The feeling is gone

For a week or two I have been meaning to write that I really like having a three-year-old and an eight-month-old: The dynamic is a lot of fun--so much more so than I ever would have imagined.

But now we all have colds, potty training progress has plateaued far from the finish, and Mary won't let me comb her hair.

(I should have written about the good feeling while I still had it.)

An F-4 (and more)

Yesterday after David woke up from his nap, we all jumped in the car for a quick trip to the Air Force Museum, which is really cool and another one of our Ohio haunts. We arrived promptly at 4:30--perfect timing. The museum closes at 5:00, so by 4:30 people were pouring out. Greg dropped David and me off at the door, and we rushed straight back to the F-4 cockpit. Sure enough, nearly everyone had already left, and David got the plane to himself. He flew the plane to his heart's content.

David in the cockpit of a Vietnam era F-4:

Mary the Fighter Pilot:

(Don't tell David it was actually his baby sister who was in the pilot's seat!)

After the museum doors closed (and the airplanes went to sleep, as David explained to us), we enjoyed wandering around the displays outside. David served as our very diligent and very chatty tour guide.
We also enjoyed a few minutes at the playground.
I love the Air Force Museum. It's really big and really FREE. Also, it comes in handy when your kid wakes up from a nap and declares, "Mom, I need to fly an airplane."

Mary the Amazing

We can't stopped talking about it! Mary is so amazing, and Greg and I are totally infatuated with her. At eight months old, she is at the peak of baby cuteness: Old enough to have opinions, personality quirks, mobility, and a sense of humor, as well as some chunkiness, charm, and insatiable curiosity. But young enough to be 100% baby--innocent, guileless, without an ounce of that mischievous spirit that comes with toddlerhood.

Besides that irresistible cuteness, Mary consistently amazes us with her determination and powers of concentration. When she encounters an object, she carefully turns it over in her hands, holds it to the side of her face, puts it in her mouth, bangs it on the ground, and inspects it from every angle. Greg and I watched in amazement how fast, yet patiently, she figured out how to creep, crawl, pull-up, and we've recently spied her taking a few cruising steps. She's a problem-solver. She thinks about how to get things out of a box and how to get them back in. Two days ago I observed her trying to climb up onto the fireplace. For 20 minutes I sat and watched her try: by holding her weight this way, by pushing that way, by putting her hands here, or her feet there. I watched her carefully think through every possible way she could move her body in an effort to summit the slab. (She never did--I finally got nervous about the concrete and snatched her up for a bath.) We recently introduced her to Cheerios (which have since become her reason for living). Within just a few hours she progressed from awkwardly and often unsuccessfully shoving fistfuls into her mouth to an efficient three-fingered pincher grasp. Mary explores, investigates, experiments, conquers. She does this all independently, quietly, without fanfare.

I know, I know, I haven't described anything that spectacularly amazing. I doubt she's even doing any of these things "early"--I don't know because I never look at child development charts. It's not what Mary does that is so amazing to me and Greg--it's who she is. We can see it in her warm eyes and the light that shines from her soul. We can see her tenacity, her courage, her love of life. God has sent us one amazing child!

This Muggle mom hates mushed banana

We have officially entered the Mushed Banana Stage.

Question: How is it that, even after a thorough wipe-down of both child and chair, sticky mushy banana ends up on every conceivable (and inconceivable) surface in the house?

The only possible answer: Mushed banana is magical. Banana, in its solid non-mushed state, is entirely unremarkable. But once mushed, particularly by the hands or in the mouth of a human being under the age of 30 months, it mutates into a supernatural, disappearing-reappearing substance, not unlike something that would be sold in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes designed to drive mums nutty.

Think about it: You are 100% positive that you have wiped up all the mushed banana from the high chair, but, two hours later, there it is, crusted into the crevices, sticky on the seat belt, and glued to your baby's butt. You meticulously cleaned the mushed banana from in between those chubby baby fingers, confident that it all ended up in the trash on a wet paper towel, but it soon reappears on the Exersaucer, the couch cushions, the crib rails, the television remote control, your flip-flops, Percy, and a book about trucks. Mushed banana must be magical! How else can you explain the mushed banana in every body's hair, ground into the closet carpet, smeared on the sliding glass door, stuck to the back of the dining room chairs, smushed into Mr. Potatoe Head's eye orifice, crusted into the buttons on your cell phone, stained on your favorite white T-shirt, and gluing "no man can serve two masters" to "seek ye first the kingdom of God" in your Bible?

Yeah, yeah, J.K. Rowling says she came up with her ideas on a train to London. But I believe that she woke up one morning, stepped into slimy mushed banana that she had carefully cleaned off her daughter the day before, and asked herself, "How did that get there?"

Translation, please

David is finally giving up the made-up words he created for the important things in his life. He's a little late dropping them, but, then again, he was a little late creating them. (And when I say a little late, I mean a little late. He has a mild speech delay--just enough to have qualified for Four Oaks Early Intervention, which he loved, and just enough for our insurance to pay for speech therapy twice a week, which he also loves. Sometimes I even think his speech delay is a gift from God...although it would be nice if he were easier to understand...)

Given that I spend so much time with David, his words have become part of my vocabulary. (It's a little embarrassing how many times, without thinking, I have used the word "abba" instead of "firetruck.") Here are some gems.

• Abba = firetruck (This has been used so often for so long that when I see a firetruck, I think "abba," and then I have to mentally translate it back to English.)
• Ambet = ambulance
• Adda = doctor, hospital, helicopter
• Allah = granola, library, popsicle, ice cream (Confusing, yes. Context is everything. And there's so much talk of "Allah" around here that you'd think we were Muslim.)
• Koo = truck
• Eminem = watermelon
• Bird = big
• Boat = book (and boat)
• Ah-choo = thank you (as previously explained)
• Pee-pee = step stool (Okay, so he hasn't used this for over six months. But it was so funny when he did. Whenever he wanted a better look at what Mom or Dad was doing on the counter, he would run around the house looking for his little stool yelling "My pee-pee! My pee-pee!")
• Dbrrrr (like "brrr," when you're cold and vibrate your lips) = fish (Seriously!! I think this is our all-time favorite because of weirdness. And he just barely dropped it last week. Ah, memories...just when a speech evaluation would be going very well, he would be shown a picture of a fish: What a look of surprise on the speech therapists' faces when he would respond with a confident and resounding "Dbrrrrrr!")
• Diet Coke = Diet Coke (Of all the things to say perfectly??)

A picture for Wednesday

A few of her favorite things

Mary really, really likes

1. Eating magazines

2. Bath time

3. Plastic drinking straws

4. Daisy Duck

5. Cheerios

and 6. the red bell from the broken Christmas ornament.

And we really, really like Mary.

Pedal your feet to Jesus

Tonight during Family Home Evening we talked about how Jesus taught that we should be peacemakers. I showed David a picture of Jesus teaching. David responded, "I want to see Jesus. I ride my bike and pedal my feet to see Jesus."

Progress?

This photo is proof of at least some progress. Note the underpants. Note also the toy saw, which was part of an elaborate bribery system that resulted in David's refusing to do anything but pee in the toilet, which then resulted in counter bribes to get David out of the bathroom. We all breathed a sigh of relief when the last sticker went on the chart and David could finally take the saw to the front yard (yes, the front yard) and cut down a few trees.

Daddy's little helpers

Happy Father's Day! This post is a week late, but not the celebration. David took the lead with this year's festivities. He wrapped the presents (with some help) and opened the presents (with no help at all--poor Greg didn't have a prayer). David also helped me make chocolate chip cinnamon rolls, and he insisted that we put candles on them and sing "Happy Father's Day" to the tune of "Happy Birthday." (Celebrating Father's Day a week after your third birthday can be confusing.) Greg received two very Father's-Day-appropriate gifts: a new electric razor and a calculator that does Reverse Polish notation (whatever that is).

Here is one reason Greg is such a great dad: He lets his children help him (which, as I have learned since becoming a parent, requires a lot of love and patience). For example:

David gets to help Daddy--

• mow the lawn
• take out the trash
• take out the recycling
• load/unload the dishwasher
• hometeach the Mainord family
• pump up low bike tires
• carry in the groceries
• vacuum
• assemble shelves
• pull weeds

Mary gets to help Daddy--

• collect data for any statistics projects
• attend Elders Quorum presidency meeting
• attend missionary correlation meeting
• enjoy Sunday School from the hallway
• train for a marathon
• pick up uniforms from the cleaners
• set the dinner table
• build train tracks
• fold the laundry
• work on computer-based projects

What great helpers he has! And, wow, those little helpers are blessed with such a great dad!

Worse than a root canal

(Thank you, Karen, for bringing this awesome ancient Greek artifact to my attention):

The handmade carpets are rolled up, the Resolve is ready at hand, and the M&Ms are in the bathroom. Plus, I'm out of excuses. That's right--it's potty training time. We're going cold turkey (my kid hates Pull-ups anyway).

Also, I had a root canal this week. Potty training and a root canal in the same week. Lucky me.

I need my diet Coke

On his first bike ride, David announced, "I need my diet Coke." What?!? There was no mistaking it--he had said, with perfect clarity, "I need my diet Coke." He had never before talked about diet Coke. But for the next half mile David happily chatted about his diet Coke. Then we arrived at the rest spot, complete with vending machines (which we have never used--in fact, I'm not sure we've ever used any vending machine with David). David then proceeded to (pretend to) buy me a diet Coke. He was very concerned about Mom getting a diet Coke. (Hmmm...I wonder where he got that idea from...)

Yesterday I put Mary in the jogging stroller and took David to the bike trail. Soon after we embarked, David informed me that we were going to buy diet Coke. "I need diet Coke. Mom need diet Coke." Sure enough, when we arrived at the vending machines, he immediately set about getting diet Cokes for us. Then he suggested that we go sit in the gazebo and drink them. So we did.

Nothing like relaxing in a gazebo on a gorgeous summer day, sharing an imaginary diet Coke with your sweetheart.



[So, yes, I have a slight diet Coke addiction--though it's technically Cherry Coca-Cola Zero these days. But how diet Coke and bike rides became intertwined in David's mind is beyond me.]

Eight months strong

Mary is 8 months old today.

Here are some pictures I snapped this evening.






And who is she watching so intently?


Who else?

"P-burgh" and the drive fro

Phew! Last Pittsburgh post. I promise. (If you're just now "tuning in," start here.) As you can tell, I'm a little obsessed with recording everything we did on our trip. It's goes back to idea that we travel to create out-of-the-ordinary memories...but if you can't look back and remember the memories......

Thus, a dozen posts about one weekend.


The drive home was uneventful, until we were just 45 minutes from home. Mary decided she was officially finished with her carseat. David was bored. And we were all getting hungry. Greg and I seriously considered pushing on to the bitter end, but things were deteriorating quickly. So we wimped out and stopped half an hour from home. How pathetic. But I doubt we could have survived those last 25 miles otherwise.

We stopped in Springfield, which, I am convinced, is the inspiration for the Springfield (home to Lisa, Apu, and Snowball II, among others) . I have no good reason for believing this--other than the fact that Ohio is everywhere and nowhere, and has everything and nothing. Here's the really funny part: we stopped at Bob Evans. This is funny because we never, ever eat at sit-down, wait-for-your-food restaurants anymore. So the one time we do this entire year, we eat at Bob Evans?? But the food was indeed comforting (and after all that whining and crying in the car, a little comfort was nice). There was even a fruit and yogurt plate on the kid's menu--perfect for David, who loves fruit even more than he loves trains. The best part was the high chair, which wasn't a high chair--it was a baby booster seat. So Mary got to be right at the table with us, instead of off to the side, nearly forgotten. She thought she was such a big girl, right there in the booth with the big people, and within grabbing distance of the menus, the silverware, the salt shaker, the napkins, and anything else she might want to stick in her mouth. She even got to munch on one of David's bananas. I loved seeing her so happy! (And I vowed to pay her more attention the next time she is relegated to a high chair.) Greg and I even splurged and split a piece of strawberry cream pie--which we had to scarf down because by that point David was rolling around on the floor. (Why, why, why must David roll around on the floor in eating establishments??) Our spur-of-the-moment, irrational refueling stop was actually quite inspired!

And who ever would have guessed that the grand finale of our trip to Pittsburgh would be at a Bob Evans in Springfield, Ohio? One more fond (except for the rolling around on the floor part) and out-of-the-ordinary (except for the rolling around on the floor part) memory to cherish!

"P-burgh" and our very own Mary Christine

Mary was there too!...

enjoying the view...

getting sleepy...

banished to the lobby (during nap time)...

after a bath (while the boys hit the pool)...

along for the ride...

putting up with her brother's shenanigans...

and doing her own thing...

We love you, Mary Berry!