CheesieO's

Instead of being told that Gracie is a fighter everyday at daycare, I am now told about her snacking.

“That Grace, she just loves her cheese and Cheerios. I call her CheesieO’s!”

Today, Grace didn’t like the mashed bananas I sent for her breakfast, so they went straight to her little container of shredded cheddar & Cheerios.

Her Mama sensor must have gone off, because as soon as I walked in the door she looked up from her pile of snacks and smiled.

Big grin on her face, and a mouth packed full of Cherrios & strings of cheese hanging from her lip and forehead.

That’s my kid. Happy as a clam and loving the big girl status of self feeding.

Post Script

Addendum-

Laden with the guilt of still going to the restaurant without me, Matt got reservations for another restaurant – my original first choice restaurant – on Friday afternoon.

Hurray me! We going Sizzler! We going Sizzler!

Careful What You Ask For

Restaurant Week – how I love thee.

I’ve been dreaming of the $20 3 course gourmet lunch I was supposed to have today for two weeks. When else can you justify going to over-hyped, over-priced celebrity restaurants?

I’ve been foiled though. By a teething 10 month old, my overly dedicated workaholic husband and frankly, myself.

In celebration of the bi-annual restaurant week price cuts and Matt’s last week at his downtown job, we made reservations for lunch.

(Oh, by the way, in case you hadn’t heard yet, Matt did get the super short commute-more money-less responsibility job he interviewed for a while back. He interviewed on a Wednesday and was informally offered the job that Friday. It didn’t become official though until two weeks ago. You know, those Human Resources folks have a lot going on with all the doughnut eating and water cooler talk. It takes a while to get these things co-ordinated.)

Anyway, we made these reservations with a semi-complicated plan to go along with them. I would be dropped off at work earlier than normal, take the shuttle bus downtown and walk 2 miles to the restaurant (my choice to help burn the decadent calories.) After, we would go back to Matt’s office, pick up the car, buy large amounts of Two Buck Chuck at Trader Joe's, drive back up to my work to pick up Grace and still be home before normal.

It was brilliant! How could the plan fail?

Well, the other side of her mouth – you know, the teeth I was anxious for to balance out her kisser – decided to do some movement last night. Maybe I am exaggerating, but I’m fairly certain she cried from 11pm-2am. Matt held her for a good portion of those hours.

We are all tired this morning. Well, Gracie seems fine, but did sleep in 45 minutes later than normal. Matt & I are tired. Exhausted. I refused to get out of bed. I had to take a picture this morning!

We slept in. Well, I slept in. Matt can never go back to sleep.

So now, we are running over an hour behind schedule. The amount of leave I need to take the afternoon off doubled and Matt realized that he needed more than 3 hours of time at the office.

Consider the afternoon canceled. I will pout all day and resent every bite of food eaten at lunch.

Next year. Next year is a long time away though. *Sniff*

Blame it on Oprah

At what point does one qualify as a bad parent?

This morning, moments after I dropped Grace off at daycare, she was screaming. Almost out the door to go to work, I turned back and dashed back down the hall. Ms Felicitie, her primary caregiver, was moving quickly back to the infant room with Grace’s shirt in her hands.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Why is Grace crying?” I asked.

Felicitie (who has a thick French accent) said, “Coffee.” At least that’s what I thought I heard her say. Even in the moment I was unsure.

Grace was in another teacher’s arms screaming and blotchey red. As they replaced her clothes with a dry outfit, I calmed her down and covered her with kisses.

I asked again, “What happened? Did coffee spill on her?”

“No,” was Felicitie’s response, “It was my cold water.”

Grace was calm so I left for work. Ice water? Who drinks ice water out of a coffee mug at 7am? Are they lying to me? She’s not hurt, but still, I want to know if my kid had hot coffee spilt on her.

With these thoughts rattling around in my head, I went back down 15 minutes later. Grace was happy and playing, so I left. On the way out I ran into the other teacher involved again. “Do you know what was in that cup? Did hot water fall on her?” I asked.

“No,” was the response again. “It was some kind of juice.”

That just didn’t make sense to me. I went back down again in ½ hour. Grace was back in her original outfit, which had no stains, but now smelled like dish detergent. I laid her down on her back, raspberrying her belly and checking her chest for red marks. Nothing.

On my way out, I mentioned what I thought happened to a 3rd teacher. My favorite teacher. She said she would look into it.

30 minutes later I got a phone call from Felicitie. This is what actually happened.

I felt like an ass, but I will blame it on Oprah.

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Felicite saw an episode of Oprah a couple of weeks ago that suggested you drink smoothie of cucumber, raw spinach, plain yogurt & lemon for breakfast for an energy boost. (Disgusting, right? That’s what I thought when she told me about this drink weeks ago.)

Well, apparently, after finishing her green breakfast, she filled the cup with water from the fountain. Before she could get the lid screwed back on though, Grace bumped the cup and the leftover green slurry splashed all over them both.

Felicite pulled Grace’s shirt off to try and wash it before staining. The screaming was due to the hand-off to the other teacher, which she has not been showing much love to lately.

As she told me all this, I could hear the words choking in her throat. “I love Grace so much,” she said, “I would never do anything to hurt her or to make you not trust me.”

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I wanted to scream, “Why didn’t you tell me all this when I kept asking about whether the water was hot or cold?”

Now that the whole thing is resolved, the same question of, “At what point does one qualify as a bad parent?” keeps rattling around in my head.

Was I a bad parent because I didn’t scream my concern at the top of my lungs in the first few minutes?

Was I a bad parent because I left her down there when I wasn’t 100% sure what had happened?

Am I a bad parent because I’ve made the decision to enroll Grace in daycare and keep working?

In my heart, I do believe there is no "yes or no" answer to any of these questions. It is all a learning experience. It definitely has taught me some lessons though. Better preparing me for the next time something happens.

And I know there will be a next time.

I don’t want a bubble wrap kid. I want her to jump off the high dive. To crash into things. To embrace adventure.

Those things are all under her own volition though.

I am her voice for now.

This experience was preparation on how to use it in the future.

On Hands & Knees

I think after reading yesterday's post, Gracie's knees got jealous. "Why does the head get to have all the fun. I'm tired of hearing about these teeth. Let's get in on the action!"

And so they did.

She can now fully extend out of the baby yoga positions and onto hands and knees.

Yesterday saw a total of 3 knee movements to propel forward momentum, but lots more meaningful backwards wiggles.

Grandparents - be on alert! She will be mobile during our visit in two weeks!

Dinner for Four

The fourth tooth has arrived.

You can barely see it poking out of the other side of her top tooth in this picture.

Well that was Tuesday.

It is now Saturday and it is here demanding crunchy snacks.

I hope the two on the other side come down soon so she's not so lopsided though!

Puppy Love

Our dog Lil’ Rick is the most gentle animal in the world.

Proof of this is that moments after this photo, she poked him directly in the eye – twice – with sharp finger nails – and he didn’t even flinch. I actually had to tell him to move. And then bribe him with a cookie. He was having fun and just didn't want to move.



For the first 8 months of Grace’s life, he ignored her. Completely indifferent.

He did notice the fact that he wasn’t crated for 4.5 months and that he wasn’t getting as much attention as before, but eh, it was made up for with the ability to spend 24 hours a day sleeping on our bed and extra snacks.

But lately he is taking an interest in her and her in him.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that Ricky’s interest spiked around the time she started on finger foods though. How do you resist a child that has banana crumbs on her fingers?

Slowly, but surely, he started coming around.

At first it was just drive by lickings. He would sneak up, slurp the side of her face and scurry away.

Over the last couple of weeks he has actually started “playing” with her. The play is more like sitting inches away watching her smack wooden blocks together, but still he is watching her. When he feels more interactive, he lays down touching her, which incites her to clutch handfuls of hair and poke eyes.

None of which seems to bug him. Go figure.

So during the play last night, Rick sat nose to nose with her licking cheeks, neck, arms, hands, fingers, whatever she would present to him. All the while Grace giggled.

I am so glad that our love puppy has finally decided to dish out his puppy love to Gracie.

My Sister

A blast from the past called me last night. A girl that was my sidekick and partner in crime for two years. Even though we were well into adulthood when we met, we were like teenagers together. We referred to each other as "my sister."

Then she left.

I couldn’t blame her. She married and moved out of the country. There is a huge time difference between our Continets, not to mention a huge phone bill. I understood.

Over time though she stopped communicating all together.

More and more time would pass between email responses. Then they just stopped all together. After my last Christmas card went unacknowledged, I came to grips with it. OK, her life is too busy and she has moved on. I'm not exactly sitting on my hands waiting for the phone to ring either. I've got my own shit to do.

On a whim I sent her the link to this blog, figuring the emails never even get opened. Apparently she does open email because I got a phone call last night asking to meet for lunch next weekend to catch up.

I agreed, but that is where it is going to end. Sure, I will look for a place to meet to split the 3 hour drive between us in half, but nothing more than that.

Why? Because I fully expect her to get busy and not call. And it breaks my heart every time.

It's Just Twister

I usually spend a few minutes playing with Grace at daycare in the morning before I go back to work. Yesterday I put Gracie down on the play mat and gave her a toy.

Two other babies spied the toy and in a matter of seconds the tumble was on.

Gracie was sitting on the ground. Baby #1 was on her hands and knees, forming a bridge over Grace’s lap trying and take the toy being held just out reach. Baby #2 then decides to get in on the action and half stands, pressing on Baby #1 like a table top, to reach over the both of them and get the toy.

It was pretty funny, like snakes in a pit or Baby Twister.

The teachers didn’t think it was very funny though. With a gasp they pulled the three sisters in babyhood apart. Grace triumphantly shook her toy at them with a toothy grin.

More and more I am told, “That Grace, she is a fighter,” when I pick her up from daycare.

I think it is funny when the three of them sit in a triangle snatching toys away from each other. The all snatch, look at it for 3 seconds, toss it back into the center of the circle and repeat.

I am told that Grace is more often the snatch-er than the snatch-ee. Is this a good or bad thing?

At the afore mentioned Dr.’s appointment, I was told that I shouldn’t be concerned that she isn’t sharing. Most kids are like that at this age. It is a baby form of socialization and children can’t really grasp the concept of right or wrong until age 4.

Well, for now I will have to be resigned to the fact that my little girl is the town bully. At least at this age there are no hurt feelings. Let the game of Baby Twister play on.

How Many Syllables Are In That Word?

The string of syllables has begun. It’s a little late, but here wearing a party dress none the less.

When I took Grace to her pediatrician two weeks ago for a check up, Dr. H asked if she was saying words or stringing syllables together yet.

My response? No not really, she more screeches than babbles. I don’t know what exactly she is saying, but she definitely is talking. We have whole screeching conversations like that.

He just looking at me a raised an eyebrow. For Dr. H, one of the nicest people I think I’ve ever met, that is concern. OK, well I would try and encourage her with practicing her “Mamamama, Dadadadada, Lalalalala” noises instead of screeching. Most kids are saying Mama and Dada by now, but she is perfectly normal and is just taking her own time with it.

Well, this weekend she started babbling away. Can you guess what her favorite is?

Dadadadada. Of course.

Matt kept telling her that she should say Mamama, but I know that he is IN LOVE with the fact that she went the Dada route first. And yes, I am incredibly jealous.