Miss Potato Head

All this time I have been telling everyone there is not one single thing the lil' dude will not eat.
I take that back.

She will not eat my homemade mashed potatoes.

I know, right. What type of girl won't eat a comfort food like mashed potatoes?

In our house, we eat way more rice than we do potatoes. I can honestly say I don't love spuds. I'll eat a baked potato once or twice a year, at a banquet or wedding, what have you. Never by my own volition. The lil' dude has come this far eating rice three times a week or so- brown rice, wild rice, rice pilaf, white rice, cheesy rice. So maybe it's my fault she won't eat potatoes.

I've seen her employ french fries as a mere vehicle to deliver the ketchup to her tasty little palate. She'll dip the same fry over and over again until it's too mushy to stand up to the task. The lil' dude will then discard it, reaching for another.

Last summer, when she was on her vaca circuit and spent the week at my parents', my mom emailed she wouldn't eat her mashed potatoes and gravy. I didn't dwell on it. She was seven months old.
At Thanksgiving, same thing. No, uh-uh.
Christmas Eve, we showed up at my grandma's unannounced and were treated to an early meal of homemade Swedish meatballs, gravy, and potatoes. That kid all but devoured the meatballs, gulped at the gravy, and threw the potatoes to the house dog.

And my mashed potatoes? are good. Lots of real butter, salt, freshly smashed garlic, heavy cream or milk. They are whipped up into a mound of velvety goodness. They are the perfect complement to any side of beef or pork. Add steamed green beans or broccoli and that's a helluva meal. Just not what the lil' dude wants.

Last night, I made a similar dinner. Roasted pork, potatoes, cheesy broccoli. I divided little portions of each out for the lil' dude and put her bowl on her highchair tray.

Minutes later, I inspected her bowl. Most of the potatoes were gone. The Beagle, a forever fixture on the linoleum beside the table was drooling, proof he hadn't been tossed anything. I knew she would come around to Mama's mashed potatoes.

I was about to walk away from her when something made me stop and inspect my daughter.

I got to eye-level and said very quietly, "lil', dude, what did you do with your potatoes?"
She smiled at me.
Turned her head ever so slightly to the left.
Where I saw all her potatoes, smashed into the dewy softness of her hair.
Handfuls of garlicky starch all over the back of her scalp, her neck, her highchair.
Big nonpotatoeatin' grin on her face.

Letter from Mama, v14

You are 14 months old today, lil' dude.
I chose the picture above because it best describes you as a 14 month old: insane. Sweet insane.

These days, our house rings with the sound of your sweet laugh and tiny little words. You are a whirling dervish who go, go, goes. Your energy and imagination and determination are endless. I joke with your aunties how I need duct tape for your little tushie sometimes- but I don't mean it. I would never hold you down or make you stop.

The other day, you were playing at a friends' with some plastic balls that go in and out of a shoot, catapulting them into the air. This was pure joy for you. When you lost a ball under the toy box though, you crawled on your belly and extended your little arm as far as it would reach. "Oh oh, Mama!" you kept repeating, too distracted by the ball loss to continue playing. I retrieved the ball for you, you grinned, and began playing again. It's instances like this where I can see you turning into a tiny, minuscule person who has thoughts and ideas and processes information in the ways adults do, like Mama and Daddy. It's amazing to watch you grow and transform and it happens so quickly.

This month, you've established a left-hand preference. You insist on walking down any flights of stairs, while holding some one's hand. You can sign please (with much prompting) and dole out high-fives without restraint. You pick out the books you want read to you. You like raisins, dipping all your food, taking off your clothes at bedtime, and handing Mama and Daddy our phones and the remote. All these little big things you didn't do just weeks ago. You're working on sharing- meaning, you will let about anyone take anything from you without wanting it back, or voicing your dismay. That characteristic, lil' dude, that easygoing demeanor of yours, you get from Daddy. You two are so chill. When I see that happen, I want to intercede and make things right for you. But I don't. You have to learn on your own how to work things out so you get what's fair, so you understand compromise. I trust you'll get there.

At night, when I sneak into your room before I go to sleep, I lean down to hear your little puffs of breath. I stay for just a few seconds, listening and being so thankful for you. You know what? There is nothing I would change about you, lil' dude. Nothing I think would make you better. You have everything and do everything you are supposed to. I hope I always remember that, as you continue to grow and become and more and more than you already are. Keep reminding me, baby girl. You are exactly the way you are supposed to be.

Mama loves.

Young Love

Tell me what's the definition of love.
It seems like everybody thinks they done figured it out but every time they fall up in it, they fall out, in and out it again


Tell me how they gonna know about us, telling me and you that we ain't even been around long enough
We can prove 'em wrong, show 'em how it's done, I know that we can do it


Young love, young love everything I need I got my young love
Young love, young love everything I want I got in my young love

Young Love, lyrics by Chris Brown.

In the (Gene) Pool

The lil' dude started swimming lessons this week with her trusty sidekick, the Dad.
I wouldn't call them lessons, per se. The kids, with an age variance of 12mo.-5 years, get to spend 25 minutes in the pool with a parent being acclimated to the water ... singing songs about turtles, blowing bubbles, simulating floating, and playing with floaty toys.

And, he's been waiting to enroll her since she was in a swaddle. Seems around here the littles have to be at least 12mo. old to participate. So, he signed her up for 8 sessions and packed their gear and headed for the pool.

Of course the lil' dude is the youngest, and the smallest in her group. She totally rocked a bikini too.
And did she rule the pool!
She didn't cry. She didn't cling to the Dad's neck in fear. Love!
She did cry when they got out.


The lil' dude's grandma S., upon hearing of the aquatic adventures she'd be undertaking, sent this email:

Oh! Swimming lessons! You know, we started the Dad in lessons when he was just 6 months old. And he LOVED it! Took right to it, like a fish! He then went on to become one of the BEST lifeguards this town has ever had.


So it's in her genes, her affinity for water.

Wordless Wednesday: (Our) The Reader

Heart

Have I ever told you, lil' dude, the story about when Daddy and I got to see you for the first time, when Mama was still pregnant with you?
It's called an ultrasound and the doctors take pictures of babies floating around in their Mama's bellies to make sure everything is normal and good and fine.
Anyhow, you did something funny during your ultrasound.
You wouldn't let the technician see your heart.
Or the second technician.
Or Mama's doctor.
You kept your heart covered by your tiny arms crossed over your chest. You shimmied and squirmed away from everyone trying to look at you.

It was not a bad thing, what you did. But doctors need to see baby hearts before they are born to make sure everything is normal and good and fine.
So, I had to have another ultrasound after that one. The one where you finally showed everyone your big little heart.

And since that day, since you showed us your heart for the first time, you haven't stopped.
You show us everyday how big your heart is, how plain it is for us to see.
You love to love and be sweet and kind and giving. And you? are totally good at it.

You can hug fiercely. You can cry when someone else cries. Your mood changes perceptively when somber music comes on. And all those things come from your heart.

Like here, in this picture. With the Beagle.


It was Sunday and we went outside for some air and (cold) sunshine. We put you in your birthday wagon for the first time. We covered you to your chin with a big blanket and settled the Beagle in across from you. You squealed with delight because how you love the Beagle!
Down the driveway Daddy pulled you two along ... until, the Beagle cried out with a big yelp.
Seems Daddy (and Mama) forgot he was wearing his collar for the invisible fence and it shocked him when you two went over the line on the driveway, in your wagon ride. Oh, how he cried as he jumped out and sprinted toward safety. It made Daddy and I feel so, so bad.

Your little eyes looked so sad, lil' dude. You felt so bad for him. At that moment when the Beagle ran away, you wanted out of your wagon. Right. Now.
So we let you out.
And you ran straight for him.

And you hugged him as tight as your little mittens would let you.
I know it made you feel better. To show him your heart.
And I know it made him feel better, too.

Six More Weeks

The lil' dude saw her shadow yesterday.
This means we are to have six more weeks of winter.
Or according to that old legend about February 2 and the significance of seeing shadows anyways.