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.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day!
Poor Reagan. She didn't have much of a chance when she joined our silly family. To make matters worse, Danny bought us matching t-shirts, which we wore all day. They have a line of hearts on them that light up when the other t-shirt is near. It's the first time I've worn a battery-pack to work. Anyway, we'll try to post some pics of that little bit of fun later.
Hope all of you have a wonderful, loving Valentine's Day!
Hope all of you have a wonderful, loving Valentine's Day!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Winning the Gold in Diaper Changes...
Reagan is a paradox to me in so many ways.
She can sit perfectly still for entire minutes on end while we read a book or put together her beloved blocks or feed baby a bottle. She concentrates. She breathes deeply and focuses her entire being on the task at hand.
Ask her to be still for one, single diaper change and it's as though I asked her to recite the Gettysburg Address. She. Cannot. Do. It.
She wiggles and giggles and reaches for the icky diaper. She pulls off her socks despite my desperate pleas for the opposite. She squirms till her noggin hangs off the dresser. She kicks and waves her arms around and strains her neck and twists this way and that. It's like she can hear disco music in her head and when ya gotta dance, ya gotta dance.
I've tried everything. I sing to her. I let her hold various toys and/or items from the diaper changing cubbies (which completely destroys their organized placement, I might add). I make funny noises and cross my eyes. My attempts to distract and occupy her attention are in vain.
By this time I'm sweating and my heart rate is certainly higher than normal. I hear voices in my head. One of them says, "diapering should be a recognized Olympic event" and the other one asks, "how long can she go in one diaper anyway?"
Reagan hears voices, too. "Make Mommy insane. Try to push her over the edge so she completely cracks and puts the diaper on herself instead of me."
Remember how in the beginning, Danny and I fought over who got to change her diaper? Well, that's not the case now. Now I advertise with a great big sign in the front lawn--"will pay top dollar for diaper changing services."
So far no one has taken me up on this and I think it's because they've all heard about Reagan's wiggling antics and they know they don't have what it takes to pin her down, rip off the offensive diaper, wipe whatever they can and smack on the new diaper before she wiggles her way off the dresser and on to the floor.
Speaking of the floor, people have told me to change her diaper there but this is an even more frightening venture. On the floor, Reagan is fearless. She flips over on to her stomach like a break-dancer from the '80s. She scoots away very quickly and is up on her feet, now running diaperless across the room before I have time to realize what's even happened. She's laughing her "prison break" laugh and if the door isn't shut, she's down the hall in a flash.
Do you think it's too early to potty train her?
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?
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Maybe She's Born With It...
Maybe it's yogurt.
After discussing Reagan's yogurt art with a co-worker, I've come up with another theory. Perhaps our darling imitator felt the need to smear dairy product on her body because of her innate desire for healthy skin.
I smear all sorts of goo into my skin and she's seen me do it. Yogurt smells and feels like lotion. This yogurt even has a bit of granola in it, not unlike the oatmeal masks I make for my face. Hmmmm....
Perhaps she's on to something. Maybe I'll wash up with some Yoplait tonight and see how my skin feels.
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.
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Next Jackson Pollack...
Reagan is big into art. Her skills flourished early on and after putting a crayon in her wee, little hand, we recognized her talent and encouraged it. Our refrigerator remains the only gallery currently displaying her work but we're considering a Midwest tour possibly beginning with the Nelson later this spring. I'll keep you posted, naturally.
An interesting demonstration of Reagan's continuing artistic development is her ability to work in several mediums. For instance, this evening, Reagan created quite an amazing piece entirely of yogurt. Her canvas? Human skin. She delicately brushed the yogurt (raspberry and pear, if you're curious) onto her hand and arm using sweeping strokes of her purple spoon. Her concentration was evident in the lines on her little furrowed brow and in her piercing black eyes. In fact it took several gasps and sputters and then a burst of "Reagan, no!" for me to fully engage the little Picasso in conversation.
Reagan also delights in embellishing such items as tax statements, calendars, polished desks, alma mater sweatshirts and stacks of post-it notes. Her designs fill our home and we're always delighted when we find a new Reagan original. Stop by anytime to see her masterpieces. Feel free to bring your last will and testament or perhaps the deed to your home. Our sweet Monet will make it extra special for you at no charge.
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.
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