Friday, December 25, 2009

Sunday, December 20, 2009

You Never Told Me About Your Cat Milking Days In Motown

I'm so excited that my Nibblet has finally grown into her fancy fur coat with bunny ears. "Thank you, Aunt Jessie and Uncle Jeff! It's good to look divine and stay warm all at the same time."

Seeing The Precious in his flannel shirt makes me happy as well. I told him he was my Brawny Man and he was pleased, announcing several times that day that he really liked being "the brownie man." I think the face he's wearing here makes him look just like his daddy. Not that either of them wear this expression often ... there's just something about it that screams Phil to me.

There's something else that screams, "Phil!" around here. Andrew, when he's calling him from across the house. At all other times he's Daddy, but if Andrew is upstairs and daddy is downstairs, he'll stand at the top of the stairs and yell, "Phil! Come here!" I haven't the foggiest idea where that came from.

Other wacky Andrew-isms:

1. His favorite state is Nevada. He's never been, but we have a US map puzzle, he fell in love with the Nevada piece, and now it regularly comes up in conversation. Today I told him the capital of Nevada was Carson City, and he asked me what the lower case was. That question took me a minute.

2. His favorite time on the clock is 7:17. I have no explanation for this one.

3. This evening he asked me what holds his skin on. He asks a lot of great questions. I end up saying, "I have no idea" and "Jesus made it that way" a whole lot.

Andrew and I made quite a load of Christmas cookies last week (I guess I should have realized it would be a large batch when the recipe started with 3 sticks of butter).

I read that you could make cookie icing by simply mixing powdered sugar and milk. Seemed too easy, but it worked! We added a little food coloring and used paint brushes to decorate and Andrew loved it. It was way better than my old plan - having Andrew shake sprinkles on the cookies before they went into the oven. Oddly, few of the sprinkles actually stayed on the cookies with that method (I'm still finding them in various kitchen crevices).

Christmas shopping in a mall, an activity I once delighted in, has never sounded worse to me. Right now malls are for strolling when it's cold/rainy, train rides and Chick-Fil-A lunches, so I'm extremely grateful to the USPS, Fed Ex, and UPS for their role in my gift giving this year. We did do one mall run with Daddy to take in the lights and the crowds (and to avoid an exorbitant Macy's shipping fee). Andrew loved the decorations and begged to experience each elevator and escalator we passed while Elsbeth soaked up all the excitement from her little perch on my back - it was a great outing! Having Daddy around makes quite the difference.

I think the last thing I mentioned about my Nibblet and solid food was my hope that she was taking an interest in sweet potatoes. That was short-lived. The last couple times I tried to feed her anything (even applesauce!) resulted in her crying, spitting it out, and pushing the spoon away with considerable force, so my 8-month-old is still on a 100% milk diet. I'm not too worried about it. She's clearly keeping plenty of weight on, and frankly, it simplifies things. No messy bibs or trying to work clods of squash out of her nose or remembering to pack food when we leave the house. I'll just keep giving it a try every few weeks, and one of these days she's bound to take interest.
Oh - and speaking of surprising rejections, Els has also passionately rejected the pacifier that until now was a key part of her going to bed routine. She has instead opted for ...

... her sweet, wee thumb.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

I Am A Martyr To My Own Generosity

I've recently figured out a few things about myself - you might want to sit down and take some notes ... this gets pretty deep. Ready? I am a introverted pessimistic spaz, and there's nothing to be done about it. Doesn't that make you want to come hang out? These personality traits intensify exponentially every hour the later it gets after 9pm (Phil has devised a formula determining what shall henceforth be known as the Freak Factor). Here's a fun conversation we had at 2am Friday:

Christy: (rushing into the bedroom with cooing baby in arms) Phil, Elsbeth is really hot. What should I do?

Phil: (bleary-eyed, rolls over and lays hand upon his daughter) She feels fine.

C: She's burning up! I mean, feel her feet! Seriously, open your eyes and feel her feet! She's on fire! (baby grins at Daddy)

P: She doesn't feel all that hot to me. Maybe she has a little fever. You should just put her back to bed.

C: (wild-eyed, chewing her nails and trying to decide between tossing baby in the car and racing to the ER vs. calling an ambulance) I really think we should take her temperature.

P: (lets out a huge sigh, takes a look at the time and does a quick Freak Factor calculation, then knowing there's nothing else to be done, stumbles off to find the thermometer)

C: (takes temperature of baby now annoyed at being on changing table while rudely probed by thermometer ... temperature reads 105 ... Freak Factor shoots through the roof) HA! Look! (said in a voice laced with an even mixture of panic and gloat)

P: There is no way her temperature is 105. She would be glassy-eyed and limp as a dishrag if her temperature was 105.

C: (uses last shred of sanity to entertain the thought that husband might have a point) I'll take it again. (baby loves this idea ... thermometer reads 107 ... shows thermometer to husband, not sure whether to scream and run in hysterical circles or laugh and throw thermometer away)

P: She'd be dead.

C: Alright, I'll take it one more time. (baby totally TO'd, thermometer reads 102, feeling totally insecure about how to react) Maybe this is more likely?

P: Oh, so now you're going to start believing this thing?

C: Well, what do we do?

P: Give her some Motrin and go back to bed.

End of story: I gave her some Motrin, rocked her until she felt cooler, she slept all night and now appears to have a little cold that, other than occasionally causing her to sneeze unearthly amounts of bleck out of her little snoot, hasn't really bothered her all that much.

In other news ... it's almost Christmas, and we're having all kinds of Christmasy fun 'round here. Here's a picture of Family Movie Night where we ate pizza and watched Rudolph. Andrew loved it but has since announced that he's not a fan of the movie because of Abominable and the head elf that fusses at Herbie.

Elsbeth, Andrew and I also went out, picked out a tree, got it inside, and decorated it all by ourselves as a surprise for Daddy. I made the mistake of mentioning to Phil that the guy at Pike's that helped me was named Andrew and also happened to be really, really ridiculously good-looking, and now all day long I hear comments about Andrew the Tree Guy and how he probably would be really good at doing the dishes, and though supper was good, it probably would have been better if Andrew the Tree Guy had been here, etc.

And here's a picture taken during my Christmas card photo shoot ... I didn't use it since you can't see Elsbeth's face, but I love it still.

Last weekend me and my Nib had a girls' weekend in North Carolina. We stayed with my Aunt Amy, Uncle Mark and cousin Ashton and had the most amazing afternoon tea (Martha Stewart has nothing on my Auntie). Many members of my beloved family were in attendance ... 4 generations of Glendenning women represented ... it was so wonderful. So, of course, I forgot my camera. Ahhhhhh! What's wrong with me?! But Elsbeth did so well - flew well, slept well, and gave everyone big grins from the safety of my hip (she's gotten a bit attached to that spot). I was so thrilled that she traveled well and have hope that our Christmas visits in South Carolina will go so smoothly.