We need to work on how well Monkey says certain things.
Fork, for example. She keeps dropping the "r" and it's f'ing hilarious. Lord help her.....but each time she does it her father and I snigger.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Pepperbuns
No, that isn't Monkey's new nickname, or even her pornstar name (which, btw, would stink - she'd be Miss Oliver Street. Mine is a wee bit better, I'm Puff Holdridge...but I digress). No, pepperbuns is Monkey's new culinary concoction.
Let me start out by explaining that she is a true toddler with idiosyncratic dining preferences:
She LOVES biryani. But, she refuses to eat macaroni and cheese. She loves frozen waffles for breakfast. But, only if they are still frozen.
Like I said, she's a toddler.
However last night was a new one, even for her.
M came home from work and was eating dinner. Monkey, post-bath, wanted to join Daddy at the table and eat a hotdog bun (aka one of her favorite foods on earth). And, since she is a reliable mimic, she wanted to do what Daddy was doing and put freshly ground pepper on her food, too. So she did. She used the pepper mill and put WAY too much pepper on her bun. And ate it.
Ta dah! Pepperbuns. Um - eeeuw.
Ten bucks says I could get her to eat it again, tonight.
Let me start out by explaining that she is a true toddler with idiosyncratic dining preferences:
She LOVES biryani. But, she refuses to eat macaroni and cheese. She loves frozen waffles for breakfast. But, only if they are still frozen.
Like I said, she's a toddler.
However last night was a new one, even for her.
M came home from work and was eating dinner. Monkey, post-bath, wanted to join Daddy at the table and eat a hotdog bun (aka one of her favorite foods on earth). And, since she is a reliable mimic, she wanted to do what Daddy was doing and put freshly ground pepper on her food, too. So she did. She used the pepper mill and put WAY too much pepper on her bun. And ate it.
Ta dah! Pepperbuns. Um - eeeuw.
Ten bucks says I could get her to eat it again, tonight.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Trump card
Jellybean has started smiling.
Now, pediatricians will tell us (cough cough Heather) that this is most likely caused by gas, and not a response to our smiles.
But honestly? I don't care
SHE SMILED AT ME! That's what my heart sings, every time I see her smile.
And my heart trumps science.
Now, pediatricians will tell us (cough cough Heather) that this is most likely caused by gas, and not a response to our smiles.
But honestly? I don't care
SHE SMILED AT ME! That's what my heart sings, every time I see her smile.
And my heart trumps science.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Hmmm, that wasn't what we meant
Monkey is a creative little bugger. My parents always joked that if you want to know how to do everything, hire a teenager because they think they have all the answers. I think a reasonable addendum is if you need a negotiator, use a toddler. Lord, they work hard to get what they want!
The other night we were eating fish and chips (baked french fries) for dinner. Monkey ate all of her chips and two bites of her fish...and then wanted more chips. Of course.
So the haggling began. You know the drill - no more X until you do Y, yadda yadda. But Monkey resisted. She did not want to eat any more fish. So she'd ask again. She even sweetened the pot by tacking on the "puhleeze" without being reminded. Alas, her parents were stubborn and refused to give in.
So she switched tactics. She turned to me with her gorgeous doe-eyes, batting her long lashes, and with a sweet sweet smile she asked, in dulcet tones, if we could "share." Lord almighty, we about leaped out of our chairs with pride! Sharing!
But then - ahem - she offered her fish to ME and asked for my chips in return.
Oh.
The other night we were eating fish and chips (baked french fries) for dinner. Monkey ate all of her chips and two bites of her fish...and then wanted more chips. Of course.
So the haggling began. You know the drill - no more X until you do Y, yadda yadda. But Monkey resisted. She did not want to eat any more fish. So she'd ask again. She even sweetened the pot by tacking on the "puhleeze" without being reminded. Alas, her parents were stubborn and refused to give in.
So she switched tactics. She turned to me with her gorgeous doe-eyes, batting her long lashes, and with a sweet sweet smile she asked, in dulcet tones, if we could "share." Lord almighty, we about leaped out of our chairs with pride! Sharing!
But then - ahem - she offered her fish to ME and asked for my chips in return.
Oh.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Raw
These days my emotions are a little bit closer to the surface than usual. I noticed this after Monkey was born, too. No, not post partum or even the baby blues - my skin is just a little bit thinner than usual. I feel more sadness AND joy.
I find it harder to watch news about sick kids or lost puppies. When I"m nursing Jellybean often I'll catch a few minutes of daytime tv....and if the show has a lost, sick or dead child - I can NOT watch it. It makes me too sad. I remember after Monkey was born I was taking one of my first walks with her around the neighborhood, and when I walked past the homeless guy that "resides" on a nearby corner...I cried. All I could think was that he was someone's baby, too - someone's baby was sleeping on the street, dirty and hungry.
Some of it has to do with being tired from lack of sleep, But it is more than that. It is way more than that. It is about being close to the miracle of life. Watching my infant daughter breathe, in and out, in and out, makes my heart swell with love and wonderment. Listening to the joy in my insane toddler's voice when she yells "daddy's home!" and grins ear to ear makes me grateful to be alive.
When I was pregnant with Monkey, my father kept talking about the "miracle of life." I kind of wrote that off as something people say. And, truth be told, I was suffering from a bad attitude because I really don't like to be pregnant.
But the thing is? My dad was right. It really is a miracle.
I find it harder to watch news about sick kids or lost puppies. When I"m nursing Jellybean often I'll catch a few minutes of daytime tv....and if the show has a lost, sick or dead child - I can NOT watch it. It makes me too sad. I remember after Monkey was born I was taking one of my first walks with her around the neighborhood, and when I walked past the homeless guy that "resides" on a nearby corner...I cried. All I could think was that he was someone's baby, too - someone's baby was sleeping on the street, dirty and hungry.
Some of it has to do with being tired from lack of sleep, But it is more than that. It is way more than that. It is about being close to the miracle of life. Watching my infant daughter breathe, in and out, in and out, makes my heart swell with love and wonderment. Listening to the joy in my insane toddler's voice when she yells "daddy's home!" and grins ear to ear makes me grateful to be alive.
When I was pregnant with Monkey, my father kept talking about the "miracle of life." I kind of wrote that off as something people say. And, truth be told, I was suffering from a bad attitude because I really don't like to be pregnant.
But the thing is? My dad was right. It really is a miracle.
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