Seriously, child. Already?

Like every other major development so far, this one came as a surprise.
Elise has been using the steps to pull herself up to a standing position, but then she just stands there and tries to tinker with the night light. That was her M.O. until tonight, when we looked over at her and she was kneeling on the first step and looking nowhere but up.
She got more adventurous and soon was on the third step.
Frankly, I'm not thrilled about this achievement. But I think there is an upside to this. She'll be more capable of helping when we refinish the stairs.
I can picture it now: "Hey, Elise, please go up and remove that 7th tread."

D'oh!

The cool, pasty, fresh odor still triggers a particular memory for me:
Standing at the check-out lane at the North St. Paul Target store. My age is in the single digits, my attention focused intently on the impulse-purchase items. They all look so good -- how do they know to put all those toys at my height, anyway? I spot the small containers of Play-Doh and the Silly Putty eggs. They'd be so fun. I can smell the Play-Doh through the container, and I envision flattening the Silly Putty on the kitchen table with my palm...
OK, snap out of it!
So did I leave the store with either toy? I don't recall, but it's that vivid image of small Play-Doh containers stocked on Target-red shelving that I remember.
That memory came back to me the other day as Anni and I were trying to keep Elise from eating the Play-Doh that we let her play with for the first time.
Is she too young for Play-Doh? Nah, so long as you make sure she doesn't assume it's dessert.
She actually had a pretty good time picking it up, crushing it, rolling it and trying to get it off her fingertips.
And, yes, I smelled the stuff to see if it's changed. It hasn't.

Myotonic? Nah, just ticked

You've probably heard of fainting goats. If you haven't, check out this brief video before watching the video I uploaded to this post.
If you are familiar with those creatures -- they're actually called myotonic goats -- you still should check out the linked video.
Watched it yet? OK, now let me explain. It's pretty simple, really: For the past couple of weeks we've been raising our own fainting goat.
The only difference is that the real goats "faint" because of a nerve condition. Ours drops to the ground like a fainting goat because of an attitude condition.
Anni gets credit for making the connection. So guess who will get the blame if this is an early-onset temper tantrum?

A good sign

Elise has been learning basic "baby sign language" for several months, and is starting to catch on. (I was skeptical at first that this works and is useful, but I converted.)
She is being taught basic signs by us and by the teachers at school: water, thank you, milk, no, mom, dad and more.
We have seen her sign, but it often is, well, sloppy. It's not quite the right sign, but it's close enough for someone in a diaper.
Yesterday I was feeding her lunch. She had cleaned her tray of the bread and cottage cheese. I turned to look at her and she was staring at me and making an absolutely perfect sign for "more." You could have taken a picture of her gesture and slapped it in a book as an example -- of course, you first would have to remove the mashed bread bits from between her fingers.
Well, this little episode was pretty exciting. Oh, sure, like I said, we've seen her sign before and she signs at school. I told Anni about it when she got home, but I could not explain why it was any different than when she has signed before.
And maybe it was no different, except that it finally clicked for me: She wanted something, knew that to get more of it she had to do something other than cry, so did that. Basic communication -- it's very underrated.
There was an even more exciting development today, though.
I took Elise to Menards. I put her in the cart and we wandered around the store, including making the required stroll through the jaw-droppingly fascinating lighting section.
After finding my items, we were nearing the checkout lanes. I paused for a moment. I looked down at Elise. She looked up and gestured for "more."
I'm sure we'll make that trip again.

Stripes and suds

Going through the motions

The scene: The dining table. Two parents seated, eating dinner. Child, sitting in high-chair, eating dinner.

The action: With no warning, child ralphs her dinner. It's carrots and peas, of course -- what else is disgorged? But in graceful, waterfall-like motion, puke conveniently lands only on high-chair tray and in catch-all pocket of child's washable bib.

The reaction: Parents, seemingly unfazed, watch without saying a word. Huh, they think to themselves, she looked just fine a minute ago. They look at each other, then look back at the child, who is staring at them. Parents get up and instinctively split clean-up duties, saying nothing.

Noel at 9 months

Did she understand it? Probably not.
If you were 9 months old, would you understand why your dad dragged into the living room a big green thing and started pouring water on it? Would you understand why your mom arranged little people, farm animals and a baby on the table out of your reach even though they look like toys? And what's with the big boxes scattered on the floor?
We've been asked if Elise enjoyed Christmas. I suppose. She was in good spirits and dealt well with the 17 people she saw in one day. She decided that gift bows taste pretty good, too.
Christmas should be even more enjoyable next year, when Elise figures out that some of the boxes under the big green thing are for her.

I guess we could have just wrapped up some ribbon for her.

Elise, Grandpa Winter and the, uhm, gosh-darned prettiest ornament to adorn a Christmas tree.

Reading a new book from G and G Wente.

At the Winter Christmas.

The sock monkey that family friend Jane made for Elise was an instant hit.

Sock monkey-mauling is a sign of affection.

I can't figure out why Elise always is the only one who listens when I say, "Now, look away from the camera."

I'm not sure what this was all about.

Getting reacquainted with Great Grandma Winter.

Bumper sticker: "At least my kid can find her way out of a paper bag."

I look like I've never held this girl before.

I guess we could have just wrapped up a remote control for her.