Commentary at Yesterday's Daycare Pick-Up

Steve the Director: Hi, Kristie! Hey, we're really starting to notice that Ava has some really strong leadership tendencies emerging!

Me (in my head): Uh-oh...
Me (out loud): HAHAHAHAHAHA is that what you call it?

Steve the Director (in his head) (probably): WONDER WHERE SHE GETS IT, LADY.
Steve the Director (out loud): HAHAHAHAHAHA that IS what we call it! Today, before playtime, she made sure everybody had their shoes on and then she walked at the head of the line because she knew where they were going!

Me (in my head): Oh those poor kids...
Me (out loud): Well we're going to have to "cultivate" that in a "positive manner" now aren't we? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Steve the Director (in his head): OMG lady kids like yours either go on to invent Google or they become criminal masterminds with legions of minions at their command.
Steve the Director (out loud): We call that "channeling"! And yes, we will have to be sure to help her develop that skill!

I love Steve the Director. Really, he's awesome. He quacked a toy duck in Ava's face when she was about 5 months old, and she seriously did not even acknowledge him for a year after that. He has busted himself trying to get her to forgive him. She's just now getting back to where he exists in her world. Daycare providers do the work of the lord, that's for sure.

So, what happens when Ava skips a nap?

I'm flying solo this weekend. Rob's at his annual fantasy football draft/golf/manapalooza in San Diego, so I very purposefully sought out Meaningful Activities that are Fraught with Redeeming Social Value. Quite frankly, the idea of waking up to a completely unscheduled blank slate of a day with Ava scared the hell out of me. So we went here as I had it on good authority that it would be a great way to spend an hour or two.

It was awesome. SO perfect. Seriously, Ava scampered around the place like it was where she had spent the last twenty months waiting for us to take her there. They have a stage with a whole wall full of dress-up clothes. They have bubble tables and mazes big enough to walk through, and a mock classroom and grocery store and so many wonderful things for her to explore. Yeah, it's located at the corner of Crack and Ho, but I suppose that's part of the whole experience.

So we got there at 10, right when they opened, so it wasn't crowded. We stayed for an hour and 15 minutes, and that put us home right on track for lunch and nap. She ate a gigungous lunch, yawning and rubbing her eyes the whole time, and I figured that one hour of scampering and frolicking would lead to three hours of hardcore napping.

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

For nearly an hour, she just chilled in her crib, talking to Elmo and Monkey and Bear and Other Bear, and then she was ready to not be in her crib. She fussed with increasing intensity, and I knew that the three hour nap was not in the cards. When I gave up and went in to assess, she was standing in the middle of her crib like Hannibal Lecter when Clarice first meets him. No sign of any distress or displeasure. Just. Standing. There.

OK fine, little girly-girl. No nap today. Let's go run some errands, as maybe a ride in the car will lull you to sleep.

Nope, nope nope nope. She chattered gaily to the guy at the cleaners and was the life of the party at Target. We got back to the house at 4:30, and that's when she started to get twitchy. Any kid of mine is going to have a short fuse, but man, today from about 5:00 on, she was a freaking land mine. Her eyes were so sleepy. She had big awful dark circles (yeah, she gets that from me, too...).

At 6:00, she went feral. She was so tired, she couldn't even walk straight, but when she'd fall over it made her giggle, so she'd do it on purpose (I'm debating whether to google that behavior to see if it's normal, but I'm afraid of what I might find).

Since I'm evidently new to this "mom" thing, I thought maybe a bath would help her relax. Oh dear God. I once tried to wash our cat when I was little. Jughead was angry on a good day, and evidently being bathed was a direct indictment of her self-cleaning abilities. Today, Jughead looked up from Cat Hell with one smug green eye, and mrowred with victorious condescension as she bowed to the new Empress of DON'T PUT ME IN THE GODDAMN BATHTUB.

At 6:45, dried, pajama'd and cuddled, Ava put herself to bed, an hour and fifteen minutes early. I truly believe that she figured she had put me through quite enough.

Testing The Fences

" That one... when she looks at you, you can tell she's working things out."
--Robert Muldoon in Jurassic Park, describing the alpha Raptor.

Ava is truly the light of my life. I don't even remember how we occupied ourselves before we had her to entertain us. Some nights, we just turn the TV off and watch her amuse herself. She's a riot. She's always buzzing from one corner of the room to another, chattering to whatever she may be holding, the pat-pat-pat of her little feet going back and forth across the tile. Sometimes, she just stops mid-stride, changes direction, and runs toward us with arms open for a great big hug. She is always on the verge of giggling, always wanting to see one more thing and tell one more story before the day has to end.

We spend a lot of time and effort figuring out how to show Ava more of the world. A couple of Sunday mornings ago, we went to a Very Cool Nursery that is like visiting a jungle right in the middle of town. There are macaws and huge tortoises and bunnies and an incredible koi pond. She loved it. This past weekend we went to Tule Springs, which any longtime Las Vegan will know is an amazing oasis with lakes and birds and all sorts of nature. She loved it. And so now we're working on where we're going to take her next. The weather's cooling off a little, so it will be easier to do outside stuff, and she's old enough now (almost 20 months OMG) to really be interested in new places.

Seriously, I love this kid so much I don't even have words. People ask me how my weekend was, and I tell them what Ava did (like when I sneezed and she looked at me and said "Bess oo mama" and my heart just MELTED). All plans are made around naptime, mealtime, and bedtime, and we've become Those People Who Leave Early or Cancel Outright because Something is Up with the Kid. I get it now. I totally understand how a narcissistic (look it up--December is my birthday and Narcissus is my flower) lollygagger like me can suddenly become a total pushover for someone who is only just starting to use her words.

And she knows she's got us. She KNOWS that she's not supposed to stand up on the couch, and she'll do it anyway, and not only will she stand up, but she'll freaking DANCE on the couch while singing "la la la la la ashes ashes all fall down" with a big Aren't-I-So-Damn-Cute? smile on her face. Right now, she's in her crib, 45 minutes after "bedtime". Bathtime was 7:30, and then after she's in jammies, one of us will sit in the rocker in her room with her firmly ensconced in a lap, and we're holding Monkey, Elmo, Bear, Other Bear, and Blanket, and sometimes there's a song or two, and then it's Bedtime. Except for the last couple of nights, she's wanted to put everyone in the crib and then pull them back out and go sit back in the chair and then put them all back in the crib and then pull them back out and go sit in the chair ad infinitum. So we said "no, baby, it's time for bed" and then the howling commenced until she realized that we weren't going to play and the indignation about being imprisoned in her crib turned to anger at being ignored and this horrible banging sound happened, which turned out to be Elmo's plastic eyes hitting the rails of the crib.

Damn, she's so funny.

A Very Important Day.

Today, Ava went peepee in the potty. In recognition of this auspicious occasion, we present a (completely unrelated) video, in which Ava wants to put on her Boogie Shoes.



Little girl likes her disco.

Where our responsibility lies

So last Sunday, my heart broke.

Pebbles was the sweetest dog in the world. She was perfect. She went outside when she needed to. She slept on the floor next to our bed. She was as contented as we were, but for one extremely significant exception: Pebbles did not like Ava.

On Saturday, they just kind of avoided each other. We chalked it up to new environment, unfamiliar surroundings, everybody getting used to everybody else, and so on. Sunday, Ava wanted to pet Pebbles, and Pebbles didn't like it. Pebbles bristled her fur, and curled up her lips into a scary snarl, and she growled a low warning. Her tail got still. We got Ava away as quickly as we could, and then we noticed that Pebbles was shaking. She was looking at us as if she knew what she had done was not OK, but she couldn't help it.

We can't help it either. We are responsible dog owners, sure, but we're responsible parents first. Some may say that we were foolish to bring a Rottweiler into a house with a child, as everybody knows that Rottweilers are aggressive and frequently vicious. I don't really buy into that--every dog has its stars and scapegoats. I've known sweeties of all breeds, and I'm not about to condemn a breed with a broad brush.

But this is my kid. I would reach into a bowl of spiders (shudder/cringe/gag) for Ava. And because of that, we could not keep Pebbles. The ladies at the Humane Society assured us that they understood, and that there was no judgment for our decision. Rob made it clear that the only issue was the one that was our dealbreaker, and now they will be able to give her to a family who is better suited for a lovely old girl like her. She's going to make someone a great pet and companion, I know. She's such a sweet girl, and she was so well taken care of, that I have faith that there is a happy ending in her future.

But my heart still broke.

Insanity Ensues

So, it's become apparent that we are nuts (it's also nuts that we are parents, but that's another posting...).

It began just like any other Saturday. Breakfast in jammies, assessment of the day to come, and so on. We'll be needing to wash the Honda; that can be our pre-nap outing. While we're out, Rob said, "why don't we go to Petco so Ava can visit the kitties and the fish?" They evidently did this last weekend while I was swilling martinis in San Francisco with the girls, and it was a big hit. All right then.

Petco has adoption events on Saturdays. Just FYI.

So we look at the kittens, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves kittens. And then we look at the fishies, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves fishies. And then we go over to look at the parakeets and cockawhatevertheyares, and Ava gets all squealy etc. etc. etc.

And then I go into the dog grooming area where the Humane Society has two pens set up, one with big dogs and one with small dogs. I don't look at the small dogs (really, why would I?). But I walk over to the big dogs, and I start reading the flyers they have posted on the gate. There's a bassett/beagle mix, which doesn't tempt me because that equals "howls and digs". And there's a shepherd mix, who is cute, but.... eh.

And then there's this other dog hanging back a bit. She's got a friendly face and a wagging tail. And she looks at me.

And I'm a sucker. And I'm in tears. Because I'm a sucker.

I read her story. "Pebbles is an 8-year-old Rottweiler. She is housetrained, and prefers to be inside. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed. She is good with other dogs, cats, and kids. " And I'm a mess. So I wander over to Rob and Ava (over by the fishies...) and Rob sees me and he KNOWS that Something has Happened.

"There's this dog...," I say. "And she looks so sweet. Go see her."

So now we have a dog. Pebbles, the 8-year-old Rottweiler, to be specific.


She's very happy to be with us. She has had a bath and brushing, and lots of water. And some worming tablets (there was some scooting). She's very calm. She's getting used to being here. She was surrendered by her previous family just a week ago--it's likely that they are one of the thousands in town who have lost their home to foreclosure and were forced to give her up when they moved into an apartment or other non-dog-friendly sort of place. She seems like a very good girl.

Ava loves her. Oh, Ava loves doggies so much, and now we have one in our home. I don't think she remembers much about Gracie (oh, poor Gracie...), but whenever she sees a dog, she wants to pet it and touch it and love it. So she's figuring out how to handle having a big (and rather fat) dog to pet and love at her whim. There have been a couple of wrinkly lip almost-but-not-quite-snarls that were the result of Too Much Love and Not Enough Personal Space. We're keeping a very VERY close eye on Pebbles and Ava both. Without being too Dog Whispery, we are already an established pack, and it's important that Pebbles understand her place in it. We think she will.

She's got some habits that we can already tell we're going to have to help her break. She's used to people food, we think, as she was very.very.very.very. interested in everything we've eaten and she hasn't touched her kibble. That explains the 20 extra pounds she's carrying. She's definitely housetrained, and she even knows to go to the door when It's Time To Go Outside. She knows her name, and that's kind of a bummer, because we're not really the sort of people who would name a dog "Pebbles" but whatever. She can be Pebbles if she wants to. She'll lay down and come when we tell her to. That's really all we need.

Right now, she's asleep in the middle of the living room, and she's very snorty about it. The absolute comfort that can be identified from the snore of a happy dog is something that is wonderful to behold. And really, I hated not having a dog. It's only been 6 months since we lost Gracie, and it's been so quiet (and clean, but mostly quiet) without a dog at all. I feel like we did a really good thing today. We'll give her a good home, and in return, she'll be a good dog.

Um, yeah. Busy.

You'll be delighted to learn that we are still alive. SHEESH.

In the past month, Ava's picked up probably 30 words, and many of them are neither profane nor part of a demand (sometimes "Sit!" comes out "Shit!" and we're pretty sure she's saying "Sit!" but it could really go either way). At the end of each day we are exhausted and astonished by how much Ava there is going on at any given moment.

Our strategies as parents have changed. No more do we ask "Do you want to go to bed/take a bath/eat your dinner?" because 99% of the time the answer is No!. The other 1% of the time is a big Yes! and we'd better make damn sure the bed has a sheet on it/the bathtub is full and bubbly/food is on the tray and has cooled enough to eat or there is hell to pay. So instead of asking, we preface every.single.sentence with "It's time to..." and that seems to work. For now, at least. I'm quite confident that it won't last forever.

She has such breathtaking tantrums. The first real doozy was probably a month ago, and I was just stunned. She just flipped her gourd for no. good. reason. and I watched it like it was in slow motion. Rob comes in and he's like "What the hell?!" and I'm all "No idea..." and after about five minutes she was done and it was over and she was OK like nothing had even happened. So now when it happens, we make sure that injury is unlikely ("Clear the perimeter!") and we let her just work it out. If we're at a restaurant, then it's "Check!" and we get the hell outta there. We go about our business, have a conversation, and once she sees that we're not buying into it, she stops. She just freaking stops like "Oh, OK then, can I have some juice?" and we're all "yeah whatever here you go" and we're fine. We pick our battles so very carefully... We've learned that the morning and evening routines are critically important and there are no variables--we go to parties and we're the first to arrive and first to leave, and that's fine because by the time we leave we're so tired from chasing her that really, it's OK, we'll catch you next time. But stuff during the day is kind of flexible. Nap should start by 12:30, but sooner is fine. Meals are kind of arbitrary--she eats either NOTHING or EVERYTHING and there's no way to know in advance which it will be. All those people who say "Just be consistent!" and are all chipper because they know it all? Yeah I want them to come over and spend 24 hours in our house being consistent and let's just see how well that goes.

The Daycare Ladies give us a daily report at the end of each day--just a summary of how she ate, when she napped, the particular intricacies of her #s 1 and 2, and then they write a little blurb about any noteworthy happenings or behaviors. In the last month, the blurb has gotten interesting:

• "Ava exhibited a lessened tolerance for her peers today". (I'm not sure what this means, exactly, but I didn't have to sign anything so she didn't bite or hit anyone.)
• "Before naptime, Ava searched through everybody's cubbies looking for binkies and blankets, which she gave to all of the baby dolls as she tucked them all in."
  
• "Ava loves to paint!" (I read that, and then I looked up and she's covered head to toe in all the colors of the rainbow, happy as can be)

And so on.

She's 18-1/2 months old now. We had her last Well Baby check last week. That was a big one for me--it's like she's officially Not A Baby anymore. Ooof. And she's so not a baby anymore--no more binkies, eating food with a spoon at mealtimes, very specific likes and dislikes. She loves Mickey Mouse and Elmo with a love that is pure and true. Those marketing gurus at Disney and Sesame Street know what they're doing. And yeah, we're suckers, because she now has a stuffed (non-speaking) Elmo doll.

Next weekend, I'm going out of town with some girlfriends, and I. Can't. Wait. I haven't spent a night away from Ava EVER. I'm all cool and offhand about it on the surface ("Eh, she'll be fine!") but it's going to be very weird to be away. We'll drop her off at daycare on Thursday and then I won't see her again until Sunday night. Whoa. That's a lot. And I know she will be fine--Rob is amazing with her and she's totally a Daddy's girl. They'll have lots of fun and she'll be able to run around all weekend looking like a hobo (honestly, I don't know how he concocts such awful clothing combinations from such cute clothes...).

So that's where we are. There's not a lot of glamour happening. We have a School Friend birthday party this weekend--Ava's friend "Lexi" is turning 2. I don't know which one she is, but the invitation has Tinker Bell on it so I'm going to do my best to put something awesome (and sparkly? sparkly seems like a good way to go...) together.

Wordplay

We are now, officially, very very very very very careful about what we say in Ava's presence. Our little parrot is quite possibly the Smartest Child Ever, and she is developing quite the vocabulary. She understands a lot of what we say, and if she hears a word she recognizes (like, oh, I don't know, BINKY...) then she will repeat it and demand that whatever that word represents be handed to her immediately.

Right.

So here's what she says, unprompted:

• Go go go
• Binky (actually this one is often BINKYBINKYBINKYBINKYYYYYYYYYYYYY)
• Snack
• Sink? (when she's done with her snack and it's time to put her cup and bowl on the counter)
• Shoooooooooooes
• Socks
• Jacket
• Jesus Christ! (evidently she has found religion; the fact that she says this has NOTHING AT ALL TO DO WHATSOEVER with the fact that she rides in the car with me for 90 minutes a day)
• Elmo (ugh)
• Abby (as in Cadabby, which is OK)
• Minnie (as in Mouse, which is starting to bug)
• Oh NOOOO! (complete with Munch-like hands-to-face gesture)
• What's this?
• Milk
• Cow/Moooooooooo (these are evidently interchangeable)
  

There's more, but you get the idea. Except for the Son of God (don't judge me...) most of it involves food, fashion and accessories, or what's on television.

That's my girl :)

Le spectre des émotions Ava.

Film noir, anyone? Amusez-vous!

Six Flags Over Vegas

So, recently, Rob and I were pondering how best to utilize our rather impressive, if small, back yard now that we have a child. Back yards exist for two reasons: Dogs and kids. Sadly, we said good-bye to Gracie this past winter. She was old and it was time and we miss her terribly.

However, now we have a back yard that is entirely without doggie bombs. Whatever shall we do with that awesome space? Why, I think we'll establish ourselves as.... THE COOLEST PARENTS IN THE WORLD.

Behold:



Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Our kid has her very own roller coaster.

We have big plans for converting it into a water park during the upcoming Hotter-Than-The-Surface-Of-The-Sun months. This, combined with her Sand and Water Table...


...make her the envy of the neighborhood, and doubtless the hottest playdate location in town.

Spoiled? Nah.

Four years ago...

... we threw a party. We invited 150 of our closest friends and family, and it was the most wonderful day that we could have imagined.

There was cake...

That's three tiers of buttercream-frosted strawberry cheesecake, people. We don't mess around when it comes to cake.

There were moments when we stopped what we were doing so that we could smile at the camera...
..and moments where nothing else mattered. Not even the cake.

There were so many moments when everybody just laughed.


May 20, 2006, was a day that was so perfect, that it just didn't seem real.


I didn't realize that it would only get better.

For the record:

Our little parrot's first curse word has happened. The lesson we take from this day is that we do not say out loud what it is we find in a diaper.

Duly noted.

PS, it was Rob.

The Lady Does Not Wish To Be Bothered.

Today at daycare, Ava bit another child.

OMG.

The backstory is funny, though. The Assistant Director and her teacher both could barely contain their laughter when they told me. She was provoked, make no mistake.

The alleged victim, whose name has been withheld from me, as Ava's name has been withheld from the alleged victim's parents, allegedly was being kind of clingy (already, at this point in the story, my suspicions about who the alleged victim allegedly is are in place). Said alleged victim was allegedly all up in Ava's business, allegedly hanging on to her shirt, allegedly touching her face (really, who doesn't hate that?), allegedly ignoring the pleas, nay, insistent demands, of the suspect to BACK THE HELL OFF. The suspect made no secret of her displeasure at being jostled in such a manner. She allegedly hollered. She allegedly stomped her feet. She allegedly made it ABUNDANTLY CLEAR THAT SHE WAS NOT AMUSED BY ANY OF THESE TOUCHY-FEELY SHENANIGANS.

And yet, the alleged victim persisted.

Ava allegedly bit the alleged victim on the alleged pinky finger. No skin was broken. The whole alleged incident allegedly lasted not even a minute.

As the alleged victim was extricated from the suspect, the suspect's only reaction was indignation. It was obvious, apparently, that she didn't WANT to bite the alleged victim. She TRIED to warn the victim. As the victim's injured pinky was treated with an icy boo-boo buddy, the suspect looked with bewilderment at the adult witnesses in attendance, frustrated by her lack of words.

One can only imagine what those words might have been.

All kidding aside, my immediate concern was "oh dear, my child is now that kid." The AD assured me that in many circumstances, yes, a deliberate chomping would be cause for alarm. But this? The two ladies looked at each other, looked at Ava, and looked at me. They agreed, "well, she DID try to warn her."

This is the first week in which we've gotten two incident reports to sign. The first one was on Monday, where she hit herself in the head as she "was exploring the sensory bottles". In layman's terms, she was playing with a plastic bottle that had been filled with water and sealed, and she bonked herself on the head probably 3 times before she got pissed off at the bottle. Her reaction when they were checking her for injury? Inconvenience. That's what they told me: "Ava just seemed to be inconvenienced by our concern."

Oh goody. Where does a 16-month-old child learn inconvenience and indignation?

Certainly, she didn't get it from me...

Oh, MAN.

Oh, we were smug. Oh how we preened. We never dropped her. She never rolled off the bed, off the couch. She never fell out of the car or off of the changing table. We. Were. Perfect. And so was Ava.

Ava's still perfect, of course. But us? We had it coming, I suppose.

Behold:

Here, we have the edge of the patio.

Looks innocent enough. Right next to the soft, cool, springy grass, where Ava loves to trot around and twirl. And trip. Yeah. Note to us: Ava trips. A LOT. Usually when she trips, she catches herself with her hands, or if she doesn't, she at least lands somewhere soft. Like on the grass. But Friday night, she caught herself with her HEAD right on the corner of the PATIO. And like INSTANTLY, a big ghastly goose egg (ah yes, now I know where that name comes from...) erupted on her creamy little forehead. OMG. Triage consisted of "OH JESUS! INSIDE! RIGHT NOW! WHAT DO WE DO? ICE! COLD! WE NEED COLD! IS SHE BLEEDING? NO? OK GOOD ICE! BINKY! CALM HER DOWN! YOU OK? I'M OK! SHE OK? I THINK SO BUT SHE'S PISSED! CALL THE NURSE'S LINE! HELLO NURSE'S LINE? HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED: NO VOMITING. JUST A SCRAPE. ABOUT AN INCH IN DIAMETER. LEFT TEMPLE. OK OK OK NO PAIN MEDS YET. KEEP AN EYE ON HER FOR 2 HOURS. THEN WAKE HER UP. OK OK OK. OK. WE'LL CALL YOU IF ANYTHING HAPPENS. OK YES WE'RE FINE TOO THANKS."

And we were smug because we survived it. Poor boopy, but we were all OK.

And then, dammit, she freaking did it again this morning.

Here, we have the corner of the activity cube.

Yeah, it's not angled off because it's pretty. Oh no. They cut the corner off of that bad boy because THEY KNEW what was going to happen. And a triangular flat surface, while still no picnic, is much much easier to deal with on impact than a pointy corner. OMG.

So here is her poor little melon.


I KNOW. OMG.

Here's what we have learned.

1. ICE. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200. Get a washcloth, dunk it in cold water, wrap it around an ice cube. That will work.
   
2. She will not like to have anything on her head. Doesn't matter. Do it. She'll get over being mad faster than I'll get over seeing a big awful pulsating goose egg on her little head.
3. She will crap her pants IMMEDIATELY when this happens. Doesn't matter. Keep the ice going. It's why she wears a diaper.
   
4. She's OK, even though it looks awful.
5. Always keep Sesame Street or Curious George on the DVR. At least 1 episode. They calm her down and give her something to focus on that will take her attention off of having something cold on her head.
6. People will look at her head, and the bruises, and then look at me, and then look back at her and then back at me when we go out in public. If they've had a toddler, that look is filled with sympathy, as they probably have their own horror stories to tell. If they haven't had a toddler, that look is filled with judgment and speculation, and they can blow it out their asses.

I think that's it. Yikes. Gravity: not just a good idea, it's the law.

...and a spare moment presents itself

Rob started traveling for his job last week. He'd gone out of town before, just for a day, I think, to Reno. But last week was the first Big Trip, which we'd all said we'd be OK about. And we were OK. But, damn, it's hard to split up like that. We take for granted the rhythm we develop when we know there's someone else helping keep it together every day. Sure, we have the fabled Routines, and the stuff that we know gets done at a certain time each day. But now we're dealing with a full-on hardcore toddler (srsly) and the routine sometimes falls prey to the whims of someone who cannot yet Use Her Words. Ack.

But we (all of us) survived last week. Rob was gone Sunday night through Friday night. God bless Southwest Airlines, which allows for the easy switching of flights, from, say, one from Portland with a layover in Sacramento that ultimately gets delayed to the point where the connection would be a moo point (anyone watch Friends? you know what I'm saying there...) to a nonstop PDX-LAS that leaves in 45 minutes that you can justbarelymake but it's OK because you bought Business Select (best spent twenty bucks in the travel industry).

He's on his way back to Portland tonight (delayed, actually, but it says it's boarding rightthisminute so that's good) and will be back Tuesday. We'll survive.

So to catch up....

Easter looked like this:


...and it was perfect.

Ava had her FIFTEEN MONTH OMG SHE'S FIFTEEN MONTHS checkup on Friday. She's 30-1/4 inches tall, 23.1 pounds. If childhood physical development had a bell curve (which it totally does...) she would be right smackdab in the middle, at the highest point, where Average resides. Awesome.

She knows so many words. Tonight, she helped me pick up her toys before bedtime. She smiles and giggles and waves and dances and oh, oh how she glares at you when she is displeased. Yikes. The condemnation she can conjure up is quite alarming (no idea where she gets that...).

Things are good. We're scrambling to maintain some semblance of sanity, and I think we succeed most of the time.