More gems

Katie was carrying Lilie as we walked in to church today.  Lilie suddenly leaned over to me and gently rubbed my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Daddy, you'll get hair someday."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lilie was sitting at the table today, staring off into the distance.  She slowly brought her hand up and then - well, started to dig for gold.  In her nose, if you know what I mean.

"Lilie - stop that!  It's gross," I said.

"What?!" she protested.  "It helps me think."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lilie had finally managed to get herself excused from the table, after a lot of negotiating over the last bites of food she had to eat.  

"I wish I only had one ear," she said as she fiddled with her toys.

"Why in the world would you want that?" asked Katie.

"'Cause then I wouldn't have to listen to you guys."

Digital memory

I wondered recently how likely it is that our kids are going to be able to read these blog posts when they're our age.  Will there be some kind of limit imposed on how long the companies will keep the data?  It would be pretty amazing if Lilie could pull up the blog and read all about her young self years from now.  Who doesn't like hearing about how they behaved when they were a baby?

Lilie doesn't like to go to bed.  Some nights aren't bad, but when we do have a bad one, it's kind of epic.  Tonight was a good example.  She would do *anything* to keep us in the room.  We forgot to pray.  She needed to tinkle.  She was hungry - again.  We've finally figured out that we always end up in the same spot, no matter what we do: we eventually have to say 'goodnight', and then listen to her holler for a while.  Maybe a long while...

I've taken the attitude that the screaming and crying is inevitable, so I tend to go by the checklist: brush hair, brush teeth, read a book, tell a story, sing a song, get a stuffed animal friend, pray and goodnight.  That's the contract, and if we've done it all, there is no room for 'just one more thing'.  After that, all I do is usher Lilie back into bed, tuck her in, tell her 'goodnight', and then walk away.  On some nights we repeat that process many, many times.

The hollering and crying was particularly bad tonight.  Lilie has become a virtuoso on my heart strings, crying and screaming some incredibly poignant statements:  "I want more friends!  I want more friends!" (Of course, if we get more friends, she'll scream about something else...).  Tonight she busted out "You didn't listen to me!  You didn't listen to me!".  Seriously?!  She's three.

When the dust finally settled, Katie and I checked on her.  She was peacefully asleep.  I wondered out loud if Lilie knew how much it hurt my heart to hear her crying.  That's when I remembered about the blog, and the off chance that Lilie will read it some day.

If you get here, daughter, I hope you don't recall these nights.  If you do, I hope time has granted you perspective.  If time hasn't given it to you yet, then surely children of your own will do it.  We do love you, and it tears us up when we listen to you crying, but you need your rest.  Parenting is hard!

Lilie-isms

Lilie was visiting a public bathroom with Katie, and apparently noticed that the commodes weren't the self-flushing kind.

"Mommy - look!  These toilets don't flush romantically."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I thanked Liliana for something the other day, and she replied, "My measure."

Consequences = boring stuff

Lilie has been fighting a hard battle with potty training.  She's clear on the principles, but sometimes forgets to listen to her body.  Accidents happen.

We put together a motivational program combining sticks and carrots: no computer games until she's been dry for 24 hours, and a coin to put towards her toy of choice if she does go 24 hours.

We've been putting her in a diaper at night, and it was 'damp' this morning.  Lilie's been on a run of dry days, so Katie made an executive decision: we'll pretend it didn't happen, as long as she stays totally dry all day today.

"Daddy, my consequences are going away," Lilie explained when I came home from the gym.

Katie brought me up to speed.  I wanted to make sure Lilie understood that she needed to stay dry, though.

"That's good, pumpkin - but you know that you have to stay dry allllll day for that to work, right?"

"That's right, Lilie," said Katie.  "If you have an accident today, then all the consequences come back -".

Lilie interrupted her with a huge sigh as she slumped to the floor and rolled her eyes. 

She continued to wilt as she groaned , "Boring stuff."

Telly

Liliana and I were wrestling and horsing around when she told me to tickle her.

"Where should I tickle you?"

"Right here under my arm!"

"Oh, yeah?  What if I tickle you right here?", I said as I tickled her on her bum-cheek.

Lilie squealed and giggled.

"You can't tickle me there, Daddy!  That's my telly."

I decided to wait a bit and see where this conversation went.  Lilie recovered from her giggle fit, and muttered under her breath as she climbed onto my legs, "...it tells me when I need to go potty."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were still horsing around later when Lilie decided she needed to slap me with something.  She turned to the foam house we have set up in the living room:

Lilie grabbed a round piece off the front and swung it at me.  I grabbed it from her, raised the hood of my sweatshirt, and stuffed it in the front.  That's how we arrived at this picture:
..

Don't believe that smile: Lilie's first assessment was, "That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We didn't want to forget about this one:

About a month or so ago, Katie had a day off work due to a holiday so she took Liliana to Illinois for a day trip.  They had a little bit of time before an appointment so Katie decided to drive by Liliana's old daycare and maybe stop in for a quick visit with Ms. Kim and the kiddos.  As they turned onto her street, Katie realized that it was a holiday for them too and the daycare would be closed.  She was explaining to a disappointed Lilie that they wouldn't be able to see them after all when she spotted Ms. Kim on her front porch - Yeah!  Katie pulled over and they got to spend a few minutes chatting with the P family we all love so much.

After promising to try to come back soon for a longer visit, they got back into the car and pulled away.  A short ways down the street Liliana said to her Mommy, "I know why we call her Ms. Kim. It's because we all miss her."  Yes, we do! 

Another One Bites the Dust

For as long as she's been talking about it, Lilie has called it 'nilk'.

"Daddy, may you get me a glass of nilk please?"

"Mommy, have you seen my nilk?"

We mourn the loss of nilk today.  Try as we might to cling to it, Lilie is actually correcting us: "It's 'milk'!"

It could be worse; as her vocabulary expands we're treated to brief periods where she slaughters a word.  'Intack' has had quite a run, as in

"Daddy, would you lay on the ground and let me intack you?"  This usually involves a wrestling match, in which she throws me to the floor, shouts "Intaaaaaacccck!" and then jumps on my stomach and chest.  We're thinking about filming it and selling it as a video titled 'When Toddlers Intack'....

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lilie invaded our bed the other night.  We've become pretty adept at getting her back under her own blankets, but this time she managed to sneak in - until I woke up because she'd put her foot on my face.

Instinct told me that she'd turned herself perpendicular to us, and had her head resting on Katie somewhere.  I sat up to correct the situation, and was surprised to find her feet splayed out by our heads, and her head lolling on the bed near our kneecaps.

She looked amazingly tall.  Where has the Lilie gone that fit sideways between us?