The writing on the stall

I took Elise with me to Home Depot the other day. (Disclaimer: I prefer Menards to Home Depot, but sometimes convenience takes priority.)
After a good amount of time shopping, tossing 2x4s on the pallet, pushing her in the oversized cart and counting bolts, Elise had to go to the bathroom.
Now, for background, we've really been working with her on identifying letters. She likes trying to guess them on books and random objects, and often will ask what a word "says." So we take advantage of those brief letter-learning moments whenever they present themselves.
Not always, though.
After finding the cleanest (well, least dirty) stall in the men's room and completing the proper sanitation exercise, it was time for Elise to use the facilities. Except that she was preoccupied by the writing on the wall of the stall.
"What's this word, Daddy?" she asked.
I didn't answer, for reasons obvious to anyone who's seen public bathroom graffiti.

I guess that's correct

The other night Elise and I were sitting at the table finishing dinner. Anni had left the room to feed Colin.
This was the conversation that broke our silence and led to more of it:

Elise: "Where's mom?"
Me: "She's feeding Colin?"
Elise: "On her boob?"
Me, after long pause to consider whether this was the time to correct, applaud, explain or otherwise deal with the use of slang: "Uh, yeah, I guess."

'Where is my Jell-O?'

Sometimes Elise needs a translator. Or sometimes we just need a transcript.
The little lady can be mum and shy in front of others, and then moments later can be heard running off nonstop. It's often a mix of words and modified songs.
To explain this, here is a recent candid video of when Elise was goofing around and just rambling. It may be something that only Anni and I can appreciate, but it's like a strange glimpse deep into the developing mind and personality of a nearly 3-year-old.

 

To help you understand what she's saying, I made a transcript. Anni says the "bunny" reference is a riff on the "Little Bunny Foo Foo" tale, a current favorite of Elise's. So we've got that figured out. I did not know, however, that Colin already is asking for food and we just haven't heard him yet. I'm glad Elise can translate.
Anyway, to the transcript:
"Love you. Love you. Love you. Love you. Love you. I love you, Mr. Colin Boy.
Happy, happy, happy... (inaudible babble).
Little bunny, Colin Boy! Happy. Little bunny, Colin Boy. Love you, Colin Boy, yes.
He says, 'Where is my Jell-O?'"

Muggin' with the man in red

Today was the annual holiday party at Anni's school. Cute kids, Christmas songs, reindeer and angel costumes, desserts -- the whole deal.
Oh, and a piñata.
Yeah, a piñata. Because isn't that at every holiday gathering in Minnesota?
I actually thought Anni was joking when she told me they have a piñata, but after the party today I see why. The kids had a ball -- almost as much as the parents who got called up to take a swing at the floating creche Christmas tree.
Santa made an appearance as well. As you can see, Colin didn't seem all too bothered by the jolly fella. Probably didn't even notice I had handed him off.
And in a surprise holiday gesture Elise decided she wanted to meet Santa. You talk about your Christmas miracles. This, coming from a girl who sometimes needs time to warm up to her own parents.
As she moved up the waiting line and closer to Santa, I could tell she was getting a little nervous. She then said she didn't want to sit on his lap. At some point there was a compromise: she'd stand in front of Santa.
Fair enough. But then she insisted on taking his basket of candy canes.
Well, sorry, ol' man Kringle. If the lady wants your basket, she's going to get it because Dad can't post a photo of one kid with Santa but not one of the other.
She got the basket. I got the photo. Santa got his basket back.

Don't interrupt to ask

When a child offers to wash dishes, you don't stop to ask why she wants to do that; you just let her get going.
You do, however, give those dishes a little extra look before putting them in the cupboard.

'Nikko puppy'

The other night we were eating dinner at my parents' house. Colin was having a difficult time falling asleep for a much-needed nap in the next room. Every time he cried, my parents' dog, Nikko, would trot into the living room, just to check on the little guy making noise. Then the dog would quietly wander off until the next time.
Ever since Elise's first overnight at my parents' place, Nikko was very protective of her. Always keeping tabs on her, sleeping next to her pack-and-play and later the bed, wisely staking out a spot beneath her at the dinner table, bounding up and down the stairs ahead of her, waking and walking from my parents' room to Elise's room if he heard her cry out in the middle of the night.
Basically doing what good dogs do.
"Nikko puppy!" Elise would say when she'd hear his eager bark from the back deck when we arrived at my parents' house.
She really liked the dog. Oh, the dog got in her business plenty of times, knocked her over every now and then, and sometimes scared her. But in turn she was known to squeeze his mouth and nose in an odd display of affection. She poked his eyes a few too many times. Probably yanked on his tail plenty. He put up with it, most likely because he saw the giant scoop of food Elise would get for him and the trail of crumbs she sometimes left behind.
We don't have a dog at home, which is OK for now, but it's been nice to know my parents' dog is mellow enough to accommodate the gentle terror of a child.
Which makes the upcoming task all the more difficult.
Nikko died this morning. It was a rather sudden case of something called bloat, a common and often deadly ailment in some dogs. Basically, the symptoms started last night and my dad got Nikko to the vet this morning just as he died.
So, yeah, that pretty much sucks. He was the ideal dog for my parents at this stage and a perfect match for a house where small children sometimes roam.
We'll need to tell Elise about Nikko. She's old enough to feel loss but not old enough to comprehend. Sure, it's a dog, not a person, but it's a new lesson for her, even if she is just shy of 3 years old.
We'll do our best to tell her what happened, but Anni and my dad had an even better idea. Go right to Mr. Rogers. There is a series of Mr. Rogers books dealing with significant life events for young children. The book series includes one about the loss of a pet. My hunch is that will be her preferred bedtime reading for a good stretch.
For Elise's first birthday Anni and I got her a really nice stuffed animal. It's a collie, a "Nikko puppy," as Elise calls it. The idea at the time was she could have a dog at my parents' house and something that resembled it at home. She still has the stuffed animal, so I'm curious to see how she interacts with it once we tell her about Nikko.

Numbers, letters

Two minor proud parent moments:
Elise counted to 14 the other night.
Tonight she identified every letter in this book title: "Let's go to the farm."
OK, she didn't get the apostrophe correct. What a slacker.

Paging Norman Rockwell

My hometown of Stillwater has been known to do a few things right. It didn't knock down historic buildings in the '60s or '70s, so that's nice. It knows how to react to a flooded river, which is handy. I'm told it can put on an impressive summertime fire muster, but you have to see that to be believe it.
Beyond all else, Stillwater knows how to capitalize on its quaint charm, which it retains in the face of time, tourists, sprawl and Skynyrd. (Still living that one down.)
So it only makes sense that Stillwater can successfully pull off a fun little Christmas event for kids and families -- and older kids -- that doesn't cost participants a nickle, features Santa arriving aboard a fire truck, includes free treats to warm the masses and ends with fireworks.
We took Elise last weekend to Stillwater's Twinkle Parade, which despite the corny name actually is a pretty good time in a small-town, it-doesn't-take-much-to-put-us-in-a-festive-mood kind of way.
Basically, a few hundred people stand at the end of the levee, sipping cocoa and coffee while kids mill about, and then they walk -- you don't parade in parkas and Sorels -- along the levee to the picturesque gazebo, where Santa arrives to greet the young'uns and light the downtown Christmas tree.
The conditions were perfect: a light snow falling, but not too cold. Elise had a good time, though the up-close encounter with Santa was a bit much for her. She prefers to see the man in the rumpled red suit from a distance. She did, however, enjoy the rumble of the fire truck. She figured out that she could feel the engine rumble by holding the hand bell on the front of the truck. Sometimes it doesn't take much to entertain her.

 Don't miss a chance to work on letters.

Windy City jaunt

We resumed our annual Thanksgiving in Chicago tradition this year. We packed up the car -- apparently two children mean four times the luggage, even when you think you're traveling modestly -- and drove down Wednesday night. Both kids slept the whole way, meaning the only way it would've been a better ride was if someone else drove so Anni and I both also could sleep the whole way.
We had a great visit with extended family. We stayed with my Aunt Renee and Uncle Fritz -- thanks again -- and managed to squeeze in a trip downtown (see below) and a lunch with some old friends (longtime friends; they're not old) before heading home late Saturday. Again, the kids slept the whole way; that's the only way to travel if you can stay awake yourself.

 

The girl likes black olives. They taste best fresh from the fingertips.

 Watercolor painting during some downtime.

 Trying to bust into the display loot at Macy's in Chicago. (Aside: Who hangs a life-size doll on a Christmas tree?)

 Bryan and Elise in Santa's chair at Macy's.

 Ariane and a very giggly child.

 

 Elise playing Candyland with Veronica, who, if I do my family connections correctly, is her third cousin.

  A last-minute game of Candyland with my Aunt Renee before leaving for home.

Well, this pretty much sums up the family: Two crazy gals, boring me and a chillin' Colin.

After the picture: "Wait, where's Elise?"

 Colin and my dad.

 After the picture: "Wait, where's Colin?"