Maturation, or something like it

So, I like to think we've been doing some growing up lately. And not just Penelope, though she has hit some milestones. What's that? You're DYING to hear all about them? OK, well, if you're going to force me.

She has started enunciating her baby language. She forms actual syllables, and we can now officially claim to have heard her say "dada" and "mama," though she certainly didn't say them in any particular context. (Except for mama. Obviously she says that with more love than you could fathom.) She has figured out how to feed herself the little baby snacks. And she's only choked on one -- and I didn't completely pee my pants when it happened. She seems to process when we're frustrated or upset with her, and it makes me rethink my knee-jerk response to a lot of things.

She got her first balloon. Had we let her, I'm pretty sure she would have taken it to bed with her and lovingly stroked it all night à la Gollum and The Precious.

She also got her first glamour shot taken. It makes me want to die. In a great way.

It just seems like every day she gets exponentially older, more intelligent, more curious, more talented, more entertaining, and I just want to eat every moment up.

But, as I mentioned, this post isn't about her. It's mostly about me. Me trying to start some family traditions. Like family photos, even when I feel chubby chubby chubby. I know I will want to look back and see what our little family was like, and how genuinely happy we were even though we had little more than each other. Probably because we had little more than each other.

We're trying to make grown up decisions, like waiting to buy a house until it's the right time for us. Even though we want one so badly, and the market is right, and technically we probably could pull it off -- though it would cause so much stress financially -- yadda, yadda, yadda. We decided to follow the counsel that sometimes saying I love you is saying "we can't afford it."

I'm letting go. I've decided to stop blaming my frustration and shortcomings on others for things that happened aeons ago. I'm forgiving. I'm focusing inward. I don't like everything I see there, but it's getting better.

And you know what I'm learning in all of this growing up I'm trying to do? Sometimes growing up really sucks.

But I know I'm a better person for it. I know my marriage is stronger for it. And I know I'll be a better mother for it. And right now, that's better than anything. Even a house (she said reassuringly to herself). Yes, even a house.

Defiance: A genetic defect?

I still remember the day I first felt truly defiant. (Well, the first day I can remember, of course.) I must have been, oh, six, and I had watched entirely too many dramatic stories on television of young runaways. After my mother delivered what I perceived to be a vicious injustice, I stormed off to my room, packed a few necessary belongings into my baby blanket, searched the room for a toy broom to tie the package onto all hobo-style, and marched back to the front door. I looked up at the kitchen only to see my mom busily doing the dishes.

Who did she think she was? A mother of five? (Or maybe it was six by then, the timeframe really is blurry.) Giving it an Oscar-worthy, "goodbye-cruel-world" performance, I painfully sighed, "I'll see you in twenty years."

She turned off the sink and looked at me. Immediately I understood this to mean that she felt all the pain that would exist in her life without me. I felt her begging me to stay and remain the vital part of our family that I was. I felt her apologizing. Then she spoke.

"Did you say something?"

"Yes mom," I thought, "your apology is acceptable. Thank you for understanding your error. I would like to spend the night in my warm bed now."

But all I sighed was, "no."

I don't know why this story has been running through my head lately. Perhaps it's because Penelope had her first truly defiant moment the other night: refusing to swallow her food.

Like mother, like daughter.

Note: Please ignore the obviously bad parenting and filming in this video. Also, did you notice how Jesse is all worried she might be sick, and I immediately just wanted it on film? Man, he really is a better parent than I am.

The best part of waking up

In case you don't know yet, naps are heaven sent. Of course I enjoy my hours of alone time (aka the only time I have to clean up before the next wave of crazy starts), but what's even better is that the baby always wakes up a different -- generally happier -- beast than she was when I put her down.

If you are in our house, you will most likely find her like this after a nap. I guarantee that you cannot stay frustrated when you walk in to the little face.

And while I would love to tell you that Penelope always wakes up all smiles and sunshine, that really isn't true. Sometimes she wakes up like this. Congested, runny nose, exhausted, miserable.

That's what happened in our house this week. But we spent the whole day like two little slugs, watching Gilmore Girls (the ultimate sick day TV programming. Penelope would back me up on this one), manually removing snot from a baby's nose, and comforting said child from the agony of her first head cold.

Sometimes, however, you put your child down for a nap just to get a break from her cranky, teething attitude. And after deciding you are slightly less exasperated, you might peek in to see her peeking right back at you.

And then you immediately take a photo to document her beautiful, raw silliness.

No matter what, it truly is the beginning to a new day (or afternoon, or two hours until the next nap).

NOW FOR SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT

husband: What is that?

me: It's the Halloween costume I got for Penelope.

husband: Yeah, but what IS it?

me: It's a peacock.

husband: That's NOT a peacock.

me: Why not?

husband: When have you ever seen a peacock with a human face peeking out of its neck? It's terrifying!!!

Conclusion: Our difference of opinion wasn't resolved. However, we did agree on a new costume for the baby. Pictured peacock costume has been returned to the store. (But I still claim it is awesome.)

Before the opportunity slips through my fingers

Jesse has started school again. That means he is now MORE than half-way through his doctorate of pharmacy program. Let's each take a minute to reflect on that accomplishment.

I'm trying to stay positive about this back-to-school business because this means that I now hardly see Jesse. Even worse, I mean ALMOST as bad, I never get to see the computer. Since my computer is still patiently waiting to be exhumed from its box out in the garage, we have been sharing Jesse's laptop since our move to Boise. But with Jesse taking his computer to school all the time, "sharing" might be an overstatement of my relationship with the computer.

Except for tonight. Tonight Jesse is at work. And the baby decided to be a little beast and barely nap this afternoon, so she was down by 7:30.

So, it was either blog or watch "America's Got Talent." Come on, who wouldn't choose blogging?

Want a more interesting post? Pray that the bank accepts our counteroffer on a little home so I can unpack the femputer and keep my blogging skills fresh. You know you want to.

Half Birthdays *or* Carrying on the Tradition

Each February 17, I would get excited to remind everyone that it was my HALF BIRTHDAY! Well, Penelope was this close to being born on my half birthday. Luckily, she had the decency to come a early and save the day for me.

Well, today is Penelope's HALF BIRTHDAY. If you can believe it. I don't want to drone on and on about everything she does (because I know that I'm just about the only one that cares), but in six short months, she has become one of my best friends. And the best thing I've ever done.

We love you, Littles.

Collecting no moss (I hope)

Rollin', rollin', rollin'

That's all little Penelope is doing these days. First she learned how to roll from her belly, onto her left side, onto her back. Then she learned how to roll from her back, onto her right side, onto her belly again.

Folks, this is what we call a log roll. And this is what my daughter does all.day.long. Until she would get in situations like this.

We thought things were under control. She would get caught under a chair, against the wall, etc., and then she would scream. But then she started getting curious. And then her fingers were all over everything.

We soon realized that our current abode is NOT baby-proofed, and we fear we are eerily close to the little one sticking her fingers in something hazardous. (But we may just be every bit the part of paranoid, first-time parents my older siblings try to explain we are.) Instead of buying the $5 plastic things you stick in outlets that save your child from electrocution, this was just the needle on boo's back that convinced me: We need our own place.

It's not that we aren't over-the-moon-grateful for the current space. With my parents' generosity, the price for staying in their condo is more than right. But we hate the idea of getting too comfortable. Of overstaying our welcome. Of never breaking out the crib we bought for our baby about a year ago. Of having our new couch stay wrapped in plastic in the garage forever. Of spending half of my child's early years driving in the car between our home, my sister's home, and jesse's and my respective places of work.

So we hope to roll on. We've put in an offer to buy (yes, BUY) a home. But it's a short-sale, and the pace seems to be slower than the crawl Penelope is now working on. So we may end up renting after all. Until then, I am learning more every day that home is where my heart is. And even though all of my things are in a combination of storage units, garages, and boxes around the house; I'm happy to be making our memories here.

But a girl can dream...

Right?

jersey shore takes boise

why not? i've heard rumor that the new season is in miami.

(à la melissa, the video is but 6 seconds)