A new direction

Your birthday is less than a week away. And that means there's going to be changes. Big changes.

I started this blog about a year ago. And back then it was just you. So when I would write to you, there was no one around to be jealous.

But now that Ella is turning into her own little person, I'm feeling more and more guilty writing letters to just you.

I could technically use "you" to mean both you and Ella. But you are Beans. And Ella is not. It just doesn't work.

So what's going to happen is that this blog is going to go to the first person. Yes, it's vain. I know. But it's just the way it's going to be.

I don't think you'll mind. Lately all you want to do is hang around Ella and make her laugh. And when you're sick of that, you take her toys and push her over.

What does Ella do when this happens? Laugh, of course.

Opposites

Ella loves this jumpy thing! Which is not a surprise at all.
Because one thing has emerged in Ella's personality and that is that she LOVES anything you hate.
You couldn't stand this thing. Maybe it was because you were so tiny that you practically fell through the leg holes when I stuck you in it. But most likely you were thinking: Uh, me, jump up and down on this baby toy for no reason? Are you freaking kidding me? I'm much too sophisticated for this.

But, man, Ella is a jumping queen. She is down for a good time no matter what.

Which brings us to the other thing she loves that you hate: the swimming pool.
When you go in the water, you hang on to my neck so tight and just scream "NONONONONONO!!" But Ella not only adores the water, she uses her legs as if she's known how to swim all along. Something that also makes sense considering she was two weeks overdue, you know, just hanging out in what the hospital refers to as "bags of water." (Ew, gross, I know.)

On a totally unrelated note, here's a goofy photo of you on your last day of school. You are out of the baby program and in the fall you will be in ACTUAL REAL PRESCHOOL! And by the look on your face, you're more than ready to be done with such juveniles.

The one where the panda falls down.

We had a lot of firsts in our house this weekend.
I could easily just write all the momentous events right here and get it over with. But instead I'm going to roll them off slowly so that I can a) look like a prolific writer and b) keep all you readers coming back for more. (By readers I mean Mom. Hey Mom.)

So the first big thing that happened is I took you to a movie. In the movie theater. Can you guess what movie it was?



You were so excited you sat in your own seat. And when I went to get a booster for you, you opted to stay in your seat and wait. BY YOURSELF. And you didn't freak out.
Which is crazy because today a tiny piece of ocean water touched your toe and you wouldn't let me put you down the rest of the day. But sit alone in a dark movie theater? No problem. Oh. Wait. That is going to be trouble later on, I think.

Anyway. So I actually reviewed Kung Fu Panda and thought it would be appropriate. I didn't realize we'd have to sit through pretty violent Star Wars cartoon previews. And I forgot that the first five minutes of the Panda movie are all dark and fighty. So within five minutes you were all "Ok. All done."

We ended up staying a total of 25 minutes. Because every time that darn clumsy panda fell down, you really really got stressed. You were THAT kid in the theater that cried "OH NO! Panda fall down!!"

Making Mama proud

Yesterday was June 19, 2008. It's the day you sang me some PJ Harvey.

Let me just say that it was in no way prompted or forced or even requested. We were just listening to PJ on our way back from the farmer's market. The sun was setting, you were eating a bag of blueberries and the AC was on full blast.

And then, out of nowhere, I heard it: "Come, come," which is FROM THE SONG! Then you did it again in the house. And before bed. And I am kidding you not, I got actual tears.

I know, perhaps I should be making a big deal about how yesterday you also graduated from the baby classroom. And after the summer ends, you will be in actual preschool. But no.

Randomness

Everyone in this town is going crazy for golf. It's sort of annoying. But then! A fashion opportunity. When you were born, someone gave you this dress that says "I heart golf." And it came with a matching visor. I thought it was the most ridiculous thing in the big fat world of ridiculous baby clothing.
But. In the spirit of championship golf and tourism dollars, we decided to dress you up in it.
And who would have expected it to suddenly become the cutest thing you own.



(We were playing dress-up. So I don't want to hear it about Ella's hat already.)



Ella, as usual, just smiles. Like right here, she's sitting in the most uncomfortable stroller, ever. And her diaper is wet. And she's hungry. And she hasn't slept. And she probably has a fly on her foot. But. She just smiles. Because she is the nicest person I've ever known.

If you don't eat more stuff your sister is going to beat you up sooner than you think

Weight update.

You (age 23 months) = 23 pounds
Ella (age 6.5 months) = 18 pounds

Can you tell we got a brand new scale? And it's way more fun to weigh babies than it is for me to actually stand on it.

Untitled

Before going to bed tonight, you walked out of your room with a book that looked very much like a handbag.

Me: "Where are you going, it's time for bed."
You: "I going shopping."
Me: "What? You're going where?"
You: "Shopping!"

Crappity crap.

23

You are now 23 months.
What this means is I have just one more month to use the expression: I have two babies under age 2.

I say this a lot.

Like if I was too lazy to put on any makeup? It's because I have two babies under age 2.
And when the evil woman from across the street yelled at us for being renters and lecturing us that leaving our garbage can on the street is decreasing the net worth of our "desirable neighborhood?" Well, lady, I've got two babies under age 2.

But in July, that's it. You will be two and I'll be on my own.

So, if my postings are sparse this month, please forgive me. I'm just milking this pity as long as I can before it crosses the line over to pathetic. . .

A letter to Green Day

Dear Billie Joe Armstrong,
While I think it's great that you and your friends decided to play undercover garage band last week, your super tiny Belly Up concert made it so that I had to work last Monday.
This isn't really a big deal or anything, but it did make me miss this:

Ella's first bike ride.



I mean, it's not like we are a crazy bike family. Actually, the last time I was on a bike was on my honeymoon in Nantucket. So it's not all that devastating. Still, even though your fans are very nice and obviously dedicated to you, not one was as cute as this. I mean, just look at her chubby cheeks!



So yeah, it was kind of a bummer. I'm not blaming you, but perhaps next time you can tour on a day when the babies are in daycare and the only thing I'll miss is a temper tantrum.
Oh, also, I feel I need to add that my mother's green car is purely coincidental and has nothing to do with any bands with which you are affiliated.



Love,
Nina