Happy Mother's Day

Sophie created a Mother's Day book for me at school. Here's what she dictated to her teachers:

My mom always plays with me on the playground.
My mom looks pretty when she wears lipstick.
When it's nighttime, my mom goes to the bookstore.
My mom goes to H.E.B. and buys enchiladas.
My mom works with her kids in her class at Austin High.

Sweetest book I've ever seen. And I spend every night at the bookstore, you know. (?!?)

Happy Mother's Day!

Things She Says

She's babbling in Spanish lately. It goes something like this: Comomos eestos sunsuelos? Mimos buenos? Sometimes she answers you this way when you have just asked her a question. It can be pretty cute or pretty annoying, given the other circumstances of the day. The other day a flustered Frank told her, "Sophie, you're not even saying anything in Spanish!" She put her hands on her hips, glared at him, and hissed, "seis."

Her English vocabulary is flourishing, and it's fun to listen to her progression with grammar. We hear a lot of double presentations with past tense these days: "He waveded at me!" When we try to casually "correct" with a question, "Oh yeah? Spongebob waved at you?" she looks at us like we're senile: "Yes! I just told you that he waveded at me!"

She brings homes little expressions from school, of course. Like, she says "for real life?" instead of "really?" Now that I think about it, for the OTHER use of "really" she typically says "very." We might hear: "I very like ketchup. For real life!" Other things she MUST have picked up from school: "I need my space," "na na na na boo boo," and "doo doo." I really hate the word "doo doo." I prefer poop. As a word, anyway.

She still says "actually" all the time. Ackshly, ackshly, ackshly. Got that one from me.

And what does HE say? Jameson delivers amazing monologues in gobbledygook. We have been able to discern the words, "Light," "mamamamamama," and one very clear "uh oh" right after a crashing noise in the kitchen.

Hard-boiled, plastic, and snake

Torrential downpour on Easter morning subsided, and the blazing sun came out in time for our easter egg hunt last weekend. Jameson looked so collegiate in his little sweater vest...I could hardly keep from biting him every time I saw him:

When the "bunny" hid the eggs, he found an Eassssster vissssitor:

I would have screamed my fool head off if a snake wriggled out of the monkey grass right in front of me, but my husband picked him up and gave him a tickle:

Speaking of eggs, here are a couple o' good ones:

Classy Easter shot. Some Websters wrangle snakes; others wrangle babies:

Triple Fiesta Saturday

Two birthday parties and an egg dying party. No naps (for Thing 1, anyway...Thing 2 still naps whenever the car is running so he dozed between events.)

Jameson was super excited to try the slide at Party #1:

Hurry up, Sis! I need a co-pilot!

On to Party #2: bouncy castle and a girl jumping out of a cake. Okay, a Barbie jumping out of a cake.

His hair is fading to blonde, but it does look a little on the RED side, here:

Mother and Child:

On to Party #3: Coloring Easter Eggs at Pie's house. Has Sophie selected the perfect color for a hard-boiled or the perfect shade for the Stephenses' dining room?


This one is called, "Little Girls and Eggs...Big Girls and Beets."

Eggcelent!

Ugh

Quick note for the record. I'm going on a four night field trip starting tomorrow. I know that Sophie is old enough that she does not always need me around (especially if she's got her dad around). And I know that Jameson is too young to remember that I abandoned him for three days and four nights. But I am experiencing an involuntary irrational physiological reaction. Cannot breathe.

Safety Goggles Advised

He gouges out of love.

Kuh-nuffle Cow?

Sophie REALIZED something. She marched into my room and said, "THIS IS NOT MY COW!"

Albert Cowmoo is Sophie's first love. When we realized that Cowmoo was going to be Sophie's nighttime/naptime lovey when she was just a little over a year old, we rushed out to find a spare. The REAL Cowmoo was a gift from Aunt Laura, but it was a seasonal item -- sold along with the book Click Clack Moo, and nowhere to be found. Except Ebay. So that's how we got CowTwo. But until a few days ago, Sophie did not know about the stunt double. We dutifully rotated the cows so that they got a relatively equal amount of wear (great trick of hiding cleaner cow in the washing machine, then inserting dirty cow right in front of Sophie's eyes, closing the lid, then opening the lid and removing clean cow -- cooking show style). We never left two cows grazing at the same time. We never mentioned the name CowTwo in front of the girl. But we're tired, now. Corners got cut. And, somehow, Cowmoo became two. In true Knuffle Bunny style (great book if you haven't read it), Sophie was having NONE of it. She was not amused that there were two cows. She did not think that a cow visitor had decided to come play. She announced that one of them was NOT her cow, and that it probably belonged to Berkely (a kid at her school). I promised I would return it to him, and shoved it back in its corner behind Frank's hiking boots when she wasn't looking. Here's a shot of Sophie and Cow from September, 2006:

Let there be KITE

We went to the kite festival, oh...about twenty days ago. I'm just now getting around to posting some pics. They look better when larger, so click on these...

An idea sprung from Jameson's head:

Look out, boy! That kite's gonna land on yer nose...

Let there be (L)ight

Jameson said his first word! It's not dada (although he does say duh duh duh duh all the time). It's not mama (he grins/laughs/cackles when I say mama, but he doesn't say it). It's not Sophie or Sissy or So-so, despite her many efforts to get him to say her name first. It's not "Callie, No!" which I'm sure is imprinted on his brain. It's not uh-oh (that was Sophie's first word, and continues to be a testament to her balance).

It's LIGHT.

At dinner the other night, he reached up with both hands for the light above the table, jutting out his bottom jaw (and his bottom teeth) and started babbling. I said "light" and he said "ight." Just like that. Frank said "light?" and Jameson parroted "light?" And now he says it whenever he's referring to things he likes or wants. Light, light, light. I think it's a good first word. Light is knowledge and truth and God (and the glowing ball above J's head at dinnertime).

Sophie's Dictionary

to·la·ter /tə-lāˈ-tər/ adverb
1. an indication of when things might occur, esp. in reference to candy eating
2. an unspecified extension of the time continuum, as in "today," "tomorrow," and "tolater"
Ex. I'm not eating any more Spongebob gummis now, but can I have some tolater?

blur·ry /ˈblər-ē/ adjective
1. unknown, unfathomable, but probably yucky
2. lacking that je ne sais quoi
Example 1: As we're driving the principal from Cheongwon High School from the airport to his host family's house, Sophie asks, "Are you from Korea?" He answers, "Yes. Do you know where Korea is? She answers, "Yes, it's very blurry there." He wonders what she means. We change the subject.
Example 2: Sophie emerges from her cardboard house with my purse on her arm and brown stuff all over her cheeks. I ask, "What's that on your face?" She answers, "Make-up. My face was looking a little blurry." (Fashion tip: eyeshadow does not clear up blurry cheeks)

Footnote: Sophie likes to make up new words and new usages for existing words, but she does not always appreciate new vocabulary. When Frank told her to stop being so obsequious, she screamed, "That's not even a word to me!" and then crumpled in a little heap of Sophie onto the floor.

Snoozefest

Jameson thinks Pinkalicious is sooooo boring. Where's the dinosaurliscious book? Or truckaluscious?

He Was a Hairy Bear

When Jameson was born, we called him our hobbit. He was such a fuzzy little guy, with dark spiky hair. Now his hair can be twisted into a tower of power, and the color becomes lighter with every shampoo, as if we're washing the dirt out:
Usually he sports a fancy comb-over, but with a little "product," (egg whites...quite organic), he morphs into full-on mohawk: (Note the two bottom teeth, too!)

Profile of a mad man:

His Chris Gaines impression, including pout:

Just jokin'! I'm still the smiliest boy around:

Think I'm joking when I say comb-over? Check it out:

Jameson's first haircut in the dining room (times is tough):

All done! And the hobbit became a real boy.

Pop Goes the Elbow

Well, we broke her. Or rather, we dislocated her. But it wasn't "we," it was the sweet gymnastics coach who pulled her up off the mat after a crooked tumble, and it wasn't really "her," it was her elbow. Here's what happened:

When I picked her up from gymastics Saturday morning, she was being held by her coach and she was crying. The coach said she had a "boo boo" and that she was missing Mommy. Sounded about right. When I tried to put on her sweatshirt, though, she started crying even harder. I went back into the gym and got a better description of the injury. When I got her calmed down, she could lift her arm up, she could bend it at the elbow, she could squeeze my finger. All good signs. We headed home for ice and Tylenol. When I noticed that she wasn't using her left arm, I suggested that we might need to stay home and rest instead of going to the princess birthday party she was supposed to attend. MAJOR TEARS. A full-on princess hissy fit. Had Frank been home, he would have called it a "jihad." But Frank wasn't home and Mom wasn't sure what to do, so I helped her slip into her trashiest princess dress, some hot pink high-top Converse, and her Halloween costume crown. She still had her crooked pigtails from gymnastics and a tearstained face and her arm hanging limply beneath crushed purple taffeta and pink netting. In a word: pitiful.

We arrived at the party about an hour late, but just in time to eat cake and watch the hired Cinderella tying flower and wand balloons (I kept thinking of you, Aunt La-la, and your life on the birthday party circuit!). Fast-forward to dance party time, and Cinderella surrounded by twelve adorable little princesses, some with flowers in their hair, some with sparkly blue eyeshadow, some with glitter lotion on the skins, some with perfectly hair-sprayed ringlets, none looking quite so thrown together as my little Princess Ragamuffin. Cindy turned on the Hokey-pokey and I watched my little gimpy daughter shuffle and gyrate, but she just could not put her left arm in. Should I take her to the emergency room? Urgent care center? Call up my brother, the former nurse? Before I could decide, a horse-drawn carriage arrived at the party and Sophie's jaw dropped. She took two rides on the carriage before I convinced her it was time to leave.

I finally called Uncle Jeff, who listened to all the details, including the fact that she has had a hurt arm twice before (once when she was a toddler and sat down while I was holding her hand, another time after a friend was swinging her around by the arms). Both times it dangled by her side and healed after a few hours. Jeff decided it was probably muscular, and told me that the ER would charge me $50 and give her acetaminophen. Give it three days, and she'll be back to normal. He also advised that I give her a makeshift sling, which I did, and that seemed to help.

Then I went to the oracle. Google-style. Turns out that kids between the ages of 1 and 3 often get "nursemaid's elbow." (Called that after caregivers who inadvertently yank the arm of an uncooperative child.) If it's happened before, it's likely to happen again. And it occurs more frequently in girls than boys. And more often on the left arm than the right. Guess what?!? She's three, she's a girl, and it was the left arm. The internet tried to teach me how to reduce the injury, but it didn't seem to work. The internet also said that ice, Tylenol, and a few days would do the trick, if the reduction didn't work.

Finally, my rock, my love, my Frank came home. And I showed him my research. He called up our doc, Dr. Geoff, who concurred with the google diagnosis. He gave Frank a few more tips over the phone, and told him that it's a really easy procedure that's hard for parents to do (screaming is involved), but easy for doctors. Then he gave Frank directions to his house. (Did I mention that we're friends with our doctor?) We tried. Twice. Then Frank loaded Sophie up in the car and drove her to the doc. A house call, in reverse. He tried the maneuver once. No dice. He frowned, tried it again, and POP. She was cured. (We'll be billed through the mail, thank you very much.) I would have paid a $500 co-pay to have her fixed yesterday morning.

Tonight we are thankful for sweet gymnastics coaches who cuddle you when you fall, for Cinderellas who distract you from your pain, for cherry-flavored Tylenol, for horse-drawn carriages, for Nurse Jeff, for Dad who tried really hard but didn't want to hurt his little girl, and most especially, Dr. Geoff. He even gave her a sticker when she was done! And thanks to you, too, Google. And you? If you read this whole dang post, you should get a sticker, too.

Things Heard 'Round the Webster House Lately

If you were a fly on the wall in our house this week, this is what you might have heard:

"I'm all done pooping and I'm touching my toes!" I blame Frank for this one...he thinks it's a good post-pottying stance. For some reason, I much prefer changing a diaper to the process of helping a three-year-old wipe her bum.

When Sophie came home with a pile of art from school, I spotted a beautiful rainbow-colored picture of Martin Luther King, Jr. I asked, "Who's this guy?" Her response? "OOOOOoooo-BAMA!"

In response to "Why do we have to listen to the mommies and daddies?" Because if you don't, there will be chaos and anarchy and little kids running around on an island with a pig's head on a stick and everyone will be looking for a little boy named Simon. And she said, "Oh. Simon."

"A little bitty CUPcake, a little bitty CUPcake!" This is Sophie's favorite song right now. It's "Hotel Room" by Regina Spektor and the line is actually "a little bag of cocaine," but we changed it by screaming out our new lyrics everytime Regina talks about drugs. It's working for us, but it makes me hungry.

And, finally, in response to something I may or may not have said to her when she was requesting a certain breakfast menu: "I am NOT DELUSIONAL!"

One snooze forward, half a snooze back

Friday night, Frank put Jameson to sleep around 8:30 (I was at the hospital meeting Nini and Adam's new baby, Carter!) -- Jameson fell asleep after drinking about 3 ounces. That's a light snack for him. He slept past the midnight mark and woke up at 2:30. Since that was about six hours, and since he had missed the midnight feeding, I went ahead and nursed him back to sleep. When he woke up again at 3:40, I let him cry and fuss himself back to sleep (about 20 minutes).

Last night was similar. He went to bed a little later than usual -- around 9 p.m. -- and slept past the midnight mark. He woke up around 2:20 and I fed him. At 4:00 a.m. he cried and I gave him a pacifier and left the room -- not sure how long he fussed because I went back to bed and fell asleep. Hooray! He woke up around 7:30 a.m.

We're getting there. I know he can probably sleep through the night, but one feeding a night is okay with me for a week or so. Then we'll try to get past that hurdle, too.