Back in the plastic bubble, kiddo.

Cough? Check. Fever? Check. Lethargy? Check. Wait a minute -- lethargy? That's when I took her to the doctor, because the only times Grace is still are when she's sleeping or strapped into her high chair, eating. Poor little bug has pneumonia, but she's even tougher than I thought. She spent two days on the couch watching "Elmo's Potty Time" over and over, but after just a couple days on antibiotics, she's demanding to be taken to the park. (It's, like, 40°.)

I've slept on the floor with sick pets, in our barn when my horse was having her first foal and, of course, spent nights taking care of friends who had, uh, overindulged and thought it would be fun to run outside naked. (I'm not judging. More than a few friends have done the same for me.) But sleeping next to Grace Wednesday night to make sure she wasn't having "too much trouble breathing" (doctor's words) was truly terrifying.


Going...


going...


gone.

We've decided to keep her.

For one thing, she's sick, which I imagine reduces her resale value. Also, she's being fun today, probably because John is home and he could make her laugh if her arm were cut off and blood was squirting across the room. (That would be the funny part, get it? He'd be all, "Squirt, squirt!")



Here she is playing peek-a-boo, which still slays her.


And fun in the tub. Who could resist that smile? (I hope she's not laughing because her doll is drowning.)

Shopping is fun!

I don't really view shopping as recreation, at least not since my girlfriend Ella moved to Connecticut and Grace was born. (Yes, I had Grace to fill the void left by my absent friend.) But yesterday John and Matt, Maxwell's dad, took the kids to OMSI, and Maxwell's mom, Deborah, suggested we shop. My first thought was, "Shop for what?" Then I thought, "Freakin' relax, Laurel." So we wandered in and out of shops in a funky area of Mississippi Ave. for hours. I bought stuff that I didn't need, just for the fun of it. Thanks, Deb, for a lovely afternoon. Here are a few of my finds.


I like to wrap presents, and you can never have enough ribbon.


Apparently this little train is dyed with spices, as opposed to lead paint, and the lacquer comes from some sort of insect. I could have done without that last bit of info, but isn't it cute?


I think this hat looks better on Brady than on me. I vow to wear it, though.

This will teach her.

I wasn't going to share this picture, but as punishment for today's toddler atrocities, here it is. During our play date with Jake last weekend, note how Grace tries to EAT the wooden food while Jake cleverly uses the knife to cut things. Guess who's the genius in this pair?

Kid for sale. Cute, a little moody.

Grace is RELENTLESSLY contrary these days. She broke my spirit today. (I thought it was supposed to work the other way around.) With the exception of a thirty minute tumbling class this morning, it seemed that her agenda was to injure herself, torture Brady, hurt me and alarm ANYONE WITHIN EARSHOT. As I listened to her scream while I was in the shower, I thought, "I'm forty and she's two and a half. Why can't I outsmart her?" She's lucky she's cute at least some of the time. But check out the attitude in this photo. Seriously, is this normal?

So I wrote a book.

Today I got my first rejection letter from a literary agent, a woman with whom I could imagine sipping martinis in Manhattan while we discussed my next novel. It SUCKED. I'd post a picture of me crying, but I look really weird when I cry. It's a good book. Really, even my friends and my mom think so.

Two, and already boy crazy. Oy.

Grace has been taking an unusual interest in boys lately. She can name all the kids in her class, but she generally focuses on the boys and this week said to me, out of the blue, "I think Zander is cute." In her defense, he is a looker, but how do I explain to a two year old that looks aren't everything? We also went to her first tumbling class yesterday (which was hilarious), and she quickly zeroed in on the most adorable boy and stood staring at him the way I look at Clive Owen or Viggo Mortensen. Or Jude Law before he shagged his nanny. My point is, isn't this premature?


Today she had a play date with Jake, who has it all. He's cute, sweet and a little genius. He was her first kiss over a year ago (it was all a blur, below). Moms do this thing where they get their opposite sex kids together and try to get a picture of them kissing. I don't think it's just me and my mom friends. Right? So today we couldn't resist trying to recapture the magic. Honestly, I don't think his heart was in it, probably because she didn't want to share her two favorite toys (her shopping cart and Elmo). Or maybe he's just not that into her.

No picture. Almost no words.

I hope I can do this story justice, because it far and away tops the recent Target incident with Grace. One of my friends (let's call her Ms. X for the sake of anonymity) left her 3 year old son at the Playland while grocery shopping. The little boy ("J.") is in the process of potty training, and store policy is that the child must be able to communicate any bathroom needs so the mom can be called to tend to the situation. On this day, Ms. X received no call. When she went to fetch J., however, the Playland attendant informed her that J. had pooped his pants, but the TURD ROLLED OUT OF HIS PANT LEG ONTO THE FLOOR, where she was able to pick it up and dispose of it. Hence, no call. Just a lot of judgement, and, of course, embarrassment and guilt for poor Ms. X.

I will say this: I peed a little when she told me this story, and I have been potty trained for 37 years.

Flora

My mom has a plant that actually blooms this way. Click here, for more beautiful flower pictures she has taken.

Always sunny at Gabba & Gampa's

"How long's it been since someone cut this grass?"


"I can do WAY bigger slides, but this will have to do."

I like dogs

For so long, I've been trying to capture Brady's snout and lips (digitally) in an effort to explain why I force her to let me kiss her, even when she smells REALLY BAD. My mom finally got the perfect shot.


Max, too. He's special. And he's happy to kiss me anytime... (see below)


...as long as I've just applied lip balm, and no matter how greasy my hair is.

Holidays Part Two

(My mom takes better pictures than I do, so I should have waited for hers before I shared our holiday experience.)


Grace loved the tree once it was up, but there is no describing her meltdown while Mom and I tried to purchase it.


"Where have you been all my life?"


"Tastes better than the food Mommy tries to make me eat."


"That's what I'm talkin' about — MORE ELMO!!!"

Ho Ho HO!

Oy, the holidays. Let's try to catch up...


Holiday card 2007. It wasn't as difficult as it looks.


My parents' main dog, Max, loves Grace, but she was a bit rough with him this year. He's a senior, and I can't believe what he put up with from her.


The emergency backup dogs, Tootsie and Tessie, make Grace giggle. As does Gabba, with whom she would prefer to live.


There is a special place in Grace's heart for Tessie. And in doggie heaven.


The poor cat will be subjected to the stink of Grace AND Brady on his tree, as if having the dog around wasn't torture enough.


All I want for Christmas is this friggin' BOW off my head!


He might me old, but he's a good sport. I LOVE Max. Seriously.


They're ALL FOR ME, right?


When we got home, we couldn't wait to open Grace's packages from out of town family and friends, but once she'd figured out the drill at Gabba and Gampa's, she wouldn't let me near them -- because they were hers. We eventually worked it out, mostly because I'm bigger than she is. Note the empty envelope, the first thing we opened (from Aunt Terry, thanks!). She didn't even want me touching that.

Just getting the mail, kids.

It's nice to be missed, though.

No picture. I think you'll understand why.

Grace and I were stocking up on household products at Target the other day, and once she finished her snack trap of dried cherries and threw her sippy cup on the floor so many times I confiscated it, she became bored. So she began amusing herself by sticking her hand down her throat until she gagged. Then she'd laugh at my expression of disgust and do it again. After a while I gave up trying to stop her and pretended to ignore her. The drooling should have warned me, but I was preoccupied with laundry detergent, and sure enough, she made herself vomit. Cherries. I just stood there asking her, "Are you kidding me?"

I understand the gagging thing is fun for kids and I needn't worry about bulimia, but is there no end to the ways she will embarrass us in public? Okay, I wasn't really embarrassed, but it was totally gross.

Peace

Brady loves the two days a week Grace is at daycare -- I mean school -- and she gets me all to herself.

Is this thing on?

For days she wouldn't go near the microphone, on or off the stand. It was like waving a crucifix at a vampire the way she'd back off. Then she was watching a YouTube video of Kylie Minogue singing "Especially for You" with Kermit (for the gazillionth freakin' time), and she put two and two together, and now all she wants is to play with the "monkeyshone." Only problem is, she walks around with it singing "Yeah yeah yeah" endlessly, and I use the term singing loosely. Although she does sound better than Kylie Minogue.

This one goes to eleven*

Yesterday I decided to count the number of times Grace fell. This may seem a little morbid, but one has to pass the time. Anyway, I was surprised that we weren't well into the twenties. Eleven? It seemed like she wasn't even trying. Grace is my mother's middle name, and we hoped it wouldn't end up being ironic, because I, John and both my parents are really clumsy (although in the last year or so I've ended up in the ER just twice). Turns out the gene is dominant, however. She falls, bumps into things, conks her head, splits her lip and oh yeah, falls.

*Bonus points if you get the Spinal Tap reference.

This can't end well.

No, she didn't hurt herself. But her (my) shoes fell off and she got all frustrated. I could tell she was thinking she could easily climb on the bed with the appropriate footwear.

Jam + flax seeds = A BIG MESS

I don't have a "before" picture of this disaster, and if I did I don't think I would share it, but suffice it to say that Grace went directly from the car to the bathtub today after daycare. I'm not pointing any fingers, but maybe the cool dude in the kitchen (he really is cool) and the teachers (also super cool) could coordinate when planning the day's afternoon snack and afternoon activity. I don't think there was much real estate on her clothes or body that didn't have flax seeds stuck firmly to dried jam, or just sticky jam. The horror. Above is the "after" picture.

Bed head

Seriously.

Sick. Again.

She doesn't seem to mind, and at least she's learned to blow her nose. John and I are so jacked up on Airborne, we're a little spastic.


This one, too. She won't eat anything. Not dog food, anyway. I'm sure she'd scarf down cat poo or a decomposing squirrel in a heartbeat.

Giving thanks

To the cow, potatoes, green beans and grapes that gave their lives for our little feast, thank you. Oh, and to the pumpkin and whatever is in pie crust. (Apologies to our vegetarian friends.)


Grace was thankful that her Uncle Eddie played with her all night and shared his pie with her.

Just in time for winter!

Grace's Aunt Terry gave her a pair of Levi's for Christmas, or her second birthday, or whatever, and I've been waiting forever for her to grow into them. I'm not sure why this seems like a rite of passage to me, but yippee!

Sad pooch

Okay, this is a bit of a rip-off from yesterday's Dooce.com, but Brady had a bad weekend, too. No dog park because of all the rain, rain, rain. And we keep paying so much attention to The Other One.

Flower power

After a day of taking care of the rugrat so that I could write uninterrupted, John fixed us a lovely dinner that included this work of art. I'm not sure Grace appreciated the aesthetic appeal, and she definitely didn't like the beets, but she loved the peas once we popped them out of their pods and made them go splink! splink! splink! on her plate.

Deep thoughts

Is she contemplating the inexorability of global warming? Maybe puzzling over how best to extricate ourselves from Iraq? Or asking herself for the umpteenth time, BARACK OR HILLARY?


She's probably just wondering why I put cherries instead of crackers in her snack trap. She did ask for crackers.

Reunited and it feels so good!

When Grace hasn't seen Sandi in a while, she hugs her forever with this big grin on her face. Sandi looks like she doesn't mind too much.

Nothing says "I love you" like a new pair of shoes.

These were my peace offering after the tutu incident. NOW she looks like a Portlander, no?

She's still our baby!

Grace suddenly has a renewed interest in her Moses basket. She even curls up and pretends to snore.