Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting

It came from the deep

One way to guarantee Bea sleeps and Olivia showers: swimming. An hour in the pool and the short one can barely keep her eyes open. It's like kiddie Ambien.

Pedal pusher

My mom saved my tricycle; it's red and metal and heavy and awesome. Olivia used it, and now Bea can reach the pedals, too.

In my continuing quest to Wear Her Out For Bedtime, I took her for the first spin of the season. We went "'roun' a block" and up to the park.  

 

For those of you who saw me pushing/scootering Bea and her trike up the hill -- one foot on the back, the other foot pushing off  -- well, I apologize. I know it was a sight. However, it might have been the best quad and glute workout I've ever had.

She is such a grateful child. "Mama, thank you for bike! Thank you, mama, for Bea bike!" I love how happy something like this makes her.

 

Happy Bea-Day to us

It has been a year. Three hundred and sixty six days. (Thanks, leap year.)

 Sometimes I think, "I can't believe it's already been a year." Other times, I wonder how it's ONLY BEEN A YEAR. It feels like this kid has been part of our family forever. Try as I might, I can remember only the vaguest glimpses of life pre-Beatrix Nan Yu, much like I have trouble remembering life pre-Olivia. 

So much has happened since we first met fierce, beautiful, amazing Long Nan Yu in that government office, since she sobbed and peed on John and eventually discovered the joy of chucking batteries across the room for her new jie jie to fetch. 

When I stop and think about what we did... oh, man. We brought a 2.5-year-old kid to a completely unfamiliar place. We told her we were her mama, baba, and jie jie. We took her away from her foster mom and her ayis and from all the sights and sounds and smells she knew. She had to listen to me bust out my caveman Mandarin and probably thought, "WTH is that woman saying? Why does she want me to stop eating an aardvark? I just wanted some damn raisins." 

Things could have been SO BAD. And sometimes, frankly, they were. 

Despite any rumors to the contrary, adding a toddler to your family is not a piece of cake. I expected some difficulty, of course. What I did not expect, however, is for my 10-year-old daughter to be the major source of this difficulty. Between the OMG HORMONES angst and the upheaval, Olivia had a harder time adjusting than the rest of us. 

At times, I honestly wasn't sure who was the toddler. My lap had to become a no-sit zone because if one of them wanted to sit with me, the other did, too, and then there were all kinds of shennanigans (see: Bea licking Olivia's arm) to unseat each other. That picture over there? That was my life for months.

I'm happy to report that they now act like sisters. There are times when they are so sweet to each other, and then, well...  "Moooom, she's looking at me! She took my chair!" "Mama, Ohluhvee touch Itchy Frog! No touch!" The other night they were actually engaged in a fierce bout of tug-o-war over a stupid pink Terrible Towel. 

Parts of the attachment process have been hard, too. For months, if I dared to walk down the stairs and didn't wait to hold Bea's hand or carry her, she collapsed into a heap of snot and sobs for a good twenty minutes. It made ferrying the laundry up and down the stairs super fun, let me tell you. Even more fun that it normally is. 

I often think about how scary this transition must have been for her, and it breaks my heart. Every time she'd wake up sobbing in the night and was simply unconsolable, I cried, too. There were mornings where she wouldn't utter a word, wouldn't eat, wouldn't use the bathroom. It was like she just checked out; she withdrew into her shell to try to deal with all that change and confusion and grief. 

I selfishly love this incredible child, but I uprooted her in order to do so. I suspect I'll struggle with this for the rest of my days. 

But you know what? The good stuff completely, absolutely outweighs the difficulties and the pangs of guilt. I remember us saying to ourselves last year, "HOW did we get so lucky?" When I'm not refereeing a sibling squabble or putting out the 12th APB for Itchy Frog because ohmygod she will not go to sleep without him but she has no idea where she left him, I still feel that way.

Beatrix is so many kinds of awesome. She is a whirlwind, a chatterbox, a tomboy, a lover of pizza and yogurt and chock-it [chocolate]. She is brave and willfull (perhaps too much) and awfully smart. She recognizes all of her letters and numbers and knows exactly which buttons to push when she wants to annoy someone. Bea loves her some potty humor ("Mama, sing 'papa got Bea's toilet on his head!'") and is a tooting, burping machine. Honestly, it's unreal: She'll burp in the middle of a word and just keep on going like nothing happened. When she doesn't want to do something, you know it. "Bea, time for bed." "NO WAY."

Bea has no fear of heights, speed, or farm animals. 

She is curious and incredibly active. The one word people use to describe her? Busy. "My, she's... busy, isn't she?" And man, she is. I thought Olivia was active, but this child could probably pogo from here to Antarctica without stopping. Spring soccer season can't come soon enough. Parenting a preschooler at 40 is way harder than parenting one at 32. She exhausts me in ways I didn't know I could be exhausted.

                

 

Bea is also affectionate and snuggly. She told us "I love you" for the first time at Christmas and says it often now. She demands hugs and kisses, which I'm only too happy to give.  When she wakes up in the morning (which could be, y'know, 2:55 am), she gathers up her armful of animals and scurries into our room to jump into bed and cuddle. She makes sure Itchy Frog is well fed and that he always has his turn playing Leapster or reading books.

She is beautiful, strong, happy. She sings off key and at the top of her lungs. She tries to make everything into a game. She is silly, loud, and full of joy. I love her like crazy and feel like the luckiest person in the world to have both her and Olivia in my life. 

We got another daughter. Olivia got a sister. Poor Bea got way more crazy family than she ever bargained for. 

 

What passes for naptime

Live-blogging “nap” time because if I don't find the humor in this situation, I might start weeping.

1:09: Bea climbs into bed with Itchy Frog and that horrible blue dolphin Pillow Pet.

1:10: “Boat! Boat on wahlah! Get on! Hurry!” She has managed to build a “boat” out of pillows and is urging Itchy Frog to save himself from certain disaster. (Irony: Frogs like water.)

1:12: Bea is under the quilt Linda made for her, still yelling about the boat on the water.

1:14: I look up and see that every single pillow, animal, and blanket has been shoved into the cubby between her bed and bookshelf. “Bea, GO. TO. SLEEP.” “NO! ‘Dis Bea house!” She climbs into the nest of bedding. “Beatrix Nan Yu, get up here and lay down RIGHT NOW.”

1:16 Bea lays down. Hrm. Maybe she’ll actually sleep.

1:18: Are you kidding me? She just started stripping the sheet off the bed. The sheet was the only bedding left after she built her house. “Cut it out; leave that sheet on.” She stares at me through the bars of the headboard, but doesn’t peel back the sheet any further. 

1:19: Awesome. She just popped up, ripped off the sheet, and looked over at me with a triumphant “ha ha, Mama” gleam in her eye.

1:22: She is methodically transferring every blanket, pillow, and animal from the cubby to the head of the bed. Itchy Frog is staring at me in a creepy way, but I’m honestly not sure how much he can see given the size of that cataract on his eye.

1:23: Grunts come from the bed as she rearranges the dolphin and the frog, pulls up the covers, and flops down.

1:23:30: Dammit. She’s back up again. She’s in the cubby area, getting… something. Oh, of course! A picture that Liv taped up there for her. Why WOULDN’T she need that to take a nap? Duh.

1:29: “I lay down. Lay down, Itchy! Lay down, dolphin!” She is patting them to sleep, for definitions of patting that equal “smacking the crap out of them.” PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT PATPATPATPATPATPAT. 

1:33: Patting is over. Bea is out of sight at the end of the bed (stupid blue dolphin blocking my view), but I hear ripping paper. “Beatrix… “ I say in a warning tone. The ripping immediately stops. It’s quiet.

1:37: Well, she's still quiet, but she's sitting up and intently poking dolphin in his eyeball. 

1:38: "Maaama, love you. Papa, love you, Maaaaahm Maaaaahm Maaaahm I love you. Do do doodooodooo, mouse a mouse a mouse, 'sank you, mommy dolphin lay down, 'kay? 'Kay." Bea lays down and I think maybe, just maybe, she's tired and going to pass out. Alas, I see Itchy Frog rising up over the headboard. "Bounce bounce bounce bounce FUN WHEEEEEEEEE." 

1:42: Oh, look. Time to take out the braid in the hair. The hair tie comes flying over the headboard. "Allllll done!" 

1:43: The lack of hair doo-dad is apparently freeing. Too freeing. It's inspired a mashup. "Twinken twinken LIL STAAAAARRRR, like die-nah inna SKYYYYYY, one two fwee fouah, five, sixseleneight, nine, ten, eleben, twelve, thirteen, thirteen, thirteen, thirteen, twenty two, twenty four, WHEEL ON BUS RAHND AH RAHND, open and shut, ABCDEFG [yawn] HIJKlemenopeeeee, cue RSTUVWXYZ, twinken twinken, how wonder what are, ant go out street get out rain, walk walk walk, ant go walk walk walk, go grass, go out, get rain, get Itchy Frog, dooo doooooododododododooooo."

1:53: I see no frog feet flailing in the air. I see no Bea feet or arms flailing in the air. I hear no singing... only the lovely (yet gross) noise of thumb sucking. 

1:58: Noooooooo. Itchy Frog is being dangled over the bed rail. "Heeeellllp meeeeee, heeeeellllppp meeeeee, no fall on floor, Itchy Frog! Uh oh, help me! Itchy Frog, no flyyyyyin' on floor, Itchy Frog, sleepin', sleepin'."

2:02: She is staring at me over the headboard. "Mama, all done bed." Bwa. Ha. Ha. I shake my head and turn back to my laptop. Must not engage.

2:10: Why is she chanting about cauliflower? And how did an elephant that needed medicine get into her bed? 

2:15: I hear an odd rustling and peer up. She's sitting there with a piece of scotch tape on her forehead and an expression somewhere in between "what? I meant to do this" and "oh, crap, I'm busted" on her face.

2:37: Victory, it is mine. And hell, it only took what...? 88 minutes? Piece of cake.

I'm on to you

Dear child,

If you and your friend really want to hone your parental manipulation skills and score yourself a sleepover, don't ask me to put your covert plans in my purse as we leave the restaurant.

Sometimes it's best to carry your crap yourself, even if your hands are cold.

Also: parent to parent? I can't tell if that's supposed to be a great idea, or one of those avoid-at-all-costs situations. Can you let me know so I can be prepared next time?

Love, mom

P.S. You're wrong. It's way easier to get me to say yes when we're out in a restaurant and I'm happy and full.

 

The lexicon

Listening to Bea sometimes requires a babel fish. She has her own style of mangling pronouncing words, which cracks me up on a regular basis. I loved this stage with Liv, too.

Chicken = kitchen. ("Bea no sit on chicken coun'ner.")

OH-lurree = Olivia

Granna Jim = Grandma Jan, or, uh, the gym ("mom, I go kid's room at Granna Jim.")

juke = juice ("Bea's juke!")

Mainey = Maisy ("Watch Mainey. Take nap, 'den watch Mainey.")

foam = phone ("foam, foam ring, annal [animal] in truhluh [trouble]" courtesy of Wonder Pets)

lellah = letter

ah-wanAH = around ("Up, ah-wanUH, ah-wanUH, make lellah B!")

 

Grahlah grahlah = gobble gobble

scruhlah = scrub ("Watch me scrulah scruhlah scruhlah with soap!")

rillet rillet = ribbit ribbit ("Itchy Frog, rillet rillet.")

sell-ah = seven ("One, two, free, fowah, five, sis, sell-ah day a week.")

killy cat = kitty cat

twinken = twinkle ("twinken twinken LIL STAHHHH")

I also enjoy the fact that she says "school" just like Megamind ("Bea go shuuuuul, play friend, no play ahPAR"). Less enjoyable:  the fact that she and "ahPAR" have to be separated because they make bad choices when they hang out together. I need to figure out a way to glue her listening ears to her head.

Standoff on Beeler Street

Yesterday was not off to an auspicious start. I sat on Beeler Street -- my destination in plain sight -- as a gang of turkeys staged a very long, very disorganized roadblock. They strutted. They stood. They displayed their feathers. They looked ornery. "Just try to make us move. We don't have anywhere we need to be. GRAHLAH GRAHLAH, suckers."

(That last bit is what Bea says when she sees a turkey (um, minus the "suckers" bit). I think it's supposed to be "gobble gobble.")

Those turkeys were lucky it wasn't November...

(Aside: I had to google the term for a bunch of turkeys and came across this fabulous list and now I'm going to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to work "a shiver of sharks" or "a bloat of hippopotamuses" into conversation.)

I survived the first day of classes this semester. That was not a given, considering how nervous I felt and the fact that I'm  usually in bed by 9:20pm, not talking to a room full of students about the software development lifecycle.

A few highlights and absurdities:

(1) One of my students from China gave me a lovely bookmark for the lunar new year. I smile every time I think of it.

(2) We made the software engineers do impromptu speeches on a topic they picked from a bag, which they just looooooved. I might have somehow said that they could put us on the spot next week. Crap. WHAT was I thinking?

(3) Speaking of impromptu things: This was on the white board when we walked into class yesterday. WTH? Doubly puzzling since this room is used only for software engineering classes. That said, I kinda wish I could have observed that particular class. 

(4) NO ONE FELL ASLEEP in my software doc class. I mean, it's such a scintillating subject to begin with, and when it's from 6:30 - 9:20 pm in a small, windowless conference room, well... I count that as a minor miracle.

(5) I watched someone plug in a hot pot/electric kettle thing and cook noodles. "So what?" you ask... It was in the middle of the freaking floor in the student center. She walked in, plugged the pot into the outlet on the floor, and cooked her lunch. Do you know how many people nearly walked into or onto that pot? Yeah, I don't either because I was too lazy to count, but trust me... it was a lot.

awwwww yeah

Three things:

(1) My kid has a bright future as a traffic cop, or one of those guide-the-planes-with-flashlights people on the tarmac. She is very good at indicating exactly which way something should go. TOO good.

(2) Did she just yell at me to get out of the street?

(3) I have no idea where she learned "aaaaawwww, yeah" but it is cracking me up.

 

Oh, and one more thing: Whenever she finally stopped talking, I could hear her snow pants make that awesome shwip shwip shwip shwip sound as she scurried down the sidewalk. I love that noise. It's the sound of snow days and childhood.

Brave, brave Legume

When you hear "family night" and "restaurant" together, what do you think of? 

Yeah. Me, too. *shudder*

But when Legume  (one of my favorite restaurants) quietly advertised its first family night, I was intrigued. We've always taken Liv there; though there is no kid menu and many items are a little too adventurous for her, she always managed to find something. Plus, the mix-your-own fresh lemonade more than made up for any "mom, I'm not sure I want to eat veal cheeks" moments she had. 

Bea has changed our dining-out habits. And, um, not for the better. Whereas Liv was a restaurant superstar and spent many a dinner at nicer places like Eleven or Soba or Legume, Bea is... well, she's not quite there. When everyone you pass says "Wow, she's really BUSY, isn't she?" then you know it's asking for trouble to plop her at a table in a quiet place for a prolonged meal. That's not to say we don't try -- after all, how else will she learn? -- but the dinner ends up being somewhat stressful.

I digress. Back to Legume.

Family night at Legume was a way for me to inhale the amazing sweet potato ravioli with fermented beets and sauteed mushrooms while not having to worry about Bea disturbing the other diners. It was genius (mostly).

When we came in, the kids were given brown sacks with crayons, stickers, and a coloring book made from old menu pages (ironically, these were the beer and wine lists). One of the enclosed dining areas was set up as a craft room, with a young woman in there to supervise and help. 

The kids came in, decided what they wanted to eat, then scurried off to the craft room. They spent the better part of our two hour dinner gluing all manner of dried grains to paper and doing drive-bys of the table for appetizers and dinner. John and I had a drink, ate our meals, and talked. 

I was amused by the juxtaposition of my salad (warm fresh ricotta, farro, endive, apple, pomegranate, and date-infused honey) with Bea's plate of carrot and apple slices:

 

And here's where I had my only nitpick: The kids' menu. The snacks were decent: slices of good farmhouse cheddar (which Liv ordered but Bea ate because Liv was too busy with the glue and the lentils), homemade applesauce, ants on a log, etc.

But the main course? I was seriously disappointed. Liv was, too.  There were only two offerings: chicken fingers with fries, or buttered noodles. Really? In a restaurant that specializes in local, seasonal cooking, THIS is what's on the kids' menu? Granted, the quality of both was great, but come on, Legume -- you can't come up with something more inspired than that? I mean, fine... play it safe with one or two menu items, but I'd love to see something a bit more interesting. Not every kid eats only chicken fingers or plain pasta. How about a grilled or broiled fish? Or some homemade pierogi? Or a good pasta with something other than just butter? 

Aside from that, the whole experience was great. I applaud Legume for doing this, and hope they continue to do so. I also hope the trend catches on with other local restaurants. It's a win-win situation as far as I can tell: parents are happy, kids are happy, restaurant is full. It's a great way to give someone like Bea more practice in good restaurant behavior without causing me or John to rip out our hair or worry about what everyone else is thinking.

Which reminds me: All of the kids (and there were a lot) were well behaved. There was no running, no shouting, no throwing of food. Aside from the steady stream of kids to/from the craft room and the presence of plastic cups on some of the tables, it didn't seem that different from any other night at Legume.

Take THAT, you crotchety table of old people who came in, looked around, and grimaced when they saw all the kids. I heard one of the women mutter in a disgusted voice, "Is it *always* like this?" Pbttthhh on you.

 

 

In which Pinchy's deep, dark secret is revealed

All this talk of Itchy Frog has reminded me of Pinchy, Liv's beloved stuffed lobster. Pinchy was a little more well-traveled than the frog. Alas, his wanderlust did him in; he met his untimely demise on the Eiffel Tower. (For the full story:  Pinchy did Paris, until Paris did in Pinchy).

Because Liv was so young and gullible, I was able to order a new Pinchy and convince her it was the original one. 

Surely by age 10 she knew that there was no way that stuffed lobster  "wrapped hisself up and he came home," right?  RIGHT?

Yeah. I don't know what she believed, but she had no clue until recently that I was responsible for the whole thing. Bea had unearthed Pinchy II and Liv started reminiscing about his trip to Paris. I tossed out some comment like, "You were so sad when you lost him - trying to find a replacement was really hard." 

Silence. Complete silence.

Then, this: "Wait... WHAT?"

More silence. Wheels turning. Innocence shattering.

"You mean that's not the same Pinchy that I lost on the Eiffel Tower?" 

Whoops. Sorry, kid. 

"You know, I always DID wonder how Pinchy got back here..."

 

The continuing adventures of Itchy Frog

It was a special day for Itchy Frog. He went to school with Bea and hung out in her cubby, being all frog-like and itchy.

He went to dinner at Mad Mex, where he ate a soft taco, carrot sticks and dip, and chocolate cake (as evidenced by three new splotches on his face that are still there despite the vigorous wiping Bea gave him), all while cutting quite the rug to the hip-hop soundtrack.

For the record, frogs look funny when they dance.

But the best was yet to come. At bedtime, Itchy Frog got his very own (very feminine) pajamas. They fit him perfectly... much better than the munkin and mon-sker jammies Bea was trying to put on him.  

The kid was insistent that Itchy Frog wear jammies, and wouldn't put on hers until he had his. And of course, last night was the night that she decided to get really freaking frustrated when her jammies were too big for the frog and his little dangly arms (legs?) wouldn't go all the way through the sleeves.

And as everyone knows, when the kid is frustrated, the mama is frustrated. Especially when it's 8:30 and it's way past bedtime and there is wailing and gnashing of teeth over the ridiculous pajama situation. 

So I did what any mom would do: I stripped the baby doll and put her jammies on the frog. (What? You would TOTALLY do that, too.)

Now we have one nekkid baby doll, but one warm and snug Itchy Frog. 

 

Itchy Frog

It's bizarre, the way kids pick an object to love beyond any other and it's never the object you THINK it should be. Not the soft lovey blanket or the stuffed duck you sent to your kid while she was in China. Not even the awesome purple cat that was briefly carted around everywhere.

Nope. My kid loves a stuffed frog above all else. And not just a frog... it's apparently a frog with some sort of skin condition.

I wish I knew how he got his name. I think it morphed from the itchy iguanas we giggled over in a Boynton book... perhaps since the frog was green, too, he had to be itchy?

Regardless of how he got his name, Bea and Itchy Frog are inseparable... 

Itchy Frog gets zipped up into Bea's coat whenever he has to go outside.

He watches Maisy with her.

He eats her channa masala.

He gets covered up with "blankens" (which are actually my clean dish towels; thanks, kid).

He drives Barbie's Corvette. And not well.

He bravely stands on the train tracks and causes fiery collisions between the trains.

He sleeps with Bea.

He wears Bea's pajamas, pants, socks, and shirts.

He listens carefully to Eric Carle books. His favorite is Panda Bear, Panda Bear, apparently.

He goes on walks. At the end of one particular walk to Miss Erin's house, Itchy Frog ran off with the dog (or perhaps it was the other way around). Poor Bea stood there in disbelief. "Dog! Itchy Frog! Dog chomp Itchy Frog!" 

    

  

   

Basically, if you know where Bea is, you know where Itchy Frog is. And if he's NOT there, well... Last night I was sure she was asleep, but she suddenly bolted upright and moaned "iiiiiitcheeeee froooooogggg" because she realized he was still down on the couch, paying bills with John.

This morning she very dilligently put socks on Itchy Frog (aside: I'm pretty sure his feet are nowhere near a size 3T sock; these went up to his eyebrows) so he could go to school with her. "Itchy Frog go school. Sit in cubby!" Poor, poor frog. 

Related: I went to school last week to pick up Bea and Itchy Frog. While I was there, one little boy came bounding over. "Mrs. Bea's Mom! What's that frog's name?!" I told him. He looked perplexed, and a little disappointed. It seems that he refused to believe Bea when she told him it was Itchy Frog. Understandable. Completely.

As you might suspect, this frog is a little dirty by now. His once cream-colored belly is dotted with remnants of ice cream and pasta and perhaps even some Mad Mex pico burrito. I think it's time for Mr. Toad's Itchy Frog's Wild Ride in the washing machine.

 

 

Mostly sunny with a chance of an afternoon A

We asked Bea to draw pictures for her teachers. After she completed each one, John asked her what it was and created the appropriate label on the back.

On a related note: That kid loves to draw, and loves to have people draw FOR her. "Mama, draw elephant. Elephant in car." As soon as I draw (an awesome, if I say so myself) elephant in a car, she takes the crayon and adds "a big woad [road]."

The big roads aren't needed just for elephants in cars. Nope. They are necessary for elephants on foot, alligators, fish, giraffes, and owls. We're on a road to nowhere... </Talking Heads>

You all, I had to buy an Ed Emberley book on animal drawing just to keep up with her demands. (Yes, Ed Emberley is completely my speed, and I am okay with that.) 

The best gift

Last night, Bea and I (and Mama Elephant) were sprawled on the living room floor watching her trains go around and around and around and around. You all, I have never  seen her voluntarily lay down and be still for this long. Those trains, they are magic.

At one point, she turned her face toward me, made full eye contact, and said. "I love you mama."

I am stunned that it took only nine months. Sometimes, I cannot believe how lucky we are.

(And other times, I cannot believe that Beatrix keeps getting her train stuck in her hair. It's a fine balance between the awesome and the absurd  here in this household.)

Hot elephants, kidnapping elves, and munkin feet

This morning, as I had my head buried in a cabinet, I heard Beatrix nattering on about "hot elephant... elephant really hot." Then I heard Liv giggle. "MOM! She's carrying around her stuffed elephant with pot holders, saying it's really hot!"

And sure enough, she was. 

That kid, she is crazy. I remember now why I loved this age with Olivia. The cute and funny sometimes outweigh the cranky and ornery.

Speaking of crazy... how is it possible that Christmas is less than a week away? Not. Ready. Not at all. Olivia, on the other hand, has been ready for about 360 days. She's positively vibrating. And, actually, so am I, thanks to the constant stream of cookies and candy coming through the front door and the eleven jillion cups of coffee I have been consuming daily.

George, our Elf on the Shelf, has been in rare form this year. He has duck-napped Fluffernutter (you may remember Fluffernutter from our care package to Bea this past January) and the two of them have been getting into all kinds of trouble. The other night they had an unauthorized tea party in the kitchen. I love listening to Olivia laugh when she finds George (and Fluffernutter) every morning. 

Aside: WHY doesn't George have any feet? Those nubs are a little creepy. 

We weren't sure what Bea would think about Christmas, but so far, she's rolling with it. I feel certain there was a moment of "WHAT are these crazy people doing, putting a TREE IN THE HOUSE?" but she quickly pronounced it "cute" and hasn't paid any attention to it since. 

She shocked us all by agreeing to sit on Santa's lap. She was clearly dubious, but willing to go along with big sister Oh-LAH. 

We're mixing things up this year: Friends here for Christmas Eve's fish-stravaganza, and John's parents here on Christmas Day for roast beast. I'm looking forward to it, and to seeing the girls' reactions to their gifts.  I'm pretty sure Liv is going to be thrilled by the computer. (I'm thrilled, too, because it means she won't be using mine any more.) I'm betting Bea will be most thrilled with the footed jammies that have frog feet and pig feet and elephant feet. She has a pair of monkey ones now and insists on wearing "munkin feet" every night. In the morning, when we take off the jammies, she says "bye, munkin feet! See you soon!" It's sickeningly cute. 

 

Hitched

The short one has no butt.

Really. Even with the adjustable-waist pants, the kid cannot keep her pants from dropping without imitating that scary 1990s "cinch it!" trend.

And now, even clothes that used to fit her are falling down... She's gotten longer since we brought her home, and suddenly this skirt -- which fit perfectly in China -- caused her to stop and adjust approximately 9,230 times during our visit to the park.

I present, in pictures, Bea's solution to this problem.

Step one: hitch.

 

Step 2: hitch higher. Note that she shed her coat so she could acheive more hitch-age.

Step 3: hitch so high that your skirt becomes a poncho.

And yes. I'm pretty sure I let her walk all the way home from the park like that. One more thing for her to bring up in therapy...

Who needs 7, right?

People kept saying, "just wait... Bea's language is going to explode one day." Yeah yeah yeah, blah blah blah, I just want to understand her NOW.

Well, it's NOW.

Within just the last week, the kid has started stringing together sentences of three, four, and five words. She repeats everything you say to her. (Note to self: do not make the same "dammit" mistake you made with Olivia.) She "reads" books to herself, copying the intonation and key words she remembers from each page. The Eric Carle books, in particular, are big favorites. "Braaaahn bear, braaaaaahn bear, what see? RED BUUUHHHD [bird]!"

What shocked me even more? She knows all of her letters and can count to ten. Well, unless you expect to hear seven, in which case you're SOL because she refuses to acknolwedge its existence.

One week ago, the kid couldn't (or wouldn't?) count past two, and even then she only counted when she wanted me to stop doing something. Hrm, where did she learn THAT? She also knew the letters A, B, and O. 

On Monday she spontaneously counted to five, then yesterday to ten. She recognizes all of the letters by sight, as I discovered while we were in the longest grocery line EVER last night. I was trying to keep her from leveling destruction on the impulse purchase area of the checkout -- I handed her one of our Whole Foods bags and asked to her find an A. Instead, she pointed at the slogan and recited "O - R - G-  A - N - I - C  -T - O - O - U - R - R - O - O - T - S without missing a single one.

Go, Bea!

An interesting aside: Some of her Mandarin has re-emerged. We hear the phrase she uses for "there is" (phonetically, it sounds like JayLUH, but I have no idea how to spell it in pinyan) all the time now, after not hearing it for months. Same for the words she's using for "come here" and "enough/bless you" whenever John sneezes. And, thank you is still xie xie. The child, she is an enigma. An awfully cute one, but an enigma nonetheless.

In which they snarf seaweed snacks, battle saggy pants, and show off their hacking cough/bossiness/new words

You know you're behind in your blogging when your mother scolds you about it. Sorry, mom. 

More words later, but for now, here are some short videos from two Saturdays ago. John was in Vegas so the girls and I went on approximately 287 walks around the neighborhood.

Beatrix had her usual problem with her pants falling down:

 

 

Liv packed a snack for the girls to eat at EyeBROWlah Bridge (the structure they made out of random rocks and named after Bea's chanting "eyeBROWlah eyeBROWlah eyeBROWlah" as she walked over it). I promise you, they normally have better table manners. And yes, I cleaned up the rogue bits of seaweed snacks. Somehow, I don't think the local squirrels would have enjoyed it very much. They didn't even touch the prosciutto Liv left out one day...

 

 

Bea's new words include stop, go, and run. Watch her boss us around.

 

Watch Olivia take Bea's panda hostage and cause angst and drama and look like she's just about to poke Bea with the stick-on-a-string she was carrying, all while hacking up her spleen or lung or something. 

 

That was one of the better Saturdays I've had lately. Everyone got along. Everyone giggled. No one (except me) got injured.

A clean break (and subsequent coping mechanisms)

Last weekend we dropped Miss O off for a week at camp -- the same camp my brother and I went to as kids. The camp is almost exactly the same, except for the fact that the cabins now have screens on the windows and doors that close. After Skunkapalooza 1983 and InsectFest 1984, I do not begrudge today's campers the luxury of a mostly-sealed environment for sleeping.

But I digress. O lives for this week every summer -- a week of running feral, standing on the benches during dinner to sing, eating dessert first, and possibly never changing clothes.

This year she arrived early enough to score the coveted top bunk and happily installed herself and her stuffed hedgehog and her roll of tape (this becomes important later). We kissed her goodbye and went off for a week of single-kid parenting.

Or so we thought. Turns out that the kid fell after dinner the first night and broke her wrist. I blame karma, because right before it happened they were playing a break-the-ice game of "I never." "I never broke a bone," said Olivia. 

Jinxed. Olivia learned a valuable life lesson that night: NEVER jinx yourself by saying something like "I was never struck by lightening" or "I never got eaten by a tiger at the zoo."

I picked her up and took her back to the city so we could spend some quality time in the Children's Hospital ER. (Aside: You see ALL KINDS of crazy there. Whoa.)

On the way out of camp, she was sobbing pitifully. "I didn't *sniff* *hiccup* even get *sob* to USE MY ROLL OF TAPE. I didn't have time *sniff* to get any emails or letters."

She left the ER with a blue cast and a note okaying her return to camp (oh, the relief at being able to use her tape!). A mere 5 hours later, John packed her, some trashbags and waterproof tape, and a handful of Sharpies into the car and drove her all the way back to camp at the crack of dawn.

I knew she'd have a hard time this last week -- she couldn't swim or play a lot of the games or go caving. But, being there in any capacity was better than not being there at all. She and her counselor had a lot of time to bond, and she somehow managed to eat Nerds Ropes and drink Orange Crush at the Hub with only one hand. Oh, the humanity.

When we got home, we realized that she could not get into her own bed. It's a top bunk with a straight vertical ladder (as opposed to the slanted steps in the camp cabin) and a high lip-- no way to climb in and out without using both arms. Her solution? 

This is a relic from her toddlerhood - there was a time when that tent lived in our living room and contained actual strata from all the hoarding and squirreling away she did in there. I'm pretty sure that most of her possessions (and a full 25% of our household stuff, like silverware and towels) were buried in that tent by the time we took it down.

She has apparently not moved past that phase. All of the detritus you see here (hedgehog beanbag, books, flashlight, notepads, pillows, blankets, pajamas, iPod, etc.) was shoved in during the first 12 hours. 

(Also, I suspect Bea has been visiting the tent when she should have been shua ya'ing. I was wondering where that stupid toothbrush went...)

This morning, Bea hopped out of bed, unzipped the tent, stuck her head in and yelled HELLOOOO. She then zipped it back up and spent the next several minutes hurling herself at the tent because that is all kinds of fun when you are three.

"Mom. I've solved that problem. I turned the tent around so the zipper part is against the wall. She can't unzip it and wake me up anymore." Hah. Good luck with that.

Digits

Someone, please, tell me: WHERE HAS SUMMER GONE? And what have I done with it, other than eat every breakfast on the porch, cover said porch with Play-doh (aside: who knew Play-doh and concrete loved each other so much they could never ever be separated?), drink awesome iced chocolate coffee, work half time, and stay up late watching the kids tear up and down the street in pursuit of fireflies and the top speed in a Cozy Coupe.

In many ways this has been a fabulous summer. Working 20 hours a week means I have 2.5 days to spend hanging out with Bea and Liv. We’ve seen a lot of elephant poop and playgrounds and Sesame Street episodes. Some of us have also seen a lot of Wizards of Waverly Place (hint: it’s not me).

In other ways, it’s been the roughest summer since the one Miss O arrived. You all, adding a three-year old to our family has been so many kinds of wonderful, but also incredibly challenging. For one thing, I AM OLD. And cranky. My patience is pretty much nonexistent and if I have to ask “do you have to go potty” or say “do not touch mama’s phone/computer/eyeball” one more time I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

Also, the two girls are still at that frenemy stage – they like each other fine for about 10 minutes every day, then someone dares to touch me or ask me to brush her hair or read her a story and the other one is suddenly sulking or tantruming or plotting how to kill me in my sleep.

Baby steps, right? This stuff just takes time. (And if it never gets better, please don’t tell me or I might be the one sulking and tantruming.)

The fall scares the bejeebers out of me. We have to find something to do with Bea. I have to go back to work full time. AND, to make things more interesting, I will be teaching another course at my alma mater.  A required course for one of the graduate programs. WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING WHEN I SAID YES? Okay, okay. I was thinking “this is a fabulous opportunity that I might never get again and if I turn it down I am 87 kinds of stupid.” However, I am freaking right the hell out over the amount of prep to get this course imprinted on my brain and to make it work. Nervous would be an understatement.

Also… Miss O? She will be in fifth grade. That is unpossible. I cannot even wrap my brain around that fact. I remember fifth grade clearly: new bras (and boys to snap the bra straps), Trapper Keepers with horses and orchids on them, illicit eye shadow application in the school bathroom (Maybelline frosted blue FTW), and serious crushes on boys. Which reminds me: this summer contained a milestone I was not really ready for… Miss O came home from camp with two boys’ numbers. Luckily she has a good head on her shoulders and discerning taste in men and quickly dropped the numbers into the trash. ;-)

 

Broccoli... it's what's for dinner

Or, in the case of Bea, it's *all* that's for dinner. (In her dreams.) We found this on her plate at dinner the other night.

The best way to eat the broccoli is to pick it out of the garden and just gnaw on it.

Or, um, sing to it, dance it around, smash it into your baby's face, and then place it gently outside for the broccoli fairy to come get.

 

 

I (sorta) see you

When we first met Beatrix, she had some combination of a bowl cut and a mullet. It was... interesting.

Over the months, it's grown. A lot. And because I am determined to ditch the bangs, I haven't gotten it cut yet.  This works out fine when she leaves in her bow or barrette or pointy tails (awesome term stolen from Trina's daughter).

When she doesn't? Sheepdog city, baby. She tilts her head back and squints down her nose to try to look around her hair.

When she REALLY wants to see something, she'll try the "peer under the bangs and over the nose" method, then she gets frustrated and very dramatically sweeps her hair off her face with both hands.  We see a lot of Bea in this pose.

 

Traffic Snackcident

We all know that it's bad to talk on the phone while driving. For one thing, you might have a snackcident.

You might also hit a cow.

Boxed in

Alert: Stellar parenting moment ahead.

A few days ago, it was so quiet in my house that I thought for sure Olivia had gone outside to play with her friends. I knew exactly where the short one was (under and in between my feet).

Imagine my shock when I walked into the living room and found out that Olivia was actually inside. To be precise, she was inside a box she'd dragged up from the basement and decorated with Home Sweet Home sentiments and couch pillows and blankets and snacks. 

The box is strategically too high for Bea to get into, though that did not stop her from trying to interrupt her sister's me-time in the box.

When she couldn't get in, she decided to get ON. With her own box, thankyouverymuch.

Two thumbs-up, people. She was quite pleased with herself.

In preparation for my family's arrival this weekend, I had to move the box downstairs yesterday. But not before I found myself asking questions like "Olivia, are you eating watermelon in that box?" and "Olivia, you've been in that box for hours; don't you need to come out to pee or brush your teeth or something?" 

The electronic baby book, installment 184

If I don't write down something, chances are good it'll be forgotten. Ask me when Olivia got her first tooth or what her first word was and I'll have to tell you to hold on while I go look it up in her baby book or in my journal. (Ask me if I remember her three-year-old behavior and I'll say no, because I just deleted that right out of my brain before it even got to a keyboard or paper.)

So, this is pretty much officially Beatrix's baby book. I'll never know when she got her first tooth, what her first word was, or when exactly she started crawling or walking or skipping. But I will know the first time she said her sister's name, the first time she ate 6 slices of American cheese, and the first time she called me mama.

This is as close as it gets to a baby book for Beatrix, so pardon my yammering on below about some of the things I want to remember. No plot line, no good story, just the state of the Beatrix.

Language

She still says xiexie all the time, and something that sounds like bahLAH when she wants help. There are still long, convoluted sentences in a language that could be Chinese or could just be babble. Shua ya (she says it sccchhhlaaaaa laaaaaa) is still the only thing she says for brushing teeth. She sometimes says chi and sometimes says "eeeee" when we are talking about eating or watching some animal eat.

However, she's picking up new English words and phrases faster than before. Just this morning I got an "all bellah" [all better] for the first time when I kissed her wounded elbow. Another new sentence today: "I push" as we wheeled her stroller around the zoo. When she eats something she likes, she now says "ih guuuh" [it's good].

Other words/phrases that are relatively new: mahm (directed at anyone when she wants attention - John's thinking she picked it up from Olivia saying "mom" all the time); I gahl ih [I got it]; peet [feet];  pahLUH [Folly];  showluh [shower]; melon; lilahlala [lizard - this one comes with a tongue flicking in and out]; bana [banana]; Alshuh [Alison]; fuhFAHfuh [dishwasher]; kit-EN [kitchen]; fahfull [waffle]; kekup [ketchup]; wahluh [water]; schnaaaa [nasal sounding, and can mean snot or snack -- mmmmm]; turn [as in taking turns on the slide]; ahPUSS [octopus]; car; bus; choo choo tain; gogogo [said when she wants you to walk through the door first; wonder where she learned THAT?]. She loooooves to snort and will bust out a loud one at the most random times.

She also started referring to herself as Bea this week. She'll point at herself and say "BEA!" then point at me and say "MAMA!" and do that eight bazillion times. This is the first time I've ever seen her assign a word or name to herself. She'd point to herself if you asked "Where's Beatrix Nan Yu?" but she never named herself.

Olivia is either jie jie or ah-la.

Chi 

For a kid who would not deign to touch watermelon in March, April, May, or most of June, Beatrix has eaten probably four times her weight in it over the last two weeks. I always wondered how a kid could possibly hate watermelon and was deeply suspicious of her hatred. Turns out I was wise to doubt. :) 

Yogurt (YO-lurt!) is still one of her favorites. She likes it in a container, in a bowl, or in a tube. That kid mastered the yogurt tube suck-and-roll technique in no time flat. Broccoli always gets eaten before anything else, and the child loves Morningstar Farms "sausage" and peanut butter waffles and french fries and -- thanks to her older sister -- American cheese slices.

She hasn't touched a piece of bread since we left China. (Her records all said how much she loved bread, and she ate a ton of it there.)

Other junk

Her hair is really growing in, but it's all, uh, forward. She looks like a sheepdog unless we put it back in little pony tails or bows. Her hair will not naturally part and hang to the side, although I seem to recall this phase with Olivia, too.

She sat straight up in bed the other night and stage whispered, "mahm! mahm! mahm! I gall ih!" and then flopped back down. I'm dying to know what it was she thought she had...

Her sleep is terrible. She is exhausted all the time, but I can't make her sleep more. So frustrating. We sit in the room while she falls asleep (vive le wireless router), which sometimes takes 5 minutes and sometimes takes 93 minutes (not that I've ever counted). Once she's out, she's a heavy sleeper, but she's taken to waking up with the chickens. So, on a night when she's super tired and I try to put her to bed around 8:15, she'll be up until after 9, and then is often up at 6:15 or 6:30. SO not enough sleep. Even if I try to cut out her afternoon nap, she will find a way to fall asleep during the day, either in the stroller or on the floor or in the car.

She's had a couple of bad nights where she wakes up crying and just lies in bed until one of us comes to rock her. (Usually if she wakes up in the night, she hops out of bed and walks over to our room.) I can only guess she's had a bad dream or is processing all her grief and other feelings about the transition. It's heartbreaking. 

Aside from that, she is an amazingly happy child. She smiles all the time (when she's not making the thundercloud face) and loves to be silly and laugh. She has so. much. freaking. energy. Seriously - I thought Olivia was high energy, but Beatrix makes Liv look like a sloth. Or a slug. Or something. She always needs to know what's going on and she's sure to be hauling a stool or a chair over to "help" with whatever we're doing on the counter or table. She looooves to unload the fuhFAHfuh (dishwasher) and who am I to complain? 

She is a daredevil - no fear, that one. Beatrix will climb up or slide down anything, and tries to jump off of all sorts of stuff. I have a whole series of pictures I fondly call the "Beatrix Clings to Stuff" series where she's managed to climb somewhere and then gotten stuck; is it bad that I let her cling while I take a picture, THEN I help her down? Yeah, therapy in the future for that one, probably.

Priorities

Last night I was amazingly productive. Between 6:30 and 11:00, I managed to go to spin class, leave spin class 15 minutes early so I could shower, stop at TJs for supplies, be on EM's porch by 7:30 for cocktails and grilled rosemary feta, and still make it back to P Street for Top Chef. When food and booze are involved, I am super efficient. And that last 15 minutes of spin class? Well, clearly the shower and the cocktails were a higher priority. 

What is not a priority in this house (at least to some)? SLEEP. Sweet fancy moses, what IS it about this house that makes children never ever sleep again? Beatrix is so tired she spent today walking into things, literally. It was too much effort to lift her head while she was drawing.  

Kid, there's a solution to this problem: GO. TO. SLEEP. Oh, and STAY ASLEEP.

I really don't know what to do with her. It takes her an hour or more to fall asleep at night, even if she's exhausted. Then she wakes up at the crack of dawn. If I'm lucky, I get her to fall back to sleep for a little while. If not, well... our mornings are not pleasant. She still naps, but even that isn't helping. The bags under her eyes are packed for a trip around the world.

And whoa, is Olivia exhausted and shranky, too. There were tears in my house this week over flip flops. Really? You're crying because you can't wear flip flops to camp, where you are playing field games and doing the climbing wall and walking in the creek? OMG shoot me now.

Other members of the family aren't sleeping well either, thanks to a cold and the short people. 

It would probably be wrong to pass out Benedryl to my entire family, huh? Do they make kiddie Ambien?

Wordless Wednesday: Wheeeeeeee

Just dance

The Bodiography spring performance was this past weekend; as always, I was blown away by the talent of all the college prep students. Those girls were amazing. 

Olivia amazed me, too. She's finally starting to be able to control her body. No more chicken arms for her (as Maria called them)! She looked beautiful on stage -- smiling and comfortable and happy to be there. Her performance wasn't perfect, but I'm so proud of how far she's come over the last few months. I'm pretty sure I could never get up in front of a sold-out audience and dance like those girls do.

Beatrix was also amazing. She sat through the entire three hour performance without complaint. Occasionally she'd reach forward, tap John on the head, and point at the stage while saying something that could have meant "hey, this is really cool" or "hey, do they have any ketchup up there?"

A few pictures, and video of one of her two performances (she's on the far left):

    

   

 

These are due back in three weeks

On Friday Olivia got a magical box in the mail. It was full of li-berry materials: Summer reading stickers, New Book stickers, due-date cards, due-date-card holdermajiggies, and A DATE STAMP. It makes the most satisfying kuh-CHUN when it stamps. *covet*

She and her friend immediately set up the Learning Library. (As opposed to those non-learning libraries...) There were giant stacks of books and a circulation desk that might or might not have been a hedgehog beanbag chair twenty minutes before.

First up: Library cards for everyone in the house. I don't know whether to laugh or cry over the use of scare quotes.

Olivia had an uncanny ability to focus on the thing her magical box benefactress hates most: Summer reading. The kid really pushed these books on her patrons.

By the end, Beatrix was sitting on the circulation desk stark nekkid and impatiently chanting "buhNAH bunNAH bunNAH" while waiting to check out Knuffle Bunny.  That circulation desk? It was a little slow. Like, four years behind. Our books seem to be due in August 2007. These are going to be some serious late fees. 

 

What could *possibly* go wrong?

Two girls. A giant cement slide built into the side of a hill. Pieces of cardboard.

Put all three of these together (the cardboard goes under the butt for more speed, of course) and really... WHAT could POSSIBLY go wrong?

Luckily, nothing this time... unless you count the fact that Beatrix is now completely addicted to Blue Slide Park. On the plus side, she carted that slab of cardboard up the hill 8,920 times in an hour and fell asleep tonight as soon as her head hit the pillow. It would probably be overkill to take her every single day, right?

 

    

Word

John's East End Brewing hat is the perfect accessory for this season's swimsuits.

Once they stopped playing with the hat, I actually managed to get a decent picture of the short ones...

But then it quickly devolved into this:

And this:

And then? Then we were ALL DONNNNNNNNE, as Beatrix would say.

 

Thighmaster

Let me tell you, Suzanne Somers and her Thighmaster have nothing on hauling a Burley bike trailer full of toddler and rice and wet clothes up giant hills, across a bridge or two, and on what felt like a 30-mile ride. It was probably only 15 miles, but whoa. My thighs. My quads. My butt. 

We biked from Millvale down through the North Shore, up past Western Penitentiary (awesomely creepy to bike past a prison), back through the North Shore, over to the Strip, then back to Millvale. It was a beautiful day, and I'm pretty sure Bea enjoyed her first ride in the Burley. Thanks to M & K again for the awesome donation.

There was, of course, the obligatory stop at the water steps. And there was, of course, much viewing of entirely too much flesh on my fellow Pittsburghers. Dude, NO ONE needs to see that. Beatrix was dubious at first, then stomped happily. Olivia sulked that she didn't have a bathing suit, so John dunked her. Suddenly, she was much happier. Also, much soggier.

   

After drying off the soggy children, we biked over to the strip and went to Lotus Foods. We stupidly acquired 12 pounds of rice and another 10 pounds of assorted other groceries for Supper Club.

We had linner at Kaya, complete with a nojito for Olivia and a frozen (fully alcoholic) mojito for me. Yum. They have the most ghetto yet most awesome kids' cups I've ever seen: take-out containers with a hole punched in the lid. Low center of gravity, people! No matter how she tried, she couldn't spill this or tip it over. (Olivia, on the other hand, upended her glass of water within 30 seconds of it being set on the table.)

The ride home nearly did me in. At one point I was behind a gaggle of veeeerrrrry sloooooooowwww people walking up a huge ramp to the bridge. It was all I could do to keep the bike moving uphill to start with, but when I had to go that slow, well... Beatrix picked that point in time to yell (ironically) "wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I yelled back at her, "Yeah, you can 'wheeee' all you want because you're not the one pulling 40 pounds of crap up a hill at a snail's pace." Unexpected side effect: People moved out of the way so I could make it up to the top.

Butt and thighs and quads aside, it was a lovely day. No one complained (much), no one wrecked, and pulling the Burley wasn't half as bad as I expected. (Well, except for those hills. And the rice.) Next nice weekend might call for a longer ride on one of the trails along the Yough...

 

Rub a dub dub, two girls in a tub (or, when mom fails to supervise the bath foam)

Complain and ye shall receive

Apparently all I needed to do was finally write yesterday's blog post (which had been sitting in my draft folder for a solid week).

What did I hear last night? GIGGLING. And not just from one child. BOTH OF THEM. AT ONCE.

BECAUSE THEY WERE PLAYING TOGETHER. 

Whoa. I'd heard that this kind of stuff happened, but I was pretty sure it was just an urban legend, like the whole waking up in a bathtub of ice missing a kidney thing.

You all, I very nearly cried because that was the best sound I've heard in a very, very long time.

 

Cutting a rug, Latin American style

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, I offer you this stunning display of salsa, um, dancing. Or perhaps just salsa booty waggling and finger pointing and falling over.

 

On language

This language thing is rough. There are days when I just want to yell STOP GRUNTING AT ME because Beatrix wants something but doesn't have the words to say it and so she grunts and points and whines and it is so many kinds of awesome. 

I know it's a completely unfair comparison, but I can't help thinking that by now, Olivia was speaking in full sentences and telling short stories. "Fider [spider] on wall. Shoe hit fider. Fider all gone."

And honestly, I guess Beatrix IS speaking in full sentences, only those sentences are some combination of Chinese and toddler babble and we cannot decipher them. It's fun to listen to her once she really gets going, though.

Her receptive language is amazing -- she understands exactly what we're telling her. It's her expressive that's still lagging a bit. She does say some English words (DOH for dog, CAH for cat, apple, more, buh-bye, COH for cow, EEEESE for please, yoBEHcuh for you're welcome, BUHnaaaah for bunny, baby), but more often than not, she'll either just nod or she'll bust out her Chinese.

For example, the other day we were driving and saw two dogs. Olivia said, "Bea, look! Two dogs!" and Beatrix excitedly said, "yi, er! Yi er DOH!" (Translation: One, two! One two dogs!) When I ask her how old she is, instead of repeating "two" like I've said, she yells "ER!" Basically, she refuses to count in English, but knows exactly what I'm saying and will repeat back to me the Chinese equivalent. It's pretty impressive, actually.

I'm pretty sure that she's using a Chinese word for hot when she sees food or drink that's steaming - I can't figure out how to spell it, but it's a consistent usage. Same for what she says when someone sneezes or coughs.

She switches back and forth between bao bao and baby when she sees pictures of babies or little kids. 

Her thank you varies. Sometimes it's English, sometimes it's Chinese. And brushing teeth is always shua ya (though she mangles it into schlllaaaahhh yaaaaaaah). I hope that one sticks around - it's awfully fun to say.

Here's what I think of your organ smock...

She was not amused. But I was. A lot. And because I'm bigger and stronger (just barely), I made her put on the organ smock and then I made her pose for pictures.

She was so offended that she started pulling off the organs one by one. Rrrrrrrriiiipppp went the velcro heart. Another rrrrrriiiiiipppp, and the small intestine was toast. Here, Grandma Jan, YOU hold it.

BUHHHH-NAAAAAAH

Or, y'know, bunny in non-Beatrixese.

She was befuddled by the whole dunk-the-egg-in-a-glass-of-colored-junk, but watched her sensei carefully.

"Oh hey, this is EASY. Just take the egg and drop it into the glass from the furthest possible distance!" PLONK.

She is a double (and triple, and sometimes quadruple) dipper. The egg she just took out of the blue and let dry? Gee, why not dunk it into the yellow? And then the green? Not shockingly, we had some very, uh, earth toned (and cracked) eggs by the time the mad dipper was done. Olivia's were all fancy-schmancy and featured broken hearts and other nifty designs that may or may not have been holiday-related.

As for Easter itself, as soon as Beatrix found the first piece of chocolate in the first egg, she was on board. Olivia tried as hard as she could to get Beatrix interested in finding eggs, but the short one was just in it for the chocolate and marshmallows. She would find an egg, open it, unwrap the contents, eat it, and only then move on to find another egg. It was a looooong egg hunt.

  

Olivia was amazing -- instead of running and finding all the eggs she could, she patiently waited for Beatrix and tried to help her find the eggs. When it became apparent that Beatrix was only interested in the chocolate, Olivia tromped over the muddy grass, retrieved the rest of the eggs, and happily dumped them in Beatrix's basket. I told her 87 times how proud I was of her and how much it meant to see her make that effort. 

Once inside, Beatrix ripped the wrapper off her chocolate bunny with gusto, took a giant bite (ears first, in case you wondered), then looked down the gaping hole in the bunny with a "WHAT is this hole business and WHERE is the rest of my chocolate" expression. Reminds me of Olivia's first ToT experience, when she managed to suck clear through the wrapper of the Kit Kat she so desperately wanted. Both girls may or may not have eaten disgusting amounts of candy before we were able to force some real food down their gullets and get them dressed for brunch at Casbah.

 

Self conscious

Nine and ten are interesting ages to watch. The girls are toeing an always-shifting line between being completely unselfconscious and being hyper aware of not appearing weird, dorky, or different.

The other day I walked Miss O and her friend back from the zoo. They were ahead of me and thought nothing of doing the chicken dance as they walked down the sidewalk. 

UNTIL a car went by that they recognized. Then one of them shrieked "OH MY GOSH THAT WAS WILLIAM AND HE SAW US!!!!" and they immediately giggled and blushed and stopped all duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-NUHing and clapping and discussed how mortifying that was for the entire rest of the walk home.

Not a dramatic bone in her body, is there?