Insanity

If I leave my makeup bag where Alice can reach it, she will find it, open it, and help herself to its shockingly-expensive-for-thier-size contents, each and every time.

She'll wait until I leave her alone upstairs for a few minutes and then she'll begin twisting off lids and pulling off caps. She likes to dip her fingers in my pot of gel eyeliner, smoosh the brushes around the inside of the lipstick, and mix the colors like an alchemist mixing a formula. 

Do you think that one day soon I'll learn to find a better spot for my makeup bag? 

Memorial Day Ball Game

Before I tell you about our Memorial Day trip to the ballpark, here is one last shot I took in California of Matt with Dylan. Baby D looks pretty relaxed with Uncle Matt, don't you think? 

He'll learn...

 

Anyways, after a Memorial Day weekend of relaxing and barbecuing with neighbors, we spent today at Coors Field, rooting on the Rockies.

With the walk to the stadium (to avoid the hassle of parking and to give Alice a chance to take a cat nap in the stroller on the way), lunch downtown before the game, the game itself, the walk home, and the stop for frozen yogurt after, the outing took the whole darn day.

 

Alice was a most enthusiastic fan, clapping and shouting "yaaaaay" for every pitch (until she got distracted).

 

I made the mistake, when buying the tickets and selecting our seats, of not taking the blazing sun into account.  At a mile up, the sun can be seriously strong, and we knew it was too sunny to stay when Alice agreed to wear her sun hat, complained that her seat was too hot to sit on, and requested her sunglasses (which I forgot in the stroller we left at the entrance).

 

Luckily, the stadium wasn't full, so we snuck past the ushers in a shadier section and found ourselves some seats that didn't require any further sunscreen reapplications.

 

I forgot how entertaining live baseball games are: the cheering, the songs, the vendors shouting catchy slogans about peanuts and cotton candy, the snacks, the wave, the kissy cam. And there's usually a baseball game going on too, if you're into that. 

After every group cheer or song on the loudspeaker, Alice would join in the clapping just as the rest of us were about finished, and then beg, "Again? Again?"

She was mesmerized when the whole stadium stood to sing "God Bless America" and positively thrilled to discover that all 35,000 people at the game knew the words to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", which she's been practicing for weeks in music class.

I think the part of the outing that made the biggest impression on Alice, unfortunately, was the ComfortDental^(R) Tooth Trot in the middle of the sixth inning.  Three people, dressed in huge dental-hygene-related costumes (Toothbrush, Toothpaste, and Tooth) raced eachother while 34,999 disinterested Rockies fans checked their email and went to get beers. One little lady in the shady section, however, is still talking about how Toothbrush completely outperformed 'Paste and Tooth today.

 

 We'll definitely be back to Coors Field this season. It was a perfect way to spend Memorial Day!

Trading Places

Saturday and Sunday were a bit of a Grilli-Jacobs-Wiethe family relay race:  Grammy Karen and Grampy Greg flew into Denver from Indianapolis on Saturday; the next day, after a quick Mother's Day lunch, I left Denver for Los Angeles in order to pay a visit to my precious new nephew, only missing my mom's departure from LA for DC by a few hours.  

As excited as I was to visit with the little guy and my sister and brother-in-law, I was worried about my plan to be away from Alice for a week. What if she missed me too darn much? What if she didn't sleep well without me in the room next door? What if . . . ?

After receiving daily updates from Matt and Karen, let's just say I feel foolish for ever having worried.  Not only does it seem that Alice is having the time of her life with her grandparents, I'm told that our garden has been weeded, mowed, and adorned with new flowers, delicious meals have been enjoyed each night, and Alice has even, ahem, made a non-liquid deposit in her potty for the first time.  

And, all the while, I've been enjoying snuggles with this sweet boy.

Watching him snooze and carry out very involved, multi-minute, full-body stretch fests.

Learning the tricks of the trade for changing a baby boy's diaper instead of a baby girl's.

Trying to be helpful, but figuring I may as well join in when baby and mommy decide that it's nap time. 

Remembering what it was like during those first few weeks of motherhood when you're exhausted and amazed and enamored and frustrated.

Trying to sound convincing when I say that it really does get easier and that in no time these few months will be a blurry memory. 

Marveling that despite the huge learning curve that comes with the territory of brand new motherhood, this new mommy is doing spectacularly, somehow managing to care for Dylan and still be good company for me at the same time.

Mostly, I've just been enjoying myself, relaxing knowing that my baby is happy and safe in Denver, and feeling grateful that this little peanut has joined the family. 

Slowly Chipping Away at My Sanity

 While eating dinner this evening at a new restaurant we've been wanting to try:

"Who's dat?"

"That's just the wall, Alice."

"Who's dat?"

"That's a decorative ornament on top of the booth."

"Who's dat?"

"That's a stack of booster seats."

"Who's dat?"

"Still the wall."

"Who's dat"

"Spicy sauce."

"Who's dat?"

"A lobster sculpture on the wall."

"Who's dat"

"Water."

"Who's dat?"

"The wall. . . remember?"

While eating lunch earlier this afternoon at home:

[The wind is howling and the trees out front are rustling and creaking.]

"Who's dat?"

"It's just the wind, Alice. It's loud today."

"No, a owl!"

"No, I think it's just the wind, sweetie."

[Our windows rattle and the house groans.]

"Who's dat?"

"The wind"

"No. Goat."

"No, I don't think there's a goat. It's just the wind."

"Din-saur?"

"Maybe. . ."

[Our patio umbrella sways back and forth.]

"Who's dat?"

"It's the wind, Alice. The wind."

[Her eyes widen with excitement and she smiles like she just figured out something big.]

"Hip-po!"

"No, it's the. . . Yeah, it's probably a hippo."

P.S. Anyone have any idea how you put a kid in time-out when she's already immobilized by a car seat? Alice seemed unfazed by our declaration of a time-out due to her misbehavior on our way home from the restaurant tonight.  We figured that was one battle we weren't going to win since there's not much you can take away from a kid who's buckled into a five-point harness, staring at the back seat of the car, and listening to music that she has already objected to. About ten minutes later, while we were all chatting about something else, she casually inquired, "time-out over?"  I think we need a new strategy for when we're on the go. . .

Cousin Dylan!

We are thrilled to welcome Alice's cousin, Dylan Enzo Wiethe, into the world.

He was born on Saturday, April 21 at 7:43pm weighing a perfect 7 pounds and 12.5 ounces.

Isn't he magnificent? I absolutely can't wait to get my hands on him in a few weeks.


[Thanks to Vola and Jason for the photos.]

Speaking Her Mind

 
Alice has left the realm of baby babble and now surprises us every day with all that she has to say. 

After her bath, she charges into her room, antsy to play a round of her Curious George matching game.  "Come on, Matt!" she commands. 

"Who is dat?" she asks, while pointing to different pictures of animals in her books. Over and over and over.

While she has mastered a lot of great words and phrases, Matt and I have joked that her intonation often makes her sound like a computer program.  Lots of odd pauses and misplaced emphasis.

  

Losing and finding things is thrilling business over here. First we go through a few rounds of "Where is? I no knoooooow." A tentative explanation is offered: "back here" (pointing to somewhere in the house). Then, the object in question is searched for, and when found, enthusiastic exclamations of "I find IT!" "I find IT!" are followed up with hand clapping and smiles. We "lose" a lot of things around here. 

If I pour myself a glass of juice or get out a snack, you can bet that within a few seconds she'll be standing at my feet, looking up and pleading, "I too? I too?"

The other day I put her down for a nap and was on the computer right outside her door, listening to her playing and chatting herself to sleep.  She kept shouting, "My turn! My turn!" as if practicing for her post-nap playtime with the neighbors. 

Anytime that Matt or I try to help her do something like put on her shoes without letting her try it on her own first, you can bet that our efforts will be pushed away with an adamant "I dood it. I dood it." After a few minutes of struggling with the task, we're usually called back with a distressed "Help, Dad?" or "Help, Mom?"

She has finally started to say the phrase "thank you," and now that she's started, she fits it in whenever she can.  Anytime I comply with her request for a snack or drink, my efforts are acknowledged with a hearty "sank you, Mom." If I ask her to pass me something, she'll hand over the object with a solemn "sank you." When I'm finally finished changing her diaper, no matter how wildly she screamed and writhed while I was doing the job, she hops off the changing table with a quick "sank you" as she runs off, finally free to continue what she was doing.

Often when Matt and I go to get Alice in the morning or after a nap, we ask her if she had a good sleep and whether she had any dreams. I didn't think she knew what dreams were yet, but was hoping that one day she'd regale us with stories of what went on in her head while she slept.

This morning, as I was changing her out of her pajamas, we had the following conversation: 
"Did you have a good sleep, Alice?"
"Yeah. Dream."
"You had a dream? What was it about?"
"Soccer!"
"You were playing soccer? Wow!" Did you kick the ball?"
"Yeah."
"Did you score a goal?"
"Yeah."
"Was anyone cheering for you? Did they say, 'Go Alice! Yaay Alice'?"
"Sank you."

Out of her Shell

Alice has been working her way through a shy streak that seems slowly to be coming to an end.  On more than one occasion, she has spent the first hour and a half of a birthday party clinging like a monkey around my neck or Matt's, with her head down on our shoulder and, for added security, her eyes clamped shut.

I can't tell you how many times I have shrugged and apologized after a nice old lady on an elevator or in line for coffee tried to elicit a smile from Alice and received a scowl in return.  It's been funny for me, and somehow surprising every time, to see that type of behavior from her, when she so engaging and communicative at home.

Alice absolutely adores our young neighbors, and eagerly shouts out their names any time I ask a question (Me: "What should we do today, Alice?" Alice: "Anna!"; Me: "Alice, do you know who comes to visit on the night before Easter?" Alice: "Livvy!"; Me: "Do you know who is coming to visit us all the way from California?" Alice: "Flynny!").  She sees them nearly every day and even so, for a while, her interactions with them mostly consisted of careful observation and following behind. 

Lately though, Alice has been taking more of an initiative in her interactions with her little buddies.  For example, while standing next to one of the other children, she'll suddenly scream "race!"and then plow across the lawn, clearly expecting the other child to follow, while the intended competitor takes a few seconds, and then bounds after Alice.  And while before she would furrow her brow and turn away when one of her friend's parents asked her a question or looked in her general direction, now she makes eye contact and occasionally even unleashes on them a torrent of very earnest toddler babble, complete with animated gesticulation.

 

On Easter, we returned to the home of some friends where previously, during a birthday party, Alice pulled the old try-as-hard-as-she-can-to-melt-into-my-shoulder trick. This time, she chattered with the other kids, willingly rode the slide and swings from the start, and even returned a few smiles from the adults.  The father of the hostess (and grandfather to the three-year-old birthday boy of a few weeks earlier) commented on Alice's newfound openness.  "She's like a whole different child", he remarked. I thought about it and realized that he was right.  Often it takes an outsider to notice the slow changes.  That's part of the reason that I keep up this blog: looking over the posts from the past 20 months, I barely recognize that little baby from 2010, and the stories that go with the photos seem like ancient history, even though nothing seemed so different from one day to the next.  I guess, one day, this post will be no exception.