“C’mon, Kate, get in the car. We’re going to the coffee shop.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where they sell coffee.”
“Why?”
“Because there are suckers like me who’ll pay $3.50 for a mocha.”
“Why?”
“Because they lace it with crack… I don’t know…”
Monster cookie = Girl Scout Tagalong
Race car = convertible car
Monkey show = Curious George
Mikey Movie = Michael McClane, bff at school
Treat = GoGurt
Soccer Ball = (any) ball
Chicken Fries = fried chicken
Puppy = Bella (see below)
Today, the baby turns two and leaves her little babyhood behind. She is now her own little person. A little person who loves little chocolate eggs from the Easter bunny. A little girl who loves Mickey Mouse. Adores Mickey. A little girl who knows the difference between a fish and an octopus. A little person who still needs her bink at bedtime, but sits in a big-girl chair at dinner. 
Forcasts of 6-8 inches of the white stuff didn’t imbelish. It was easily 8.
Off to work, off to school, but home early. And with a sled. The kid needed to experience sledding, and, frankly, I was stoked. I could barely contain my excitement as we bundled up for the weather.
I popped Kate on the sled, grabbed the tow rope and silently thanked the neighbors who were too lazy to shovel their sidewalks that morning. After a half-block, we found that the street on the next block over was a little icy, a little slippery and perfectly packed for proper sledding. I pulled Kate along and off she went, slowly and with my hand still grasping the rope.
After several tours, I realized it was my turn. We trekked to the top of the hill - yes in the middle of the road, I’ll earn my good-mom badge for that one, won’t I - I hopped on, grabbed Kate, popped her on my lap, gave a shove and off we went. I was howling with laughter - Kate had the this-is-fun-but-scary laugh going.
By Sunday, we had completed the winter wonderland experience with not one, but TWO snowmen and Mom-sized and Kate-sized snow angels.
It was like being 6 again.
So when Kate was just a little baby (less than a year), we would put on a Norah Jones cd at naptime and let Norah’s sweet voice lull her to sleep. The first song on the cd was “Come Away With Me.” Beautiful.
This weekend, while the three of us were driving to Home Depot, Expo or some other similar locale, the song hit the cd player in the car. This, combined with a directive to the toddlers at Kate’s school to “walk away” when they get in one another’s grill, gave KR the confidence to burst into song.
“Walk away… me… ‘ight…”
It was the sweetest, funniest thing she has done to date and her first attempt at singing. Mike and I could barely contain the laughter and tears at it all. What a good time.
Flying to Austin (check that, Lago Vista) for Christmas was exhausting. Note to self: pay for the extra seat. It’s well worth it. The Texas Tornado we shared on the flight there was a category 5. The one on the return flight, a catagory 5. Brutal. Who would have thought that the small jets, with one seat on one side and two on the other, would actually be preferrable. It was. More space to wrestle, fewer people to annoy… Regarless, buy the seat for the kid. Our fellow passengers were not amused. Can’t say we were either for that matter.
Driving along, singing my song… or maybe not.
Last week, I was driving home after picking up Kate from school. Without a second thought, I started singing along with my bff Gwen. Whatever. Rockin’ out, I glance back to check on Kate, see if she’s going to sing along or even just dance a little with me.
“No singing, Mommy,” she says.
I laugh and don’t think twice about continuing along with my poor excuse for singing. Granted I have a cold, and I don’t sound great normally, but c’mon. Surely she didn’t mean it…
“Mommy! No singing!” What the hell!? I thought the car was the one place, the very last, one place where you could sing without ridicule, sing at the top of your lungs, sing like no one was listening.
Apparently, she is. And she doesn’t like what she hears… Ah well. Maybe another day.
G-pa invited Kate to see Santa at AB over the weekend. (It became obvious that this was either (a) not planned for little kids or (b) not planned by anyone with a clue as it STARTED at 1:00… hello? naptime anyone?)
Anyway, in true AB style, everything was done-up in-style. Huge tree, poinsettas everywhere and the dalmations all around the tree. Upstairs to the festivities. A magician, balloon-animal lady, cookies, popcorn, music, nothing could equal the draw of those damn puppies on the kid!
After the 10th dash to the door to go see the puppies - and doing the way-passed-the-naptime stumble/rumble to the door, we had to jet. Screw seeing Santa, it was time to see the puppies one last time and go nap.
This day has come at least 3 months early. Kate has figured out how to get out of her crib.
She wasn’t ready to get up when I first checked on her at 7:00. By 7:10, she was giving us a shout. Nothing urgent, nothing crazed, just the “hey, I’m here and ready to get up/out/on with the day” shout. By the time I rounded the corner to her room I saw her head in a place where it clearly could not have been had she still been within the confines of her bed. I opened the door to find her perched on the outside of her crib, holding on and just inches from the ground. She had, it seemed, reached an impasse. She clearly couldn’t get back in, but she didn’t know just how far it was(n’t) to the ground.
“Help, please,” she said.
“Mike. Here. Now.” And he came to see the spectacle. All we could do was laugh and wonder at our little monkey.
Time for the toddler rail. Damn.
We had the honor of spending Thanksgiving this year with dear friends.
Mark and Diane have a young son (3 years old) who is obsessed with golf. “Focused” we’ll call it. So Mark and Diane, Diane’s brother and wife, and four kids total invited the three of us over. (My job was pumpkin pie. I went to the store with a recipe, fully intending to do my duty, and walked out with a finished pie. Perfect.)
Oh, and there was a puppy. K-Rae was in heaven: older girls to play with, a little boy to hit balls with and a sweet puppy upon which to lavish hugs (poor dog. sooo patient…)
Kids played and behaved well. Adults ate and drank. All was well. Then Mike threw a ball. It hit me and then the wine glass with red vin. Kids didn’t spill. We did. oops! (need to run off to write my “thank you/sorry” note…)