tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45210428663247172432024-03-12T17:18:03.163-07:00Father FailsSometimes the best way to learn is trial-and-error. Other times you're a father and you need a little more help than that. Here are some suggestions and thoughts on what not to do as a new dad.
Good luck. You'll need it.
Updates when the baby allows me to update it.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.comBlogger289125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-66743184509285533522015-10-15T13:05:00.003-07:002015-10-15T13:05:38.625-07:00School Picture Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lois attends preschool three days a week now for about 2 1/2 hours each day. At first she would come home at the end of every day and refuse to talk to me about it, beyond telling me in the most dejected voice you can imagine a three year old having "I did <b>not</b> have fun today, daddy."<br />
<br />
"Did you run and jump and play like you wanted to, honey?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"Did you learn anything?"<br /><br />"No."<br />
<br />
"What are your friends' names?"<br />
<br />
"I don't have friends."<br />
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It was pretty sad but she was always super excited to go to preschool when it was time so we kept going and I kept asking.<br />
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Finally, one day, I asked if she had fun and she was quiet for a second or two before replying in a carefully neutral tone, "Maybe." I knew I had her but I had to be careful. No simple questions. I thought for a moment and asked her if she had fun playing with one of her classmates, Eric.<br />
<br />
"Yes. And Phillipa."<br />
<br />
HAH! Victory!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpuCJynVoQf7XsUS28mKQRORq7pbhbO6mgCcqWE0seXRwP_NftRZ2ABH2cG-ZXjU7PsOcY1SOGsHDVYlcFV159tAdyECbfTYWx1AphrpR7-ZbBnxh-pXqMdCW8JULUOi8a8MAm8ugFM01/s1600/IMG_0474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpuCJynVoQf7XsUS28mKQRORq7pbhbO6mgCcqWE0seXRwP_NftRZ2ABH2cG-ZXjU7PsOcY1SOGsHDVYlcFV159tAdyECbfTYWx1AphrpR7-ZbBnxh-pXqMdCW8JULUOi8a8MAm8ugFM01/s400/IMG_0474.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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Since then she's told me every day that she's had fun and that she's played and what she's learned. I don't know why she was reticent at first and didn't want to tell me what was going on or that she was having a good time but finally, <i>finally</i>, she's willing to talk about it.<br />
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Yes, I can hear you longer-term parents saying "Just wait until she turns 11." I know. I know. But that's far away.<br />
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For now I'll take what I can get while I can get it.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-14659554462856325682015-08-26T10:22:00.001-07:002015-08-26T10:22:05.867-07:00In Which I Bitch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Even when you have the most adorable and amazing daughter in the world, parenting isn't always easy.<br />
<br />
While I wrote that sentence, my daughter broke a plastic lamp shade by putting it on the floor upside down and standing inside of it after I had told her not to do that, then insisted "It was an accident, dad!"<br />
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She's smart, adorable, and a genuinely good child. I will never deny that she is probably one of the easiest children to raise ever born upon this world.<br />
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But that doesn't mean she can't be frustrating, that I don't sometimes get frustrated.<br />
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According to an article in the Washington Post recently, <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/to-your-health/wp/2015/08/11/the-most-depressing-statistic-imaginable-about-being-a-new-parent/">parenthood is one of the worst things that can happen to you as far as your overall happiness goes</a>, over the short term anyway. Sleepless nights, frustration with this small human who can't explain what they want and won't listen to your very logical reasoning why they can't do the things they want, like drawing on the wall or opening up the oven to "watch things cook."<br />
<br />
So I'm going to bed your pardon while I talk about the things that are bothering me right now.<br />
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Lois isn't potty trained yet. Not even a little bit. She'll ask to use the potty at night time before (or right after) bed but she uses it as a stalling technique on going to bed. She's praised super highly for going potty and is even bribed with her favorite candy. It doesn't matter: She refuses to use the potty. Time after time after time after time.<br />
<br />
Today she asked to wear underwear. She would use the potty, she said, if she could wear big girl underwear for the first time. So we did it. She put on her underwear and danced around like a silly little widget. We had her little potty right here in the middle of the room, ready to go. I asked her every 15 minutes if she had to go and she insisted she did not.<br />
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About 2 hours later I realized the mistake I made as we cleaned up the entire kitchen floor together. And the hallway. (I want to stress that I did not get angry. I did not shame her. But she DID help clean up her mess.)<br />
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I'm getting really tired of hearing "Accidents happen, daddy" and sometimes really wish we'd never bought her <a href="http://amzn.to/1MUz1Ab">Elmo's Potty Time</a>, which features a song called, you guessed it, "Accidents Happen."<br />
<br />
"Honey, you peed all over the floor instead of using the potty."<br /><br />"I know, daddy, but accidents happen sometimes."<br /><br />Yes, but if you could actually try, that would be great, thank you. Please?<br />
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She's in a pull-up now.<br />
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Lois has learned to open the refrigerator door. I never knew that my 3 year old daughter would have so much in common with teenage stoners. She opens the door and stares for minutes at what's inside. She pokes at things to move them aside so she can see behind them and she stares some more. After a few unproductive minutes, she walks away, door wide open. If I'm there I close it immediately, of course (or have her do it) but sometimes I don't realize that she's done this and I end up closing it who-knows-how-much-later.<br />
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I'm close to putting up gates on the kitchen doorways but I'm tired of the gates. So tired of them.<br />
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Earlier I finally decided that I would start work on a project that's been on my mind for a while. I want to relearn how to draw, a skill I've lost since the surgery, and I had a very specific project I wanted to do to go along with this. I spent some time sketching things out and then started drawing it out. I was about 1/3 of the way through with this step when the grocery delivery guy showed up.<br />
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Lois helped me get the groceries in and helped me put them away. She played on the porch for a bit and was generally very helpful overall.<br />
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I have no idea when she got to the art and did her own drawing but I have to restart the project. I genuinely don't know when she could have done it but she did. I knew better than to leave it within her grasp and to let her out of my view: She loves drawing. I give her her own paper and her own art supplies but "helping daddy draw" is one of her favorite things to do when it comes to drawing.<br />
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I'll be starting over. It's not a lot of time lost and it's not like my drawing is a "work of art." It's not a big deal but it's frustrating.<br />
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And it's only noon.<br />
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Now that I've gotten this out of my system we're going to go play. We're going to clean up the mess that she's made with her toys and we're going to play some games. We're going to laugh and smile and have a good time.<br />
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I love being her dad. I love her. I love having her as a daughter.<br />
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But sometimes even the most amazing child can be a stinker.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-34604917497808778772015-08-25T11:06:00.002-07:002015-08-25T11:06:20.626-07:00How Can It Be Preschool Time Already?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNO1ZEjkV12QSE4UDIe44uqHvXMvhOAAF13c7-aWG8kSZDrTWlpfGfMCPr8g1BPPeO1jxAADN237qpf87z67JNu6enk-rHd0toYkdgcWwFrRBGmt5LcvfghP6DkLUzlwQESm-oQDDZb0fX/s1600/IMG_0174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNO1ZEjkV12QSE4UDIe44uqHvXMvhOAAF13c7-aWG8kSZDrTWlpfGfMCPr8g1BPPeO1jxAADN237qpf87z67JNu6enk-rHd0toYkdgcWwFrRBGmt5LcvfghP6DkLUzlwQESm-oQDDZb0fX/s400/IMG_0174.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Chilling after a long two hours of preschool, Lois tells me that she had a lot of fun and can't wait to go back!<br />
<br />
The teachers at the school already know us by sight and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Much like how people I've met once often remember me far longer into the future than I'd expect, I wonder if it's a blessing or a curse.<br />
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Or maybe it's my purple beard.<br />
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While Lois was learning and having fun I worked around the house a tiny bit (picking things from the garden and taking out the trash, mostly) but I may have spent more of my time staring at the clock, worrying that I'd get a call any second that something horrible happened. I knew, rationally, that everything would be fine but emotionally? Emotionally I was a wreck.<br />
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I didn't think we'd have any problems at the drop off this morning and I was right. She walked into the classroom without even looking back. No tears but also no hug goodbye or even a wave. "Have fun, Lois" I called. I may as well have been talking to the wall; she was already enthralled with whatever was going on inside.<br />
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The report from the teacher says that there will be many photos of Lois. The teacher likes taking pictures and apparently Lois was everywhere in the classroom, whether she was supposed to be there or not, so she's in a lot of pictures.<br />
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We might have a problem with "listening to instructions" but since Lois is three years old I'm not too worried about it. It makes for good photos, at least!Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-55998115715215982692015-08-18T06:29:00.002-07:002015-08-18T06:29:49.414-07:00Honestly?How honest are you with your children?<br />
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We were watching Disney's <a href="http://amzn.to/1WBTehg">Frozen</a> together this morning as we put off getting ready for the rest of the day.<br />
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If you haven't seen Frozen (living under a rock?) then be aware there's a spoiler below. An early-on spoiler but still a spoiler.<br />
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We were watching the movie together and when the King and Queen's ship sinks below the rough seas Lois said "Oh no, the ship is gone under the water!"<br />
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She was saddened by it. This was the first time she had put it together out loud like that and I think the first time she realized what had happened. I said gently "Yeah, it did go under the water."<br />
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And she hit me with "But it can come back, right?"<br />
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There was a palpable pause.<br />
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And then I said "No."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VmNswxy16PFT2ZK179HaYtF7kIRD6t2qkE9C5wQpUL3hr8NjIQMTeL2qJ3Y9IXc-wcqqc0nO59ToPf9TTfPwbp5FBGZdSfBi9oJzIftKisUgLM17JgryrpkvM1Vos6GOvAwKj1PDFrGa/s1600/IMG_0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VmNswxy16PFT2ZK179HaYtF7kIRD6t2qkE9C5wQpUL3hr8NjIQMTeL2qJ3Y9IXc-wcqqc0nO59ToPf9TTfPwbp5FBGZdSfBi9oJzIftKisUgLM17JgryrpkvM1Vos6GOvAwKj1PDFrGa/s400/IMG_0137.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
There was a longer, more thoughtful pause. She looked at me and while she wasn't crying or anything, her eyes were thoughtfully sad.<br />
<br />
"No?"<br />
<br />
"That's right, honey. The big boat is underwater."<br />
<br />
She quietly went back to watching the movie. I waited to see if she had any other questions but none were forthcoming.<br />
<br />
We watched the movie in silence (except for laughter at <a href="http://amzn.to/1WBV2H9">Olaf</a>'s antics, of course) and had a good time. No questions, no worries, no explaining mortality to a 3 year old.<br />
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It was nice.<br />
<br />
But was I too honest?<br />
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Would you have said "Oh, sure, honey! It can come back!" or would you have left it alone? Ignored the question?<br />
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How honest are you with your kids?Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-84882801261449178022015-08-03T17:05:00.000-07:002015-08-03T17:05:04.069-07:00Three Years Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy birthday, my little daughter. You are amazing and I can't believe you're a part of my life.<br />
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Thank you for being so fantastic.<br />
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Mommy made carrot cake for your birthday this year. You didn't have any last night but after you woke up from your nap today you tried a piece (you insisted on it, actually, "It's my birthday! Give me cake!) you absolutely loved it.<br />
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Grammy Pammy made you this shirt. She's awesome and loves you so very much.<br />
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Happy birthday, little girl.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-52094233796648141292015-08-02T19:48:00.000-07:002015-08-02T19:48:00.831-07:00Happy Birthday!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaOWkKJkCZnyGJi-1UgTaX_1Zgbzy4f9Ch7xMfaHEsYBfiVW_wlq-UXhDYtzadQWDrRkmsR_tZdZ91jpCtTJIe9b2VVrI5ZuaQFG5sr_101HbI9QZBhcztfroKECus3jE5qanDb3pOW5x/s1600/IMG_0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaOWkKJkCZnyGJi-1UgTaX_1Zgbzy4f9Ch7xMfaHEsYBfiVW_wlq-UXhDYtzadQWDrRkmsR_tZdZ91jpCtTJIe9b2VVrI5ZuaQFG5sr_101HbI9QZBhcztfroKECus3jE5qanDb3pOW5x/s640/IMG_0015.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She actually hasn't eaten any of the cake yet. Weird little girl. Weird, loved little girl.</td></tr>
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<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-52556991441550395672015-05-05T14:28:00.003-07:002015-05-05T14:29:03.372-07:00Fun in the Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When Lois heard it had been so long since I've updated and this made her very sad.<br />
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I decided that since updating would make her happy again, we needed to go outside so that I could get some good photos to share of her with the family!<br />
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For some reason she forgot all about the blog and started chanting/screaming "Outside! Outside! Outside!"<br />
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It's like she likes the sun. Weirdo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPK_RHNtzV94OhMq9PtAaOejYTgvvQTgKdIY0kBacZLpcGcXQzy3Oj7S4pvx87K4FRnDPRqrfDlqf3tNH9qUXv7Dxv6pjb7vUTEOeOjhlvgFCgTA_RwX8W_u5kPyohCWsNXwoEFLe8S64/s1600/100_1720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPK_RHNtzV94OhMq9PtAaOejYTgvvQTgKdIY0kBacZLpcGcXQzy3Oj7S4pvx87K4FRnDPRqrfDlqf3tNH9qUXv7Dxv6pjb7vUTEOeOjhlvgFCgTA_RwX8W_u5kPyohCWsNXwoEFLe8S64/s400/100_1720.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
She took a moment or two to stop and smell the flowers before running.<br />
<br />
I actually tried to pose her doing this with the flowers but she wouldn't stand still until it occurred to her later (and without prompting) that she actually wanted to smell the flowers.<br />
<br />
I guess I'll stop trying to get her to do what I want and let her do her own thing; they often turn out to be the same thing, except for when they don't.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_rFlGm2SN3uw9C0PbyuCTltJN_GstshA8yRCC8gcb151zLHlx4o7wXGojSg_LyBodNuctIR3psoEC72QP-QpIZ7tsXvrckY_5hi7loi1KjzpYBNlGcQgXB9c66u5d6TjN3xi_8fVo0A_E/s1600/100_1727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_rFlGm2SN3uw9C0PbyuCTltJN_GstshA8yRCC8gcb151zLHlx4o7wXGojSg_LyBodNuctIR3psoEC72QP-QpIZ7tsXvrckY_5hi7loi1KjzpYBNlGcQgXB9c66u5d6TjN3xi_8fVo0A_E/s400/100_1727.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
She (and I) really loves our new back yard. She runs, smells the flowers, helps me pull weeds (and sometimes things that aren't weeds), and rolls in the grass right after I've cut it.<br />
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She's slightly allergic to grass so that last bit isn't such a great thing.<br />
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On the patio she decided that the best thing in the world was to run in a circle around me while I tried to take a picture. It was her favorite game in the world for almost 10 whole minutes!<br />
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I just really like this picture. I have nothing clever to say here.<br />
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This is my favorite little girl in the whole wide world. I love her with all of my heart.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-60609398482396806862015-03-03T14:23:00.002-08:002015-03-03T14:23:43.447-08:00A Brief Conversation With The Little LiarComing around the corner the little one slips and falls. She looks at me, unsure if she should cry or not.<br />
<br />
"You fell down! Did you bump your knees?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah!"<br />
<br />
"Did you bump your face?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah!"<br />
<br />
"Did you bump your alberdingium?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah!"<br />
<br />
"You're fine."<br />
<br />
"Yeah!"Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-69613868119097912652015-02-26T10:07:00.000-08:002015-02-26T10:07:01.154-08:00What About These?So far we have determined that a size 3T dress, a large pair of pants, a new shirt, three diapers, a pair of shoes that are 3 sizes too small, blocks, an over-sized pool noodle and my Kindle are not socks. Also her dump truck? Still not socks.<br />
<br />
She's learning to put socks on before her shoes instead of not at all or after. Yes, she has put her socks on after her shoes. No, I had nothing to do with it. Yes it was funny. No I didn't get a picture of it.<br />
<br />
Maybe she's not yet at an age where I can tell her to go get something, like socks for example, and expect her to come back with it. Maybe she's just extra hyper today. Maybe I just realized that I'm not even sure where her clean socks are.<br />
<br />
Maybe.<br />
<br />
Still, it's a learning opportunity. Her doll is not socks. Her Rompy? Not socks. Three more diapers are still not socks. Those socks? Daddy's socks.<br />
<br />
Good enough.<br />
<br />
<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-49265574268772044902015-02-24T14:38:00.003-08:002015-02-24T14:38:37.158-08:00A Note To My Amazing DaughterDear Lois,<br />
<br />
Thank you for looking out for me. I appreciate that you want what's best for your daddy even if he doesn't realize it. It means a lot to me that if you think something is good for me you'll bring it to me.<br />
<br />
But I don't want that duck sauce from the Chinese food last night. Especially the open one you fished out of the trash and then brought to me, dripping sauce all the way from the kitchen into the living room on the new carpet.<br />
<br />
I really don't want your clean diapers brought out from your room. I want them more than I want that one dirty diaper you once brought so believe me when I say I'm not really complaining but if you could leave the diapers in your room it would mean a lot to me. Especially every diaper after the 50th, all brought out 2 at a time.<br />
<br />
And you know, I love to cook but I don't need the spatula every 20 minutes. Maybe you're saying you're going stir crazy? I'm not sure but I do know that when I put the spatula away and said "Please don't bring it to me" I didn't actually mean "Bring it to me in a little while and then run away laughing like a maniac."<br />
<br />
Your toys? Well, I know that I have resting jerk face but I promise that I'm perfectly happy! Daddy just looks upset, even though he's happy; that's just how daddy's face is normally. I'll be happy to play toys with you but unless we're playing together it's very unlikely that daddy is going to play with that rolling toy that pops the balls all over the place.<br />
<br />
Thank you. I know you're trying to help and I appreciate it.<br />
<br />
Now, if you could just stop? For a little while?<br />
<br />
Please?<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
DaddySnippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-88897684064132289752015-02-17T16:53:00.000-08:002015-02-17T16:54:31.155-08:00Sometimes Mommy Fails, Too!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS2stdoMmOS6L6doXa63DUJ7qm8zyOR5VUvcuMQv4By51D0p2Z80uHUpCuSKzNoVahaegNQuR7VtL5djatTBe1s2xlnUkRhabtprJI6XqXprwZoFyYUNmKIY37l4ScAhZ-JxS8x-A3PMC/s1600/140813-162929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS2stdoMmOS6L6doXa63DUJ7qm8zyOR5VUvcuMQv4By51D0p2Z80uHUpCuSKzNoVahaegNQuR7VtL5djatTBe1s2xlnUkRhabtprJI6XqXprwZoFyYUNmKIY37l4ScAhZ-JxS8x-A3PMC/s1600/140813-162929.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
Overheard today:<br />
<br />
Lois: "Mommy, can I have a banana?"<br />
<br />
Laura: "No, sweetie. Have these french fries instead!"<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
I have a camera again. New posts and stories coming very soon.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-84142565364593927972014-11-25T20:56:00.004-08:002014-11-25T20:57:37.295-08:00Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3-NCmWmp0Mhtg7t8gE4Vi42PVgBjiUInFd2tpOVuXjZAIO85pcMfwy2AebsLudFsc7gr-madOyeBimSGLktRSG74NAn6SD2G5lRWSkVpotiCnOv7TEVJKiL9Vq4A7tfwjB4em-xYWq5h/s1600/140718-122219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3-NCmWmp0Mhtg7t8gE4Vi42PVgBjiUInFd2tpOVuXjZAIO85pcMfwy2AebsLudFsc7gr-madOyeBimSGLktRSG74NAn6SD2G5lRWSkVpotiCnOv7TEVJKiL9Vq4A7tfwjB4em-xYWq5h/s1600/140718-122219.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
I've been back from the hospital for about a month now and I think Lois missed me quite a bit. She still calls for mommy at night but I find that she sits on my lap more often than before.<br />
<br />
I don't have a camera right now; I had to send my previous one in for replacement because some little one broke it beyond all repair, which is why I haven't been sharing many pictures of her. I think that anybody who doesn't see her in real life will be more than a little surprised at how much she's change. After a month of being away (and she couldn't visit because I was in ICU) I was amazed at how much she had changed. Hands down she didn't seem like the same toddler.<br />
<br />
I'm glad to be home with my family.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-43233128213024697602014-10-04T14:46:00.002-07:002014-10-04T14:46:42.381-07:00Picture Friday! (Wait, What Day Is It?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0S_G_ODlewx0paxOE862APu6k3ISk_Ef642zz7R_0TTdHlMGCLGNZ43vtFNIMqC1agH9A77jSwE6_G9yD3Lkjhd6SQgFMUuqzNb984LcxvFo_JeRICmtOCgV1HU_iE4pyKkakKXKd6rJ/s1600/20140911_95843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0S_G_ODlewx0paxOE862APu6k3ISk_Ef642zz7R_0TTdHlMGCLGNZ43vtFNIMqC1agH9A77jSwE6_G9yD3Lkjhd6SQgFMUuqzNb984LcxvFo_JeRICmtOCgV1HU_iE4pyKkakKXKd6rJ/s1600/20140911_95843.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
Lois took this picture!<br />
<br />
I'd write more but I had brain surgery on Thursday and I'm a bit tired today, so I'm going to sleep at 4:45 PM.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-39540357552684068482014-09-30T07:50:00.006-07:002014-09-30T07:50:59.986-07:00Hippy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQAm0PhiNM4PuPeQ1uVytIolTl0_VkizJ9fPLDS25UM6LUK39TnWDfVjan7hojdHk5deYUh-AHOrbpz3hq7oAtplYviWjFe6Xwm_zOOhoAWulkAkKm7jf2-uG03dLpu97vc4MGOzvRhj2/s1600/140929-132849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQAm0PhiNM4PuPeQ1uVytIolTl0_VkizJ9fPLDS25UM6LUK39TnWDfVjan7hojdHk5deYUh-AHOrbpz3hq7oAtplYviWjFe6Xwm_zOOhoAWulkAkKm7jf2-uG03dLpu97vc4MGOzvRhj2/s1600/140929-132849.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
My camera is officially dead (which reminds me that I have to call the warranty people today) so I grabbed a few shots with the laptop camera of my little hippy daughter.<br />
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The quality isn't as good but my little one is still just as adorable.<br />
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Don't mind the scary-looking guy. He's scary but his heart is gold.<br />
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It only took approximately 57 tries to get her to stand still long enough for each good picture that we took.<br />
<br />
I really need to shave.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWRYgQH3biGA11CJfjeSz3h-H9cBebduSPysjALdCl1x5XsazYlvfI638D29x-D-ju6OlNq_Iw9q6lryMEZZFVG3HJVTPAoOMTSUWUtLzA0BUrUEULYzGf4LZUe9WGzI4QOtN_u0gZ75w/s1600/140929-132857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWRYgQH3biGA11CJfjeSz3h-H9cBebduSPysjALdCl1x5XsazYlvfI638D29x-D-ju6OlNq_Iw9q6lryMEZZFVG3HJVTPAoOMTSUWUtLzA0BUrUEULYzGf4LZUe9WGzI4QOtN_u0gZ75w/s1600/140929-132857.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my new favorite picture of her.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
She really is absolutely adorable! I love that dress on her and if she'd keep that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IliwQImJrYE">hairband</a> on for more than a few seconds I'd use it to hold back her hair every day.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, she has a different way that she prefers to wear that particular hairband.<br />
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk4uxicTTYF-E8p-Wimlz4vHaG7u6Iu3wMOMAEUIJ7zqQCFgLXI4sa8jbBTyHaavGvxdZUd1IJMbm1xwkGVTdFKe62kIvwUMc2FSM8nj75pR8sgZUytOyG8Pd0W4JyTf6yZzyJGPjiCUO/s1600/140929-133105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk4uxicTTYF-E8p-Wimlz4vHaG7u6Iu3wMOMAEUIJ7zqQCFgLXI4sa8jbBTyHaavGvxdZUd1IJMbm1xwkGVTdFKe62kIvwUMc2FSM8nj75pR8sgZUytOyG8Pd0W4JyTf6yZzyJGPjiCUO/s1600/140929-133105.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
Yeah.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
She walks around the room with it like this. She much prefers it this way.<br />
<br />
My daughter is ridiculous.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-19859648987631430182014-09-24T10:23:00.002-07:002014-09-24T14:27:20.090-07:00My Head Is ElsewhereMy camera is kind of broken and my head hasn't been in the write place recently. I apologize for the dearth of updates and I'm planning on more coming somewhere down the line. For now I'll just try to say hi every now and then.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQ2hpGaU889s2Kyo8iYtUlQtUoHLzYRIrQnNnREczUAGDXW4BVvOCQh7fLuMDf0j0GmB2rj5rk-MROHpSTCJ1BQcDVaulZQkFbuyQYPEFIulriSIypROxlQsKcdx2CzN9aH53bRIxCoyl/s1600/IMG_0149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQ2hpGaU889s2Kyo8iYtUlQtUoHLzYRIrQnNnREczUAGDXW4BVvOCQh7fLuMDf0j0GmB2rj5rk-MROHpSTCJ1BQcDVaulZQkFbuyQYPEFIulriSIypROxlQsKcdx2CzN9aH53bRIxCoyl/s1600/IMG_0149.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I have no idea how those got there, daddy."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd like to take a nap during Lois' nap-time but that's becoming less and less of an actual thing.<br />
<br />
As you can see here, she protests her naps rather effectively. She does this while screaming and crying and generally doing things that are not conducive to taking a nap.<br />
<br />
She's up now, laying on the couch behind me and watching TV. She's exhausted but I don't have the fight in me to make her stay in her room.<br />
<br />
She's being quiet, though, and calm. I'll put that in the win column as soon as she stops kicking the back of my head.<br />
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UPDATE:<br />
<br />
It is now 5 1/2 hours after she was supposed to take her nap:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFg8U5MLUg616OXFmEe8-nshzbXFLuJ1bZlaVpn4aBTg6WWU9dZs8wITRmiwPW_L47zMRlXts6VrpTQBnRtkJtnoF5U8ozPvtJ2TQG2ygvEC7tHgTYI05gYNuE0YMc1l-QVVbgjiCgpWa-/s1600/140924-162230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFg8U5MLUg616OXFmEe8-nshzbXFLuJ1bZlaVpn4aBTg6WWU9dZs8wITRmiwPW_L47zMRlXts6VrpTQBnRtkJtnoF5U8ozPvtJ2TQG2ygvEC7tHgTYI05gYNuE0YMc1l-QVVbgjiCgpWa-/s1600/140924-162230.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-65448390028453451462014-09-18T13:04:00.001-07:002014-09-18T13:04:55.717-07:00Little Bit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmF5ssO-6nm-_mu9SKBzcmKpgkJJ3j0UnpiuBsZlkmWxHbpya_5XZ2m6e8_5Ro5ZPyWXuaCsKzxqF2HPudWvmFzIjDltkcdwI_499XYHyS5DQ8uHSKx1lsy1v4Ixqnkhp5Qk3H0Zykelk/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmF5ssO-6nm-_mu9SKBzcmKpgkJJ3j0UnpiuBsZlkmWxHbpya_5XZ2m6e8_5Ro5ZPyWXuaCsKzxqF2HPudWvmFzIjDltkcdwI_499XYHyS5DQ8uHSKx1lsy1v4Ixqnkhp5Qk3H0Zykelk/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
It's amazing how much information processes through the little brain in my daughter's head. Today I explained to her that I was going to have brain surgery in a few weeks and that <a href="http://fatherfails.blogspot.com/2014/02/picture-friday.html">Grammy Pammy</a> is coming here in order to help. I didn't expect that she'd really get what was going on but I still wanted to explain what was going to happen because I want to get into the habit of including her in the planning of our lives.<br />
<br />
When I was all done she walked over to me and looked at me, snot running from her little nose (poor girl has a cold), and kissed my arm. She climbed up on the couch, rubbed the back of my head, and said "Daddy's head big owie. It better soon."<br />
<br />
I was touched.<br />
<br />
She turned around, bent over, and farted on me, then ran away laughing.<br />
<br />
<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-89403579943119839522014-09-11T06:09:00.001-07:002014-09-11T06:09:16.958-07:00Baby's First ER Visit<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQ5PKbnqs2NgnTPu4TXFovcADqQyF47G_fDupnC8n9vtj40SU03OrecwzSs-UbTSj8FLMAuLQsOaUAoZg_tcukXCPJqcx2rHjWJw-4KRblv_Ngcx4i8oie5HFmmSFujsEESaGjQd0Ld8X/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQ5PKbnqs2NgnTPu4TXFovcADqQyF47G_fDupnC8n9vtj40SU03OrecwzSs-UbTSj8FLMAuLQsOaUAoZg_tcukXCPJqcx2rHjWJw-4KRblv_Ngcx4i8oie5HFmmSFujsEESaGjQd0Ld8X/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oooh, artsy-fartsy blurry picture time!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Going 60 miles per hour in an area zoned for 30 is something I generally frown upon. Doing it around traffic is even worse and I don't recommend anybody do it, even if you're trained.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm not saying I did that (because I have no idea if I can get a ticket for something I said on a blog if someone were feeling froggy enough to point it out to my local police) but yesterday as we rushed to the ER it's something I could conceivably have seen myself doing.<br />
<br />
Yeah. The ER. Baby's first ER visit.<br />
<br />
Of course this would happen during Laura's trip to DC for work training. Isn't that always the way of it? Things like this always happen while one of the parents are away, because life always works out just like a bad TV sitcom.<br />
<br />
Lois is okay. She really is. We had an absolutely horrible night of sleep with her waking every hour but that was to be expected, from what the ER doctor told me and if a bad night's sleep is the worst of it then I'm happy to have had such a bad night of sleep.<br />
<br />
She spilled the milk on the floor. Opened her cup up and just poured the entire cup of milk right out onto the hardwood-like flooring. I grabbed her away from it as I could see her contemplating playing in the milk puddle and we went to get some paper towels to clean it up.<br />
<br />
We both wiped it up but it wasn't quite enough; the floor was still a little wet so I took the paper towels to throw them out in the kitchen and grabbed a couple more to finish up. I turned around and watched Lois jump into the wet section of the floor.<br />
<br />
I was too far away.<br />
<br />
Her feet went out from under her, up into the air, over her head. Her head. Her head went down below her body. It was the first thing to hit the hardwood-like flooring with a loud cracking noise, then the rest of her hit the floor.<br />
<br />
Then silence.<br />
<br />
Within a second I had her in my arms. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, her eyes were filled with tears. She was conscious. I looked her over. No blood. The scream became much less silent at this point and she started wailing louder than any banshee ever had.<br />
<br />
And then stopped. She whimpered. Looked away. Her jaw went slack, her pupils went huge. Her eyes went glassy. I tried to get her attention and got no response.<br />
<br />
I asked her if she wanted a cookie and she didn't even look at me.<br />
<br />
We got in the car and that's when I either did or did not break just about every moving violation law in existence. The ER is a 20 minute drive from home without traffic. Interestingly it seems to be possible to make it a 15 minute drive during prime traffic time. I don't think an ambulance could have made better time (especially considering they'd have to have had gotten to the apartment first).<br />
<br />
When I got her out of the car at the ER I knew she was going to be okay because she started talking and acknowledging the world around her. She had held my hand several times on the way there but now she was saying things like "Daddy, truck!" and "Hi man!"<br />
<br />
We still went into the ER, though. We still saw the doctor. The doctor said she was fine, told me what to look out for, and sent me home with some discharge papers that essentially said "If she throws up, break the law and get here in 10 minutes, otherwise she's okay. Give her some children's motrin for the headache she WILL have."<br />
<br />
Last night was a bad night of sleep with her getting up every hour. Every. Hour.<br />
<br />
If that's the worst that comes of this, though, I'll take it. No question about that.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-1519262211150650522014-09-07T11:13:00.000-07:002014-09-07T11:13:10.258-07:00My Daughter The Artist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOWQnYQfFIWnv-W9a9g5F0jLpJrvdM9kwWADRoxYus9C27lNEXFh_X0dEuISiZeDjpMTMbuyftHTUkp_c6ers9UeTHov89R6o6ATRKE147bTtsMw1drmz9dTHUsEA6hZee8c4EPGED0se/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOWQnYQfFIWnv-W9a9g5F0jLpJrvdM9kwWADRoxYus9C27lNEXFh_X0dEuISiZeDjpMTMbuyftHTUkp_c6ers9UeTHov89R6o6ATRKE147bTtsMw1drmz9dTHUsEA6hZee8c4EPGED0se/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
The interplay of the light against the darkness of my pants really shows the transitory state of life as the dark fades into the light.<br />
<br />
See? Art. Lois doesn't take pictures, she makes art.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhs5nxRCSGt_d7ZQiRgHDtxfjwStwJWsOkssKT5w_NE9jCnflPVI6ZgKRwCmOini_Q31Rk6WzVfAWc2ltAJ5xoZdLF6J71zBzlaspypB1GGFwmiuBOV9SCy-oErJ01WWcwmZFK7cXxo7L/s1600/IMG_0067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhs5nxRCSGt_d7ZQiRgHDtxfjwStwJWsOkssKT5w_NE9jCnflPVI6ZgKRwCmOini_Q31Rk6WzVfAWc2ltAJ5xoZdLF6J71zBzlaspypB1GGFwmiuBOV9SCy-oErJ01WWcwmZFK7cXxo7L/s1600/IMG_0067.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
This shot is called "Daddy is a big scary looking guy sometimes but I love him."<br />
<br />
She really got my nostrils quite well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JyagIo7mcN2KjrVXNqfmzUZIW7uFvi70KbdY5cDQHhIdg7pNOpxiCskw9XJxYqvp3zG_qVStbjOrnlq3x-50bajJVZl_rAC7ufuJiMA9P0u8yACaz33ukVDOY8rzKRWT6uaKf6YvAfQ6/s1600/IMG_0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JyagIo7mcN2KjrVXNqfmzUZIW7uFvi70KbdY5cDQHhIdg7pNOpxiCskw9XJxYqvp3zG_qVStbjOrnlq3x-50bajJVZl_rAC7ufuJiMA9P0u8yACaz33ukVDOY8rzKRWT6uaKf6YvAfQ6/s1600/IMG_0103.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
This shot is either an up-close blurred picture of the rug that showcases that being too close to something can cause you to be unable to see it properly (a perfect view of life)<br />
<br />
OR<br />
<br />
this is a picture of alien ships.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uHxyWwk-xJdRrTip_DnQDmBd24r3CULbfaok3J1_1c6Vn0PmWv5XaQB5C1tkCOomU60CUZspO9i_LwOn9HCLcOmmIweEoEFGNg7-cGypTwuvUPuXgiNIdyaDOtaSbrjaA3_Fi7VcDAOd/s1600/IMG_1503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uHxyWwk-xJdRrTip_DnQDmBd24r3CULbfaok3J1_1c6Vn0PmWv5XaQB5C1tkCOomU60CUZspO9i_LwOn9HCLcOmmIweEoEFGNg7-cGypTwuvUPuXgiNIdyaDOtaSbrjaA3_Fi7VcDAOd/s1600/IMG_1503.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
This picture is called "Daddy's a goofball."<br />
<br />
I do not approve.<br />
<br />
She is now forbidden from handling the camera ever again.<br />
<br />
That's the price of her art.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-71349396859903929582014-09-04T07:09:00.001-07:002014-09-04T07:09:43.725-07:00The Mighty, Mighty Mini One!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX6s6iY8oJKP6zkjJE8tz7VPcLvKf5325pxJb5hb-4wwNzSeo-_Mbh8oqyVeDHeOqAoYx1OOt8k2T7FKNtRzS32M_neLaCrJWZ8Xd7diBeFl5VMXkI7OD-lAkBMgph4O08vaygHKfzCn0/s1600/IMG_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX6s6iY8oJKP6zkjJE8tz7VPcLvKf5325pxJb5hb-4wwNzSeo-_Mbh8oqyVeDHeOqAoYx1OOt8k2T7FKNtRzS32M_neLaCrJWZ8Xd7diBeFl5VMXkI7OD-lAkBMgph4O08vaygHKfzCn0/s1600/IMG_0129.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
She found my foam latex sword and started carrying it everywhere. When she was standing still and not really thinking about it she held it behind her back, at the ready.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8PrCDS_l54lVq1JTUZd0nR2AEU-t8ad3K3cqL3ACcxCUqbXHHakICebOgCk6hFeVGBRQ9rUNDInOXm_CG2vBn5eehccbaGAQj8i5iuw-fiXK5SLr7pirHv7uggMN5AF3oqz3hNEs7xPq/s1600/IMG_0126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8PrCDS_l54lVq1JTUZd0nR2AEU-t8ad3K3cqL3ACcxCUqbXHHakICebOgCk6hFeVGBRQ9rUNDInOXm_CG2vBn5eehccbaGAQj8i5iuw-fiXK5SLr7pirHv7uggMN5AF3oqz3hNEs7xPq/s1600/IMG_0126.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I think the old saying goes "when all you have is a hammer, all problems look like a nail."<br />
<br />
Here you can see Lois problem-solving with her sword by stabbing the problem.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNvfajj-zt8IqmhaSQwfBe73eC8kwybXZefbKE1IchzeL1gEvy3BiFYIFapP-bvZB-AO6H8qDeeJafUQGa3cgZNMDUaaDi8ic1YjWeNEjCPpwZt6wsA9hyphenhyphenwomTIea7FXrwISjzaMMV3O-/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNvfajj-zt8IqmhaSQwfBe73eC8kwybXZefbKE1IchzeL1gEvy3BiFYIFapP-bvZB-AO6H8qDeeJafUQGa3cgZNMDUaaDi8ic1YjWeNEjCPpwZt6wsA9hyphenhyphenwomTIea7FXrwISjzaMMV3O-/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
"By the power of Greyskull!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK_34x1HFAUHg3PEachCKOmlgmZjTSpl8QIpHdTo5URdE3mez6tCodSiUzZ_J88eQnAqE1ZTb2AOg2yiX2-7NcReJlMpILMeuZnvFb_AZPjpXmmPNvs4x_-kZ3i54q9dEjRZ0beU2bQrj/s1600/IMG_0125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK_34x1HFAUHg3PEachCKOmlgmZjTSpl8QIpHdTo5URdE3mez6tCodSiUzZ_J88eQnAqE1ZTb2AOg2yiX2-7NcReJlMpILMeuZnvFb_AZPjpXmmPNvs4x_-kZ3i54q9dEjRZ0beU2bQrj/s1600/IMG_0125.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wl-tQPPm9c">I HAVE THE POWER</a>!"<br />
<br />
She even has her faithful steed!<br />
<br />
Now, if only I could get her to stop trying to eat her sword, things would be awesome.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-34035993423624390612014-08-29T06:42:00.002-07:002014-08-29T07:36:39.169-07:00Being a Toddler is Serious Business!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CHyqvIp_8PX6Ax-vgfE4UhdMlMOm4pMVKPoTiC9NX35DGiJjrFH0iT0HDglfEOK7lVw8teNlRPaLMkxIZ5BqAGt4QX2GaXoX3niPrjirFcJeYXR5tahGPdj752Io1XG5OSbnMgU-TwwD/s1600/IMG_0060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CHyqvIp_8PX6Ax-vgfE4UhdMlMOm4pMVKPoTiC9NX35DGiJjrFH0iT0HDglfEOK7lVw8teNlRPaLMkxIZ5BqAGt4QX2GaXoX3niPrjirFcJeYXR5tahGPdj752Io1XG5OSbnMgU-TwwD/s1600/IMG_0060.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Sometimes my little girl is so serious as she looks around at this world surrounding us.<br />
<br />
Contemplative. Serious. Thoughtful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYwxfcw7sknU63v1Hw8ihFu4zAw6bw2PjSqdmb_Azw-G9ugCadLViXymZEdfF5OxqF6gq138zpvkQKTcgGIYFzYPs_z_6k1_Q_26IeCA5DSfO64fXPeNykdyZABV9PBW-5lih8wklgaNX/s1600/IMG_0061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYwxfcw7sknU63v1Hw8ihFu4zAw6bw2PjSqdmb_Azw-G9ugCadLViXymZEdfF5OxqF6gq138zpvkQKTcgGIYFzYPs_z_6k1_Q_26IeCA5DSfO64fXPeNykdyZABV9PBW-5lih8wklgaNX/s1600/IMG_0061.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I said "Smile, honey!"<br />
<br />
Instead, she tilted her head at me slightly, put the leaf down, and just looked at me, waiting for the picture to be taken.<br />
<br />
Also, someone should brush this child's hair.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw69seClEGQhWjMIIz7-l6mUnrGECmsSMVFDl8umGZeSYBXeqSGo6A-VkG15HarLiM9YnBTyRrlalb7492k8sTz5i9zlJeYv5_hRgD-LRNEiorosqh5PiIfCFV1sq3HRqpDgWdFHMiOVD/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw69seClEGQhWjMIIz7-l6mUnrGECmsSMVFDl8umGZeSYBXeqSGo6A-VkG15HarLiM9YnBTyRrlalb7492k8sTz5i9zlJeYv5_hRgD-LRNEiorosqh5PiIfCFV1sq3HRqpDgWdFHMiOVD/s1600/IMG_0062.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Dancing, she glared at me when I tried to join in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-2-XiA0OeVGv_htGmuDmIf5CBLMHQfi5yJmsGi0QDlfazpS7ICb3cjhnoNQG5CgGJG0gsNYzBO0Gk59ER0QBjMy-Mv4TkmsSnDu5Jpy1kkg8zAEen4W7TZI4p_4MZxtmolQnCEGE7O4b/s1600/IMG_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-2-XiA0OeVGv_htGmuDmIf5CBLMHQfi5yJmsGi0QDlfazpS7ICb3cjhnoNQG5CgGJG0gsNYzBO0Gk59ER0QBjMy-Mv4TkmsSnDu5Jpy1kkg8zAEen4W7TZI4p_4MZxtmolQnCEGE7O4b/s1600/IMG_0063.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
What she's staring at right now is a spider.<br />
<br />
It's very difficult not to project my fears onto her. I'm scared of spiders but she's fearless. She just watched it as it crawled around. It left her alone, she left it alone.<br />
<br />
I quietly freaked out without showing it because if she's not afraid of them I'm not going to give her reason to be.<br />
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Seriousness has its place but sometimes you just have to <b>eat all the green beans</b>!Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-11259508331504089902014-08-28T12:21:00.004-07:002014-08-28T12:21:57.112-07:00Tunnels. Tubes. Toddler.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmqXIiXcufGnAb25qppPbn0B1cEOn_Zx2eThFs2VD_5Rnt9dbgVatinGxtWy6P8cG7zuL3t6ULgH2Mo-hqZ9x9qdfflTVWb462qKwFJuvmtOTxIHoqYdY2OZW2YCJe9wUXPj5-5Gytmvk/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmqXIiXcufGnAb25qppPbn0B1cEOn_Zx2eThFs2VD_5Rnt9dbgVatinGxtWy6P8cG7zuL3t6ULgH2Mo-hqZ9x9qdfflTVWb462qKwFJuvmtOTxIHoqYdY2OZW2YCJe9wUXPj5-5Gytmvk/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I believe Grammy Pammy bought Lois this colorful chair except that it's not a chair: It's a tunnel! It springs open when we undo the velcro and forms a very long toddler tunnel that Lois loves to play in.<br />
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It gets a little large for the living room so it's normally folded up. It's only recently that Lois decided she didn't care what shape it was in as long as it has an opening that she can crawl through.<br />
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She wore it like this for about an hour, running around the house, barely avoiding killing herself on table corners and the like by pure luck (and her daddy stopping her from time to time).<br />
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She really had a lot of fun and thought it was funnier than anything else she's seen in her life.<br />
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She loves that tunnel, no matter whether it's folded up or three times her size.<br />
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She used it like this for quite a while, finding a comfortable position and then refusing to leave it until she got hungry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOytHep9mUxpWNFKtfD3bZxyzUCDSOv2M4X9fsbT0uuFDsrZzARTkJjnfbs5jl7lDoAeAA6SJfnWMjEYl0BKr2PdEZHj4xcz4BJ5q7BMYQoDt6sGbCRjRJqpqq6slOZmCXJCjJCQWwLjQ/s1600/IMG_0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOytHep9mUxpWNFKtfD3bZxyzUCDSOv2M4X9fsbT0uuFDsrZzARTkJjnfbs5jl7lDoAeAA6SJfnWMjEYl0BKr2PdEZHj4xcz4BJ5q7BMYQoDt6sGbCRjRJqpqq6slOZmCXJCjJCQWwLjQ/s1600/IMG_0020.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
One day Lois decided that her legs were a tunnel and so she tried to climb through them upside-down.<br />
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I think it got her very dizzy because she laughed like a maniac the entire time.<br />
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Ridiculous baby!<br />
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Speaking of a ridiculous baby, here you can see one in her natural habitat: The laundry bin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhurj4c_EyGZBmzWNtcasWq0UcfdCG7EMQooyzycxroUJsIKP9Ptx3xv6uzCUOg4Xt135dyG5RYRafgSATdlTp__8cjVZIzEgS23MF8Oqqm_6Q7HbNnQeqymCRyikvvzxCL9UY6VtZNtr3/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhurj4c_EyGZBmzWNtcasWq0UcfdCG7EMQooyzycxroUJsIKP9Ptx3xv6uzCUOg4Xt135dyG5RYRafgSATdlTp__8cjVZIzEgS23MF8Oqqm_6Q7HbNnQeqymCRyikvvzxCL9UY6VtZNtr3/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNNcCGNWMCreC_YbaTXuP_nQfWIxXRYb03QWb5IzRHSDj_UTE_WpZ3guSz1BLXzKasImCvjnAEmlwa2-jJBA0ka3LU4-k3QDQGPNMJOtDhk3IRQMOq6PkNBgzrMT-3yscTZDI6v33vjeV/s1600/IMG_0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNNcCGNWMCreC_YbaTXuP_nQfWIxXRYb03QWb5IzRHSDj_UTE_WpZ3guSz1BLXzKasImCvjnAEmlwa2-jJBA0ka3LU4-k3QDQGPNMJOtDhk3IRQMOq6PkNBgzrMT-3yscTZDI6v33vjeV/s1600/IMG_0095.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu9p64zTAQa8Xgkgnok2k0RGP3PdmcRrvinGcBm4oE_NE4sOnN9RbBmmBsDP2tAJWYKGJDDGgHPzkiEJlvHvZYk3HfjTKFgGKQFHMQI95o7kgb9DP1F_AWajn5bQuXCfpBZVPT4EC6qsPa/s1600/IMG_0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu9p64zTAQa8Xgkgnok2k0RGP3PdmcRrvinGcBm4oE_NE4sOnN9RbBmmBsDP2tAJWYKGJDDGgHPzkiEJlvHvZYk3HfjTKFgGKQFHMQI95o7kgb9DP1F_AWajn5bQuXCfpBZVPT4EC6qsPa/s1600/IMG_0098.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QXP0zMv0z46o0DnFA2UIeNX06RPQAXyWnIkuGawyg4B3ZM9Yb_tyAqyjawR4JZrFCIMAAw2xTbxUThKzM0DECy16afrjWAj2eU4-bI-tPuHhSKCMLfDYYgZTbEnBdP3ZCxn74B00C98w/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QXP0zMv0z46o0DnFA2UIeNX06RPQAXyWnIkuGawyg4B3ZM9Yb_tyAqyjawR4JZrFCIMAAw2xTbxUThKzM0DECy16afrjWAj2eU4-bI-tPuHhSKCMLfDYYgZTbEnBdP3ZCxn74B00C98w/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
She was having some trouble getting in, crying because it was blocking her entry.<br />
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As a good daddy I absolutely helped her figure it out.<br />
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Right after taking a few pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKuFRNybnzSn6uqB_ZFrkaBjBO-K18N2VoaFCRrO8jvpgTjDAOINm-M2aJ9I-badrt0eqJR56q2IEDd4XEr737b_7NbgtTrSoDZgnWfYQ8mHVShP6nAEpra0JPeKp23OXQ8PooJpBKfbi/s1600/IMG_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKuFRNybnzSn6uqB_ZFrkaBjBO-K18N2VoaFCRrO8jvpgTjDAOINm-M2aJ9I-badrt0eqJR56q2IEDd4XEr737b_7NbgtTrSoDZgnWfYQ8mHVShP6nAEpra0JPeKp23OXQ8PooJpBKfbi/s1600/IMG_0111.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I don't even know what to say.<br />
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My daughter's a dork.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-64310877536567297192014-08-25T13:55:00.003-07:002014-08-25T14:24:29.473-07:00Dance With Me!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKj1LKs9Fj9zhp5KVwtrt1CkAhYOFIotJDVbtYhPKSOWwbroskoQOYvUihbaUaqZ8_iImKBSBOPJUQJEK-58SIcVTlQULNAYfP0y6Vk9Axz82mOYhEO3Nelp7o9TjivZ9Fg0-5wwKHoW_/s1600/IMG_0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKj1LKs9Fj9zhp5KVwtrt1CkAhYOFIotJDVbtYhPKSOWwbroskoQOYvUihbaUaqZ8_iImKBSBOPJUQJEK-58SIcVTlQULNAYfP0y6Vk9Axz82mOYhEO3Nelp7o9TjivZ9Fg0-5wwKHoW_/s1600/IMG_0008.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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"Dance with me, daddy! Dance with me!" She ran across the room as the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song played and grabbed me by the front of the shirt, trying to haul me to my feet.</div>
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Laughing, I stood up and joined her on the carpet. She spun in circles yelling "Dance! Dance!" I pulled out my best dance moves, perfectly in sync with the AWESOME music. After a moment I realized she had stopped spinning and was watching me. I thought maybe she was going to start mimicking my dance moves.</div>
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No.</div>
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After a minute of watching me she stepped up, grabbed my shirt, and lead me back to the couch. She pushed me back into the seat, leaned in so that we were almost nose-to-nose, and quietly whispered, "Lay down, daddy. Lay down. Me dance. You lay down."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFkqCK8Xt6gvROAn96eGz74Znz1oGpQSG_2BfWvvrv_xK91jXLFNuRuwodBwNTDv_nUJAi3ZF6NEEZm7IDLvEGNxZ678CjeHkYpB6cN8IAq1b63jHe8TtL2mYGIhrsn6OEQMzrj2BE6Gg/s1600/IMG_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFkqCK8Xt6gvROAn96eGz74Znz1oGpQSG_2BfWvvrv_xK91jXLFNuRuwodBwNTDv_nUJAi3ZF6NEEZm7IDLvEGNxZ678CjeHkYpB6cN8IAq1b63jHe8TtL2mYGIhrsn6OEQMzrj2BE6Gg/s1600/IMG_0013.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Daddy is so embarrassing I'll just live in this tunnel forever."</td></tr>
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<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-30837477678289321202014-08-20T08:37:00.003-07:002014-08-20T08:37:42.892-07:00Second Second Birthday!A few gifts were a little late in coming to the little one's birthday and so last night we opened a bunch of presents from my parents! Lois had a great time and repeated (several times) "Presents for Lois birthday!" I just hope it hasn't gone to her head <i>again</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kz6dABPMJwYRoyoDekU5xkbMQzldxCJAgKASShy1h5NbR0jGQua_SJYmTNnsyj6RCI8xMT4dU3S5WrIcTM3nRZQYu__VfGeFr07IwTtQcy_vAAo9eg9tHjkRwevD7al2NrIDUF4Ca6nB/s1600/IMG_1523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kz6dABPMJwYRoyoDekU5xkbMQzldxCJAgKASShy1h5NbR0jGQua_SJYmTNnsyj6RCI8xMT4dU3S5WrIcTM3nRZQYu__VfGeFr07IwTtQcy_vAAo9eg9tHjkRwevD7al2NrIDUF4Ca6nB/s1600/IMG_1523.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clothes and an adorable bracelet!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAe1gashgO19h8idAfzyp1Wnh-iicrOUntytjdR1Z2XXa47Ic0ykIGgWdi7dX0vqCM6ud5wYcJTjRTX3u8vIu5n1yn114At87Zn1KUL-aj0Qwa6I07GacJNAGlzfA0uIIWv_7WzfS9MtR0/s1600/IMG_1529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAe1gashgO19h8idAfzyp1Wnh-iicrOUntytjdR1Z2XXa47Ic0ykIGgWdi7dX0vqCM6ud5wYcJTjRTX3u8vIu5n1yn114At87Zn1KUL-aj0Qwa6I07GacJNAGlzfA0uIIWv_7WzfS9MtR0/s1600/IMG_1529.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doc McStuffins outfit!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaHrxkzV66J2Mg_zGPaS8Fq6-CsGkYOFQspGHFNWWvT4touWhbP-YwFjBvT8WooxreOzURmTyimw_DEzplzhM6MUTL6bo3lufj4NsHVrrtiusPBSQQFsEO4gYVMQCmdv_auZgaFnDMC0xx/s1600/IMG_1540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaHrxkzV66J2Mg_zGPaS8Fq6-CsGkYOFQspGHFNWWvT4touWhbP-YwFjBvT8WooxreOzURmTyimw_DEzplzhM6MUTL6bo3lufj4NsHVrrtiusPBSQQFsEO4gYVMQCmdv_auZgaFnDMC0xx/s1600/IMG_1540.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An adorable hat!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB76sHnFOBxY9epaMZh9ckgQFzvlU2qU9_LtsAJik2paGQamZ1l9ScznydBAetFsVbuBMPQs6bpHF46-qvxsQm_bUX2j6ekdf7X6bKADUHGh5PdTtBAf1rxFezxqvhyphenhyphenbbNIhA0ncHwgIbJ/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB76sHnFOBxY9epaMZh9ckgQFzvlU2qU9_LtsAJik2paGQamZ1l9ScznydBAetFsVbuBMPQs6bpHF46-qvxsQm_bUX2j6ekdf7X6bKADUHGh5PdTtBAf1rxFezxqvhyphenhyphenbbNIhA0ncHwgIbJ/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lamby from Doc McStuffins!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIuGLe3TtY-KBBbkWs0eZ9Afe3g2wuFvezpIiJJ5u5JsloP5qW4lWUmmwcXpp-BsWlMcCiuxl72H16IHy-8R0R4Xprp9lrN7tklY-j1Qog-wICyHRgIRBKCKcId8kuQrGQtV2VTz2ddiR/s1600/IMG_1548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIuGLe3TtY-KBBbkWs0eZ9Afe3g2wuFvezpIiJJ5u5JsloP5qW4lWUmmwcXpp-BsWlMcCiuxl72H16IHy-8R0R4Xprp9lrN7tklY-j1Qog-wICyHRgIRBKCKcId8kuQrGQtV2VTz2ddiR/s1600/IMG_1548.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She really likes Lamby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5EbCC1iF8yHScIOZET6gU5yCBY0CknVOxukCtX3CazzPo7zAlKFJ-uNEzPRsKxeS9FkYUfHKsBY5B0R-ZJM8D30UtLka-jAn_I0Aw2dxujHRZuLr3tE7tPTxPcNJ_L9AK0CNJ_IWi2pz/s1600/IMG_1561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5EbCC1iF8yHScIOZET6gU5yCBY0CknVOxukCtX3CazzPo7zAlKFJ-uNEzPRsKxeS9FkYUfHKsBY5B0R-ZJM8D30UtLka-jAn_I0Aw2dxujHRZuLr3tE7tPTxPcNJ_L9AK0CNJ_IWi2pz/s1600/IMG_1561.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright, colorful pants!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQi1ZvjwKP5sm1xO9Ypl3sb0oSjiAlp9ZAnzqPf8QFu_tl9xkOBSijR3UkZ42C7LKrPX5wuqtN6KeiZJYZ7JZfcGkCrX03Z6k7rXnok3ta_8bnzR4slrDavTXDm09V3yQ6CUZ5adE4zY2j/s1600/IMG_1564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQi1ZvjwKP5sm1xO9Ypl3sb0oSjiAlp9ZAnzqPf8QFu_tl9xkOBSijR3UkZ42C7LKrPX5wuqtN6KeiZJYZ7JZfcGkCrX03Z6k7rXnok3ta_8bnzR4slrDavTXDm09V3yQ6CUZ5adE4zY2j/s1600/IMG_1564.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's an adorable little girl.</td></tr>
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<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-52802797714733074922014-08-15T14:28:00.000-07:002014-08-15T14:28:00.465-07:00Oh, Wonderful. Yay. Whoo.We've hit a very special stage. A stage I've been "looking forward to." A stage that I was "waiting for." And we've hit it. Oh boy.<br />
<br />
And boy did she start it in such a great way.<br />
<br />
Is the sarcasm coming through?<br />
<br />
Today Lois came over to me and smiled. "Milk?" she asked plaintively. "Milk milk, please please?" She does this thing where she doubles words when she wants something. It's adorable.<br />
<br />
"Sure, honey! Where's your cup?"<br />
<br />
We looked around for a while (or rather, she followed me around as I looked for it). I knew it was here somewhere. She just had it an hour or so ago and it's not that large of an apartment. It couldn't have gone far, I told myself 10 minutes later, still not having found it.<br />
<br />
"Lois, honey? Where's your milk cup?"<br />
<br />
She grinned up at me. Grinned. Her eyes widened innocently. She whispered something.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't hear you. Where's your milk cup?"<br />
<br />
Smile. A grin even. A smirk, maybe.<br />
<br />
"I hide it."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0IFpMQjDGSDgfGUDfbio7-q4Osb9h4n3zDqcr5UD5X-Vv1YiZtp0Gvgea140ZMlO-YqYWdSIGpxhzgMMlAEZlRo0BuaTNBEytGQYicTYuU_lhG3Ntjsic_DjfMvNnEoSRQlm0pJVDzJu/s1600/IMG_1440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0IFpMQjDGSDgfGUDfbio7-q4Osb9h4n3zDqcr5UD5X-Vv1YiZtp0Gvgea140ZMlO-YqYWdSIGpxhzgMMlAEZlRo0BuaTNBEytGQYicTYuU_lhG3Ntjsic_DjfMvNnEoSRQlm0pJVDzJu/s1600/IMG_1440.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deal with it, daddy. Deal with it.</td></tr>
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<br />Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4521042866324717243.post-58501594686376548862014-08-13T09:00:00.000-07:002014-08-13T09:00:00.993-07:00Today I Messed Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKOtYnkTD1oq2jheVQjv6-PBXVWCLBfhgBB8UDPYq58m75DkF8K73KV_-W6nM7Y3BSOP0vd0-JlznqNVidMyUr5OsY9WmovOcSPqTCMFIUxz2qyKv11Z26DU7dWyFpeCSx_4xn-IGBrUF/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKOtYnkTD1oq2jheVQjv6-PBXVWCLBfhgBB8UDPYq58m75DkF8K73KV_-W6nM7Y3BSOP0vd0-JlznqNVidMyUr5OsY9WmovOcSPqTCMFIUxz2qyKv11Z26DU7dWyFpeCSx_4xn-IGBrUF/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, my laptop on the table in front of me and the couch behind me. I was comfortable. I was writing a story.<br />
<br />
Lois got up from the toys she was playing with, crawled under my arm, and sat on my lap, keeping my right arm away from the laptop, making me type only with my left.<br />
<br />
I was in the writing zone and ideas were flowing. I didn't want to stop; I just needed a couple more minutes.<br />
<br />
I picked her up and put her on the couch behind me, figuring she'd be comfortable there, and I went back to writing.<br />
<br />
I looked back at her quickly to make sure she was comfortable and okay only to see tears pouring out of those pretty blue eyes, coursing down her little cheeks. She wasn't just sad; the look on her face was one of genuine hurt.<br />
<br />
She had wanted a cuddle. Nothing more. She just wanted to sit with her daddy. Her daddy <i>put her aside</i>.<br />
<br />
I felt like a monster. An absolutely horrible monster.<br />
<br />
We cuddled for the next hour or so on the couch and then played.<br />
<br />
I still feel like a monster a little bit.Snippethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962245270540621163noreply@blogger.com0