Haiku Friday: More Changes From The Warrior Princess

Drawing a picture
Look, mommy! A happy face!

Why yes it is, dear!


A giant Miffy –
No, no! His name is Sammy!
He’s her new best friend.

Kissing Miffy Sammy goodnight

In the past week, Cordy has suddenly been leaping forward in progress. The hugs for Mira have continued, although she’s also taking toys away from Mira, too. But two new developments have me giddy and beaming like I’ve got the next Einstein for a daughter.

First, the “happy face” drawn on her knock-off magna-doodle is the first time she’s ever drawn anything other than scribbles. Cordy sat down, announced she was drawing a happy face, and then talked us through the steps involved as she did it: “Draw a face, then an eye, then another eye, then a smile!” I’d like to take the credit for teaching her that, but the truth is all praise goes to Yo Gabba Gabba, where she saw the face drawn the first time.

Second, you may remember the Miffy contest I had last month. Not only did I give away a Miffy, but I got one, too. (Thanks, Mir & Ty’s!) Miffy arrived earlier this week in a huge box, because this is a gigantic bunny. I told Cordy the box was a present for her, and we opened it together. She pulled out this mammoth stuffed animal with glee, amazed at the size but not quite sure what it was.

“That’s Miffy. She’s a bunny,” I explained.

She gave the bunny a long, hard look. “No, this is Sammy!” she corrected me.

Wha? My child is now naming her stuffed animals? And where did the name Sammy come from? Not only has she named him, but he now follows her around the house. He sleeps in her bed at night, and I must tuck him in with her.

In the morning, we must carry Sammy downstairs for her. (She can’t carry him or she’d fall down the stairs.) When I ask her what she wants for lunch, she tells me she wants a sandwich, and oh, Sammy wants a sandwich, too. Occasionally in the afternoon she’ll tug Sammy onto the couch and tuck him in for a nap.

It’s adorable, and like nothing I’ve ever seen before from her. It’s so exciting to see her drawing and engaging in imaginative play, something she had no concept of six months ago. Part of me hopes these rapid changes continue, while the other part of me wants her to slow down just a little, so I can savor these new advances.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below or at Jennifer’s blog with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). If you need help with this, contact Jennifer or myself.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button above.



I’m Waving At You. How About You Wave Back?

Apparently today is a delurking day – one of those days where those of us who are out here writing all the time ask you to show yourself.

Bloggers love comments. We have to, or we’d be writing in little paper journals kept in our desks. Feedback is nourishment to us.

So just for this one day, leave me a comment to let me know you’ve been here. I look over my stats all the time, and I know there are more people visiting than commenting. I’m not hurt by that – I’m a secret stalker for many other blogs, and sometimes I read my favorite blogs and don’t have anything to say.

But I do love me some comments. Seeing that e-mail pop up telling me I have a new comment on a post is like getting another fix of my favorite drug. When I get a lot of comments, I’m downright giddy.

You don’t have to be witty, or funny, or philosophical. A simple “Hi!” works fine. Anonymous is cool, too. (Spammers and trolls excluded, of course.)

Or if you want a reason to comment, answer me this question:


You have discovered one lonely cookie left in a bag. It’s your favorite type of cookie. Do you:

A. give it to your child
B. share it with your child or…
C. turn the TV on and hide out in the kitchen so your kid doesn’t see you eat the cookie?


OK, let’s see how many people are out there. I’d love to see over 50 comments. And just to add a little guilt:


PS – Want to really make me happy? There are some blog awards going on right now. And I hear there’s a Parenting blog category. And I’ve never been nominated.

Just sayin’. If you think I’m cool enough and all…



Chi-Town Visit & A Contest

Aaron will be going to Chicago this weekend for a stage combat workshop. Why they host a workshop in Chicago in the middle of January is beyond my knowledge, but we always brave the potential bad weather to make the trip. I like to tag along so I can visit friends who live in the area.

We tried taking Cordy with us one year, but that was disastrous. So last year she stayed home with grandma while I enjoyed some child-free (yet pregnant) time to myself in Chicago. It was lovely.

This year, I must take one of the kids. Grandma and her crew of backup family members are willing to deal with one for an entire weekend, but not both of them. (I can’t blame her for that.) Knowing Cordy’s issues with sleeping somewhere strange, she’s staying home while Mira comes with us. This will be her second trip to Chicago in under seven months.

Any Chicago area bloggers want to meet up? We’ll be close to Woodfield Mall, and I know I’ll be making at least one trip to the mecca I call Ikea.

*************

Also, I’m over at Mommy’s Must Haves today reviewing the book The Ultimate Tea Diet. Come over to learn more about it and enter to win your own copy of the book!



Forgive The Bragging, Please

I know some of you mommy bloggers out there have been posting lately about your husbands behaving badly. Being wimps. Being lazy. Being selfish, condescending, and mean. The labels “assholes” and “pussies” have been thrown around lately.

I’m sorry, ladies, for the story I’m about to share. But maybe you can show your husbands the end of this post and the testosterone desire to compete shaming sweet tale will convince them to make up for their ways.

Sunday, Aaron and I were given a rare break from the children to see a movie. Aaron wanted to see I Am Legend. I was uninterested. I wanted to see this instead:


Uh-huh. A chick flick. And not just a chick flick, but one containing the actor who is at the upper-most, highest peak, tippity-top of my List of Five.

Allow me a moment of high school girl obsession: *droooooool*

And do you know what my sweet, loving husband said to me when I casually suggested seeing P.S. I Love You, trying to sound as if I was interested in the story and not that I just wanted to stare at Gerard Butler on the big screen for two hours?

“Sure.”

Even knowing I’d be searing every shirtless image, every sexy smile, every word spoken in that hot Scottish accent into my brain, he agreed to see a movie he wasn’t interested in on our one chance in weeks to get out together.

And he dislikes Hilary Swank.

And in a theater filled with women, he was one of TWO men.

And the other guy was so old he probably didn’t remember what movie he was seeing afterwards.

Not only did he agree to see this chick flick without complaint – he enjoyed it. Teared up at times, even! (Note: bring kleenex to this movie. No matter how stone-faced you think you are, it’s a four hankie tear-jerker.)

I’m a lucky woman.

Oh sure, he’s not perfect, and he can piss me off sometimes. Or a lot, depending on the week. (and I’m sure he gets sick of me, too) But I’m glad I have him, and after almost five years of marriage, he’s still willing to do little things to make me happy.

Now, mommy blogger husbands out there, listen up: I challenge you to top this. Do something totally selfless, something entirely for your lovely wives. Make these women unable to resist bragging about how great their guys are.

I want to see some happy mamas out there, because these wonderful women deserve a little special treatment!



Hey Gerber, Did You Think We Wouldn’t Notice?

While buying baby food yesterday – something I do at least twice a week, thanks to the bottomless pit we refer to as Mira – I found myself rummaging around looking for more organic choices. I usually don’t buy Gerber organic, but that’s all there was at this particular grocery. There weren’t many organic jars, so I chose a few non-organic jars as well.

Yeah, I know, it would be cheaper to make my own baby food, but I’m lazy and can’t even melt chocolate without nearly setting my kitchen on fire, so a little leeway, OK?

And then, when I got home and lined up the jars to put them away, I noticed it:


No, not my spotless stovetop (See? No cooking!) – look at the jars! Two jars of Gerber baby food. Both Stage 3. One organic, one, uh…non-organic. Or regular. Whatever.

Do you see the difference? Here, let me digitally enhance the picture to show you a little more clearly:


The regular Gerber Stage 3 baby food is 6 ounces. The organic Gerber Stage 3 baby food is 5.5 ounces. That’s 0.5 ounces missing from the organic jar.

Seeing this difference in jars makes me wonder:

  • Do pesticides weigh 0.5 ounces?
  • Is organic somehow more dense?
  • Do babies who eat organic not need as much food? If so, can you tell that to my devourer?
  • Do they assume that organic is fed only to babies of celebrities, who don’t want their kids to get too fat, cause, like, you know…fat cells stick with you for life?
  • Is the organic jar somehow edible as well? (the ultimate green packaging?)

I should also point out that the organic – the smaller jar! – costs 50% more than the non-organic.

What’s going on, Gerber? There is no reason why a jar of organic baby food should contain less food than a standard jar. My child needs that 0.5 ounces – I’m not cracking open another jar to give her that little bit extra. Besides, if I do, then I’m down an entire ounce for that jar, requiring me to open another jar to replace that ounce, and then more math is involved and my baby girl cries in hunger as I try to figure out how much food is just enough without being so much that she spits up all over me, thus requiring more food again.

Suddenly making my own baby food isn’t sounding so bad.

So do me a favor, Gerber: give me back my 0.5 ounces. Do you want this little face going hungry?

You don’t want me hungry. I’ll eat your nose off.