Ava, Hudson, & Chloe Do you think they'll have slumber parties, make complex home movies, and create entertaining lip synch performances as they share their childhood? One can only hope!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Lego Letters
After playing with her Mega-Legos for several minutes on the living room rug, Ava called me and Erik over to survey her results. Usually these lego blocks have been artfully arranged into a castle or tower of some sort. This time, however, I saw no building structure. Just a random jumble of blocks. Erik was equally confused. Ava just shook her head and sighed. Come over here, guys, you've got to look this way!
Yes, this is what we saw. A-V-A. What a fun way to practice spelling!
Tea, Anyone?
One night last week, everything seemed to be going wrong. You know the kind of evening I’m talking about, right? Mommy’s head ached. Daddy was grumpy. Hyperactivity swarmed around Ava. Poor little Hudson was feeling clingy. Oh, yeah, and supper had to be cooked.
Somehow—despite the shrieking, crying, and grumbling (and that was just me, ha ha)—I managed to get supper on the table and everyone in place for our usual family dinner. Still, the uncharacteristic negativity continued to plague us. Hudson was displeased with his carrot meal, choosing to play with it rather than eat it. Ava had a negative comment about every variety of food on her plate. Even my husband seemed unusually snarky; I was quite certain he’d rather be eating in front of the TV instead of trading barbs with the rest of us.
And me? Generally I fight such negativism with sunny smiles and warm platitudes dished out between bites. However, this was a challenge; it required every iota of optimism I possessed. In fact, I was just mentally congratulating myself for not losing my cool when Ava made some rude comment about the same time Hudson started wailing and banging his spoon against the high chair tray. I, however, barely noticed any of this because my eyes were glued to the steam suddenly shooting from Erik’s ears. Uh-oh.
Hudson: (*^&*^%&*%&^
Ava: SHUT UP, HUDSON!
Hudson: *($%&^%^*&^*%
Mommy: All right, everyone, calm down….
Erik:
Nothing. Only steam. Until suddenly he hoisted his glass of tea above his head, widened his eyes to the size of our dinner plates, and proceeded to slam said glass onto the table with all the force of a gladiator. The noise alone was enough to rivet myself and my children into total silence. He had our utter attention. We stared open-mouthed.
It was about this time we realized the tea was gone—completely gone—from his glass. In his desperate moment of frustration, he had failed to realize the result of slamming one’s full tea glass onto the table. Where had the tea gone??
As Ava, Hudson, and I finally regained control of our senses, we realized the answer to that question: It had rained down on Erik’s head, trailed along his face, pooled in his lap, soaked his socks, and puddled on the floor. It was everywhere!
Silence. Erik surveyed the mess. The rest of us waited for the other shoe to fall. Boy, did it!
Ava: Well, Daddy, I guess that’s the last tea you get tonight!
I looked at Ava. Hudson looked at me. Erik stared silently at all of us. And then?
LAUGHTER! What else? Who knew spilled tea could totally transform a kitchen table? For the rest of that meal, we had smiles on our faces. Thanks, ESmith, for that. And for mopping up spilled tea while chuckling.
Somehow—despite the shrieking, crying, and grumbling (and that was just me, ha ha)—I managed to get supper on the table and everyone in place for our usual family dinner. Still, the uncharacteristic negativity continued to plague us. Hudson was displeased with his carrot meal, choosing to play with it rather than eat it. Ava had a negative comment about every variety of food on her plate. Even my husband seemed unusually snarky; I was quite certain he’d rather be eating in front of the TV instead of trading barbs with the rest of us.
And me? Generally I fight such negativism with sunny smiles and warm platitudes dished out between bites. However, this was a challenge; it required every iota of optimism I possessed. In fact, I was just mentally congratulating myself for not losing my cool when Ava made some rude comment about the same time Hudson started wailing and banging his spoon against the high chair tray. I, however, barely noticed any of this because my eyes were glued to the steam suddenly shooting from Erik’s ears. Uh-oh.
Hudson: (*^&*^%&*%&^
Ava: SHUT UP, HUDSON!
Hudson: *($%&^%^*&^*%
Mommy: All right, everyone, calm down….
Erik:
Nothing. Only steam. Until suddenly he hoisted his glass of tea above his head, widened his eyes to the size of our dinner plates, and proceeded to slam said glass onto the table with all the force of a gladiator. The noise alone was enough to rivet myself and my children into total silence. He had our utter attention. We stared open-mouthed.
It was about this time we realized the tea was gone—completely gone—from his glass. In his desperate moment of frustration, he had failed to realize the result of slamming one’s full tea glass onto the table. Where had the tea gone??
As Ava, Hudson, and I finally regained control of our senses, we realized the answer to that question: It had rained down on Erik’s head, trailed along his face, pooled in his lap, soaked his socks, and puddled on the floor. It was everywhere!
Silence. Erik surveyed the mess. The rest of us waited for the other shoe to fall. Boy, did it!
Ava: Well, Daddy, I guess that’s the last tea you get tonight!
I looked at Ava. Hudson looked at me. Erik stared silently at all of us. And then?
LAUGHTER! What else? Who knew spilled tea could totally transform a kitchen table? For the rest of that meal, we had smiles on our faces. Thanks, ESmith, for that. And for mopping up spilled tea while chuckling.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Typical Evening at Home
Yes, they're playing Barbies. Together. Peacefully. Ain't it grand? Despite the fact that one day all too soon this moment will embarrass both of them tremendously, I can't help but treasure it as one of those moments I will never forget.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Case of the Missing Ty-Ty
Author’s Note: What—you may wonder—is a ty-ty?? For whatever reason, this is the moniker with which a very young Miss Ava chose to christen her pacifier. No, we have no idea where she got this nickname, but it has stuck with our family. Now Hudson’s pacifier is also affectionately called a ty-ty. Just go with it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, so the other day Hudson was in his swing (which he’s about to outgrow) with his ty-ty in his mouth. I was reading books on the couch with Ava and keeping a hawk-eye on him. Then it was lunchtime, so I removed my beautiful baby from his swing, without thinking about the ty-ty. I proceeded to feed him, clean him up, and play with him on the floor for awhile. Suddenly, for some reason, I remembered the pacifier and went back to the swing to get it. No ty-ty. I checked the high chair, in case he had dropped it before his lunch. No ty-ty. I scoured the floor for it. I enlisted Ava to help search. I repeatedly questioned my seven-month-old; he only squirmed in response. No ty-ty.
Yes, we have other pacifiers, but I was determined to locate THIS one. It was a mystery. Ava and I were perplexed. Hudson seemed to really care as well, despite his sudden need to wiggle and squirm.
It was then I noticed an unusual bulge in his pants. What?!? Upon closer inspection, I realized the missing ty-ty had apparently fallen from his mouth, slid down his shirt, and deposited itself between his diaper and pants. No wonder he was such a squirmy little thing!
Ava and I must have laughed for hours after that. And you know nothing gets Hudson laughing like hearing his sister’s giggles. At least this is one case we can file under SOLVED.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, so the other day Hudson was in his swing (which he’s about to outgrow) with his ty-ty in his mouth. I was reading books on the couch with Ava and keeping a hawk-eye on him. Then it was lunchtime, so I removed my beautiful baby from his swing, without thinking about the ty-ty. I proceeded to feed him, clean him up, and play with him on the floor for awhile. Suddenly, for some reason, I remembered the pacifier and went back to the swing to get it. No ty-ty. I checked the high chair, in case he had dropped it before his lunch. No ty-ty. I scoured the floor for it. I enlisted Ava to help search. I repeatedly questioned my seven-month-old; he only squirmed in response. No ty-ty.
Yes, we have other pacifiers, but I was determined to locate THIS one. It was a mystery. Ava and I were perplexed. Hudson seemed to really care as well, despite his sudden need to wiggle and squirm.
It was then I noticed an unusual bulge in his pants. What?!? Upon closer inspection, I realized the missing ty-ty had apparently fallen from his mouth, slid down his shirt, and deposited itself between his diaper and pants. No wonder he was such a squirmy little thing!
Ava and I must have laughed for hours after that. And you know nothing gets Hudson laughing like hearing his sister’s giggles. At least this is one case we can file under SOLVED.
More or Less
Now that Hudson has been eating steady meals (well, of baby food, anyway), I have been trying to teach him to communicate efficiently. Whereas Ava’s infant stance on food was simple—give me more, more, more—I can’t always intuit my little man’s current opinion on food. He’s a tougher nut to crack.So I’ve introduced signing to Hudson, in hopes that it may help open the lines of communication. We started simple with the sign for MORE—a finger pointed into the palm of the other opened hand. Most of the time, when I signed with him, he either shrieked at me or spit food in my face. Good-naturedly, of course!
But last week, I was feeding him squash while talking to Erik. Most of the time Hudson just opens his mouth when he wants another bite, but apparently I was ignoring this simple command. So when that failed to procure him another bite, he first slammed his fist onto the high chair tray. I glanced at him, but continued my conversation.
Until I realized his wee pointer finger was jabbing desperately into his tiny palm. MORE! He was signing for MORE! Of course, I squealed and laughed and kissed his squashy little face. Which translated to him the vast importance of this new sign. Now he signs it all the time!
When he wants MORE food. When I’m tickling him and he wants MORE playtime. When Erik stops giving him a bottle in order to burp him. MORE!
Last weekend, my parents watched the kids while Erik and I had a date to watch the new Sherlock Holmes movie (LOVED IT, by the way!). As soon as we returned to pick them up, Hudson locked eyes with me, grinned hugely, and signed MORE from across the room. Just because he knows it tickles me when he does it.
He may not have fully figured out crawling, speaking, or walking yet, but is my baby a signing genius? MORE or less!
Ava-isms in the New Year
New year, new Ava-isms from the house of Smith. Here are just a few that have danced their way from the mouth of my first-born.When she caught me resting on the couch instead of playing with her: Do you know how sad it makes me to see you like that?
When Mommy and Daddy tried to convince her to try the cheese dip at Los Dos Charros: Guys, I am not a fan of yucky cheese!
When Erik was once again pestering her about something: If you don’t start being nice and stop being so mean I am going to send you to Mimi and Papaw’s house and you will have to live with them for awhile.
Happy New Year!
Welcome, 2010!
Okay, so I’m admittedly late with my new year well wishes (what else is new?), but with the holidays and the first big snowfall, I’ve barely had Internet access. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the blog—oh, no! My brain is filled with ideas for posts, just as soon as I get the chance to update!
Looking back over the past year, I once again feel utterly blessed. I can’t help it! Despite my frustrating health struggles in 2009, I birthed a healthy, happy bundle of joy. Love you, Hudson! My family transitioned from three to four members. I watched my beautiful daughter mature into a preschooler. Love you, Ava! And during it all I laughed, cried, shouted, whispered, and shared with my husband. Love you, Erik!
With this blog entering its third calendar year, I hope to continue to share our moments—both big and small—with family and friends. Warm wishes to everyone in the New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)