Futile Bribe

If Nicole's photo were in the dictionary, it would depict her clutching a chocolate bar, or some other substance that contained more grams of sugar than any other ingredient.

So when Clint tried to pry Nicole from the house last night by enticing her with candy, I couldn't believe my ears!

Dad: Hey Nicole, let's go to the store together and we can stop and get a treat on the way home.

Nicole: Why don't you just stop and get a treat all of yourself.

What?! Was that my Nicole who had voluntarily declined an occasion to consume candy without having to preface it with eating "good food?" Clint and I exchanged glances. A strange and unknown substance must be circulating in our water ... There is truly no alternative explanation.

Be It Ever So Humble ...

... there's no place like home.

After living like gypsies for six weeks, traveling from town to town, and staying with whomever would indulge us, we finally found our way back to our 850 sq ft apartment. And even though it's less than half the size of anywhere we've been lately, the sight was never more welcome.

There's something to be said for the familiar scent of your own laundry detergent, looking at walls and having your beloved children staring right back at you, pulling your clothes out of a closet in the morning, cooking in a kitchen where you can find utensils blindfolded and lazily lying in bed with your honey while the children roam the house in the morning.

If you were to visit our place, you would not find it large or fancy. But you would find our hearts.

The Gift of No Complaints

My husband and I do not make a practice of depriving ourselves of tangible items that we "need." For this reason, we decided not to buy each other Christmas gifts this year.

I still wanted to do something for him, so I thought that if I gave him a month free of complaints, that would be tons better than anything available at a store.

Although my intentions were true, I hang my head in shame to admit that I couldn't even last a week (it's harder than it sounds!). Even though I didn't reach my goal, and I don't know if Clint even noticed, I learned some important lessons about myself and the way I interact with my husband:

1. I have a tendency to complain about various issues, even if they don't affect us.
2. Clint doesn't complain hardly ever.
3. When I hold my tongue and avert a complaint, our home is more peaceful.
4. The things I typically complain about are things that don't really matter.
5. I'm happier when I focus on the positive that surrounds me.

I'll consider trying this experiment again; perhaps it will make my New Year's Resolution list. With time, I think I could make a habit of it.

I Caved

I vowed to withstand the pressure to commercialize Christmas. Clint and I carefully selected two gifts (dismally, neither of which involved a scooter), plus a few stocking stuffers, for Nicole.

In my head I justified my behavior, "We're being responsible. We're not over-indulging. We're teaching our kids that more doesn't mean better."

My heart overruled logic when I was presented with Nicole's wish list, transcribed by cousin Kalia.

#1 Scooter
#2 Sunglasses
#3 Lip gloss

I knew Nicole wanted a scooter. A month ago, cousin Kennedy received one for her birthday. It was, of course, too large for Nicole and the older kids hardly spared her a minute to take it for a spin. Moreover Nicole has a bike, so I didn't think a scooter was necessary.

I felt the gentle tug at my heartstrings again when I showed Nicole a toy that Aunt Shari was wrapping for someone else. I said to her, "Wouldn't you like to receive something this cool for Christmas?"

"I like it, Mom, but I'd rather have a scooter."

Not knowing that a three-wheeled scooter was an option, I told Nicole that she was too little for a scooter.

"OK, I guess I can wait until next year," she simply stated.

How could I resist that?!

Three-Quarters of a Family Portrait

Don't let the smiles fool you -- this game possesses evil powers that kindle ruthless actions toward loved ones. But don't take my word for it; go try it for yourselves!

Modesty, Reprise

Aunt Sarah hunted high and low, and I assure you that it was not in vain, for a Barbie dressed modestly. Nicole and I have shopped the Barbie and Bratz collections recently, but each doll was rejected because she didn't meet Nicole's clothing standards. Judging by the smile on Nicole's face, I think this doll received an approval rating!

All New Nicole

Yesterday Nicole requested a makeover. I wondered where she had learned the term, but agreed to apply some fair-colored makeup.

While we had fun together, I think that she isn't ready to let go of it. She's learned to be patient while others take steps to beautify her.

Trash Collector

Nicole couldn't bear to tear one piece of paper off a gift without placing it in the trash bag. At one point, she picked up the giant garbage bag herself and circulated around the room for each person to rid themselves of unwanted wrapping paper.

All I Want for Christmas ...

is my six front teeth?

I can't believe it! Grant has two new teeth making their way through his gums.

I don't think teeth is really what Grant envisioned receiving for Christmas, however. We tried our best to pick something he'd enjoy (Cheerios), but what he liked best were the spare boxes and torn paper.

And the Award Goes to ...

... Nicole, for best expression while opening a gift. I call it Surprise à la Mode.

Nicole, Get Your Gun!

Mom: "Nicole, what did you get for Christmas?"

Nicole: "A shootgun!"

That's My Girl

I'm not one who much enjoys a good nail polish. Just like everything else in my life, I like my nails plain. I can honestly say that I do not own any nail polish in color (only clear). For this reason, Nicole has never worn nail polish.

Today cousin Kalia offered to paint Nicole's nails.

Nicole asked me first, "Mom, do you want my nails painted?"

I honestly replied, "No. But if you want them done, then Kalia can paint them for you."

Ten minutes and two coats of polish later, Kalia came searching for nail polish remover. "Nicole said she wanted them to be plain."

I smiled when Nicole entered the room. I asked about her nails and she said, "I like them white, just like you, Mom. White's your favorite color, huh? Mine, too."

No Snow? No Problem!

I woke up this morning, with the shutters in the room closed tightly, and thought to myself, "No chance for a white Christmas this year." A short while later, our family began the American tradition of Christmas breakfast and gift-giving and no more thoughts of snow danced around in my head.

It wasn't until several hours later, as Nicole and Sammie rode their new scooter and bike, respectively, down the sunny, palm tree-lined sidewalk that I thought to myself, "Christmas is much more pleasurable without the snow. Where's the I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas song?"

I heard a weatherman (poor guy had to report the weather on Christmas day!) say, "Take a look at this forecast! Seventy degrees all week long. No wonder so many people travel to Phoenix for the holidays." Amen, brother.

Cheese, Please

If you ask Nicole what kind of pizza she prefers, you're likely to receive a non-standard answer. (It's kind of like those people that tell you how to build a clock when you're only asking for the time.) Tonight Susie fell into this trap and Nicole replied, "I like the kind where it's bread, sauce and cheese. But not pepperoni." Translation: cheese pizza.

She ate plenty of pizza at Chuck-E-Cheese tonight with her cousins. Honestly, though, I don't think kids like this "restaurant" for the cheese; I think it's the games. Peruse our highlights and make your own assessment.

* * * * *

Who's missing from this picture? (Not that any more little girls could physically cram into this Jeep.)

Father and son.

Christmas Magic

As I hovered over the stove stirring a syrup destined to become a rare candy worth more than money, Nicole inadvertently pressed the Play button on Shari's automatic Baby Grand. Immediately, a cheerful arrangement of Jingle Bells leaped from the piano chords. Nicole came running from the living room yelling, "Mom! Look! The piano is playing all by itself!" For the next half hour, she sat mesmerized on the piano bench, watching the magic unfold before her eyes.

Grant happily crawled on the floor, in search of toys, or perchance a bite of fudge. I looked around my sister's kitchen and realized how blessed I am to be surrounded by people I love -- especially during this time of year. In the back recesses of my mind, I dreamed that this vacation would last forever.

What makes Christmas special? It's not the gifts; it's family.

Buffet

An hour after our trek to Arizona commenced, Nicole asked the timeless question (with a slight variation), "Are we almost there yet?"

Apparently her cousins were just as anxious to see her. When we pulled in their driveway twelve hours later, Nicole was welcomed by three pre-teens running toward her with their arms outstretched and screaming her name. We couldn't have arrived a moment too soon.

Not long after that, and many times since, the chief complaint in the house has been, "So-and-So is hogging Nicole!" or "So-and-So won't share Nicole."

Easy, girls ... there's plenty of Nicole to go around.

True Love

I recently read a card that was intended as a gift for a husband that read: "You're not just everything I've dreamed of, you're more than I ever imagined."

As I contemplate the last six years with my husband, I think that phrase epitomizes our mutual feelings for each other and I wish I had written it first. Every once in a while, we look at each other and simultaneously exclaim, "We got lucky, didn't we?!"

In the short while that we've been married, we've graduated from college, bought and sold a home, had three children and two dogs and nearly completed medical school. If someone had revealed to us on our wedding day a glimpse of our future, I would scarcely have believed him. Yet here we are -- happier than we began. Older, yes. Wiser, perhaps. More in love every day, undoubtedly.

Is it luck or love? We believe it's both.

Watch Out Boys, She's Republican

Not only is she beautiful, she also votes.

It looks like Nicole may need supplementary lessons in make-up, but not in politics (hasn't missed an I voted sticker yet). As for the lipstick, not bad for a first-timer without a mirror, eh?

Nicole's Grandma

If Nicole were to draft a list of her top 10 favorite people, I bet Grandma would be at the top (even above Mom and Dad on most days). Nicole loves her Grandma.

Nicole calls her on my cell phone and talks to her about nothingness, like two teenage girls after school.
Nicole likes to sit at the counter and color in her company.
Nicole helps her cook, clean up the toys and watch Brother.
Nicole shows off her silliest new tricks and flips to make Grandma laugh.
Nicole loves Grandma to hold her. She especially likes to give her loves and kisses.

It's no wonder that they're nearly inseparable. A few nights ago, we pulled into the driveway at Grandma's house. I alerted Nicole ahead of time that Grandma wouldn't be home when we arrived, but she refused to believe it. Maybe she just hoped that, by some miracle, Grandma would be there anyway, waiting for Nicole to jump in her arms like usual. Nicole unbuckled her seat belt, jumped out of the car door and ran into the house through the garage. Just as Nicole passed over the threshold and the door to the house was about to close, I heard a sweet baby voice nearly waver, "Grandma?"

I rushed in behind Nicole to hold her and remind her that Grandma would be gone for a while. As I entered the house, I heard little footsteps running throughout the upstairs -- room to room to room -- repeating, "Grandma? Where are'd you? Are you here?"

Disappointment set in and soon Nicole busied herself with her favorite activities for Grandma's house: her special box of coloring supplies, her much loved cartoon show and a sippy cup of orange juice.

Finally it was bath time. After Grant got out, Nicole insisted on staying in the tub until Grandma came home. Surely it had already been "a while," she reasoned, and then Grandma could customarily wrap Nicole in the oversize towel and carry her to the changing table to have her hair combed and pulled out of her face.

Several days later, we're still here, at Grandma's house ... but without Grandma. Not an hour passes but what Nicole questions, "Mom, is it time for Grandma to come home? I miss her."

Play Time

Everyone knows Grant as a happy baby. In fact, it's not so often that you hear him cry. These occasions are mainly limited to the following events:

• Change of clothes/diaper
• Extreme injury
• Departing the waters at bath time

As a fact, the highlight of Grant's day is the time he spends in the tub. If you think about it, it almost makes sense. He has no clothes or diaper to irritate or restrict him. He's with his best friend (Sister) and a whole bunch of toys. And he can crawl around, stand up, splash and make as much noise as he wants. Even if he's been in the bath for 45 minutes (common occurrence) and the water's frigid, he still protests any adult who tries to separate him from the tub.

You ought to see him come crawling from any corner of the house when he hears bath water running. Sometimes he is so desperate to play in the tub that he stands next to it and bounces himself up and down to get attention. Just wait until he figures out how to dump himself over the side of the tub to get in whenever he pleases. He might not ever get out!

To Nicole's Future Husband

Dear Mr. Right,

As Nicole's mother, I think you ought to understand one important aspect about Nicole before you vow "I do." I warn you now herewith that Nicole will live in misery if you attempt to relocate her to a suburb more than five miles away from her family (includes distant relatives and acquaintances). Should you fail to follow my advice, she will constantly remark how much she misses her family until you are forced to buy her a private jet so that she can visit them at will.

Take my advice and it will save you many capsules of Tylenol (not to mention airport fees). If you don't think this is a lifestyle that you will be able to tolerate, I beg you to please reconsider your engagement.

Sincerely,

Your Future Mother-in-Law

The Tongue is a Vile Muscle

In the history of mankind, no child has ever been permitted to stick his tongue at his parents ... until now.

Not only do I allow Grant to crawl around the house searching for mischief with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog, but I think it's cute. And if I do it back, he finds it rather amusing.

I suppose it would be quite a sight to spot an adult sticking her tongue out at a baby.

Patience is a Virtue

While eating her bedtime snack, I informed Nicole that she would be heading straight to bed as soon as her last bite was swallowed.

"But Mom, I want Dad to help me finish this puzzle," she said as she pointed to a tricky magnetic pyramid puzzle we bought at the Desert Museum in Tucson last year.

I thought to myself, "If she's already asked him, then I'll let her. Otherwise, it's off to bed!"

Aloud, I voiced my thought, "Nicole did you already ask Dad?"

Sadly and honestly, she reported, "No. But I was going to. Dad told me to 'hang on' and so I didn't ask him yet."

How could we deny such a petition for a bedtime extension? She and Dad finished her puzzle. Then we tucked her in bed.

Shortcuts

I have no doubt that Nicole will make an excellent wife and mother. After all, she loves to cook. All other traits, such as organizing and cleaning, are simply bonus.

Her specialty is creamy cum pie. Now, it's not officially a recognized dessert in the United States, but in Nicole's dreamland, it's to die for! Nicole has been cultivating her culinary skills with me since she was big enough to sit on the counter without falling off. And she's learned a few tricks of the trade, as it were. Just like I did from my mom.

For example, since I was the bumpkin of my nine-member family, my mom was a busy body. The most useful shortcut she taught me was to wash the dishes, let them air dry on the counter while you're washing the remaining dishes, and then to put the dishes away damp. "They'll continue drying and be ready for use next time you grab them out of the cupboard." Wow, she was right! This is especially true if you wash the dishes last thing before retiring to bed.

I only have two children, but I like to think I'm almost as busy as she was with seven, and hence, am entitled to shortcut-away as often as I would like. What I didn't anticipate was that Nicole would not want to follow in my footsteps.

So, after making the best creamy cum pie ever, Nicole washed all of her bowls and dishes. Then she dried them ... by hand ... with a towel. I was impressed because I could not imagine where she would have learned that. (Certainly not from her mom or grandma.) I commented to her that she had done a fantastic job and she retorted, "Thanks, Mom. I dried them, too. Not like you, huh!" Oops. Perhaps one day she'll learn what being busy is all about and remember what her mom and her mom's mom used to do.

It's all about working smart, not hard.

Dog Wailer

I've heard of the Dog Whisperer and I don't see how he could hold a candle to this firecracker of a dog trainer. As long as Nicole has a Ritz in hand, Ellie obeys every one of Nicole's whimsical commands:

• Sit


• Rollover


• Shake ("No, Ellie, the other hand.")


• Sit up


• Bark


• Lay down

Nicole's secret? I'll give you a hint: It's not speaking in soft tones.

It's Not My Fault

I assume full responsibility for the most recent addition to Nicole's vocabulary (I even overheard her say stinkin' during pretend time with her dolls). This time, however, I can only accept partial blame.

During our Crazy 8's game tonight, I played a color that Nicole didn't have in stock. When she saw my card, she muttered, "Bummer."

I asked her where she learned that word (because as I said before, it's not my fault), and she replied nonchalantly, "On TV."

I suppose I ought to watch TV with her to hear what word she'll bring home next.

Something Stinks

Did you ever have a favorite word to express your frustration that you wish your children wouldn't repeat? Mine's "stinkin'." Observe:

"Oh man, where'd I put the stinkin' movie?"

Moments ago, while perusing the aisles of Target with Mom and the kids, Nicole and I got separated from Grant and Mom. I thought they had passed by us and were already in the Christmas section. I said to Nicole, "We'd better get going and find Grandma."

Without a hitch, Nicole said with a smirk (which revealed that she wasn't quite sure if this was a word that she could pull off without punishment), "Where's the stinkin' Grandma?"

I couldn't contain myself. She read me like a book and asked for clarification, "We don't say stinkin' people, do we, Mom? We just say stinkin' stuff."

Still laughing, I nodded in agreement.

Nicole, now seriously engaged in the conversation said, "'Cause that would hurt their feelings, huh!"

I finally gained my composure in time for Nicole to mimic what she's heard way too many times, "Hey! Where are my stinkin' car keys?!"

The Passenger

Mansell's have an inherited additive in their blood that makes them crave high altitudes. As proof, I present my pedigree: my grandfather was a pilot; my dad is a pilot; and two of my brothers are pilots.

From the looks of the picture above, there's no doubt that Mansell blood runs in Nicole's veins.

Instead of shopping on Black Friday, Papa piloted Nicole and Clint around the patch in a yellow Cessna 172.

When Nicole returned to Grandma and Papa's house, she created her own rendition of the flight (l to r: Nicole, Papa, Dad; below: aircraft).

The Spirit of Christmas

Everything Nicole knows about Santa Claus, she's learned from the movies. At home, we don't send him elaborate lists of "I wants" or leave him a plate of cookies with milk.

My anti-St. Nick thwarts notwithstanding, Nicole has caught on to the truth: Santa = Christmas, at least in our commercialized neck of the woods. But I didn't know that she knew, if you know what I mean, until we arrived at our local grocery store several weeks before Thanksgiving.

We were fortunate to find a "front row Joe" parking spot, in which our vehicle faced the store's display window. The poinsettias lined the floor, decorated Christmas trees stood haughtily in the center and mini Santas pranced all around with cheery holiday tones ringing in the background. I glanced toward Nicole and read an expression that I thought proclaimed disgust at the sight of early Christmas decor. Then Nicole loudly stated, "Hey! 'Cause why they have all their stuff out for Santa Claus Day?!"

Ah, the poor mother who neglected to teach her child the real meaning of Christmas.

Mother's Wisdom, Part 1

A student of mine recently arrived at the testing center seven minutes too late to be admitted for the quiz. She immediately called me for an extension, which was granted.

This small incident forced me to question why I don't allow my students to take the quiz at home. After all, they're very trustworthy and it might slightly ease their burdens. Nearly automatically, I envisioned my mom standing in her kitchen saying, "Keep honest people honest."

She's right. Why would I want to be the culprit to tempt these students? Even the most honest of them might justify a peek at the notes by thinking, "I studied this. I know the answer, I just can't quite recall it right now. It's not really cheating ... "

No doubt about it: honesty's the best policy. As for Mom, she has treasures of wisdom that she dispenses in easy-to-remember phrases. Thanks for the valuable life lesson, Mom!

Kids Go Bump in the Night

Why is it that kids feel safer in Mom and Dad's bed?

Last night (I was too tired to check the time), Nicole whispered at my bedside, "Mom, I want to come in bed with you and Dad."

I didn't ask why. "Go back to bed, Nicole."

Next thing I know, I felt her hands grab the covers for leverage to pull herself up. I scooted closer to Clint to make room for Nicole on my other side. Then I felt her crawl over the top of me, providing herself with the perfect nestling spot -- in between her parents.

I trust she fell asleep right away and quickly became lost in dreams of sugarplums and dancing fairies. OK, well probably not that, but if she had taken the time to ponder why she had left her own bed in the first place, it's likely she would have been unable to remember anything scary. She was with her parents. And she felt safe.

Deep Thinking

I am constantly amazed at the thought processes Nicole reveals to me. I only know the ones she talks about, but it's quite frequent that I wonder how she arrives at certain conclusions.

For example, last night, as I worked on the computer and she lay on the bench in the living room to keep me company (Dad was already sleeping -- poor thing!), Nicole said, "Mom, I don't want Jesus to die again."

So we had the death talk. And the resurrection talk. And the Heaven talk. And the Sister talk.

("Who will play with Sister Brooke in Heaven?" is a question that would be very important for a child to know the answer to.)

First Fall

Grant had a struggle with gravity today; and gravity won.

He didn't fall down the steps, off the bed, or off the changing table.

He fell out of the bathtub. Don't ask me how (even though I was standing right next to him). One second he was standing in the bath and the next he was lying on the bathroom floor. The moral of the story? We need a bigger tub!

Anchors in Training

Not only are they attractive, but well-behaved!
In the not so distant future, you may flip on your tube and find these adorable faces staring right back at you. Unfortunately by then, though, I'm sure the stories will no longer be fictional tales of horses that ran loose or pretend weather casts. On second thought, I rescind the latter part; we may still hear phony weather reports from "meteorologists."

Fudge

Fudge is Nicole's new riding partner. She's brown, has hair all over and loves kids.

Nicole's first official equestrian lesson finished better than predicted. She learned to trot, steer, ride with no hands and escort Fudge "around the rail" all by her lonesome (not all of those tricks simultaneously, of course).

At the conclusion of her 30 minutes, Nicole enthusiastically said to Suzi (her teacher), "I want to do that again!"

Suzi replied, "Great, then we'll see you next week."

Nicole was disappointed, but thought she'd give it a try: "No, I want to do it right now!"

Stalker

Nicole, at the ripe old age of four, is afraid of the vacuum. She's never liked it much, but now that she has control over where she hides when the vacuum is in operation, she claims sanctuary on her bed with the bedroom door shut tight.

Grant, on the other hand, loves the vacuum. He's always loved the vacuum. Each time he hears the vroom vroom begin, he's mesmerized. He can't take his eyes off the machine. Normally I vacuum when he's in the high chair or asleep. But today, I let him roam.

I actually thought he would sit stationary until I was done. Much to my surprise, he chased after me as fast as his paws would permit. At the slightest delay of forward motion, Grant envisioned himself attaining his goal and gave a chuckle with a mischievous grin.

By task end, Grant and his beloved were finally united.

"Why, Mom?"

... Nicole's favorite question. She tosses it lightly into the air at the end of each command I give her.

Mom: "Nicole, let's pick up your cards so that brother won't get them."
Nicole: "Why, Mom?"
Mom: "Because he'll bend them and ruin them."
Nicole: "Why, Mom?"
Mom: "Because that's what babies do."
Nicole: "Why, Mom?"

I give up after three tries.

Mom: "Because they do. No more questions."

If she dares ...

Nicole: "Why, Mom?"

She's not trying to pester anyone (least of all me), she just has a natural curiosity about the world around her. At least that's what the experts write. Personally, I think it's more like a natural reflex that escapes her mouth involuntarily.

Tattle Tale

Grant tattles -- but only on himself.

As he crawls toward his favorite plant at Grandma's house, he fusses the whole way there.

When he is about to pull diapers off the changing table, he starts protesting loudly (as if I had already scolded him).

He found Nicole's Crazy 8's cards yesterday and cried to himself as he was folding the cards and stuffing them into his mouth.

He's the most upset, however, when he's caught in the act and removed from the hazardous spot. He'll learn to quit tattling on himself and start tattling on others one of these days ...

Turning a New Leaf

Grant's traded in his Fat Boys for broccoli sticks. It's true. See for yourself!

Although ounce-for-ounce he probably consumed more ice cream than veggies, he did have the appearance of enjoying his fiber-packed greens.

I'll keep this photo handy for future disputes about him liking broccoli.

Faith

In the movie Field of Dreams, Ray Kinsella was repeatedly told, "If you build it, they will come." All who knew him thought he was a nut, but he stood firm in the face of opposition and manufactured a large scale baseball diamond with bleachers. Sure enough, they came.

Nicole and Mr. Kinsella have something in common: faith. If Nicole wishes for something with enough heart, she believes it will happen.

Case in point, last week, Nicole wanted to spend the night at Grandma and Papa's place. What better way to ensure that you will stay than to change into PJs directly following lunch? What better way to convince Papa that another fishing trip is due than to parade around the house in a fastened life vest?

In short, if you dress the part, you can make it happen. At least you can make it happen if you're an irresistible 4-year-old who has a way of making your grandparents melt with a simple and sweet, "Pleeeeease?"

Sister Brooke

Before Brooke was born, I wondered if Nicole would remember her. I wanted Nicole to attend the viewing and funeral, and we took pictures so that Nicole would be able to refresh her memory if she began to forget.

Recently, more than before, Nicole has proved that she has not forgotten her baby sister and she hasn't needed any photos to remind her. It's common to hear the following from Nicole:

• When is Sister Brooke coming back?
• I miss Sister Brooke.
• Let's go swimming. Our whole family! Dad, Mom, Nicole, Grant and Sister Brooke.
• What's taking Sister Brooke so long to come to our house?
• Do you think that Sister Brooke likes the rides at Lagoon?

Not too long ago, we ran into a neighbor who was out on a stroll with her toddler boy and newborn baby girl. Nicole glanced into the stroller, recognized a girl, and said to the mom, "I have a baby sister, too."

The mom sought to correct Nicole, pointed to Grant, and said, "No, you have a baby brother."

Nicole stood her ground. "No, I have a sister and a brother. Names are Brooke and Grant."

In the not too distant recesses of my mind, I think that Nicole understands that Brooke is in Heaven, but hopes that she'll not stay there too long.

After sadly commenting that she misses Brooke, Nicole adds, "I miss Jesus, too."

"So do we, Nicole," I assure my oldest daughter. We miss all who have passed on before us.

Oh ... My Heck!

Living in Utah, this is a phrase that we hear every 10 minutes. Since it hasn't yet graced the titles of my blog, I will initiate it by bragging, "Oh my heck, look how cute my kids are!" We went to the park after swimming lessons, and since no friends were present, Nicole and Grant played on the slides together. Yea! What a mommy moment!

Bubbles!

Nicole was so excited to go to the "JJCC" (Double Jewish Community Center) for swimming lessons this morning. This is atypical behavior. However, right before we crossed their threshold, she announced, "Only one more time swimming, then I go to pony lessons! I will do all of the exercises that my teacher tells me."

And she did, including blowing bubbles (see photo of Nicole with Nicole -- she and her teacher share the name). It seems small, but this has been a major goal during the past month. With all of the progress she has made (learned a back float, kicking straight, kickboard, etc.), maybe we'll continue her lessons. Now, if I could just figure out the best way to break the news to her ...

"Wherever You Are, Be There ..."

... said my next door neighbor, a fellow medical wife. I'm particularly fond of this adage because it underlines the importance of savoring every minute of life instead of waiting for something "better" to happen. Frankly, something "better" might not turn out to be so much better anyway.

One of Clint's colleagues reviewed a personal statement written by an anesthesiologist requesting tenure. Near the end of the physician's essay, he summarized the three most important lessons he has learned throughout his life:

1. Never underestimate the happiness that family, religion and health can add to your life.
2. All of the elements mentioned in Point #1 can be stripped from you at any time.
3. Due to the risk in Point #2, enjoy every healthy minute you have with your family and God because you may never have the opportunity again.

Book Review

Our latest library wonder, entitled 100th Day Worries, details the drama of a girl who is searching for a collection of 100 items for a school assignment. With time running out, Jessica's family gathers random thingamajigs from around the house: ribbons, screws, stray beads, loose change, barrettes and aquarium rocks.

When Jessica arrives at school, she realizes that she's short by ten items. In addition, she can't figure out how the doodads are related. That's when she finds a note from her mom that says the family will help her find the remaining ten items over the weekend. At the end, she signed her name, followed by ten XX's.

"That's it!" thinks Jessica. She has a collection of 100 objects from her family. Nicole has never seen XX's or OO's in a letter, so I explained the significance to her. Immediately, Nicole jumped off the bed and said, "Come on, Mom, let's write a note to Dad." And here's what she produced.

Heavenly Exercise

A few nights ago, Nicole showed me some moves that she learned during her last swim session. Afterward she proclaimed, "That's exercise. I learned it in swimming lessons."

Next, she positioned herself on all fours and rocked back and forth (similar to something Grant would do). "That's exercise, too."

I questioned where she learned that one and without hesitating, she matter-of-factly stated, "From God."

So, for all of you who thought the next life would be restful and perfect, I have news for you: our resident celestial guru reports that exercise does indeed exist on the other side.

Don't shoot the messenger.

Swim Lessons for Babies

After envying Big Sister during four swim lessons, Grant finally got his chance to debut his water moves.

Out of all the baby pool had to offer, Grant's favorite display was the row of six-inch fountains. He tried to suppress them with his hands, put his fingers down the holes that supplied the water spouts and drink from the fountains.

Water fights? Water splashed in his face? All part of the fun.

Post-Halloween Wrap-Up, Literally

The kids were adorable (see for yourself) and the candy was insurmountable. And even though Grant didn't have a bucket, he still enjoyed the spirit of the evening.

But the climax of the Halloween carnival occurred when Clint entrusted his body to the hands of two Asians in an attempt to become the best mummy in the room. (The prize was a Butterfinger. Candybar.) He explained to them in Kindergarten English how to hold the roll of toilet paper ... at least five times. I feel terrible admitting that I laughed as they periodically stopped to analyze, regroup and fight in a completely unintelligible language. (Could have been Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Tagalog or some language that no one in the Western hemisphere has ever heard of. Who knows? Who cares?)

Unfortunately Nicole was busy at the children's craft table and Grant is too young to remember the event. At least we'll have this everlasting picture:

Yup. That's me standing next to my distinguised husband, temporarily detained by a roll of Angel Soft Toilet Paper. Indelible. And hilarious.

The Body Guard

Grant played gently with a cardboard book while, in the background, Mom read a book to Sister on the padded library bench.

Grant lost grip of his book and poked his head over the side of his stroller to see where it had fallen. Nicole quickly jumped down to retrieve the baby book for Grant, when a younger girl, who was seated nearby, grabbed the book first, stuffed it into a box and spoke in a horrid tone, "Now you'll never get it!"

Do you think Nicole would let anyone get away with that? She replied, "Oh yes, I will," shoved her hand in the box and restored the book back to Grant. "Here you go, Brother."

Stupefied, the little girl could hardly manage to watch helplessly with her mouth gaped open. That ought to be the last time she tells Nicole what she can or can't do.

Old Maid

Nicole loves to play cards. She likes Crazy 8's, War and Go Fish. But her favorite is Old Maid.

She's figured out that success in the game boils down to her ability to keep her cards under cover. The first time she saw the Old Maid's portrait, she couldn't contain herself. At the mere appearance of this card, Nicole burst into laughter. (Aside: One time Nicole carefully analyzed the drawing of the Old Maid and then proclaimed, "Mom, my grandma's not an old maid, huh!")

This continued on for many hands until Nicole perfected her "Poker" face. Now when Nicole reviews her cards at the beginning of the game and spots the Old Maid, instead of laughing, she quickly clutches her mouth with both hands to conceal her smile.

Surely no one will detect which player has the poisonous card in grasp.

Water Babies

My kids love water -- not for swimming, but rather for consuming.

Even as young as 9-months-old, Grant gulps water from his bottle like it contains the source to eternal life.

Nicole likewise. At each meal, she prefers one cup with juice and one cup with water. Grandma's always mesmerized at mealtime. Nicole takes a bite of food, a sip of juice and finishes with large swig of water. (Repeat until water glass is empty.)

Water: the beverage of choice at our house.

aNiMaL rIgHtS

Nicole believes in clothing for all -- even her stuffed animals named Hutu and Grim (names change daily).

Ten minutes after Nicole retreated to her bedroom for naptime, I heard a struggle and what can only be described as a frustrated yelp. I hurried to see what was the matter.

Apparantly Grim was putting up quite a fight over getting dressed. So Nicole did what any child would do: she told her mom. Together, Nicole and I dressed her furry friends and they all settled in for their naps.

Holiday Cheer, Revisited

Update the ticker to six Halloween party invitations for this season. That was six, in case you missed it the first time.

Remember the ridiculous "Get more use out of those overpriced costumes" statement? How about buying new Halloween costumes for the actual trick-or-treat ritual because the original ones wore out?

Arizona is the Place for Me

Filed under our extensive mental list of reasons to live in Arizona, I place No Daylight Savings.

This morning marked the official return to Mountain Standard Time. Someone remarked to me a couple of days ago that we would be able to sleep an extra hour due to this "holiday." At our house, however, this meant that the children awoke at 5:00 a.m. instead of 6:00 a.m.

A word to describe my state of being at the precise moment when I heard Grant babble his "Good Morning, Mama, 'Aaaahhhh'"? Joy. Bliss. Tired.

We're on the countdown. Two more "Spring Aheads" and one more "Fall Back."

Raisinettes and Cheerios

Grant's too old for the movies. Or perhaps he's too little.

A few months back, we took both kids to the theater to see Over the Hedge, beloved by children, loathed by adults. It's one of those movies that only a kid would like. The jokes are dull and the characters are bland. But it's animated!

At any rate, Grant fell asleep just before the movie began and slept the entire time (ah, zzzzz, bore).

Nicole, on the other hand, thought the movie-going experience was the coolest thing since she'd discovered trick-or-treating. Never before had she watched a movie on such a large scale and had an unlimited-access pass to chocolate-covered raisins, chili cheese Fritos and a water bottle.

Grant's grown up a bit since then and decided that he wasn't about to miss even the slightest bit of fun at the theater today. Sleep? No way. This time he would touch every floor light, stand up to each chair within a twenty-foot radius and request every item out of Mom's purse. He knew just how to coerce Mom into surrendering; after all, he's been practicing for several months. A little fuss, whine or small ruckus (for the desperate times) would ensure that he would enjoy the movie as much as Nicole.

Maybe Grant is too big to sleep like a newborn through outbursts of audience laughter, but he's also too little to sit quietly during 90 minutes of barnyard animal dancing. I think I'll know when he's ready to become a serious movie-going aficionado: he'll trade in the Cheerios for Raisinettes.

Narcissism

We shot our official family holiday photo this past weekend and the product, I'm sorry to report, is less than desirable. It seems that something is wrong with at least one family member in each photo, except this one:
While reviewing the pictures on the computer last night, Nicole stood by my side and singled one out as her favorite. When I drew her attention to how unsightly my hair appeared in that particular pose, she remarked, "But you always do your hair like that."

I'll be scheduling an appointment with my stylist as soon as my schedule permits; followed by picture re-takes.

The Tooth Fairy

She has visited our house, not to take away teeth, but to bestow. I must admit that we expected her ages ago.

Grant's first tooth has appeared on the bottom right side, and we are anticipating a second any night now. In exchange for the tooth, we have offered a sacrifice that is dear to our hearts (and mouths): Grant's binkie.

I am delighted to report that he has hardly missed its presence. On the scoreboard for children in our home who have quit sucking things during the past month, that makes two for two. Whew!

Brace Yourself

For those of you that experience holiday anxiety, find a sturdy chair to support the weight of your body as I announce some cumbersome news: the holidays are getting longer. Yes, longer.

We have just attended our second of four Halloween parties. One invitation said, "Now you can get more use out of those overpriced costumes!" Do you realize what this means? Not only will children come to expect multiple celebrations for each holiday and think of life as one continuous party, but their teeth will rot out of their heads in no time!

Then there's Christmas. Stores have been displaying fake pines in lights and bulbs for weeks now! I propose a boycott. This year, in addition to celebrating Christmas only on the actual day itself, I will not be fashioning the house in holiday cheer (no tree, garland or mistletoe). You heard me, I will not conform!

(Confession: I'm cheating by making my sister do the dirty work while we stay at her house over Christmas vacation. Don't you wish you could come, too?)

Only a Mom ...

... would spend two hours sewing a felt trick-or-treat bag for her daughter.

... would pay $2 for the material for said bag when a prefabricated plastic pumpkin subsitute exists at Wal-mart for $.86.

... would not sulk when child proclaims she'd rather take a pumpkin bag to gather her treats Halloween night.

... would use the bag herself to prove that it really is cute.

I Have a Question

If I've heard it once, I've heard it a thousand times, "Mom, I have a question." Once she is granted permission to proceed, she continues with, "My question is ..."

This declaration may or may not be followed by a veritable question. The translation is more along the lines of, "I have something I would like to contribute to the dialogue."

A few days back, Nicole matter-of-factly stated from the backseat of the truck, "Mom, I have question." Pause. "My question is, um, I love you."

That's a "question" I never tire of hearing.

Big Sister the Babysitter

In a ploy to evade a nap today, Nicole tried to convince me that she would be the ideal babysitter for brother while I took a nap instead. It went something like this:

Mom: What if brother tries to get the nightlight?

Nicole: Then I will pick him up and take him away.

Mom: What if brother gets hungry?

Nicole: Then I will feed him.

Mom: What will you feed him?

Nicole: I will give him milk from the fridge.

Mom: What if brother has stinky pants?

Nicole: Then I will wake you up.

First Words

Is it any wonder that a baby's first words are invariably, "No, no"?

Last week, or perhaps a bit earlier, Grant discovered the joy of eating dirt from a potted plant. The mud pies must be tasty because he keeps going back for seconds!

This week's obsession, in addition to the plants, is the nightlight. He's like a mosquito who can't stop himself, one who is fatally drawn to the light until ... zap!

As fate would have it, our living room is arranged in perfect Zen to accomodate all of Grant's taboo items. If you draw an imaginary triangle in our living room, the computer (with its fancy blinking lights) would be located at one corner, the plant at a second and the nightlight at a third. Thus you see that no matter where Grant is playing, he's always located next to something fun (and likely off-limits).

You're undoubtedly familiar with the chorus of that Old MacDonald song, "an oink, oink here and an oink, oink there." Just imagine me all day long, "a no, no here and a no, no there."

To my surprise, however, Grant actually responds to my reprimands. He stops, looks at me and fusses in protest, as if to say, "Pleeeeeeease, Mom, it's really fun." Then he sees the stern expression on my face and knows he's lost the battle. He proceeds to search for a mommy-approved toy.

I expect we'll hear him say "no, no" to me one these days.

Kerplunk

The bad news is I was awake at 2:20 this morning gathering data for this post.

The good news is Grant has learned how to sit himself down from the standing position.

I heard Grant's distress signal in the wee hours of the morning. I sluggishly walked to his room and arrived in time to see him release his grip from the top bar of the crib and land on his derriere. Silently I thought to myself, "Nice job, baby, now let me sleep!"

He immediately pulled himself back up and fussed for his binkie, which was conveniently playing hide-and-seek. Since it was dark (remember what time it was), I resorted to conducting a search on my hands and knees, hands lightly, albeit rapidly, tapping the ground for sign of the binkie, as if I had just lost the diamond from my wedding ring and couldn't find it fast enough.

In the olden days, back when it was socially acceptable to litter, my mom said that when it was time to wean a baby from the bottle, they simply tossed it (the bottle, not the baby) out the car window as they were driving down the freeway.

I'm ready to toss the binkie out the figurative window.

Too Long

It's been too long since Grant had his last haircut. This means two things:

1. Grant's hair was too long (although Grandma told me to "leave him alone and let the poor child have some hair!")
2. Grant forgot what it was like to receive a haircut

As a result of item#2, Grant wriggled and jiggled all throughout his haircut. He even added a new element to the mix. Each time I combed a few strands of hair inbetween my fingers, he immediately reached up to seize my hand and yank it from its place. He must have thought this would make the torture end instead of prolong the agony. All in all, we spent at least 30 minutes trimming the top of his hair.

Now his hair is short and I will not wait so long before cutting his hair again. This behavior simply cannot continue. Either that or I'll have to cut his hair during his morning nap.

The Right Touch

As harsh as I commented on our dentist, I have to admit that a sliver of silver lining has emerged through the dim clouds. The dentist matter-of-factly declared to Nicole that she "cannot suck [her] thumb anymore." And she believed him. I don't know why. She has never believed me when I've threatened, warned or promised extravagant gifts in exchange for giving up the thumb.

On the way out of the office, she asked me if she could suck her thumb. I thought I just might side with the dentist. "Nope," I replied firmly.

I nearly fell out of my seat when we got in the car and I heard a little voice from the rear say, "Mom, it's really hard to stop sucking my thummy. Will you help me? If you see me sucking my thumb, say, 'No, no, Nicole. No sucking your thumb.'" I agreed with a smile and thought it wouldn't last.

I couldn't have been more wrong. She hasn't touched it since. She catches herself about to put her thumb in her mouth when she falls and gets hurt; or when we have a disagreement; or when she's riding in the car; or when she's trying to fall asleep. All of these years, since the time she was four months old, her thumb has served as a source of comfort. And now it's gone.

I never thought that I would feel as sad as Nicole does about losing her thumb. In fact, I've been eagerly looking forward to this day for at least two years. But now that it's here, I find myself reverting back to how she's always been and feeling sorrow for her loss. Two nights ago, as I placed her in bed, she whispered to me, "Mom, it's really hard to stop sucking my thumb." (That's a phrase I'm beginning to hear more often.) Not being able to witness her bravery any longer, I replied, "It's OK, sweetheart, you can suck your thumb when you go to sleep."

Resolutely, she rolled over and purposefully placed her arms and hands under the covers, as if to hide the temptation, and fell asleep -- without her thumb.

So, while it took one sentence from the dentist to get her started, my little Nicole is determined to quit her thumb, one minute at a time. She is one strong baby girl.

Film It or Live It

I constantly fight the urge to allow my camera to accompany me everywhere I go. Unfortunately, I normally lose and end with a bulging, heavy purse packed with not only my camera, but extra batteries and a cord for downloading photos. The extra weight normally pays off when I snap adorable pictures of my babies.

It seems that sometimes, however, the camera impedes the fun. I find myself saying, "Look over here, Nicole." "Hang on one more second." "That one didn't turn out. Let's try again."

Such was the dilemma yesterday. I finally fulfilled my promise to take Nicole to our local theme park (she's been asking if it was open yet every day for the past six months). My mom insisted on taking a camera against my recommendation, but was unable to locate it by the time we arrived at the ticket counter. I wasn't disappointed even slightly. Although I witnessed some of the most adorable scenes of Nicole with her brother and beloved cousins, I chose to savor the moments instead of sulk over a lack of film.

I willingly accept that some of my best memories will remain merely memories, never to be captured on film.

Tale of Minnow

Once upon a time, an itty bitty fish resided in a lake much too big for him. He swam around all day and all night. Swimming was his favorite sport. He wanted to swim in his lake with his small fish friends and family forever. But alas, not all stories have happy endings.

Little did this minnow realize that while he snacked on leaves and bugs, a beautiful, yet malevolent fish-killer was making preparations to ensnare him later that week.

A few days prior, she had selected the perfect instrument for her trap: a long pink and yellow stick with a shiny metal embellishment on the end. She secured a charter boat to take her to the precise location where the itty bitty fish liked to eat, his favorite restaurant, as it were.

Elation erupted from everyone on the boat when a gentle tug was sensed from the line attached to the pink and yellow pole. The miniature fishergirl reeled the line in slowly and methodically until everyone could see the itty bitty fish. It was a bittersweet experience as the minnow was cut from the line and laid to rest in a deep white casket. (A moment of silence, if you please.)

And so it was that an itty bitty fishergirl caught her first itty bitty fish with her itty bitty fishing pole.

THE END

Culinary School Drop-Out

I always thought Nicole would grow up to be a chef (or a vet, astronaut, nurse or teacher -- depending on her fixation du jour). I have to distract her while I creep into the kitchen to slave over dinner, unless I want a lot of extra "help," if you get my drift. That's why I thought she'd go berserk at a field trip to Great Harvest Bread.

Not so. This would-be chef pouted at the flour, faked polite interest in watching a giant bread machine at work and positioned her nose high in the air with a faint, "Yuck," under her breath as the yeast was presented for a sniff.

At the end of the tour, the guide enthusiastically asked the children to raise their hands if they wanted to become chefs. Nicole slipped back a few steps and motioned for me to bend down to her level. She then whispered, so as not to hurt the chef's feelings, "Mom, I don't want to be a chef, OK?"

Once her feelings were validated, I used reverse psychology to trick her into a photo opportunity, "Don't stand by that giant slab of dough. And especially forget to smile!" And that was the only time she did smile during the visit. Guess I should have tossed the smile phrase at her before we left the car. I'll keep that in mind if we visit the vet's office next week.

Almost as Good as the Real Thing

Grant has adopted a pet dog. Not just any old dog -- it's an inflatable Scooby Doo that Nicole won at a carnival.

Scooby is Grant's car buddy. He holds him tight as we zoom down the freeway. If Scooby falls to the car floor, Grant cries until Scooby's returned safely to his arms. Grant especially loves to chew on Scooby's dog tag.

Talk about man's best friend!

Love Exhibition

Q: What's sweeter than finding an old love note to my husband resting on his doctor books?

A: Knowing that he has carried it with him to work everyday for the past three weeks.

Clothing Crisis

Make no mistake, Grant is all-boy. This otherwise happy baby will throw fits at the sight of clothing. Putting clothes on. Taking clothes off. Clothes, tantrum, clothes. His dad must be sneaking into his room at night to teach him the most important lesson a man can learn: "Clothes are the enemy."

Their midnight meetings are likely to contain the following suggestions:

• Avoid a woman holding clothes -- at all costs.
• Never enter a mall (no man has escaped sane).
• If you fight it long enough, she may give up and let you stay in the same clothes forever (or at least until your feet push holes out the bottom of your pajamas).
• When all else fails, use the stop, drop and roll method to flee a change-of-clothes session. It's your only hope.

Parting words of advice from a wise father? "Remain vigilant, Grant. And remember, real men hate clothes!"

Booksmart

Some lessons can't be extracted from books. My students and I learned one today and I'm passing it on to you.

In my rush to beat the bell tower to class, I whisked through the foreign language building in hopes of hearing a familiar French accent or catching a glimpse of another glamorous Eiffel Tower photo. Instead I heard a piano rendition of a song from the Broadway Alley Cat. A quick glance around the room revealed a few disinterested students trying to study. I stopped at the piano, which was next to the exit door, and said loud enough for all to hear, "I love that music!" And I went on my way.

But I didn't get far. Five steps to the West, I returned to the lobby and asked the man if he would play this song for my class. If he agreed, I would race to retrieve them and all of us would be back together for an impromptu recital. He beamed.

One of the students that was studying when I passed through the building the first time expressed a look of shock when our entire Interpersonal Relations class entered the lobby. I formally introduced myself to the pianist and asked his name. He gave me much more.

Steven Maxwell Silver was a former engineer who had become legally blind due to a work-related injury. Since that time, he has relied on the bus system to transport him along the Wasatch Front. As a child, his dear mother forced piano lessons on him, and he convinced her to let him quit not long after he began. After his accident, however, he began to listen to music in a whole new way. He listened. Since he cannot read sheets of paper, he memorizes his songs and plays them for all to hear. The admission price? A prayer for his family.

When we returned to our classroom, I solicited my students' thoughts. Did we just waste 15 minutes of class time? Was that a simple diversion from our lecture material? Did we learn anything of great value?

Life is about relationships. It's about loving other people, no matter who they are, no matter if we never see them again. It's about inviting everyone into our hearts and making them feel welcome there. It's about investing time in people.

At the end of our life's journey, may we all be so fortunate to have wisely spent our time loving those around us.

City Folk

We don't see many tractors where we live. We see trains, buses and taxis.

We don't hear many farm animals in our neighborhood. We hear children playing near their parents' side.

We don't run around on dirt roads with gravel. We walk properly on a paved sidewalk.

Sometimes it's fun to visit the country, even if it's on a miniature scale in the middle of our city.

Cheerful Chatter

... was observed from the children's room.

I naively strolled down the hall, wondering in what state I might find Chubs.

And there he was. Happily performing. I don't think he had planned his finale, though. Good thing Dad came to the rescue.

I warned you that he was up to something.

D-Day

Not "D" as in the traditional World War II sense, but "D" as in dreadful, dentist, disaster (or any combination thereof).

As if going to the dentist weren't enough to ruin your day, try taking a four-year-old and an eight-month-old there at 7:30 in the a.m. Normally we're early birds, but on D-day, the kids chose to sleep in, hence increasing their dissatisfaction about being stripped from their beds at an insane hour and forced out to the car for an unpleasant experience. The situation wasn't pretty, but we were. Hair done, makeup on, shoes polished and clothes ironed. No matter where we go, or what time we go there, we always look our best (Christmas in PJs? Never!). Even to the dentist.

I always knew it, but now everyone else does, too. I'm a masochist at heart. Disaster-Day? Bring it on.

Family Photo

For the past several weeks, I've been contemplating the ideal location (both photographer and physical spot of land) for this year's family photo. In order for it to be just right, all of the stars in the universe must line up. I'm not so sure that will happen. For example, my hair must grow two more inches in the next three weeks. Grant's teeth must not arrive yet (love that baby-look!). Nicole must learn how to produce a fake "natural" smile. And finally, Clint must find a day off work.

What makes a family photo perfect? Is it when everyone looks at the camera at the right time and no one blinks? Or is it simply having all of the family in the same general area of a room when someone decides to snap the lens? I once had a friend who proudly acknowledged something physically wrong with every member of her family (including herself) in her family portrait. Yet, I found it pleasing to the eye, as it were.

Since it's rare that the family is together, but not rare that our clothes are color-coordinated (that's on purpose every day -- my neighbor says I've jumped ship on that one), maybe this photo ought to satisfy our silver frame until the next time that a kind soul crosses our path at the precise moment when we think, "Hey, let's take a picture here. Who do you think we could ask?" Because, if you think about it long enough, when are you ever likely to again stand in front of a tire that enormous? They'll even throw in the CAUTION sign for free.

Look, Mom ... No Teeth!

I love babies without teeth.
I love to see their gums when they grin.
I love to feed them runny baby food because they don't possess the capability to chew anything.
I love to pretend that they'll stay this small forever in my arms.

Antics of the Deep Blue Sea

Nicole has marathon-endurance when it comes to watching movies. She never quits a movie half-way through, even if it's midnight (this happens on rare occasion, mind you) or boring. She likes movies where kids play a major role. But she'll also watch a movie that most kids would find dull -- if Clint and I watch it with her. All in all, her favorite movies contain large amounts of adventure, like Finding Neverland/Peter Pan, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Spy Kids.

Nicole recently watched Free Willy, the 1993 movie with a lame child actor pushing a strong PETA agenda and Michael Jackson desperately trying to make a come back in music. I hope the liberal theme didn't penetrate her brain, and that she was intrigued solely because a boy could magically command a killer whale to perform tricks. In one scene, the boy has an accident and falls into the tank. Nicole was genuinely concerned. "What's going to happen to him, Mom?" Sure enough, Hollywood pulled through and Willy saved the 10-year-old Jesse by fetching his body from the bottom of the pool and lifting it to safety.

She's been absorbing scenes from various movies and inserting them into her creativity sector. She doesn't care about fiction or non-fiction. In her world, anything can happen.

A few days ago she said, "Mom, I want to meet a pirate." I'm sure she was thinking of the amicable Captain Jack Sparrow. Then she asked me if I wanted to meet a pirate, too. When I replied to the contrary, she was confused. The conversation continued thus:

Nicole: "Why you don't want to meet a pirate?"

Mom: "They're mean."

Nicole: "What they going to do to me?"

Mom: (thinking furiously for an appropriate answer) "They'll throw you into the ocean."

Nicole: "That's OK because then the whales will save me!"

Maybe someday I'll remind her about Jonah and the Whale. Perhaps the next time we visit the beach.

Sorting Dis(Order)

Nicole loves to sort. Well, I don't know if she actually loves it or if she just can't refrain.

She sorts her M&Ms by color before she eats them. She arranges her 50 markers on the table, with all of the caps facing the same way, into two piles: markers she has already used and markers yet to use (she starts over after she has colored with every color once). Her computer desk houses separate containers for crayons, colored pencils, markers, and pens. When she straightens up her room, she places Grant's toys in one basket and her toys in another.

Yesterday, she noticed that Grant's diaper supply on the changing table shelf was low and asked if she could restock it. I handed her a brand new package of 40, glad to have one less chore on my plate, and left the room. A few minutes later, I returned to find her in front of five stacks of diapers (on the floor, not the changing table). She was sorting them according to the Sesame Street character on the front, of which there were five. So proud of her accomplishments, she pointed and said, "Look, Mom. I put all of the same ones together." The she carefully transferred each heap of diapers to its proper place in the room.

Grandma says the poor child is cursed, and that she received a double dose of fanatic organization skills -- one from me, one from Clint. I personally think it's endearing to watch our little clone in action.

Trouble Lurking

The significance of this photo, taken just moments ago, lies not in the fact that Grant is standing at the table by himself, for this is not new. The novelty is that he got there by himself!

All of us watched him as he crawled to the table, sat up, postulated himself on his knees with his hands placed on the table and then used the leverage to pull himself into the standing position. He had great motivation since Nicole had a bag of Skittles resting on the table, just beyond the limits of this picture.

I sense dangerous times ahead.

It's in the Blood

As parents, we think our daughter is unnaturally brilliant.

So we should not have been surprised when she learned how to reload "shootgun" shells, as she calls them, in 10 minutes with her dad. But we were! We took a large quantity of photos and even recorded her flaunting the entire process, beginning with removing the empty shell from the stash, stopping at each of the six stations and presenting her finished product as a trophy.

Clint is elated to have an offspring share his same passion for guns, gun powder and shootgun shells. (Note the smile of a proud parent in the background.)

Apartment for Rent ...

... now with free helipad on-site.

The good news is the University hospital is undergoing major reconstructive surgery.

The bad news is the new hospital won't be functioning until after we've relocated to Arizona and yet we still have to endure the relentless and merciless music emanating from LifeFlight outside our window numerous times daily (and nightly).

At least the kids think it's cool.

Second Baby Syndrome

When Nicole was a baby-baby (as opposed to a big-baby), she took regular morning and afternoon naps at the same time everyday in her crib.

Grant, however, is a product of the Second Baby Syndrome, with all of its inconveniences and privileges. Albeit, no privileges spring to mind at the moment. One of the major disadvantages, though, is the naptime schedule, or lack thereof. Since Big Sister is a busy girl who likes to discover new places, and since Mom doesn't have magical powers to be in two places at once, Grant has no choice but to succumb to Sister's whims of visiting downtown museums and parks during nearly every would-be nap-time.

This morning was no different. Our favorite library is downtown, despite it being subject to a pipe bomb a few weeks back. It's truly amazing in the architecture arena and you can't miss its glass elevators (almost as if Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator came to life!) -- they're so fast you feel like you're at a free amusement park. If you ride one from the children's floor, which is in the basement, to the top, it's a six-story trip in one upward-sweeping motion. Then there's the ride down. I'm sure Nicole's not the only kid that uses the elevator for entertainment purposes, rather than a means of transportation to a higher level.

But the library's more than that. Their children's section is larger than our apartment by at least 10 times. Honestly, this section alone is approximately the size of an entire small library branch. Not only do they show off an amazing assortment of award-winning literature, but they also have an outdoor waterfall with seating area, miniature leather loveseats with glass coffee tables, treehouses and a room that resembles Superman's home world Krypton.

Better than all of that is the journey to the library -- on the train. Parking downtown is overpriced and underground, so we prefer mass transit. I think it makes Nicole feel like we live somewhere exotic. Our city has a train! (She also likes to ride the University shuttle bus. It's a thrill.) Her biggest grievance about the train? No seatbelts. Yes, the law nazi wants to file a complaint with the train engineer about the lack of proper restraining devices. "What if we crash, Mom?" Although she takes full advantage of this careless situation by standing in the aisle with her hands in the air, shaking her hips from side to side, while proclaiming, "Look, Mom, no hands!"

Back to Grant (another con to being the second child -- focus frequently shifts to the oldest child. Get used to it Grant!). By the time Nicole and I completed our morning rounds, Grant was exhausted. He fell asleep almost instantaneously as I placed his sweet head on his white sheet in his crib. Never were truer words sung than, "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

The Yellow Horse

Last weekend, we had a near-collision with the end of the world. Nicole had been counting down the minutes, literally, to another pony ride when her lesson canceled right as we were about to walk out the door. Enter devastation maximus.

Our backup plan emerged in the form of Uncle Denny masquerading as a knight in shining armor riding a yellow "horse."

At first, the princess protested, "That's not a real horse, Uncle Denny," but ultimately decided that a pretend horse was better than no horse at all. Before the gas ran out, Dad, Big Sister and Brother all ended up riding the horse together. When asked which was more fun, a real horse or a pretend horse, Nicole didn't hesitate, "Both!"