I know you, little libertine



At the library, having sung songs and read books and made Christmas ornaments. Shiny ones. So shiny she sort of wanted all of the ornaments, and without being a brat about it, really thought the other kids wouldn’t treat the ornaments respectfully and wasn’t really happy about the idea of not having them all.

She forgot about everyone else’s ornaments as soon as she discovered the two metric tons of glitter, though. What is left of which you can see in this photo.

Here’s Room five four six it’s enough to make you sick



Nobody ever told me that toddlers lack such a basic understanding of gravity that when they have to vomit, they just vomit, and out it comes in every and any direction.

This is entirely not right.

Also, at what age do they learn this, and does it come before or after the age they know to get themselves to the nearest snowbank, like a respectable adult?

And also and also and also, is it wrong that, although it’s absolutely and utterly The Pits to have a sick baby, it’s sort of nice to have a kid who just wants to curl up on your arm all day?  I mean, that’s not bound to last very long.

For I know this night will kill me, if I can’t be with you



She made a urea molecule! She’s a scientist!

At the New York Hall of Science, making science in Queens.


All the tea in China


We went to a local holiday market and bought fancy QuaintNewEnglandCrap with which to ply the families (surprise, families!). And while we were there, The Grit kept circling back to a table of beaded bracelets manned by two cute nubile young things, in all their prepubescent gawkitude. She’d walk up, wave, and smile, then coquettishly run back to me.

After the fourth time, they made her a bracelet of her own.

(Tomorrow I might take her to the a Apple store and see if I can get a laptop out of it.)

Them afterward we went for coffee, though her coffeecup was milk, and sat in big girl chairs and drank from coffeecups and dished a bit about preschool wait lists and sustainable kale farming, or whatever.

And I don’t know why I treat you so kind



Evening routine:
Come home. Drop groceries or whatever you’ve hauled in that day. Kick off shoes. Grab dog dog dog treats. Feed as many as possible to your dog dog dog before your big people get wind of it. Proffer a Charming Look in the hope that the box doesn’t get taken from you, with your Mean Look ready for when it inevitably is.

As she wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad


On learning that the plastic wheelbarrow gifted from a friend was more difficult to operate than advertised, she remained focused and determined to move it from point A to point B, even if she ended up doing it Sasquatch-style.

She came back and transported what had been its contents by hand.

And lose my heart on the burning sands

We were in Orlando with my family, who insisted we accompany them to Universal Studios, this theme park.  And she and I were miserable, all hot and crowded, until we saw this passel of dogs.  It was an attraction, famous Movie Dogs, Marley and Me and others, who were doing little tricks and patiently having their photos taken.  So she squeals up to them, because she is 100% cuckoo about dogs, wearing her shoes with little squeakers in them (which I love, because she cannot sneak away, and because they make her happy).
And suddenly these impeccably behaved dogs go nuts, jumping all over her and playfully licking her face and feet.   They’re out of control and the audience and trainers all try unsuccessfully to get them under control.
Apparently when these dogs are trained, squeaky toys are used to signify the end of the work day and the beginning of Play Time.  And the trainers and wranglers couldn’t stop this, because the delighted girl was running around (squeaking and perpetuating PlayTime Signals) with them, so every time they’d come close to getting the dogs calm, there was more squeaking.  It was beautiful, perfect chaos.  They eventually gave up on the dog show and rescheduled for a few hours later and politely asked us to remove her shoes if we decided to return.  And it made the whole day absolutely blissful, so of course she had to be a dog.
Okay back to wokr.

Everybody else Looks at my baby Then they wander over to me



The morning’s snow, which had earlier caused trouble by tempting her to come outside and play in it BAREFOOT, a challenge she gladly accepted until thwarted by me, caused further consternation by concealing the cap of the pumpkin we carved last night, a cap whose functioning must be frequently checked.

Whiplash girlchild in the dark



How to count with her:  one for Doggie, one for Cat, one for Me.  Two for Doggie, two for Cat, and a handful for me.

Then we serenaded her with Velvet Underground singalong.

Oh you know her, would you look at that hair?


Library Reading Group Bedhead. Because she actually has enough hair for Bedhead, and this we celebrate.

Every day, I wake up thinking “my god, she’s got so much more hair, seemingly overnight.” And we get ourselves ready and begin our day, and invariably, within hours, someone remarks “wow. That is the most bald baby I have ever seen.”