Overwhelmed

I keep a mental list of things that are important in a partner to pass on to Annie when she is of dating age, approximately 45 years from now. These are things like having a good personality, thinking you are pretty without makeup, sharing similar religious beliefs, and liking their mother. You know, the important stuff. I am officially adding to the list that they should have at least one aunt (Rick has two)  that is an expert crafter. 

Aunt Janet had been collecting pics of Annie for a while now, but I wasn't sure exactly what she was up to. The gift was delivered on Christmas. The album is the most beautiful collection of pictures I have ever seen. And nothing was left out. She had momentos from all the big events too (christening, first birthday, first Christmas card). Nothing was forgotten. 

She even got Liza and David's wedding, which really put it over the top.

To say I was emotional when I received it would be an understatement. I was crying like a baby. A baby that finally has a baby book for her baby. 

Thank you, Aunt Janet!

Eat, drink, and be merry

I leaned a little harder on the eating over drinking this year. I think I just wanted to really have something to rally against come January 1.  But back to the holidays....

I have to admit that Annie has blown out the walls on my cold black Grinch heart. I was excited to put up the tree and cried a few times when reviewing all the lovely ornaments we received last year for babies first Christmas. We hung stockings and baked and LISTENED TO MONKEY FIGHTING (working on swear words) CHRISTMAS MUSIC. I even turned a blind eye to Rick getting up on a high ladder for exterior light hanging. I guess all of a sudden the risk of him sustaining a devastating injury from a fall is outweighed by my desire for Annie to see her house trimmed in lights. 

We spent time with family, but it never seems to be enough. What used to be late nights enjoying cocktails with my favorite big brother who always travels in from out of town has become measured alcohol consumption (but not food, never measure food!) and barely making it to 9:00 before we have to bail and head home.

This year was special for so many reasons, all of them Annie-centric. She seemed to know there was something special going on. She loved spending time with her beloved cousins and probably tested every ounce of patience all three of them have. And her big cousins and Uncle Dan turned it out this year for her. They noticed Annie's love of all things fort related and built her her very own tee pee! This thing is tricked out with lights and all weather canvas and you should have seen her fast-feet happy dance when she first saw it.

Behold the tee pee! Had it not been zero degrees I think she would have tried to spend the night in there. 

Thank you to these sweet ladies for such a thoughtful gift (Dan especially, though not pictured)!

And the holiday (and non-holiday) tradition of Uncle Happy and Chloe silliness continued. It's fun to see her starting to be able to dish it right back to him. After good manners, this is probably one of the most important personality traits one can have in this family. And our manners are questionable at best. 

All photos from Rick's family Christmas are on a real camera but trust it was equally awesome. I feel so blessed to have such wonderful and generous people surround us over the holidays. Thank you all for helping to make this year so special!

To The Makers of Pepto Bismol

I really think Pepto should come with a free phone app that sends a message, oh, say 36 hours after you take a dose of the stuff. The message would say something like:

YOU TOOK PEPTO BISMOL 36 HOURS AGO. THAT'S WHY YOUR POOP IS BLACK.

NO, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE.

Save a lot of people a lot of anxiety.

Ohm My Goodness

Living Social had a deal about 5 months ago for a month of unlimited yoga for $30. The spot is right by our house (seriously not even a mile away) and it is normally around $12/visit and supposed to be a really nice facility. I figured this was just the thing I needed to help with my back problems and get me back on the working out train.

Did I mention I had back problems? Oh yes. Back in July there was an ER visit coupled with months of physical therapy and now I am better. Better than I was. Meaning I can stand up straight. Now you are up to speed.

But the yoga deal fell to the wayside during the Great Back Drama of 2012, then there was the wedding, then there was me realizing that EACH YOGA CLASS IS AN HOUR AND A HALF. Trying to slip that into an already tight schedule wasn't the easiest task. But I found one beginner yoga class on Monday nights that would seem to work. And then I completely forgot about it until I got a friendly reminder from Living Social that the deal was about to expire.

If I am being honest here, I think I was scared to re-enter the working out world. Though my brother would argue that yoga is hardly working out....if I am putting on spandex and entering a room with other people in spandex and someone might break a sweat...it's working out. And I hadn't done any sort of "public" working out (other than in front of Rick or limping along the road trying to "run") in, oh, say 2.5 years. And prior to that I was fairly fit, so in my mind this would be a public declaration of just how far I had slid into the pit of flabby out-of-shapedness. No fun.

But I screwed up my courage, donned my spandex and headed out last night. I arrived approximately 45 minutes before the class started thanks to my inability to correctly use the internet. And then I was trapped in a room that was covered in signs about "inner reflection" and "being present", so I felt a little bad about checking facebook and instagram for those 45 mintues. So I sat. And tried to relax. And not think about if my thighs were gonna look huge in child's pose.

Finally we were let into the room and I was thrilled to see that there were no mirrors in there. The room was dark and warm and not crowded. We were instructed to sit and then did breathing exercises for the first 10 minutes.

Have you ever tried to really focus on your breathing? Like someone telling you to breathe with "continuity" and "intention"? As if those are even real things. But yet telling you to relax at the same time? I swear my chest was jerking, my eyes were watering and I almost passed out about six times. I finally had to focus really hard on the back of my eyelids and ditch the breathing business and finally I seemed to "relax". There's a little unsolicited yoga tip from me to you.

The rest of the class was a bit of a blur. There was no clock, no mirror to scope out others in the class and size up who had on the cutest lululemon tights. There were a few tense moments when I was sure I had not waited the appropriate amount of time between eating and yoga-ing, but thankfully nothing slipped. Or at least nothing that I will confess to.

I survived. And I felt wonderful after. I was back in the "work out world". Granted, it was the least threatening atmosphere anyone could ever imagine, but I did it. And I can walk today. I still can't breathe right, but maybe I will get that on track in the next 29 days until my deal expires.

Perhaps this whole yoga thing will jump-start my fitness routine in 2013?

Don't hold your breath.

Tree is for Torture

The tree is up. And we took special care to put on ornaments that Annie would love.

All you experienced parents out there are laughing at us right now.

Yes, we created a big, beautiful, shiny object that is covered in trinkets and treasures for our precious daughter.

That she can't touch.

Rick's got a line on some safety fencing. Wonder if it comes in red?

They Don't Call it "Magic Kingdom" for Nothing

Backstory: Rick and I have a sort of ongoing joke about who loses more stuff. While I am constantly in a state of looking for "misplaced" things (cell phones, sunglasses, phone chargers, remotes), I usually find things....eventually. With his help. After acting like a frantic maniac for 15 minutes. The expense of the misplaced object is directly correlated to the level of freaking out. Rick has actually lost a few things (camera, sunglasses). In his defense, I am clearly not as big of a help to him as he is to me in the searching department, so there's that little inequality.

Vacations really seem to bring out my frantic searching for misplaced things. This is usually because nothing is in its "normal" spot. I am constantly rifling through the diaper bag/purse/carry-on combo I am sporting, swearing I forgot something. I panic even if Rick swears he knows it's in the bag. I need to physically see it to stop the freaking. This usually peaks in the airport parking lot where I empty out all our bags, confirm that we did actually pack everything, and thusly confirming I am a total lunatic. I will be accepting invitations to join you all on vacations via email and text (assuming I haven't misplaced my phone) after that ringing endorsement.

So when, on DAY ONE of our trip to Disney, I realized I had "misplaced" my Ray Bans, we went through our usual tossing of the condo and bags in an effort to locate them. No luck. Once I confirmed they were not in the condo, I pretty much wrote them off. I felt I had better odds of getting them back had I dropped them in the Mississippi River. I was actually fairly composed (for me) as the fate of the sunglasses was sealed. I purchased cheap shades (that, ironically, were never "misplaced" for the remainder of the trip) and went about getting our Disney on.

But I loved those sunglasses. And I remembered seeing a HUGE building on our way into the resort that said "Disney Lost and Found" with a line out the front. Yes, even the lost and found has lines at Disney. An entire building dedicated to lost things. I also remembered a stat that almost 70,000 pairs of glassess are turned in at DW a year. I found this stat staggering but it also gave me a bit of hope. Why couldn't mine be one of the 70,000? The smart part of my brain reminded me that they are cute and expensive sunglasses and it's likely they were pocketed by someone, assuming they weren't smashed by a monorail.

The naive and optimistic/dumb part of my brain prevailed (as it usually does) and I called Disney's lost and found (DLAF) 1-800 number a week ago today.

DLAF/Bob: Disney Lost and Found, this is Bob. How can I help you?

K: Hi, I realize this is a long shot, but I lost my sunglasses there last week.

Bob: Sure, do you know the date and approximate location of where you lost them, and can you provide a description?

(at this point my smart brain was giving me the ol' "I told you this was a lost cause" face, but dumb brain pressed on)

K: Sure, it was Wednesday and I think I lost them either at Epcot or on the monorail to/from Epcot. They are light brown raybans with round lenses.

Bob: Ok, let me go check. Hold on.

dumb brain and smart brain in united internal monologue: HOLD ON? Don't you need to sift through a pile of glasses that is in the back of a huge warehouse? EPCOT is an entire PARK! And we took two trains to get there! Shouldn't they get back to you in a week during which Bob's sole purpose on this earth is locating your sunglasses? Surely this is....

Bob (90 seconds later): I'm back. We've got 'em. What's your mailing address?

K: WHAT? You have got to be kidding????

I am pretty sure I might have told Bob I loved him at that point. Or something equally embarassing. I know I did not play it cool.

Bob took my info and said it could take a week for me to get them. And no charge for shipping or the 2-3 minutes of Bob's time.

My smart brain was still thinking that it was likely we would be sent some busted oakleys from 1998 that Bob sends out just to mess with people and get them off the line.

The mail came on Friday:

Losing Power Ball ticket to hide mailing address and to also prove we are not multi-millionaires. yet.

TAAAAA-FREAKING-DAAAAA!

They even have smudges from little sticky fingers on them to prove they are MINE. I guess Bob's services don't extend to lens cleaning.

After Rick's head exploded as he sees what goes on with the much smaller scale museum lost and found, he joined me in being very impressed with what must be the most organized lost and found on the planet.

The return of my prodigal sunglasses was a wonderful end to a great trip. We will certainly be back to Disney, though maybe next time we'll bring Bob with us.

Disney-18 months

Though I did not mention it here, because I am afraid of scary internet people that will rob me, we were in Disney World over Thanksgiving. These scary internet people are not to be confused with all the scary internet people that are on facebook and instagram, because I BLEW UP those suckers with pictures of us on vacation. Oh well. We were not robbed. That I can tell.

There will have to be a longer summary at some point, but I wanted to let you all (all 4 of you) know we survived. We did more than survived. We kicked Disney World's booty. I am so thankful for Rick's generous family for providing us with this wonderful trip. I am thankful for a wonderful husband that is such a great travel companion. But (as far as the trip was concerned), I am most thankful for our amazing 18 month old Annie.

Disney really puts things in perspective. While it is the happiest place on earth, there are times when it doesn't seem quite so happy. At any given moment you are in earshot of some child in the throes of a full-blown nuclear (noocular) melt-down. I think the water supply to the joint is actually desalinated baby tears.

But not our baby. To say she was a trooper wouldn't do it justice. Sure, she was fussy a few times, and she did strike a few blows to her sweet cousin (and a few stranger kids) while waiting in lines. But we really saw how things could be. And while she does hit and squirm and not like to be held and runs all over the place, she is also sweet and happy and kind (when she's not hitting) and so funny that she makes strangers laugh.  

So to our Annie, a few days after your one and a half year birthday, thanks for being so wonderful. I think Rick will agree with me when I say that where ever you are is the happiest place on earth.

I love you, sweet girl.

~Mom

Good Hair

When I was envisioning my life with a sweet baby girl, I imagined dresses, cute outfits, maybe even a bow or two to pin back what I was sure would be poker straight brown hair. I was prepared for thick or thin hair. But straight. And brown. Because that's what's swimming around in our little gene pool.

I was not prepared for a curly-haired blond baby.

But, I have done my research, chatting up any parent that has a curly haired child, asking what they do, what they don't do, trying to cull together some sort of plan. I attacked it scientifically. I would implement any new strategy and then observe the results. Don't wash more than once a week, use conditioner as necessary. Don't brush it, use a comb as necessary. Typically, the results ended up something like this:

Not ideal. Unless your goal is for your child to look like Gary Busey's mug shot (google it).

To make things extra annoying, there would be days where it would actually end up looking cute. But those tended to be few and far between, or a cute hair day was ruined by an aggresssive nap where the baby hair that went in was not the baby hair that emerged. And introduce winter hats to the mix...no bueno.

As far as I can tell, Annie's hair is too straight to be treated like curly hair, and too curly to be treated like regular straight hair. So I am abandoning the curly hair regimen as I can stand crazy semi-curly hair, but I cannot stand crazy dirty, unbrushed semi-curly hair. If the lack of brushing or washing resulted in cute curls, I would be 100% on board. But, alas, we do not fit the mold.

So moving forward, we will wash, brush....



...and pray for good hair days (like today).

Crankster

In addition to the aforementioned biting, Annie has been a bit cranky these days. Not 100% of the time. The hitting seems to make her happy.

But there are some times where nothing, not even a good thwack to Mom's face, will make the whining stop. It is in these times that I struggle most as a mother. I have no idea what to do. I usually spend the first five minutes of the whinefest trying to figure out what's wrong.

Doing this with a toddler with limited communication skills is a lesson in futility.

I will spend the next five minutes trying to ignore the tantrum. You always hear people say that if you ignore a misbehaving child, they will stop.

They are lying. Or these children don't have the same stick-to-itness as my dear Annie.

I also don't know how to ignore her. I mean she's clawing her way up my leg whilst screaming. At one point I actually found myself running from her in an effort to "ignore" her. Not the proudest moment.

The other afternoon Annie woke up from a nap in an especially cranky mood. So much so she was trashing around and was pretty much a danger to herself and others. I rationalized that she must not have been ready to wake up yet, so I put her back in her crib and walked out of the room.

And she cried.

And wailed.

And called for Mommy.

After a few minutes I became convinced I was inflicting irreversible psychological damage and decided to go rescue my daughter. Her face was covered in snot and tears and my heart broke. She reached for me and yelled:

MOM SHOESH!

Yes. Mom, Shoes.

I think she's going to survive. I can't say the same for her mom.

The latest and (not so) greatest

Yes. In the spirit of full disclosure, I feel I should document our most recent stage over at Casa de Erwin.

Hitting.

And it's not really a "I got hit in the face because I happened to be in the line of fire during a flailing tantrum" type hit. We have those too, but that's not what I am talking about.

It's me telling Annie that she has to drink her milk before she gets more water.

Resulting in me getting a smack to the face.

It's me trying to get Annie in the carseat to go to the grocery store.

Uppercut to my jaw.

I have been working really hard to hold her hands, look her in the eyes and tell her NO, we don't hit. It hurts Mommy.

Last night she did the move where she did all the motions like she was going to hit me, and then stopped this short of my face. Total psych out.

I am not sure this is progress.

Melmo

As I mentioned, Annie loves Elmo/Melmo. I have no idea why. I mean, I know why, but I don't know how this love affair became what it is today. She doesn't even really like him on TV, but if you see anything Melmo-related in the store, fuhgheddit. To Elmo's credit, he did get her to eat an entire tray of veggies because his image was on the box. Which might have sparked a notion for me to put Melmo stickers on every box of food she won't eat. I'll keep you posted.

When we attended a halloween party last weekend with a balloon animal dude, I thought it would be fun to get her a balloon elmo. It was cute right up until I realized I was the only adult in line with a bunch of children. A bunch of children that were stinking line-cutters. And NOTHING will make you feel like a bigger loser than calling a 5 year old out for cutting in line for the balloon animals. 

So I waited. 

And waited.

And watched 100 little mermaid balloon shapes get made. 

And watched Annie start to lose her mind from exhaustion and Rick question my sanity as I stood in this line.

Finally I was pushed to the brink. I was ONE KID AWAY from the front of the line when a little boy  proclaims "I am getting FREE FINGS (three things)!" as he wedges himself between me and my balloon maker. 

I'd like to think I handled this perfectly, but I did not. I told the kid I was next in line and he could get his free fings after I got my Melmo. He then called his mother over. She told me "It's fine if you go before him". No joke, lady! I have been standing here since Easter!

But I smiled and said I appreciated it. And I got to order the Elmo. Annie was in full melt-down mode once I finally secured the prized possession. 

She took one look.

"Melmo...wuf ooo"

(Elmo...love you)

I'd say that was worth it.

Epilogue: perhaps I should have spent some of my time in line thinking about how a teething toddler will show affection to her favorite character...let's just say I don't think things will end well for this Melmo.

The State of the Blog

Have you ever gone a really long time between visits to the dentist? And then you keep putting it off because it's been so long and you know there's lots they are going to have to do in there?

That's kind of how I feel about the blog these days. Major things happen like weddings (HI BRANDON and JORDAN!), more weddings (HI LIZA AND DAVID!), trips, birthdays, outings, and I fell behind on all of them. So when I want to rant about bad service or something equally trivial, I hesitate because I can't post about something stupid when all this other important stuff has gone on that I never mentioned.

So I end up posting none of it.

Thankfully I have somehow kept up with the letters to Annie, which is probably only motivated by guilt since she still has no baby book. It wouldn't even be a baby book at this time, would it? When do you stop with the baby books and just call it an album?

And then I tell myself that if anyone is keeping score on this blog (other than yours truly), then they probably need to take up knitting, painting, or, perhaps, blogging. And most of the people that read this blog were at the big events, so it's not like they need me to recap (although some might actually need this service, for various reasons).

I have approximately 1000 photos I need to go through from the past 6 weeks. So maybe some of the good stuff will eventually make it in here. But hell, my father built A STADIUM and that didn't make it in here, so perhaps my thoughts on shellac manicures (life changing!) can be put on the back burner.

So don't count me out just yet. It's not that there's nothing fun happening. It's that there's too much fun happening and not enough time to blog about it. Which I guess is not a horrible problem to have.

SOOO BIG-17 Months

Dear Annie,

You are almost a week into being 17 months old. All of a sudden time has really started to fly. Sure, the first year went by fast, but the past few months are a blur. I think it's because you are so active and so fun. We go on new outings almost every weekend and I braved a solo trip to take you to your first movie last week.

I think you thought I was walking away from you, resulting in the world's most pathetic face here.  Trust me, you were excited (once you realized you weren't being abandoned at the movies).

Hotel Transylvania was a hit. At least the first hour was a hit. Then we ran out of crackers and you started saying "up peesh" repeatedly. I will likely never know how that movie ends. I think I will survive. 

You seemed to enjoy it though. You didn't get scared at the "scary" parts and seemed to like all the color and sound. I wasn't so brave to release you from your stroller and all those reading this should know it was a "Mommy Matinee" so there was no real fear of you disturbing everyone (all 4 other people) in the theater. I will call this a success.

You are quite the little entertainer. We have noticed that you are an excellent mimic and I have heard you hum along to songs and parrot my voice on more than one occasion. Maybe not always exactly what I said, but how I said it. It's very interesting to see/hear. I attribute it to your Dad playing music for you since the day you were born (and before). 

You love choo-choos and Elmo, though you have never really watched Sesame Street. There's something about that little red guy that makes your heart melt. You like to call him "Melmo". You talk quite a bit and know all the names of everyone in our immediate family, though you don't say them all with much regularity, other than your beloved cousin Parker. Or "Dar-der".

You love playing with the big kids, even if it means kickballs whizzing by your head. No risk is too great if they let you play along. 

They even let you sit at the big kid's table, which made my heart swell so big it felt like it was going to bust.

"What? Yeah, sure. I do this all the time. High chairs are for babies!"

You couldn't have been more excited, but played it cool and acted like you have sat in a regular chair at the table 100s of times.

I will save your eating habits for another post, because there's lots to discuss there. At last unofficial weigh-in (you find the scale in the bathroom tons of fun with its clicky noise and dangerously tippy surface and sharp edges) you were 27.5 pounds. You still wear size 4 diapers and most of your 18-24 month shirts are too short. You are now taking 1 nap a day on most days and still are sleeping 12 hours a night. I have NO IDEA how many teeth you have in there. I think it's somewhere between 10 and 45. 

I do know there are some big ones in the back that gave you fits for a few days.

Thirty years from now I want to remember how you love to play with your toes when you are sleepy, how you are so determined to feed yourself with a fork/spoon-but usually give up and go with the hands, how you have a love/hate relationship with stickers, how you insist on "tasting" every crayon before deciding on a color to use (seriously, those things better really be non-toxic), how you love to run through my legs, how by the end of each day my jeans have sticky Annie hand marks around the thighs from your various demands, how no matter how many times I do it, you always think it's really funny when I say "BOO!" at you, how you always know it's time to go to bed when I start saying our nighttime prayer and you will lay your head down on my shoulder, how you have learned to climb up on just about every piece of furniture in the house but haven't mastered the getting down part (if you ever hear repeated "uh-oh"s from Annie, know it's serious), how you started to have your own sense of fashion and how that both makes me very proud and very scared. 

I want to remember it all. I love you so much, sweet girl, 

Mom

Repurposed

Rick brings home some crazy things from work, but every once in a while, he brings home something awesome. The other day, it was a homemade chocolate cake. Now, though the wedding is behind us and I managed to fit into my dress, I am still trying to watch the sugar intake. So after sampling the cake, I wanted it out of the house.

Parker's ELEVENTH birthday (impossible) party was last night, and we saw this as an opportunity to unload this cake. I became concerned that no one would want to eat a cake that already been dipped into, so I took advantage of some candy corns (deftly removed from another cake), and voila!

Vampire Packman Cake, thank God it is Halloween season

And the kids loved it. I figured the City Museum would be very proud of my re-use of this wonderful cake. It also really showcases what lengths I will go to to avoid baking.

Happy Birthday, Parker!

6 years

Rick and I have been married for 6 years now, as of this past Sunday. This is the first year we have actually spent our Anniversary in town. For the first five, we would pick a destination and head out for a few days of fun in the sun...or rain in Seattle. It would always seem like summer when we left and then, in the span of a few short days, we would return to full-blown fall; sometimes even winter.

This year we stayed home and got our "fall on" and got to enjoy what is our favorite season, though we seem to abandon it at its height every year. We went pumpking picking, hay riding, corn mazing. We ate pancake breakfasts and looked at leaves and enjoyed the fall colors. It was an entirely different type of anniversary weekend, but one that seems to be more representative of where our lives are these days and the anniversaries to come.

This year, it was more of a celebration of our family. I was constantly reminded how thankful I am for my parents and my siblings, and my new siblings to be (FOUR DAYS, DAVID!). But mostly, I am thankful for my wonderful husband. He is truly my perfect mate, as my parents prayed for throughout my youth. I am constantly amazed by his generosity and kindness. Not to mention the fact that he's the best Dad ever and can make me laugh harder than anyone I know with his particular brand of humor.

Thank you, Sweet Ricker, for picking me to be your wife. Though I am not a fan of group sports, I am lucky to be on your team.

If the Shoe Fits

Six weeks ago Annie's shoe size had jumped from a 4 to a 5 overnight. Since I figured we would be at a 5 for a while, I went ahead and purchased some fancy black patent leather shoes (for wedding season, natch) and some sneakers (is that what you call them? I call mine running shoes, which seems odd for a baby, but I guess since all she does is run, it is appropriate). When we got home I noticed the running shoes were actually a size 6 in a size 5 box, but since they seemed to fit and she could walk in them, I decided not to go all Customer Service Nightmare or the poor people at Laurie's Shoes.

As we are assembling our wardrobe for the big wedding weekend, I went to have Annie try on her dress shoes. To my dismay, and hers, they no longer fit. I also noticed that her sandals were a bit snug, so we headed off to Laurie's Shoes again to get some more winter appropriate footwear.

Imagine my shock when after wrangling Annie's squirmy chubby foot into the measuruing device, I was informed that she is now a 6.5. A full size and a half in 6 weeks. New boots were purchased and I was advised to just buy new dress shoes at Target since they never wear them more than a few times. Wisdom runs rampant at Laurie's Shoes, apparently.

These are not the shoes that were purchased yesterday. These are shoes that were purchased a few months ago on deep discount at Nordstrom Rack, anticipating that they would fit her come spring.

I have also noticed her 18-24 month clothing getting a little short. If kids are like puppies and paw size is indicative of how tall she will be, I see an athletic scholarship in her future.

This will happen...

......at the PLAAAYGROUND, ya know? Thank you to the lyrical talents of the 90's child group ABC for getting this song stuck in my head every time I started mentally penning this blog.
I can see winter right around the corner. It's taunting us with these dark cold mornings that make it difficult to get out of bed, assuming I wake up on time to begin with. Most mornings I see that it's still pitch black outside and assume I have many hours of Zzzzzzzzzzzzzs ahead of me, only to see it's 6:15 and I have to rush to get ready before Annie wakes up. Which never happens and then I have her on my hip or tugging the leg whilst trying to get lunches made and coffee consumed. I heard there's something called an "alarm clock" but those are for college kids and nerds.

So, Winter. Which means I will be trapped inside with a toddler that has the energy level of a jackrabbit with a nasty meth habit. I am not looking forward to you, winter. In an effort to eek out the last bit of enjoyment from this lovely fall, we have been hitting the local parks system. Hard.

For the grandparents/aunts/uncles out there that plan on ever taking Annie to the playground, I have compiled a list of things that will happen each and every time:

-Annie will be struck down violently by another child swinging on the swings. Apparently the whole "what goes up must come down" concept is lost on the 16 month old set.
-Annie will find a smaller child and will assault that child, usually in the form of a full body tackle. Whether or not this is all done in good fun is up for debate. Sorry, Charlie.
-Annie will find a morsel of food that dates back to the Regan administration that has been picked over by all the local rats and mice that run the playground at night and will try to eat it.
-Annie will drink from another child's sippy cup.
-You will think that because she dropped the world's biggest #2 right before you left home that you certainly won't need to bring your diaper bag. You will be wrong and will learn that it was actually the world's second largest #2.
-Something will happen (the list is really endless and may include any of the options noted above) that will make you feel like all the other parents at the playground think you are an unfit mother.
-Annie will again be struck down by another child swinging on the swings.

And this is all with us paying CLOSE attention. Whether or not any or all of this is normal playground behavior is unknown to me. But it's SOP for Annie Erwin's adventures at the park. But, despite all of the above, it is fun, Annie loves it, and we get out of the house. So to avoid being trapped indoors with a toddler with cabin fever, look for us patronizing the local playgrounds this winter. Annie will be so bundled up, it might be hard to recognize her. She'll be the one knocked out under the swings.

This Makes Me Happy

For the two of you that actually visit the blog's physical address on the interweb and don't just get the automatic email, you have likely noticed my instagram account streaming on the right hand side of the page. Yes, Mom, Lynnie, etc, if you actually went to the website, you would get MORE information and photos. You'll never know what you are missing (I look forward to my mother's call later today asking what I am talking about).

Instagram is great for seeing little glimpses into people's lives. Mom, it's basically like the photo section of facebook, but you can make the pictures look cool. I was browsing Instagram the other day and came across this photo of my freshman college roommate's son, Henry. He's smiling sweetly, proud of his award he received at sports camp.

And then I noticed the child, prone in the background. And that was the day this photo became the best photo I have ever seen. In my LIFE.

When I am having a bad day, I like to go back and visit this little Giving Tree of a pic. I like to imagine exactly what was going on in this photo. I love the Glee on Henry's face. I love the complete lack of parents tending to the downed child in the background. I love the cones that really make it look like ol' Henry took this kid out on his way to the podium after conquering some obstacle course. Is this photo a little dark? Yes. Am I likely a sick individual for finding it so absolutley funny? Absolutely. But at least I am not the one that put it up on Instagram.

Bathroom Bounty

I mentioned last week that Annie is not big on toys. Or sitting still. Though I continue my quest undaunted for SOMETHING that will occupy her time. Even for a second while I wash our one remaining bottle. Or get selfish and want to actually sit for a second. After observing her drop rocks down the sewer last week, I thought I would try to recreate that little scenario, but without dropping dirty rocks into an even dirtier sewer. Apparently sewer play is where my inner germaphobe kicks in. Always good to know your limits.

In keeping with the sewer theme, I noted we had some extra toilet paper rolls that were prematurely stripped of their contents by a busy little bee. I taped that sucker to the side of a table, gave Annie some uncooked beans and cotton balls.....

....she was actually interested! She would drop a few things down into the cup, dump the cup, put the stuff back up on the table and repeat. Yes, with the hundreds of dollars in toys on this beautiful table, she's playing "Homeless Plinko". I think she might have been Amish in a previous life.

So I am obviously slow because it wasn't until I started writing this post that I realized that all of these pictures involve bathroom products, specifically toilet paper. The only other thing that has occupied Annie for any period of time was this 12-pack of toilet paper.

She carried it around, grunting at the sheer weight and awkward size of her burden. She wailed at her inability to free this precious package of what would inevitably be THE MOST FUN EVER...if she could just get this thing OPEN. Thankfully she is now letting me cut her nails, or those razor-sharp talons would have gone through that plastic like a hot knife through butter.

At one point she was actually circling it like a predator assessing the weakest point to attack its prey. Ultimately, she resorted to desperate measures and went with the teeth. I had to take it away at this point. You can imagine how well that went.

My advice to anyone thinking of buying Annie a present this holiday season: Save your money....and keep your cardboard toilet paper rolls. 

16 Months, a snapshot

Dear Annie,

You are now 16 months old. I am so exhausted from chasing you around that I can hardly come up with anything sweet or sentimental to say. What I can say is that I was warned, by just about everyone, about this stage. When they heard you were walking they'd say super-supportive things like "that's the worst" or "better lock down the house!". I would smile like an idiot and respond with how much I prefer walking over crawling and because you were so quick while crawling that walking really wasn't much different.

Well, you stopped walking. All together. You run. 100% of the time. Primarily while staring that the floor with your arms splayed out behind you. This little development really ups the level of danger in the house considerably. Everything (walls, tables-even though padded, chairs, humans that happen to be in your path) is a collision or impact hazard. I have been taking you outside a lot while we are home together because at least out there are things that catch your eye and cause you to stop once in a while, mid-sprint. Of course, the fact that we live at the top of a slight hill doesn't really help things, since that allows you to really get up a head of steam when you are out on your adventures.

Because it was rainy yesterday, we went to Target to get supplies for "activities" since we were going to be inside most of the day. I had seen an item on Pinterest that I thought you would enjoy. It involved putting paint inside a ziploc bag, taping the bag down, and then you "finger paint" but without the mess. I had it all set up for you after your nap.

For a moment, I was hopeful that this would be a sufficient time-filler. Incorrecto. It took approximately 7.3 seconds (just after this photo was snapped) for you to rip the bag of paint off the tray and start swinging it over your head. It was at this point that I realized I had essentially given you a paint filled water ballon. Excellent. Thank God you were more interested in the tape than the paint or we would have had a serious situation on our hands. Moving forward I will have to start evaluating the worst-case scenario options for all your crafts.

Later in the day, I wanted to try to make some muffins for our neighbor who broke/dislocated two fingers when she fell down the stairs carrying one of her NINE MONTH OLD TWIN GIRLS. She also has 4 and 7 year old boys and has been told she can't lift anything heavier than a magazine for 6 weeks. There's your daily dose of "it could always be worse" should you happen to need it. If anyone deserves some muffins, it's this gal. So back in the chair you went. I had seen another neighbor girl who is your age be occupied for an HOUR thanks to candy sprinkles. Because of the dollar bin at Target, I had sprinkles at the ready and again, was fully prepared for this to be highly successful. And, it would help work on your fine motor skills. Of course, that's just my justification for plopping you down with mini-bits of sugar in front of you. 

Joke's on me! Guess who has no interest in sprinkles!?! You were temporarily occupied (90 seconds, maybe) with trying to get sprinkles back into the closed sprinkle container. Perhaps you have a future in magic? Given the simplicity of the recipe, I was able to at least get the first batch in the oven before you shouted "UP PEESH!" (repeat until demands met) and were freed from the chair.

You would sit still when you were allowed to sample the muffins, and unlike your Mom, actually seem to like pumpkin products.

So that's how you and I roll. I try to find fun things for you to do that other "crafty" moms go on about, and you just want to collect rocks and drop them down the holes in the sewer grate. You have your own little agenda and are so very busy (and fast) carrying it out. You very rarely stop moving. Your exhaustion is identified by what I fondly refer to as your "bad idea" period, where you are exceptionally clumsy, take extra risks (trying to balance on one foot while standing on the seat of your ridey toy), and think a headstand on concrete is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. And then you hit the wall. Hard. In this one scenario, I am not talking about an actual wall, though that might be part of it from time to time.

Everything I have discussed in this post is something I want to remember in thirty years, when you are a grown woman who worries about work and babies and bills and cleaning up. I want to remember that there was a time where you and I got to spend these days together doing whatever you wanted, and you are so very very sure what you want. And I hope that never changes, I just hope I get better at figuring it out.

I Love You, Sweet Girl,

Mom 

The Eyebrows Have It

People mostly tell me Annie looks like her Dad, which is fine by me. I obviously find The Ricker to be quite the looker. But recently Annie's been making some faces that have a little bit of a Mommy look to them.

So, she gets her eyebrows from her Mom. At least hers are raised in joy and appreciation, while mine are typically raised in shock and judgement. All in due time, my darling. And I am sure it's quite obvious that in all 3 pictures, the eyebrows are raised either while eating, or appreciating, a nice sweet treat. Looks like she gets her love of dessert from me too.

(I swear, these pics make it look like she's eating sundaes and oreos on the regular, but if it were such a common event, do you think we would be photographing it or getting such a response? Hmmmm? Put those eyebrows down and quit judging. A girl needs a treat once in a while.)

We're alive.

Barely.

We've cancelled our cable and I have given up (cut back on) sugar. We're hardly recognizable over here. I think this is what it's like to be Amish. Or off the grid. Or a cave man.

I vacillate between raging head aches and raging temper. And no Real Housewives of New Jersey to distract me. It's good times. Needless to say, the blog has suffered due to my lack of humor. Or will to live in a carb-free world where we watch "This Old House" on a Wednesday night.

Did I mention we've only been without cable for 24 hours? My reaction to the absence of sugar and cable in our lives clearly proves that it was something that needed to happen.

Pray for us.

1.25

Dear Annie,
Yesterday marked 15 months with you, my sweet girl. You are one and one quarter years old. You are so much. You are more than I think either of us could have ever imagined. You are so bright and have such a fun personality. You have no concept of strangers and find nothing more entertaining than engaging in "discussions" with new people. The ladies at the deli counter at the grocery store know you and seem to be disappointed when I don't have you with me. You really know how to work a room and it's hilarious to watch. Even more so when you reach your "I'm just about to lose my shiz I am so tired" phase, because in those 10 minutes, you are a 25 pound physical comedian, falling, flapping, head wagging, babbling maniac whose sole purpose is to capture the attention of anyone that dare step in your wake.

You have started to repeat more words now, but still in your sweet, high, unsure voice. You will say "peese" more and more, sometimes unprompted. Of course, you now think that by saying peese you should get anything you want, which resulted in a not-so-minor melt down over me refusing you pedialyte pops at 7:15 one morning. I guess that's an equally important lesson you will need to learn. And believe me, it's not easy for me to tell you no when I hear that sweet peese come from you.

You walk or run all the time now. You have no concept of danger and refuse to play on the "baby" section of the playground. The bigger the slide, the better. Though you still just prefer to climb up them. You are very tough and very rarely cry. You are on the move constantly. You still use your binkie, but really only right when you lay down to sleep. You love bunny more than ever. You sleep with a blanket. You now have 6 teeth (I think there are 6 up there, you don't ever let me look) on top and are getting 2 new teeth on bottom, for a grand total of 10. You have an adorable little gap in your top teeth, which is one of the few things that seems to be from me, though mine was a little less adorable. Let's all pray that's the only dental trait you inherited from your mother.

Showing everyone your cheez-its at the pool.

Playing in GB and Big's school bus in your super-girl PJs.

Learning that while also a tasty treat, Crayons also serve a secondary purpose!

Playing in the aforementioned school bus, but this time with Parker and Chloe. The squealing that ensued was likely to result in a noise complaint.

Getting ice cream with Dad on your 1.25 year old birthday. The strawberries make it healthy.

In 20 years I want to remember how independent you are and refuse to hold my hand, until you realize that you need help and your arm shoots up, knowing one of us is right there to help you out. I want to remember how funny you think it is when I blink really quickly with my face up close to yours, and how you love to stick your fingers veeeerrrrryyyy close to my eyes to feel my eye lashes. I want to remember how much you love reading about puppies and kittens. I want to remember how while you love the puppy and kitten books, your favorite thing to do with books is not to read them, but rather to carry them from room to room and unpack them from various shelves. I want to remember how you shake and your eyes get really big when you see something you really want, like mac and cheese or your Dad's iPhone.

I want to remember it all.

I love you, sweet girl.

Mom

The Dog Days

Today is Parker and Chloe's first day of school. Fifth and third grades, respectively. Unthinkable. One on the verge of middle school. I can remember those transition times so vividly. Trying to sleep the night before school started. Picking out our first day outfits with Mom. Getting all those fabulous new school supplies. It was all so exciting.

Rick and I made the mistake of going to Target this past weekend and fought the throes of people shopping for last-minute supplies to stock their desks and dorm rooms. Annie loved the bustle of it all and only tried to steal my keys once. I made a sideways glance at Rick and commented that in a few years it will be us buying all this stuff for our girl (though we both know he would NEVER allow it to be a last minute purchase). His response, "I don't even want to talk about it." And so we didn't and we hit the dollar bin for a pretend microphone and went about our day.

But I still couldn't stop thinking about Annie and summers and school. So yesterday, on what is for most in our area, the last day of summer break, Annie and I celebrated with a special breakfast out in our PJs (hers more obvious than mine).

We've got five years until our girl starts real school, but I am thinking it will take every one of those five years for me to ready for it. And even then, I doubt we will be. But hopefully we'll still grab breakfast in our PJs the day before, and I am sure that will help.

Chatterbox

Annie is getting more and more vocal these days. Most of the time it's just babbling, but now we are babbling with inflection. There's a difference.To me. She has also started repeating the last syllable/few letters of some things we say to her:

Me: Balloon
Annie: ooooon!
Me: Kitty Cat
Annie: AT!

I thought she had started calling her binkie "mimi" because that's what she would say when she would be reaching/looking for it. I thought that was pretty cute. Then we went into the back yard and she spotted the neighbor's jungle gym and Annie started lurching towards it and screaming "MEEEMEEEEMEEEEMEEEE!". So it's not a sweet nickname for her binkie (that was also the name we had for my grandmother). It's a demand. At least she knows what she wants!

14 Months

Dear Annie,
For some reason blogger refuses to let me upload pictures right now, so for now I can't add pictures of you balancing precariously on various chairs and toys, which seems to be your favorite new trick. Of course, we are constantly trying to get you to sit on your bottom in the chairs, and you usually comply, after giving us a wicked little grin. You seem to have recovered from your double super nasty ear infection, or at least you are now eating and sleeping normally. I have learned that the curse of the new mother is that you have very little wisdom from experience. I have been frantic about your sleep and convinced that none of us will ever sleep through the night again but then once the infection was gone, you were fine. Almost instantly. I think second time Moms know this. They know that almost everything, both good and bad, is temporary when it comes to these babes. When you have never been through it before, it seems to be so concrete and permanent, like there's no way anyone will recover. But you do, and we do, and we all move forward. I will try to remember this more as you continue to grow.

But for the same reasons, I think first time Moms have a little bit easier being "in the moment". I don't know what it's like to have a 2 year old that can talk, so I don't look forward to any of those future stages. I just love where you are right now. We don't know anything else. And right now you are officially walking 100% of the time, you wobble around with precarious speed, you have a wonderful sense of humor and have learned to laugh on cue. You know your belly button and are inclined to show it to just about anyone that takes the time to look your direction. You also have found your nostril and love nothing more than to stick your finger up there. You now have FOUR top teeth, though we rarely get a good look at them. There might be more up there but you won't let me look. You WILL let me cut your nails now, which is a huge relief. You even crawled up into my lap yesterday with your baby nail clippers and let me get a few. Fingers are easier than toes, but you have yet to scratch me with your toenails, so this is fine.

You are still in size 4 diapers, you still prefer milk from a bottle but will drink water from a sippy cup like a champ. You know that you can get snacks from both the deli section and the bakery at the grocery store, and get very confused when those snacks are not received. Your hair is still blond and curly and I still haven't figured out exactly what to do with the curls. Most of the time they look crazy despite my best efforts. Aunt Lynnie, our resident expert on all things curly, has advised me to finger curl your hair, but there simply isn't enough or I am doing it wrong. Likely the latter. Hopefully she can give me some tips when we see her in September.

The one good thing that came from the great ear infection is you seem to be a bit more cuddly. You will crawl into my lap now with a book and actually sit through a reading (or two, which is dictated by you slamming the book closed and then reopening it back to the beginning). You have started playing Hide and Seek with us, making one of us "hide" with you while the other seeks. You have not mastered the art of being quiet while hiding, and your shrieking with glee always gives you away.

You love your bunny and you love the binkie more than I would like, but it's not a battle I am looking to fight right now. You love Danimal yogurts and cheese. You love bath time with Daddy and playing "where are you" with bunny. You love the movie "How to Train Your Dragon", which still surprises me. I think it's because you can relate to the main dragon, Toothless.

In 20 years I want to remember your sweet new voice saying "peese"(please) and "dis" (this) when you want something. I want to remember your sly grin when you are testing our boundaries. I want to remember your "uh OHHHH" when you throw your binkie out of the crib. I want to remember your arms up, straight leg zombie walk around and around in the house and how you never.ever.seem to get tired from walking. I want to remember how you make the "eek eeek" noise, which is our sign to brush the teeth. I want to remember how we sing "bears are now asleep..shhh shhh shhh" when we are trying to be quiet, and how you touch the tip of your index finger to the roof of your mouth when we shhhhh. I want to remember how tough you are and how you rarely cry, except for if you bonk your face. Anything else seems to be no big deal. I want to remember how fearless you are around water and how much you enjoy it, even if it is splashing right in your mug. I want to remember how you play with the two tags on bunny when you start to get tired, especially since those tags are not long for this world as you have started biting at them with your six big teeth. I want to remember how I can get you to eat pretty much anything as long as it is on my plate. Once it hits your tray, there's zero interest. I want to remember how sweet your little hand feels around my index finger as we walk around, especially since you seem to need my hand less and less.

I want to remember everything. We love you so much, sweet girl.

Love,
Mom

Updates

It's been a busy summer! The Hagemann clan returned from their Michigan trip just in time for swimming finals. Parker swam in the freestyle and butterfly and kicked booty in both races. It was so wonderful to see how happy racing made her.

Though racing makes her happy, photos by her aunt....not so much.

Due to an unfortunate disqualification, Chloe was not racing. Webster Waves' loss was Annie's gain and she got to play with the big girls while we were waiting for Parker to race.

Hiding under the umbrella

Inevitable skinned knee incurred while learning to run/walk in flip-flops.

The whole night it looked like it was going to rain, but it never happened. But, thanks to the rain somewhere ELSE, it was a delightful 95 degrees. It's a strange world when 95 is a relief.

Endangered

Dear Baby Appetite Reducing Ear Infection,
If you cause the premature disappearance of Annie's invisible wrist band and "sugar bowls", I will hunt you down and kill you.


Band still somewhat intact. Have you ever tried to get a clear shot of a 13 month old's hands? Not easy.

Unless you temporarily zombi-fy them with a Disney flick, in which case they will lay their little hands with still intact sugar bowls (what my grandmother called the little knuckle-dimples) on the table for a whole 4 minutes until they are distracted again.

So back to the threats.

You better let our girl get her appetite back soon or I will start a campaign to eradicate you from this earth. Sure, curing the world of ear infections isn't as dire as testicle cancer, but this too is serious business. I will make bracelets and create a catchy slogan. Ribbons will be worn. 5ks will be walked. By others.

You have been warned.