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.

Trucks and water, Round 1

My dad finally is acting on a decades-old, though not-widely-known, interest in antique fire engines. (I guess when you've spent nearly 20 years shuffling a fleet of Volvos in the driveway, the thought of parking an American LaFrance is pleasant.)
Anyway, he lured a gang of antique trucks (they're all retired; some are more antique than others) to take part in Stillwater's Lumberjack Days parade last summer. It was dubbed a success. In fact, some might say it was too much fun for Lumberjack Days, so he decided to organize a muster on its own weekend this year. It's June 27; you've probably already received an invitation.
In the meantime, a few trucks from the club took part in the Memorial Day parade in Bayport this morning. Afterward, they gathered at the levee in Stillwater to shoot water into the St. Croix, drawing a nice little crowd of old men with cameras and young parents with captivated kids.
We brought Elise. She was excited for a little while, pointing at the trucks and saying something that sort of resembled "truck" but also left you wondering where she picks up such foul language. Then she discovered pavement and wide open spaces, so she roamed. We followed.

A few moments after I took this picture, she tried to put both feet into the nearby sewer drain.

She likes sunscreen in the summer. It could be worse: she could like coconut oil.

I took this while standing on the lift bridge, not while standing on water.

But yours is cooler

Elise has a crush on Murray.
He has been hanging around our house more often lately. He is older than her, but she doesn't seem to mind. He puts up with her constant touching and petting.
Elise just likes to spend time with Murray, especially when they both are in the backyard.
Oh, did I mention Murray is our lawnmower?
Yeah, Elise is 14 months old and has a special affection for lawnmowers. It probably could be any lawnmower, but she really likes Murray, which, in a burst of creativity, we named after the manufacturer.
Whenever I mow the lawn, Elise likes to watch. Anni will walk her around the yard, following me from the boulevard to the front yard, the side yard to the backyard. The whole time Elise just stares, then points and blabs, and then stares again.
If they go inside, Elise goes to the window to watch.
I'll admit, it's pretty cute.
Anni thought that Elise might like her own lawnmower. She saw a reasonably priced toy mower (blade sold separately) at Target and picked it up. Well, Elise likes to push it into the yard, pull the plastic gas tank from its cradle and pour "gas" into the tank, but she undoubtedly will turn her attention back to Murray.
Tonight we were outside and Elise was wandering around in the yard. Then, she pointed.
"She wants to go in the garage," Anni said, uttering words that make dads melt.
I opened the garage door. Elise and Murray were reunited.
So do you suppose her fascination with Murray will last until she is old enough to mow the yard?

Say what?

"Don't play with the fertilizer."

It's about time

Elise turned 1 more than two months ago, but I'm finally getting around to posting some 1-year photos we took weeks ago. She wasn't much for portrait photography that day, but we tricked her into sitting for a little while.
Here's a few of what we got that afternoon.






(The stuffed rabbit in the photos? That is Jelly, so named because that's the stuffed animal company and we didn't feel like coming up with a better name. She loves that thing. I didn't understand a child's developmental need for and connection with a comforting object until I watched Elise with Jelly. And don't even think of getting between the two of them.)

Say what?

Kids may say the darnedest things, but parents say some interesting things, too.
It occurred to me recently that Anni and I say some odd and funny stuff related to Elise, especially when taken out of context. And if it's not odd, it likely demonstrates how little I know about parenting.
This blog is not on life support yet, but I thought it needed something new. So I'm going to offer the occasional oddball quote. I'll stop when Anni and I realize that we've stopped saying things knowing they could end up on the blog, prompting either embarrassment or a call from social services.
Since this was my crummy idea, I might as well start with a glimpse at my own naivete.
Yesterday morning Elise was in the midst of a minor toddler meltdown -- for no obvious reason -- on our way out the door for work/school.:
Me: "How many months does this last?"
Anni: "Ha! It's not months. It's years."

Digging for news

Unprovoked, she went right for the notebook.
So you think that's good news, an early indication she may follow in her dad's footsteps?
Here's the good news: I've still got a few years to steer her away from such a seedy, withering profession -- even if I can't stay away.

Simple, good news

One of our summertime pleasures is grilling rainbow trout that we buy at the farmers' market. Nothing fancy -- a little olive oil, pepper and lemon. Great stuff.
And tonight we learned that the lady shares the same pleasure: She loves grilled fish.
So, bring on summer and bring on the rainbow trout.

Geddes? Really? (Sigh)

We've got a bountiful book supply for Elise.
That is thanks to Anni's impressive and valued collection of children's lit that she has accumulated over the years, gifts from family and friends and the generous gift of darn near a full kid's library from the Jelke family.
So there are many choices for Elise.
Of all those choices, her favorite is an eight-page Anne Geddes book called "Colors."
Yeah, Geddes. Ugh.
"Colors" includes photos of a "pink" baby sitting atop a flower blossom, "orange" babies plopped on flower pots and "blue" babies asleep in some type of cocoon on the forest floor.
In the past, Elise has had a favorite book for a week or two.
This fondness for Geddes, too, shall pass. Soon, we hope.

Happy Mother's Day

Spring conditioning

Our lawn-mowing practices have moved outdoors. Pretty soon, she'll be pushing the real thing.
And as you can see in the background, she's got some work to do.



By the way, Anni said I should explain what Elise is pushing.
"Isn't it kind of obvious?" I asked.
"Hmm, not to (----) and (----)," Anni said, naming two blog readers who will go nameless to spare them the embarrassment of not knowing what a trailer dolly is.

Don't eat that

We've been enjoying the mild April weather, spending time with Elise in the backyard just about daily. She likes wandering around, looking at trees, lounging in the hammock, listening to birds ... and eating ant hills.
Yeah, ant hills.
I understand the whole explore-with-your-mouth developmental stage, but can't there be some limits? Oh, sure, we can whisk her away from one tantalizing ant mound, but she'll find another, guaranteed.
Does it really matter? It's just dirt, right? Still.
A bit of ant hill dirt may the least of our concerns, though, and I'm beginning to wonder, based on outdoor warnings for kids, how the heck I lived this long.
Is it safe for your child to walk on the grass? Sure, the experts say, unless you use some type of fertilizer that's full of triboloetyatrazene, or some other chemical that upon contact turns a five-fingered-hand into a fleshy nub.
I may be new at this parenting thing, but I did know it's wise to get fertilizer that is at least somewhat kid-friendly, which is to say I will be paying a lot for something that doesn't work.
That is not our biggest problem, though. According to one of Anni's parenting magazines, there is a toxic danger lurking in -- or should I saw lumped in -- the grass in our backyard.
You know what it is? It's raccoon poop. Yeah, there was a small article devoted to the danger of raccoon crap, on the basis that it contains some chemical compound harmful to people -- if people eat it.
The article even provided a step-by-step description of how to remove it from the grass and to sanitize the grass. I'm not kidding. The article actually suggested pouring a pot of boiling water on the grass where the raccoon crap was. Because that's normal behavior.
So, there you have it. A good parent should conduct a sweep of the yard to search for toxins -- various forms of fertilizer, I guess -- before allowing the little one to roam free.
I'm not too worried about the raccoon threat. In fact, I'll bet the woodchucks that have taken up residence in our yard would scare off the raccoons.
If that doesn't work, the fox I saw strolling through the yard last year may be back this summer.
And with that, I think it's time to send Elise outside to play.

Full belly, but work to do

I guess she was practicing for her summer lawn-mowing responsibilities.
And why is she not wearing a shirt? Well, if you must know, she spit up lasagna and a pea on her shirt a few minutes earlier.

Blue skies. Water. Tasty rocks.

We visit Anni's family in Duluth a few times a year. If it was guaranteed that the weather would be as nice all year as it was last Saturday, I would move there.
We were in Duluth last weekend for Anni's grandfather's funeral, but had some time to go down to Lake Superior. We did nothing but relax, stare at the lake and watch Elise eat rocks.
The sky was blue, the lake had a steely blue tint, the sun was shining and it was warm. You can't get it much better. Oh, but wait, it got better: We went to the malt shop afterward.
I've posted lots of photos, and that's because I'm still appreciating the fact that with the warm weather, we're back to taking photos outside, where there is plenty of light. (You can only photograph a child in a living room so many times.)
Anyway, on to the photos:

Anni's friend Jerolyn let us stay with her, which I now think was just a ploy so she and Elise could bond.

Who invented peek-a-boo, anyway?

Yeah, you can look, but we're not going down there.

This is our daughter. She eats rocks.

There is less and less of this each day, as Elise is quickly learning it's more fun to walk on her own.

She was mad. We probably had taken a rock away.

No, you cannot walk into the lake yet.

Just trying to figure out if she could eat this one.