Elise the berry hunter

That didn't take long.
We weren't in the strawberry fields for five minutes and Elise had figured out how to peek under the leaves to find the berries, which she promptly ripped from the stem and shoved in her mouth, one after another, bright red strawberry juice running down her chin and arms.

We made our annual trek to Afton Apple for strawberries last weekend with friends Dan and Erin and daughter Avery. (The spring berry trip serves as an unofficial kick-off to summer; the fall apple trip is an integral part of the preparations for another long winter.)
Of course, Elise didn't really understand what we were doing, other than picking fruit for her to take from our cardboard tray and eat. (Let's hope they take into account such activity when they set the price per pound.)
You know what Elise didn't like? Getting cut off. When you start tallying the amount of berries a 15-month-old eats as a percentage of her weight, it's probably time for a break.

We'll be back, and next time we might make Elise pick one to bring home for every three she eats.
Meantime, Anni used some of the berries we picked to make a fresh strawberry pie. We cut into it on Sunday, which was Anni's birthday. Might be the best strawberry pie I've ever had.

'She's advanced'

That is Anni's favorite new line -- "She's advanced."
Not surprising that would come from a mom, right? Well, that actually came from Elise's doctor at her 15-month check-up.
More on that, but first a scene-setter:
The three of us are sitting in the doctor's office the other day, waiting to start Elise's check-up. Elise is a little irritable and for all we know she remembers that this is the place where they weigh her like deli meat and then hold her down on butcher paper and stick some sharp thing in her legs. So she's walking around the small office when there is a knock at the door. The doc comes in. Elise takes one look at her, probably has some sort of flashback to the low point of a previous visit and bolts toward me and Anni.
That's a good sign, of course, that she understood the difference between us. That was among the anecdotal development markers that the doctor used -- Elise's ability to somewhat pronounce about a dozen words being another -- to conclude: "She's advanced."
We joke that doctors probably always try to find some way to flatter parents, but Anni said after the visit: As parents you try to do what is best for your child and what you think will help her develop, so it's nice when someone wearing a lab coat and stethoscope validates your efforts.
We had no concerns going into the appointment, and everything checked out just fine. Elise weighed 25.5 pounds and was 33 inches long.
The doc took one look at Elise's length and then looked at Anni and said: "Now, I've told you before that we can't predict how tall she'll be until she's 24 months, but how tall are you?"
Anni told her that she is 5 foot 3 inches.
"She's easily going to be taller than you," the doc replied.
In the past I've referenced the chart used to compare a baby's height and age, and that Elise consistently is well above the 95th percentile. (Let's hope her ACT scores do the same.) Well, she's still up there.
Here's the chart. The "x" marks signify each time she has been measured at the doctor's office.


Do we really care how tall she gets? No, but we get a kick out of seeing that chart at each visit.
There is another chart used to track head size and age. I have no clue why they do that (Note to self: Ask next time they're measuring her melon like it's being fitted for a hat.) but Elise is comfortably in the 75th percentile, for whatever that's worth.
All these numbers and charts can get you sidetracked from the only assessment that really matters: She's healthy.
Well, she's healthy and "advanced."

One random evening

This is a glimpse of what we do after dinner on weekdays when it is nice outside. It's really interesting. Really.
We bum around the yard and teach Elise outdoor chores. Soon, she'll take over and we'll just watch from the hammock.
(A quick word about shiners and blood-red stains. If you look closely, you'll notice a little shiner and mark below Elise's eye. Yeah, it's not that bad, but you should see how the staircase fared. Oh, and the blood-red stains on her shirt? She painted at school. Frankly, I'd be concerned if she didn't have any paint on her clothes. The finest artists never were meticulous types.)

The evening begins for her as it so often does for me: with an assessment of the scattered mess in the garage. But in a reversal of roles, I give up and she remains fascinated. (Note the propane tank next to her toys. Yes, that's how we roll.)

You're not going to get far if you don't fill up first.

I prefer nice straight mowing lines. She wants to get all baseball-diamond-fancy on me.

Because shadows are neat and black-and-white photos hide weeds better.

She is learning to water plants. And to think: I just bought soaker hoses for the garden, when I could have just sent her out there.

Soon she'll learn it's easier to water plants if you don't dump all of your water on your way to the plants. In the meantime, she is perfecting the sign for water.


Refills are on the house. Heh.


Smelling flowers.

She likes the slide.

I'm bracing myself for the day that she doesn't brace herself and goes backward.

You would offer this look, too, if someone kept photographing you.

And I'm spent.

It takes real talent to turn lunch into an exhausting activity. She is talented.

Pizza hair

It's kind of like interrupting an animal in its natural habitat at feeding time.

Poolside

Hats

For being just shy of 15 months, Elise is pretty cool with hats. She'll wear them and usually does not immediately rip them from her head. (She has a yamaca, but that's a different story.)
Latest case in point: the caterpillar hat made at school recently. For some reason, she had no problem wearing it for most of the evening. In fact, I think she actually liked it.
But then it got man-handled by her banana-caked fingers, so a new hat may be in order.

She wore the caterpillar hat while she ate dinner. (Note: Bananas are dessert, but she'd prefer them as dinner. And breakfast. And lunch.)

The hat was a good accessory for sandbox play.

Apparently the hat made me tilt.