This took place while I was still sleeping, so Big Daddy related this story when I woke...
So, this morning about 6, I heard little feet get up, run to the bathroom (light on…1…2…3…light off), then out to the living room.
I dragged myself out of bed to try to head off trouble. I found Augusta curled up in a ball under a blanket, sniffing a little, and when I sat down next to her the sobbing started up for real.
"What is it? Did you have a bad dream?"
*sniff* "I didn't turn five."
*looks cross* "I didn't turn five in the middle of the night."
"Sure you did. Yes, you're my five-year-old girl now."
Finally, she got up off the couch and backed up to the wall where we tick off how tall she is. I thought, "ah," and got a pencil to make the mark.
"Stand up very straight. Look straight ahead. Heels against the wall."
*Dad makes mark, doesn't cheat*
"See? You're this much taller than you were before."
1/4 inch and all is well.
Happy Birthday, little girl!
Friday, May 04, 2007
Chuckles is well into his third year. 27 months to be exact. He is interested, maybe even fascinated by the toilet. He feeds himself. He opens the refrigerator door to do his own meal planning. He walks the Psychopoodle. He cuddles cats. Telling him to do "big boy" things is a great motivator. He wants to be a big boy. He, on occassion, wears a size 2 T pair of trousers.
But, still, we have the comfort of the pacifier lingering. He can drag a barstool to the drawer where Nini is stashed. He unearths them from the couch cushions. He rescues them from under his bed. He squeals with delight when he finds one awaiting him, fur-encrusted, in his car seat.
This is a job for Google. Research is always my friend; Dr. Green, Dr. Spock, Swedish Hospital in Seattle. All had their suggestions, insights. Not one really offered a step-by-step approach. One suggested a dip in pickle juice. Big Daddy was in favor of that. Didn't know Big Daddy was serious when he'd offer the Fouryearold a slug of pickle juice for breakfast. I've gotta keep an eye on Big Daddy.
Chuckles does have some cuteness going with his Nini, though. I tell him, when we're about to leave the house to go to the market that he'll have to put his Nini in his pocket. His pocket is the front of his shirt. He's become very adept at stuffing the bink down the neck of his shirt. The Nini issue may take care of itself because his shirt is rarely tucked into his trousers.
The only bit of information I can gather from the multitude of web sites (Today's Toddler? Is there also a Yesterday's Toddler?) is that when it's time for the bink to go, Chuckles will chuck it.