Tea for Two and Two for Tea

I had such a "mother/daughter" moment today. It was truly grand. I skipped out of work for a couple hours this morning and Beatrice & I went out to breakfast together. George had work committments and since I am not committed in the slightest to my noble profession of defending the poor downtrodden insurance companies, it was a fairly easy decision to flip them the bird and spend the morning with Skeetie.

We went to a neat little place called "The Shack." It is very old-fashioned and straight out of the 20's. I love it there, consequently, so does Bea. It is very much a place where she is Beatrice Marie (say: B-trice, with a hint of an English accent).

At 10:00 am we got all dressed up and headed downtown. It was slightly thrilling to be out for a late breakfast when everyone else was behind their desks. The place was not entirely empty, but sparse enough. B'trice & Mum were seated in a quaint little both, perfect for 1 and a half. I'm pretty sure Bea knew this was a special occasion because she was on best behavior. We looked at pictures of her and daddy, Bea and Grandma Mary, Bea & Gpa Matt, Bea & Ollie, Bea & Mom, Bea & Nannie & Pappy. She was thrilled and repeatedly kissed the photo of her & Oliver. We shared a pot of mint tea and looked at all the pretty glass ornaments hanging from the ceiling. B'trice then dined (heartily) on her banana bread french toast and bacon. (She's back to 22.3 lbs). I, had a delictable breakfast of scrams and toast. Then we paid and left. Not much more to describe, but just an all around wonderful morning spent with my little pal.

Here is B'trice & I at the Shack last August:

I look forward to many more times with my daughter; she truly is "my Halley's comet."
Every Day, especially today, is a Beautiful day.

Daddy Penguin

Poor little Skeets has been so sick. It's going on almost 7 days now and she is still under the weather. She's had some kind of cold that has overtaken her little body. But in true Skeetie fashion, she is a little trooper and continues to say Fwow, only with a stuffy nose its pronounced: "Rr-ow" (short o)

Last Wednesday George took one look at her and told me when I got home from work that Bea had "sick eyes." That she did. On Friday, 12/22 she started getting a fever and by Sat, Christmas Eve, she had high fever, was lethargic, with a terrible & scary cough. She spent the remainder of the Christmas weekend a little sickie. Too sick to get into her 3 different Christmas Couture wardrobes I'd planned - one for Christmas Eve day; one for midnight mass; one for Christmas day. Instead, she wore her fleece pjs, wrapped in her blanket from Grandma Mary. She's down from 23 lbs to a scant 22 lbs.

Now, to the point of this blog. Two weeks ago George & I rented "The March of the Penguins." I marveled at how the male penguins took care of the egg during the 2 mo incubation while the mother penguin goes into the sea and stockpiles food for the little penguino upon hatching. Not only does this seem a natural anomoly, but it was astounding the great care the male penguins used when caring for the egg. In one scene an egg is broken and the male penguin just stood there looking at it in utter disbelief, then grieved the broken egg. The daddy penguins have an innate sense of mothering. Well, such is the case with my husband, Bea's daddy.

All last weekend, he took such great and delicate care of Skeetie. He wrapped her in a blanket and she slept for 2 hours on his chest. He cuddled her, he cared for her, he took hot, steamy, mentholated-showers with her and he said it tore him apart to see her this sick. He was Daddy Penguin. Sure Skeetie slept on my chest every night too (recall she slept there the first 3.5 mo of her life, so when she's sick, that's her default comfort spot) but there is something particularly special about seeing her dad "mothering" her. Skeetie all comfy and tucked in on his chest. Daddy Penguin.

This sums it up: this morning I was getting ready for work and Bea was still feeling crappy. She'd been crying all morning and nothing was soothing her. So George went to the kitchen and made Bea her favorite breakfast, scrams (scrambled eggs). I peek down the hall and there sat Bea & Dad, having breakfast by candlelight.

Here she is have a warm beer & cold burger with her Daddy at the Mo Club:














I must also note that Oliver has been a great help too. Ollie has dutifully shared his toys with Bea and has taken up residence next to the misty (the humidifier) to keep Bea company. Actually, Oliver puts his face right in the blowing mist so that he looks like an apparition of the Virgin Mary. Our Lady of the Frau.













Every Day is a BEA-utiful Day.

Dewey Decimal System

Bea is talking. She's 16 months and for the longest time she was pretty well-reserved when it came to talking. She started walking at 10 months, running at 12 months, climbing at 13 months, suffice to say she is now a whirling dervish. The little Skeets is constantly on the go.

However, by the way of words, not a lot. I was secretly worried. Weekly the "Baby-Center" developmental updates would roll into my email, projecting milestones for the "average toddler." Example: "Today your child is 13 months old! By now your toddler will have a varied vocabulary of 20-30 words and should be able to string together sentences. Don't be suprised if your toddler says to you in the morning, 'Mommy, may I please have some scrambled eggs, and toast, lightly buttered. Juice on the side.' Encourage and enjoy your toddler's new-found vocabulary!"

I break out in a cold sweat with visions of speech therapy and special ed. I call Skeets into the room. Skeetie, speak! ... silence. Bea, can you say 'moon?' ...silence. Beatrice, what's that? (pointing to the light)...silence. For the love of god Beatrice, speak!!! ....
"Dewey."
What did you say honey?
"Dewey!"
Huh?
"Dewey!! Dewey!!! Dewey!!!"
Dewey? What is Dewey, Bea?
"Dewey? Dewey. Dewey. Doo0-dooo-dewey!!!"
OH!!! I get it babe!! Dewey!!! Dewey!! The Dewey Decimal System!! Wow, Skeets you are way smarter than I gave you credit for. Fuck BabyCenter, my kid is already contemplating what literature she'll read by study of the Dewey Decimal System. Right on Bea!

So for quite a while Bea's vocabulary was limited to a constant string of Dewey, said with every possible voice/emotional inflection. With the occasional "uh-oh" thrown in.
Then it began to happen. One day, "ba-boo" popped out while she was looking at a model hot air ballon. (Note, a hot-air balloon, not a simple latex blow up balloon. I'm telling you--pure genious from Pwr Skt.) Now, she uses ba-boo as a regular word in her vocabulary.

But a time passed where I believed she was talking when really, she wasn't. She just wasn't. Na-nee-na-me, really didn't mean "hungry" and "do-pee-do-pee- do" didn't mean diaper or bath. But I thought it did and told anyone who was interested that it did.

After the Dewey Decimal System discovery my fears were abated, until her younger (and very dashing) cousin, Gabe, began lectures and disertations, complete with perfect enunciation: "moon" "dog--woof!" "kitty-grrr" "ball" "light" "biyoon" (balloon) and a myriad of other words. He was Webster, 2nd edition, personified. All of a sudden my speech therapy fears began to creep back in. They were compounded when we went to visit Gabe and at 12 months, he was sitting in his little chair studiously reading "Goodnight Moon." I put a book in front of Bea and she finds 5 more books to stack on top so that she can use them as a step to climb onto the coffee table.

I truly did doubt my parenting, reflecting back on all the times I decided to take her for a walk or go to the store, rather than read her a book. Crap...did I already screw up one major thing? But my mom assured me that Bea has "exceptional receptive language abilities." (My mom is an elementary principal and from SpEd teacher.) Meaning Bea understands nearly everything we tell her. This is very, very true. I can ask damn near anything and she responds by shaking her head yes or no, or completing whatever task I request. Which is great. Bea, honey, get mommy & daddy a bud light out of the fridge. She does it!! Fan-tas-tic. She can also show you where her nose, toes, hair, eyes, ears, teeth, tongue, arm and belly button are located. That is impressive to me; particularly since I never really taught that to her. However, my mom informed me that Skeets just hasn't transferred her "receptive language" into "expressive language." Ok, I can handle that. She IS a little smarty-pants, just quiet, like her Daddy. I like it.

But today, she began transferring receptive into expressive. I was cooking dinner and Par Skeet was sitting on the floor on a fleece blanket thumbing through "Goodnight Gorrilla" saying Dewey. When all of a sudden a hear a soft and beautiful, "mooon." I quietly keep stirring my chili not wanting to distract her...if she knows its something I want her to say, she WILL NOT perform. Then I hear her beautiful, chiming voice again, "mooon." I look down and she is pointing to a little sliver of a moon way in the corner of the page. God damn she is smart. The book wasn't even about a MOON, it was about a gorilla and she found the moon. I then looked down and told her how wonderful she is, gave her a hug and asked her to show me the moon in the book. Without missing a beat, she finds it on another page (actually she found it 4 pages later, so smart!!!) and says in her little voice that sounds like softly ringing bells, "moon." My heart melts, more so at the sound of her voice and the look of complete confidence on her face. She knew all along the moon was in the book, she just felt like saying it today. I could tell it wasn't a big deal to her. She is the picture of perfection and the sound of beauty. She truly, truly is. And every fiber of my being is so proud of my little 23 lb Skeetie.

High on the euphoria of my pride and love and absent mindedly call Oliver into the kitchen. I holler, "Frau!" (that is one of Oliver's nicknames) Then a tiny voice from behind me sings, "Fwow!" I whip around and look at Bea who again sings, "Fwow!" She proceeds to run out to the living room, over to the couch, pet Ollie and say, "Fwow." Holy Mary Mother of God. I run to the phone to call my mom--"Expressive!! Expressive!! She's expressing her receptive!!!" Meanwhile Bea realizes she is getting kudos and much attention by saying "Fwow" so she keeps saying, even loud enough for my parents to hear on the phone. It was wonderful. Two very clear words in one evening. She is just amazing to me. She even said "mooon" and "Fwow" a few more times after her Dad got home.

But to be honest I love to hear Dewey as much as "ba-boo" "mooon" and "Fwow" because I'm positive Dewey means something to Bea, I just am not smart enough to know what yet. She's just not the kind of girl to say random things. She knows what is going on.

As a final note, I remember with absolute clarity the first time Bea spoke to me. It was on the day she was born a couple hours after her birth. Everyone had left the hospital and Bea was swaddled up like a baby burrito. We were laying in bed together watching the 2004 Summer Olympics at 10:00 p.m. I was basking in her baby glow when she looked me right in the eye and mewed. It was to this day the most beautifully-innocent sound that has fallen upon my ears. And yes, it brought me to tears. I will never hear such a beautiful sound as long as I live and I will never forget it. In hindsight, I should've known right then and there to never doubt the endless capabilities of my baby girl.

So tomorrow I will most likely her Fwow and moon. I will most definitely hear Dewey and uh-oh. She may or may not say something new. We may have another stretch w/ no new words and that is just fine. I know that her possibilities are endless and will all reveal themselves in good time.

By the way, I took my email off the "Baby-Center Developmental Updates" mailing list.

And here she is, the one, the only, Beatrice:

This is what she looked like when she first talked to me:

Finally, here is her studious cousin, Gabriel Lawrence:

(an old picture, now he has a huge head full of pink-foam-curler rolls. His nickname is "Moonie-Moonie-Moon Pie." First and foremost b/c he has Bohemian Moon Face, and second because his favorite word is "moooo-n" (with a barely audible, soft, "n"). He is dreamy, just as his nickname implies.

EVERY DAY is a BEA-utiful day since 8/17/04!!!

Crazy Uncle Skeetie

You need to know the origin of her name "Skeets." It all started when Beatrice was 3 months old. The poor child was a little 'gordita' from drinking breast milk non-stop. In addition to being told I had great "birthing hips" (read: fat ass), I was also informed I had "high-caloric milk" (read: straight cream). This made for a very health, chubby, cherubic, baby. George also noted on numerous occassions that her breath always smelled like buttered-popcorn after a session at the teat. In sum, Bea had triple chins; quadruple inner thigh rolls; and two stomachs. It was very cute at the time.

Anyway, believing I had the most beautiful baby to ever grace this earth, I thought I'd take her to the Wal-Mart portrait studio (yeeeech - ebola studio - covered in slimy, snotty germs) to have her portrait taken. Upon arrival I was convinced she put every baby to shame and paraded her around in front of the other mothers feeling quite superior. Bea was dressed in an adorable little Santa dress, hat and booties. (ok, ok I was a stay at home mom at that point and thought it was a really, really cuuuute idea to dress Bea like a mini-Santa and get a 300 picture package...clearly I needed adult interaction and a dry martini, triple olives.) At any rate, she got her portraits taken and behaved like the little angel that she truly is.

Then the pictures arrived. Here's what we received:

George took one look and hit the nail on the head: "She looks like Crazy Uncle Skeetie sittin' on the porch drinking Moonshine." (Uncle Skeetie is entirely fictional - picture Deliverance type). We both cracked up and couldn't stop laughing. Crazy Uncle Skeetie evolved into Skeetie. Once she started crawling and moving non-stop it evolved into Power Skeet. If she's particularly crazy, we look at each and scream "Power to the Skeet x 3!!!" Yup, we are nuts, but happy. So she has a multitude of nickname derivatives from Crazy Uncle Skeetie:

Skeetie
Skeets
Chowder Keet
Chowdie and/or Keets
Par Skeet (said in George's best southern drawl)
Keetie (sometimes pronounced Kitty)

She responds to all of them. But if she's particularly whiny, her name is: Squealtrice.

So, when reading these blogs, that's who I'm talking about. The one, the only, Skeetie.

(She can be dead serious too:

Every day is a BEA-utiful day since 8/17/05.

Crib Wars

I wanted to give it 2 nights before I posted on this issue again. One phrase will sum it up:

Mom & Dad =2; Skeets=0. Wee-heee!!!! She has slept the last two nights in her crib--all night long. I didn't shhhh or sing. Just put her in, she cried for about 40 min and voila! Asleep. All night long. Last night she cried for about 20 min. And again, slept all night long.
Halle-freakin'-luja!!!!!

We'll see what happens tonight, but more importantly LOST is on. I've been preoccupied with the thought of it all day. Ahhh.....fireplace going, pajamas on, Beas sleeping softly in her bed, Bud Light in one hand and bacon/jalepeno pizza in the other watching LOST with hubby. Life doesn't get much better.

Every day is a BEA-utiful day since 8/17/04!!!!

Le Petit Gourmond

That she is. One thing that I am particularly proud of is the fact that Bea will try anything and rarely spits it out.

To name a few: clam chowder, martini olives, king crab legs, raw garlic (that's not a typo), any type of pasta, with any type of sauce, black bean quesadillas, green beans tossed in olive oil with pine nuts and her favorite snack: pita and hummus. Correction: her favorite food is undisputedly Oliver's kibbles. I must also note that she likes to suck on corks that have been lightly dipped in whichever wine George and I are enjoying.

I also take pride in the fact that she turns her nose up at fake cheese (i.e., kraft slices). She is not your run of the mill "chicken mcnuggets and bbq sauce w/ fries" or "kraft macaroni & cheese" kind of girl. I don't mean this to sound elitist; rather, one of my aggravations is when parents say, "he just won't eat anything but cheerios and peanut butter!!" In fact, a woman I work with professed that her 7 year old son is being treated for acid reflux as a result of consuming too much bbq sauce with his mcnuggets. Truly, I had to feign concern for her predicament and suggested serving him cheese pizza without sauce.

Regardless, I am proud as all hell of Bea. We believe this extensive palate of hers may have formed when Gpa Matt gave Skeets her first bite of solid food, which happened to be a very delectable Rum Raisin ice cream.

Without further ado, please enjoy the following Skeets of the Day:



Eating Tuscan Fish Soup, steamed carrots and bok choy with Gma Mary & Gpa Matt


Nibbling delicately on pomegrante seeds with Gpa Matt.

Let's Get Ready to Rumble!!!

Tonight is the night. Bea is going to sleep in her crib. No, really she is. I swear. Albeit this is oh, about the 9th or 10th time we've tried the big transition..this is it. Out of the big bed, into the crib.

A little background:

Being the neurotic mother that I was re: SIDS, Skeets slept on my chest the first 3.5 months of her life. Then we made the big transition from mum's chest to middle of the bed between Dad, Mum & Puggy. This went on until she was 10 months. At about this time, the hubby decided we needed our bed back (wink, wink). So off the the crib Skeetie went. Round 1. Mom and Dad = 0; Skeets = 1. Back to the big bed she went.

Around 12 months, hubby again puts his foot down and says, "no more - back to the crib" Huge fights ensue, but in order to assist the marriage, I agree: Powerskeet goes back to the crib. This time, no crying it out, rather, I stand at her crib rubbing her back for hours on end, saying, "shhh, shhh, shhhh, shhh." I try to sneak out, floor creaks, pug snorts, George types on computer keyboard, you name it, eyes pop open and we've got a live wire Skeets on our hands. Back to the crib I go, "shhh, shhh, shhh." Eventually I get tired of being held hostage to Skeetie's sleeping patterns and she's back in the big bed. Round 2: Mom & Dad = 0; Skeetie = 2.

Month or so passes, George & I are tired of taking shots to the kidneys or receiving split lips due to Bea's nighttime acrobatics so we both agree: crib time. Not to mention puggy has indignantly moved to the end of the bed. We are all tired, bruised and resentful. Crib time it is. This time, I take to signing a trio of Anne Murray songs to soothe dear Skeets to sleep. Yeah, you heard me right....Anne fucking Murray. It must be my daughter's Canadian blood, b/c she blissfully snoozes everytime I sing Ms. Murray's bedtime tunes. After singing "hush little baby" a million and one times, I give up. I can no longer soothe her to sleep; I cannot stomach those songs any longer. I throw in the towel, Skeets is back in the big bed. Round 3: Mom & Dad= 0; Skeets = 3.

A few weeks pass, hubby informs me that we will never have another child if Bea does not get out of our bed. I say, "what about puggy??!! He slept with us and we got pregnant with Bea!!" He's not amused - wants Bea out of the bed. I secretly think: 1. Bea is a great way to avoid getting pregnant again; and 2. I've run out of tricks and its easier to have her in bed. Besides, now she snuggles and I actually like sleeping with her now. She cudddles up to me and hugs my arm when she falls asleep and I wake up to her sweet little face blowing me kisses in the morning. So then it turns into Bea and Mom v. Dad. I make a ton of different excuses as to why she can't go into her crib. Bea stays in the big bed. Dad & Puggy = 0; Skeets (& Mom) = 4.

We go on vacation to Cannon Beach. The four of us squish into a Murphy bed. I decide upon arrival home that Bea is ousted. Off to the crib she goes. I mean business this time. No "shhh, shhh, shhh" No Anne Murray bullshit. It's time to Ferberize. (i.e., put Bea in crib and let her scream herself into an exhausted sleep). In anticipation of a horrific night, I make a nice dinner for hubby, me & puggy complete with 2 bottles of wine (and back-up martinis if necessary). Bea goes down without a fight (Ok, so I cheated and nursed her to sleep then snuck her into her crib muttering one last Murray tune). She sleeps from 7:00 pm to 8:30 while George and I enjoy a nice candlelight dinner. Then it starts. The confused, incessant screaming. I go back and reassure her, then leave the room. Apparently I forgot that she is my daughter. Like her mother, Skeets has no intentions of giving in or taking no for an answer. Thus the screaming continues, continues, continues, until....CRACK and silence. We bolt down the hall to find PowerSkeet emerging victorious, if not slightly traumatized, from her room. She managed to climb out of her safety-approved, baby-proofed crib. How, we do not know. The only thing I can figure is that her pajama feet have traction and she shimmied, in Mission Impossible fashion, up the sides of her crib, swung her legs over and out??? At any rate, I cannot put her back in her crib. I see Oliver shoot her a dirty look as we climb into bed. Mom, Dad & Puggy = 0; Bea = 4.

She spends the rest of the week in the big bed. We go up to Canada, Bea & I sleep in one bed together, George in the other. We agree, as soon as we get back to Missoula, Skeets in in the crib. Last night was the first night we were supposed to stick to our plan. Since she slept so much in the car and is off her (imaginary) sleeping-pattern we decide she should just sleep with us. Puggy won't even look us in the eye any longer, in fact, he opts for the couch. Mom, Dad, & Oliver = 0; Powerskeet = 5.

So tonight is the night. Yes indeed, it is. Skeetie will sleep in that crib and stay there. The crib matress has been lowered to the ground. There is no escaping for little Skeets.

Skeet O' the Day:

Off to "The Motherland"

...as my husband so affectionately refers to it. He is a bona fide Canuck and we are headed out today to go see his parents. Skeets has pictures of them in her room w/ little Canadian flags on them - she likes to pull out the pictures, wrinkle them up and kiss them.

As usual, leaving town is stressful. I stress, I wash clothes, I stress, I pack, I stress, I pack for pug, I stress, I pack for Bea. Meanwhile George does one of two things, sometimes both: 1. watches TV; and 2. plays on computer. Sweetly oblivious to my whirlwind of clothes folding, snack packing, stress. Simultaneously, Skeets does one of two things: 1. pulls out all the clothes I've just packed and displays them in a line down the hall; or 2. hangs on my legs while I'm flying around the house. Fun eh? And then the hubby wonders why I'm in a bad mood and not at all ready to put out while we're on vaca.

Anyhoo, we're off to spend a weekend w/ Gma Mary & Gpa Matt eating ketchup chips, drinking Molson and watching hockey. By the way, one thing you should know about Pwr Skt is that she has a penchant for beer; I shit you not. So a good time will be had by all.

Here's the Skeet O' the Day:

A day in the life of Bea (& Ollie)

Like most parents, I think my daughter is the bee's knees. However, in this case, she really is. Powerskeet, as we affectionately refer to her, is 16 months old. Two words sum her up: sweet & spicy.

Her dad is George. Skeets lucked out scoring George as her dad. He does everything with her: gardens, cooks, sleds, swimming lessons, even put her first hockey skates on her and took her to the local rink. She is a lucky, lucky girl andhe is a lucky, lucky dad. She is in many ways, her father's daughter.

Oliver is her pug-brother. Oliver is beyond tolerant. He is gentle and sweet, but takes no prisoners should you mess with "Bear-Bitch" (his stuffed teddy bear that he humps b/c we didn't fix him b/c we had plans of breeding that never materialized). Long and the short of it is, we don't really need to go through the whole pregnancy/childbirth/infant thing again b/c Ollie and Skeets essentially function like brother and sister.

Since I am terrible at keeping in touch, writing letters, returning phone calls, returning emails and most egregiously, keeping a babybook; I guess skeetie's babyhood can be memorialized through a blog.

So today:

Woke up at 5:45 am, husband already out of bed and shoveling snow off the sidewalk. Pug and Skeets awake and watching him out the window. Both have taken the liberty of using my pillow as a step to peer outside. So we all jump out of bed. We proceed with the rest of our morning, Bea still in her red and white striped jammies. Breakfast, bath, shower (me), a little Today show, nursie (yes, Skeets still sleeps w/ us and still nurses) and wait for babysitter....and wait for babysitter....and wait for babysitter. God damn unreliable college student blows me off. So I frantically try to find someone to play w/ Bea. Fortunately settle on one of my best friends, Kelly, who has the day off w/ her baby boy, Grant Henry. She is a true friend and came to my rescue yet again. Although she never lets me come to her rescue. Take Skeets over there, she gleefully goes to Kelly, even blows her a kiss. I schlepp off to my law firm to spend yet another day acting like I give a shit about my job. I know, I know, public blog, I should be careful. But its probably no secret that my new priority lies in Bea & family and its hard to get excited about writing an endless number of briefs when Bea's elsewhere.

End of story for now....not going to blog about my job. Or anything else inconsequential. This is Bea's blog. Tonight we are packing for Canada and watching....LOST!!!! My favorite show.

Since 8/17/05...every day is a BEAutiful day!!

Update: Pulled up to Kelly's house at 4:30 pm to see Bea (still in her jammies) grinning and squealing silent squeals through the window. We reunite, kiss, hug, kiss, hug, and clap hands. Go home eat animal cookies together, make Mac & Cheese and get ready for LOST. See, already sounds like I'm describing a night w/ my best girlfriend, sans the vino. We watched LOST (which by the way is not inconsequential). I watched, Bea nursied, pug snored. Husband stayed late at work. Skeets passed out from the hot milk and George got home. He promptly ordered a bacon and jalepeno pizza (thx to "Julie & Julia") and returns with pizza and Bud Light in hand. Ahhh....Bea-utiful end to an otherwise stressful day.