Is That A Smile or Are You Unhappy to See Me?

Brigid is moving into the realm of the two-year-old, complete with anger and fits of rage at not getting her way. She has exhibited on a number of occasions that she wants what she wants, when she wants it, or will scream and stamp her feet. The scream is one of anger, not one of her previously tested vocalizations. She has also occasionally thrown herself on the floor. Our reaction, of course, is mild amusement but not so that she can see. The other night, after putting her to bed under less-than-ideal circumstances (she wanted out; I wanted her in) she stood in her crib and screamed angrily, shaking the side of the crib and stamping, all of which I heard through a closed door.

She has no patience and gets very angry when she has to repeat her demands more than several times over. But that's typical of the age and you just have to roll with the punches. Thankfully, the punches aren't planted anywhere on your body.

She has become quite the parrot, repeating just about everything you say to her. Some of it sticks, and she says it appropriately. I'm not sure whether it came from a movie (in Toy Story, Sid, the maniacal next-door-neighbor boy, says, "Oh, man!" when it starts to rain, thus delaying his diabolical plans to blow up Buzz) but Brigid has taken to saying, "Oh, man!" on occasion. Sometimes its even at appropriate moments of exasperation. But imagine "Oh, Man!" coming out of that little face, with her little voice using the right inflections. It's hysterical.

She also understands when the little heater in her room, mounted on a shelf, starts up. She says, "Hot. No touch." Hopefully, she will heed that warning forever.

Last night's bedtime went more smoothly than the previous evening. But she has been congested and has spent a lot of time nose mining. I haven't seen any boogies up there, and she's actually let me inspect -- visually only, I assure you -- because I think she knows how uncomfortable it is and if I could relieve some of that discomfort it would be acceptable to her. However and alas, no such luck. So last night's easy bedtime could be attributed to the fact that I have her a bit of dimetap to help dry her up.

Margaret had an orthodontist appointment this morning, which took a lot longer than her usual adjustment appointments. They took an x-ray and made new impressions, so I told her that may indicate the beginning of the end for her braces. It will be three years in February, and she's about had it. The only problem is, she isn't done with orthonditia. The braces have adjusted her teeth so that the space left by her genetically missing tooth is there for future implantation. However, she has to be old enough to have an implant because if her jaw is still growing and changing, it will all be for naught. The work also has to be coordinated with her dentist, so a copy of the x-ray will be sent to Dr. Nicoll for his input. The main concern is taking the braces off too soon, before an implant is prudent, which would then allow the teeth to shift back over and take up the space that was created in the first place. $2,400 down the drain. She's set to go back to the orthodontist at the beginning of March, so we know nothing will happen before then. One thing we do know, however, is that Margaret is sick of having braces. Patricia is coming up on a year with hers, and so far, she's not sick of them. Good thing, because she's in for the long haul. We can only wait to see what's in store for our Baby B. Hopefully nothing more than a beautiful smile, that is, unless it's clenched in a rage-filled grimace. You never can tell with almost-two-year-olds.

We'll See if Cookies and Pirate Booty Make the List of Foods Accepted by the American Pediatric Society

Well, whatever crud hit the household seems to have played through, at least for the most part. Brigid rebounded quickly, and we're not convinced it was anything more than bad hot dogs, as we've blogged before. But Patricia was down for the count through most of Sunday and was on her feet again Monday, Martin Luther King Jr.'s day. However, by Sunday afternoon, Margaret was out of commission, foregoing dinner in exchange for an early bedtime. She managed to keep her insides inside her, but just barely. Monday was a recuperation day for Margaret but was a down day for me, because not long after I got up I was heading back to bed with a flu-like feeling and stomach ache. I, too, managed to avoid having to use the bucket, but my problems became more intestinal. I stayed home from work Tuesday and am shaky still, but am back to work. Jack reported not feeling great, but he hasn't been down. Let's hope it ran its course, whatever it was. (and I didn't even eat those hot dogs).

And although Brigid bounced back from her stomach problems, she seems to be having weird diaper episodes. They've been pretty messy, so I'm wondering if she is still fighting off something that has manifested itself in her intestinal tract. She is happy and bounding around, chattering endlessly, so there seems to be no harm, no foul (exept the odor!). It's something we'll have to keep an eye on.

She has had less of an appetite, however; or at least less of an appetite for what we're eating. She downed a bunch of peas last night, but didn't want to eat much of anything else. She would eat a few pieces of steak smothered in ketchup, however. How Jack could ruin a great cut of meat with ketchup is anyone's guess, but that's just me. But then Brigid wouldn't eat anything else. She loves her "nudderones" so she had one again. I managed to get some yogurt into her before she went to bed, so I didn't feel like quite so much a failure, especially since she also kept asking for "tee tee?" (cookie) and "puffs" (pirate booty). When they say children know their own nutritional needs, I have to throw in there that parents have to be able to provide them with those needs. I don't think tee tees and puffs qualify. But, hey, it's something, right?

Are Popsickles Part of the New Food Pyramid?

Well, our little hot-dog eater is feeling fine; I have no excuse to offer for Patricia, who went on a sleep-over Friday night a happy, healthy kid and was returned to me a spewing, puking zombie. She said she woke up this morning and her stomach hurt, but she made it through until about 3:30 just as the family was about to bring her (and Margaret, who also went to the sleep-over -- their two girls are friends with our two girls) home. They gave her a bucket and drove her home. Hope it's just a brief thing, but on the bright side, the kids are off from school on Monday for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, so she won't have to miss anything if it does linger throughout the weekend. I just hope it doesn't spread through the house.

So while the two older girls were at their friends' house, Brigid and I got out of Daddy's hair so he and Granddad could work on the downstairs bathroom. They got the tub and shower surround in today and part of the plumbing for said tub. With any luck, we'll be showering and bathing in the thing sometime in the near future. But it's looking good and we're all dully excited and impressed. As a result of the capital improvement project and the fact that Granddad, chief cook and bottle washer at his house, was at our house all day, I called Grandma Downs and invited them to stay for dinner so he didn't have to go home and cook dinner. She came over and played with Brigid while I made (or heated) a pot roast. I can't take credit for the roast. It's one of the best finds at Sam's -- already cooked. You just have to add a little water for gravy and heat it in the oven for a half-hour. Yummy. Brigid, however, would have none of it. Her grandmother made the mistake of asking if she wanted "another one" forgetting, of course, what "another one" stands for in her limited vocabulary. Brigid started crying for "anudder one! anudder one!" so all she ate at the dinner table was a grape popsickle. We'll see if she requires any future nutritional supplements later in the evening, but who knows? She may have discovered a new complete meal on a stick.

While Brigid and I were out of Daddy and Granddad's hair, we walked around the mall a little bit and ate lunch and then around her nap time, I headed home only to be told by Daddy I should drive around with the sleeping Baby B for a while because they were in the middle of some very noisy renovation stuff. So I drove and she slept. I finally ended up in the parking lot at Sam's since I planned on going there anyway. She chose this afternoon to take close to a 2-hour nap. But it was OK because I listened to some very good music and made out my shopping list. When she woke up, she was in good enough spirits to venture into the box store where we were disappointed in the offerings of free samples ... and such small portions!

The last few times I've waited on line with Brigid in a shopping cart, she's introduced herself and today was no exception. We got to the cashier at Sam's and she pointed to herself with both her hands and said, "I Bi-gid." The cashier was very friendly and talked to her while scanning our purchases. She then said, "Bye-bye, Brigid." To which Brigid said, "Buh-bye." I didn't even have to prompt her. Civilization comes to those who wait.

If It's Wrapped in Crescent Dough, Move Along the Buffet Line

Remind us never take the little hot dog roll-ups at China Buffet. They're poison and Brigid got the brunt of it Wednesday night when she woke up at midnight, calling out and crying. Jack heard her on the monitor, said it sounded like she was choking, so we went in to check on her and, sure enough, she had thrown up all over. We stripped her, stripped the crib and brought her in bed with us. Thing is, she didn't have a fever or that glassy-eyed look babies usually get when they're sick in the night. But she was definitely not herself. She snuggled in and fell back to sleep only to wake up a few hours later and spew again -- all over me. After some hustle to keep her from being sick all over the bed, we were able to settle back down and she slept some more and was sick one more time. But that was it. The next day, she ran around like nothing happened. We're pretty convinced it was the hot dogs.

I took the girls to the mall in the afternoon and spent some time at Borders, where I was able to parlay a gift card Brigid got from Chet and Marilyn and a Borders coupon into a great deal on a Winnie-the-Pooh DVD. We had the VHS tape from when Margaret was a baby, but I can't find it. The DVD was outrageously priced, but a 30-percent coupon made it more reasonable. And I think Chet and Mar would approve of the gift card being spent on Winnie-the-Pooh. We thank you, Chet and Mar! Margaret and Patricia have been hoarding their gift cards, calculating purchases like croans at the market in 1900 Kiev. They did pretty well this Christmas, gift-card wise, so they're enjoying regular trips to Borders. Thank-you notes are still forthcoming. In the meantime, we watched Pooh last night and Brigid was transfixed -- for the most part -- especially the Hefalumps and Woozels segment. Don't know if she was mesmerized or terrified. I remember both Margaret and Patricia being afraid during that segment when they were babies. No wonder. It's pretty scary.

Margaret's "team" at school had a field trip today to the Adirondack Park Visitor Interpretive Center at Paul Smiths to go snowshoeing. We had wonderful snow at the holidays; it's melted down to nothing now, but with any luck, they'll still have some in the mountains to traipse around on. It's Pajama Day at Oak Street School, and Patricia loves the idea of going to school in her pajamas. I wish we had pajama day at work. I think it would just encourage us to sleep at our desks.

Patricia brought home paperwork for a jump-rope-athon (don't know if that's a real "athon," but everything is an "athon" these days) for the American Heart Association. The kids will be jumping rope for pledges. It's a fund-raiser I can get behind. Sure beats those magazine drives and junk catalog sales they've done for other things. I've looked through those catalogs for hours trying to find one thing I could actually use and not have to sell a kidney to buy it. At least this jump-rope thing will benefit another organ.

She's Clingy Except When She Doesn't Want to Be

As promised, I've included a photo of Brigid "helping" Daddy in the new bathroom. It's hard to tell if he is welcoming the help or just putting up with a subcontractor who doesn't have the skill sets to get the job done right. But he's a patient foreman and gives her some slack for being a first-timer.

I had a relatively easy time of it last night, getting Brigid to bed. We've been following somewhat of a routine lately, where I'll nurse her and then quietly ask if she's ready to lie down on her blankie in her bed. She's taken a liking to bringing her sippy cup to bed with her, so she'll clutch her cup and say "A-tee," which means "OK." And I'll place her on her blankie and she'll snuggle on down. Very rarely does she jump up screaming, but at that point, I'm out the door.

Last night, I didn't hav a peep out of her. When I'm heading into bed, I'll open her bedroom door to let some warm air in since her heater isn't on. Sometimes she pops up like toast then and I'm trapped, but last night, I was even able to go in and cover her up. She woke about 5 a.m. and I brought her in with us where she nursed again and fell back asleep until later, when I was awoken by her screaming in my face, "Mom-ee! Mom-ee! What are you doing? What are you doing, Mom-ee!" I told her I was trying to sleep, but that didn't deter her from her attempts to communicate with me.

We've had quite a clingy phase of late. I can't even walk into another room without her breaking down, wanting me. She needs to see where I am, and comes running over to me all the time, "Mom-ee! Mom-ee! Mom-ee!" It makes you feel good, but it can also impede your attempts to get anything done. When I come in from work, she runs to me, arms out, calling for me. She rarely wants to go to anyone else if I'm holding her, with the exception of Patricia, whom she adores. Ba-det! she'll say and reach out for her. She is always very excited when Ba-det comes home from school. They play together in this dome tent thing she has in her room, which she calls her house. "House?" she'll ask and take Ba-det by the hand and lead her to the house.

Hand-leading is something else she's been doing if she wants something or wants to show you something. She'll say, "Hain? Hain?" and hold out her hand for you to take. Then she leads you -- usually into the kitchen -- and point out or say what she wants. "A-nana?" (banana) "Apple?" "Piece?" (M&M). It's very cute, and she's very solomn and earnest when she's leading you. She's equally solomn and earnest when she's shaking her head saying, "No" when I ask if she's ready to go to bed and lie down on her blankie. That's when the reliability of the witness has to be called into play. But she understands at an early age the importance of being earnest.

Imagine How Frustrated She'll Be When We can't Understand Her as a Teenager

Everyone has pretty much recovered from head colds, although everyone has runny noses. Margaret had such stuffy ears, she has had trouble hearing out of them. Sometimes I think it's somewhat selective hearing, but that's just almost-13-ism.

The downstairs bathroom is coming along well, or as well as can be expected when the general contractor has daddy duty most mornings. And although we're looking forward to some of the time that will be afforded to us when Brigid is at Sibley after March 24, I think Daddy is going to be missing his little girl in the mornings because they have some pretty hard-and-fast routines that they enjoy. I have some pictures of Brigid "helping" Daddy with the bathroom project I'll post when I get to work because the cord is on my computer at work.

Brigid, who turned 22 months on Saturday, has truly begun speaking in sentences. Some are pretty hard to pick up on. For instance yesterday, she was firing off some communication at me and I just stood and stared, helplessly, at her as I tried to figure out what she was saying. She truly was saying something, not just trying to say something. And she was getting frustrated at my denseness. But then, she'll come out with something like, "Just a minute!" which she said to me the other night. After all, she hears it from me all the time. Of course that's going to be one of the more clear sentences she utters.

She seems to enjoy having names for things, and words assigned to feelings. She also appreciates a good question, asking it over and over as in the case when we went to dinner the other night and couldn't figure out where the waiter went. "Where did that guy go?" I asked. She held up her hands. "Der da di doh?"(Translation: Where did the guy go? It is not a reference to Homer Simpson) That has become a standard question -- where did XXX go? (fill in the blank.) She can often answer herself, too, by saying, "Ear it is" or "Es it is."

Last night, she called out about midnight, asking me, "Momee! Momee! What are you doing?" I made the mistake of going in to tell her what I was doing, which meant we ended up with a visitor between us in bed last night. She did not want to go back without a fight, and I was too tired to give her one. But when I brought her into our room, she says, "Bed" and "Bot," which means her "spot." Yup, I said, it's your spot. She snuggled down under my left arm and fell asleep. That;'s her spot, too, and I wouldn't have it any other way. At least until my arm falls asleep.

How Can You Argue With Such Logic? What's Next? The "I'm Rubber, You're Glue" Defense?

Brigid and Margaret are both suffering from a head cold and cough. Margaret felt so bad on Friday she stayed home from school, and she never stays home from school. Brigid is having trouble breathing through her nose, and when she's nursing, she sounds like she's deep-sea diving, coming up for gulps of air after every few seconds. So we've been sailing along on tylenol and benadryl.

Brigid is starting to string words together in very cute sentences. We had a "conversation" in the car the other day over my cup of iced tea. It went something like this:

Brigid: "Dink?" (Drink)
Me: "No, this is Mommy's tea."
Brigid: "No, mine."
Me: "No, it's not."
Brigid: "Es it is. Mine."
Me: "No, it's not."
Brigid: "Es it is. Mine."
Me: "No, it's not."
Brigid: "Es it is. Mine."

Well, you get the picture. The word "Mine" has been seeping into her vocabulary with increasing clarity and frequency. Sometimes, it is hers; sometimes it's not hers. But she makes a good argument.

Our latest news is that we have a spot at Sibley Hall -- the Plattsburgh Childcare Center where both Margaret and Patricia went as toddlers. They went part time, but the center doesn't have part-time positions anymore, so we'll be paying full-time tuition and sending her part time. It's a great program and she needs some structure and "networking" with kids her age. The only down side is she can't get in until March 24. Until then, we'll have to rely on the YMCA babysitting, which isn't day care -- it's more stick the kids in front of the TV. But Jack doesn't start teaching until Jan. 28 (he's teaching M-W-F at the college, a newspaper design course); there's a week in February when the girls are home; and spring break in March. So there won't be too many times we'll have to rely on the YMCA. Once Brigid is at Sibley, she'll be able to be there straight into kindergarten, which is what we did with the other two. They were well prepared for kindergarten. And with the center being on campus, it will be very convenient for me to bring Brigid over when I go to work and pick her up when I leave in the afternoon.

We've been very fortunate with all three girls not to have to have them in full-time day care from morning to night like so many people do. She will have the best of both worlds. Margaret and Patricia both have wonderful memories of their Sibley experiences. We hope to have many, many more.

Watching the Ball Drop and Taking a Leap Year of Faith

Well, it's a new year, a leap year and an election year. Did you know every election year is a leap year? Gives us all one more day to put up with mind-numbing political ads. Here's hope for peace, getting our troops home, an informed electorate and getting that numb-nut out of the White House.

We had a wonderful evening with Fr. John Yonkovig, our pastor, good friend and Brigid's Godfather. He came for dinner the Friday before New Year's and shared some good food, some good wine and some good conversation. Tonight the girls, Margaret and Patricia, put together the gingerbread house he brought them. It turned out quite nice.

Our new year's was pretty low-keyed. Jack continues to work on the downstairs bathroom and he hopes to get some of the plumbing in tomorrow. I go back to work tomorrow, but the girls have tomorrow off, the last of their holiday break. This year was the first we let them stay up to watch the ball drop in Times Square. When you think of it, it's pretty anti-climatic -- the ball drops and then they say happy new year, see you next year. But they wanted to watch, so we had some snacks -- Jack had to work, so after I got Baby Brigid to bed a good three hours before the turn of the year, we watched the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie they got for Christmas. Jack got home in plenty of time to toast the new year, and then we sent the girls up to bed and followed them not long after.

Brigid has been waking up several times during the night lately. I don't know what's going on, but she's definitely been going through some kind of change. Tonight, at bedtime, she had a major meltdown that lasted a good 45 minutes. She sobbed and screamed and coughed and choked ... it took all my patience to sit and let her work through it. Then it was like night and day: she was bright and happy and ready to go to bed -- her own bed -- and I haven't heard anything since. That may be short-lived given her night wakings recently.

We've seen so much of her imagination lately, from pretending to feed herself and others from pictures in her book to pretending to talk on an imaginary phone. She'll say, "Hello? No, Bi-gid no" as if to say "Brigid is not here." She'll also play a game we do where I'll say, "Is this Patricia?" and point to Jack then say, "No, that's not Patricia," and do the same with everyone else. She's been doing it, even when no one else is around, just saying, "Is Ba-det? (how she says Patricia), No, No Ba-det." She'll do it over and over. It's adorable. She'll point to me, "Is Ba-det? No, no Ba-det." I'll say, "Who's this?" and point to her. "Bi-gid," she says, tapping her chest with both hands.

Jack took Margaret and Patricia out cross-country skiing today for a while and all really enjoyed it. We've been getting some good snow for skiing. They'll not have a chance to ski tomorrow since Jack will be working on the bathroom and I'll be at work. The girls will have to do some babysitting for us I'm afraid, but it will give them the chance to earn back some money they went through buying Christmas presents. Then it's everyone back to a regular schedule. That will be hard. Brigid has gotten used to having me, or rather, boob, around more than she has in months. She's been asking for it more, too, but that's because I've been around. We'll see how she does when we're all back to a regular schedule. I'd rather not have to think about it and be off for the rest of the week. Ah, well, only 359 more days until next Christmas.