Yesterday, Laine had been playing outside ("side?"), dumping dirt back into the holes that Libby has been working tirelessly on. Joe brought her back in and I laughed at her filthy hands and the dirt that had somehow gotten into her shoes and in between her toes.
"Punkin, you're going to need a bath tonight! You are DIRTY!"
"Dirty!" she parroted. Clear as a bell.
Joe and I looked at each other wide-eyed.
"Did you hear that?" I asked him and Laine piled books into my lap.
"Yeah. She said dirty."
"Sometimes she just... astounds me." I murmured.
As soon as I said it I realized how true it was. Even though she has been mimicking words and learning new ones every day for months, there are moments when she looks at me and says something new and sounds so self-assured, so smart, so much like a big girl! Or I see her trotting down the hall to her room flapping her arms or carrying a book and marvel at how tall she is, how confident, how much of a big girl! Or I ask her to pick out a new book or go get her baby or take a drink of milk and she DOES it and I laugh a little to think that I am actually talking WITH my daughter instead of just TO her. And that soon she will be talking back in more than just parroted words... and then eventually, not long enough from now probably, she will be talking BACK to me. (That is one phase I am in no rush to get to.)
I know as she gets older (taller, BIGGER) that she will continue to get smarter, more confident, more self-sufficient... and I will continue to be more and more astounded.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
don't forget to remember
We forget so much as mothers. Of course we have to forget the pain of childbirth and the anxiety and exhaustion and crippling panicky moments of the first few months, at least enough to be willing to do it again. We forget how tiny they were, when exactly they rolled over back to tummy and tummy to back, how many times we washed yellowy newborn poop off of teeny weeny newborn onesies only to have them spit up on immediately after they came out of the dryer. We forget the name of the mother that we liked at the new mom group, even though we can remember their baby's name and when they (the baby... usually) had their last bowel movement and how they feel about breastfeeding in public. We forget what newborn baby feet smell like... before they start to smell like FEET (the true test of toddlerhood, in my opinion). We forget the mundane moments... and the miraculous ones.
Almost as remarkable as how much we forget as mothers is how much we remember.
We remember a whole new human. Their birthday (down to the minute), how much they weigh and how many inches long they are and how they rank compared to other growing little ones, the foods they like and the ones they throw at you in frustration and disgust, the words they know, the names of their friends (and the words they know and when they walked and ohmygodismybabybehindthatbabyamIaterribleparent?) and when the next playdate is. The words to the books you read over and over (and over) again, from Goodnight Moon to Yummy Yucky to My First Book of Colors. We remember how to translate "Sdat" to "What's that?" and we remember that it's important to try and answer every time, even when we've already told them too many times to count. We remember how much we've forgotten.
And then we remember to thank God that we live in the age of digital photography.
Almost as remarkable as how much we forget as mothers is how much we remember.
We remember a whole new human. Their birthday (down to the minute), how much they weigh and how many inches long they are and how they rank compared to other growing little ones, the foods they like and the ones they throw at you in frustration and disgust, the words they know, the names of their friends (and the words they know and when they walked and ohmygodismybabybehindthatbabyamIaterribleparent?) and when the next playdate is. The words to the books you read over and over (and over) again, from Goodnight Moon to Yummy Yucky to My First Book of Colors. We remember how to translate "Sdat" to "What's that?" and we remember that it's important to try and answer every time, even when we've already told them too many times to count. We remember how much we've forgotten.
And then we remember to thank God that we live in the age of digital photography.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
sheesh
Remember that time I was going to make blogging more a part of my regular routine? Well, let's talk about what a liar I am. I don't even have good excuses, y'all. We were snowed in for DAYS and I still didn't blog. And trust me, I could have written a freakin' book on The Stir Crazy. Oh The Stir Crazy... sheesh. But ANWAYS. I've been inspired. And Marie, if you're reading, the inspiration is YOU. Marie went to my high school and has a daughter just a few months younger than Laine and she updates her blog with baby updates alllllll the time. The entries are always delightful, usually have pictures, and are just radiating the love that Marie has for her precious little one. Thanks goodness Laine and Libby (Marie's daughter, not to be confused with the Libby that usually gets the spotlight in this particular blog) can't read and compare notes because Laine updates certainly pale in comparison to Miss Libby's lately. So, thanks Marie and Libby for making me ashamed of my slackerdom and motivating me to follow your example.
Laine update, you ask? Well certainly.
Laine is a TODDLER, y'all. It's amazing to me how she has changed in the few short months since her birthday. She is walking/almost running everywhere now and picking up speed and confidence daily. She adds words to her vocabulary constantly and is becoming quite the proficient little parrot (which means Joe and I really need to watch what we say now! yikes...). She's still taking two naps but I think we're sneaking up on a transition to one (yikes again). She eats "table food" almost exclusively, loves her milk and (watered down but don't tell her that) juice in a sippy cup. She still loves her books more than anything and will get me to read to her for hours. She cracks up laughing- sometimes so hard that she falls over- when we add "sound effects" to her books, especially sneezes, "ouch", and "yucky" sounds. She is independent and bright, joyful and friendly, frustrating and delightful. In short, she is everything I would have asked for in a daughter and then some. How lucky am I?
Laine update, you ask? Well certainly.
Laine is a TODDLER, y'all. It's amazing to me how she has changed in the few short months since her birthday. She is walking/almost running everywhere now and picking up speed and confidence daily. She adds words to her vocabulary constantly and is becoming quite the proficient little parrot (which means Joe and I really need to watch what we say now! yikes...). She's still taking two naps but I think we're sneaking up on a transition to one (yikes again). She eats "table food" almost exclusively, loves her milk and (watered down but don't tell her that) juice in a sippy cup. She still loves her books more than anything and will get me to read to her for hours. She cracks up laughing- sometimes so hard that she falls over- when we add "sound effects" to her books, especially sneezes, "ouch", and "yucky" sounds. She is independent and bright, joyful and friendly, frustrating and delightful. In short, she is everything I would have asked for in a daughter and then some. How lucky am I?
Monday, January 10, 2011
s[no]w way!
How will I ever convince my 14 month old daughter (who experienced the THIRD SNOW of her little life today) that snow in the south is actually a rare event? I feel it's not convincing when we're blanketed with almost 8 inches of the fluffy (icy) stuff in one day.
Oh and really... how stinkin' adorable is she?
Oh and really... how stinkin' adorable is she?
Friday, December 24, 2010
top 5
In order, my top five Smith (and now Caldwell) family traditions. Happy Holidays, everyone! May you be surrounded by family that are friends and friends that are family. And lots of good food.
5. Christmas Eve spaghetti dinner, complete with green noodles. I don't remember the exact origin of this tradition, but it's a nice break in the monotony of ham after turkey after ham (not that I'm complaining. I could eat holiday food all year round). It always marks the official start of Christmas celebration when I smell my mom's spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove. Of course there's always peppermint red velvet cake, fudge, Woodford pudding, ginger muffins... our family knows how to do Christmas food.
4. Our annual viewing of the Muppet Christmas Carol. My dad and I are definitely the most enthusiastic about this tradition (although I'm sure some members of my family would have much more colorful adjectives) and could probably reenact the movie on our own without the help of the actual Muppets. Nothing can make me laugh the way Gonzo as Charles Dickens and his faithful sidekick Rizzo the Rat can.
3. The mystery of the ugly Christmas fruit. Years ago when my great-grandmother passed away, my mom managed to sneak away from cleaning out her house without a hideous sculpture of fruit that some kind old lady friends were insisting was "just her style". That year or a few years following (the time line gets a little confused now), my aunt Jane gave it to my mom for Christmas. A few years later, Mom gave it back to Jane. The first Christmas Joe and I were married we had a huge gift under the tree from Jane. I was so excited to open it... until I got past the first layer of tissue and saw the tip of the fruit sculpture peeking out at me. Last year I managed to give it back to mom (via a decoy Big Box) and now it's anyone's guess when, where, and for whom it will re-appear.
2. My family always makes a pretty big deal out of going to pick out our Christmas tree and decorating it. My dad brings down the boxes upon boxes or ornaments, Nutcrackers, figurines, and lights and we spend the day after Thanksgiving re-telling stories, singing Amy Grant Christmas songs from the early 90s, and welcoming the Christmas season as a family.
1. The Big Box started on accident 16 years ago. My Dad put a huge box under the tree with no tag on it, and for a 10, 7, and 4 year old, a large unmarked box at Christmas time is a BIG DEAL. Of course, seeing how excited and curious we were about the box, my Dad made a game of it and refused to reveal who the box was for. It was the last thing we opened Christmas morning, all of us nearly exploding with excitement. It was pillows. For Mom. But the Box was back next year, and the year after that, and it's there this year, 16 years later. Some years it's a hit (a Wii, black pearls for Mom), and some years it's a miss (a vaccuum) but it's always there, unlabeled and enormous, our own little Christmas mystery.
5. Christmas Eve spaghetti dinner, complete with green noodles. I don't remember the exact origin of this tradition, but it's a nice break in the monotony of ham after turkey after ham (not that I'm complaining. I could eat holiday food all year round). It always marks the official start of Christmas celebration when I smell my mom's spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove. Of course there's always peppermint red velvet cake, fudge, Woodford pudding, ginger muffins... our family knows how to do Christmas food.
4. Our annual viewing of the Muppet Christmas Carol. My dad and I are definitely the most enthusiastic about this tradition (although I'm sure some members of my family would have much more colorful adjectives) and could probably reenact the movie on our own without the help of the actual Muppets. Nothing can make me laugh the way Gonzo as Charles Dickens and his faithful sidekick Rizzo the Rat can.
3. The mystery of the ugly Christmas fruit. Years ago when my great-grandmother passed away, my mom managed to sneak away from cleaning out her house without a hideous sculpture of fruit that some kind old lady friends were insisting was "just her style". That year or a few years following (the time line gets a little confused now), my aunt Jane gave it to my mom for Christmas. A few years later, Mom gave it back to Jane. The first Christmas Joe and I were married we had a huge gift under the tree from Jane. I was so excited to open it... until I got past the first layer of tissue and saw the tip of the fruit sculpture peeking out at me. Last year I managed to give it back to mom (via a decoy Big Box) and now it's anyone's guess when, where, and for whom it will re-appear.
2. My family always makes a pretty big deal out of going to pick out our Christmas tree and decorating it. My dad brings down the boxes upon boxes or ornaments, Nutcrackers, figurines, and lights and we spend the day after Thanksgiving re-telling stories, singing Amy Grant Christmas songs from the early 90s, and welcoming the Christmas season as a family.
1. The Big Box started on accident 16 years ago. My Dad put a huge box under the tree with no tag on it, and for a 10, 7, and 4 year old, a large unmarked box at Christmas time is a BIG DEAL. Of course, seeing how excited and curious we were about the box, my Dad made a game of it and refused to reveal who the box was for. It was the last thing we opened Christmas morning, all of us nearly exploding with excitement. It was pillows. For Mom. But the Box was back next year, and the year after that, and it's there this year, 16 years later. Some years it's a hit (a Wii, black pearls for Mom), and some years it's a miss (a vaccuum) but it's always there, unlabeled and enormous, our own little Christmas mystery.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
my baby is a genius
Just because I haven't written them down yet, I probably never will with any future children, and I know I won't remember when I'm 40, here are the words Laine knows so far (at slightly over 13 months of age). You're welcome.
dog
woof woof
meow
roar
baa
bawk bawk (chicken noise)
moo (Are you noticing a theme here? She knows animal noises, but not the actual animal. Go figure.)
bear
door
daddy
mama
hi
uh oh
banana
no
"dat" for "what's that"
ho ho (what santa says)
apple
ball
hat
wawa ("wallet")
bubble
eye
nose
mouth
yay
bye bye
whoa
dog
woof woof
meow
roar
baa
bawk bawk (chicken noise)
moo (Are you noticing a theme here? She knows animal noises, but not the actual animal. Go figure.)
bear
door
daddy
mama
hi
uh oh
banana
no
"dat" for "what's that"
ho ho (what santa says)
apple
ball
hat
wawa ("wallet")
bubble
eye
nose
mouth
yay
bye bye
whoa
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
ho ho... uh oh
We got there right at 10am, waiting in the front of the line for The Big Man's arrival. When he made his grand entrance and sat in his green velvet armchair and I heard the little ones all around me squeal I couldn't help but get a little teary-eyed. Joe nudged me and laughed, but there was something undeniably moving to me about starting a new tradition with my daughter, one that has always brought me and my family so much joy. I still remember Dad telling us stories while we wound our way through the maze of fake snow, elves, and the like (one of the best was about a reindeer named Elmer who had something to do with creating the famous glue...), watching the videos of ourselves when we got home, the certainty that somehow the Santa at the Augusta Mall was, if not the real thing, close enough to make sure all of our Christmas morning wishes would come true. Laine was squirmy and excited as we moved toward The Man Himself and I allowed myself high hopes for the world's most adorable Christmas card, the first in a long line of happy mall-Santa memories.
Well. There's always next year.
Well. There's always next year.
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