Dangerous Minds

It is official, I am outnumbered in my house. Concern came with the rather large head that incubated in my tummy. Only a head like that could house a brain that thinks exactly like her Daddy. Exactly folks.

 Example A: Skip stashes duck and goose calls in every corner of the house. Why? So he can practice and simultaneously quiz me on nature's pitch at the most inopportune moments, bed time, nap time, six in the morning. I shouldn't have to explain how I feel about this. Pippa hears the call of the wild though. And she answers. As Skip practiced seducing a duck in the basement I was attempting to cuddle a groggy little girl (refer above as to why she was groggy). Upon hearing the Quaack Pippa yelled, "Dadda! Comig Dadda! Comig Dadda!"

She scrambled off my lap, ran to the stairs and smacked into a locked gate producing massive tears because she couldn't get to daddy fast enough.

Example B: She has never met a word or letter she wasn't fascinated with. Hours of books, magazines and Abcs. For weeks Skippa have been watching India Arie sing Elmo the alphabet. I didn't know. But I did buy Pippa magnetic letters to entertain her. While trying to sing and play I was met with resistance and a high-pitched Abcs Abcs. She kept saying no no no to my singing and then mimicked Elmo from the video clip.

Example C: Pippa and Skip giggling at what the other does all the time. Most recently Pippa decided that Skip saying 'dangerous' is hysterical. Thirty minutes of "dangerous" "bwahahahahahaga"... "dangerous" "bwahahahahahaga."

Example D: This video. It is not nearly as funny when she tackles mom.

Fall Leaves Memories

"This chair is too big," said Pippa Sandilocks.

Ohh...you wanted to hear about the Pippa Sandilocks and the Great Pumpkin, Princess? Here goes.

Pippa Sandilocks grew tired of posing as the Great Pumpkin for Knowlesville so she decided to find a substitute.

As she walked along in search of her replacement she stumbled upon a pumpkin patch.

There hidden was a small round pale pumpkin that felt suspiciously familiar, like looking in a mirror. 

Perfect! 

But when she held it to her head it was too small. 

So she looked some more.

Then she found a colossus of a pumpkin. But it was too heavy!

Her next find had a stem that proved way too long.

Poor Pippa held her head in pure self pity. She would never find the perfect pumpkin.

Then suddenly she looked to the left and there it was.

She heaved and she hoed and she nearly face planted trying to lift that plant.

So she summoned her maidservant to lift the plump sphere and carry it home.

And that dear Princess Pumpkin is how you were bestowed your crown here in Knowlesville.

Crafty Warlock

October has passed in a blur of leaf grinding, paper writing, and costume sewing. In the final hours I decided to rope Skip into a craft project...disguised as date night.

Did I say night? Because it spanned a few days for me and occupied a couple evenings for my accomplice. At some point the instructions were unclear and Skip painted a jack-o-latern upside down. No biggie except for the whole burning candle needs oxygen thing. So he flipped it 180 degrees and redeemed himself. I on the other hand drew all my eyes crossed or indented. Some people have artistic vision and mine resembles Van Gogh. Stay tuned for the Fall Photo Essay! We love Halloween.

Ants in my Pants

A few days ago I had a twitch. A twitch at the nagging thought that it had been a long while since the early spring-summer ant invasion. A twitch of the eery premonition sort as I found out last night. Ants have returned indoors. They never disappeared from the great outdoors known has my yard. I tried, with chemical warfare in fact. It won a few battles, but ants have unlimited soldiers.

Last night as I began to climb into bed I saw one pesky little creature on my ceiling. So I looked at the known entrance and found a dozen or so sniffing around. I was going to bait them, but the entrance in in a crack in the windowsill right above my pillow. When these unwanted visitors come I always find one or two creepy across the vast yellow cushion, enticed by my sweet smelling lotion. Seriously, one woke me up in the middle of the night as it crawled across my eyelid (shivers).

So I sprayed my room, then inhaled the poison as I laughed maniacally. Today I made the rounds outside the house, but I can't find their line. I think they've gone underground. Not to hibernate though, no they are planning their revenge. How do I know? They sent me a message in the form of a single scout.

Tonight while reading the ever enticing B. F. Skinner (required) I felt oddly not alone. A phantom brush here and there on my leg. First my ankle, then my calf, then my thigh...and I had a flashback to 2001. For eighteen years I'd battled the weird prairie land called Lamar and never had a strange encounter. But there at work, alone with the dusty floor I felt a presence. A presence creeping up my pants leg. I shook and shook and patted down that denim flare, yet there remained a foreign object. When it hit the narrowing of my pants at upper-thigh there was no denying something was crawling up the inside of my pants. So I ran to the back corner, dropped trouser and stepped away as a four inch stick scurried over the denim mound. How thankful are we all that no one choose the next five minutes to rent a video?

Flash forward to the safety of my living room and I just did the same thing. Although I saw nothing on my leg nor my bright white pant. Ghosts I assured myself. And yes, I take ghosts over creepy crawly insects. And so it was that I had a ghost BFF for the next 20 minutes, happy as could be, when BAM! The little sucker of an ant rushed toward my hand. It may have fooled me, but I'm quite large in ant dimensions, fast too. Plus I was armed with some unwanted study aide candy wrappers, all the better to smash an ant with. Game on.

Good Girl Caught Pink Handed

The little girl you see below has insisted on using a spoon to eat her "g-gur" for months. Like four of the five months she's been eating "g-gur". Sure it was disastrous at first. Yogurt dropped on the carpet, flung on the walls, smeared on her person and clothing. We ate it before bath time and and washed lots of bibs. No big deal.  She slowly mastered the art of loading the spoon and lifting it to her mouth. About two weeks ago I applauded myself for patiently teaching her, because I had one smart little girl who made nearly no mess. 

Then came September and with it an abandon for cleanliness. She started holding the spoon in her left hand (pretty sure she's a righty) and dipping her right hand into the yogurt so she could shove a large berry tasting fist into her mouth. Why leave it at that when more fun is to be had dumping the yogurt on her tray and painting with it before licking it off (fingers, spoon, tray, whatever)? When life's that good you need multiple yogurts a day!

So this morning I applied my degree and put a behavior plan into action. We started using the spoon together for a couple bites, then she did it on her own and all the while I'm saying, "Good girl. Using your spoon! Good girl!" That good girl did so well I forgot that she's one, with a short attention span and no idea what messy means. A few seconds after I checked my school email I realized my mistake of relaxing on the job. 

"Pippa!" I gasped, ready to scold her for using what must come naturally. 

She looked up surprised and a little alarmed. She does hate to be reproached in a firm or harsh tone. It causes many a tear. Holding out her pink covered hand she said, "I a goo(d) girl".

ArcHERy

Skip's latest impulse buy might not be a financial investment (he tells me guns appreciate), but he's certain this will create a hunting buddy. While he hasn't fully given up on me, it's clear that my lack of enthusiasm pales in comparison to Pippa.

 

Want to watch a movie? Of the red stag roar, please. We chase butterflies, call doves, stalk deer on our trails, talk to dogs, trumpet like elephants, and chortle with the horses. Her first word as I lift her from her crib is "outside" followed by a reluctant and prompted "please."

She naturally loves nature. Duck calls make her giggle...as long as she's holding them. If someone takes away her duck call she goes full on combat mode to get it back. And now Dad has armed her with her own bow and arrow set. I think there's a knife as well, but I might confiscate that.

In a strange way Skip is preparing for my care when he is gone. Pippa will be the huntress, stocking the freezer with organic, exotic meats.

New York Living Part 2: The Nannies

As a TV Star I needed an entourage. Or at least a nanny. My mom generously offered to watch her favorite Pippa and flew to New York City. Not wanting to be left behind Pa accompanied Grandma as the appointed bodyguard. With Skip as my coach I successfully completed my entourage.

Grandma and Pa felt the pulse of the city that first night. Grandma poached some balloons from a leftover party and while the baby slept with her parents, the grandparents hit the streets. They wandered here, there, and everywhere unaware of the late hour. I'm just happy they returned before the sun came up...which was when Skip and I had to be alert.

Pippa, Pa and Grandma hit Central Park and a big nap while we filmed. I'm sure Pippa practiced her animal noises, and I actually think she added to her collection. Up state the nannies took Pippa to see the Vanderbilt mansion. Pa seemed to enjoy it. Grandma had a slightly bitter taste because a kid-hating employee kept wagging a finger at Pippa and discouraging anyone from reproducing. While I agree a one-year-old can do damage to a house that would put tornadoes out of a job, Pippa generally doesn't break much. More of an abstract approach to interior design. By this point my TV career ended and I was able to join the tourists.

We doubled back to the City with at least one spot we all wanted to hit. First up the public library. The most amazing children's book exhibit in history, The ABC's Of It, was occurring at the exact time I, an enthusiast, landed on Manhatten. Fate. I tried to impress the importance of such an event to my offspring. She preferred to run away from me at any chance and attempt to climb the wiggly, furry, ten-foot, walk-through cutout of the Wild Things monster. I managed to snap a photo of Grandma helping her pose in the Great Green Room and one in the Secret Garden. There was also a car (maybe from The Places You'll Go?) which she adored, as long as mom sat in the driver's seat. We follow rules.

Pa wanted to see the Empire State Building and found out he could add a water tour to the Statue of Liberty. Done. I breeze over this part because it involved lots of waiting in line...with a flippy-floppy Bean. Pip and I were excluded from some of the Empire adventures because of that whole shaken baby stigma, but Pa and Grandma got to see a stimulated tour. Once we got to the top a microburst...burst. I stayed inside with our valuables and sent the nannies into the rain with the baby. I think she liked it!

Pippa may also end up in Asian text books. The Asian tourists loved her. Really loved her. Cooed, and played with her while we all sweated in line together. Then they'd hold up their cameras and ask, "Take picture please?" Who was I to refuse? My baby's an international sensation! Okay it was just a couple of sweet girls that asked. One of whom fanned Pippa (and thereby me) with a hand fan to help keep us cool. A fair trade for a photo.

I was also excited to eat at Serendipity 3 and sip on a frozen hot chocolate. So I dragged everyone up tens of blocks. And then I saw the closet of a shop, and a sign forbidding strollers. Look at the pictures folks. We were rockin' the orange City Mini all the time. Add in a two hour wait and I was dismayed. Grandma thought I could make a reservation for Skip and I which would have been fantastic had two things not occurred. One, I had no idea when Skip would join us and sipping frozen hot chocolate at midnight sounded tiring. Two, I read a negative review that gave voice to the kid unfriendly atmosphere and ridiculed the drink as being a lame milkshake. Dreams shattered with the reading of that review.


Luckily Skip made it to the hotel earlier than hoped and we were able to take couples shifts eating at The View. What is that you ask? It's the revolving rooftop restaurant at our hotel. Overlooking Times Square. And I may have eaten mostly dessert from the dessert bar.

The next morning was our last in New York. We decided to venture to a new corner of Central Park before driving to the airport. The airport where flights were cancelled and delayed, but not where the plane crashed. That would have been the other NYC airport. We were sad to leave Grandma and Pa, so we didn't. We delayed our flight again and again and eventually Grandma and Pa boarded their flight. We all had late night drives that solidified the bitterness of work vacation's end.

I never learned what Grandma's NYC "to do" was, she happily tried to accommodate Pa and I. It leads me to believe she just wanted to see her grandbaby. Grandma you are welcome to move in!

New York Living Part 1: Filming

It's been a couple weeks since our New York debut and yet I'm still not sure how to explain the rush of that experience. How often do you stand on Madison Ave with a film crew pointing their cameras at you? One day in 30 years people.

Skip, Pippa and I flew to New York to join my mom and dad at the airport. Then began the city hazing ritual of overcrowded roads, long lines, too much waiting for anyone, and a record heat wave. The humidity of the east coast makes me sweat retrospectively, so you can imagine how awful it was in real time. Also, had it been possible to take hourly showers I would have. It was not.

The first day we spent filming in the Beretta Gallery, this amazing boutique store filled with incredible home decor, safari inspired clothing, hunting gear, and a gun gallery. If you can find the time to carefully look past the jaw-dropping animal heads mounted on the walls, you also see photos of Beretta people on adventure and in the details you notice the inspiration for the engraved silver napkin rings, carved and horned walking canes, and wild scarf prints. These items tempted me to outfit myself and sneak through the Central Park Zoo on a "hunt." However, television comes first in that line of work, so instead I threaded a mic down my shirt and worked on my smile.

Skip has been waiting years for me to understand that TV is not glamourous. It's hard work. And if he thinks it's hard to try on hundreds of dollars worth of luxury clothing, then I will step in and take over his job. It's the spousely thing to do. (In full disclosure, the days are long and tiring). After a full day of taping we drove to Dover Furnace, a Beretta Trident Lodge north of the city.

There I met Haley Dunn, Olympian and shooting instructor extraordinaire. I love her and would love for her to live on my shoulder like Jiminey Cricket, telling me when to pull the trigger. Not kidding, she says "see the ridges" and boom! pieces of clay appear in your peripheral vision. And then my television career ended. Skip had to stay upstate to film another episode, but Pa, Grandma, Pippa and I headed towards the city for some sight-seeing.

Wait... I forgot to mention that Pa also shot with Haley. The morning before we left Pa had a chance to shoot on the course and Haley was kind enough to offer to give him some pointers. Pa couldn't miss! I think he found a retirement hobby!

Putt Putt Putt

For those of you who have never spent a morning with Skip Knowles it goes something like this:

"Okay I want to hike the dam, ride 10 miles on the river trail, shoot skeet, mountain bike Farmdale, take Pippa swimming, hit the driving range, wash and wax the cars..." and on and on and on. And this is all going to be done. 

I politely informed him that we could not, would not, and should not do all 53 things on his list, but we could do two maybe three. So we started with the family bike ride on the river trail. Nice. But more importantly is the trip home. The trip where we discovered a water park a mere three miles from our house. A water park with slides, lazy rivers, water gun treehouse, and cascading waterfalls. Right by our house. How no one mentioned this to us in the three years we've lived here I'll never know. 

We did what any sane adult would do, ran home, slathered on sunblock, grabbed some towels then sat on the couch (I sat. Skip bounced off the walls) while Pippa took a nap. 

Excitement would be appropriate for what I felt about our water park adventure. I'm not sure a word exists that describes Skip's mounting euphoria as I navigated the twists and turns to the park. Were I a cell in his brain I'm sure I would have seen vivid flashes of water spraying with each turn, as he mentally relived all past water slides on the car ride to Splashdown. 

If excitement captivated the car ride there, horror swiftly kicked it out when we saw the lengthy line of people waiting at the entrance. A line of people we joined for about 15 minutes before we realized it wasn't moving. At all. And then all that excitement crashed through the dam of arrested development. We skulked away. Told Pippa something better would come and took her to our local outdoor pool. Where a fitting cloud of despair had descended along with a drop in the temperature. 

Two hours and a nap later. Skip determined to reclaim his day with a trip to the driving range. Mostly due to fear of missing out, we went with him. Me, mini-me, and miniature golf. 

Once we got the bucket of balls, Pippa transformed into mini-Skippa with a water park like zeal. Were I a cell in her brain I think I'd be woozy from the cascading white golf balls that hit the greens with a never-ending bounce. She lost her mind, stole my blue-plated putter and started hacking at any ball in sight. Dad grabbed her as she charged after the thousands of white dots on the driving range. Like a bull she pawed into the air, surprised and mad not to make contact. But when I took her the mini-golf course it was heaven. 

She ran the fairways like a super-model on the catwalk. Proud, sure, and certain she belonged. I never held my putter again without two little grubby hands guiding my swing. Sometimes I think we shouldn't name our children until after a year of life. If that were so she would be Fairway, or Emerald Isla, or Tigera, or Jaclyn Nickle-Knowles. As for me? I would still be blessed.

Hide and Peek

Pippa's idea of "nap time"

Cream Puffs

Pa loves the Hall version of cream puffs. Being the naturally sweet (loving) family we are, cream puffs to us include a divine joining of cream puffs and eclairs. Chocolate frosted puff pastry filled with vanilla pudding and whipped cream. Yum!

As a child we made them exactly twice a year, February 1st and Father's Day. At that time I was but the youngest in a skilled team. Grandma baked the pastry and supervised. Heather and Amber divided the pudding and cream. Heather usually did the pudding because her seniority of 17 minutes clearly proved she was most trusted not to burn herself, or the pudding. So she started the pudding and we all took turns stirring. We were true bakers and made everything from scratch. Amber was allowed to whip the cream (amazing because there was a incident involving her fingers and the beaters). I made the frosting. Then we formed a line and assembled our desserts.

Then I moved to college and rarely made it to Lamar on the designated cream puff days. Then I developed food issues and could no longer eat. Fine I can eat, but so many of the treats and Sunday dinner dishes Grandma taught us to make are gone. Some can be "modified" as long as you enjoy eating things that taste like cardboard. I prefer to keep my memories untainted. While browsing gluten free whatevers on Pinterest I found a cream puff recipe. After a year of debating and a quick call to Grandma for tips I jumped into this large project.

Now that I'm the only member of the team I took some short cuts and it was noticeable. Instant pudding. Over whipped cream. Under sugared frosting. It was a calculated risk and when it all swished together in my mouth it didn't matter. I had made a gluten free representation of my childhood (in just over 2 hours).

Grandma taught me other things than just food prep. She would recite rhymes and prose of lessons. We couldn't start cooking until we had "Clean hands and a pure heart" and when I was being naughty she'd  begin "There was a little girl, who had a little curl..." I can't be sure that "haste makes waste" was one she repeated, but in my haste I did make waste.

Once my fork received the final lick I thought about the five remaining pastries sitting on the counter. Perhaps one more cream puff would be my reward for jogging around the block this morning. In the kitchen I discovered that a lone frosted top with no bottom to fill. One of two things had happened. My ant problem had moved to the kitchen and those ants had a sweet tooth. Or I had reached for the frosted top and mistakenly grabbed a whole unfilled pastry, placed it as the lid and consumed it greedily.

So Not a Picnic

This rush to summer has created an ant problem. They arrived in Pippa's room and after many battles of Raid, vinegar, and dead scarecrow ants they retreated. I foolishly believed that retreat was to the alley where they might find a pizza joint enticing.

As it were, my mukluks held far superior enticement. In the form of the perfect spot for a colony. This went unnoticed for weeks. While they built in the walls and out cracks and easements bridging any gaps to my slippers, a few soldiers pioneered into our bedroom. There they sought thrills climbing into the crevices of our computers. Every morning three to six ants would crawl across the computer screen. I imagine they received a few jolts that left a sweet scent of yumminess for others to trail. Otherwise I have no explanation for the continued trek into the electronics.

We wisened and laid bait. The ants countered and found new points of weakness in our perimeter. Soon they were crawling across my chest while I lie in bed. I freaked. The bedding was washed immediately and Skip had to pull the bed away from the wall. Then a set up surveillance. Periodic flashlight sweeps. Occasional trap checks. And plenty of bait.

The ants slowed to a stop and tonight I found Skip snuggled in bed right against the wall. I admit to a creepy vibe when you know your pillow could fall at any toss or turn, but while others sleep I have phantom ants marching down, down, down.

Enter the Stretchy Pant

I've a little shopping problem as of recently. In the form of baby girl outfits. Not just clothes, but straight up we are living on the baby runway outfits. And we wear them to play group, or in the back yard, or eat a strawberry, blueberry, or anything and these outfits get dirty. You think I'm cute when I say we. Not cutesy, reality. If I don't eat with Pippa, she won't eat, and then she'll whine because she's hungry. So I sit by her and let her feed me in hopes that she will allow me to feed her and thus cut down the mess. Hope is the operative word.

After all the lovely, colorful, matching outfits I buy Pippa, it truly depresses me to pull out my old standby black and navy blue t-shirts. See photo below for confirmation and note two things, the drab colors and my new love: stretchy pants! (Also known as leggings.)

Stretchy pants accommodate the ever changing body that is the mother's curse. After pregnancy nothing fits right. The beautiful wardrobe I perfected during my career days hang with awkward folds and bulges. Stretchy pants don't do this. The flex with your body. Gain 30 lbs during pregnancy...wear stretchy pants. Loose 30 lbs and 10 lbs of muscle when breastfeeding...put on your stretchy pants. Much better than buying new jeans every couple of months.

Out and about in stretchy pants? Yes, and here is why. You can stop at the park and chase a toddler no sweat! Need to kick a bad guy in the face? You can in stretchy pants! Need to dive and slide to protect a certain someone from cracking her head on a corner? Yep, doable in stretchy pants! Running from attack dogs in jeans? Bad idea. Quick lunge and squat workout to cheer up the Bean? Stretchy Pants! And you can even curl up and cuddle at nap time with no bunching.

And so I'm embracing the return of the 80s and on the hunt for exciting new leggings and baggy shirts I can tie in a knot.

Easter Sundays

What's in a hanky? Minutes of fun "blowing" our nose then cleaning the floor, table, or chairs with the snot. Thankfully Pippa's nose blowing skills are low, she mostly blows air out and scrunches her face. What does this have to do with blogging? Every time I start typing she toddles over to wipe the keyboard with her hanky. Expect weird spellings and missing words.

Easter has come and gone and we experienced it twice. The week before Easter was our family basket hunt. Skip frustrated me again with his superb hiding skills--even after I gave him specific instructions to make it easy. When I think of hiding Easter baskets or Easter eggs I think it should all be visible from 2 or more angles. Skip thinks visibility is for the weak and perfects his camouflaging skills with my delicious treats. This came back to haunt him when I won the egg war. Mwahahahaha.



Pippa was excited right up to the moment we tried to tape her finding her basket. Then it was screams and wails as I dragged her to the hiding spot. Once she spotted the bright yellows and pinks she realized only good things could be ahead. Somehow the Easter bunny brought easy to open plastic eggs and she enjoyed opening each one looking for chocolate. In fact any time she sees an egg now she opens it expecting chocolate or jelly beans (I've tried healthier snacks and they just get tossed aside).

On Easter Day (when the rest of you celebrated) Pippa and I found some eggs in the yard! Pippa's shaky walking had improved in that week, but not quite enough for the uneven terrain in our yard. She preferred to have me place her at each egg where she promptly pulled the egg apart and its contents fell in muddy grass. Fun! Her walking continues to improve and she's now able to walk anywhere when she's motivated. I've thought about redoing Easter one more time...but really it takes some effort and I'm  furiously writing a couple of research papers. So until next year!

Oh, and all that nose blowing from earlier finally produced something. Yay.

Mini-Me

She fussed and fussed while skyping with dada until I left her alone in the coveted comfy chair with the laptop in her lap...just like mom.

McDreamy Hair

This really sounds absurd and slightly unbelievable. The first time it happened and I told Skip he laughed at me, told me I was confused, and after I insisted its truth, called me a liar. So I'm going to list the facts and provide the evidence, draw your own conclusion (the correct conclusion will be found at the end of this post).

Facts:

• Skip has "McDreamy Hair" which he routinely cuts down to a military style in our kitchen.
• It is difficult to clean up all those strands of hair even with sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping.
• I have a fear of needles.
• This fear causes me to faint and started when I was 8 or 9 and attempting to remove a splinter. I fell into the opened bathroom closet from which I had just retrieved a sewing needle.
• Tonight there is a newly dug divot in the pad of my foot.
• Underneath that there is a sliver of Skip's coarse hair.

Walking around barefoot in the kitchen tonight I obtained a splinter, two to be exact. I assumed that I had a small cut or had stepped on a shard of glass. Upon closer inspection I saw two strands of dark brown hair under the thin skin layers of the ball of my foot. Seriously. That happens to people, people like me. 

Only one strand was sticking out slightly, the other required the help of a needle. Except that hair, unlike a true splinter, breaks easily. Very, very, very easily. So both hair splinters needed to be lifted to the surface with a needle. That lifting (hair splinters are in an "L"in the middle of my foot) included the ripping and tearing of skin that created a divot. Unfortunately the combination of bad vision, bad lighting, and nearly blacking out leaves only one solution: to keep a piece of Skip under my thumb foot at all times.

And Then She Turned One

Happy Birthday to Pippa! Yesterday, but really she came into the world late at night so we can roll this celebration right on to the weekend.

In a fit of neurosis and school stress I decided to throw Pippa a party. When we realized our closest friends would all be in Germany (weird) we extended the guestlist and included most of Skip's office. Then I realized that we should invite some of Pippa's friends to HER party and invited a couple of play group families. Then I freaked out because there was no way all those people would fit into our house.

They fit (or a few people couldn't make it ;) ). Pippa loved every minute of it. She walked, independently, around chasing the boys so she could hug them. Well, hug or cling to them for life because she teeters as she walks. At some point we'll have to discuss personal boundaries and playing coy.

After her super sugary chocolate cupcake she proceeded to lead some cheers. Arms up! Yaaaay! Again and again and again! It's so fun to have fans.

Pippa Bean at 1 year old:

Has 2 teeth
Weighs 20 lbs
Height 29 inches
Loves to eat blueberries, popcorn, oranges, chocolate.
Knuffle Bunny is her favorite book.
Loves to play Peek-a-boo, Pat-a-cake, Momanuki, Twinkle Twinkle, Itsy Bitsy Spider
Noises she makes: dog bark, elephant trumpet, cow moo, sheep baa, lion roar
Words she says: uh-oh, up, book, da da, mom, hi

Hmmm. If I touch the flame will Mom be mad?

Well, this is awkward. My cake's down there.

I did eat it and it tastes so good. Round two please!

Now boys, this is how you throw.

Your turn!

Of course she never says or does any of that when other people are around.