The Peek, or Sometimes it Feels Like, Somebody's Watching You.

I brandish my kids randomly and with no regard to safety.

Never in my 34 years on this earth have I wanted to eat a face so badly.

(please read in the second person. thank you.)

We still peek at you girls, every night. Okay, sometimes I bow out because I'm a little tired or just don't feel like it, but Mommy does it every night without fail. She's a rock.

Our house, being as old and woody as it is, makes traversing into your cozy little abode a silence-shatteringly creaky affair. However, I've made a mental map of all the safe spots to step on; so while I may look moronic stretching my gait to weird extremes, I can usually keep it relatively hushed. By the time we finally make it to your cribs and hover, you usually haven't made a peep.

We don't linger for long. Just long enough to look at you and make googly faces. I like to daydream about how great it might be to hop into bed with either of you, curl up and sleep the rest of the night there. I wouldn't even steal your monkey/froggy.

Sometimes you roust yourselves a bit, which can be entertaining. Both of you, when this happens, will normally just stare at us, trying to comprehend what we're doing there. It's rather unsettling sometimes, looking down at you and seeing those two big black spots that are your eyes, knowing they're open and gazing back at us. You never really react, just stare for a bit, then flip over and succumb to sleep again.

In an effort of utmost futility, we cover you guys with your blankets. We know it won't last more than a few minutes, when you'll kick them off and go back to being cold, but we do it anyway because we're parents and it would be unthinkable not to tuck you back in.

After the tuck in, we head back out, retracing the non-creaky steps. Leaving is tense; for some reason I feel like we're rushing out just as you're about to wake up, and it's a race to the door. This is the same feeling I used to have when I had to go to the basement as a kid, and was keenly aware of the monsters behind me when I ran back up the stairs.

Once we're out and safely back in our bedroom, we usually talk for a couple minutes about the funny positions you guys were in, or the weird noises you make while you dream, or just how cute we find you.

I'm amazed there was a time in my life that I didn't get to do this every night.

Day two hundred and ninety one.

Abs was in an on-again, off-again pony tail tonight, which is a look that we are absolutely in love with. If only she didn't pull it out after just a few minutes.

We'll never let her out, NEVER!

I don't wanna.

As it turns out, we are no longer the bosses around the house. Lily has definitely started to exert her influence on the mechanics of our daily toil. She is an enormous proponent of the status quo, as it turns out; and when we attempt to make changes to that, there is some serious vocal opposition. Oh yes.

In short, she hates to be told what to do. Particularly grievous offences include: changing clothes, changing diapers, giving baths, that sort of thing. I'm not sure if it's the fact that she doesn't want the change to occur, or that the act itself is undertaken without her explicit approval. I'm almost sure it's the latter, as she normally snaps back into cheery mode once the status change is over. I guess I can understand the psychology behind her reaction; I would be none too happy if I was happily going about my day and an 18 foot leviathan lumbers by, rips off my clothes, and sticks me in some footied jammies. It's offensive, frankly, and totally insulting for us to manipulate Lily to bend her to the needs of our daily schedule.

But, of course, that's life. We're her parents. We get the final say.

So right now, the battlefield is set. I am smart enough to know that this fight is just beginning, that the rules of the game are being lain out. It will get ugly. It already is ugly. Tonight, for example, she did not want to take a bath. She kicked and flailed when I dragged her upstairs. She melted out of my arms, wailing away, fought us tooth and nail with every fiber of her being. The bath went predictably bad - I'm amazed I got her in at all - for the first five minutes. Eager to move quickly, I got her clean in about three minutes. After that, though, she started to calm down a bit. Then she started to almost enjoy herself. Of course, this came as the bath was starting to get cold, the night was getting long, and it was time for her to come out. So while getting her in the bath and cleaned was a disaster, she cheered up just long enough for me to start the process all over again trying to get her OUT of the bath. Sigh.

Hooray for the contest of wills! We'll see who wins...

Day two hundred and ninety.

I actually tried to get photos tonight, I did. Picked up the camera, turned it on, and the battery died. Typical.

"I'm cleeeeaaaaning!! Yay!"

The tongue is out. The tongue of concentration.

The state of things.

My camera continues to collect dust...today's photos are from forever ago.

The tranquility.

It's been a while since the girls had a good performance review. It might be illuminating for all of you on the interweb to get a quick rundown of exactly what those snuggle bunnies can do these days. Plus, it will be in bullet form...I LOVE bullets!

Talkytalk

- Lily is starting to put a lot more words together. Last night's, "Night night Olly" is a good example. I'd put her vocab at about 30 or 40 words, although that's just a quick guess. She's great at, "Bless you", doling them out for coughs and sneezes alike.
- Abby doesn't have as many words as Lily, but she certainly makes up for it in conversation. Abby will spew out these minutes long string of babbling - punched up here and there with an actual English word - without breaking a sweat.

Locomoting

- Abby is still a bit wobbly on her feet, and is notoriously bad at watching where she's going. Tonight she tried to sit on Jen's lap and ended up sitting on the dog instead. So tenuous is her walk that she's been known to be taken down by something as small as a piece of string. Still, she's surprisingly fast and can follow me to the kitchen faster than I can close the gate behind me sometimes.
- Lily can technically run now, and is pretty close to being able to jump in the air. Lily is fast enough that when I go to the kitchen, she beats me there and is already pouring a bowl of cereal.

Foodies

- Lily is starting to reject a lot more foods lately. We enjoyed some golden days this year of being able to feed both girls pretty much anything, but it seems that pickiness is starting to gain a toehold. Reference my post yesterday and her vocal display of tuna-hate.
- Abby's a little better as far as food variety. This is offset by her thrilling enjoyment in throwing all the food off the tray when it displeases her.
- Both girls are largely to the point that we can give them food and they can fend for themselves in the shovelling category. This is nice, as it's freed us up to eat at the same time, laying the groundwork for what will eventually be family mealtime.

Playtime

- Lily's favorite pasttimes as of late include: coloring, drawing, dancing, playing mommy to a baby and bear, throwing things, playing with buckles.
- Abby's favorites: being hung upside down, stacking cups, turning the tv on and off and on and off and on and off, trying to get my camera, attacking anything soft.

That's about all I can come up with, which means this list feels weak and unaccomplished. I'll have to add to it as I think of things.

Day two hundred and eighty nine

Pony time.

I'm not even sure if she's crying here or singing something maybe.

It's my party, I'll cry if I want to.

Dear kids:

What? What were you crying about all night?

I gave you an awesome tuna fish sandwich for dinner. Abby, you liked it; Lily it made you furious.

I tried to play with you guys; nothing held your interest and you ended up just crying anyway. You guys cried at me. You cried at each other. You threw down your corpses and yelled at god.

The bath was excruciating. Why? Because of the constant wailing. It was incessant. Before the bath. During the bath. After the bath. The night was a juggernaut of unhappiness.

You guys cried when I tried to color with you. Snacks went well, but when that was over...you guessed it...more crying.

Should I even mention what the changings were like? They were miserable.

You guys saved it at the very end, when I asked if you were ready for night night. You both put your milks down, Abby you buried your head into my neck, and Lily you kept saying "Night night Olly" to the dog as we went upstairs.

I could still have done with less crying.

Day two hundred and eighty eight.

ps. old photos. didn't take any tonight. too much crying.

Town crier #1

Town crier #2

So when do kids change their own clothes?

Caaandy caaaane!

Monday night is fast becoming Aunt Tracey night.

I coached the yahoos on how to say 'Tracey!' during all 19 blocks of our drive home from daycare. They had progressed to the point where they could both mumble out a passable 'Sooossie', which was nowhere even close to the neighborhood of 'Tracey', but I told them they were trying very hard and that was superb. None of it was worth a lick when I pulled up at the house and they saw Aunt Tracey, for they failed to say a peep. Morons! Naysayers! Conspirators!

Jen felt compelled once again to be a good student and go to class tonight, so once more my sister came by to hang with us. By 'hang with us' I do mean 'bring us dinner and do the dishes and make googly faces at the girls'.

A notable event from the day includes Lily's obstinate refusal to have her clothes changed or altered in any way. I'm at a loss as to what is causing this, but it happened both this morning and tonight. Both times, she fought the changing as if it was her last stand against a grizzly death. Tooth and nail. Thrashing and kicking. It got ugly, especially in the morning. Is this some desperate power grab of hers? Is she exerting herself in an effort to carve out some autonomy in her life, to prove to us that she is in charge of her clothing schedule? Whatever it is, it makes the mechanics of the day an outright tribulation.

I'll shortly be reviewing the day care rules of conduct to find anything dealing with bringing in kids in their jammies; I can't imagine it hasn't been brought up before.

Day two hundred and eighty seven.

See how well Lily is being cared for?

Shh. We've been bugged.

Lily loves when I jump over her. I think I stole this move from my brother. Photo courtesy of Grandma/Marj and her quick shutter finger.

The kids are listening. More frighteningly, they are absorbing our idiosyncrasies and parroting them back to us. The ramifications of this are epic: what we do and say around the kids now seems to matter. eep!

I'd suspected as much for a while, but it was made clear to me today during a walk at the Stalkers'. I heard Lily say (and I forget the context, I'm sure she was giving something to someone) the word, "Aeeryuuugaaaoo". This word was not new; I'd heard it before. It was a Lilyism of the phrase, "There you go". It's dastardly cute when she lays it out, and today it made me realize something: I always use that phrase, especially around the kids. It's not exactly a verbal crutch or anything (certainly nothing on par with the 'like's and 'goes's of the world), but it just gets used a lot. For example:

Lily (in high chair during the waning moments of dinner): "Aaaaaall done!"
[Lily overturns her plate of pasta onto the waiting beagle below her]
Me: "Okily dokily."
[I hoist her out and plop her on the ground, dusting off the 11 pieces of macaroni desperately clinging to her bottom]
Me: "There-ya-go."

See? It gets said a lot. What is going to keep me up at night is the thought that these three words in tandem are quaintly Minnesotan. "Derr yah goo!" Oh yah... So am I unwittingly yoking my kids to a regional dialect? It's rather off-putting - and grandly intimidating - that I'm now having a direct effect on diction. Nothing does more to highlight my unfortunate influence than to hear my stupid, idiotic predilection for stupid, idiotic phrases repeated right back in my face. I'm eager for the day when they're both running in the park, chasing squirrels and yelling, "Oof daa! Derrr yaaa gooo! Betcha!"

And I'm technically from Ohio, which is all the more baffling.

Thanksgiving, give or take a minor illness of dire gastrointestinal consequences, was nice. Thank you Marj and Neil for having us up; I'm trying to remember a moment during the weekend when I raised a finger to help cook or clean, and none are coming to mind. Very telling indeed. You guys are awesome. Awesome!! (that was from Lily)

Day two hundred and eighty six.

ps. I just got a nameless invite to Google Wave. If that was you...thanks!! No idea who sent it. Santa??

Lily during our walk today. Brr. She refused to be phased by the brr.

What 36 degree day isn't complete without hanging out at the swings?? Again: brr.

Grandpa teaching Abby the finer points of crosswording.