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.