Quick Update on the State of the World, Homestyle - An Addendum

Night Two in BGB (see below) was an even greater success. No interventions, and she slept all the way until 6:30, her normal wake-up time.

This morning, when I went to her room after being beckoned (love that she still thinks she needs me to get her out of bed - don't plan on disabusing her of that notion), I complimented her on sleeping all the way through the night in her new bed.

Calla: "I'm a grown-up!"

Eee-gad. Is this how high heels and eyeliner starts? When I assured her that she was still a kid, and not a grown-up yet, she queried: "Grown-up soon?"

Oh, baby. I fear it may indeed be a quick trip from big girl bed to kindergarten to junior high to driver's license to college admissions essays to grown-up world. But let's not rush it.

So for now, we'll focus on moving out of those diapers. One step at a time.

Quick Update on the State of the World, Homestyle.

It happened.

Calla slept all night (after two early-evening interventions) in her new "big girl bed." I was a little teary last night at the thought of my little girl sleeping all alone in such a big bed. And then I looked in on her - sleeping with feet at pillow, arms stretched out toward the foot. Clearly, she was owning this bed.

However, napping in big girl bed is still too novel, too fun, too liberating to also be productive. She's now peacefully napping back in the crib. My baby can stay a baby at naptime for a little while longer.

Sniff, sniff.

No, really, it's the Terrific Twos.

For those of you keeping score - it's now four tantrums in the last 24 hours. Two major, two minor.

The one last night was because I insisted - irrationally, I suppose - that Calla come to dinner. Kicking, screaming, prone on the floor. The best part was when Joe walked in from mowing the lawn, she managed to scream out "Daddy, I'm crying!" As if he couldn't tell. Really, quite an impressive show.

Number 2 was at 5:30 this morning, after an unscheduled (but necessary) diaper change. She admitted she was still sleepy, as was I, but only wanted to go back to sleep on blankets on the floor. Again, irrational Mom insisted on the crib. Screaming ensues.

Three and Four were relatively minor, yet still demonstrating good form: insisting on a particular cereal at breakfast that couldn't be found and then later, anger at Joe's refusal to allow her to eat graham crackers for second breakfast.

So, we're taking a break from each other right now. I'm sipping a small cup of half-caf, and Calla's engrossed in Sesame Street.

It's not yet 9:30. I'm still in my pajamas. Three-and-a half hours to nap time. I can make it.

A Worm Encounter

We had rain off and on last week, so Thursday morning after an early morning storm, I suggested we go out for a walk.... "to look for worms." Calla often asks to go out and hunt for worms, whether we've had rain or not, but we rarely find any wiggly worms on our short walks. Plus, she loves any excuse to put on her rain boots.

At last, we found one, wiggling and squirming right in front of our house. I pointed it out to Calla and gave it a gentle poke with a stick, prompting a wormy wiggle. Calla screamed and ran for the yard. It took some convincing, but she eventually joined me by the side of the road and she watched as the worm wiggled one way and then another. After a bit, we nudged it off the road and on to the safety of the grass. "Mama, I scared of worms" was Calla's summary of the experience.

The concept of being scared of something is a relatively new one for Calla, or at least it seems so, by the number of things she has declared as scary recently. The garbage truck grumbling by after the worm incident prompted an immediate "I scared of trucks." Spiders, butterflies, the sound of the suction bathmat being ripped up from the tub - all have been deemed scary at one point (I'm with her on the spider thing). It's hard to know if this is a vocabulary development or a conceptual development, but regardless, she's quick to call something scary, but then equally quick to show an intense fascination in it.

Later over dinner, when describing the worm adventure to Joe, Calla's re-telling had her rescuing the worm and putting him on the grass. She conveniently left out the shrieking part of the story. We'll see what happens with the next worm encounter.

Oh, and just to keep up a theme in recent posts here... Calla informed me that she is not scared of llamas. She has told me, however, that her daddy is scared of them. Poor Joe.

Signs of Summer

No amount of persuasion can convince Calla that llamas aren't running wild in the caves of our Giant City State Park. We've been on this hike twice, winding our way through the giant sandstone blocks that form caves, "streets," and looming bluffs. We go on our walks to look for bugs, birds, and inevitably, llamas. Still haven't seen one yet, but Calla's not giving up.

It's fun to go on walks with Calla these days - as long as we avoid the typical two-year-old tantrum on the way. She walks with such energy: arms pumping, hips swaying, shoulders and torso pushing forward. Running is even more fun to watch. It's not just her legs; her whole body runs. While it's not exactly a graceful stride, the lurching, staggering toddler run is gone.

Also gone is her baby fat of a year ago. All her outdoor play is building her muscles long and lean. Despite our efforts to slather on sun screen ("scum sceem" according to Calla) with SPF 50 to 70, her legs and arms are tanned more than I could ever achieve back in my "laying out" days. It's amazing the transformation that's occurred in just the last six months. Hopefully, she'll always love moving her growing muscles as much as she seems to now. I wonder if she'll eventually adopt the adolescent slump... that "don't look at me" slouch common among 15-year-old girls. I hope not, but perhaps it's inevitable.

Both Calla's legs and mine bear the battle scars of a Southern Illinois summer: mosquito bites. I counted 11 bites on Calla's right leg last week, from shin to ankle. They don't seem to bother her that much, although she will find one to scratch when she's looking for a little sympathy. We'll smear on a little bug bite lotion (doesn't really work that well for me) and she nods reassuringly: "Feel better soon." Joe said that if bug bites were a sign of neglect, we'd be talking to DCFS by now. Thankfully, it's just a sign of a busy outdoors summer.

Still at least one more month of summer left here in Southern Illinois. You can be sure we'll be outside, enjoying as much of it as the bugs allow. And very likely, looking for those wild llamas. They're out there, somewhere.

Playing Church

(More on this past weekend's adventures later, but a quick story first...)

Sitting in bed this morning with Calla and Joe, starting to get our day going. Calla grabs my fist, pumps it up and down vigorously and says "Peace to you!" Then reaches under the pillow for Joe's hand: "Peace to you, Daddy!"

I spend most of my time in church trying to distract Calla (and ultimately, me) from what's going on in church: books, cheerios, juice, crayons, coloring books, "shhhh... use your whisper voice," stickers, more books, emergency raisins, "shhh... that's NOT your whisper voice!" A diaper change or three that lasts the entire sermon. Maybe there's a hymn and part of the liturgy that I notice, but most of it comes and goes and I'm focused elsewhere.

But in spite of all that, she's starting to get it. She sternly told our pew neighbor yesterday that we have to "wait our turn" to go up for communion. She's excited for her chance to "see Pastor" during the children's sermon, even if she gets nothing out of it. And now her latest game of passing the peace.

Sometimes, I forget how much she really notices going on around her.

Peace to you today!