Child's play

Each piece of IKEA furniture comes complete with an allen wrench, and a toddler, eager to assist you with assembly. Toddler assistant is also fluent in Swedish, and can help out with instructions-- or simply shred them.

Please note that you should count the bolts and washers when you the open the box as well as after they have been sorted by your toddler assistant.

Tempting Fate

I'm having one of those rare days where I feel like I can just about do it all. And by "all" I mean, make a trip to the grocery store (not in my pajamas!), get Audrey fed and down for a nap, and put together a lasagne for our dinner, and for some neighbors who just had a baby. It's been a long time since I felt like I could juggle so many tasks, and each of them with some small degree of competence. There are other moms out there who can do a lot more, with a lot less, and I envy them. I am simply not one of those women, however much I may wish to be. Today I feel a measurable degree of peace about that, which is a rare pleasure.

Now that I have written that, she will be awake and yelling before I can hit "post."

I think I've also come to grips with the fact that, for her whole life up until now and probably for a while longer, Audrey must nurse herself to sleep in order to take a nap. (Yes, I tested this, and the result was no naps at all for several days running. "Forget it!" quothe I. Back to the tried and true-- I need a break somewhere in the long day). Today-- just for today-- I am glad that I spend a little while each day with Audrey cuddled up with me, drifting off to sleep, mumbling little nothings as she gets drowsier and drowsier. The day is coming when she won't cuddle with me anymore. And I think I am ready to just stop wishing that I had found a way to get her to sleep on her own. I didn't. She put up a strong resistance and fighting it just got me nowhere. So-- okay, uncle, I give up, may as well enjoy it 'cause it's what I have been dealt.

Such feelings of oneness-with-the-universe never last longer than the average flu virus with me, so I thought I'd just write this down for the record. Tomorrow I will resume my fruitless struggle to control the entire world, lasagne and all.

About the photo: my dad turns 70 today. Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you.

It would appear that the 18-24 month size pants are still too big.

It's not helping that she likes to unsnap her jeans for a more hip-hop look. Or that she has no hips for holding on to her pants. When she wears one of her hefty "buffalo butt" cloth diapers, she can wear a bigger size, but if we put her in trimmer disposables, it can cause a wardrobe malfunction.

Ribbons for her hair

We had a baby shower for friends here on Sunday and Audrey collected some of the gift wrap, which she is still enjoying.

Trot, Old Joe! (repeat, until voice gives out)

They say you should never give your child a book you would not want to read 1,000 times. The same goes for songs. When they haul us away to our padded cells, Scott and I will both be singing "Trot, Old Joe" making those frantic reining movements with our hands, and tossing our imaginary manes.

Please send help.

With a rebel yell...

My dinner with Audrey

I thought it would be amusing to let her sit in one of the regular chairs, and guess what? She doesn't want to sit in her highchair anymore. I have to remember that it is not me pulling a fast one on Audrey anymore, but the other way around.