America's pastime

My mom has said that the reason she understands football so well is because football time=time with her dad. Mabes is showing a similar interest in baseball. Every morning, she asks Dave how their "A Team"--Atlanta Braves--did the night before, and if ESPN is showing highlights of the game. Her absolute favorite is when the Braves play on a Sunday afternoon, so she and Dave can cuddle up in the recliner and watch the game. At one point, Mabes got excited and said, "Hey, dere's Brian McCann!" Dave was surprised and asked how she knew who it was. "I just knew. Dat's what he looks like. He has a beard." I, on the other hand, wouldn't know Brian McCann from Adam. I had to google his name to find out if it was McKann or McCann.

We took her to a local minor league game here (note the packed stadium, the game was well underway), and while she was disappointed that it wasn't the A Team, she still enjoyed it.

She recently decided she was going to make an A Team craft for Daddy. She was describing in great detail what she wanted to make, and Dave told me I should help her with her idea. I decided the more fun option (and perhaps lazy way out) would be to hand her the construction paper, glue, scissors, and crayons and tell her to have at it. I helped when asked, particularly with cutting out the head and hat, but the rest was all Mabes:

It's Chipper Jones. Note the tomahawk and A on the front of his jersey. On the back is the number 10, Chipper's number. I didn't know that, either. He's holding a bat and has just hit the ball that's flying across his chest. When I helped her get the paper for the hat, I started cutting and she got mad--"Dat's the wrong colors, Mommy!" She showed me the correct colors, and then she drew the fancy A on the hat. She was very excited to present it to Dave, and Chipper now resides in his office. Mabes sneaks in to update Chipper on the scores, and in case real Chipper doesn't play well and the Braves lose, Mabes reminds Dave that he has paper Chipper to comfort him.

Dave just reminded me of the other baseball-related story: One evening when they were watching baseball, Mabes told Dave, "I don't fink any of dese baseball players are daddies." Dave asked her why she thought that, and she answered, "Well, because daddies have to work, and dey can't just play lots of baseball all day." Dave explained that for baseball players, playing baseball is work. They get paid (a lot!) to play baseball all day. Mabes' eyes widened and her jaw dropped--"Playing baseball IS dere work? Dat's CRAZY!" She didn't say it, but I'm sure she was wondering why anyone would choose work other than playing baseball.

An enigma

Mabes came into my room today, "Mommy, when I grow up, I'm going to be a PATECTIVE!"

"A detective?" I ask.

"No, Mommy, I know what I'm talking about. I'm going to be a patective."

"Okay. What is a patective?"

"It's someone who finds clues and finks about mysteries and figures dem out. And I can do dat because I'm da smartest girl in da world!" (If only she'd get some self-confidence...)

"Yeah, that's a detective."

"Well, I like patective better."

Here's a mystery for you, Detective/Patective Mabes: How did that frog get in my kitchen sink?

(It's grainy because I didn't want the flash to scare it. Unlike Green Bean, this one was not invited into our house.)

Carmen Miranda

I finished getting Annabelle dressed this morning and just started laughing. I wanted to grab some of Mabes' plastic fruit and hot glue it to the headband, too. But then I remembered I was already running late. And that we were going to church, not a costume party.

It's a little ridiculous, no?

Once again, I've combined my relatively newfound interest in sewing with my penchant for matching outfits, with awesomely ridiculous results. My mom pointed out that skirts on babies are kind of silly, and I agree. But they were really easy and if I'm going to make one for Mabes, I might as well make one for Annabelle. And Ricecake.

Sadly, this is the best picture of both of them. Mabes has forgotten how to make a natural-looking smile. Notice the shirts--Gymboree just happened to have a line that matched perfectly. Unfortunately, they don't carry Ricecake's size.

While Mabes loves her new twirly skirt, she was appalled when I told her that's what they were wearing to church today. "But Mom, dese skirts are playcloves, not church cloves. Everyone will laugh at me and say, 'Hey! Emaline is wearing her playcloves to church! Dat's crazy!'" Seriously? I didn't make them out of old curtains. (Did I mention we recently watched Sound of Music? Mabes was dazzled--why wouldn't she be?--and seemed to enjoy it more than Annie.) I assured her that since she hadn't gotten it dirty yet, she could wear it to church, but she certainly didn't have to. She wore it to church and I don't think anyone laughed at her.

Random Fings

"Mabes, what are you doing?"

"I'm not eating random fings off da counter!"

Oh, okay. The very fact that she's calling them "random fings" means she hears us when we tell her not to eat random things off of the counter. She's really good at finding--and eating--random things I spill while cooking or that I may forget to clean up the night before. A little bit of flour? She'll eat it. Bread crumbs? Yum! For some reason, she won't touch the package of Pringles or pan of brownies sitting on the counter--unless the brownies have been eaten and only delicious dried out crumbs remain. I've lectured her and taken it as a reminder to be more militant about making sure everything is cleaned up when I leave the kitchen.

A few days ago, I was soaking some stained clothes in the kitchen sink and had to put Annabelle down for a nap. I came back to the kitchen a few minutes later and Mabes had a guilty look on her face, "Hi, Mommy!"

"What are you doing, Mabes?"

"Nuffing."

"Were you playing with this?" I pointed to the OxyClean.

"Well, it's like sand! I was just doing dis!" She showed me how she used the scoop to pour some out in the bucket.

"Okay, that's fine, but did you eat any?" Dumb question, maybe, but she has yet to outgrow that whole let's-stick-everything-we-see-in-our-mouths thing.

She thought for a minute, "Well, I put a little bit on my tongue, but it was yucky, so I tried to get it off."

Don't bang your head on the wall, Allison, you'll only hurt yourself. What do I do in this situation? I decided she was probably fine, but I figured I'd call Poison Control just to be safe. Plus, I was hoping that if she saw me call "the doctor" she'd realize this was a bit more serious. So I called them, they said she'd be fine (apparently you can eat a whole scoop and probably be fine--I'm not going to attempt it to find out), and then we had a long talk on what we do and do not eat. And why random fings can sometimes hurt us.

I'm not sure she got it. If anyone has any suggestions on how to drive this point home, I'm all ears. We've already let her try white vinegar to illustrate that just because something looks like water doesn't mean it is. (She drank it! I thought she'd take a whiff, shake her head, and give the glass back, point made! I'm failing here.)

Other random fings: We got our new washing machine, and I love it. Here's Mabes with only part of the laundry that had amassed:

We were waiting for the delivery guys to get here. I was going to build a fort next, but then they came.

This article makes me think of Laura. I'm mainly posting this picture for her and Becca, who love sleeping babies.

(I know, I know--you're not supposed to let babies sleep with things. Murray helps her fall asleep, and then he gets tossed aside.)

And have I mentioned how much I love matching outfits? You can't really tell in this picture, but their outfits match. I'm going overboard and it's a little ridiculous, but I don't care--I have two girls!

I'm going to go work on the matching skirts I'm sewing for them now. Or eat ice cream first. Or just random fings.

Bittersweet Surrender

I tried to save it. I really did. I failed.

After my harrowing experience replacing the broken coupler on my washing machine, I was still a little nervous that it would die. It's old, has been leaking something, and has been starting to smell. After replacing the coupler, it was smelling more, and just over a week ago, the smell was so strong I was afraid the machine would spontaneously burst into flames. And I have kids now, so no more thrill-seeking shenanigans. More googling and talking to a handyfriend confirmed that now the transmission and/or motor was dying, too. Our friend started to tell us how to fix that, too, but we decided that we should let the washer die and start shopping.

I was hoping that when it was time to buy a new washer, we'd be in a position to buy something cool like my mom's new set--it's shiny and red and plays a song when your laundry is done. But thanks to a great sale at Home Depot (time to pay them back for all those Home Depot Saturdays), we're getting a high efficiency washing machine. We've been told that it will be delivered tomorrow in the four-hour window of 9 to 5. I hope their delivery and installation skills are better than their math skills.

Dave asked if I was going to pour out a bottle of bleach over it while blasting "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday." (I think he must have Boyz II Men on his mind, as he tried to get away with wearing shorts with his shirt, tie, and sportcoat to church yesterday.) I told him that I really haven't formed an attachment to it, so I wasn't particularly distraught about the death of the washing machine. I'm really excited about the new one. On the other hand, our TiVo turns 7 next month, and if something ever happens to TiVo, we'll hold a full-on funeral service. But let us not speak of such things.

I have quite the mountain of laundry to attack tomorrow, so I'm taking suggestions on what to watch while folding.

6 months!

Do you know someone who constantly raves about how great something is? She won't shut up about it--something so great, but you couldn't possibly understand. But she's not exaggerating at all. This thing really is great. It's annoying, right? I hate people like that.

So forgive me, indulge me, or perhaps just skip this post.

Annabelle is officially 6 months old. And the last 6 months of Annie? They've been great. Sleeping? Great! Eating? Great! Temperament? Great! The other day, I ran errands all morning while Mabes was at a friend's house. We got home, and Dave asked how Annabelle did. I frowned, shook my head, and muttered, "it was rough." Shock took over Dave's face, "Really?!" I'm a terrible liar and just started laughing, "Of course not! She was a perfect angel--despite being hungry and tired she would still smile and laugh at me anytime I looked at her! *I* was fussier than she was!"

In the last couple of months, her personality has started to show. I can't really put it into words, but she's just funny. While she continues to enjoy the same activities she did as a newborn--cuddling into your chest, not crying, and making adorable baby noises in her sleep--she has discovered some new favorites: grabbing your hand when you pat her chest, stealthily rolling when we're not looking (though Mabes foils her attempts to go unnoticed and yells, "Mom! Babybelle ROLLED OVER! AGAIN!"), attempting army crawls, baby supermans (supermen?), and chewing on her toes:

I think once she got the whole ball of her foot in her mouth.

And I love the following picture. The look on her face generally precedes a giant smile and squeal. But for a minute, she'll just be still and look as sweet and coy as she can, watching as you fight the urge to bite those thighs. And then she'll break out the crazy smile pictured at the top of this post, and you squeeze her as she lets out a belly laugh. And that is just one of the many reasons that the last 6 months of Annabelle have been so great.

Oh, and her 6 month stats: 16 lbs, 6.5 oz, 27 inches tall. (60th percentile for weight, 90th for height. By comparison, Mabes was about 20 lbs at 6 months--she didn't have her 6 month check-up until she was 7 months, and was 22 lbs 1 oz, 27.5 inches then.) Her appointment this morning went really well. She was a little nervous about the nurse and doctor, but warmed up quickly. The doctor kept commenting on how observant she is, but with a sister like Mabes, Annie is used to watching and trying to figure out what on earth is going on. She didn't love the rotavirus vaccine (it's a drink) and made faces after each sip, and when it came time for the shots, she flinched after the first one, and it wasn't until the second and final shot that she made a face and let out a maybe 3 second cry. And then she was fine. The nurse kept saying, "I can't believe she didn't cry! That went so well!" Proving there were no hard feelings, Annabelle smiled and giggled for the nurse on her way out.

Annabelle after her shots, obviously distraught. At least she has Murray, her lamb, to comfort her. After I took this picture, she ripped off one of the bandaids to inspect. Other than that, you'd never know she got shots today.

Payback

Some day, when Mabes is all grown up and living on her own, I will visit her and:

I will make dolls out of toilet paper and toys out of foil dug out of the trash can and then freak out if she tries to throw them away.

I will mix up the chicken, pasta, watermelon, and salad on my plate and insist that I'm not playing with my food, but making a new and delicious recipe.

I'll yell her name from my bed at 7 am, and when she staggers in, I'll tell her I just wanted her to come wake me up.

I'll stand on her couch when I think she's not looking.

I'll use half a bottle of handsoap every time I wash my hands.

I'll help her fold laundry by taking socks and underwear out of the basket, "fold" them, throw them at her while yelling, "See, I can fold faster!"

Feel free to add yours (for your kid, or for Mabes).

Oh, and Sarah, you totally get to drop a deuce in her entryway.