Splish, Splash I was washing my hair...

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

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

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

Obviously, I freaked out. You know me.

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

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

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

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

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

Reagan's animal sound repertoire...

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

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

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

Now, go moo at your own kids.

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

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

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

OR

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

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

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

Whew.

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

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

It Isn't Nice to Show Off

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

I did my thing. She did hers.

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

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

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

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

Our Loving Shirts...

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