Pippaisms

Oh toddlerhood, with the giggles, the babbles, the crazy logic, and the absolute certainty that with the lines of communication you can begin to educate your parents on fundamental life theories. And so it is with Pippa. Recently she has stopped listening to that old lady who is always giving commands, and has decided to fast-line me to the nursing home. She tells me when to talk, when not to talk, what to wear, what to eat, etc. It would be annoying if not for the hilarious combination of words she finds. Below are just a couple of the most recent Pippaisms we've been treated to.

This is Pippa shooting her bow and arrow as assisted by Daddy.

And have I mentioned the Disney princess underwear, phone and jump rope? We use the phone to call our BFFs Belle, Ariel, and Tangled to set up jumping dates in the garden. Then she noticed this image on her playlist.

Now she asks to hear "moozak, like Bow and Ariel kind."

And we still do potty treats. All the time. Why? Because I don't enjoy hosing down the car seat every day. The sun doesn't shine bright enough to make that possible here. So when Pippa asked for Captain Crunch cereal as a potty treat I naively said yes. I know she's not stoked over cereal and only recently began eating it. She has requested that I only pour the berries out of the box and not the cereal noodles. She just can't stand the sight of the cereal noodles and when I refused to segregate the noodles from the berries, she defiantly sat down and carefully plucked each berry out with her spoon. The berry pile on the table may have left a stain against the white paint.

She has also taken to asking that Daddy shoot anything she deems "kind a scare-wee." Tigers, snakes, thunder, mosquitos, he can hit any target she names.

Nutty

The dreaded internship started two weeks ago. It altered not only my behavior, but that of my offspring, and in ways that I am not sure are...desirable.  The time and effort required to maintain life right now means all the humor and patience I once had has disappeared. In a flash of temper I stated to my loved ones that they "WERE DRIVING ME NUTS!"

I'd like to think I said it once (really I think that's factual), but it may be those words flow freely from my lips these days. Whatever the frequency that the phrase actually occurred is not important...Fact is, the parrot of the family finds that phrase amusing and has been uttering it herself--specifically when her mother drives on winding roads.

I first heard Pippa exclaim, "Mommy, YOU'RE DRIVING ME NUTS!" while we sped along dodging squirrels. Giant squirrels with large nuts clutched in their grimy paws. I jerked the wheel in surprise as I looked in the rearview mirror at Pippa and then, thunk. 

We drove that squirrel nuts too.

Easter Revival

Hello family time! We spent Easter weekend with some of our favorite Greeks and it was fantastic!

The meeting of the P's...actually they've met before, but Pippa found a kindred spirit in Penelope. That or Penelope was the most enchanting, life-sized doll Pippa ever met. Nelly spent many an hour doing the bidding of a two-year old and for that we offer to adopt her every summer.

Bubbles, bubbles and more bubbles. The only thing that competed with the best cousin ever, was the endless bottles of bubbles that Pippa could find. She just had to step out one pesky sliding door and bubble freedom ensued.

Here the hunters sit enthralled in the red stag roar video.

Ya yai and Pippa on their nature stroll. I think Pippa thought she was being sweet to help Ya yai down these tricky gravel stairs.

Snails! We puttered along poking at every snail, rock, and stick. Aunt Kimmy and Ya yai sweetly identified each one, multiple times.

We loved our mini-reunion and hope for another in the near future!

Hum(or)liation

I have officially entered the parenting phase where your "child's" behavior causes your cheeks to flame red in public. I mean, sure, I've been the parent pushing the out of control toddler in the shopping cart. I've had green goo in my hair, on my bum, and strategically placed on my shirt. My career choice prepared me for that much. In fact if she tries a full-scale meltdown I'll be able to turn it into a teaching moment for bystanders (I should probably get business cards).

So the embarrassment comes from potty training. Specifically potty-training at a restaurant on girl's night out. The GNO where you are the one mom who brings her child. And that child pees, multiple times. On you. It's a good thing she's cute and that she has a cute bum.

Because while I had tucked an extra set of clothing in my purse, (honestly I could not take a diaper bag to girls night) I did not pack clothes for myself. There were two options to my freshly wet outfit. We could freeze in wet clothes on the drive home. Or we could take the opportunity of the moments we had between ordering and the presentation of the food to wash and dry our clothes in the bathroom. I think you can guess what I chose.

Pippa's naked bum darting about the restroom seemed so natural that soon I had also stripped down. Amazingly enough, I was shocked that some stranger would enter to see this scene. The humiliation isn't so much about our nudity as it is that I have apparently lost all sense of decency.

It may be time for an intervention.

My La-la-la Ucky Girl

Pippa Bean is one la-ucky girl. Unfortunately she did not know this. She did know what ucky meant as I am constantly telling her I have to get the uckies out of her nose and that she can't play with her dirty diapers or eat something from the trash because it is UCKY!

So there stood Dad telling Pippa how lucky she was to have a mommy who insanely sewed late into the night to create the Tinkerbell birthday costume. You know, the one she desperately wanted but will not wear. Anyway, Pippa scrunched up her face at this lecture, which launched Dad into yet another lecture on how she should appreciate her mother more. By now, Pippa's lip quivered and she yelled out, "Imma no UCKY. Imma GIRL!"

Oh English how you fail us at reasoning with a two-year-old. I tried to explain luck (harder than you think) and finally just started singing la-la-la lucky. Since there was song, and a little dance, plus smiles, Pippa decided La-la-la Ucky is good. But she's quick to remind you that she is, "not ucky everywhere."

That is just a taste of the kick-off to her birthday month. On the actual day I snuck into her room at 1a.m. to hang twinkle stars from her ceiling. Because all toddlers sleep through bumps in the night. They never wake up to catch you twinkle-handed and with wide eyes and say, "Ohhhh wow Mommy! Look! Stars!" I scooped her up, shushed her and told her it was paybacks for waking me up two years earlier with intense labor pains. I am that mom.

We had the best morning swimming with friends. Now, I'll skip through the family of three party where the chocolate-chock-full-of-love cupcakes I baked gave her hives. Whoops! Instead we'll focus on the Children's Museum. She sang, she painted, she followed every pretty girl in sight. We had a wonderful time and she's asked to go back every day. Multiple times. Doesn't even matter that we do many of the same activities at home (on a lesser scale). And when I tragically explain that the Museum is too far away she asks for the next best thing, the library.

Pippa's dance moves on the big screen.

At two years of age Pippa:
Chatters constantly.
Gives kiss attacks that resemble a shark chomping at your arm, or neck, or thigh, or nose.
Loves fruits and raw veggies and pizza.
Looks up-downstairs for Daddy Boy anytime she wakes up.
Wants to be a big helper for mommy.
Green is her favorite color. Red is daddy's and mine is purple. We do not vary.
Is incredibly particular about her clothing.
Supervises the catching of her pet lady bugs like it is her job.
Acts like Slimey (Oscar the Grouch's pet worm).
Loves to eat Peacock Toast (french toast).

Happiest year Miss Pippa Girl!

The Family Snowles

Our Valentine /Presidents' Day adventures captured on film.

Rough life on the road, answering so many Valentine prayers.

Slide up, slide down

When Dad wasn't immediately available we made a substitute...

And then another friend.

Wouldn't it be nice.

Blue Face FaceTime Blues

We looove to facetime with Grandma. Unfortunately, if we can see Grandma then Pippa believes we should be able to touch Grandma. When I tell her we can't touch Grandma on the iPad, then Pippa believes we should drive to Grama's hoooouse. When I tell Pippa that Grandma's house is too far away, she pouts and starts to demand we go to Grama'a hoooouse now!

I think she finally knows we won't drive her to Grandma's house. Clever girl that she is, she decided today that she could travel through the iPad. While talking to her cousins, who happened to be at Grandma's house, Pippa asked to go over to Grama's hooouse once more. When I starting shaking my head she turned and tried to back into the iPad with her shoulder. I asked what she was doing and she stated, "I'ma goin to Gramma's hooouse!"

Forging Phobias

Hello humiliation, it's been a week since we've last met.

Sometimes your daughter has an obsession. And you feed that obsession until you can no longer blow up balloons, or you lose the Super Bowl. Then you chide yourself and think that a Valentine Balloon will be the perfect solution. It pre-inflated, helium filled, and features cute animals. And your daughter giggles with delight holding the string shouting, "I got it! Pippa did it! oohhhhh!"

Never you mind that you just watched the Curious George movie and George was carried away by a balloon. Or that your daughter's favorite book tells the woeful tale of a baby that is wafted away by a bubble and plunges through the air (he lands on a patchwork quilt and giggles-good ending).

No, when you leave the store in the bitter cold and wind, you'll say, "Do you have a hold of that, because it might not end well for us" Then it's gone. The string will snap in that frosty air. Your daughter will exclaim, "Oh goodness! Oh gosh!" Your husband will run back inside at the sight of her crumbled face. While he's gone you lose your mind and remind your daughter that it's just like Curious George and the balloon flew away. She'll repeat this. Again and again and again. Then daddy appears and tells her he found a better balloon.

She'll reach for it timidly. You'll pull out of the parking lot and terror sets in. Soon your daughter is crying and tearfully asking for you to hold the balloon. Not an easy task with a stick-shift, but sure. Then once you have it, she shrieks, "No mama, no!" So you give it back and she cries harder. Your husband will look at you dumbfounded and ask what happened in the time that he was gone. You tell him that you explained the balloon flew away, like in Curious George. He'll stare at you like your crazy (rightfully so) and say, "Great so now she thinks that balloon is going to fly away with her...or you."

Yes, yes she does. The balloon is now in our house and she stares at it and cries. She doesn't want to hold it, she doesn't want to be near it. She's pretty sure our house is going to be uprooted (like the movie UP) and we will all fly away, out of reach. This day may be a parenting fail. Cheer up, the balloon will be here tomorrow.

Keeping the Peace

 Leading up to the Super Bowl...when I still had hope and spent plenty of time trash talking Skip...I also committed to converting Pippa to the Broncos cheering section. I failed to realize that the two times she'd watched five minutes of football the Seahawks had won her love. Every time I instructed her to say, "Go Broncos!" she'd pump her fist and yell, "No! Go Seahawks!" And like every class A parent I'd wear her down with a Bronco-Seahawk cheer-off until she'd finally wimper, "Mommy! Go Seahawks too!" 

That fateful Sunday, you know the one where Skip missed his team battling my team because he was flying home, I showered Pippa with orange and blue balloons and pom pom ribbons. All for nothing as she continued to insistent on something green. Green, the color of Tinkerbell and the Seahawks. Green a color that had not been picked two days before by her BFFs. She referred to all blue balloons as Kent's and all orange balloons as Owen's. Therefore she could not play with them and needed her own green colored balloon. She tore off her orange sweater and demanded the blue, purple, and green sweater instead. She chanted Seahawks until I cried in the second quarter, quickly said Broncos too, and continued with that Seahawks nonsense. 

No those weren't happy tears I shed. But I was eerily aware that Pippa had called the game. Hall boys, if you have a chance please send Pippa some game day apparel. I only have six months to get this straightened out!

Lay-ee Bug

Welcome to Land of the Ladybugs...if ladybugs were Asian and beetles.  When we first moved to Illinois Skip told me to climb a tree so he could play photographer (I later learned he had a tree obsession).  After I climbed to a very nice posing branch I noticed a 'ladybug' had landed on my elbow.  Thinking it would be a sign of the bliss to come I excitedly motioned for my photog to zoom in  and then it bit me. Three years later the bite mark (possibly just a pinch) has finally shrunk to nearly invisible. But the emotional scar remains. 

During the holidays we left the Land of the Asian Lady Beetles and in doing so removed all food, water and heat sources. So upon reclaiming our home a couple weeks later I spent a day vacuuming a large number of dead asian lady beetles. Yet I still find many of these bugs in the most random and middle of the floor places. Each new sighting brings a shriek of joy from Pippa, "LAY-EE BUUG!!!"

Really it is adorable and heartbreaking to tell her not to smash they dried carcass. So I have been quickly kicking the bugs into a corner for later removal.

Then one day the receiver of such kick moved out of the way. We grabbed a glass jar, a fancy red cling wrap lid, and scooped up our first pet. I'm not saying this is a moment Pippa will remember forever, but I was elevated to Coolest Mom Ever status (and am now documenting it). She talked to her pet Lay-ee Bug for a forty-three minutes straight. These forty-three minutes happened to overlap with bedtime so Pippa may have outsmarted me. Then every morning we would check on our ladybug, offer some new sticks, lettuce, water. Pippa would also do this without me at any moment I would come to learn. Which is how we lost our ladybug. Twice.

The first time we lost Lay-ee Bug, she flew right by my nose and landed on the curtains. I suppose the mauve hue resembled a bright flower. Sadly for her, but happily for Pippa who came bounding across the room with the glass jar, the escape lasted all of thirty seconds. 

The second escape occurred days later. The bug had been nestled into some bark for a few days. We hadn't seen it move and I was certain it had died. Then one day, "Lay-ee Bug, where are you?" Pippa could not see that ladybug and the lid had a suspicious opening in it. I pulled all the sticks out and confirmed the ladybug's disappearance as well as it's life. 

Two days later wouldn't you know that I found that silly little thing stuck on it's back, legs wiggling in the air, next to a box of markers. I'm not saying I know what happened, but I'm not saying I couldn't guess either (or that this may be just another of the many Asian lady beetles hibernating in my house). Lay-ee Bug is safely back in her jar with fresh leaves and water. Really I can't put her outside to a certain death. 

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!