Carving Pumpkins

Last night was a momentous occasion in our household, as I initiated both Ava and Erik in the beloved tradition of pumpkin carving. No, my holiday-suppressed husband had never attempted this in his twenty-six years of life (and to be frank, he took very little part in this particular event), but at least he tried. Ava, on the other hand, exhibiting some of her mother’s strong traditional genes, immediately took to the festive task at hand. In fact, I recall her rubbing her hands together in anticipation as we carted the two largest pumpkins into the kitchen and arranged the tools of the trade. With a stiff warning about keeping some distance from the sharp carving knife, of course!

First, Ava and I drew some facial options on paper plates. This was her second-favorite part of the ritual, coming in behind the actual de-gutting of the pumpkins themselves. Armed with a spoon, a measuring cup, and a strong fist, she went right to work. Her verdict? Mommy, this is slimy, BUT FUN! Ah, how my heart swelled!

To cap off our new Smith Halloween tradition, we cleaned some of the pumpkin seeds and cooked them for a late evening snack. Then munched on them as we admired our handiwork all aglow on the front porch. And yes, we did manage to drag Erik out there as well, although he refused to try a pumpkin seed.

Baby steps, I tell you, baby steps.

McCain....Obama....Cinderella?

At a recent parade, Ava received a small American flag, which she has proudly been waving at home ever since then. With the upcoming election and all of Erik's discussions about politics, he thought perhaps she had picked up some of his American spirit.

Daddy: You really like that flag, Ava! Are you proud to be an American?

Ava: No. I'm proud to be a PRINCESS!

The Power of Pretend

Despite all the money we've spent on toys, I'm still insanely proud that her imagination is her most prized possession.

For Love of Bread

Lately the grocery store, in all its glory, has been on my mind. Not because I enjoy fighting crowds over my cereal, or because I feel a desperate urge to satisfy my intense craving for fresh fruit. Mainly I am interested in the grocery store because it seems to have become an open forum for my family’s adventures. Yes, I am talking about the grocery store, not some fun-filled escapade like Chuck E. Cheese or Miniature Golf. It seems any given foray into such a seemingly bland store ultimately leads to one of those moments where I think to myself, This should so go on the blog! Here are two such mini-adventures from the past few weeks’ worth of grocery visits.

Story #1: I think this unfolding concept of The Grocery Store started with a recent bathroom trip for me and Ava. (As you may recall, we have a particular luck when it comes to bathrooms—BAD. See A Toddler’s Honesty in the archives if you don’t believe me.) Anyway, we were on a routine bathroom trip, again in the handicapped stall. You don’t have to tell me that I have a bad habit—I AM PERFECTLY AWARE, thank you very much. As we were preparing to exit the stall, I went first and can only thank God that Ava hung back toward the toilet. I turned to speak to her, most likely to hurry her along from running her hands over the filthy tiled walls (one of her bad habits), when our world suddenly rumbled. By rumbled I mean the entire door to the handicapped stall wrenched itself from its hinges and toppled overtop of us. Okay, it mainly toppled on me, who in a rare moment of heroism blocked the impact from my tiny daughter. Yes, this did happen. Yes, I can say with some certainty that a handicapped stall door weighs approximately the same as a small African elephant.

In a rare moment of Lori Assertiveness, I hunted down the manager and told him EXACTLY what I thought about the condition of the store’s restrooms. Ava added that it was A BIG DOOR. Unfortunately, I did not receive any free products or store coupons as a result of this incident. However, Ava did leave with a newfound fear of handicapped restroom stall doors.

Story #2: On to the next adventure. For some reason unknown to me, Erik and I have always considered shopping a family event. Even before Ava blessed our lives, we were an unstoppable shopping duo. Neither one of us seems able to properly buy groceries without the other one present. I cannot explain or defend this habit. It just is. Well, now having a two-year-old to keep entertained during our self-imposed family shopping trips, I have come up with a variety of methods to limit the screaming to a minimum. Unfortunately, Erik rarely follows these methods that Ava and I hold so dear. One such method is this: after I select an item, I hand it to Ava and allow her to toss it into the shopping cart. She LOVES this. If a certain item seems too dangerous for a toss, I simply sneak it into the cart. Problem solved.

What I failed to account for, however, was Erik’s deep love of sliced bread. I won’t even get into the fact that he refuses to eat whole grain wheat and instead stubbornly purchases white bread. I’ve learned to live with that. What bothered me on this particular shopping trip was that he had taken ten minutes to select the perfect loaf of bread. He had inspected it for minute holes that might decrease its freshness. He had checked it to be sure each slice was properly formed. He had smelled it longingly through its wrapper to assure proper flavor and taste. Then gingerly he placed said loaf into the cart.

Seconds later, a package of spaghetti noodles and a box of Easy Mac came tumbling into the cart to join this immaculate loaf of bread. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN ERIK’S FACE! His horror was palpable as he realized the routine Ava and I had been practicing for the past seven aisles. Apparently his devotion to bread had distracted him from this routine, as if we hadn’t been doing this since before Ava can remember! After a ten minute discussion/argument about our current practices, I informed him that either he sacrifice the bread to whatever items Ava might throw its way, or he would have to carry the bread in his arms.

For the next fifteen minutes, Erik not only cradled the bread in his arms, but he continually smoothed out the plastic as we walked. And I swear I heard him whispering sweet-nothings to it shortly before checkout.

Just another grocery trip for the Smith family.

Why I Love My Daughter

Reason #38: She loves to take walks, a hobby she enforces daily and independently.

Reason #54: When Daddy bought her a basketbal goal and tried VERY HARD to initiate the process of turning her into a future baller, she very eloquently shot him the "ol' middle finger" by hanging all her dolls from the net, which I FIND TOTALLY AWESOME!

Reason #103: She isn't the least bit disturbed when Papaw brings by his latest deer kill, even when she notices a bit of blood on its mouth. In fact, she finds the entire process fascinating.

Reason #124: She is one hell of a poker player. (There you go, Erik, you're one for two!)

Reason #152: Instead of putting stickers on the floor, the wall, or other inappropriate places, she rather artistically arranges them on her own leg. BRILLIANT!

Go Cowboys!

Last weekend, we attended the first football game in Ava's memory. (As an infant she watched the Southridge Raiders play a few times, but of course cannot remember these incidents.) So anyway, we went to watch two of Southridge's 6th grade intermural teams battle it out, mainly because Uncle Chris was coaching one of the teams. It was rather exciting for Ava to see her uncle out on the football field guiding these young players. Her enthuasiasm grew, and at one point she shouted out wildly, GO COWBOYS! No, neither of the teams was called by this moniker. However, she clearly knows that Uncle Chris loves the Dallas Cowboys. Yes, he's trained her well. Too well.

All in all, it was a good time.

Herbstfest

From sitting....

....to Bouncing!

A Celebratory Sucker

Picking out her Elephant Pumpkin

This past weekend, our family attended the much-anticipated Huntingburg Herbstfest. For those of you unfortunate enough to never have known the joy of this fall fest, I must say, IT IS AWESOME! Yes, it is small. Yes, we spent a small fortune on food, games, and rides. I don’t care. I will defend the Herbstfest with my last breath, even to my own husband, if need be. (If you’re reading this, Erik, you know you loved it! YOU DID!) My deeply rooted love of this fest goes back many, many years, and I could bore you with all the reasons I love it. But that is another story for another post.

Let’s talk about Ava! For her, the highlight of the fest was the children’s bouncy things. I’m sure there is a technical name for these air-filled, inflatable contraptions (moon walks?) that children jump around in—I just don’t know it. So I will be referring to them as bouncy things throughout this post. Now, there are two things you must know about my daughter to appreciate this story. (1) She may look just like her father, and be opinionated just like her father, and make people laugh just like her father, but—believe it or not—there is a part of her that IS LIKE HER MOTHER. (2) She will do things in her own time. Period. Just like me.

So she decides she wants to try out these bouncy things. Erik, myself, and my parents all make the trek over to witness her greatness at bouncing. There are a few children inside, but plenty of room for Ava. She pays her dollar (and how sweet is it to see a 2 year old pay her own way?), removes her shoes, and cautiously climbs inside. We are all waiting anxiously to see what she will do, as this is her first foray into bouncing. She stops, observes her surroundings, and proceeds to sit down. Um. Yeah. Okay.

So now she’s sitting in the bouncy thing. Watching the other children with a doubtful expression on her face. Erik begins shouting at her to GET UP AND JUMP ALREADY! That doubtful expression of hers becomes something remarkably close to a glare. My parents inch closer and gently urge her to do the same. She turns her back on them. I am merely swiveling my head, trying to discern whether or not anyone else is witnessing the unusual behavior of my child. It is at this moment that it suddenly dawns on me—I realize she is acting like me! This is something I would have done as a child! Of course!

It is a great moment for me, because I actually understand what my daughter is going through. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt this myself before. She is in a different environment. She is cautious. She doesn’t want to be watched while she tries something new. I totally get this! Immediately I explain this to my family, ushering everyone away to a safe distance, and give her some much-needed space. A few minutes pass. She starts swaying back and forth on her knees. She starts smiling at the other children. Finally—as we watch with bated breaths—she rises up on her feet.

AVA IS BOUNCING! I cannot explain the rush of maternal pride that I felt at this moment, but it was WONDERFUL! I felt a connection with my daughter that was completely exhilarating. I felt bouncy inside as I watched her become part of the fun-filled group inside that bouncy thing. She made friends! She laughed! She bounced.