New Developments

So I thought it'd be fun to have my first post in a long time be an update with new developments in our lives.... 

Dan:  Has begun his surgical rotation at St. Vincent's hospital in Massachusetts.  Is exhilarated by what he is doing and really enjoying it so far, despite mandatory 24 hour shifts every 4 days.  

Jemma: Not really doing anything of note.  Has begun exercising daily, and is up to jogging for 15 minutes at a time, which is an improvement of her initial 0 minutes.

Addison:  Is test-driving her big girl bed tonight (!!).  Has discovered that her fingers get pruny in the bath/shower.  Is obsessed with owies-- not only on her body and other people's bodies, but also any scratch, crack, etc. in or on furniture, toys, paint....  I could go on.  Has gone from calling her blankie "beee" to calling it "bingie" which Mommy sees as an improvement.  Calls Poppy "Boppy" (which she also uses for "potty"... luckily Poppy is a good sport), calls Pappy "bah-bah" (for "Pap-Pap", to differentiate from Poppy and potty... she had been lumping all three into "boppy").... still has not settled on a name for Grandma.  Has tried out "Gomer", "Go-mah", and "Der-mer", but does not appear satisfied with those.

UPDATE 2/5/09: Addison has upgraded Grandma's name to "Hubber."  Still not sure where these names are coming from.

No guns, no roses

Driving home from Target today, I was in bumper-to-bumper traffic due to a tractor trailer crash on a main road. The normally 10 minute drive took 45, and to keep my sleepy toddler awake until we got home, I was playing the radio and dancing along, which she loves. She danced to Britney Spears, Nickelback, Katy Perry, Kanye West (which was funny to watch), and so on. Then, "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses came on. I was dancing in the front seat and lip syncing along (I was born in the '80's, after all) and about mid-way through the song, I glanced back at Addison to see if she was still dancing. Much to my surprise, she had both of her index fingers in her ears and was glaring at me.

Needless to say, I abruptly changed stations. I guess even old Axl Rose isn't for everyone.

The Misrepresentation of Popeye

My daughter has turned into a cartoon.

For the last several weeks, every time Addison is mad, annoyed, tired, confused, hungry, thirsty, bored, or breathing, she makes this face. The first time I saw it, I said "she looks like Popeye, how cute." Now, the comparison has become a verb, as in "Addison, stop Popeye-facing me!"

In this photo, she is upset because I finally got a cabinet lock for the "dry goods" cabinet; I had tired of finding packets of oatmeal in my dresser drawers and boxes of pasta in my closet. You can see, however, that this does not create a shortage of toys for my little princess... there are 3 visible in this photo, which represents only about 4-5 square feet of space (I'm not counting the white item as a toy-- that is her potty, which she had relocated from the bathroom to the kitchen for a reason she refused to disclose.)

Cute as it was a few weeks ago, Popeye-face now makes me instantly fantasize about jumping through the nearest window and/or stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. I am hoping that it suffers a hasty demise, going the way of potato-face (her former "I'm going to cry" expression) and "the flying v" (her pre-walking habit of holding her feet up by her ears while in the stroller. In public.)

My no good, very bad day

My day has given every indication to me that it is going to be a terrible one, and yet I have ignored every sign thrown my way to just crawl back into bed and start again tomorrow. A costly error.


My day started in a panic, as Dan informed me that he had gone back to sleep after the alarm went off and we were now about 30 minutes behind schedule to get Addison to a doctor's appointment. Score one for me-- I showered last night, anticipating little getting-ready time, although I obviously hadn't realized HOW little. We pulled together and were walking out the door a mere minute later than we had planned-- as we're leaving, the fire alarm for our building starts to go off.


Side note-- our fire alarm frequently cries wolf. Not sure why it does this, but it's scary to have a fire alarm that no one takes seriously. About a week and a half ago, while I was in PA, my husband had to go outside and sit on the curb at 1:30 in the morning because it was going off. It is the kind of fire alarm that makes your ear drums want to burst, and no matter what room you're in, it is still the loudest, most painful shrieking sound you've ever heard. I'd rather have an actual fire truck parked in our living room with its siren blaring.


Anyway, we exchanged annoyed quips with our neighbor down the hall (taking his obviously noise-sensitive dog outside to escape-- no word on the infant also sharing that apartment) and drove Addison to her appointment. This, fortunately, went as usual-- she screamed her way through a lot of the measurements and the shots, but was relatively pleasant for the rest.


After the appointment, Addison napped for about an hour and a half while Dan and I hung out and ate lunch. Dan had to leave at about 12:30 to go to school, leaving me at home with a grumpy toddler (and a grumpy self.) He took the car that currently has the car seat, after I assured him several times that I would not be going anywhere.


Around 2:00, the fire alarm went off AGAIN. Addison starts wigging out and I have no choice but to start bundling her up to take her outside. At this point, a plan starts to form in my head-- I'll walk to the city to get the car! That way, if the alarm is still on when I return, we can just drive to a store and walk around! Excellent thinking! It's cold, but not too cold, and not windy-- it'll be fantastic! I strapped Addison into her buggy without a single thought to the prior events of the day, or how everything was almost guaranteed to go wrong.


About 15 minutes into our walk, Addison dropped her blankie. I didn't notice until we had walked about 100 feet away from it-- I had to go back and pick it up. Blankie is now dirty, but we keep on going, crisis averted, still with no thought in my mind that this might be a good time to turn back and give up on this idea.


About 35 minutes after we left the house, we arrive at the parking garage. I confidently take the elevator to the 4th floor, knowing Dan is a creature of habit and that he will be parked in the same spot he always parks in.


Wrong.


The car was not on the 4th level, so I got back in the elevator and went down to the 3rd. Still no. So I walked all the way down to the bottom and then made my way back up, level by level, pressing the panic button on my keys.


The car was on the 5th floor. Which I should have known-- creature-of-habit Dan would have driven to the 4th floor and, failing to find a spot, would have driven up to the next level. Creature-of-habit Dan would never have taken a closer spot.


I strapped Addison into the car seat, tossed the buggy in the back seat, and sat down in the drivers seat. At this moment, what should have been a sigh of relief was replaced with a feeling of dread as I realized a crucial piece of information that had escaped me all this time-- Dan no longer kept his parking pass in the car. It was on his lanyard with his badge for his school, because he kept leaving it in the wrong car when he'd switch vehicles.


I burst into tears. I called Dan's phone repeatedly, hoping the vibration in his bookbag would be audible enough for him to sneak out of class and answer. Fortunately, on the third call, he answered. He listened to my whole story and, probably because he realized I was already in tears, he was very kind and without a hint of annoyance in his voice informed me to stay in the car and he'd bring me the parking pass.


About 10 minutes later he arrived. I drove him back to the school, telling my story AGAIN, and promised to drop everything and pick him up whenever he called to tell me he was ready.


Fortunately when we arrived home, the fire alarm was off. I think I may have blown up the building if that alarm was still blaring.


Adding salt to the wound, however-- with Addison in my arms, I stopped to get the mail on my way into the apartment. A mailer full of coupons fell out, and all of the coupons scattered. Being a consciencious person, I picked up all of the junk mail, muttering the entire time and trying not to drop my toddler or my keys.

Things can only get better.... right?

The Joys of Fall

For many people, the thought of "fall" reminds us of times when we were young, running around in our backyard or at the park, red-cheeked, laughing, jumping into piles of leaves.... and then there's Addison.

Addison and I recently came back to Pennsylvania for a 2-week visit, getting our stuff settled in and situated for our impending move to the area while my husband finishes grad school. Excited at the thought of being able to take my daughter outside to play (we currently live in a large city in Massachusetts, which doesn't allow for a lot of outdoor exploration), I got her all suited up on a mild fall day and took her outside. I believe her expression in this first photo betrays her true feelings about the season, the outdoors, and the leaves on the ground.

Another day, we went to the middle school where my father-in-law teaches, and on our way back to the car, Addison was trying desperately to pick up the leaves that had fallen on the walkway and move them back into the grass where, in her mind, they belonged. I finally had to carry her out to the car, fearing that we would never make it there if she was left to her own devices.

After her nap, I took her outside to try again. My dad was home from work for the day, and was more than willing-- even eager-- to jump into piles of leaves with his grandchild. I hope he enjoyed playing in the leaves himself, because Addison was less than thrilled with this turn of events, as demonstrated by the following images:

My diva-princess-girlygirl was very upset, even appalled, by the bits of leaves that were clinging to her coat, pants, and shoes, and painstakingly removed every tiny leaf fragment as quickly as she could. She watched in horror as my Dad buried himself in leaves, covering his hair, face, shirt, and pants. She kept muttering "no! no!" and trying desperately to free herself from the pile without actually having to touch anything.

I'm beginning to get the feeling that, if she doesn't get over this "I don't want to be messy" thing, I'll be seeing a repeat of last winter:

Not-the-Mommy

I've been fighting a losing battle with my daughter... you see, at 18 months old, I feel like she should be saying "mommy." Or at least "mom" or "ma" or "mama" or ANYTHING like it. However, she continues to refer to me as "da-yee", which is Addie-speak for "Daddy"-- she uses it for her Dad, but uses it for me too when Daddy's not around.

Adding insult to injury, she periodically says "Tim," referring to a friend of ours who spends a lot of time with Addison. Although I think it's cute (Tim is probably her best non-family friend), it's discouraging for me, who wishes to be addressed by name as well.

A couple days ago, I looked Addison right in the face and said "Mommy, I'm Mooommmmyy" while pointing to myself. "Say Mommy," I pleaded... Addison smiled and burped in my face. Addison 1, Mommy 0.

I tried again today... we were in her room, and she handed me one of her doll babies and said a string of babbles, one of which was distinctly "mom." I smiled and said "Yes! Yes, I'm Mommy!" Addison looked at me sadly, shook her head, and said "Da-yee."

Here's to hoping third time's a charm... maybe another day.

Well-Balanced Toddler

I was checking my email on the computer in the living room... Addison is running around, playing with her toys (i.e. moving toys around from one room to another). After replying to an email I received from my Mom, I looked up to see what Addison was doing-- I knew she was in the room with me, but she was being AWFULLY quiet.

The sight that greeted me made me laugh out loud (as she often does.) Addison was leaning slightly forward, legs spread apart and arms flailing, as she tried desperately to sit on the tiny foot-rest ledge on her high chair. While she did this, she never once took her gaze off of the TV, which was tuned to the PBS show "Martha Speaks."

Another proud moment for this Mommy.