Slap Happy

This week on Pippa TV we watch the young lass engage in a truly hilarious moment.

So this is quickly becoming a mommy blog/Pippa diary, and I don't care! Plus it's the quickest way to keep her Papa caught up as he travels the world.

We've been telling him about her giggle for the past few weeks, but it was something that usually happened while she slumbered. Recently her BFF (Grandma) has been eliciting the elusive sound during play. And just today an old family friend tickled Pippa right before her nap.

Tell the truth...how many times did you watch it?

Marked By Love

Dear Pippa,

Some day when you've grown you'll notice my hands, worn, gnarled, freckled and scarred. So unlike your now perfect porcelain hands. I'll be forgetful and won't remember every nick and scratch and I'll make up some grand story of how they came to be.

Like the translucent inch-long line between my thumb and forefinger on my left hand. I got that when I was a young girl. Your grandma let me wrap presents for Christmas. In my excitement I left the scissors under the wrapping paper on her bed. When I slide my hand under the paper to find the scissors, the sharp edge sliced through my skin. I watched the blood creep to the top layers of skin and nearly fainted. The sight of blood has that much power over me.

There's a divot on my middle finger's knuckle from a ring I wore and one on the pointer finger next to it from a pocket knife. I was not skilled at whittling. On my wrist is a burn from a delectable pan of carmel chocolate chip cookies. But my most beloved scar is the dot above my vein where the hooked me up to drugs to prepare for your arrival. Look for it on the back of my right hand. When my mind is addled with age you can rub that spot to remind me.

Love,

Mommy

Call of the Wild

One of Lamar's redeeming qualities is the herd of deer living on the town's edge. They bed near my parents' home and we often see them when we go for walks. During our last Christmas visit, Skip and I hunted the group in hopes of capturing a large buck in a sunset photo. Or Skip was trying to get his pregnant wife to workout.

He dressed me in snow camo and tugged me through the foot of snow until the deer sensed us. Then he'd have me crouch down and sneak up to them. Yes, me and my 7-month baby bump slowly approaching a buck with antlers larger than my frame. My family way did nothing to soften the deer to me, but I think they remember Pippa.

Today on a walk along the creek, Pippa and I came across the same herd of deer with their fawn. I had Pippa in her carrier. You'd think she'd revel in snuggling next to my chest, a gentle breeze on her face, chirping insects and birds singing, and my undivided attention. I gazed into her eyes the entire time, chatting away about her beauty. No, tonight this did nothing for her but interrupt her nap and she softly whined for the first mile of our journey.

A whine that called to the deer. As they crossed our path they watched us intently. Pippa's lower lip would tremble, her face drawn in a so sad clown frown and "meeeeehh." The deer would instantly stop, turn their heads and stare at us curiously. The closer we got and with Pippa's continued whimpers and whines the curious stare turned into a glare as if to say, "why do you torture that child."

I'm glad the bucks missed this chance meeting, no need to become a statistic of mother's gored by an angry buck trying to protect an infant. Much better to report that Pippa is her daddy's daughter and has perfected her stranded fawn imitation. Bow season opens in September?

Crown Vic

My apologies to those of you unfortunate enough to live without hearing an infant giggle in her sleep. It's wonderful and contagious. I'm fairly certain Pippa's neurons connect and she understands what a funny mommy she has, then out pops the giggle. She has plenty to laugh about.

For instance the time the lady at the airport up sold me the Crown Vic. For an additional five dollars I could drive to Chicago in luxury. It says I'm going to the airport? I'll be needing that extra room for luggage. Yes, because I often pack multiple bags when flying alone, oh and all of Pippa's bags. That lady got me, got me good. I truly believed I'd need the spare room for suitcases, carriers, strollers, car seats, diaper bags, computer bags, etc. Even though I'd spent most of the morning carefully planning how I could pack for a month in one suitcase and one carry-on. But when car lady said, "it will be nice to have a larger trunk," my brain went through the reasonings of a mad woman. Also known as new-mommy-sleep-deprivation thinking.

I literally had this thought process: A larger trunk would be great. I won't have to worry about fitting everything into the backseat so the car seat won't be a problem. And the stroller would fit, if I were taking it with me. I'll have the carrier, which can go on the backseat. I can put the diaper bag in the passenger seat. So a suitcase can go in the trunk. Yes, a car with a trunk is the better option, especially for the stroller. I'm not taking the stroller, because it's so big. I should drive the Crown Vic since the trunk is bigger. I wonder what that looks like?

It looks like a police car. And the economy car had a trunk, as most cars do. I'm just glad I couldn't quite figure out what XM radio was at the moment or I'd have reasoned I needed that upgrade as well.

Big Smiles

While Skip was blowing away nilgai with Big Medicine (his custom Turnbull rifle), Pippa was learning to control her facial muscles. We started with early morning smiles and threw in a little video session. I planned to send it to her daddy via text so he wouldn't miss her too much. Unfortunately the file was too big causing an unheard of four day wait. Maybe it was for the best because this nearly broke his heart. We wouldn't want the natural killer to shed tears on the hunt.

Egg Wars

Leave it to the Greeks to inspire a friendly competition during a celebratory religious holiday, like the egg wars on Easter. My marriage into a Greek family put this tradition on proud display last night. And I had a vendetta.

Those beautifully dyed eggs the Easter Bunny hides in baskets and yards are used as weapons. Two people head off, one holding an egg in defense while the other uses an egg to strike. The crushed egg is thrown to the side and the victor looks for a new victim. This continues until one solitary egg is left unscathed and is then preserved until the following year. Rumor mandates that the victor will have a year of love, health, and luck by doing so.

Last year I dominated Skip. My winning egg taunted him with it's precision and strength. Then I made a rookie move and retired the winning egg for the final battle. This was the rationale: The winning egg had struck several blows and I was certain it had a hairline fracture. The final battle was between my winning egg and MY second string egg. So really I had already won. But in the final battle, I gave Skip the winning egg and I used the back up. Skip won and somehow, despite my previous record, he claimed the title.

This year I was ready to destroy him, however his parents were here and the reigning Greek (his mom) kept court. She made sure no funny business went down and kept it light hearted. That's one version of what happened. Here's the other.

We gave Skip a bum egg to begin with. His name was on it so he had to use it, but after the first round he was free to pick his next egg. He raffled through the pile and found an egg with a reinforced end and some bumps on it...or an eggtooth! Papou went down. Yai Yai went down and when he got to me, Skip gave Pippa the famed egg. Pippa crushed me and she went on to wipe out the remaining eggs.



 I suppose I gave her my beginner's luck.

Happy Easter!

Smurfette

A month ago, when Pippa was still a newborn, I was having a wardrobe crisis and needed some bras I could sleep in. The mothers reading this will understand. They will also understand how expensive those purchases can be and why I headed to the clearance rack. Here in Peoria, the clearance rack is reserved for XL and proved semi-unsuccessful.

So I went to the colorful display of spring fashion. There I grabbed a lovely turquoise thing certain to make nursing at 4 a.m. blissful. And it has. Added bonus? It dyes my skin blue. I have a lovely tatoo outline, like a bikini, or a Smurf, or the chic from Avatar. I figured it just needed a good washing or five.

No, it still leaks onto my skin and sheets as if I've done a quick tie-dye session in my sleep. I'm sure it's completely healthy for my baby.