Night

Good night little girls,
Thank the Lord you are well
And now go to sleep,

From Madeline in London, by Ludwig Bemelmans, 1961

Wordless Wednesday

Do Not Enter! No Boys Allowed! Go Away!

Can you find the lil' dude? Look closely!

With nothing but a three-day weekend stretched out before us, the lil' dude and I did some serious constructing over the weekend. We built her a fort.
With every spare sheet and blanket I own, and every baby and fuzzy pal she owns, we put together a nice cozy little spot under the dining room table. After my piece was done, she grabbed her purse, phone, baby accessories, and Beagle and hunkered down.

The idea came to me after thinking about what fun things I did with my little brother on weekends when we were younger. Fort was at the top of the list.

After seeing photos, my Mom commented, Hard to believe you could stand the fort mess though-such memories of coming home from work on weekends when Dad was parent-in-charge for the day. Could rarely get in the door.

I love the messy, spur-of-the-moment parenting ideas. Life is one big adventure. Why not have fun with it?

Here, the lil' dude eats her special fort lunch as the Beagle waits patiently for leftovers.

Letter from Mama, v21

You're 21 months old today, lil' dude!

And what a month you've had. We swapped out your crib bumpers for a real pillow. You wore princess Pull-Ups in lieu of diapers all weekend. We replaced your highchair at the dining room table with a booster seat. You furthered your communication skills, and you're getting in touch with your emotions. You love to tell me who is sad- the boy on TV, the Beagle, the bear in the storybook. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you'll proclaim it yourself. Lil' Dude, sad.

You also eased the word don't into your vocabulary- much to Daddy's and my chagrin. We remind you gently with each turn to be polite, but your stubborn streak is having an issue handling that. You insist on putting your own shoes on, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush, and meeting the Beagle at the sliding door to let him back in. Heaven forbid anyone help you. I know it's just a phase, and we embrace this challenge with the rest. I love watching your brow furrow in concentration. Such a big girl.

I was digging through some of my childhood boxes this afternoon while you slept. I found a particular, sweet baby doll -I bought with my own money!- and when you woke up, I offered him to you. Wow, you breathed, new baby. You gingerly put him to your shoulder and began your sshing and patting. You're a tiny mommy girl, and it warms my heart to see these traits in you. Have I ever mentioned how much I love having a daughter? Because I really do.

You still sleep in your crib.
You still let me read to you each night.
You still let me wash your hair in the tub.
You still make me laugh when you look me in the eye and talk to me for 45 seconds straight.

You now whisper to me, when you have something very urgent to share.
You now request Eskimo Kisses.
You now help me put your barrettes in.
You, right now, are wrestling on the floor with Daddy.
Looks like I have better things to do!

Shine like the sun, baby girl.
Mama loves.

Decisions

Dear Daughter:
As your Mother I find it in my responsibility to empower you to make your own decisions.
I also find it within my responsibilities to point out your bad decisions.

Let's take for instance the matter of your beloved NaNa, the apple of your eye, the ying to your yang, the coffee in your cream. Your blanket.

Me being the blanket girl I am, was set on creating offspring who were blanket people. There was just no way around it from my perspective. I think from those first few moments I felt you flutter deep inside, I had blanket on the brain. I wanted to be the bearer of your blanket, to present you with life's greatest gift.

And when I found what my mind's eye was envisioning, I handpicked you a deep, rich, chocolate brown blanket for three reasons:

1. It matched your nursery
2. I heart the color brown
3. It would camouflage life's daily dirt

But no, you defiant little twerp, you chose to fall in love with your NaNa by your own volition. And you chose a light pink version for your BFF. Light pink! It has your name on it, and pretty cream colored polka dots. I adored swaddling you in its pure layers of baby goodness way back when. But alas, you're my little Linus and where there's Lil' Dude, there's NaNa.

And, MERCY me. The dirt. The blackberry stains. The garden foliage. The grease from the truck hinges. The Cheetos prints. The black Beagle fur. The grass stains. The crusties from your sad tears and snotty nose. The gray grime of daily love.

I have to employ every secret military tactic and Kung-Foo move known to man to get this thing in the wash machine without you noticing. If you bust me, you wail pathetically in the laundry room repeating, NO, NaNa wet. No NaNa, WET!

And so I prop you up on the washer, dry your tears and remind you that this is your fault, that you made this decision.
Because that's what Mamas do!
But, Mama loves.
You and that stinky NaNa, too.

Alike

We sat down to dinner last night- homemade mac 'n' cheese with bacon for you and Daddy, cucumber sticks with ranch, and a BLT for Mama.
As we began eating, your face crumpled up into a scowl, as you looked from plate to plate.

Bread? You asked.
So I gave you a piece of dry wheat bread.
And, you devoured it right up.
Bread. Yum!

You know, your great-Grandpa R. was a bread eater. That guy, he ate bread with every meal.
Even with pizza, tacos ... I think even with sandwiches.

So thanks for the memory last night.
It was sweet.

Wordless Wednesday