Reagan, the Continuing Story...

In case you hadn't noticed...

2009-09-01T12:55:00.001-05:00

I'm not blogging anymore. I've become a bit paranoid about the Internet and its dangers lately. We have much news. Reagan is currently at her first day of preschool. We're adopting again and our little one is waiting for us in Taiwan! Our church has a new building (hopefully!). We're not bored or boring, by any means. Just haven't shared with the general public out of concern for our safety.

That being said I truly miss sharing our life with you and I know my family especially would like me to continue our story. I've decided to start a private blog in an attempt to meet the best of both private and public worlds.

If you'd like to receive an invite to our private blog, please email me or leave me a message here. Thanks!
--Lisa

...to our advantage

2009-05-02T20:43:00.003-05:00

So Reagan helps Danny in the basement a lot. He's currently finishing the downstairs bathroom which will ultimately be nicer than OUR bathroom. Guests, prepare yourselves for luxury!

Reagan hands Danny tools and scribbles on the wood. She carries a tape measure and flings it around, nearly blinding herself every other second. She knows where all the "parts" are going for the bathroom: sink over here, shower here, toilet there. She knows what color she wants the walls to be when it's done. She's really been a major par of the whole renovation process.

Today we took that a step further. Danny called both lumber yards in town to discover that on Saturdays, neither place does home delivery. We didn't have a way to pick up the last few pieces of sheet rock. With sadness in his Bob the Builder heart, my hubby took his assistant and went to the lumber yard anyway. He figured he'd order what he wanted and we could have it delivered this next week.

Thirty minutes went by. Then they returned. Reagan bounded over to me with one of those small, brown paper bags meant to carry nails and just when I was about to scold Danny for letting her play with nails (again), I realized it was full of M&Ms. So was her mouth. Danny explained that the lumber yard owner had basically been charmed out of his socks by our daughter. He provided her with a quarter and showed her how to work his M&M dispenser (thank you, Mr. Lumber yard man). He then declared that for Reagan, he'd send out a delivery guy on Saturday.

Sure enough, moments later, our sheet rock arrived.

Tonight I'm making a list of other ways we can use this little girl to our advantage. By all means, send suggestions our way.

The Lollipop Lie

2009-05-02T10:06:00.002-05:00

Turns out, Reagan has been humoring me for goodness knows how long.

Last July we flew to see my parents. Prior to the trip, I purchased a jumbo bag of those Dum Dum lollipops with which to pacify our toddler on the airplane. I still have tons of them left and I dole them out in moments of desperation now and then. Reagan does not know I have them. Or maybe I should say, I didn't think Reagan knew that I had them...

Our bank must have the same bag of lollipops and when we make deposits, Reagan withdraws one of their stash. They know she prefers pink or blue over white ones (well, the white ones are coconut so who can blame her?). They even give them to me when she's NOT in the car. "Oh, save this for Reagan!" The ladies in the window fork over lollipops when Reagan is unconscious, drooling in the backseat. They really like giving those things away and Reagan really likes eating them.

A few months ago I began using this give and take relationship to my advantage. I purposely manipulate our bank visits according to my needs.

For instance, Reagan never wants to leave the library. The librarians think she's a rock star. The books and toys are a draw plus she gets to make a craft if we actually make it there for Toddler Time. I use the bank as an excuse. The instant I mention her beloved lollipop vendor, Reagan is at the counter, ready to "pay" for our books and get the heck out of there. She sprints to the door, anticipating the sugary slurping that awaits her.

The thing is, I don't always have banking business despite my evil plotting otherwise. However, this hasn't stopped me from telling the teeniest, most innocent little lie. I quietly dig in my purse to locate a lollipop from my secret supply while I navigate over to the bank. I drive through the lane that goes by the drive-thru window but I don't stop. Then I cry out, "Thank you, Bank!" and I toss a lollipop into Reagan's lap behind me. My adorable daughter thanks the bank too and sometimes even raises her lollipop in a little salute to the ladies as we whiz by them.

I'm so sneaky. I'm so clever. Reagan connects the lollipop fairies solely with the bank. She does not beg for one at any other time. She does not seek them in my purse or offer them to other children in front of their parents who would then judge me for letting her have sweets. Nope. None of that. She is oblivious!

Only she's not.

Wednesday of this week we had errands to run in the city. Reagan can only be strapped into her car seat for so long before she basically loses all reason and cries and cries and strains for release. Trying to pacify her isn't easy on a good day but this particular cry fest happened during torrential rain while her father was navigating rush hour traffic in a part of the city we don't know well. Reagan moaned, "Lollipop, lollipop" in a ridiculously pathetic manner. I towed the party line, "Sweetie, I have to go to the bank for lollipops, remember? Maybe Daddy can swing us through the bank," I offered. (This earned me a death glare from my beloved husband).

Reagan wasn't having it. She sat up in her seat, looked me in the eye and said, "You have lollipops in your purse, Mommy...remember?" And then she pointed to the very pocket where the lollipops reside. I hadn't fooled her at all. She was playing along with me, letting me think I was in charge and on top of things.

Obviously, I gave her the darn lollipop. The gig is up. The lollipop lie is no more. But she still doesn't know toys can leave the store....

Thirsty Rabbit, water is for plants!

2009-04-13T12:12:00.002-05:00

Mondays are the day I run around town attempting to do all the things that should have been done the previous week. I buy groceries, go to bank, the post office, the dry cleaners and anywhere else I have business. Reagan goes to Kidz Day Out (again, apologies for the incorrect spelling of Kidz) where she lives large playing with 20 of her closest friends. We both thrive from this time apart. I get writing done. She finger paints. I fold clothes. She bickers lovingly with Judah over toys. I go to the bathroom without an audience. She puts on puppet shows. It's a great system and the benefits are endless. The latest joy to come from this arrangement is a new member to our household.

Reagan recently made a "Chia Pet" out of a black sock filled with potting soil and grass seed. She is a bunny rabbit with googly eyes and a pink bow holding back her ears. Reagan made her at Kidz Day Out, of course and we all watched with fascination as the sock slowly but surely produced green "fur" as the grass grew in over the last few days. The bunny sits on the floor by all the other plants soaking up the sunshine from our big south-facing glass doors. I've been watering the rabbit on my own until this weekend.

Saturday I told Reagan, "It's time to give your bunny something to drink, Sweetie." She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her mouth and said, "What?" I filled a glass with water and poured it on the rabbit's back. "I said, let's give your rabbit something to drink. She's thirsty." Reagan stared at the rabbit and then at me and finally said, "Rabbit no thirsty, Mommy. Rabbit no drink. Rabbit has no mouth!" She pointed at her little bunny's face with emphasis.

And she's right. Her rabbit is certainly lacking a mouth with which to drink. I attempted to explain what I meant to our little Miss Literal but finally gave up. She can be stubborn sometimes and goodness knows where she gets that. I said, "Ok, Reagan. You're right. Your rabbit does not have a mouth. She can't take a drink. Let's wash her fur with this water, shall we?" That seemed to satisfy her so today when she gets home from Kidz Day Out, her rabbit will receive another bath on her green, furry back. I'll do my best not splash her eyeballs or the spot where her mouth should be.

Note to self, either don't encourage her to believe the sock filled with soil is an actual rabbit or accept from the start that you're going to have absolutely mind boggling conversations with your two and a half year old about bunny parts and green fur.

Happy Easter 2009!!

2009-04-12T18:34:00.002-05:00

For more Easter photos, visit our Flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/sets/72157616592377571/

Things That Go Bump...

2009-03-06T18:34:00.003-06:00

I'm a light sleeper. I wake up with the wind, cat fights, Danny's snores, my bladder and the occasional rumble of my tummy. I've been this way since college and motherhood hasn't lessened my nocturnal awareness. If it happens in or near our house at night, I know about it.

A few weeks ago, around midnight I was awakened to a cheerful voice in the darkness. I sat up and closed my eyes, all of my concentration focused on hearing the source of the talkative, upbeat sound. Finally, I got up and followed the conversation into Reagan's bedroom. Our little princess was in her usual slumbering pose--all four limbs spread out, no socks on, head back, snoring louder than her father across the hall.

I tiptoed around Reagan's domain in search of the now annoying and increasingly loud voice. I checked the bookshelves, the closet, the bed itself. (Todd was purring softly but he wasn't talking about photography. I'd finally been able to determine that the chipper voice was babbling on about picture taking). In the corner of Reagan's room loomed her toy box. I began to dig as quietly as one can through race cars, Thomas the train figures, a collection of old cellphones and a spinning top. I piled items on the floor until I realized it was the voice of Barbie that had disturbed my slumber. Reagan's grandparents gave her the pink Barbie camera I mentioned in an earlier post. Miss Legs herself was saying phrases like, "Smile for the camera! This one is for the yearbook! Can you make a funny face?"

No one had turned on the camera. She just decided to communicate with the other toys or something. Maybe the camera is really a portal into Barbie's world. I don't know. I do know that I could not shut it off (thanks Papa and Nai Nai) and I couldn't get it to stop talking! I set it up on the shelf, all alone, not touching anything and waited for it to turn off automatically. No such luck. I frantically tried to remove its batteries but that required a screwdriver and apparently I'd left mine in my other set of pajamas.

Finally, in an act of sleep-deprived desperation I put the camera on a shelf in the garage where I couldn't hear it from inside. The cats woke up and stared first at the camera and then at me as if to say, "What the..." but I left before they could finish the sentence.

Kissing Like a Princess

2009-03-06T18:24:00.002-06:00

You know how Reagan likes to kiss. She bestows smooches like some people smile. She's pretty free and easy with her lips, I readily admit that. It's never really concerned me before because after all, she's 2.5 years old, positively adorable and has ceased that animal cracker drool she used to slop around when she gave out kisses. She's really not disgusting about it at all anymore. She's a pro.

Yesterday Reagan and I watched "Aladdin" which is one of my favorite Disney movies (I have maybe 10 favorite Disney movies; I'm a huge fan of the "old" ones). When Jasmine and Aladdin kissed, Reagan leaned forward for deep analysis. Then she announced that she wanted to kiss like a princess. She talked about that kiss for a good 10 minutes off and on as the rest of the story unfolded.

When Aladdin and Jasmine kissed again at the end of the movie, Reagan leaned toward me and whispered very solemnly, "Mommy, Reagan kiss my Judah like that." I said, "What?" So she repeated her declaration. I said, "Well, sweetie, Judah has to want to kiss you back and I don't see that happening any time soon. That kind of kissing is for grown ups." Reagan listened to me (or at least pretended to) and then she said, "Reagan kiss my Jackson like that." I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Reagan! Are you going to kiss both Jackson and Judah?! That's not going to fly with those boys. You'll have to pick one boy to kiss." Reagan sighed. Then she said, "I don't think so, Mommy. My Judah and my Jackson love Reagan."

We do not worry about Reagan's self confidence, in case you're wondering. I think I'll put "Aladdin" on the shelf for awhile.

Say Cheese...

2009-03-01T20:35:00.002-06:00

Reagan's daddy is really into photography and his daughter is a very willing model for him on a near daily basis. We knew she knew what went on for the subject of a photograph. She cheeses it up quite willingly. We didn't realize, however, that she's also been paying attention to the other side of the camera.

Tonight I was grant writing (so what else is new?) and Danny was folding clothes and doing chores around the house. Reagan flit between her parents, singing songs, riding in the laundry basket, eating an orange and generally being adorable.

At one point I saw Reagan pull Danny's tripod from the office closet but I thought nothing of it. She's played with it before.

Minutes later I heard my daughter chirp, "Say cheese, Mommy!" I turned around and she'd set up the tripod on her own. Perched on its top was her pink Barbie camera. Reagan was hunched down behind the tripod, eye squinted, finger posed over the "click" button.

Look out Ansel Adams.

Our Big Girl

2009-02-11T11:50:00.002-06:00

Reagan is potty trained. Have I mentioned this? If not, consider yourself lucky. I tell everyone I meet including the woman who cleaned my teeth today at the dentist's office. A potty trained child is right up there with TCBY yogurt and a best friend to share it with (one who encourages you to buy the larger size and does not judge you when you consume it in record time).

Reagan began her training on a Sunday and by Thursday was accident free. She now goes in and out of the bathroom without accompaniment and just reports her business casually as she returns to play. Sometimes I don't even know she's gone.

Even as I celebrate this freedom, this fabulous ick-free state...I stop to wonder where the time has gone. Where is that baby who couldn't crawl, who wore size 2 diapers and clung so tightly to me as we left the Hunan Province Civil Affairs office? She's 14 pounds ago. She's four sizes in clothes ago. She's a hop, skip and a somersault ago. She's gone.

But then just when my eyes fill with tears and I can't stand how much I miss my baby, my big girl comes running over with her arms in the air. "Hold me, Mommy! Hold me." And I do.

Maybe our big girl is still our baby after all.

Our Gourmet Chef and the Kitchen of her Dreams

2009-02-11T10:02:00.004-06:00

As many of you know, Reagan enjoys a nice, tasty meal of brightly-colored plastic fruit now and then. She also chows down a good hamburger with everything on it. She has intently played with her faux food and multiple tea sets for over a year.

However, the real prize, the ultimate in fake dinner preparation was the pastel plastic kitchen her parents were never going to buy her. She plays with one at Kidz Day Out (they spell it with a "Z"; my apologies to the English language) every Monday. When we attended a church with a nursery kitchen, she could always be found there when I went to claim her after services. Her mom and daddy are against giant plastic playthings on principle and we vowed not to purchase one. Because Reagan doesn't fully understand stores and toy accumulation, she's never asked us for one. It's easy to say no to a non-request.

A friend recently shared with me that her son had outgrown his ginormous kitchen and wouldn't Reagan enjoy it? I knew she would, of course. I knew she'd be thrilled but inside me a voice cried out, "Don't do it, Lisa! Don't give in to the landfill madness!" I told the voice to shut up and we gratefully accepted the kitchen (which is taller than Reagan) for our little culinary guru.

Reagan's happiness knows no bounds. She plays with it non-stop, often wearing the little chef's apron and hat which accompanied it into our home. Our friend's son also bestowed all of his plastic edibles on our daughter so Reagan is beside her self, festooned in multiple layers of veggies and rock hard waffles.

We eat her creations whether she cooks the meal in the dishwasher or the microwave. We make smacking sounds and she insists our tongues touch the ice cream cone for a more lifelike action. (I'm constantly wiping food items down with Lysol wipes when Reagan isn't looking). She warns us when food is hot and instructs us to blow on it...often demonstrating and thus sharing her hot, moist breath with her diners.

She is in bliss and we, as her parents, grudgingly admit that the kitchen has a place in our home as long as our daughter delights in it so. Also, I'm fairly certain Danny plays with it even when Reagan's not around.

Tale of the Lost Naps

2009-01-27T10:27:00.001-06:00

People email me pretty often these days asking why I’m not updating the blog like I once did. I apologize. Let me tell you a story to try to explain my current situation….

Once upon a time, in an average home in an average American town, a little family lived out their days. The daddy went to work each morning. The mommy wrote press releases and grants and cared for her daughter. The daughter played all morning, ate lunch and then took a two-hour nap during which her mother updated the family blog, cleaned, paid bills, prepped supper, brushed her teeth, finished writing assignments or caught a few ZZZs herself. All was well in the world.

One cold day in mid-November 2008, the daughter declared herself beyond napping. “No more naps, Mommy!” she announced with her little hands on her hips and her head tilted just so. And despite the mommy’s best efforts to manipulate the situation, the daughter really was done with naps. No amount of begging, bribing, yelling or praying influenced the daughter’s resolute decision. Her napping days were over.

Thus the mommy’s world was turned upside down. The family blog became the least of her worries. Entertaining and educating her daughter while also meeting deadlines and maintaining a clean, safe home became all she could do. She suffered through the holiday season trying to be merry and bright, all the while staggering under the weight of life with a toddler who no longer napped.

Slowly but surely the mommy has adjusted to a complete lack of alone time and the constant chatter of her daughter who only sleeps at night and never, ever takes even an extended blink during the daylight hours. The mommy hopes to share with you more of the family’s adventures as time and energy allow. They will live happily ever after, right before your eyes on this very blog.

This story was inspired by true events.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-26T20:50:00.003-06:00

We brought in the Year of the Ox by celebrating with other area families with children from China. We are so blessed to have many Chinese American kiddos in our state! Here's my favorite picture of the evening with our darling, innocent child squeezing her new friend into hysterics. We also uploaded pictures to our Flickr account if you want to see more! Happy New Year! Xin Nian Kuai Le!

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

Take Your Vitamins Every Day

2009-01-23T12:09:00.002-06:00

Reagan's Nai Nai (my mom) is really into vitamins. She has a tray (which I would use for breakfast in bed if it were mine) that lives on her kitchen counter. Every inch of it is covered in pill bottles and we have no pharmacists in the family. Short ones, tall ones, fat ones and they all fix something or build something or make something function better. She takes her vitamins and supplements daily at breakfast. When she travels, she carries her beloved supply in a big Ziploc bag and proceeds to spread them out and take inventory whenever given the opportunity.

During our Christmas visit, Reagan spent several mornings quizzing Nai Nai about vitamins in general--their individual purposes, tastes, colors and size. Nai Nai explained them as she downed them. Reagan watched in fascination.

At home Reagan eats her own vitamin each morning in the shapes of Bam Bam, Pebbles or Dino. I swallow one of the Flintstones down myself now and then for good measure and a little trip down memory lane.

I had no idea how much of an effect those vitamins had on Reagan until this morning. We were stir crazy. I suggested shopping and Reagan jumped up, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, please!"

We headed to Walgreens and perused the aisles picking up chapstick, toothpaste and cheese sticks along the way. We made our way down the vitamin aisle purely because I wasn't yet ready to go back into the cold outdoors. At once Reagan starts bouncing around in the cart. She leaned this way and that, spinning her neck around like a demon-possessed kid in a B movie.

"Where Nai Nai? Where Nai Nai go? Nai Nai here!!" I couldn't figure it out. We hadn't even been discussing my mother. Now Reagan was leaning toward the shelves...the shelves of vitamins. She pointed and reached and pointed some more because her mother isn't the sharpest crayon in the box.

"Nai Nai's vitamins! Nai Nai here with vitamins!" And she was right. We were in Nai Nai's Utopia, the vitamin aisle. We were surrounded by brown bottles and giant letters like E, D and A. I explained to Reagan that Nai Nai was in Colorado with Papa and that other people in the world take vitamins, too. (Though, knowing the size of my mom's collection, I appreciate Reagan's opinion that all the vitamins known to humankind are Nai Nai's).

She was disappointed to say the least. We headed for checkout in silence and on the way out to the car, Reagan leaned in to me to protect herself from the wind. She whispered in my ear one more time, "Nai Nai's vitamins in there."

Merry Christmas from the Wellmans!

2008-12-18T11:39:00.002-06:00

Mr. Postman, look and see...

2008-11-26T20:57:00.003-06:00

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

2008-11-06T13:10:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-06T13:04:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-03T19:26:00.002-06:00

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

New flickr photos!

2008-10-30T22:15:00.003-06:00

We finally uploaded some new pictures to flickr.

Check them out!

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

Preview of Coming Attractions...

2008-10-30T07:47:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-27T15:48:00.001-06:00

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...

2008-10-03T11:47:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-23T16:52:00.003-05:00

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

2008-09-05T14:19:00.004-05:00

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

2008-09-05T06:39:00.003-05:00

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

2008-08-28T12:14:00.004-05:00

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

2008-08-26T07:28:00.003-05:00

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...

2008-08-26T07:11:00.001-05:00

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

2008-08-22T07:04:00.003-05:00

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...

2008-08-12T06:58:00.003-05:00

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

2008-07-31T13:45:00.002-05:00

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...

2008-07-24T05:57:00.003-05:00

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

2008-07-14T11:41:00.003-05:00

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

2008-07-12T09:33:00.003-05:00

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

2008-07-12T07:39:00.001-05:00

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...

2008-07-09T18:02:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-07-08T22:12:00.004-05:00

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?

2008-07-04T07:01:00.002-05:00

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

2008-07-01T14:30:00.003-05:00

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!

2008-06-21T20:10:00.002-05:00

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

2008-06-10T21:07:00.002-05:00

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

2008-06-06T12:21:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-06-01T16:31:00.003-05:00

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

2008-05-30T15:30:00.003-05:00

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

2008-05-27T19:35:00.004-05:00

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

2008-05-26T07:31:00.004-05:00

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

2008-05-22T21:52:00.004-05:00

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...

2008-05-13T14:18:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-05-09T21:59:00.004-05:00

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

2008-05-01T21:48:00.003-05:00

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

2008-05-01T20:53:00.004-05:00

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

2008-04-26T08:33:00.002-05:00

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

2008-04-15T14:59:00.003-05:00

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...

2008-04-11T20:24:00.003-05:00

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

2008-04-05T21:46:00.000-06:00

Impossible to Believe...

2008-04-03T12:59:00.003-06:00

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

2008-04-02T20:10:00.002-06:00

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

2008-03-25T08:00:00.003-06:00

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

2008-03-18T19:39:00.002-06:00

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!!!

2008-03-17T15:32:00.001-06:00

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..

2008-03-08T15:59:00.003-06:00

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...

2008-03-03T14:18:00.002-06:00

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...

2008-02-26T06:44:00.002-06:00

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...

2008-02-25T06:53:00.003-06:00

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

2008-02-21T14:45:00.004-06:00

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...

2008-02-19T20:49:00.003-06:00

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...

2008-02-15T14:19:00.003-06:00

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!

2008-02-14T15:27:00.003-06:00

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...

2008-02-12T21:02:00.004-06:00

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...

2008-02-05T19:48:00.000-06:00

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...

2008-02-04T22:20:00.000-06:00

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...

2008-01-29T06:37:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-25T08:17:00.000-06:00

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

The World May Never Know...

2008-01-25T07:48:00.000-06:00

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...

2008-01-24T21:38:00.001-06:00

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...

2008-01-22T13:48:00.001-06:00

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

2008-01-22T13:38:00.001-06:00

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...

2008-01-18T19:27:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-16T20:37:00.001-06:00

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!

2008-01-16T20:36:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-15T20:19:00.001-06:00

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...

2008-01-07T19:06:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-07T18:55:00.000-06:00

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.

Our Christmas Photos...

2007-12-30T08:11:00.000-06:00

We've posted a few of our Christmas photos on our Flickr account. These are mostly Reagan-focused (no surprises there) but if you want to see the rest of the fam, holler at me and I'll post those, too.

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

For Unto You a Child Is Born...

2007-12-09T13:10:00.001-06:00

Merry Christmas from our family to yours! We are so grateful for this time of year to reflect on Christ's birth and the many blessings God continuously pours out on us. We thank Him for you, our friends and family!

Today is super, duper special!!!

2007-12-07T21:38:00.000-06:00

Today some of our closest friends on the planet received their referral!!! Their daughter is waiting for them in China! Danny, Reagan and I are so thrilled. It's all we've talked about since we got the news.

Congratulations, Jen and Eric!!

And, Noelle, we've seen pictures of you already and I gotta say, your hair is simply to die for! We're looking forward to any fashion tips you can share with our Reagan Ru. :)

It's In Her Kiss...

2007-12-07T21:22:00.000-06:00

That's where it is.

Reagan is a kisser. She started out with mostly open mouth lunges. We'd ask for a kiss and she came at us full throttle, mouth wide open. She was very reminiscent of a whale feeding or a hyena when it laughs. She often missed our mouths and ended up sort of noshing our noses.

Then her kissing evolved.

She realized kisses were a desirable bargaining tool. She started kissing us and then pointing at what she wanted. She refused kisses when she wasn't in the mood. She kissed her doll and tried to kiss the cats. She learned to blow kisses. She knows when we say bye bye that a kiss or ten is appropriate.

She puckers up now. Sticks her puffy, fish lips up at us and really smacks us.

And lately her kisses have been extra juicy. Reagan has basically been teething since the moment we got her and so it's not like we're strangers to drool. Reagan is a drool machine. However, she hasn't always felt the need to kiss us while in fact, eating something mushy. And that's what she did all week long.

Animal crackers are among the most quickly dissolved snack in the world. This is fact. Reagan crams at least 62 animals in her mouth (it's so full she can't close it and yes I know this is a choking hazard, we're working on it) and then she toddles over. She stands right beside me, often with a soggy elephant in hand. She's grinning a wild, out of control grin. Then she touches me. Perhaps she pats me on the shoulder. I now have ick on my shoulder. All the while the menagerie in her mouth is soaking up moisture and turning to goo...which then starts to dribble out, down her chin in one long, unending line.

And then she kisses me. Full on the mouth.

Repeat with the snack that smiles back goldfish. And Cheerios. And grapes.

Now, I'm not by nature a rude person (most of the time) and I don't want to hurt my little angel's feelings but it is hard not to run in terror when this creature lurches toward me, oozing slime and love all over the place. I know I'm a real mom now. I take it. I kiss her back, reminding myself that soon she'll be a teenager and hate me and I should enjoy ooey gooey kisses while they last.

Then when she toddles off to kiss some other hapless victim...I run to the bathroom to brush my teeth and gargle and wash my face and...

Updated Pictures...

2007-12-03T16:50:00.000-06:00

I'm on a roll today! Sure Reagan is in the kitchen playing with sharp knives but by george, the blog is UPDATED.

Go check out our latest pictures on Flickr!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

Sheer Energy Legs

2007-12-03T14:59:00.001-06:00

Reagan came to us in the stink of July. In Southern China. She's mostly seen me in shorts, skirts or capris. She's touched my legs a billion times and despite what Danny thinks, she likes the way they feel. She doesn't seem to mind when they get a little...shall we say...stubbly. And for the most part, I shave on a regular basis, especially now that my shower time has become so precious and such a part of my fight against the insanity of motherhood. I cherish my time in the shower. I look for things to do in there to linger just a bit more and shaving is a great help to me in this quest.

But that's beside the point.

The point is that I don't wear hose very often because A) they irritate me to death and B) I constantly snag them. I can look at hose from across a room and they snag. So I pretty much don't wear them unless it's super cold and/or I have to dress up. I wore them for the first time in front of Reagan last week. Here's what happened.

My beloved child rushed up to hug my legs, after all, we'd been separated about 20 minutes. She wrapped her arms around me and then dropped her arms and stepped back a good foot and a half. Reagan's face was confused and a bit fascinated. She looked at my legs curiously for a few seconds and then reached back to touch one of them again. She pulled her hand back super quick and looked up at me as if to say, "What's going on here? Where's your skin? This looks like skin but it's not." This went on for some time as I moved about the room finishing my dressing routine. I thought she was over it.

That afternoon when I picked her up from Blakely's house, again Reagan touched my legs. When we got home, she kept touching them until I took the pantyhose off. Then she touched my real, live skin and a smile broke out on her face a mile wide. She clapped her hands together and grinned at me, completely thrilled that my legs were back and all was well with the world.

Today I wore black tights and she eyeballed me a bit but didn't feel the need to do a pat down search again.

Our Own Comments

2007-12-03T14:55:00.000-06:00

Ok, someone who understands Blogger, write me and explain how I answer comments, ok? Thanks.

I appreciate you writing back to my little rant last week. I'll try to keep the blog mostly upbeat, I promise. Before we got Reagan, I was determined to be very educational, to see questions as an opportunity to help others understand adoption, blah, blah, blah. And I have. Tons of times. The problem is that it's not hypothetical now. It's not educational. This isn't an object lesson. This is my life. This is my daughter. And sometimes I just wish people would keep their remarks to themselves.

We signed up for this gig. It's part of our world. I just need to determine how best to handle these situations when they fly at me.

Our Own

2007-11-28T08:01:00.000-06:00

It's interesting to me how many people are obsessed with us having a child "of your own." It's as if Reagan isn't real, isn't a person, isn't our daughter.

"Oh, you know, now that you've adopted, you'll get pregnant." I love their faces when I smile sweetly and say, "Well, I certainly hope not."

"Do you plan to adopt again or will you have a child of your own?" My real reaction to this isn't appropriate for print and I usually keep it inside myself but out loud I've started to say, "Reagan is our own and we don't know if we'll even have more children, adopted or otherwise." This always blows their minds because if there's anything worse than an adopted child, it's an adopted child who's also an ONLY child. The horror.

Everyone has an opinion. I'm an American, I embrace differing opinions. I just think I'm super surprised by the lack of tact we face on a nearly daily basis. No one would think to ask people about the night their children were conceived yet we're asked "how much she cost" at least once a week. What the?!

I thought the stupid questions would cease once we had Reagan home but that's not true. Stupid is alive and well.

I have to get off my soapbox now. My own daughter, Reagan RuXian Farrar Wellman is hollering at me for more Cheerios.

Priorities

2007-11-15T15:25:00.000-06:00

Reagan has one doll. She pulls her pants off, tucks her in under a little doll-sized quilt, kisses her face and points to her doll's nose if asked where it is. (She assumes our short term memory is less than adequate, I think. She always looks at me curiously, sighs and then points AGAIN to the doll's nose as if to say, "Mommy, it's right HERE, right where it always is when you ask me. Good grief."

The doll (who is nameless) lives downstairs in the family room toy box. Yesterday afternoon after playtime I announced it was time for supper. Reagan jumped up and scurried to the staircase like usual but this time she was carrying her doll. When we mounted the stairs, Reagan insisted on climbing them herself...while struggling to hold her dolly in her hand. I offered multiple times to carry it for her but she refused. So clutching her baby in one hand, she pulled herself along with the other one, bumping her chin on the steps several times, looking back at me to make sure I was following and dropping her beloved child now and then. Each time I thought she'd go on up without the doll but each time Reagan stopped and went back for it until we made it all the way to the top. Then she stood up, doll in hand and raced to the high chair.

She and Dolly squirmed impatiently while I prepared her sippy cup of milk. I started piling food on Reagan's tray and she quickly realized something. She was out of space. Something had to go.

So despite all her efforts to carry that wild-haired, pink-wearing doll up the stairs...she literally tossed it over the side on to the floor where it landed with a sickening thud. I turned around from the stove to see her look down at it wistfully, then eyeball her fist full of rice and cram the entire thing into her mouth. "MMMMMM," she said.

Again, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

My Daughter, the Personal Trainer Part Two

2007-11-07T14:28:00.000-06:00

Reagan recognizes that it takes both diet and exercise to really peel away the excess pounds. That's why my thoughtful personal trainer works my flabby behind every day.

From day one, Reagan has preferred me to all others which at first I thought was because of my infectious personality and the fact that I nearly always have Cheerios on my person. However, as time passes, I realize she makes me haul her around as part of my weight training regimen. She also insists on tossing whatever she's carrying to the ground at random intervals to challenge my agility and grace. There's a method to her madness. For instance, Reagan doesn't "accidentally" drop her sippy cup except when both of my hands are entirely full of other things and/or we're in a desperate hurry to get out the door. If she tossed it down when I've got nothing but time and empty hands, then I wouldn't get the same kind of workout. My body would be mush, that's what. Reagan's dedication to my health astounds everyone we meet.

Reagan knows that a strong back is key for overall core strength. Every, single bloomin' day Reagan tackles the stairs on our way up from the basement. She chooses to crawl up three or four steps and then turn around to slide down on her bottom. I hunch over, trying to save her from certain death and thus, my back receives a thorough workout. When Reagan arrives at the base of the stairs, we start the routine over again because all personal trainers know that number of reps is key to building strong muscles.

It takes a village to keep Mom skinny. Reagan relies on my morning visits to our wellness center to take care of my body, as well. Last week, I woke up before my alarm and thought I was up, ready to throw myself into the car and head for the gym. I turned off the alarm so as not to disturb my beloved and my whip-wielding daughter. My brain said get up. However, my body had other ideas and within moments, I'd drifted back to sleep. At 5:31 am, Reagan let out a heart attack-inducing scream. I sat straight up in bed, realized I was about to miss class and jetted from the house. Danny told me later that when he went in to check on Reagan, she was already back to sleep. See? Even when she's unconscious, she works to keep me moving and grooving. What a giver.

Variety keeps training interesting so Reagan continually mixes up our time together by tossing in cries for swirling, singing, dancing, bouncing and tossing whenever she sees me start to relax. If my body slows down at all, Reagan senses my regression and springs into action. Right now she's taking a nap and I'm about to, as well. This is an unapproved sleep and must be approached carefully. My strategy is simple. I take off my shoes and tip toe across the hall into our bedroom. I know right where the squeaky springs are in the bed so I ease onto the comforter very carefully, without disturbing the cat or the mattress. I lay on my back so as to preserve my hairstyle and I sleep in my glasses. This way if Reagan suspects my rebellious rest, I can fool her by being right at her side the instant she cries. When she glances over me, looking for signs of slumber, I'll fool her.

This is how I'm surviving Mommyhood, one stolen nap at a time. Also, today I ate what was left of the ice cream straight from the container. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.

More Halloween Pictures...

2007-11-01T19:42:00.000-06:00

Our favorite little droid stars in more Halloween photos on Flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1

May The Force Be With You...

2007-11-01T19:29:00.000-06:00

Go OU!

2007-10-30T06:31:00.001-06:00

Reagan already knows where her loyalties should be...

My Daughter, the Personal Trainer Part One

2007-10-30T05:44:00.001-06:00

From the beginning, Reagan has been concerned about my health and she's made it her business to keep me in shape. I sincerely appreciate her efforts and thought I'd share a few of them with you in case you'd like to implement them in your own training.

Reagan never misses an opportunity to deny me the sinful pleasure of eating. She knows I need help refusing the temptation of a meal every 5 or 6 hours, and she's there for me, bless her little heart. Just as I sit down to enjoy a few moments of culinary satisfaction and perhaps a niblet or two of adult conversation with my beloved, Reagan pulls the rug out from under me. If she's in her high chair, mid-meal, she suddenly needs "more" of something and alternately signs and squeals for it. Or she coughs/chokes on something. Or her sippy cup takes a suicide dive to the floor. Sometimes when she sees these distractions aren't having the effect she's going for, she cries to be released from her tower prison. Once on the floor, she rushes to my chair and looks up at me with the best puppy dog eyes she can muster. She holds her hands in the air and motions for me to pick her up. She clings to my legs, desperate to distract me from my fork. If I put her in my lap, hoping to calm her and therefore, get to eat, she lunges for the plate with all her might, grabbing and pushing for anything in sight. She knows her mission and she takes it seriously: stop Mom from eating at all costs.

I find myself standing up eating bread crusts, drinking apple juice while she gobbles pear chunks off her tray. I don't make eye contact for fear she'll remember I'm not supposed to eat. I open the fridge door and nosh down whatever I can behind its protective barrier. I hunch down to a lower cabinet, pretending to retrieve a pot or pan, all the while cramming pepperoni into my mouth. Reagan strains in her high chair. She knows something is going on. She arches her back, puts her feet on the step and stands as much as she can, craning her neck so she can see whether I'm really preparing her precious peas or am actually woofing down a sandwich.

I'm not sure how long this stage of "Pay attention to me NOW. Put the food down and no one will get hurt" lasts. Other people have kids and I've seen them eat. Perhaps their children just don't love them as much as Reagan loves me. Perhaps they don't care if their parents are obese but my angel does. Reagan wants me to be a size 4 and isn't letting anyone or anything stand in her way.

A Plague Update

2007-10-30T05:39:00.000-06:00

Reagan is on the upswing! We took her back to the doctor Saturday where he promptly put her on two more medications including one administered by a breathing machine. You can imagine how much Reagan enjoys the breathing machine! We put on Baby Einstein to lull her into submission and pray for the best. She was smiling yesterday, more herself than she's been since Friday. Hooray!

Thank you so very much for praying for Reagan. We really appreciate it. She's been sick before but didn't show as many outward signs of it, I guess. This really freaked us out and had me bargaining with God over just giving the sickness to me and not her. She was downright pathetic. We're used to feisty and adorable. We don't do pathetic.

Pray for our Sick Girl

2007-10-27T08:08:00.000-05:00

We'd really appreciate your prayers for Reagan. She has an infection in both ears and is all drugged up on amoxicillian. I thought we'd see signs of improvement after 4 days of antibiotics but if anything, she's worse. Her cough is juicy. Her lungs are full. She's clingy and actually ran a fever for the first time since this started. Anyway, please ask God to help us know what to do, how to help our sweet angel and please ask Him to heal her so she can enjoy this lovely fall and go out for Halloween, etc.

Thank you so much!

Happy Birthday to me all year long!

2007-10-16T06:50:00.000-05:00

So yesterday I turned 31. It was a lovely day and the party continues today because our best friends are coming over for some fun. However, I just spent the whole day thinking about LAST year at this time.

Last year when I turned 30, we whooped it up. I'd been waiting so long to AGE, for the love! China wouldn't let us come get Reagan until we were both 30 and Danny kindly hit that milestone 2 years ago. Our dossier was sent via Fed Ex October 13, 2006 and was delivered to the CCAA on my birthday, October 15, 2006. Nothing else mattered. We were DTC!!

Now, I love presents. No way can I deny that. I made a list, passed it out to family and friends and waited for the loot to pour in. However, yesterday even as I accepted wonderful gifts, I kept thinking, "Gee. What I really want to do right now is play with Reagan." When people asked, "Big plans for your birthday?" I answered honestly that we were just staying home to be with our girl. In a bizarre twist of events, I attended the KC Ballet alone on Saturday. We have season tickets. I am in to the ballet and Danny goes along because he's in to me. I had a fabulous time and sat in Danny's seat (he's not getting it back, it's better than mine). However, I called Danny at intermission so I could be updated on what Reagan had experienced in the whopping 60 minutes since I'd left her.

So I guess all of this is to say, every day is my birthday now that we have Reagan. I know so many of you are still waiting and my heart aches for you. Believe me, I know the pain and the frustration and the anxiety. At the end of the road for you is good stuff. Trust me on this.