Pony Express Posts: Belated Announcement

Well, I suppose there's no point continuing to wait for a substantial, creative manner of announcement to float down from the heavens on a golden harp-shaped hovercraft, now that it's been a couple months.

My procrastination has been holding up a backlog of what's been passing for content here the past couple years (since we bought the house), as a lot of what I've thought of saying the past 6 months or so was in some way tied to this news... news which I had been trying not to just throw out there unceremoniously, much in the way I'm about to do right now:

We had yet another baby last month.  

See? That's her right up there, as proof. The second coming of M-, hereby to be known as A-. So we've completed our set of two boys and two girls.*

Yes, that's right, according to most people's reactions, as well as a quick flip through a generation's worth of census data, we are now the modern equivalent of that 8-kid family** people used to marvel at during the Baby Boom and Generation X's heyday.

Do we feel more complete now, you wonder? Have we started getting a human amount of sleep yet? Have we worked out some kind of daily routine now that school has started for J- and the kids? Have we any hope of shaking off the influence of our hypnotizing alien captors soon? Take a glance at the posting history here and then pencil in your guesses before I stop by with the answer key as soon as I can.

In the meantime, with this official notice out here, I should be able to at least get back to posting more lists of tidbits and such a few times a month, with more promises of actual paragraphs and thoughts and time and craft someday, once again.

It's the thought that counts, right?

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* This means I'll have to update the banner again, so soon*** after the last time.

** All I can say is those people are lucky they were able to delude themselves into thinking that small children wedged tightly enough across the bench seat of a station wagon would provide their own restraint in case of a high-speed accident. Otherwise, the country would either be a fraction of its present size today, or it would have been swarmed throughout the '60s with extended vans, RVs, and "Parental Sanity trailers" featuring a half-dozen kids suspended along the walls with heavy-duty straps.

*** Obviously a relative term, given that some of the pictures were several years out of date when I replaced them a couple months ago...

Things that amuse me, Vol. 16

Here are a few of the things that have been amusing me recently:

1. It may cement my status as a Nerd* that it bothers me a little when I see an object called a "cube" (meant to turn a cubby into a drawer) that measures 10.5"x10.5"x11".

2. Funny pictures of things on the Internet.**

3. Great news on the "Evolution of a Plastic-Consuming-Organism" front... our cat seems to have really developed a taste for Legos.

4. It might take nine or so years as a parent to realize this, but children are secretly Very Small People, with wants, needs, flaws, and habits much like the rest of us. Also, they often get less small over time.

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* Or is it just everything else about me that accomplished that already?

** This one's not so much "recently" as "continuously". Sure beats whatever I'm supposed to be doing at any given moment.

Classic quotes, Vol. 35

Here are the latest memorable quotes from my 5-year-old daughter M-, my 7-year-old son D-, and my 1-year-old son E- that I've managed to remember or write down:

M- (referring to the snowman she was mentally designing, for her preschool homework): And his name will be "Ho-Wrecker"!

Kid at school (amazed, watching E- doing a victory lap with a basketball he found): Whoa! That baby can WALK!

M- (after being asked an obvious question, before I reached in to turn on the fan): ...No. I'm sweating, but I'm not pooping. ... I'm sweating!

D- (after we were talking about dogs and wolves eating grass): THAT'D be cool, to see a wolf throw up.


M- (approximately 10 minutes after first regretting asking me why February 29 is a special day): ...Oh..... 

Logic and Reason never brought me candy or presents

My now 7-year-old son D- (I really need to update my masthead...) is at that age where he views Logic and Reason as his own all-powerful keys to unlock the secrets of childhood that adults often-unintentionally guard so fiercely.

And yet, at the same time, advanced as he is in the twin arts of Sarcasm and Skepticism, he can't quite resist the pull of childish naivete. He's the kind of kid (much like myself back then) who doesn't "really" believe in Santa, but who feels compelled to make a calculated hedge against the possibility of facing the huge downside of a disappointed, vengeful St. Nick.

Because of this swirling sea of uncertainty, the following exchange between D- and his 4-year-old sister M-, taken from a larger stream of chit-chat about school and life on our way home one afternoon, was obviously quite agonizing for him. (I've abbreviated some of the pauses and excluded descriptions of his pained facial contortions, for your own sanity in reading through it.)

M-: We have a TV in our [preschool] room, too, up REALLY high. That's where Snowflake was sitting one time.

D-: Who's Snowflake?

M-: The elf who was hiding around our classroom... right before it was Christmastime. You can't touch him, though, or he'll lose his magic.

D-: Wellll, that can't be right, because you guys had to touch him to put him up there.

M-: No! He FLEW up there, by himself, at night.

D- (thinking hard about this): Wait... was this in a movie?

M-: No, it was in my class, for real. He's really magic, and he hides all over the room! You can't touch him, or he loses his magic.

D- (thinking again, then making absolutely sure): .....So, was this ON the TV, like a movie or a show?

M-: No! It really happened, to me, in my classroom, at Christmastime. For real.

D- (thinking some more): ...And you said his name was Snowflake?

She had of course discussed this, as you might imagine, in depth at Christmastime, but he was apparently too hopped up on Yuletide hysteria then to pay any attention.

It's also worth noting that during this conversation, she didn't even mention what these "magic powers" are, nor did she allude to the elf's supposed occupation as Spy for Santa. "Magic" speaks for itself, I guess.

I can't help but picture that once he was as sold as he could be on the idea, he was immediately plotting how to capture it and extract its secrets.*

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* These days, whether pirates, leprechauns, or odd-looking kittens are in question, "secrets" should be read as "Goooooooooold!"

The ultimate stocking stuffer

Look what I found in my stocking this year:
A two-day-old baby? It's another Festivus miracle!

Editor's Note: He's very tiny.

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Alright, fine, I can provide more information... we'll call him E-; he was born 6lbs, 5oz, and 19in long. Here we go again!

Classic quotes, Vol. 21

Here are some recent quotes from my wife J-, my 5-year-old son D-, my now-3-year-old daughter M-, and me:

D- (excitedly, as I mix salsa and sour cream): Are we having chimps and dip?!?

M- (looking at Winnie-the-Pooh clock, trying desperately to become the world's first 3-year-old to either carry a tune or remember actual song lyrics): Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh... silly nilly willy, stuffed with stuff! Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh... he fluffs himself! ... Silly old bear.

Me (to J-, pulling what we'll call "a Dan", in fairness): "In a few minutes"? "In a few minutes"??? What's "a few minutes" mean by this point? Once you get past 60, they're called "hours", so you know.

M- (with a gentle, warning tone as I begin to finish off the last piddling bit of Goldfish crackers, only once she's had plenty of them): Save some for other people, Dad...

D- (referring to his sister's lollipop stick that missed the garbage can): Oh, yeah, I stepped on that before, but I pulled it back off my foot.

Working undercover as a scatterbrain

If you've been wondering for the past few months why I haven't been stopping by your blog anymore, fearing it was a devastating social rejection by the coolest person you know,* worry not. It wasn't, and what's more, you're not alone.

Yes, the now-two-and-a-half-month process of trying to buy a house out in the country has been sucking up my time as hard as... the now-two-and-a-half-month process of trying to buy a house out in the country.

To clarify, when I say "a house", I don't mean, "any house", I mean one specific house, for which we officially signed a contract over two months ago.

My life has been a long, tortuous series of ups and downs, brokers and insurers, negotiations and extensions, approvals and denials, and disclosures and contingencies. Did I forget to mention forced humility?

Yes, I sympathize with my invisible sisters, the stay-at-home moms sitting on the sidelines while The Wage Earners sign paperwork to buy themselves cool stuff like cars and houses, which they'll share with us only at their pleasure. Or, at least, that's how the lenders would have us all see it.

Doesn't rescuing many thousands of dollars a year of my wife's salary count as my income, for all intents and purposes? Or how about my dozens of dollars a month in blog-related revenue? Maybe I'll just let my friend Mr. Washington negotiate with these people for me, to smooth my path back to legitimacy in the eyes of society.

Hey, let me tell you, I can always spare a couple of ad clicks (a.k.a. a week's salary) for such a noble, self-interested cause.

Anyway, I offer this page as proof of my blogging-slacking-off claims. For my (surely) dozen or so stalkers out there: you're welcome.

And for the rest of you, please accept my awkward apologies, aw-shucks expression, and pathetic groveling for forgiveness. If, in the recent past or in the coming days, I don't seem to acknowledge some major change in your life, it's just because I probably didn't read or hear about it yet, but rest assured I feel far more guilty for that than you or your devoutly Catholic grandmother could ever try to make me.

Just fill me in on what I might have missed!

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* I mean me. You don't perceive it by any normal human senses or your logic-processing faculties, but I am in fact extremely cool. Kind of like discovering that light is a series of particles that move in waves, you have to totally adjust your perspective to see a brand-new, mind-bending reality. See how cool I am already?

Post-graduate education for preschoolers

Today, instead of writing some wandering rant or sarcastic childish commentary, or just transcribing my kids' strange conversations, I need to sort through a little something here.

Please indulge me while I wrap my head around the fact that I just packed some kid's lunch. For school. Where he'll be all day today, like a real person.

He'll even get there on a bus, by himself, and though he may look as ridiculous with his color-coded nametag, backpack sticker, and strange visor as I did with the grotesque cowboy totebag my mom made my brothers and I carry (but not my sister, years later...), he will have reached the point at which the bounty of day-to-day memories in my own life began, 23 years ago.*

I'm starting to think that, despite all the evidence my spotty memory and helpful cloud of denial can provide, my girlfriend and I just might be parents. Of actual children. And I'm pretty sure I'm getting some flashes that there was a wedding in there somewhere, too.**

This means we may not in fact be college dorm roommates who got matched up with a couple of unbelievably needy, dependent midgets by the university housing authority. Someone will soon be coming into our apartment, holding us accountable for our shamefully disorganized, impromptu lifestyle, emboldened by third-party education outside the cult walls.

As well he should. It's about time someone did.

Good luck, kid.

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* What this means for me, I'm not sure, but it doesn't really matter. I just don't want to screw this up for him.

** Coming up on six years ago, I'm told.

A conversation with M-: Some call me the Gangster of Nonsense

To continue my court-ordered hours of community service, I'm here today to offer any future parents out there a helpful glimpse into the life that awaits them, this time in the form of the kind of surreal conversations you can expect to have several times a day.

Note: The lines of my 2-year-old daughter M- here can be read with a tone similar to that of Johnny 5 from Short Circuit.

M- (apropos of nothing, heading for a toilet break during breakfast): I like ducks.

Me (not yet awake enough to offer a more dynamic response): Good... They're nice.

M-: I need to wash my handseseses... (looking up from her hands) Gaaannngsterrrr. A "gangster" is a bad-guy. [Thanks, Tintin.]

Me: Yep. (picks a piece of oatmeal from her hair and flicks it into the bathroom garbage)

M- (with panicked outrage): Why did you throw my hair clip into the garbage?!?!?!

Me: ???!!!?!?

In her defense, oatmeal does tend to function as her most effective hairclip, staying in place for days at a time between baths.

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Editor's Notes:

• "Not yet awake enough to offer a more dynamic response" should probably be my life's motto, and tattooed somewhere visible on my body.

• Congratulations to my sister Katie, who graduates from the great University of Illinois this weekend, joining my wife in the ranks of America's educators.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (5YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Developments at our house, Vol. 13

Here are some of the latest developments around here:

1. We've all found change in the washing machine now and then, but since we obviously have to watch every single penny around here, the only currency I've found there in a very long time is trace amounts of macaroni and cheese, source unknown. I think it bodes ill for our future health that those tiny noodles can survive such an ordeal completely intact.

2. I've had a whim that in order to intimidate other parents this summer, I'll start bringing a set of chess pieces with us to the park, so D- and I can use them to play checkers on those mounted boards.

As long as we sit and stare awhile before each move, no one's likely to remember that pawns can't traditionally jump over rooks. Another plus in our favor is that D- frequently forgets how to play checkers during the game and just starts sliding pieces in whatever direction he feels like, so it'll probably end up looking a bit like chess anyway.

3. I've decided that no matter the savings of reusing everything from one kid to the next, recycling my son's "Thank Heaven For Little Boys!" bibs for my 2-year-old daughter is just too disturbing. I'm not quite ready for that yet.

4. My son D- turned 5 years old, which is as unbelievable to me as it was when he turned 4. I guess I'll have to update my About pages across the Internet again.

A note upon Inauguration 2009

I needn't point out that today is a special day. We all know my preference for president, so I won't go on about that.

I just want to state for the record how disappointed I am that this inauguration is taking place in the middle of the week, and that I am not able to be there. I know that as time goes on, life will leave me even less flexible to accommodate last-minute schedule changes for opportunities like this, so I had really hoped to make it happen somehow.

Alas, J- will be left watching with all the students in her school, I'll be watching with the kids until we have to take D- to preschool, but I'll do everything I can to make sure the kids remember this day even if only in some small way (such as vague memories that I wouldn't stop yammering on about it during Duplo time).

I won't do this because we've elected "a black president" but rather because we've broken the centuries-old mold of what a president must look like, and we've started chipping away at least a bit at who he or she has to know and be indebted to.

And possibly even more important than that is the fact that even though we elected yet another candidate from our democracy-choking Two Parties, it feels like we all cast aside the many safe, easy choices this time and went with someone whose fresh ideas (at least for our current age) we listened to and specifically responded to, one way or another.

How many people were genuinely inspired by John Kerry, Bob Dole, Michael Dukakis, or either of the Bushes? These are people, among others, who benefitted from either "seeming presidential", having the right connections in a shallow pool, or just not screwing up enough to lose their party's nomination.

So for better or worse, we'll turn our back (at least for a little while) on the willfully irresponsible and damaging Bush years, and try our hand at shaping our own future. Even if Mr. Obama does nothing but speechify and Propose Big Things for four years, as long as he helps keep this momentum going, I think we can help ourselves just fine.

We can all tear down the duct tape and plastic wrap (for longer than it takes to hit the mall for the latest Thing We Don't Really Need), slide our Terror Alert Level down from Orange - Convenient Generalized Fear and Pliability to the never-before-seen Green - Commonsense Vigilance with Personal Freedom, let the sun shine on us and all our affairs, and then really start digging ourselves out of the many messes we're in.

It may make for a long few decades, but at least we can get through it with a smile and a lighter load on our shoulders. So here's to that!

Let's call this an adverb-filled do-over

I've had a taste of life not posting religiously, and I must admit I liked it.

But that doesn't mean I don't like blogging anymore-- I'm just a lazy, procrastinating shell of a man who can only function within the framework of compulsive habits.

So, not unlike a car --say, my stupid car-- stuck in a little rut of slush and ice, I got complacent and couldn't get back over that hump since the Pinko-Commie calendar insisted I acknowledge its existence in some way.

I briefly thought about not noting the, shall we say, recent collapse of my Previous Posts drop-down menu, but every time I sat down to write, I found myself either blathering about things more boring than usual or writing amusing bits that weren't worthy of being the Last/First Post of the Year.

So instead, I'll sum up: 2008 was a crazy year, but a great one overall, and 2009 will likely be more of the same, though under the guise of more unsettling numerals. Life's like that.

Lastly, though I've never been one for resolutions on an arbitrary timeline, I'm a big fan of arbitrariness in general (I think of it as an homage to my pagan god, Nature), so I'll allow the following statement:

During the next year, I may perhaps be more than gently urging my life into a more stable and at least slightly more conventional form, so I will most definitely be posting somewhat less often as a side effect of that effort.

Not less often than the past week, mind you, but just not five days a week on average, I'm sure. Furthermore, while my newly mobile and freshly independent wife weans herself back into the world (starting with going to work today for the first time in six weeks*), I will likely be back visiting many of your blogs more frequently than I have been recently, though I'm sure I won't be commenting nearly as much as I used to.**

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* Where, by the time she's reading this, she'll likely be praying already that they had just cut the leg off and replaced it with a shapely peg, with which she can create the Greatest Legend of All Legends of Scary Teacher Biographies Passed by Fearful Whispers at Recess.

** I'm almost as sad as you are, I'll bet.

Hey buddy, can I get a spot?

Don't get me wrong: I fully appreciate that as a freshly 20-month-old baby-o, M- is handling the toilet training process way ahead of her time. On paper, that is.

But my new rule is, if you're old enough to say, "Oh, thanks" like a full-grown man having his basketball bounced back over to him when I wipe your backside, you're old enough to start taking care of that business all by your lonesome.

Is that so unreasonable?

Tinkle, tinkle, little star

In her continuing effort to become 5 years old in 2 years or less (she currently seems to be speaking and thinking at about a 3-year-old level), my 19-month-old daughter M- woke up mostly dry the other morning and immediately peed in the toilet upon waking.

Now, I don't know about you, but that first pee in the morning is generally very refreshing and primally satisfying, and given that this was her first-ever Morning Pee on a toilet, where she could hear that satisfying splashing sound instead of feeling that unnerving warmth, I expected great giddiness. However, she was mostly excited about getting "a treeeeeeeat", and this moment I captured seems to suggest that even that high wasn't made to last long:
Maybe she just knows it marks the end of an era, a glorious time of life* when you can just let loose whenever you want and know someone will clean it up for you.

Honestly, though, based on her usual morning mood, I think the look may have understandably stemmed from getting her picture taken while on the toilet (again). Still, being as angelic as she often is (I just can't bring myself to exaggerate by not including this qualifier), she couldn't hold out for long:
Full Disclosure: I had just reminded her that she could have extra treats for actually making pee, one of which is finally getting to use some of that highly-sought and entrancing toilet paper.

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* To clarify, I mean the time of life when you don't feel guilty or depressed about that habit.

Is this what defines the 21st century?

Once again, I couldn't see posting about something else today and ignoring the obvious. This day has haunted all Americans and much of the rest of the world, in one way or another, for most of this century, and it likely will for many more years to come.

So I'm putting this little post out there in memory of the thousands of people victimized on this day 7 years ago and so many days again since, by those seeking to profit in some way from their suffering and tragic deaths.

Here's hoping we can all begin to move past this event and its aftermath in a healthy way, with the same unity we felt back then, so those responsible can be revealed and calmly dealt with in a civilized, rational manner.

No comments necessary.

Ay, there's the rub

I haven't been sleeping much lately, due to the many balls (work, the kids, writing, blogging*, relaxing) I've put in the air for myself to juggle, so I figure I'm about at the end of some kind of cycle wherein I'll have to crash for hours upon hours for a few days. The signs of this are numerous, such as falling asleep sitting up, feeling like I have cotton behind my eyes, and wishing my wife a good day at work before heading off to bed.

But a pretty definitive sign came just yesterday, which was a day I got to sleep in after getting to bed by 3, making a nice one-two punch in my favor. I woke up a little bit at 8 when J- got up with M-, then I immediately returned to a state somewhere just above death** for the next few hours.

Around 11:30, J- burst into the room in a rush to grab some clothes while getting the kids ready. Given that 1) she'd been up for several hours, 2) it was pretty bright in our room, and 3) she had a lot of things going on all at once, I think tip-toeing did not rate much consideration at the time. So naturally my brain cast off on its reluctant ascent to the surface, but just before it could get there, my body must have jumped the gun by moving in some significant way. I suspect this because J- began pelting me with a lot of information-laden slings and arrows all at once... something about my parents being on their way over to take the kids down to my aunt and uncle's house for the afternoon, and her needing to look more presentable in order to hand them off, along with various other tangential details.

I feel a need to jump in here to state that because the kids are so effective at waking everyone up when their days begin, and because J- and I take turns at getting up with them, neither of us is usually technically asleep, or at least not very deeply, in the late morning when we get to "sleep in". I think she was expecting to find me lounging there in denial, or even reading a book. But of course I wasn't even capable of dreaming of reading a book. I was probably dreaming of sleeping and dreaming some more, in an infinite chain of simple pleasure.

So since as you know, my body was in no state to let go of sleep lightly, and since I knew nothing of these impromptu plans and was still struggling to emerge from my typically-millisecond-long trip through that zone in which I forget that I even have kids, I think it's understandable that I was a touch overwhelmed even after a full minute of coming-to, much like a character in one of those many body-switching movies Hollywood has churned out.***

Like any practical person, as I tried to make sense of this unfamiliar data stream, I began at the beginning. I did my best to open my eyes and, before gaining focus on what would be her incredulous face, I asked for the basic piece of information I lacked for gaining a foothold on everything else:

"What day is it?"

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* The blogging ball is shining nicely, though, as usual-- this post marks my 200th.

** That state somewhere just above death? Possibly North Dakota. Stay tuned tomorrow for an elaboration of this theory.

*** E.g. The Family Man, Freaky Friday, Mr. Destiny... the list goes on and on.

Note to self: Insert funny title later

Well, I'm coming up on 100 posts, and I feel like I'm slipping into a little lull as I've done about once a month so far. I'm then usually saved by a day or two where I write most of 7 posts or so all at once, so don't worry.

I think after I hit 100, I'll try switching to posting only 5 days a week, since it seems like most of you take the weekend off and just catch up on Monday, anyway. I'm sure it's best in the long run for my ability to keep chugging away at crafting these teardrops of genius I call blog posts. (Humor me, please.) I haven't yet had much tangible success in getting the kids to write their own entries, but I'll keep working at it.

I mean, wouldn't you rather hear it straight from the source why M- chooses to 1) snack on dust bunnies, 2) put shoes on her head while laughing maniacally, or 3) demand tributes of Rice Chex she doesn't want to eat? Or why D- 1) is obsessed with blankets and cloths, 2) doesn't allow anyone else to pretend about what he is pretending, or 3) doesn't understand how everyone else knows when he has to go to the bathroom before he seems to?

Anyway, I think you can expect roughly the same amount and quality (whatever that may be) of content, just distributed a little differently. If you happen to have some free time on an off day and curse my very name for not allowing you to procrastinate the way we all love, please do peruse my blogroll and other links on the right for some reliable entertainment. Then you can keep the dishes and chores at bay the same way we do around here!

To help this post qualify as such, here's a miniature Conversation with D-:

D-: (responding to my suggestion with a serious, patronizing face, burying his amusement) My books could not swim in the water and bite me like a fish.

Me: (unable to contain laughter at his demeanor) You make me laugh!

D-: Yes. I do. Write that in your bwog.

Ever the obedient servant, I've done as commanded.

Like a horse and carriage

Well, there's just a boring post for you all today, because all I can think about is that my oldest brother is getting married in a few hours.

It's crazy, and it makes me vividly remember little J- and I getting married almost 5 years ago. I don't envy them all the preparation and last-minute panicking, or dealing with the inevitable organizational breakdowns and such.

Mostly it's crazy because my brother is Getting Married.

I mean, what's with that? How dare things change in the world without my express written consent?!

Seriously, though, I'm really happy for him and I think it's cool. I'm also glad I like my new sister (how odd is that to say?), or I think it would probably make things awkward. The wedding's going to be fun and memorable, and then we can all move on to finding my other brother a nice girl to settle down with, before he dies an old maid unloved and alone. Just kidding, buddy!

Feeling her oats

Let me begin with the bright side: I have a great story for M-'s prom date.

I do forewarn you, this story is not for those who enjoy a nice warm cappuccino or bowl of applesauce as a mid-morning treat.

This morning, M- developed a pretty bad case of diarrhea. After hearing the horrible, though familiar, herald of a long day of diaper cream and Pedialyte and looking down to see her squatting on the kitchen floor, I decided to grab hold of the silver lining and hang on for dear life. I pointed out to her that she just (picture a really gentle, happy, and encouraging voice, smiling to mask the pain in my nose) "made poop in [her] diaper!"

For those of you without children, this helps build her awareness of her bodily functions and prepare her for the upcoming process of learning to leave Daddy alone and take care of such things all by herself.

Being the fast learner that she is (see this post on her vocabulary), I think she's already got it down pat. For diapers 3 through 5, she paused in her wanderings about the house, tooted her own horn, and said very happily, "Poot. Poot!!" Then she laughed a lot.

This is probably partially due to her consistent pleasure at knowing things and communicating them, but I think it's mostly due to her genes gently informing her that bodily functions are as hilarious as they are useful. I wish I could argue with her, as much as I wish the torture would end.

1001 Goggy-matians

If the great Monsters, Inc. taught me anything, it's that cute little girls call all furry animals "Kitty".

M- steadfastly refuses to conform to this time-honored standard, and instead calls all furry, feathery, and scaly animals "Goggy" (Doggy). Happy as I am that she recognizes animals and has given them a name, I'm torn between being visibly excited for her and correcting her each time, all day long.

I try to do a little of both.

But for the record, the following things are among those that have been identified as "Goggies":
• Dogs
• Cats
• Birds
• A rabbit pelt at my parents' house
• A fish
• A wooden duck
• A picture of some family friends
• Several different shapely bushes (lowercase)
• A stone angel

Sometimes it's more fun to let her go on than to correct her, but unfortunately she's got to learn. Thankfully, she's well on her way. At about 15 months, she already uses over 100 words. It's just strange that few of those words are animals-- I think she's shooting for simplicity, casting a wide net and figuring the world will understand her.

Then again, like an Eskimo in winter, she has at least 20 different words directly related to eating, including hungry, thirsty, juice, milk, cracker, waffle, cookie, cake, apple, banana, cup, bottle, fork, spoon, and bite. And today, she even said, "More crackers, please" (as in, "moh kack-uhs peez"). Pretty soon I should be able to have her write some blog posts.