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.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Goldfish Pond
So yesterday was rough around here. I had a gazillion writing assignments due or soon to be due and my toddler was restless. I managed to save some time by recording my voice saying "No, Reagan. Put that down, Reagan. Why? WHY, REAGAN?!" and just hitting play when appropriate.
In the afternoon it got a bit warmer (or I just didn't care anymore; not sure which) so Reagan and I went outside for a while. I knew I needed to get a proposal done so I let Reagan play in the backyard and I sat at the dining room table watching her through the screendoor and writing longhand. She came in and out to show me things (including her little beach bucket full of water) while I listened to my stomach growl and tried to think of what to write next. (It's a teensy bit difficult to concentrate on hotel management trends when one is face to face with a cold, wet toddler holding an open container of bubbles over a semi-clean floor).
I decided we needed food. I gave her a few goldfish crackers in a bowl and she sat on the back step to eat them. I poured myself some and we both munched along feeling better already. Then the phone rang. Like an idiot, I went to answer it.
After hanging up on a person trying to sell me something I certainly don't need, I came back to the dining room. My goldfish were gone. The bowl was there but the tasty, cheesy treats were lost to me. I whipped around to see Reagan standing at the door with an excited look on her face. She cried out, "Mommy, see goldfish! See goldfish pool!" I looked past her and there on the cement patio was her little plastic, purple bowl filled with all our goldfish...and rain water.
"Goldfish swim," Reagan announced and she clasped her hands together in satisfaction. Of course I was instantly furious combined with a furious pride in my girl. How smart is she? She made me a pond and for far less than the landscape guy wanted for it. She's brilliant and...horrid.
Reagan went down the step to further delight in her now-bloated and sickly pale goldfish and I sat back down to write...and tried not to think about my growling stomach.
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.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Toddler Bed Trials Part II
I'm terrified of the teenage years. Reagan is a party animal. Her toddler bed is the means to the biggest, baddest showdown we've ever faced. In the end, we put her back in her crib. I know. She might jump out and break her neck but it's doubtful because frankly, she's quite skilled in her escape. She lands with her hands up in the air like a gymnast. She can even go into stealth mode and then stand beside my bed breathing on me until I wake up and scream.
Reagan is definitely physically ready to leave her crib. She's just not mentally/emotionally ready. Her toddler bed scared her to death and made her cry and cry and we had the worst fights and then finally I was just like, "Why are we torturing this child?!"
So for those of you who wondered what happened...now you know.
We figure we'll try again in a few weeks but this time with a bit more preparation and also Danny has suggested that he sleep in the basement until she's toddler bed trained. Wimp.
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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Toddler Bed Trials Part I
Friday, my angel turned 2 years old and she also went from sweet baby in a crib to monster child in a toddler bed.
Let me explain.
Reagan slept perfectly fine in her bed Thursday night. Upon waking Friday to discover everyone and their dog exclaiming "happy birthday!" to her, Reagan felt some inner calling to launch herself out of her crib...multiple times over the course of one day. We were all telling her what a big girl she is now, how she's all grown up, not a baby anymore, etc. We completely brainwashed her into believing she'd be leaving for college next week so naturally, Reagan deemed her crib unworthy of her new big girl status. She plotted her escape carefully and then made her move during nap time while the rest of us puttered about (not knowing our world was about to change forever) preparing for her birthday party. We didn't suspect a thing and by the time we realized her evil plan, it was too late to save the Earth.
Reagan nonchalantly walked out of her room (like a kid who's just stolen a piece of bubble gum and is trying to be all cool about it) and said, "hi!" to us. We stood as a collective unit--doting grandparents, amused aunt and uncle and terrified parents--and watched her come down the hall as though she was an actual person, capable of her own decisions instead of the baby we all truly still see her to be.
At once opinions began to fly and options were considered. In the end, the same conclusion was reached by all--it was no longer safe for our Little Ruler to slumber in a crib. We were just asking for broken bones. Images of my toddler wandering the house at night filled my brain and I had to sit down from the horror of it all. I half-heartedly mentioned a little boy I know whose mother says he simply doesn't realize he can get out of the toddler bed and so he stays there all night long, polishing his halo. The silence in the room swallowed me whole. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking but finally, my father put his hand on my shoulder and said, "No way Reagan is that kid."
Let me explain.
Reagan slept perfectly fine in her bed Thursday night. Upon waking Friday to discover everyone and their dog exclaiming "happy birthday!" to her, Reagan felt some inner calling to launch herself out of her crib...multiple times over the course of one day. We were all telling her what a big girl she is now, how she's all grown up, not a baby anymore, etc. We completely brainwashed her into believing she'd be leaving for college next week so naturally, Reagan deemed her crib unworthy of her new big girl status. She plotted her escape carefully and then made her move during nap time while the rest of us puttered about (not knowing our world was about to change forever) preparing for her birthday party. We didn't suspect a thing and by the time we realized her evil plan, it was too late to save the Earth.
Reagan nonchalantly walked out of her room (like a kid who's just stolen a piece of bubble gum and is trying to be all cool about it) and said, "hi!" to us. We stood as a collective unit--doting grandparents, amused aunt and uncle and terrified parents--and watched her come down the hall as though she was an actual person, capable of her own decisions instead of the baby we all truly still see her to be.
At once opinions began to fly and options were considered. In the end, the same conclusion was reached by all--it was no longer safe for our Little Ruler to slumber in a crib. We were just asking for broken bones. Images of my toddler wandering the house at night filled my brain and I had to sit down from the horror of it all. I half-heartedly mentioned a little boy I know whose mother says he simply doesn't realize he can get out of the toddler bed and so he stays there all night long, polishing his halo. The silence in the room swallowed me whole. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking but finally, my father put his hand on my shoulder and said, "No way Reagan is that kid."
2-year photo shoot...
I feel like I was just posting about her FIRST year photos and here I am again!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1
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