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