Lizzieism - Figured it Out!

Lizzie is finally at the age of saying funny and cute things.  And because I am not organized, this is the closest thing I have to recording them.  Facebook is nice for getting immediate feedback on something funny, cute, or frustrating that just happened, and while some marketing company may know everything I've ever said about my child, there's no hope of my ever retrieving something of importance from my status updates.

Yesterday, she learned how to use her step stool.  
She calls it her "stool" except she doesn't say "st" she says "f" and she doesn't say her "l" so it sounds more like "foow".  I purchased this step stool at one of the consignment sales I went to a couple of weeks ago.  It was $3 and it has been one of the fun things in her life lately. 
Well, the joy has been multiplied, because she has learned that the Foow can be used to reach things.  Like light switches.  "On!"  "Off!"  "Fan!"  "On!" "Off!"  "Yay!"
When I applauded her brilliance, "Lizzie, you figured it out!"  Lizzie ran up to me, beaming.  "Tiny!"  Tiny is a Pteranodon on the PBS Kids show Dinosaur Train.  On occasion, the young Pteranodons conquer a challenge and sing a brief song:  "We figured it out, we figured it out!  We worked together and figured it out!" 


Last night we talked about muscles. 

Well, we saw a commercial for some car.  Somewhere in it was the word "muscle." 

Lizzie turned around and exclaimed to me, "Muscle!" (Musso!)  I was surprised that she picked it out.  Then she said, "Sid!"  Of course.  Sid the Science Kid has muscles.  We learned about them yesterday. 

I'm so glad to know that she relates all episodes of learning to an episode of a television show.  I feel like my job as a parent is so well done.

Questions for a Blind Man

I am slowly making my way through the book of John when I don't have inspiration as to what to focus on during my quiet times.  This morning I read John 9.

The first segment of the chapter covers the story of the man born blind, whom Jesus healed.  I have read this passage many, many times, but never saw it in quite this (comedic) light before.  Here is the loose Cindy-fied translation:

Jesus is walking along, and he and his disciples see this man who has been blind his whole life.
"Whose fault is it that he is blind?  His, or his parents'?"  Pinning blame must help us make sense of the world.
Jesus said, "Neither.  He is blind so that God could be glorified in his life."
After he said this, Jesus made a substantial spit wad on the ground and made mud from his spit.  He took that mud, put it on the blind man's eyes, and told him to go wash it off.
[OK, I have to butt in here.  Imagine being in the blind man's shoes so far: the disciples started talking about him as though he not only couldn't see them, but he couldn't hear him either, then next thing he knows, someone hawks a loogie and smears mud on his eyes.  Then he has the gall to tell him to go wash it off.  Can somebody say 'lawsuit'?]
While the man goes to clean up, Jesus and the disciples continue walking along.
Later, the blind man comes back, not blind anymore.  His neighbors question him, "What happened?  Are you sure you're the same person?  How can you see?"
The man says, "Yes, it's really me.  Some guy called Jesus made some mud and put it on my eyes, and told me to wash, so I did and now I can see!"
"Where is he?" they asked.
"I don't know," the man answered.

Can you anticipate the question that is begging to be asked?

"Well, what did he look like?"



If you're looking for some serious encouragement, track back to the ladies at Soli Deo Gloria.  They're pretty amazing, if I don't say so myself.

A 20-Month-Old's Jokes

My little baby daughter turns 20 months old tomorrow.  Out of the teen months and into the "almost 2" stage. 
We had her 18 month checkup today.  (Yes, we got a little behind; it's how life is these days.)  She is a whopping 22 lbs and 33-1/2" long.  Tall and skinny, and pure muscle.  Unfortunately she had to have 2 shots, and she did so well.  Only a minute of crying, and it all stopped when I kissed her leg where the band-aids were.  She's taking a good little nap and hopefully sleeping off the grumpies.

Lizzie is a chatterbox.  Really.  I spent some time today writing down every word that I could remember that she uses regularly, and they filled a page front and back!  That's just from off the top of my head (while I watched a bit of PBS Kids with her). 


Even better than her talking is her sense of humor.  She tells jokes.  They are usually like rhetorical questions, and the answer is always, "Noooooo....." with a smirk.

The first time we noticed her creative sense of humor was when we were eating out and she was 16 months old.  Sam and I had ordered two different things and they both looked delicious.  I was getting Lizzie situated with her food, so I had hardly gotten a chance to taste my own food when Sam asked if I had tried his yet.
I said, "No, but I really want a bite."  At that moment Lizzie grabbed my hand, took a gentle bite on my finger, and laughed.
Sam and I looked at each other and couldn't believe what she had just done.  She told her first joke.

More recently, Lizzie has started to tell jokes with words.  Most often she likes to go with the obvious.

About a month ago I put her hair in a ponytail.  Her hair is still so short that a ponytail is kind of a pathetic attempt, but it usually keeps the hair free of boogers, yogurt, and rice, and she doesn't usually pull it out.
She was so fascinated by having a ponytail like mine, and kept saying, "Mama, hair," while trying to grab my ponytail.  And then touching her hair and saying, "Zizzie, hair."  Then a few minutes later, the conversation would repeat.  Eventually she started saying, "Daddy, hair," with a bit of a sparkle in her eyes.  She'd wait for a response from me, then say, "Nooooooo," and laugh.

Last week she saw me putting on makeup, which she calls "mape-mup," and she asked for some on her cheeks.  Really, she did.  She pointed to her cheeks and said, "mape-mup, tzseek." So, being completely amused, I brushed her cheeks with my empty powder brush, and she happily watched me finish my routine.  Then the following conversation ensued:
"Mama, mape-mup."
"Yes, Mama is wearing makeup."
"Zizzie, mape-mup."
"Yes, Lizzie has makeup, too."
Lizzie smiles.  "Yaydee, mape-mup."  (Lady is our dog).
"Lady wears makeup?"
"Nooooooo," with a knowing smirk.
No, silly girl.  Lady doesn't wear makeup.

It just gets more entertaining here every day.

{Top Ten} No, That Won't Hurt Your Baby

For the past couple of years, I have frequented an internet forum that is for expectant mothers.  During pregnancy, the women are grouped according to the month in which their babies are due, and friendships are formed.  I'm proud to say I'm friends with many women from the group I was part of when Lizzie was a baby.

Now there is a new group for women due in July 2011.  It has been a riot.  Being one of the ones who has "been there, done that" has made me laugh because there are so many questions by the first time moms.  Things like, "I pop my back when it bothers me; can that hurt my baby?"  "Can I use mouthwash that has alcohol in it?  Will that hurt my baby?"  "Can I eat yogurt? It has cultures in it, so is it safe?"  Really, people?

Now that most everyone there has made it out of the first trimester, or at least they're really close to it, the tone has gotten much lighter.  So I thought I would make a general list for everyone.  Maybe it would nip a few of the questions in the bud.  Enjoy!

• No matter how hard you push, prod, poke, or roll, your hand is not going to hurt your baby.  

• Having sex will not hurt your baby (provided you're not on pelvic rest per doctor's orders).

• Sleeping on your belly, side or back* will not hurt your baby - if you wake up in any of these positions, you haven't done something terrible, just roll over.  Once you aren't comfortable sleeping on one of the 'bad' ways to sleep, then find another way to sleep.*Lying on your back for extended periods after around 15 weeks is not recommended because the weight of the uterus and baby can press on an artery, which cuts your circulation; that's not good for either of you.  But that doesn't mean you've done irreparable damage because you woke up that way.
  
  
• Falling on your butt or your elbow or your back won't hurt your baby.  It'll give you a good bruise or sprain, but unless you suddenly have bleeding, cramping, or other signals of distress from your uterus, your baby is fine.

• That pasta sauce, beef roast, beer cheese soup, or beer bread, while cooked with alcohol, still will not hurt your baby.

• Strenuous exercise will not hurt your baby; it may hurt you while your ligaments and joints are stretching and shifting, which is why it's not recommended.  

• That hot dog, Subway sandwich, cup of coffee, stick of gum, Dr. Pepper, yogurt that expired yesterday, deli cheese, medium-rare steak, stale bread, or the butter-drenched and fabulous lobster tail that you ate will not hurt your baby.  

• Hot showers, warm baths, cozy fires, soft music, flowers, delicious meals, and chocolate, will not hurt your baby.

• Coughing, sneezing, vomiting, dizziness, fainting, flatulence, bowel movements, laughing too hard, screaming, dogs barking, dogs jumping on you in excitement, pets licking you, forgetting to take your vitamin, and the grocery store clerk looking at you funny, will not hurt your baby.

• However, car accidents, domestic (or other) violence, falling hard on your belly, signs of severe dehydration or illness or any unexplained pain that doesn't go away with a dose or two of Tylenol and rest and a bottle of water, among other things that your doctor has probably already warned about.... could be a sign of something more serious, and are definitely worth a phone call or trip to the ER.

          Happy, safe, healthy, and sane pregnancy to you all!

Are there any more that you would add? 

Ponderable - workout clothes

Can you explain this to me?

Workout clothes are fitted.  

Workout clothes are moisture-wicking. 

Workout clothes are comfortable (or should be).

Workout clothes should minimize chafing, riding up, and being unsupportive.

Shouldn't there be comfortable, fitted, moisture wicking, non-chafing, non-riding up, non-panty-line-showing panties to wear with these fitted workout pants?

a Monday of Misadventures

Today felt like a real-life enactment of Robert Quackenbush's children's book Henry's Awful Mistake.  I have been thinking about that book quite a bit lately, because I want to have people over to eat with us, and I have been seeing ants in the bathroom.  But that has nothing to do with today.  Today was just weird. 

Henry's Awful Mistake, Robert Quackenbush

Last night we discovered that one of our cats had gotten locked out of the bathroom where their litter box is, so when we came back from our dinner excursion at the fine dining establishment of KFC, we found cat doodie and cat tinkle on Sam's backpack in his closet. 

When we threw the backpack into the washer and went to finish the cleanup, we discovered that the floor was damp and the carpet was stained a sort of rust color.  There was a musty smell.  This closet wall is opposite of the master bathroom shower.  Dreading the worst, we put a fan on it and went to bed, deciding to tackle it in the morning.

Severe thunderstorms swept through north Georgia early this morning, so the house was cool and dark when the alarm went off at 7-something and I rolled out of bed at 8-something.  The first half hour of the morning was quite pleasant; I got up, had coffee, a bit of a quiet time, and listened while the thunder woke Lizzie. 

Shortly after breakfast, Sam and I began discussing bills needing to be paid and being past due, and it was not the most peaceful conversation.  I wondered what had happened to the quiet that had been in my heart.  I realized it was dueling with the pride in my heart, which was trying to convince me that I had hardly any fault.  I chewed on that for a while, and eventually went to apologize to Sam, who was trying to figure out what was the best way to deal with the mold in his closet. 

I had the cute, demanding, and infinitely miserable half-pint hanging on my leg, and on my neck when she managed to convince me to carry her.  All day she's been wiping her nose on her sleeve, and has been generally discontent except when outside or in the bathtub.

While Sam was extracting black molded carpet frames and carefully putting them in a bag inside a box to keep the toxicity at bay, I had been trying to at least make a list of things that need to be done this week, and had high expectations of making a grocery list and starting dinner.  Lizzie was napping, and I was going to take full advantage of the time.

I picked up the living room to vacuum so that Sam could vacuum in the closet, then we could throw away the vacuum bag.  I am outrageously out of shape, because I was winded by the time I finished.  And when I stood the vacuum upright in the master bedroom, I heard Lizzie's pathetic, snuffling cry through the monitor.  She had been down for about 30 minutes and I let her cry for another 10, just to see if she would calm down.  No good.

The rest of the day was spent in a low-grade panic.  Late in the afternoon I chased the wide awake and exploring Lizzie into the bedroom to find Sam leaning over the sink quietly washing his hands.  I asked if he was alright, and he said he had stabbed himself with a rusty nail.  He'd been wearing thin plastic gloves to protect him from the grossness, but they had been no protection against a nail.

New distress surfaced when he said that the last Tetanus shot he had received was in 1991.  So we spent 20 minutes trying to pinpoint the county Health Department, where he could get a shot without having insurance.  While searching, we found out that our county's Health Department's website is absolutely blank.  No information, no phone number, no 'click here for details.'  Just a banner letting you know you found it, and the rest is empty.  Taxpayer dollars at work.  We found the location, thanks to Google Maps, and Sam left with 20 minutes before the clinic closed, hoping for an open slot.

In the meantime, I had to figure out whether I was going to make something for dinner or just call Sam to ask him to pick up another healthy meal from a drive-thru.  I decided to give dinner a go while Lizzie was semi-mesmerized by Veggie Tales' Pistachio.  From what I heard, it sounded entertaining. 

Around 6 PM, Sam made it back home, to tell me that he has to go back tomorrow, since they didn't have time to give him a shot today.  In all honesty, the Chicken Cacciatore was the highlight of the day, which I photographed and I hope to share the recipe with you soon.  We all devoured it.  Perhaps we were starving and didn't realize it, and that's why everything seemed a little more awful than it really was.  Or maybe it really was just a crappy day.

The evening progressed, and refreshed from a delicious meal, we got up and got Lizzie in the bathtub, where she had a wonderful time as long as both parents were present.  When we got her out, she promptly tinkled on the floor.  That was laughable and I cleaned it up, diapered her, pajamaed her, read to her, nursed her, and medicined her.  The nighttime routine is very long, and I had not made a pit stop before it started, so I asked Sam to keep an eye on Lizzie while I ran to the bathroom for a minute. 

What happened, though, is that I actually ran to the bathroom.  And as I ran, I swung for the lightswitch in the bedroom, but missed.  That's OK, because I've lived here for over 3 years and can navigate my way to the bathroom in the dark.

Unless there is an upright vacuum cleaner in the pitch black room. 

C   R   A   S   H   !!!

I nailed it with my knee, my shin, and what still feels like my entire upper right leg.  And I kind of lost it, if you know what I mean.  I cried in pain and embarrassment and fatigue.  Sam and Lizzie came in to help me up and give my boo-boos kisses.  I changed into my pajamas and finally got Lizzie into bed. 

Now that I listed it all, it's pretty funny.  But I was on the verge of tears of complete weariness and frustration most of the day.  And I am thankful that nothing worse happened.  And I am so very grateful that tomorrow will come with fresh grace to help and the sunrise will come with new mercy to meet our needs. 

Now, to--slowly--find myself some Advil.

This kid is fun!

Here is a 45 second video of Lizzie laughing at me popping up from behind the couch:

Babies and Candied Apples

Friday is here!
It's so good to have Sam back home. He was gone for a full week (Wed-Tue) and I don't know how single parents do it, but I have a great amount of respect for them. One week of single-handedly caring for an infant was enough for me. It actually wasn't the baby that was so tough, it was the baby plus the dogs.

Funny story of when we went to pick up Sam at the airport:

The airport is about 45 minutes away (without traffic), so it's quite a long time for a person who hates to be confined to be strapped into a carseat. Fortunately, E was happy and then she fell asleep shortly before we got to the airport to pick up Sam at the curb. So when he got in the car, he was so happy to see her, that he talked to her and woke her up. I can't blame him, she's stinkin' cute and he missed her a lot, probably more than he missed me. That was all fine and dandy for a few minutes until E got pretty frustrated that no one was picking her up. Great, we have a screaming baby, and 30+ minutes before we're home.
Well, Sam had bought me a caramel/chocolate/candy-covered apple in one of the stores in the airport, and it was conveniently cut into wedges, so we could eat it without getting it all over our faces. Brilliant, and delicious. Seriously, that was the best apple ever, and it was so sweet of him to get it for me.
About 5 minutes into the screaming baby ordeal, I have an epiphany: give her a slice of apple to chew on! I told Sam to lick the candy off of it so all she gets is the apple, and he does so, and says, "there will be some residual, though." Of course, that's fine. I had given her plain apple slices to gnaw on before, and she's loved them, so I knew this would appease her until I could get home to feed her.
A few minutes later, she starts squalling, and I glance back there to ask Sam what's the matter.
He's laughing. "She only wants the sweet part. She has candy all over her face!"
"What?! Babies aren't supposed to have caramel or chocolate or candy! You're supposed to lick it all off!"
"Well, oh well!" Sam just continues to be amused. "She's advanced, she can handle it. And she really likes it."
Of course she does. If she has a sweet tooth later in life, it's because she got started early on caramel. But the next slice of apple we gave her, I was sure to bite off all the sugary coating. A hardship, I know.

Here is a picture of the little stinker with her candied apple and caramel all over her face. And the big stinker, who got so much entertainment out of it.

Don't be like this holiday reveler...

We like to call this "Milk Drunk" ...

Did you have fun today?

I haven't put anything up here in a long time, so I figured I would add something.

Since last time I wrote, we have gone on vacation, so I should post something from our trip:

Oddity

In case you needed one?