Workin' Nine to Five
I got to complete a puzzle on the dinner room table with my oldest, followed by a good long trampoline session. I read her a book while we both laid on my hammock in the evening dusk.
The following day, as I worked in my home office, my two year old, Ellie was playing with her playhouses in the living room. She had a character that was creatively named, "Ellie." While she conversed to herself through the dolls, I heard her call to it, "Let's go, Ellie bell!" That is what her mom and I call her most of the time. It just sounded better from her mouth.
I have only worn socks at bowling and at my uncle's funeral since the beginning of June.
I have not been woken up by an alarm for work in that time either. Instead, my children are my wake-up call.
I have had conversations over coffee most every morning.
People ask me how working for myself is.
6.23.2006
6.06.2006
Two for the Show
I realize that many of you are going to think that I am a disgusting piece of work. I would have to assume the same thing considering this confession. I am sure most people are not consumed enough with this subject matter to dump it onto the internet for any bystander to stumble across it. Most individuals would wad the memory right up and flush it down the toilet, never to utter a single word of it's existence to anyone. But this is not your blog.
This is where my warning message must be posted:
If you have a disagreement to potty talk and feces, then I suggest you skip over the following text. If you are disturbed by human waste then I recommend that you do not, under any circumstance, peek at the link posted below.
Ellie is a poop-hoarder. She holds it in for all it is worth. She has been doing this for a very long time. She is completely disinterested in the toilet or becoming potty-trained. We have had to feed her natural diarrhetics for months and months. Lately only Benefiber has kept her regular. Grammy has offered toys as rewards for her to sit and perform on the toilet, but she still has not allowed the toilet to be her friend. She holds it until she can hardly pass it, which only propagates the hatred for becoming an outstanding "trained" individual.
Tonight she was amidst the theatrics involved in order to keep from having a bowel movement. She was screaming, crying, and holding her knees tight and straight in order to hold the lump inside of her. We were outside in the backyard encouraging her to go, but she refused any words, and kept in line with her battle plans. Finally, I picked her up and brought her to her training potty in the bathroom. I held her down on the toilet as her hollered at the top of her lungs. Abbie came in and helped to persuade her as she yelled at me. Within seconds after Abbie told her, "Go poop, baby."
Ellie flatly responded, "I did."
Abbie and I had been listening for the distinctive drop into the plastic bucket to signal a successful download, but heard nothing. I released my grip and Ellie slowly stood to show off her dropping proudly like a mother hen with an egg.
What we discovered was something that blew our minds.
She was so excited, we called the grandparents and gave her a lollipop as a reward and incentive to continue. I think we have broken new ground. My only concern is that she chose to break the habit on 6/6/06.
Of course, I did hold her down.
Lastly, I don't want to hear any shit about me tramatizing her. If you care to partake in the shinanigans of her previous process, then you can wear the badge that gives you the right to criticize me, otherwise, chalk this up as a win for the toilet bowl, and smile with her family.
I realize that many of you are going to think that I am a disgusting piece of work. I would have to assume the same thing considering this confession. I am sure most people are not consumed enough with this subject matter to dump it onto the internet for any bystander to stumble across it. Most individuals would wad the memory right up and flush it down the toilet, never to utter a single word of it's existence to anyone. But this is not your blog.
This is where my warning message must be posted:
If you have a disagreement to potty talk and feces, then I suggest you skip over the following text. If you are disturbed by human waste then I recommend that you do not, under any circumstance, peek at the link posted below.
Ellie is a poop-hoarder. She holds it in for all it is worth. She has been doing this for a very long time. She is completely disinterested in the toilet or becoming potty-trained. We have had to feed her natural diarrhetics for months and months. Lately only Benefiber has kept her regular. Grammy has offered toys as rewards for her to sit and perform on the toilet, but she still has not allowed the toilet to be her friend. She holds it until she can hardly pass it, which only propagates the hatred for becoming an outstanding "trained" individual.
Tonight she was amidst the theatrics involved in order to keep from having a bowel movement. She was screaming, crying, and holding her knees tight and straight in order to hold the lump inside of her. We were outside in the backyard encouraging her to go, but she refused any words, and kept in line with her battle plans. Finally, I picked her up and brought her to her training potty in the bathroom. I held her down on the toilet as her hollered at the top of her lungs. Abbie came in and helped to persuade her as she yelled at me. Within seconds after Abbie told her, "Go poop, baby."
Ellie flatly responded, "I did."
Abbie and I had been listening for the distinctive drop into the plastic bucket to signal a successful download, but heard nothing. I released my grip and Ellie slowly stood to show off her dropping proudly like a mother hen with an egg.
What we discovered was something that blew our minds.
She was so excited, we called the grandparents and gave her a lollipop as a reward and incentive to continue. I think we have broken new ground. My only concern is that she chose to break the habit on 6/6/06.
Of course, I did hold her down.
Lastly, I don't want to hear any shit about me tramatizing her. If you care to partake in the shinanigans of her previous process, then you can wear the badge that gives you the right to criticize me, otherwise, chalk this up as a win for the toilet bowl, and smile with her family.
5.29.2006
And I Just Can't Hide It
It was a similar setting at our dinner table. All are eating, except Ellie, who loves to get down from her seat after two bites of her meal. This always drive us crazy since she usually spends the entire half an hour prior to dinner with demands for food because she is "really hungry."
Ellie also plays this game with us, droning on that she has to poop. Since she is a poop-hoarder, we always oblige her request, until recently. She never goes when we let her get down to wander the living room, so we have been making her sit with us at the table, and try to make her stomach a few more bites dinner until we are finished.
On this night, it was the same thing; constant requests for food, get served, eat two things, then decide it is time to lolly-gag around. I made her sit at the table, after several pleases and threats. Then we somehow got on the subject of Disneyland.
Emma had acquired a Disneyland brochure which both of the girls had embedded into their memories. Ellie is in love with the little cars from Autotopia.
As soon as we touched the Disneyland subject, the teary-eyed two-year old flooded us with crazy, almost undecipherable jabber about what she wants to ride on when she gets to "The Happiest Place on Earth."
"Eddy loves da tars. Yeah, da yeddow one is Eddy's tar. Daddy sit in da back. Eddy drive da yeddow one. It is soooo edciting!" she rambled and ended with her cheek resting on her shoulder and her hands clasped in front of her, resembling a Betty Boop pose.
We erupted in laughter while she continued, adding more emphasis on how "edciting" it will be, "Eddy drive da yeddow with Daddy in da back. It is soooooo edciting!" as she clapped her hands with elated anticipation.
"That's great, honey, now eat your apples."
It was a similar setting at our dinner table. All are eating, except Ellie, who loves to get down from her seat after two bites of her meal. This always drive us crazy since she usually spends the entire half an hour prior to dinner with demands for food because she is "really hungry."
Ellie also plays this game with us, droning on that she has to poop. Since she is a poop-hoarder, we always oblige her request, until recently. She never goes when we let her get down to wander the living room, so we have been making her sit with us at the table, and try to make her stomach a few more bites dinner until we are finished.
On this night, it was the same thing; constant requests for food, get served, eat two things, then decide it is time to lolly-gag around. I made her sit at the table, after several pleases and threats. Then we somehow got on the subject of Disneyland.
Emma had acquired a Disneyland brochure which both of the girls had embedded into their memories. Ellie is in love with the little cars from Autotopia.
As soon as we touched the Disneyland subject, the teary-eyed two-year old flooded us with crazy, almost undecipherable jabber about what she wants to ride on when she gets to "The Happiest Place on Earth."
"Eddy loves da tars. Yeah, da yeddow one is Eddy's tar. Daddy sit in da back. Eddy drive da yeddow one. It is soooo edciting!" she rambled and ended with her cheek resting on her shoulder and her hands clasped in front of her, resembling a Betty Boop pose.
We erupted in laughter while she continued, adding more emphasis on how "edciting" it will be, "Eddy drive da yeddow with Daddy in da back. It is soooooo edciting!" as she clapped her hands with elated anticipation.
"That's great, honey, now eat your apples."
5.23.2006
And a World of Fears
"You know, Kadra's dad grew up in this town, Emma." I mentioned to my 5 year old as we drove into downtown. We were visiting my parents in Woodland Park. Emma was sitting in the back seat of the car, seemingly engrossed with her grocery list she had been duplicating from the one my wife had given me.
She murmured a response, as if I was distracting her train of thought.
"Yep, it sure is a small world. Isn't it?" I continued.
It was as if I had snapped her out of a trance, but instead of clucking like a chicken, she became Socrates.
"You know, it really is a small world," she began. "We think it is a big world, but us humans, we are just animals."
Even if I had some sort of response, I would not of been able to get a word into her run-on philosophical declaration.
"And humans have to just kill some animals because we don't like them. Humans are just animals. Other animals think their world is small, but it is really big. We know it is big. They just think it is small. And we have to just kill some animals, and they just don't know." The rambling was much longer than this, and I know I am losing a great deal of the detail, just a few days after it happening, however, it was very profound. Vague enough to insinuate countless meanings, but deep enough to blatantly state a specific argument. She made me so proud.
I believe that our discussions of the food chain, predators, carnivores, who eats who, and the like instigated this flood of thought from my sweet little girl. Of course, maybe the thought of the song, "It's a Small World" might subconsciously stir aggressive behavior of even the very young.
"You know, Kadra's dad grew up in this town, Emma." I mentioned to my 5 year old as we drove into downtown. We were visiting my parents in Woodland Park. Emma was sitting in the back seat of the car, seemingly engrossed with her grocery list she had been duplicating from the one my wife had given me.
She murmured a response, as if I was distracting her train of thought.
"Yep, it sure is a small world. Isn't it?" I continued.
It was as if I had snapped her out of a trance, but instead of clucking like a chicken, she became Socrates.
"You know, it really is a small world," she began. "We think it is a big world, but us humans, we are just animals."
Even if I had some sort of response, I would not of been able to get a word into her run-on philosophical declaration.
"And humans have to just kill some animals because we don't like them. Humans are just animals. Other animals think their world is small, but it is really big. We know it is big. They just think it is small. And we have to just kill some animals, and they just don't know." The rambling was much longer than this, and I know I am losing a great deal of the detail, just a few days after it happening, however, it was very profound. Vague enough to insinuate countless meanings, but deep enough to blatantly state a specific argument. She made me so proud.
I believe that our discussions of the food chain, predators, carnivores, who eats who, and the like instigated this flood of thought from my sweet little girl. Of course, maybe the thought of the song, "It's a Small World" might subconsciously stir aggressive behavior of even the very young.
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane, I've been thinkin' about my home
Our flight landed in Phoenix. We were in row 18 out of 25. At 6 seats per row, we knew right off that it was going to take awhile before we would be able to exit the plane.
The girls had both been really good, but we were nearing the last leg of a long day trip, and we still had at least two hours on the road to get to our house. We were fearing the furnace-like blast of hot air that accompanies most passengers when arriving Sky Harbor Airport. The heat always brings out the best in all of us. The anxiety was beginning to ferment deep inside my chest.
Ellie smiled at me and was dancing to the hip-hop music that mysteriously seeped from the overhead speakers as we waited. I held my breathe.
Row by row, overhead storage bins slowly emptied as the temperature slowly rose. Truthfully, it could of been my imagination fueled with anticipation to get home. Abbie asked me if I could carry Ellie out. I agreed, and was happy to see the two seats in front of us clear out.
I reached down and raised Ellie up into my arms. I grunted. She immediately began loudly chatting to me with a twinkle of laughter burning in her smile, "Daddy farted!" she hollered.
The remaining passengers fell silent in anticipation for an encore of toilet talk from my two-year old as she quickly restated her previous two words. This time it was delivered as a question, that she immediately answered for me, "Daddy farted? Nooooo, Daddy NO farted!"
She ran on, "Ellie farted? Noooo, Ellie NO farted too!"
The airplane audience erupted in laughter as she basked in her comedic glory. She paused one moment, a pregnant pause of sorts before she peeked over my shoulder to see the entertained crowd.
Our flight landed in Phoenix. We were in row 18 out of 25. At 6 seats per row, we knew right off that it was going to take awhile before we would be able to exit the plane.
The girls had both been really good, but we were nearing the last leg of a long day trip, and we still had at least two hours on the road to get to our house. We were fearing the furnace-like blast of hot air that accompanies most passengers when arriving Sky Harbor Airport. The heat always brings out the best in all of us. The anxiety was beginning to ferment deep inside my chest.
Ellie smiled at me and was dancing to the hip-hop music that mysteriously seeped from the overhead speakers as we waited. I held my breathe.
Row by row, overhead storage bins slowly emptied as the temperature slowly rose. Truthfully, it could of been my imagination fueled with anticipation to get home. Abbie asked me if I could carry Ellie out. I agreed, and was happy to see the two seats in front of us clear out.
I reached down and raised Ellie up into my arms. I grunted. She immediately began loudly chatting to me with a twinkle of laughter burning in her smile, "Daddy farted!" she hollered.
The remaining passengers fell silent in anticipation for an encore of toilet talk from my two-year old as she quickly restated her previous two words. This time it was delivered as a question, that she immediately answered for me, "Daddy farted? Nooooo, Daddy NO farted!"
She ran on, "Ellie farted? Noooo, Ellie NO farted too!"
The airplane audience erupted in laughter as she basked in her comedic glory. She paused one moment, a pregnant pause of sorts before she peeked over my shoulder to see the entertained crowd.
4.16.2006
I Got My Back Against The Record Machine
So, here's a new game for you. It's called "Bald Guy Jumping Board". My girls and nephew invented it last month. I think it is derived from an ancient Roman gladiator event, or a Spanish Inquisition torture, either way, it is a hoot for all the jumpers.
The Rules are basic:
#1: Find a bald, lazy guy and trick him to lay on his belly in an open area, preferably a carpeted living room. (If he has a round belly, there is more of a balancing challenge for the experienced).
#2: Start by standing on the sucker's legs, and march your way up his back.
#3: Bounce on his shoulders and then jump off over his shiny white head.
#4: If you fall off, you go to the end of the line and start over
There is no limit to the number of players.
Scoring:
If you get a grunt or exasperating sound of pain from the baldy, you get a point
If you clear his noggin, you get two points.
If you land on his smooth melon, you get one point
If you land on your feet, you get three points
Bonus points are awarded for style and distance of jump, this includes the use of props such as stuffed animals resembling the President.
To Win:
The first one to one hundred, wins!
So we played it once.
When I came to, I believe I heard that Ellie won.
So, here's a new game for you. It's called "Bald Guy Jumping Board". My girls and nephew invented it last month. I think it is derived from an ancient Roman gladiator event, or a Spanish Inquisition torture, either way, it is a hoot for all the jumpers.
The Rules are basic:
#1: Find a bald, lazy guy and trick him to lay on his belly in an open area, preferably a carpeted living room. (If he has a round belly, there is more of a balancing challenge for the experienced).
#2: Start by standing on the sucker's legs, and march your way up his back.
#3: Bounce on his shoulders and then jump off over his shiny white head.
#4: If you fall off, you go to the end of the line and start over
There is no limit to the number of players.
Scoring:
If you get a grunt or exasperating sound of pain from the baldy, you get a point
If you clear his noggin, you get two points.
If you land on his smooth melon, you get one point
If you land on your feet, you get three points
Bonus points are awarded for style and distance of jump, this includes the use of props such as stuffed animals resembling the President.
To Win:
The first one to one hundred, wins!
So we played it once.
When I came to, I believe I heard that Ellie won.
4.05.2006
Mother's Little Helper
It was time for us to give Ellie her Mylanta to help her continuing constipation situation. Before anyone gets too excited about this, Ellie has a love-hate relationship with her bowels. She is constantly holding in her "business" until she is so backed-up, she nearly bursts at the seams. We have to coax her into a BM on a daily basis, so potty-training is pretty much on hold until we can get past this desire to keep it to herself. So where was I? Yes, the Mylanta Exchange.
We have tried a multitude of strategies for this, all of which seem to have only worked once. Usually a bribe for a cookie, or candy, or ice cream does the trick, however, this night they were as successful as pulling out a week-old dinner from the refrigerator; nothing was going to get her to take that darned cherry-flavored, milky shot of Mylanta.
We tried the tender talk approach. The one where we try to thoroughly explain that it helps her tummy, yada, yada, yada. The soft words were drained out by her yelping screams of disgust.
We finally had to pull out the big guns and use the "daddy" voice to get the job done. Of course, she was so worked up by this time that she gulped a huge swig and immediately started to regurgitate the blessed corndog meal (see previous post, "Godzilla"). Lucky for all of us, Abbie was there lickety-split with a motherly cupped hand to catch the fine collage of pink Mylanta and re-reprocessed meat chunks the size of marbles.
Now if that's not love, I don't know what is. Abbie can even tell you this story with a smile on her face. Oh, the powers of gestation. Amazing.
It was time for us to give Ellie her Mylanta to help her continuing constipation situation. Before anyone gets too excited about this, Ellie has a love-hate relationship with her bowels. She is constantly holding in her "business" until she is so backed-up, she nearly bursts at the seams. We have to coax her into a BM on a daily basis, so potty-training is pretty much on hold until we can get past this desire to keep it to herself. So where was I? Yes, the Mylanta Exchange.
We have tried a multitude of strategies for this, all of which seem to have only worked once. Usually a bribe for a cookie, or candy, or ice cream does the trick, however, this night they were as successful as pulling out a week-old dinner from the refrigerator; nothing was going to get her to take that darned cherry-flavored, milky shot of Mylanta.
We tried the tender talk approach. The one where we try to thoroughly explain that it helps her tummy, yada, yada, yada. The soft words were drained out by her yelping screams of disgust.
We finally had to pull out the big guns and use the "daddy" voice to get the job done. Of course, she was so worked up by this time that she gulped a huge swig and immediately started to regurgitate the blessed corndog meal (see previous post, "Godzilla"). Lucky for all of us, Abbie was there lickety-split with a motherly cupped hand to catch the fine collage of pink Mylanta and re-reprocessed meat chunks the size of marbles.
Now if that's not love, I don't know what is. Abbie can even tell you this story with a smile on her face. Oh, the powers of gestation. Amazing.
4.04.2006
Godzilla
It was a night filled with hearty laughs as Ellie was in rare form. We were all sitting at the dinner table. We have been encouraging a grace before meals and have been giving the girls a chance to take the lead. Ellie, as in everything, was first to dive in. She has given it a couple of times after Emma has declined. This night Emma decided that she was willing to give it a shake, but when we all got hold of each others hands, she quickly clammed up. I wasn't going to just let her give up, so we began encouraging Emma.
"Who do you love, Emma?" I started.
She looked at me, then to Abbie and sheepishly replied, "I don't know."
Suddenly our circle around our table was broken by Ellie, who had grown impatient with her sister. In an instance she reached out to her plate, snatched a piece of corn dog and threw it in her mouth with a joyful head bob to help her chew. She joined us with a smirk shot to both her mother and I.
Emma nervously giggled, appreciative for the interruption. We returned our focus to our oldest, "Just tell us what you are thankful for. Who do you love?" Abbie continued.
Ellie jump-started the grace for her sister by beginning, "Mommy..."
"Yeah," Emma agreed and then tightened her lip firmly.
"Casey (our dog that Ellie loves)" Ellie supported her fledgling older sister.
"um hm." Emma agreed.
Finally, Emma was able to name all of our immediate relatives, and we all gave praise to one another and for our food as we wiped the sweat that had accumulated on our hands during the entire ordeal onto our clothes before digging into our meal.
Soon, Abbie began to coach Ellie about what she had done that day at Grammy Sally's.
"Ellie played in the backyard today, didn't you Ellie?" she said.
Ellie nodded with almost a whole corndog squishing insider her full mouth.
"And you talked about where the trees came from..." Abbie persisted.
Another nod of agreement came from Ellie's quiet side of the table.
"From God, right?" Abbie persuaded while Ellie continued to confirm with her approving nod.
"And where is God?" Abbie finally got to the part that she was most impressed with from the earlier conversation from Sally that day.
"In the potty!" Ellie finally screamed with her arms wide apart in grandiose fashion.
Our table erupted in laughter as the tiny figured grinned covered her cherub face.
It was a night filled with hearty laughs as Ellie was in rare form. We were all sitting at the dinner table. We have been encouraging a grace before meals and have been giving the girls a chance to take the lead. Ellie, as in everything, was first to dive in. She has given it a couple of times after Emma has declined. This night Emma decided that she was willing to give it a shake, but when we all got hold of each others hands, she quickly clammed up. I wasn't going to just let her give up, so we began encouraging Emma.
"Who do you love, Emma?" I started.
She looked at me, then to Abbie and sheepishly replied, "I don't know."
Suddenly our circle around our table was broken by Ellie, who had grown impatient with her sister. In an instance she reached out to her plate, snatched a piece of corn dog and threw it in her mouth with a joyful head bob to help her chew. She joined us with a smirk shot to both her mother and I.
Emma nervously giggled, appreciative for the interruption. We returned our focus to our oldest, "Just tell us what you are thankful for. Who do you love?" Abbie continued.
Ellie jump-started the grace for her sister by beginning, "Mommy..."
"Yeah," Emma agreed and then tightened her lip firmly.
"Casey (our dog that Ellie loves)" Ellie supported her fledgling older sister.
"um hm." Emma agreed.
Finally, Emma was able to name all of our immediate relatives, and we all gave praise to one another and for our food as we wiped the sweat that had accumulated on our hands during the entire ordeal onto our clothes before digging into our meal.
Soon, Abbie began to coach Ellie about what she had done that day at Grammy Sally's.
"Ellie played in the backyard today, didn't you Ellie?" she said.
Ellie nodded with almost a whole corndog squishing insider her full mouth.
"And you talked about where the trees came from..." Abbie persisted.
Another nod of agreement came from Ellie's quiet side of the table.
"From God, right?" Abbie persuaded while Ellie continued to confirm with her approving nod.
"And where is God?" Abbie finally got to the part that she was most impressed with from the earlier conversation from Sally that day.
"In the potty!" Ellie finally screamed with her arms wide apart in grandiose fashion.
Our table erupted in laughter as the tiny figured grinned covered her cherub face.
3.06.2006
Devil in a Blue Dress
She awoke just twenty minutes before the alarm clock. Knowing that her response to my instructions to, "Go back to sleep," would be futile, I hoisted her from her crib, grabbed her blanket, and brought to our bed to share the last few sleepy minutes or our morning lying down.
When Ellie wakes up, she is ready to move. Today was no different, however, she chose to accommodate us with a false belief that we might get a few more minutes of sleep, by quietly turning on her side, facing me. She began to lovingly petting my forehead. Right as I was completely relaxed from her ginger touch, a tiny thumb completely invaded my exposed ear. She nearly pierced my brain!
"AAAAAAAARGH! I'm awake!"
The remainder of the morning was filled with fits of fury from our little tasmanian devil. Hot and cold performances of frustration and demands onto her parents to find her toys that she wanted to play with kept all of our tempers flaring. Her and our emotions subsided, just long enough for me to change her and dress her for her day at Grammy Sally's house. As I was putting on her socks and shoes, the gentle personality took over her again as she began to rub my stomach tenderly. After attending a baby shower for a friend this weekend, the concept of life from within has been amazing her.
"Baby in the belly?" she asked.
"No baby in my belly, honey. This is Daddy's beer belly," I told her.
She continued to caress my buddha, then stopped and looked up at me with her big innocent blue eyes and said with a reassuring nod, "Beer baby in Daddy's belly."
She then ducked her head down onto my stomach as if to hear something.
"Yes, sweetie, that's Daddy's beer baby."
She awoke just twenty minutes before the alarm clock. Knowing that her response to my instructions to, "Go back to sleep," would be futile, I hoisted her from her crib, grabbed her blanket, and brought to our bed to share the last few sleepy minutes or our morning lying down.
When Ellie wakes up, she is ready to move. Today was no different, however, she chose to accommodate us with a false belief that we might get a few more minutes of sleep, by quietly turning on her side, facing me. She began to lovingly petting my forehead. Right as I was completely relaxed from her ginger touch, a tiny thumb completely invaded my exposed ear. She nearly pierced my brain!
"AAAAAAAARGH! I'm awake!"
The remainder of the morning was filled with fits of fury from our little tasmanian devil. Hot and cold performances of frustration and demands onto her parents to find her toys that she wanted to play with kept all of our tempers flaring. Her and our emotions subsided, just long enough for me to change her and dress her for her day at Grammy Sally's house. As I was putting on her socks and shoes, the gentle personality took over her again as she began to rub my stomach tenderly. After attending a baby shower for a friend this weekend, the concept of life from within has been amazing her.
"Baby in the belly?" she asked.
"No baby in my belly, honey. This is Daddy's beer belly," I told her.
She continued to caress my buddha, then stopped and looked up at me with her big innocent blue eyes and said with a reassuring nod, "Beer baby in Daddy's belly."
She then ducked her head down onto my stomach as if to hear something.
"Yes, sweetie, that's Daddy's beer baby."
2.05.2006
Sittin' Here, Restin' My Bones
Four months ago, taking the family out to a department store was a terrible idea.
Let me rephrase that. Four months ago, you would of had to be a masochist to want to have taken my family out to a department store. It hurt mostly because we were constantly trying to keep Ellie from terrorizing all of the patrons with her insistent whining and crying for milk, food, something on the shelf, to get down, to get up, to be held, and so on, and so on.
It is amazing what just a few months can do for a two year-old, as well as a paranoid parent. Today we went to three different store looking for a bookshelf for my office. The girls were great. Ellie, in particular, can now communicate beyond screaming and kicking, and she generally listens when we tell her that we are moving to another area. We don't have to keep her and all of her belongings in a cart, and we let her travel by foot most of the time.
Instead of demands for food and drink, she chatted and explained to us what she was seeing.
The highlight of the shopping adventure was when we were at Kohl's. She and I were the stragglers when she stopped, dead in her tracks, and stared at the two male mannequins displaying the preppy casual clothing that Kohl's had to offer. One was standing and staring off towards the jewelry, while the other was sitting on a stool, cross-legged.
She pointed to the sitting mannequin and informed me, what she thought he was doing.
"Going potty, Daddy."
"What?" I said to make sure my ears were working correctly.
"He go potty." she repeated.
"Very good, Ellie." I reinforced. "Hey Ab, did you hear El?"
She shared, again, her finding to Abbie, Emma, and the others in the general area.
________________
I found these little bits I meant to post back in September. Seems that I dunn fergot, so here is tonight's encore.
One Week
One night at dinner, where we serve as short-order cooks and the girls sit at the bar on their stools, Emma began a conversation.
"Daddy."
"Yes."
"Can I get a new poon?" (Notice the improved pronunciation)
"Why do you need a new spoon?" I ask, "You have one in your hand."
"Well, I used dis one for my pineapple, and I need a new one for my pasta."
"Just use the one that you have." I instructed.
"NOOOOOoooooooo. Dis one is all sdicky. I don't want it on my pasta." she hollered back at me.
"Just lick it clean and...."
"NOOOOOooooo. I need a new one!"
"Here you go, now eat your pasta."
"Dank you."
_________________
The garage door opened, and my girls all enter the house from their long walk to the park.
"How was the park?" I ask.
"It was soooo far away!" Emma responds like an abused teenager. "I think I broke my muscle."
_________________
Abbie, Ellie and I are in our backyard this Sunday morning. The neighbor and his little dog came over and were chatting with us. Upon his turn back home, he noticed his dog taking a crap.
He apologized for his dog, it wasn't a real big deal to us, but as the dog finished squatting, Ellie ran towards the small animal. She then extended her finger from her tiny little hand and poked the canine in his VERY rear end.
Four months ago, taking the family out to a department store was a terrible idea.
Let me rephrase that. Four months ago, you would of had to be a masochist to want to have taken my family out to a department store. It hurt mostly because we were constantly trying to keep Ellie from terrorizing all of the patrons with her insistent whining and crying for milk, food, something on the shelf, to get down, to get up, to be held, and so on, and so on.
It is amazing what just a few months can do for a two year-old, as well as a paranoid parent. Today we went to three different store looking for a bookshelf for my office. The girls were great. Ellie, in particular, can now communicate beyond screaming and kicking, and she generally listens when we tell her that we are moving to another area. We don't have to keep her and all of her belongings in a cart, and we let her travel by foot most of the time.
Instead of demands for food and drink, she chatted and explained to us what she was seeing.
The highlight of the shopping adventure was when we were at Kohl's. She and I were the stragglers when she stopped, dead in her tracks, and stared at the two male mannequins displaying the preppy casual clothing that Kohl's had to offer. One was standing and staring off towards the jewelry, while the other was sitting on a stool, cross-legged.
She pointed to the sitting mannequin and informed me, what she thought he was doing.
"Going potty, Daddy."
"What?" I said to make sure my ears were working correctly.
"He go potty." she repeated.
"Very good, Ellie." I reinforced. "Hey Ab, did you hear El?"
She shared, again, her finding to Abbie, Emma, and the others in the general area.
________________
I found these little bits I meant to post back in September. Seems that I dunn fergot, so here is tonight's encore.
One Week
One night at dinner, where we serve as short-order cooks and the girls sit at the bar on their stools, Emma began a conversation.
"Daddy."
"Yes."
"Can I get a new poon?" (Notice the improved pronunciation)
"Why do you need a new spoon?" I ask, "You have one in your hand."
"Well, I used dis one for my pineapple, and I need a new one for my pasta."
"Just use the one that you have." I instructed.
"NOOOOOoooooooo. Dis one is all sdicky. I don't want it on my pasta." she hollered back at me.
"Just lick it clean and...."
"NOOOOOooooo. I need a new one!"
"Here you go, now eat your pasta."
"Dank you."
_________________
The garage door opened, and my girls all enter the house from their long walk to the park.
"How was the park?" I ask.
"It was soooo far away!" Emma responds like an abused teenager. "I think I broke my muscle."
_________________
Abbie, Ellie and I are in our backyard this Sunday morning. The neighbor and his little dog came over and were chatting with us. Upon his turn back home, he noticed his dog taking a crap.
He apologized for his dog, it wasn't a real big deal to us, but as the dog finished squatting, Ellie ran towards the small animal. She then extended her finger from her tiny little hand and poked the canine in his VERY rear end.
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