23 September 2008

Harper B!

Harper B. practicing her silly face with Aunt Saskia.

Harper B. conquering the peaks at Rocky Mountain National Park.

17 September 2008

Could We Be "The Incredibles"?

Nobody told us that becoming parents involves the discovery of certain superpowers. I'm not talking about spiderwebs shooting out of our wrists (though how incredibly useful would that be with a toddler testing gravity at every turn?) or the ability to turn into purple ape or an bucket of water (Zan and Jayne, anyone?).

Some superpowers are imagined. For example, whenever I cross with street with Zora, I glare at every car within a 50-yard radius imagining that I, like Superman, have the ability to incinerate objects with my x-ray vision.

But some abilities are very real. Since Zora's birth, we've learned that we can fly (over to a toddler who is about to fall down a flight of stairs), and we can vanish (before the onset of object permanence). Rodney has developed an ability to see the future. If there is a glass of water sitting on the counter, he knows that a certain redhead will toddler over, announce "agua!", and knock the glass over. Amazing, right?

08 September 2008

Introducing Daddy 2.0

"Mama? Mama!"

Zora wants all Mama all the time, and Rodney takes this preference in stride. After being dissed yet again, he announces in his best voice-over baritone:

"You might remember him from such greats as,'Getting Up at 2 in the morning' and its riveting sequel, 'Getting Up at 3 in the morning.'

He pauses for effect.

"He is a valid alternative to Mommy. Olestra -- without the gastrointestinal distress. He is Daddy 2.0. Look for him at a high chair near you!" Rodney looks quite pleased with himself.

I laugh. Zora grins, then looks at me and says, "Mama?"

Rodney shrugs and sighs. "I tried."

02 September 2008

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Zora is now a full-fledged toddler and is definitely acting the part. She's discovered a little thing called her opinion and believes everyone is entitled to it.

Example: Yesterday morning she wobbled over to the coffeetable and picked up a pen. Pens are innocuous, right? Wrong. In the hands of toddler a pen is a dangerous weapon. Eyes could be poked out, caps swallowed, carpets covered in ink. Like any cautious, loving parent I take the pen away. Within seconds, I see the crimson tide rising in her face, filling up cheeks, and blossoming across her eyes and forehead. Her eyes crinkle up into squinty hyphens and she squeezes out two salty tears and one, big shriek.


Scanning the room, I see a comb and hand it to her. She eyes it carefully then pointedly throws it to the floor.

"Ehhhh!!" she announces and sticks out her lower lip.

I never imagined life with a toddler would be an eternal game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Pen trumphs comb, but what trumphs Pen? Then it comes to me.

"Waffle?" I ask Zora.

"Waa," she says, the tears still glistening on her cheeks, brown eyes, expectant.

A minute later, she's happily munching on a blueberry waffle. Waffle trumps pen.