Jam sessions

Everybody has to have a hobby, right?
Elise has found a hobby: checking for toe jam. Usually it's her own feet she's interested in, but ask nicely and she may be willing to dig between your toes too. We're not sure where this started, but like most other odd behavior she probably picked it up in passing from ... me.
There is nothing in particular that triggers her, uhm, jam sessions. She'll just announce, "I check for toe jam," and then plop down on the floor, take off her sock and give those digits a look. In a testament to our ability to keep her clean, she rarely finds anything in those toe crevices.
Disappointed there were no discoveries, she undoubtedly remembers what to do next:
"I check the other foot."

Conjunction junction

"I don't."
Two words may never have had more of an effect on me. (OK, aside from "ice cream.")
That was one of the things Elise said tonight -- "I don't."
For a toddler who every day seems to be uttering new words and stringing together five-, six-, seven- or eight-word sentences with relative ease, "I don't" is an example of the less-is-more theory. It's a short phrase, but come on, you've got a conjunction there. That's impressive for a 23-month-old, even if she cannot actually say "conjunction" yet. At least it's impressive to me, because I know nothing about toddler language development beyond what I observe with Elise. Which means every time she comes up with a new word, phrase or sentence, I'm convinced she's flat-out brilliant.
Another anecdote: The other day we're talking about my parents' collie and his "nice hair." Elise looks at the dog, then looks up at me, puts her hands on her head and says, "Elise has nice hair, too."
Each day there's a new "oh, how sweet" phrase coming from her.
Of course, this language development means that if we -- well, I -- don't clean up the act around her, she soon could have just as salty a vocabulary as it is sweet...

A little news to share.

Showing off the announcement shirt.

It's been a long winter in Minnesota. In other news, we're excited to announce that Anni is pregnant with Child #2.
Are those two items related -- the long winter and the occurrence of a pregnancy? I'm not sure, but already more than one person has suggested a connection.
"So that's what you Minnesotans do in the winter," one relative told me.
Another character in the family offered this: "Well, you can't do much work outside in the winter so you work inside, eh?"
Anyway, about Anni. She's about 12 weeks along, which means we have six months left to enjoy a somewhat normal sleep routine. But who's really keeping track?
She is due in mid-August. That's a good month to be born, by the way, in August. It's a good month for a celebratory event.
We've already started trying to introduce Elise to the idea that there is a baby inside Anni. I'm not sure how that comes across to a 23-month-old, but she at least knows how to answer the question:
Us: "Elise, what's in Mom's tummy?"
E: "Baby."
Then, however, Elise tries to play "Giddyup, Pony!" on Anni's stomach, so I'm not sure she understands quite yet.
Oh, did I mention we're having a boy? Well, we don't know that yet, but that is the overwhelming consensus thus far, beginning with Anni and me. She told me she was pregnant. Apparently I had a stunned look on my face, but I'd argue that I was just thinking to myself.
"It's a boy," I predicted.
"I think so too," Anni replied, though she now is back to being undecided.
Like with Elise, we don't want to find out in advance. I'm not one for surprises, except for this one.

Splish, splash.

Sew what

Anni had a little help the other night as she sewed some new bibs for the babies at her school. Elise found sewing really interesting -- until she discovered that she could put the sewing machine cover on the floor and ride it like a horse. Why buy toys when plastic appliance covers bring the toddler joy?

Anni, Elise and Janome.

 

 Put to work, Elise's job was to hold the little spool on top.

It's never too early to learn two lessons. First, sewing pins are sharp. Second, and most importantly, pins do not get dropped because only Dad will find them -- in his feet.

Take a seat

Weekends are a good time to alter Elise's long-established routines. It was on weekends when we made her cry herself to sleep, scrapped the Nuk, went to one-a-day naps, started potty training and moved her from crib to twin bed.

Some of the changes aren't all that significant, but thankfully she usually seems willing to embrace whatever change we thrust upon her.

The latest change: This weekend she lost her spot at the dinner table.

Well, OK, she didn't lose a spot; she still gets to eat. We just got rid of the high chair. She's now sitting in a "big chair," as she calls it. She likes it and it doesn't seem to affect her robust eating habits, as if anything but illness could. 

We quickly discovered, though, that little hands coated in spaghetti sauce or applesauce are drawn to the chair cushion upholstery, so we will need to add some sort of dainty towel -- or industrial tarp? -- to the chair.

There is another benefit to this seating change. I finally get to reclaim my spot at the end of the table. I was bumped from my armchair and end spot when we brought on the high chair. Now, after months at the side of the table, all is right again. (Clearly, Elise got her willingness to embrace change from Anni, not me.)

Her snack of applesauce -- before it ends up on the chair cushion.

What settles for entertainment at our table: One of Elise's stuffed animals given water from a glass.

Elise, meet ralph.

We've reached another milestone in parenthood: the first dispatch of the middle-of-the-night vomit squad.
Elise was in a good mood and seemed in good health when she went to bed last night. Then, at 4:47 a.m. I was dispatched to Elise's room. Not by Elise, mind you, but by Anni, who once again was the only one to wake up to unusual sounds -- like, say, an upset child -- coming from across the hall.
Turns out Elise had tossed up her dinner and clearly was sluggish. So, there we were, pre-dawn, stripping barfed-on bed sheets, washing them and trying to console the vomiter. After that, I went back to bed and Anni -- bless her soul and apparent ability to not inhale -- rested next to the vomiter for a while until she fell asleep.
After further thought, I guess this is more of a milestone for Anni. If we were on a fire crew, she'd be the first responder and I'd be the back-up firefighter called in to collect wet hoses because I slept through the alarm.
Anyway, we kept Elise home from school today, which was a wise move. There was no more barfing, but she was awfully clunky. Yes, that's a medical term. She spent much of the day napping, including an impromptu snooze on the couch (see below).
Here's hoping we're not called for clean-up duty again tonight.

An assist from Santa

I've been trying to figure out which sports Elise may want to play when she gets a little older, because apparently I have no more-pressing matters to think about. I am not planning to pick a sport for her. It's more just a curiosity, not unlike wondering whether she will be right-handed or left-handed or whether she'll start thinking Dad is totally lame when she hits 10 or 11.

Anyway, I think her tour de sports is under way, thanks to a gift from Santa. Just as we were wrapping up Christmas this year, Anni said there was one more present, this one for Elise and me. We were given an indoor/outdoor basketball hoop. Turns out Santa knew that I like hoops and that Elise's doctor pegged her to be at least 5'9" as an adult.

So, this being the middle of winter, we're playing basketball in the living room -- or, as Elise calls it, "bouncy ball."

Even while constantly racking up turnovers for double-dribbling and traveling, Elise is already dunking and attempting short jumpers. She can catch a bounce pass, but doesn't yet understand that you don't get points for trying to eat the basketball. I guess we need to save one lesson for when the hoop goes outside this spring.

 

My little panhandler

Elise didn't want help putting her hat on one day. This was the result. I don't know what the Tupperware's all about.

Here's what I think of your offer

Elise tried to scare away a door-to-door saleswoman tonight by running toward the front door while swinging an empty trash can in one hand and holding a tambourine in the other.
That's right. Elise had a tambourine and a garbage can and Ms. Qwest had a clipboard and a bad offer. Guess who won?

Elise Navidad!

Sleepwalker

I am a sound sleeper and always have been. (I slept through a car crash outside my window, a bedroom visit from firefighters checking for CO and  didn't even notice when my parents once slid a three-pound bag of peanut M&Ms under my pillow -- really.)

With that sound sleeping came the occasional sleep-walking episode. I'd walk in my room, out in the hall, into my parents' room, and even down the stairs.

I've been reminded of those unusual sleep routines recently, now that Elise is sleeping in a twin bed and has discovered that she can actually get out of bed if she wants. There no longer are crib rails to confine her.

She has adjusted quite well to sleeping in a regular bed -- when she is sleeping. It can be a different story if she cannot fall asleep or wakes up in the middle of the night and is upset.

That is when she is prone to going walkabout. Sure, it's not actual sleep walking, but it might as well be. She is tired and confused.

The first episode happened a couple of months ago and, quite honestly, it freaked me out. I was not afraid for her safety -- we have a gate; she was fine -- but it gave me the willies when I looked up the dark stairway and saw two little eyes staring back at me.

It was creepier than it may seem, especially because she was silent, just staring.

She has since woken up from time to time and walked into the hallway, where we can hear her while we're downstairs. We usually just tell her it's time to sleep, so go back to bed, and she'll do it.

She tried something new the other night. Anni put her to bed, but Elise was wide awake. Anni was downstairs and could hear Elise singing at the top of her little lungs, just belting out tunes and jabbering to herself while in bed. 

Then, it was silent. A short time later Anni heard knocking on a window upstairs. How's that for creepy? But then Anni heard the familiar patter, patter, patter sound across the wood floors, and knew Elise went walkabout again. Sure enough, there she was, staring through the gate down the stairs. Anni, trying not to laugh at the shenanigans, told Elise it was time to go back to sleep.

With that, Elise dashed back to her bed and finally crashed.

Until the following morning. The sun came up but we were still sleeping. Then we heard that patter, patter, patter across the hallway and looked up to see somebody standing in our room, waiting to start the day.

And on that occasion, even I woke up.

Take a little trip...

The December weather in the Twin Cities just isn't miserable enough, so Anni and I spent a few days last week as far north in Minnesota as you can possibly go. We stayed at the Gunflint Lodge, an old cabin/resort spot on a lake that serves as part of the border -- demilitarized zone? -- between Minnesota and Canada.

And, yes, you could actually see Canada from our cabin's front door.

We used the trip as a mini-vacation, after realizing the last time we left Elise at home was nearly a year and a half ago. This trip was a blast. The weather turned out to be better up there than it was at home. It was a very relaxing few days, and I'd highly recommend the resort to anyone willing to make the -- gulp -- six-hour drive from the Twin Cities.

A few highlights:

Roadthrill: Since deer are domesticated in the Twin Cities, the sight of whitetails in "natural habitat" doesn't do much for us. A wolf, though? Now we're talking. We spotted a wolf lurking near the highway. Then we nearly had a new hood ornament when we rounded a curve at dusk only to find a female moose meandering across the road. (I slowed for a better look. That wasn't good enough, though: Anni proceeded to roll down her window. No, we didn't feed the moose.) We also flushed a couple of stunning bald eagles from whatever they were feasting on in roadside ditches.

Name game: You gotta love a geographical area that features a Castle Danger Road and a Cut Face Creek.

Thank you, Finns: Our cabin had a sauna. I had forgotten how nice it is to "take a sauna."

Deserted in December: The resort has at least two dozen cabins. We had one of only two cabins that were reserved the days we were there. (It helps to go mid-week in December, I guess.)

Friendly fire: Gas fireplaces may be convenient, but nothing beats a wood fireplace. We kept ours stoked the whole visit.

Life imitates art: Picture those paintings of serene winter scenes with snow-capped trees. Now picture yourself smack dab in the middle of the real thing. That's what you get for 40 miles along the Gunflint Trail.  

OK, enough gushing about the Gunflint. Here are some photos, posted here only because I have nowhere else to post them.

Narnia? Nah, just a hiking/snowshoeing trail.

This was what we saw outside our living room window -- because everybody leaves corn outside the cabins. I would have been more impressed if a moose showed up to graze.

 A typical view along the Gunflint Trail.

The aptly named Lonely Lake. 

It snowed a few inches one day -- and then we came home and it snowed 18 inches.

Pony

 Clydesdale

We tuned the TV to the fireplace channel.

There was a massive forest fire a few years ago in this area of northern Minnesota. So there are areas where entire stands of deciduous trees are now just charred toothpicks. (And, yes, I realize I just used the word "deciduous.")

Lake Superior is starting to freeze. That's Grand Marais in the background. It's a small town that in the winter slightly resembles Cicely from "Northern Exposure." No Fleischman sightings, though.

Forecast: Warm, but not for long

What do Minnesotans do when the temperature drops, the snow flies and the pale gray sky hangs low?
We head for the warmth and tropical-like humidity of the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory in St. Paul. (And you thought I'd say we hop on a flight south.)
Anni and I took Elise to Como last weekend. It's a great way to remember that, despite winter's strong grip, summer and green plants and heat and sun are only months away. (Optimism reigns in December. It's gone by February, only to return in late March.) Plus, Como is free, so there is that.
It was a good trip, but also a reminder that you've got to stay close when a 20-month-old starts fondling the flowers. (Yes, they're real and the pile of petals you just yanked from the flower and tossed to the ground is evidence. Sigh.)
Elise liked the plants and fish. Mom and Dad liked the heat and humidity. Then we walked outside, got smacked by the cold December air and wondered how long it'd be until spring.

Gobble, gobble.

It's not hard thinking of what to be thankful for.

Paint by numbers? No, paint by mouth.

Potty prowess

I bet that two of the toughest tests of whether a child is potty-trained come while taking long car rides or waiting in line with mom for the bathroom at a ballgame.

The real test, however, comes when that child gets a bout of the stomach flu.

I'll spare you the details, but some gut bug has been passed around this household for the past few weeks. Elise had her turn last week.
A bit of background: We are three months into potty training and, thanks largely to Anni and Elise's teacher, that young girl rarely has an accident anymore. (Elise and I struggled with potty training at first, but are getting along better now.) Not only that, we rarely buy diapers anymore. She only wears them when she naps or sleeps.

She does really well telling us when she needs to go -- and if we don't hear her she is so helpful that she will just pull her pants down while standing in the living room, kitchen or maybe even a store. Our bathroom may be mistaken for a children's library, the abundance of books that are in there to keep her entertained, but you do what works. And that works.

So, at 20 months old, her true potty training test came with the recent illness. She only had two "accidents" over the course of a week in which she was plagued with off-and-on flu symptoms. Not bad.

To show our appreciation for her potty prowess, maybe we'll take a long drive to a sporting event.

What's up, Stripes?

Bundle up

With the first snowfall here this weekend, we had an opportunity to bundle up Elise and send her out into the drifts. She was reluctant to wear snow pants, boots and mittens, so I first brought her out in shoes and no mittens. She quickly decided mittens are good and, realizing she couldn't go in the yard unless she had boots, eventually accepted boots upon her feet.
She generally likes being outside, for which we're thankful, but the snow kind of confused her. Probably didn't help that just one night earlier we were playing out in the yard -- on grass.
After the next big snow, we'll get Miss Michelin -- it's tough for her to move in all of those clothes -- out there again and pull her in the sled around the yard.

 The caption for this photo? "Potty, Momma."

 Wow, that's pink. She actually picked out all of these clothes. Not sure whether we should be impressed by her color coordination or, well, scared by her color coordination.

Three's company

Elise had a slumber party this weekend. Her cousins Randy and Jacob spent the weekend with us. It was a full house -- so that's what 3 children would be like -- but they had a good time.

 Why not hold a bowl for a picture?

At 20 months, a new word

How naive of me. I foolishly thought that we might coast through toddlerdom without hitting the "no" stage.
It was going so well -- we rarely heard that word.
Now we hear it. Me, especially.
Elise's favorite line seems to be: "No, Daddy." It's usually followed by two little hands pushing firmly at my knees, in an attempt to keep me from leading her through daily activities like brushing teeth or even waking up in the morning. It's just delightful.
Oh, sure, she also uses "No, Momma" from time to time, but uttering "No, Daddy" is the preferred act of defiance right now. That, and the occasional falling-on-the-ground-crying-and-flailing episode. To be honest, it's a struggle. Drives me crazy and tests the patience in a new way. I'm not use to that behavior (mental note: get a job in a school) and I find myself trying to outsmart her or trick her into dropping the defiance. It's a mental game -- and I'm getting schooled.
The bright side? Sometimes those defiant pout-and-whine fests are inexplicably followed by a grin, a giggle and a big hug. Here's hoping that continues beyond toddlerdom.