or so. We're headed for the land of no humidity...Colorado!

Last night in an attempt to save time this morning, Danny and I packed and packed everything we wouldn't need today. We stayed up late to ready the house, water plants, print tickets and debate airport regulations concerning my lotion.

Before putting our little monkey to bed, I also took Todd, the very pink tiger to our room. He is securely packed away as I type this. I tried to explain to Reagan that Todd was going with us, that he needed to be packed and she would see him tomorrow.

In order to pacify her, I gave her a lavender-scented sheep and a soft, soft seagull flown in from San Francisco earlier this spring. They're both perfectly delightful bed mates and to my knowledge neither of them has parasites or a habit of hogging the covers. Should've been fine, right?

Wrong.

I tiptoed in to Reagan's room last night to acquire the baby monitor I'd forgotten and tripped over something squishy on the floor. A sheep body. A few feet further (and many, many feet from HRH's bed) I found the seagull. Our angel hurled these innocent creatures across the room after we left her.

If you can't sleep with Todd, don't sleep with anyone, I suppose.

Reagan, the foodie

So last night at supper, Reagan politely asked for a "neenex" which means Kleenex. I gave her one and we watched, both amazed and amused as she flicked it in the air and then placed it on her lap gently. She smoothed it out and everything and then smiled at us. Her Neenex looked just like our napkins. It was so sweet and clever and we both praised her and then commented to each other about how brilliant and delightful our child is. We were still talking about it as we hit the sack hours later.

Today I caught her cramming and smearing Jello into her belly button, I kid you not.

Corn, the veggie of champions

People tell me (fairly often and certainly more than I want them to) that corn isn't a real vegetable. It doesn't have as many vitamins, antioxidants or fiber as it should. And it's the wrong color, apparently.

I beg to differ. Corn has always been and always will be my very favorite vegetable, followed closely by the potato. I especially love corn on the cob and during our Independence Day celebration, Jenn and I determined that our munchkins were cob-ready and we let them go to town.

They each chose a different method of attack but the results were the same--buttery, delicious corn in their tummies and all over their faces, much like the adults around them.

Anniversary Photos

We took some pictures of our spicy girl on our Gotcha Day anniversary...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

365 Days Ago, Our Princess Reagan Arrived...

Or, more accurately, we arrived to her. :) Below is a copy of the post we made that night from Changsha, China.
______________

I don't know what to tell you. She's perfect, obviously. We can't find a darn thing wrong with her except she has a cold but we expected that. We've already administered a baby dose of Tylenol cold medicine. SHE LOVES THAT MEDICINE. Oh, she wiggled with glee and sucked the syringe dry. Strange kid. She seems pretty infatuated with us, too. Lots of nose pinching, mouth exploring, finger holding going on here. She hasn't cried yet so we're expecting her to figure out that her nannies are gone and they've left her with two white giants any minute. :( Thank you for your prayers. We can feel your love and Father's love. I sang kumbaya to her in the civil affairs office. Just whispered it softly in her little ear and we've told her wa ai nee (I love you) about 100 times already. She adores her little keys. She went right for the red key and sucked and sucked and gummed it to death. Of course she loves red. She's mommy's girl. :) She hasn't any teeth yet but is so close. We can feel them under the gums. We've turned up the AC in here so mommy and daddy are sweltering but now she isn't shaking or cold. She's a Hunan spicy girl and they LOVE the heat. So...I guess we're officially parents because without thinking we just wanted her to be comfortable and so what if we're not? Who cares. Ru is happy and that's all that matters.

We'll post more on Flickr later. We've taken (and this isn't Lisa exaggeration) 50 or so pictures and several videos and we've had her all of an hour. We think she's pretty darn cool, basically. :)

One Year!

I'll post more pictures tomorrow but just wanted to point out that since China is 12 hours ahead of us...today is our Gotcha Day...sort of. :)

Reagan RuXian, you have completely flipped our world upside down. We thank God for you, for the magic you bring to our lives! We love you, Baby Girl. (This picture was taken in Guangzhou, China, July 2007).

Independence?

Happy Birthday, USA!
Happy 1st 4th of July, Reagan Ru!

One year ago tomorrow we got on a plane headed to China to get our little daughter.
WOW.

We said goodbye to our Independence, to sleeping in, to extra cash, to socializing without first spending a week scouring for a babysitter, to a life that was completely inwardly focused.

And now we're parents.

We woke up today at 6:49 am to a little voice saying, "Mommy? Daddy?" over and over and over again, getting a little bit louder, a little more high pitched with each occurrence. And we'll spend the day feeding Reagan, changing her diaper, attempting to keep her from mortal peril and most importantly, teaching her the fine art of "using her words" instead of whining for what she wants.

I remember independence as a vague, Utopian sort of idea and Danny isn't sure he remembers it at all but we all know my memory is better than his. But then, as he points out, who'd want to remember life before Reagan?

Well, not us.

Happy Independence Day, everyone! We're so blessed to live in this great nation, so fortunate to experience freedom! Hope you all have a safe, fun, freedom-filled 4th.

12 month post placement visit today

Reagan is snoozing. I'm taking the time to blog. Danny's at work.
And, yet in just over an hour, our social worker will be here for our FINAL visit.

The first time we had one of these things, I cleaned for 3 days straight.
Today I shoved some pooh in the closet, wiped down the bathrooms and ran my hand over the dustiest part of the dining room table, smeared the findings on the back of my jeans and kept moving.

For the first visit, Danny and I went over tons of adoption-related material, studying all the right answers, quizzing each other over what not to say so they'd let us have a child, please, oh please, oh please.
Today I flipped through a Fitness magazine.

Back in 2006 when we began the process, I baked from-scratch cookies for our social worker's home visit.
Today I made sure the faucet was still working so I could offer her some water.

Two summers ago, I sat on the floor in my closet analyzing the perfect outfit. What says "I'll be a fabulous mom" in just the right hues?
Today I found a pair of capris that fit and a red shirt without any stains on it and put them on. And, as an extra measure of hygiene, I swiped on some midday deodorant.

It's not that I'm lackadaisical or I don't care. It's just that this time, we're not out to prove we can be a family. We're in the thick of family and have nothing to prove to anyone. It's a good place to be.

Pictures, pictures, pictures!

Here are a few updated photos of our little princess. We took these at the zoo with buddy Jackson and just around our house and at the park. We can't believe how more and more she's little girl and less and less baby. :( We're trying to enjoy every, single moment!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/

It's here

The stage I've truly been dreading has arrived.

Actual conversation between and Reagan and me today:
Me: I think we're going to go this way instead to avoid the light.
Reagan: Why?
Me: Well, I don't like crossing in all this traffic. If we go the back way, there are fewer cars.
Reagan: Why?
Me: The alley is smaller and it's bumpy. Cars don't like to drive on it but strollers can.
Reagan: Why?
Me: Because we're smaller, too, honey! We can just slip in here behind the buildings and pop out on the other side, closer to home.
Reagan: Why?
Me: Reagan, do you want some raisins?
Reagan: Yes, please!

It's been coming on for weeks. We tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was mere coincidence or an accident here and there...not a glimpse into our future. Now, my mom made it through two children without saying "Because I said so, that's why." I'm determined to do the same, darn it.

This from the person who swore she'd never use saliva to clean her child's body like some wild animal. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Our Sweet One

So the other morning Reagan woke up far too early. I could hear her in there talking to herself for awhile, perhaps going over the plans for the day. Then she started her usual mantra..."Daddy? Mommy? Daddy? Mommy?" so I pulled myself out of bed and to her door.

I intended to go over the rules about not waking her parents before 9am and then only with breakfast in bed, etc. She has yet to grasp this concept but I haven't lost hope. Instead I found her standing up in her crib, smiling a huge smile. She wore just a onsie because it's been so hot at night lately. She said, "Hi, Mommy!" when I came into the room and gave me a little "heil Hitler" salute which works for her far more than it ever did for him. How could I put her back to bed? She's impossibly cute.

I stretched out on the floor while she scurried around the room, pulling out books, feeding her babies, babbling to herself. I covered up with her tiny blanket and let my eyes rest. A few minutes went by like this and then I felt her tugging on the blanket. I opened an eyeball and said, "No way, Jose. Mommy's cold. I want the blanket." Reagan stopped pulling on the blanket and stared at me for a moment, then she spread it back out over me as best she could and left me alone. I closed my eyeball.

Within ten seconds, I heard her getting into her dresser drawers, searching for clothing. I sat up and found her digging in her pants drawer. I asked her what she was doing and she said, "Reagan cold. Cold." I crawled out of my cocoon and felt her little legs and sure enough, they were covered in goosebumps. She'd let her mommy have her blanket while she went looking for warmth elsewhere.

Too sweet for words.

Good news!

Ok, I feel better.
Friday I had pretty much thrown in the towel, had given in to the ickiness of motherhood.
Today, I'm my old self.
Reagan smeared a minuscule bit of chocolate on me right before church started and I completely freaked out.
Thank God!
I'm back!

I spit on my kid today

For years I've watched seemingly intelligent, civilized women spit on their children in order to "clean" them. I'm appalled by this unhygienic behavior and find it beneath me. I've always said I wouldn't do it to a child of mine. Is it really so difficult to find a washcloth or a Kleenex? Must we resort to spittle as a cleanser? Are we living in the Dark Ages? I think not.

For nearly 11 months, when Reagan was dirty, I've found a way to clean her that does not involve my saliva.

Today as we ran out of the house, she scribbled on her hand with a blue pen. Without thinking, I licked my finger and rubbed the little blue mark into oblivion. Reagan looked at me in surprise, her eyes saying, "hypocrite."

I looked right back and my eyes said, "Get over it and get in the car."

Once we were on our way, the gravity of what I'd just done sunk in. I've crossed a line. Next thing you know we'll be taking Reagan to Wal-Mart at midnight in a dirty diaper. My standards have gone right down the pooper, that's what. And, what really scares me is that I've come to terms with it.

Special Day with Special People

The Johnsons came over to celebrate Reagan's special day with us yesterday. We went out for Chinese food where our girls caused quite a fuss with our waitress. :) Then we came home and dressed our cuties up in matching outfits. They ran all over the yard (note our new fence!) playing together. Such a perfect day!
Check out our pictures on http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

Small World, Time Flies

Today Reagan has been with us one day longer than with her birth parents (2 days) and her orphanage (10.5 months).

Last night I literally chased her through the house to catch her for our bedtime routine. She was squealing and laughing the entire time. When we met her, she couldn't even crawl. Yesterday she wore a size 24month dress to church. When we met her, she slipped into 6/9 months clothing easily and some of it was big on her. I put her hair in headbands and barrettes on a regular basis. We've trimmed her bangs twice. When we met her, people mistook her for a boy because her hair was so short and thin. Reagan talks non-stop---sometimes in toddler gibberish, often in completely understandable English. She hardly uses sign anymore because she just speaks her mind without need for it. When we met her, she sat in silence for 24 hours just taking us in, not sure of what to do or what the heck just happened.

All of this is just to say that Reagan has changed so much in her time with us. But then, we've changed, too.

God certainly knew what He was doing when He formed our family. Do you remember that Sunday School song?

He's got the whole world in His hands, He's got the whole wide world in His hands...

Please pray for the Chapman Family

We send our love, prayers and support to the Steven Curtis and Mary Beth Chapman family in the tragic loss of their daughter, Maria. May God hold them tight and guide them through this most difficult time.

www.stevencurtischapman.com

If the SRS comes...

I swear we don't beat our daughter. If anything, we're far too indulgent and spoil her beyond measure. Yesterday, however, my poor kid had a few run-ins with objects more stubborn than she is and she came out on the losing end.

She fell off the swings late last week so she already had a few bruises and a scratch on her nose before yesterday even started.

In the morning she was running away, looking back at me. I was so busy squealing, "I'm gonna get you!" that I didn't have a chance to warn my not-so-graceful child that a wall was looming in her future. Bam.

Then in the afternoon she decided to flip off the bed and hit her face on the foot board. Bam.

This accident was closely followed by her chin smashing into the downstairs coffee table as she tried to escape The Tickle Monster aka Daddy. Bam.

Then before bed she was in our bathroom. She was facing Danny and backed right into the corner of a drawer I'd opened behind her. Bam.

I guess what I'm saying is that mostly Reagan would be fine if her parents would leave her alone but please know our intentions are good and if Reagan can survive us, she can survive anything! When the SRS comes for us, I'm going to tell them how living with us has made her invincible!

Jayhawks visit Ottawa!

Last night, Jayhawk seniors came to Ottawa High School for a charity match against a bunch of Ottawans (most of whom, we know). Reagan got tons of autographs on what is now a very valuable onesie. Danny took over 400 pictures and I did video. Here are a few of the best shots for your viewing pleasure. It was such an amazing night. I get goosebumps thinking about it. Highlights include singing Happy Birthday to a blushing, shy Sasha Kaun (the whole crowd sang, not just me) and having Russell Robinson wish me (not the crowd, but specifically ME)a Happy Mother's Day.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/tags/kubarnstormingtour2008/

The Evidence

Yes, even in the midst of Invasion 2008, my husband risked death by mauling to take this picture as evidence of our slow-moving thief. Never in a gazillion years would I have whipped out my phone to document the scene. I might have called 911 but picture taking? No, that wasn't on my mind at the time.

Our Nocturnal Visitor and Sleeping Beauty

Two items of background information are necessary to fully appreciate this story.

First, we've been in a losing battle with a raccoon (or perhaps a family of them) for a few months now. They get in our garage and knock over the trash can or steal our cat's food. Poor Autumn. She's learned to eat just as soon as we put the food down because she knows better than to fight the hungry, masked fiends.

Secondly, if we so much as whisper after putting HRH to bed, we hear about it. Her sense of hearing is fine tuned and I swear, she hears the cat snoring and takes that as her cue to holler out, "Mommy? Daddy?" We usually just go downstairs so we can enjoy luxuries like breathing without the constant need to firmly (but oh, so lovingly) shout back, "Go to sleep, Reagan!"

So last night, we tucked our angel into bed with lots of hugs and kisses and hushed good nights. I went out to check on Autumn. Danny was in the office.

When I got into the garage, Autumn was not alone. A gigantic (and I mean HUGE) raccoon was feasting on her supper! I didn't see him at first but I could hear him crunching and smacking. (Did I mention we feed our cats Science Diet? We never had a raccoon problem when we bought them the cheap Wal-Mart brand). I opened the little kitty door to reveal the beast in all his furry glory. Then I screamed and screamed and screamed some more. The raccoon was trapped and couldn't get out because I was blocking his exit. I couldn't move because in my hysteria, I thought he was a badger and I knew I was about to die. Autumn blew herself up as big as she could and then hopped onto my car for safety.

Danny heard the commotion and came running with a broom. I jumped behind him. I was inside the laundry room hitting the button for the garage door to open while Danny was in the garage hitting the button for the garage door to open...thus the door hiccuped up and down and up and down and finally I shouted, "We're working against each other, you fool! Don't touch the button!" I managed to get the garage door open and the raccoon wandered, slowly, calmly out the kitty door to the side. He barely glanced in our direction. Meanwhile, Psalms was inside the house racing to and fro and meowing at the top of her lungs.

Danny and I collapsed in each other's arms after shutting all the doors. We were both panting and laughing nervously.

And...guess who slept through the whole episode?!

Keeper of the Keys

Some of you may recall that the very first toy Danny and I gave our little Reagan Ru was a set of brightly-colored, plastic keys. They're in all the pictures from our first moments together. She was immediately attached to them and we now own two sets of those keys so we always have them with us in the house and on the go.

She's interested in keys in general, not just the rainbow-colored ones. Reagan finds keys wherever we leave them and hauls them all over the place.

Every day when we get home, I balance baby, purse, sometimes a diaper bag, often one shoe she's managed to remove in the three minute drive home, a water bottle, a book or two (I'm a librarian, after all) and...my keys. I began handing Reagan the keys soon after we got her because then I know where they are. We approach the door, I say, "Keys, please" and my kid hands 'em over. It's a swell system.

Well, the other day I realized that without fail, Reagan hands me the house key, separated from the rest of the bunch. She sorts through two car keys, a library key, a key fob, a "Who's your daddy" key chain with Darth Vader on it and a cheerleader key chain from the early 90s--to hand me the house key. She never messes up. I have no idea how long this has been going on. I don't know when she started it, how she figured it out or anything. She just knows which key I need and she hands me that one and lets the other stuff dingle dangle.

My kid, keeper of the keys.

Reagan and the laundry

We've taught Reagan the most wonderful trick. When we strip off our clothes, she runs to the pile and meticulously carries each piece (usually one at a time) to the laundry basket in my closet. This is a beautiful thing.

Of course, she also pulls damp washcloths out of the dirty clothes basket and then proceeds to wipe her face with them. And maybe now and then she takes stinky diapers and tosses them into her bedroom hamper... but we're choosing to celebrate the little joys of life rather than focus on the great, big ICKS of parenthood.

Baby steps.

Easter pics and more...

We finally found time to update our Flickr account! You'll find Easter pictures of our little Bunny along with Reagan diapering her baby, dressing up in a red hat and sporting sunglasses, a diaper and not much else. Hope you enjoy these!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

Impossible to Believe...

The first time we saw this face was April 3, 2007.
One entire year ago.
What sweet perfection!
What a blessed, joyful gift!
We love you, Reagan RuXian!

Hair Confusion

I got my hair cut today.
I've attempted for over a year to have long hair but I've given up. Long hair makes my already long face even longer and more horse-like and with my great big teeth, the only thing missing is a saddle, I swear.

So I've returned to my classic bob and am quite pleased with the results. Most everyone else has complimented me as well. Everyone but Reagan, that is.

When I picked Reagan up, she flew to me as usual but then started in with the "uh-ohs" loud and clear. She felt around on my head and her eyes were big with wonder. I think she imagined I lost my hair somewhere and we need to look for it.

All the way home, my observant daughter's voice murmured, "uh-oh" followed by "hair." I think she's quite concerned because even tonight when we put her to bed, she put her hands on my head and flipped my hair this way and that and said "uh-oh" softly just once more.

Baby's stinky diaper

I have 3,000 things to do on the computer this morning from email answering to calendar updating to some writing. Usually when I attempt to do this while Reagan is conscious, I'm stuck with a squirmy toddler balancing on my lap while I try to write. She wiggles and reaches for pens (and then writes on herself), pounds the keyboard, knocks things over, scolds the cat for being on the desk and is basically a deterrent to all things I'm trying to accomplish.

Today I wised up.

I moved her high chair in here beside me. I've been on the computer a full 45-minutes of productiveness while Reagan plays beside me. She's colored (on paper!), brushed her hair and most recently, dealt with her baby's stinky diaper.

Let me back up.

When Reagan makes a super fun diaper for us to change we say, "Reagan, do you have a stinky diaper?" knowing full well that she does. I mean, you don't ask that if you can't already smell the results of whatever she's produced in her pants. So then all the way to her room we discuss the stink and often I wave my hand in front of my face and say, "stinky" and call her a skunk and other endearing terms inspired by odorous creatures.

Just now Reagan pulled her baby's clothes off (one of her latest and most beloved tricks) and then starting squealing, "Tinky! Tinky!" at me at full volume. I turned to see her waving her hand in front of her nose, pointing with her other hand at her baby's bottom! She even let out her version of "pee-ew." Apparently, all those cups of air that Baby drinks have finally resulted in a stinky diaper!

I got one of Reagan's diapers from her room and she promptly changed her baby's offensive hiney into a fresh diaper while I took pictures of the whole situation. You'll be glad to know that Baby is no longer stinky, Reagan isn't either and the cat and I are doing ok, as well.

Cheek Kissing

Reagan has discovered cheeks...the ones on her face. Danny started requesting kisses on his cheek by pointing at the exact spot where he wanted her to lay one on him. So now she does it, too.

"Teek. Teek." Then she points at her cheek and tilts her head up expectantly.

Not only is it darn cute (of course we think everything but the temper tantrums is pretty fabulously cute) but it also lessens the gooshy, gooey, slobbery kisses I've written about in the past.

This is kissing with less moisture and I gotta say, I like it.

Of course this leads me to a few questions (doesn't everything lead me to a few questions?). Will Reagan grow up to be one of those fake, cheek kissers? Will she lean forward and kiss the air around the cheeks of people she barely knows? Would it be better to leave her kissing with animal cracker drool oozing from the sides of her mouth?

Oh, the worries of parenthood are never ending, I swear.

Jen and Eric have Noelle!!!

Our good friends, Jen and Eric have Noelle now!
Go see their blog for pictures of a darn good-looking kiddo! :)
Congratulations, Johnson Family!!


http://johnsonfamilyadoption.blogspot.com/

Our Little Diva..

Reagan is now 18 months old and to commemorate the occasion, we visited Portrait Innovations to see what they offer by way of service and photo quality. Our favorite photographer is Chris Massey but we can't always afford him. We weren't thrilled with Sears when we went back in September and we'd heard good things about Portrait Innovations so...now you're up to date.

The only appointment they had left for Saturday (the only day we could go) was 8am. Ick. But Reagan chose this morning to wake up VERY early so it all worked out. We loved our photographer who was patient and took her time and let Reagan wander around. We got to change clothes and change backgrounds and...we walked away with the photos TODAY.

All in all, it was a much better experience than Sears and we paid less and got more. Rock on!!

Now, without further ado..
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

Splish, Splash I was washing my hair...

A few mornings ago I washed my hair in our bathroom sink. Reagan played around my feet and carried socks and underwear out of the laundry to sprinkle around the room. Usual stuff.

When I was done, I wrapped my hair up in my big, towel turban and went to find my toddler who'd been quiet far too long. I stepped across the hall into what can only be described as a commercial for Oceans of Fun.

Reagan, little mimic that she is, decided to wash her hair. Her sink? My little mechanic took a part her room's humidifier. She leaned over the bowl of water and dipped her hand in it to then pour the water on her head. She'd been at it for some time because her entire upper body was basically soaked through. She hummed a little bit to herself (just as I'd been doing) while she splish splashed and washed her hair in leftover humidifier drainage.

Obviously, I freaked out. You know me.

I came up behind her and such was her concentration, she didn't notice my arrival. I screeched, "REAGAN!" and this made her throw her hands (and a bunch of water) into the air. She screamed and ran (please note, if she wants your toy, she'll fight you. If she's frightened, she prefers the flight method).

Reagan galloped screaming (with terror and guilt) down the hall, water falling in great, big drops all over my floor. I tore after her but had to stop halfway out of her room because it's hard to run when you're doubled over in laughter.

I couldn't help myself. I was in hysterics. It was like being in junior high all over again. I was sitting in church like a good, little girl and the instant the pastor started to pray, I got the giggles. It was uncontrollable though I tried to cover it up with fake coughs. The same thing happened the other day. I knew it was naughty. She'd made a huge mess but dang it, Reagan is a hoot!

So I pointed my finger and I struggled through a little lecture but Reagan could see my lip curling and my eyes watering and pretty soon she was laughing too and then we collapsed on the floor in one big puddle and hugged and snickered a bit more.

I can see that discipline isn't going to be my forte. I can also see that Reagan is crafty and good with her hands. Plus she has a serious devotion to personal hygiene and who can fault her for that?

Reagan's animal sound repertoire...

My inbox is full of concerned readers' emails. They think maybe Reagan deserves parents who will share with her a love for animals and the sounds they make. I hear your worries, people. They have not fallen on deaf ears.

Reagan does not know even ONE barnyard sound. Not one. She doesn't seem to care about them no matter how many times we go over them and frankly, I've lost interest myself. I figure if some day she oinks at me, it'll be fine and if she never does, life goes on.

She does, however, know several jungle and household pet sounds but on principle, I'm not telling you which ones.

Now, go moo at your own kids.

With a moo, moo here and a moo, moo...

American parents are obsessed with animal sounds. Have you noticed this? If your toddler doesn't know 15 animal sounds (preferably used in conjunction with adorable facial expressions and hand jive) then you're A) a bad parent or B) raising an inferior child. There's no middle ground with some people.

Is there no other way for us to measure child development?
"Yes, little Johnny knows the presidents from Washington to Lincoln. We're working feverishly on the next ten."

OR

"Mia recognizes and names every make and model of car made during the 1960s. Isn't that wonderful?"

Perhaps something they'll actually use later in life? I think that's my biggest issue with animal sounds. Who. Cares. Is she really going to find herself facing social ridicule in her mid-20s because her oink isn't quite up to snuff? Do these children spend a lot of time in barnyards communing with nature? I feel about animal sounds the way I do about trigonometry. It's unnecessary for normal people to know either one.

In the case of trig (and analytical geometry, chemistry and calculus for that matter), high school upper classmen had fewer classes than their younger counterparts. So a bunch of nerdy, math-obsessed teachers invented trigonometry, which is nearly impossible to spell, let alone understand. It was created to fill a timeslot, to torture young minds and keep people from flirting and those are it's only purposes. I have never used trig in real life and I don't intend to.

Whew.

Ok, back to horse sounds. I believe we put outrageous pressure on our toddlers to perform like circus acts but for what purpose? After you left pre-school, did you ever, even once, ask a friend, "What does a duck say?" Did you? I think not. We never make these sounds again until we're parents ourselves and then we suddenly become completely absorbed in our child's knowledge of animal language.

Reagan understands (a lot) and speaks (a little) English and that's good enough for me. Later, maybe she'll learn Mandarin or Spanish-- languages she might actually use in the future. If she never speaks sheep, we'll muddle through somehow.

It Isn't Nice to Show Off

I do ballet. Or I did. And to stay on my toes, so to speak, I do ballet videos in our basement. Reagan joins me now. At first she hardly paid attention to me or to the too-skinny-to-be-real chick on the TV. Reagan was off feeding her baby, pushing her stroller, building a block tower or plotting to pull the unfortunate kitty cat's tail.

I did my thing. She did hers.

Recently, Reagan has become more aware of the TV and she even pauses long enough to acknowledge it or point at something and shout out "baby" or "kitty" when the appropriate images pop on the screen.

My whole exercise routine has changed. I sit down and lean forward to touch my toes and Reagan pounces on my back, thus pushing me further down and making me wince in pain. She sits beside me while I stretch and splits her legs out perfectly straight and then slides her hands forward in between them 'till her tummy touches the ground. In other words, she looks like the crazy ballerina on TV, not her huffing and puffing mother there beside her on the floor.

Reagan looks at me. Then she looks at the instructor and then she does whatever stretch it is...correctly. I'm not even kidding. Reagan's body bends in ways that God never intended it to bend. I can practically hear my muscles tearing to bits and Reagan is lounging comfortably in perfect splits while brushing baby's hair or nibbling Cheerios.

Maybe someday Reagan will support us with her salary from the New York City Ballet. In the meantime, I just think she's showing off.

Our Loving Shirts...

These are the shirts Danny bought us for Valentine's Day. We wore them to work and all around town. This isn't the best picture because we tried to take it in the dark so the lit-up hearts would be obvious. Oh, well. You get the idea. Or you don't, I guess, but there's not much I can do about that.

My iPod's betrayal...

On the way to and from Blakely's house each day, Reagan and I listen to "toddler tunes" as I call them. We jam out to "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep" and "Father Abraham." As soon as I drop off my little impressionable cherub, I switch my iPod to something a little more grown up.

Then I sing with Reba or head bang with a hair band all the way to the library.

Today I arrived in the library parking lot and turned off the music and I realized something. This cold, suffocating feeling swooshed over my whole body.

I haven't a clue the last time I heard something besides toddler tunes. I honest to goodness can't remember when I last changed the iPod to my music.

I've been rocking to "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and did not notice. If that isn't a sign of lunacy, I don't know what is.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Poor Reagan. She didn't have much of a chance when she joined our silly family. To make matters worse, Danny bought us matching t-shirts, which we wore all day. They have a line of hearts on them that light up when the other t-shirt is near. It's the first time I've worn a battery-pack to work. Anyway, we'll try to post some pics of that little bit of fun later.

Hope all of you have a wonderful, loving Valentine's Day!

Winning the Gold in Diaper Changes...

Reagan is a paradox to me in so many ways.

She can sit perfectly still for entire minutes on end while we read a book or put together her beloved blocks or feed baby a bottle. She concentrates. She breathes deeply and focuses her entire being on the task at hand.

Ask her to be still for one, single diaper change and it's as though I asked her to recite the Gettysburg Address. She. Cannot. Do. It.

She wiggles and giggles and reaches for the icky diaper. She pulls off her socks despite my desperate pleas for the opposite. She squirms till her noggin hangs off the dresser. She kicks and waves her arms around and strains her neck and twists this way and that. It's like she can hear disco music in her head and when ya gotta dance, ya gotta dance.

I've tried everything. I sing to her. I let her hold various toys and/or items from the diaper changing cubbies (which completely destroys their organized placement, I might add). I make funny noises and cross my eyes. My attempts to distract and occupy her attention are in vain.

By this time I'm sweating and my heart rate is certainly higher than normal. I hear voices in my head. One of them says, "diapering should be a recognized Olympic event" and the other one asks, "how long can she go in one diaper anyway?"

Reagan hears voices, too. "Make Mommy insane. Try to push her over the edge so she completely cracks and puts the diaper on herself instead of me."

Remember how in the beginning, Danny and I fought over who got to change her diaper? Well, that's not the case now. Now I advertise with a great big sign in the front lawn--"will pay top dollar for diaper changing services."

So far no one has taken me up on this and I think it's because they've all heard about Reagan's wiggling antics and they know they don't have what it takes to pin her down, rip off the offensive diaper, wipe whatever they can and smack on the new diaper before she wiggles her way off the dresser and on to the floor.

Speaking of the floor, people have told me to change her diaper there but this is an even more frightening venture. On the floor, Reagan is fearless. She flips over on to her stomach like a break-dancer from the '80s. She scoots away very quickly and is up on her feet, now running diaperless across the room before I have time to realize what's even happened. She's laughing her "prison break" laugh and if the door isn't shut, she's down the hall in a flash.

Do you think it's too early to potty train her?

Maybe She's Born With It...

Maybe it's yogurt.

After discussing Reagan's yogurt art with a co-worker, I've come up with another theory. Perhaps our darling imitator felt the need to smear dairy product on her body because of her innate desire for healthy skin.

I smear all sorts of goo into my skin and she's seen me do it. Yogurt smells and feels like lotion. This yogurt even has a bit of granola in it, not unlike the oatmeal masks I make for my face. Hmmmm....

Perhaps she's on to something. Maybe I'll wash up with some Yoplait tonight and see how my skin feels.

The Next Jackson Pollack...

Reagan is big into art. Her skills flourished early on and after putting a crayon in her wee, little hand, we recognized her talent and encouraged it. Our refrigerator remains the only gallery currently displaying her work but we're considering a Midwest tour possibly beginning with the Nelson later this spring. I'll keep you posted, naturally.

An interesting demonstration of Reagan's continuing artistic development is her ability to work in several mediums. For instance, this evening, Reagan created quite an amazing piece entirely of yogurt. Her canvas? Human skin. She delicately brushed the yogurt (raspberry and pear, if you're curious) onto her hand and arm using sweeping strokes of her purple spoon. Her concentration was evident in the lines on her little furrowed brow and in her piercing black eyes. In fact it took several gasps and sputters and then a burst of "Reagan, no!" for me to fully engage the little Picasso in conversation.

Reagan also delights in embellishing such items as tax statements, calendars, polished desks, alma mater sweatshirts and stacks of post-it notes. Her designs fill our home and we're always delighted when we find a new Reagan original. Stop by anytime to see her masterpieces. Feel free to bring your last will and testament or perhaps the deed to your home. Our sweet Monet will make it extra special for you at no charge.

Through the Looking Glass...

Reagan loves mirrors and large panes of glass in general.

Her hands, mouth and nose are particularly drawn to these items. Every morning and again after her nap, we must visit the large windows in her room. I pull up the shade and she smacks her hand flat on the glass. She says, "code" which is cold in Reagan's language. She smears around on the moisture collected there and then rubs her hands together, points at the next window and follows the same routine there.

Our front door is a playground for little fingerprints, nose bumps and lip residue. I pray no one turns her in for all the little rocks, doll brushes and hubbas she collects around town. The cops would have no problem finding her prints and DNA on our front door. And the patio doors, too, for that matter.

I readily admit that it's hard for me to pass a mirror without at least a quick nostril check and I don't want to have spinach in my teeth and would prefer my hair to be Cheerio free, so I pause there. If Reagan is in my arms, she loves to wave hello to her image and then she puts her head on my shoulder and stares at us while I say, "there's Mommy and Reagan" over and over again softly in her ear. It's this sweet, deliciously warm habit we've made in our mornings together.

Then she leans forward, drool dripping from her chin and gives the looking glass Reagan a nice, juicy kiss and a couple hand smacks and we're off to face our day.

Flickr Update

Here are our latest pictures of Reagan!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/

The World May Never Know...

I followed Danny in to get Reagan this morning. Usually it's sacred Reagan and Daddy time but I had to know what happened with her hair!

I said, "Sweetie, her hair looks flatter, doesn't it?! It really does."

My husband of over 10 years stared at me. Said, "Are you serious?" And then I replied, hesitantly, "Sort of."

I heard him mutter something about head examination and then he scooped up Reagan and went about their morning routine.

The Experiment Begins...

I just did it.

Moments ago, I stole into Reagan's room and swapped Todd out for a seemingly harmless green turtle called Zippy. He was a gift from Reagan's Aunt Jody and thus far has sat in her little white rocking chair. Tonight he holds a new place of honor beside HRH in the crib.

I put Zippy in the exact spot where Todd had been sleeping. Meanwhile, Todd glared at me with his sharp, black eyes. I'm pretty sure he's ticked off but in the name of science, I'm willing to risk his wrath. Zippy had no comments whatsoever. I think he's still asleep and hasn't noticed his new position.

Now we wait. I only changed this one thing in the entire room. I wasn't "Future Scientist of the Year" in 8th grade for nothing. I know how this works. I'm so excited to see Reagan's hair in the morning!

I only hope it doesn't look like a shell because tomorrow is her 6-month post-placement visit and shell head isn't easy to explain.

I scream for ice cream...

For the record, my love affair with ice cream began on a farm outside Hugoton, Kansas. It did not begin in Changsha, China. This is a lifelong obsession and it's not going anywhere.

Reagan has certainly increased my addiction but she is by no means to be held responsible for it.

I just wanted to clarify.

Night, Night

Putting Reagan to sleep is one of my favorite parts of the day. It's not only because at that point I'm barely conscious myself and feel like I've run a marathon (not that I know what that feels like but I'm guessing it's not pleasant). Mostly I love putting Reagan to bed because it is such a sweet, loving routine for our family.

Reagan is one of the cuddliest creatures on the planet and as bedtime approaches she gets more so. She puts her head on my shoulder while Danny puts on her "nighttime music" and grabs the monitor from the shelf. We sway back and forth to the music and say a prayer as a family. As soon as we say "amen" Reagan says her own version of amen and then throws back her head with mouth wide open (which if you'll recall is her form of puckered lips). She kisses Daddy first and then Mommy and then Daddy and then Mommy and then...for quite awhile because we love it so much. Then we squeeze her once or twice more and put her in her crib.

We cover her up and hand Todd over to her. She grasps him very tightly, tilts back her head again and we give some more kisses. We tell her we love her and to sleep tight and by this time she has that naughty thumb in her mouth but I can't find a hubba so we let it go.

Then we head to the door and blow one more kiss and she responds in kind.

We close the door and both let out a sigh of relief. We're exhausted. We haven't had an adult conversation all day. We need ice cream. We have 45 chores left to do and Danny's probably got to rehearse for some upcoming music performance. I need to skim the last 200 pages of a book I'm leading a discussion on the next day. We're so glad we have a break from that kid!

Within two hours, we've both slipped back in to check on her. We can't help ourselves.

A Tiger in Her Bed...

My mom used to tell us we'd "wrestled with a bear last night" when we woke up with funky hair.

Reagan wrestles with a pink Tiger whose name is Todd. He's pink with pink stripes and just man enough to pull it off without even so much as a smirk from his fellow stuffed animals. No one messes with Todd. He's alpha tiger and he's slept with Reagan since we got home from China. He accompanies us on all overnight excursions and he's trotted about the house on a fairly regular basis as well. He's survived the washing machine and a little spit up. Todd is a stud.

At night we hear Reagan flip over and over and...over. She slams into the rails of her crib. She bonks her head. We find her with feet and arms hanging out between her little jail bars practically every night. She starts at one end and scoots her way to the opposite side, often with her hiney up in the air like a little mound of dirt on the move. She rarely wakes up at night. She just wrestles with Todd in her sleep, I guess. She squeezes him and sucks on his nose a little bit for good measure.

And in the morning her hair looks like she's wrestled with tigers all night.

Which leads me to the question...if we take Todd out of her crib, will she wake up in the same spot, with her hair perfectly in place?

Mommy or Pack Mule

It's been over six months now. People (who are not my child) call me mommy all the time. "How's it going, Mommy?"

The thing is, I'm not sure I'm a mommy or a pack mule. Or maybe being a mommy makes one a pack mule?

Today Reagan was in one of those "if you even consider putting me down for half a second, I'll wail till the windows shatter" kind of moods. I'm her pack mule. Tonight I carried Reagan (who was holding Dolly #1) and her doll stroller (complete with Dolly #2, two baby bottles and a hubba) as well as the camera bag (fully loaded) down the stairs. Not only is this a broken neck waiting to happen but it's also quite painful on my person in general.

One would think with all this hauling around I'd be stick thin with muscles that would make Arnold swoon. The problem is that in order to maintain this kind of energetic routine, I must eat my weight in ice cream every night. With chocolate on top.

So maybe the muscles are there but they're covered in chocolate? And maybe there's a mommy under the diaper bag, baby dolls and Legos?

Congratulations, Williams Family!

Our dear friends, Joel and Lynette welcomed Meredith Anne into the world tonight! We are so thrilled for them!
Congratulations and welcome to the ride!
Love you!

Our Little Ruler

We knew we would name our first child Reagan for years before we ever met her. We referred to her as Reagan in conversation. We had all our friends and family calling her Reagan. I wrote her love letters. She has a tile on a wall in China that says Reagan Farrar Wellman on it (this was for a charity project years before we were old enough to adopt from China). Random strangers knew that our future daughter's name was to be Reagan.

No where in any of this did anyone mention the MEANING of the name Reagan. No kind soul pulled me aside and said, "Hey, Lisa, for the record, you're setting yourself up for trouble here." Nope. They were silent on the meaning of her name and since we just loved Reagan from the first moment we considered it...we never investigated its origins.

Let this be a warning to all expectant parents out there. Research your child's name. Take into consideration self-fulfilling prophecy when you pick it. Choose wisely.

Reagan means "Little Ruler."
I think that pretty much sums up my day.

Too Pooped to Pop...

So we do a webcam visit with my parents once a week or so. They call them "Ru fixes" and it gives them a chance to see how big Reagan RuXian is growing and her a chance to wave bye bye to people who are certain the sun rises and sets on her pretty little face.

Tonight my beloved parental units commented that I looked "lethargic." I believe that was the description.

I'm holding the wiggliest toddler on the planet whose one mission when she is at the computer is destruction in any form she can muster. Shall I chew on this pad of Post-Its? Can I reach the keyboard and pound it until the N key bounces off and runs for cover under the printer? Will Mommy notice if I color my finger blue with this pen?

Yeah, I'm lethargic. I'm also in survival mode and can't remember the last time I was alone with the exception of part of the drive to work which doesn't count because to be socially acceptable, I have to be dressed for that.

I'm lethargic because Reagan is a flurry of activity. Today we literally spent 20 minutes climbing the stairs and sliding back down. Climb up, slide down. Climb up, slide down. Now, I know I'm the Mommy. I could stop it if I wanted but she's so darn adorable with her little hiney in the air as she climbs and her hand wraps so perfectly around my finger when we slide back down.

I'm lethargic because every morning it takes twice as long to get ready for the library due to my "helper" who wants to brush my hair and carry the toothpaste off...and hide it.

Gee. Just listing this stuff and realizing it's my life makes me MORE lethargic. I hear Reagan squealing downstairs and Danny saying "woohoo" and that's my cue. I'm going to sneak some chocolate-covered raisins and with that boost of energy, go join my family for some more exhausting happiness.

The Snake Charmer

Reagan can be in the throws of a temper tantrum that would put any 2-year old to shame and then the doorbell rings.

She sits up, looks around, pops to her feet as quickly as she can and scurries to the door. I'm stumbling along behind her wondering why I put my pajamas back on after work and does my hair look ok despite the fact that I haven't washed it in three days and it's all slicked back in a pony tail?

It can be anyone--the UPS guy, a neighbor, friends dropping something by, a stray cat. Anyone.

Reagan knows what to do. She smiles and tilts her head just so. She pulls up her dress so the visitor has a full view of her bloomers in all their splendor. She waves her little fingers and says, "hi" and scrunches up her face in a huge smile. She runs to get toys to share. She twirls and demonstrates her knowledge of "Ring Around the Rosy." She's a ham.

Visitors are always, without fail, charmed to the max. They ooh and ahh and agree with her when she points to her shoes that they are in fact, the most beautiful pair of rhinestone-studded sneakers on the planet.

Then they leave. She's forgotten she was mad at me for insisting she eat something besides goldfish crackers. She doesn't remember that we can't find her hubba. All is well.

I'm thinking of setting up a rotation of sorts. UPS guy on Monday, Shannon on Tuesday, neighbor lady with plate of brownies on Wednesday and so on. They get charmed. Reagan's temper disappears and maybe it'll encourage me to bathe on a more regular basis. Everyone wins.