<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805</id><updated>2012-02-16T21:44:45.602-05:00</updated><category term='Millie jokes'/><category term='Nemo'/><category term='songs'/><category term='pregnant'/><category term='favorites'/><category term='Millie'/><category term='books'/><category term='Daddy'/><category term='3 years old'/><category term='granparents'/><category term='bedtime'/><category term='big sister'/><category term='Raffi'/><category term='burping'/><category term='manners'/><category term='sleep'/><category term='Joy'/><category term='siblings'/><category term='words'/><category term='baby'/><category term='nightmares'/><category term='age 4'/><category term='tidbits'/><category term='race'/><category term='pre-school'/><category term='Dear Millie'/><category term='hospital'/><title type='text'>That's Some Pig</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>49</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8151485354155318129</id><published>2011-12-30T20:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-30T20:22:35.429-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pre-school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='words'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='age 4'/><title type='text'>Forrest of Bubbles</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;So we've been told that Millie has a way with words. &amp;nbsp;Her preschool teacher actually said that her use of language is "unprecedented" in her 35 years of teaching kindergarten. She's 4 years old. wow. We've been told to write it down but honestly it flows like the rapids in a river-- it's hard to get a teacup full to give a sample. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;But here are are some recent examples:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Today we went to the local aquarium. They have a lovely bubble fountain feature that's pretty cool. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNO4JBaBoK0/Tv5ec-QRAKI/AAAAAAAAANI/11M_x7BQXIw/s1600/bubble+forest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNO4JBaBoK0/Tv5ec-QRAKI/AAAAAAAAANI/11M_x7BQXIw/s320/bubble+forest.JPG" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie ran up to it and said, "Look Mom, a FOREST OF BUBBLES!!" &amp;nbsp;Leave it to Millie to transport you from an aquarium with a cool bubble feature- to a forest of magical tall bubble trees.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie was talking with a friend about how brave she is (no problems with self-confidence here). She admitted though:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: I don't care for shots.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Her friend: I don't mind. I think they feel like a pinch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: I think a shot feels like a big shark tooth gnawing a teeny tiny part of me away. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;No wonder she screams like she's having her arm sawed off. Apparently, that's what it feels like to her.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;----------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;A few days ago, she ran off/away from her grandmother while they were playing outside. &amp;nbsp;She's fast and she flew around the corner of the house too fast for her grandmother to see that she had actually run inside. &amp;nbsp;It's actually the THIRD time this has happened and if you're the responsible adult-- it's terrifying when she disappears. It happened to me in her school lobby, it happened to her teacher while coming in from the playground and now her grandmother. Our conversation this time went this way:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: I just wanted to go inside.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Me: &amp;nbsp;But you have to tell the adult what your plan is.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: But I can't!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Me: Why?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: Because I'm HOT like a candle in a menorah and I'm thinking so fast like a candle burning that the words will come out too fast for a grownup. So I have to just GO!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;wow. hot like a candle in a menorah. We're not even Jewish. I explained that she should take a few breaths to calm down and slow down, then tell the adult so she doesn't get in trouble or get lost or hurt. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;*As a side note, with an imagination as vivid as hers, I'm reluctant to feed it stories of child abduction but I think I'm going to have to. &amp;nbsp;Simple request and reasoning just isn't working... She's an adventurous girl and loves meeting new people. Right now her universe is boundless and technicolor and full of vividly wonderful things at every turn. Somehow I have to figure out how to convince her that it is possible for her to get hurt without raining on her Magical Millie parade...*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;---------------------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;She had a bad cold the other day. &amp;nbsp;We were eating dinner and she said, "Ow! My head hurts," and grabbed her right jaw. We were worried that she had an ear infection so my husband took her to the pediatrician the next morning. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Pediatrician: Millie, was something hurting you yesterday at dinner?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Millie: &amp;nbsp;Yes! A pain ERUPTED into my mouth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Pediatrician was speechless for a moment and exchanged glances with my husband who shrugged. &amp;nbsp;That's just our Millie. It didn't hurt- it ERUPTED.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Her teacher actually sent us an email with the following story last week:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Time: Monday 3:10 PM&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Scene: Millie and the last of the nappers are packing up their nap things and getting ready to walk back from the nap room to our room.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Me: Stopping by the room to say hello! "Hi nappers how was your sleep?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Some children mumbling sleepily "Ok, fine"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Millie: "NAPILICIOUS!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;It was so cute and heartfelt and sooo Millie! She really is one in a million!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Her teacher has forecasted that whatever she decides to pursue in the future it will involve an imagination and mastery of words. &amp;nbsp;An author perhaps? Who knows. &amp;nbsp;Needless to say, three different people bought her blank notebooks for Christmas. &amp;nbsp;We'll see what unfolds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div class="gmail_quote"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8151485354155318129?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8151485354155318129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/12/forrest-of-bubbles.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8151485354155318129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8151485354155318129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/12/forrest-of-bubbles.html' title='Forrest of Bubbles'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNO4JBaBoK0/Tv5ec-QRAKI/AAAAAAAAANI/11M_x7BQXIw/s72-c/bubble+forest.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3408848480929687633</id><published>2011-09-06T20:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-06T20:07:07.809-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bedtime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie'/><title type='text'>The Agony and the Ecstasy</title><content type='html'>Tonight at bedtime, Millie grabbed my hand. &amp;nbsp;Then she pretended to write on it and touched each finger. Then she said, "This book is jus' fuh you. It says I love you Mommy. It will neve' wash off no mattew how many times you wash it. Whenever you feel sad you can put it on your heart and know that Millie loves you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you go from that to wanting to rip your hair out and yell at her for not going to bed after the 5th or 10th trip into her room when she's supposed to be asleep knowing that if she doesn't get sleep she's going to be a nightmare the next day for herself and everyone else- this the dark mystery of parenthood. &amp;nbsp;Sigh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Ecstasy and the Agony all wrapped up in one bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3408848480929687633?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3408848480929687633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/09/agony-and-ecstasy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3408848480929687633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3408848480929687633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/09/agony-and-ecstasy.html' title='The Agony and the Ecstasy'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-23303434915497385</id><published>2011-09-03T21:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-03T21:44:50.653-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nemo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='burping'/><title type='text'>Burping</title><content type='html'>Millie: &amp;nbsp;(Burp) Oh. Excuse me. I burped.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: I see.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Hm. I think I deflated. (Holding up her shirt)- Look Mom! I deflated like the puffer fish in Nemo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-23303434915497385?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/23303434915497385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/09/burping.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/23303434915497385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/23303434915497385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/09/burping.html' title='Burping'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5767279668623223197</id><published>2011-06-26T10:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T10:58:09.590-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nightmares'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='granparents'/><title type='text'>Millie Moments</title><content type='html'>It has been a while since we've posted and Millie has been amazing as usual.&amp;nbsp; It all comes so fast and fabulous that I can never seem to get it into the blog fast enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So without much preamble or preparation, I would just like to share a couple recent moments:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1: Millie's grandparents are visiting and it's been wonderful watching Millie and Joy have such a great time with them.&amp;nbsp; Sadly, they'll be headed home this afternoon and Grandma and Grandpa are a little sad about that.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;Grandpa said to Millie, while holding Joy in his arms:&amp;nbsp; Millie,&amp;nbsp; Can we take Joy with us?&amp;nbsp; Please?&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: NOoooooo. Mommy made her in her tummy- she's OURS.&amp;nbsp; She's not a Valentine to give away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) While leaving for work two mornings ago:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:&amp;nbsp; Bye Millie. I'll miss you.&lt;br /&gt;Millie:&amp;nbsp; I'll miss you too mommy.&amp;nbsp; Don't worry- our hearts will be together forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)&amp;nbsp; Millie has reached the age of bad dreams.&amp;nbsp; So sad, when you rush in the room and her cheeks are all wet with tears.&amp;nbsp; A few nights ago, I went in as she woke up wailing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:&amp;nbsp; Millie- what is it?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Mommy it was my dream.&amp;nbsp; It was so scary.&amp;nbsp; (She told me what it was but I've already forgotten).&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:&amp;nbsp; It's ok. It was only a dream. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: Mommy, sometimes I have bad dreams and they make me sad. Sometimes I just need a little bit of couwage.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Millie-- you have more courage than most people I know.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5767279668623223197?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5767279668623223197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/06/millie-moments.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5767279668623223197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5767279668623223197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/06/millie-moments.html' title='Millie Moments'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-1875765560488904635</id><published>2011-04-14T15:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T15:02:21.698-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dear Millie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tidbits'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='3 years old'/><title type='text'>Dear Millie</title><content type='html'>Dear Millie,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You just turned 4 years old.&amp;nbsp; I have not blogged much recently because you have kept us quite busy.&amp;nbsp; It has been quite a challenge for all of us.&amp;nbsp; You have heard "No," quite often and exasperated sighs and occasionally louder moments of frustration.&amp;nbsp; Three was a tough year.&amp;nbsp; But, I am starting to see the light in the distance... the warm glow of reason and cooperation returning to your brain. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought this might be a good time to let you know that although it has been challenging, we have had some really truly wonderful moments that I wanted to share with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tidbits I:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE the fact that&amp;nbsp;you&amp;nbsp;giggled&amp;nbsp;out loud in your sleep the night after your 3rd birthday party. You loved the Great Zucchini.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year at your 4th birthday gymnastics party, you let them lift you 20 feet into the air on spotting ropes.&amp;nbsp; You are soo brave!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are&amp;nbsp;an outgoing little firecracker who is kind to the quiet kids: At the playground the other day Milie was playing with daddy but there were no other kids. Eventually another daddy arrived with his 3 year old daughter and Millie, who had never met this girl before, ran up to her with arms wide open, yelling, "Hoo-wayyy! My fwiend is heah!!" Although she was ready to tackle this stranger with a hug, the little girl was not sure. "Don't worry," said Millie, "It's just me- Millie. I'll give you a minute." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You love sitting and looking through books for 20-30 minutes at a time... then will hop up and run and dance around like a wild child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love that you&amp;nbsp;cheer for the other kids in gymnastics class louder than their own parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love that you&amp;nbsp;laugh easily and love to make others laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to get us to laugh you'll get a ribbon and wrap it around your forehead and sing the theme to Rambo (Dad taught you that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You dubbed your grandparents "Grandma-Honey" and "Grandpa-Honey" because they always are calling each other Honey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm amazed by how you&amp;nbsp;memorized entire magazines and books word for word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 3 years old you were amazingly creative and you will create entire fantasy worlds and give everyone you encounter a role: "Step-muddah? Where are you? It's me Cinda-wella" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love that you&amp;nbsp;appreciate the great outdoors. You have walked outside and said, with a big sigh and with arms wide open, "What a wonderful refweshing day!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We love that&amp;nbsp;you love your babysister so much that kissing her is like eating a potato chip for you- you can't have just one. You&amp;nbsp;kiss her head, her cheeks, her toes, her elbow-- anything you can get to before she starts fussing for some personal space. If she's fussy, you try to get her to laugh or frantically try to find a toy for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have&amp;nbsp;so much energy that you RUN every where you're going-- even if it's 10 feet. Sometimes if there's a long way to get there, you'll take it just so you can run farther.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy or sad- you live passionately.&amp;nbsp; It is my goal to encourage your joie de vivre without smothering your passion. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;Dear Millie, thanks again for choosing our family and sharing your joy and passion with us. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;We love you. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-1875765560488904635?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/1875765560488904635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/04/dear-millie.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1875765560488904635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1875765560488904635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2011/04/dear-millie.html' title='Dear Millie'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-2677139524673292831</id><published>2010-12-14T10:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-14T10:51:49.544-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='3 years old'/><title type='text'>Laugh Factory</title><content type='html'>Millie has so many funny quotes these days I can't write them down fast enough.&amp;nbsp; Here is just a sample of magical thoughts and fun with words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most recently we've been playing music with &lt;a href="http://www.pandora.com/"&gt;Pandora&lt;/a&gt;. You can build a great station by putting in your favorite artists.&amp;nbsp; She often asks who's singing and her response just demonstrates what a magical world she lives in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example:&lt;br /&gt;Answer:&amp;nbsp; Kenny Loggins.&amp;nbsp; Millie: Wow a log is singing that song?&lt;br /&gt;Answer: Jewel.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Millie:&amp;nbsp; Wow, a jewel is singing that song?&lt;br /&gt;Answer: The Beatles &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Millie: Wow, a group of insects sings that song?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:&amp;nbsp; Millie, sometimes things change based on different circumstances.&lt;br /&gt;Millie:&amp;nbsp; Really?&amp;nbsp; Why would circus dances change it?&amp;nbsp; I can do all kinds of circus dances.&amp;nbsp; See!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Diego hidded the treasure.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:&amp;nbsp; Hid. Diego hid the treasure.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Yes. Diego hid the treasure. He is very good at hidding.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-2677139524673292831?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/2677139524673292831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/12/laugh-factory.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2677139524673292831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2677139524673292831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/12/laugh-factory.html' title='Laugh Factory'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5148071852245200498</id><published>2010-11-22T14:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T14:19:20.875-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='3 years old'/><title type='text'>The Great Debater</title><content type='html'>Millie has a lot to say... all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny enough, I remember when she was an infant, I actually considered getting her hearing checked because so many babies her age were babbling and cooing all the time but she wasn't.&amp;nbsp; She was happy. She grinned and lit up if you talked to her but no response. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a friend who said, "Don't worry. Be grateful. When she starts, you probably won't ever have quiet again."&amp;nbsp; She was right.&amp;nbsp; Millie keeps a running commentary going constantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie:&amp;nbsp; Good morning Joy! I missed you so much! I love you so much! Did you have nice dreams Pocahontas yelled happily as she wan down the hall (yes she narrates her narration).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I tried to get her to walk quietly past the babie's room while the baby napped.&amp;nbsp; On and on she kept talking.&amp;nbsp; "Shhhhh!" I kept saying, "The baby is sleeping."&amp;nbsp; On and on she went, "That's wight. We should be vewy quiet. Joy is sleeping. When will she wake up? I want huh to play wif me. When is she going to wake up..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy:&amp;nbsp; &lt;b&gt;Millie.&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp; Can you stop talking for just one minute &lt;b&gt;please&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Millie:&amp;nbsp; No.&amp;nbsp; God wants to hear what I have to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well how do your respond to that?&amp;nbsp; We're not particularly religious and Millie has been to church maybe 3 times so I don't know where she came up with such an idea.&amp;nbsp; But at the time, I thought it was such a deep thought that I couldn't argue with that.&amp;nbsp; Later, I thought I could have told her that sometimes you need to be quiet to hear what God wants to say to you... but I didn't think of that then. She sure keeps me on my toes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5148071852245200498?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5148071852245200498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/11/great-debater.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5148071852245200498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5148071852245200498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/11/great-debater.html' title='The Great Debater'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6444652729387924345</id><published>2010-09-12T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T11:08:28.585-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lessons from Elmo</title><content type='html'>Millie doesn't watch Sesame Street.&amp;nbsp; She gets bored with it after 15 minutes.&amp;nbsp; Yesterday, however, we went to a &lt;a href="http://sesamestreetlive.com/shows/elmos-healthy-heroes"&gt;Sesame Street Live&lt;/a&gt; show and she LOVED it. The songs, the lights, the talking vegetables.&amp;nbsp; She laughed and clapped. At bedtime she said, "Mommy! Did you see the talking cheese!" and laughed again until she ran out of breath.&amp;nbsp; Here I thought that most of these things were targeted to older kids who could remember it. I only bought the tickets because someone else was going with their 3 year old.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Somehow I had bought into the notion that unless the child will remember the event as an adult it isn't worth doing. My earliest memory is at age 4.&amp;nbsp; Millie is 3 1/2 years old.&amp;nbsp; The truth is actually that many of these things are most enjoyed by the 3-7 year olds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a child entertainer come to her 3 year old birthday party.&amp;nbsp; When I booked him, he asked how old the kids would be.&amp;nbsp; I said, three years old.&amp;nbsp; He said, "Good.&amp;nbsp; By&amp;nbsp; 6 years old they're already too sophisticated for my kind of goofy humor."&amp;nbsp; It was low tech, very silly and he had them in hysterics for 45 minutes straight. Every single kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought we were bringing Millie to the show to learn about healthy habits in a fun way.&amp;nbsp; I guess I also learned a lesson too-- Don't wait.&amp;nbsp; Go have fun with your kids today.&amp;nbsp; They'll love it now while they are young enough to dance and jump around with giant puppets.&amp;nbsp; You will have a blast too and maybe, just maybe, you'll both be left with a lifelong wonderful memory.&amp;nbsp; You never know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6444652729387924345?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6444652729387924345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/09/lessons-from-elmo.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6444652729387924345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6444652729387924345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/09/lessons-from-elmo.html' title='Lessons from Elmo'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-1836274459021545786</id><published>2010-08-23T11:53:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T17:35:44.558-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Raffi'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie jokes'/><title type='text'>Sound advice</title><content type='html'>On the way to school, Millie and her dad were listening to Raffi singing This Little Light of Mine I'm gonna let it shine.  &lt;br /&gt;Millie:  He needs to turn da lights off!   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Milli: Because he'll run out of badderies!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-1836274459021545786?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/1836274459021545786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/08/sound-advice.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1836274459021545786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1836274459021545786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/08/sound-advice.html' title='Sound advice'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-7289972896940970696</id><published>2010-08-18T13:00:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T13:27:13.618-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie jokes'/><title type='text'>Evolution of a Joke</title><content type='html'>When Millie was just beginning to talk more, somewhere between 18months and 2 years, her father would joke around with her and say, in his best Darth Vader impersonation voice, "Luke, I am your father." She would repeat it over and over because it always got a laugh. It seems like it's been over a year though since the joke was in circulation. Last week at the dinner table though it resurfaced with a Millie twist:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy (in Darth Vader voice): Luke, I am your father.&lt;br /&gt;Millie (in baby Vader voice): I want some milk... I am your daug-tuh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-7289972896940970696?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/7289972896940970696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/08/evolution-of-joke.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7289972896940970696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7289972896940970696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/08/evolution-of-joke.html' title='Evolution of a Joke'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3034804446295611639</id><published>2010-07-29T20:32:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T12:45:09.121-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='big sister'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='siblings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Millie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hospital'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Joy'/><title type='text'>Introducing Joy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/TFIfgVFLtvI/AAAAAAAAAMA/F4M9h2OB8fM/s1600/joy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499492735247955698" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/TFIfgVFLtvI/AAAAAAAAAMA/F4M9h2OB8fM/s320/joy.jpg" style="display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So two weeks ago we welcomed our second precious little girl into the world: Joy. Millie is in love. I had been a little worried because Millie is an energetic little one and she consumes 350% of the attention and energies of both her mommy and daddy. We were worried about how she would adjust to sharing her spotlight. So far so good though. Truly it was love at first sight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had our daughter 8:20pm via c-section. This was the first night ever that Millie had been away from both parents. Both grandmothers were with her at our home. The next morning I was still feeling pretty rough around all the edges but the medical team advised that I get up and into a chair. We decided that we would have Millie visit for one hour that afternoon. The nurse technician asked me, "How old is your daughter?" "Three," I answered. She said, "OK, we need to make sure you don't have too many visible tubes hanging off of you." She put the chair in the corner of the room and the IV pole behind the chair. She got permission to remove the foley catheter. I took a fresh dose of pain medicine and after half an hour of getting presentable, I finally landed in the chair and waited for Millie and the grandparents to arrive. We were advised that the baby should be in the bassinet and not in mommy’s arms so as not to provoke immediate jealousy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie entered the room and came right over to me, “Hi Mommy! Hi Baby Sister!” she said to my tummy as she had been doing for the last several months. “Hey Baby Sister,” she said, ready to launch into her conversation. I interrupted- “Millie. Baby sister is not in mommy’s tummy anymore. She’s out now. She’s over there,” I said, pointing to the plastic hospital bassinet on the other side of the room. Millie sloooowly turned to see where I was pointing- then froze. Then her eyes got huge and then in a reverent, awestruck shuddering, voice she whispered “Ohh- ohhhh-ohhh!” while skipping, hopping and dancing with excitement. She put her hands on her cheeks. Her body couldn’t contain the excitement. Finally, she ran over to the bassinet and climbed on the couch next to it. She stood on the couch peering over into the bassinet and said, “Ohhhh! I love huh (her)! She’s so cute! I’m going to sing her a song…” Then Millie serenaded little Joy with Rockabye baby. Then she said, “I want to sing her another song.” She then sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s been a love story ever since. Granted—it’s only been two weeks but so far so good. Every morning, Millie whispers to Joy, “I love you baby sister,” and tries to hug her. She says, “I love her little toes. I love her little eyes. I love her little cheeks.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two nights ago she came over to smother her with kisses and hugs and out of the blue she whispered to Joy,&lt;b&gt; “I’ll always be by your side.”&lt;/b&gt; Neither her father nor I know where she picked up that phrase—it’s not anything we’ve ever said to her and it’s not in any songs we play. As far as we can tell, Millie, on her own, was just moved to say it. I pray that it’s true- that the two sisters will always be loving and there for each other. All I know is that, so far, Millie as a big sister is more breathtaking than ever. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3034804446295611639?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3034804446295611639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/07/introducing-joy.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3034804446295611639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3034804446295611639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/07/introducing-joy.html' title='Introducing Joy'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/TFIfgVFLtvI/AAAAAAAAAMA/F4M9h2OB8fM/s72-c/joy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8802023462396177445</id><published>2010-07-03T23:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T23:25:58.126-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Daddy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='3 years old'/><title type='text'>He's Got the Whole World...</title><content type='html'>Millie's grandparents are visiting. Millie's grandmother was reading her  the bedtime stories. After stories, usually Millie's dad will start the  lay down routine. He was waiting in the wings in our room listening for  the end of story time and the brushing of teeth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he was waiting he decided to try out a new  speaker docking station that he had just purchased to see how it did  playing the music off his cell phone.  Millie's grandmother  was  bringing Millie to the bathroom to brush teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Following the music, she  ran past the bathroom and poked her head into our room, tentatively.   She looked over at her father with a questioning look, not sure if she  would get into trouble for delaying the brushing of teeth or not.   Daddy, waved her in though and she happily scooted over to him.  "Can I  sit on your lap?"  He said she could.  Then the song changed to Raffi's  "He's got the whole world in his hands".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the end of the song, she  started clapping to the tune and rocking along with daddy. When it was  over Daddy turned off the music.  She turned to him and hugged him and  said, "You are the most favorite grown-up I've ever seen."  "I love you  too, Millie." he replied.  Then off they went happily to brush teeth and  settle down for the night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8802023462396177445?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8802023462396177445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/07/hes-got-whole-world.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8802023462396177445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8802023462396177445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/07/hes-got-whole-world.html' title='He&apos;s Got the Whole World...'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4565432938260394438</id><published>2010-06-07T14:45:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T15:01:15.391-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Early Father's Day Gifts</title><content type='html'>Daddy hadn't shaved yet and as they sat close together, Millie was examining daddy's beard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:  I know, I need to shave.&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  How will you do  it?&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:  With a razor and shaving cream.&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  Daddy, (touching his face) your beard  is excellent. Your cheek is excellent. Your chin looks excellent. You  look excellent.&lt;br /&gt;Millie (after another thoughtful pause):  When I get bigger, I'll marry someone I love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What better gift is there, than to know that you are adored, scruffy edges and all?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4565432938260394438?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4565432938260394438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/06/early-fathers-day-gifts.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4565432938260394438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4565432938260394438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/06/early-fathers-day-gifts.html' title='Early Father&apos;s Day Gifts'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6688098804219932650</id><published>2010-05-10T23:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T23:19:19.841-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='big sister'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pregnant'/><title type='text'>Sibling Comfort</title><content type='html'>This morning Millie was employing her most effective and frustrating strategy to delay getting the day started.  She actually was all dressed but was stalling on coming down the stairs to get breakfast.  Toddlers don't care that you need to leave the house at a certain time. They are blissfully and frustratingly unaware of the fact that the rest of the world is trying to run on a schedule. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any rate, we are trying to employ a &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-Logic-Magic-Early-Childhood/dp/1930429002/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1273547582&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;"Love and Logic"&lt;/a&gt; tool for behavior management.  This is supposed to reduce stress because you 1) give the kid a choice, 2) calmly inform the child of the consequences, and if they don't comply with the choice they made, then you 3) empathize with them and 4) calmly inform them of the consequence.  So this morning Millie agreed to come down the stairs after a certain time was up- let's say 2 minutes.  After her two minutes were up she continued to stall.  I bent the rules a little and warned her that she was about to lose her morning treat (I was supposed to just deliver the consequence immediately). Then I bent the rule further and even gave her a count of 3 to get to the stairs (all stated in a calm voice).  When she ignored all the second chances I told her, "Uh-oh. It's so sad. You've lost your morning treat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She lost it. She was so upset.  I tried to hug her and say things like, "I know.  It's so hard sometimes. It's so sad." She just snapped at me, "Don't touch me!" Then she would lean towards me or follow me if I tried to give her a little space- sobbing the whole time. She gets so mixed up and conflicted when she's upset. My husband tried to give her hugs and she shoved him away. So I thought to myself, if she is too upset with me and her father to be consoled- maybe she can vent to her baby sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has conversations with her baby sister now several times a day.  I have to speak for Baby Sister but that doesn't seem to bother Millie.  She'll say, "Baby sister? Baby Sister?"  I'll say, "Yes, Big Sister."  She'll say, "Do you know how to crawl yet?"  I'll say, "No. I don't know what that is."  And she'll say, "I'll show you. You get down like dis and crawl around like dis."  Then I'll say, "Thank you for showing me Big Sister. You're so smart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this morning, I said, "Why don't you tell baby sister what happened?"  She approached me slowly, lifted my shirt up and leaned her head against my pregnant tummy, cheek to belly, and said, "Baby Sister?"  "Yes Big Sister?" I replied.  "Baby Sister, Mommy took away my morning treat!" said Millie.  "Really?? Why?" said Baby Sister in shock. "Because I did not come downstairs when I was supposed to. And mommy counted to 3 and I did not come," explained Millie.  "Oh I'm so sorry Big Sister. That is sad,"  said Baby Sister. Then Millie just sat there quietly leaning and cuddling with my tummy for a few minutes until she settled down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love the thought of the two sisters comforting each other already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6688098804219932650?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6688098804219932650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/05/sibling-comfort.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6688098804219932650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6688098804219932650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/05/sibling-comfort.html' title='Sibling Comfort'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4417566051945234195</id><published>2010-03-25T20:04:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T20:08:59.065-04:00</updated><title type='text'>So generous</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S6v68fGYVOI/AAAAAAAAAKg/TFL70Tm0Jys/s1600/sister.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S6v68fGYVOI/AAAAAAAAAKg/TFL70Tm0Jys/s320/sister.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452727690909471970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation with my belly this evening went like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  Hi Baby. When you come out will you nurse?  I will be impressed if you do.  I will let you have mommy for a whoooole week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really?  A whole week?  Hm- at some point we may have to tell her that the baby will probably be more than just a visitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4417566051945234195?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4417566051945234195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/03/so-generous.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4417566051945234195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4417566051945234195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/03/so-generous.html' title='So generous'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S6v68fGYVOI/AAAAAAAAAKg/TFL70Tm0Jys/s72-c/sister.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3905477857323736406</id><published>2010-03-23T14:28:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T14:47:12.994-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='big sister'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby'/><title type='text'>Future Looks Bright</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we are expecting a little sibling for Millie.  I am 24 weeks and clearly showing.  We weren't sure when to tell Millie, but clever Millie figured it all out on her own about 2 weeks ago.  A friend sent us a toddler books on having a new baby come to your house.  One of them has pictures of real families.  We started casually reading it every now and then along with her other stories.  One day as she sat on her own, flipping through her books, she looked at the picture of the pregnant mommy, then she looked at me, then back to the pregnant mommy, then back to me... then she walked up to me and said, "Who's in there mommy?" pointing to my tummy.  I looked up and said, "There's a baby in there."  She didn't say anything, nodded thoughtfully, then went off to play with some other toy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each day though she is clearly more excited about it.  In the book, one of the little children talks to the mother's belly and says, "Are you warm in there? Would you like some Cornflakes?"  So last week she started coming up to me and saying to my belly, "Are you warm in there? Would you like some Cornflakes?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning while getting her dressed she had a whole conversation all her own. She played both parts:  "Hi baby."  "Hi big sister" "Baby I can't wait to meet you."  "Me too."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may be a little hormonal, but that's enough to melt your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3905477857323736406?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3905477857323736406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/03/future-looks-bright.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3905477857323736406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3905477857323736406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/03/future-looks-bright.html' title='Future Looks Bright'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-646887979674689090</id><published>2010-02-22T22:25:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T22:48:49.407-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Perspective</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S4NPsJ2MO-I/AAAAAAAAAKY/QgNYYfdanJY/s1600-h/RainFlower.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 290px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S4NPsJ2MO-I/AAAAAAAAAKY/QgNYYfdanJY/s320/RainFlower.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441280394769742818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After what seems has been the snowiest winter in memory, our little corner of the world is starting to thaw out. And El Nino this week has started to bring rain rather than 3 feet of snow (whew!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, I miss the sun. I am definitely a Spring and Summer fan. Particularly late Spring with it's warm, but not too hot, breezy, beautiful, blooming days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning over breakfast we talked about the weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Looks like it's going to be a rainy day.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Maybe it won't rain until later or not at all (hoping for some sun and a chance for Millie to run around outside at daycare. Then I wondered what Millie was thinking...) Millie, do you want it to be rainy or sunny today?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (thinks quietly for a moment) Rainy.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Really (perplexed)? Why?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Cause it will make the flowers grow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beautiful. Yet another example of how we could all occasionally use the fresh view point of a toddler. Today the rain didn't seem as gloomy as long as I could hear her little voice chirping "'Cause it makes the flowers grow." Thanks Millie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-646887979674689090?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/646887979674689090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/perspective.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/646887979674689090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/646887979674689090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/perspective.html' title='Perspective'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S4NPsJ2MO-I/AAAAAAAAAKY/QgNYYfdanJY/s72-c/RainFlower.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4660441297619270496</id><published>2010-02-15T19:05:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T21:39:03.684-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='manners'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='race'/><title type='text'>Runaway Train</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went shopping for a new mattress-- my neck/back has started aching and my husband's back has been a mess for 6 months and it occurred to him that the last time we both were walking around like pretzels at the same time, we got a new mattress and it all got a lot better. So anyway, We went to the mattress store. It was not busy and there were maybe 3 other customers in the whole store while we were there. We took turns watching Millie while the other one of us would try a mattress. At some point Millie and daddy were somewhere while I was in another part of the store talking about mattresses with the salesman. Daddy told me about this exchange after we had left the store...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of the other people in the store were two African-American women who looked like they were in their late 30s/early 40s. One was helping the other pick a mattress. At some point Millie ran past them and stopped and looked at one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: You have big lips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know! Collective gasp of horror, right? At this point, I should point out, just in case you don't know me personally, that yours truly is also African-American. Her father is Caucasian. Now, back to our runaway train...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: (Decides to ignore her and says nothing).&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (getting closer) You have big lips.&lt;br /&gt;Woman: (Trying to ignore her, says nothing).&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (Wondering if she maybe needs to clarify) DO you have big lips?&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: (Watching in silent slow-motion-train-wreck horror-- wracks his brain to figure out if there is ANYTHING a white guy could say right now that would be ok.)&lt;br /&gt;Woman: (Finally realizing that Millie will NOT be ignored, answers.) Yes. I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie thinks for a moment in silence, then says...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: They are BEE-YOO-TIFUL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immense collective sigh of relief SWEEPS though the showroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;Woman's friend laughs a huge laugh of relief as well and everyone smiles and moves on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hm, looks like it's time for Mommy and Daddy to come up with the right way to reign in Millie's social chatter in public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_____________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was the original end of the story. After discussing the incident with friends all this raises a few parental hurdles worth working out: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) How DOES one go about teaching a very vocal 3 year old when it's ok to comment and when she should reign it in. Subtlety is a little lost on Millie. Yesterday at the mall she rode on one of the coin operated machines. When she was done another girl got on. She ran up to her waving enthusiastically and said, "BYE!! HAVE FUN!!!" and the other little girl, who looked about 5 yrs old just stared (maybe even cowered) and said nothing. Millie turned to me and said, "I said bye and she didn't say anything." I told her, "It's ok. She's just a little shy that's all." Millie said to me, a little perplexed, "Why is she shy?" She just has no idea that the world is not always ready for her level of intense interaction. In her mind, why in the world would anyone be shy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) How does one go about teaching your kids specifically about race. This encounter generated a great discussion for Millie's dad and I. In general, it seems that imagining in advance how you might handle such a statement, can prepare you to perhaps avoid a very painful encounter. Hashing out the pros and cons of different strategies is helpful. We were lucky that Millie ended the encounter the way she did-- but we may not always be so lucky. A friend actually shared a similar episode that did not end so well and the Internet conversation that it generated. Please see the comments for further detail. It's worth thinking about and talking about it. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4660441297619270496?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4660441297619270496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/runaway-train.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4660441297619270496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4660441297619270496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/runaway-train.html' title='Runaway Train'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4142568859472697348</id><published>2010-02-07T14:45:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T21:41:18.224-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Butterfly</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am an introvert and so is Millie's dad. So it's a real walk on the wild side whenever we leave the house with Millie. Somehow, despite her parents, she is an extrovert, a real social butterfly. This is what it was like for me to take her out on Friday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop 1- The Public Library for story time. &lt;br /&gt;Millie walked into the story time room and past all the kids and parents sitting obediently on the carpet in front of the librarian and over to the stack of folding chairs in the corner. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: C'mon mom. Let's get one of the chairs.(I should mention that NONE of this is at whisper volume). &lt;br /&gt;Mommy: No, Millie. Let's leave those alone and sit with the other kids on the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: No, I want one of the chairs. &lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie, you can stay if you sit on the carpet or we can go to the other room (the main library kids section).&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (quietly weighing the options).&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Do you want to try sitting on my lap?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;So we sit for all of 2 minutes then she decides this story time thing is too slow.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Let's go to the other room Mommy. &lt;br /&gt;Mommy: OK- let's go. (I start walking towards the door. At the door I turn around to find Millie talking to one of the other little girls in the middle of the room.)&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Hey! We're going to the other room- WANNA COME? It's FUN!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (Running back and trying to avoid all the awkward glances from the other parents. Like, "Would you please come collect your child?") C'mon Millie- she wants to stay here. Let's go. (I grab her hand and we go.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the other room is a computer table with two kiddie sized computers. There is a little boy sitting at one. She strides up to him:&lt;br /&gt;Millie: What are you doing?&lt;br /&gt;Boy: I'm on the compuder.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: You're doing a GOOD job. You're a GOOD boy!&lt;br /&gt;Boy: You can sit here (pointing at the other chair) and I will sit here and we can do compuder.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: OK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then they both became absorbed and engaged in trying to figure out how to use a mouse and engage with the toddler games on the screen. When it was time to go, I told Millie we had to check out all the books we had chosen. She was running around but I just couldn't see where she was. So I finally picked her up and put her on the counter while I checked out. She was ok for 2 minutes but then said, "C'mon mom. I don't wan to be here ALL DAY." Excuuuse me, yeesh, these pint-sized dictators. I told her we needed to be patient- which she was for the last minute until we were done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop 2- The Grocery Store.&lt;br /&gt;At the grocery store she actually sat in the cart but she chatted with the lady offering free bread samples. She got two slices and then kept talking about how she ate two loaves of bread in the store. Then in the canned goods aisle she commented loudly, &lt;br /&gt;Millie: Woah- look at that guy on the LADDER. What's he DOing?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: He's putting things on the shelf. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: Wow, he's working hard! (Waving to the guy) Hi!! (The guy does not wave back) He's too BUSY working HARD Mommy. &lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes, he is. Well we're all done here. Let's leave him alone so he can work. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: OK.&lt;br /&gt;Before we left she explained a few of the things in our cart to the guy behind us at the checkout line.  Then told him to have a nice day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stop 3-- The Discount Home Goods store next to the Grocery store.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie you were so good at the grocery store, you can have a prize now. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: A book!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes, a book- any one you want (the books at this store are all under $5).&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (Striding into the store) Wow. I just LOVE books!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes, me too.&lt;br /&gt;I started wondering if this store had a toy section that might give her incentive for potty training. We're struggling with that one a bit. She found a princess toy set with a Cinderella, a horse, and a carriage all for under $10 bucks total. I figured I'd give her each piece separately for each potty training achievement. She was so excited carrying it to the counter. At checkout she was talking with the guy behind us in line...&lt;br /&gt;Millie: I got a princess and a horse and a ca-wiage.&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Really? That's good.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: The horse is FUN! It says NEIGH and it goes gallop-a-trot gallop-a-trot (galloping to demonstrate).&lt;br /&gt;Cashier: She's a happy little thing isn't she?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes, she is. Lot's of energy. OK Millie, Let's go.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (To all her fans at the cash register) BYE (with a great big wave)! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I'm saying is, if it weren't for Millie, I would have gone to the library, the grocery store, and the discount dollar store and completed my transactions without having met all these characters. Not Millie-- she's here to take it all on and bring everyone along for the ride. ("C'MON IT'S FUN!")I honestly feel like she's on a great adventure and it is our great privilege to be selected for a front row seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4142568859472697348?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4142568859472697348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/butterfly.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4142568859472697348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4142568859472697348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/butterfly.html' title='Butterfly'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6756690905346060311</id><published>2010-02-04T07:53:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T08:26:51.956-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning conversation</title><content type='html'>Millie was fascinated watching Daddy get ready for work this morning. This was my favorite part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Daddy, Was dat?&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: That's my razor.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: What does it raise?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6756690905346060311?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6756690905346060311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/morning-conversation.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6756690905346060311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6756690905346060311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/02/morning-conversation.html' title='Morning conversation'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-2577850655472391767</id><published>2010-01-05T22:21:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T21:45:49.474-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Highlights: Part 1- Halloween</title><content type='html'>It's been a while and so many fun holidays have passed. I've not blogged in a while, so in order to catch up I've decided to share some of the highlights that stand out in my memory. So forgive the flashback but here, for your reading pleasure, is installment 1.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halloween:&lt;br /&gt;Millie was a bumble bee. She said she wanted to be a witch or a ghost for weeks but then we got to the costume/party store and the clerk pointed out a cute little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bumblebee&lt;/span&gt; outfit and that was IT. Once that black and yellow tutu was on and she had her antennae firmly in place- it wasn't coming off. She was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mesmerized&lt;/span&gt;. She gazed at herself in the mirror and was dazzled into a moment of silence... Then she was off- buzzing around the store. Can you tell by the picture how awestruck she is? This is a picture I took in the dressing room.  I took the picture because I just had never seen that hypnotized gaze on her before. The blur is the bumble-bee wand she's waving around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430848707869977602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S15AID16rAI/AAAAAAAAAKM/uYJE4m2yc_E/s320/Photo_100209_002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, Millie. Time to take it off so we can buy it and take it home.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Noooooo&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;C'mon&lt;/span&gt;- you can keep it if you take it off. We just have to pay for it. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Nooooooooo&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a bit tired that day and just not ready to pin her down and fight to get it off... so I called her father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Hey we're at the store trying on costumes and she's in love with the bumble bee one.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Really? I'd love to see it. I'm on my way home already but I won't be there for 20 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: That's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;. She won't let me take it off so we're not going anywhere anytime soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so we hung out until daddy got there. Between her father and myself, we finally were able to convince her to take it off... but not without a few tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (sob) Mommy wants to take my dress away from me. It's so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;pretteeee&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: (On the way home) Maybe we ought to get her a couple dresses.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Y'think&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trick or Treating was fun. We went to a house of some friends who have a 12 yr old son who was excited about showing Millie the ropes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend: First we'll go down street A, then we'll turn up street B because there are lots of houses on that street then we'll cut down street C and back around to our house.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy and daddy: Uh..... Millie may not make it to the end of your block but we'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She liked getting candy but she did not like spooky decorations hanging from garage doors or fog machines. Still too much for her imagination. One of the houses had music playing out front and all kinds of major scenes played out on their lawn. She did not like it though-- from now on "Hot Hot Hot" will always be known as the song of "The steamy scary house".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also didn't quite understand why we were ringing doorbells and not going into people's homes. Nearly every home she went to she strolled into their living room or foyer after the door was opened. She met some dogs and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; pet gecko in their living room. The gecko was cool. One neighbor asked her if she stung people. She said, "No. I just buzz." After the 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; house, she took a seat on their couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy and Daddy: Millie do you want to go home to your house now?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Yes. (Then, later, in the car on the way home) Can I go home to my hive now? The bumble bee is ti-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;ud&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-2577850655472391767?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/2577850655472391767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/01/holiday-highlights-part-1-halloween.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2577850655472391767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2577850655472391767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2010/01/holiday-highlights-part-1-halloween.html' title='Holiday Highlights: Part 1- Halloween'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/S15AID16rAI/AAAAAAAAAKM/uYJE4m2yc_E/s72-c/Photo_100209_002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5006996703856058346</id><published>2009-12-11T13:47:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T14:03:52.238-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life with a 2 year old</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are in the thick of it-- those "Terrible Twos". Admittedly it could be worse (shudder) but it's a bit trying for everyone... including Millie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I felt a little bad for her after she was being particularly difficult:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: I don't want to wear a hat.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Fine then you may be cold.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: I don't want to be cold!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Fine then wear a hat.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: I don't WANT to wear a hat!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After her cold walk to the car with no hat on she said pathetically, "I want to be gooood."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like they don't know what to do with themselves. It made me think that sometimes she actually wants to cooperate but all the signals are getting jangled in her brain and she can't get the right choice to come out. I know parents have been through this through the millenia, but just like getting used to your newborn, it feels like we're all trying to figure it out a bit from scratch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5006996703856058346?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5006996703856058346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/12/life-with-2-year-old.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5006996703856058346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5006996703856058346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/12/life-with-2-year-old.html' title='Life with a 2 year old'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3006643536245437888</id><published>2009-12-01T22:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T22:34:19.384-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Parent Teacher Conference</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So many little gems have passed that I don't know where to begin.  So I'll just have to start with today.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Today was parent teacher conference at preschool.  We lucked out again this year with great teachers in her current room- Miss Geraldine and Miss Sabiha.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The most memorable points were that the teacher says she continues to be astounded by Millie's language (maybe she'll be a writer?).  It is entertaining to hear the things she says.  Yesterday, as she was trying to think of what she wanted for dinner she tilted her head and said, "Hmm. What will it be she pondered. Fink fink fink."  The teacher said that she loves art and science time. She looooves her books.  Books have always been a powerful reward for her-- when we first started preschool she would cry at the drop-off... unless the teacher approached with a book.  Then she was happy to leave our arms and settle into the teacher's lap for a story.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We did ask about.. eh hem... behavior issues.  The teacher said that she really is a pleasure but at circle time she has a hard time sitting still. Unless a story is being read, she likes to hop up and listen with one ear while she checks out something new.   Not hard to imagine as I did hear her daddy say to her just the other day, "You know, you don't have to be moving *all* the time."  So we're going to try to work on that.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Interestingly, she said she uses the potty well at school without any fuss or having to be asked.  It seems to be one of those mysterious things that happens at school that then seems to vanish at our front step... like eating cherry tomatoes or blueberries.  Really- she did that? she ate that?  After those reports I would rush to the grocery store and purchase said fruits or underpants only to have it hurled across the room with a cute but mocking giggle. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; It's not easy dropping your kid off with strangers for a day.  She loves it there though. She runs into the classroom most mornings.  We debated all types of daycare when she was first born but in the end, if you can find a great preschool- you and your child are really blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3006643536245437888?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3006643536245437888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/12/parent-teacher-conference.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3006643536245437888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3006643536245437888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/12/parent-teacher-conference.html' title='Parent Teacher Conference'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-188733209392536815</id><published>2009-10-25T19:13:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T10:28:52.535-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sharing something special</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SuTfzTzEIAI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/C9YPc43u3AI/s1600-h/iseethemoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396684326077472770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 251px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SuTfzTzEIAI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/C9YPc43u3AI/s320/iseethemoon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Pound-pound-pound-pound-pound-- the sound of Millie running as fast as she can. Breathless and hair flying, she rushes over to me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Millie: Mommy! Mommy! Come quick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: What is it? (running back to the kitchen with her)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Look! Look! (throwing the vertical blinds apart) THE MOOOON!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy (delighted with how excited she is to see the moon): Oh wow! Look at that. Millie found the moon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie (thoughtfully): I want to get the moon and bring it for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (touched and moved) Really? For me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Yes. But not now- maybe later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes. Let's leave it in the sky for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-188733209392536815?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/188733209392536815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/sharing-something-special.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/188733209392536815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/188733209392536815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/sharing-something-special.html' title='Sharing something special'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SuTfzTzEIAI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/C9YPc43u3AI/s72-c/iseethemoon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8492111015390148783</id><published>2009-10-05T09:21:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T09:21:00.607-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Out of the mouth of my babe</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When observing her mother or father getting frustrated with anything...&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Oh Bother, What's to be DONE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After eating chili...&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Thank you for the delicious dinner mommy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sitting in the carseat behind daddy while he was driving her home from a busy afternoon of activities...&lt;br /&gt;Millie: There's a guy behind you who's soooo ti-ud daddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At bedtime...&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie you have to go to sleep now. It's bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Are you kiddin' me dude?!&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (Fighting back the laugh- smiles and says) No, I am not kidding you. It's really bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After sitting for awhile on the potty. Singing, playing games- not much potty happening:&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Should we get up and wash hands?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: No, I'm going to poop.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (After a few more minutes of singing and chatter) Is there any poop happening?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Mommy?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Mommy?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Yes?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (Leaning forward and taking mommy's face into her hands, she whispers) You have to be &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;patient &lt;/span&gt;for the poop to come out.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (Humbly) You're right. I'm sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8492111015390148783?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8492111015390148783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/out-of-mouth-of-my-babe.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8492111015390148783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8492111015390148783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/out-of-mouth-of-my-babe.html' title='Out of the mouth of my babe'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6645892213604730529</id><published>2009-10-03T10:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T10:32:00.149-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Horton Hatches a Nightmare</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie's imagination these days is on fire. She narrates her life too- She'll say "What is that she muttered?" Acting out the stories during the day time is lots of fun. With that in mind, one must be very careful about what stories you share with a 2 year old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently a well meaning soul gave Millie the book &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Horton-Hatches-Egg-Dr-Seuss/dp/039480077X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1254450840&amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Horton Hatches the Egg&lt;/a&gt;. Millie's well meaning parents read her the story. It's about an elephant and it's by Dr. Seuss, sounds innocent enough, right? Well, let me tell ya-- it's actually a pretty grim tale. This mommy bird gets tired of sitting around on her egg so she tricks Horton into sitting on it for her. Then she goes to Palm Beach and never comes back because Palm Beach is so fun. This would be sketchy theme #1- Mommy takes off and never comes back because watching the kid is boring. Ok, moving on- Horton, poor Horton, sits on this egg through rain, sleet and snow waiting for the mommy to return and she never does. Sketchy theme #2- Then these HUNTERS with GUNS spy Horton sitting there. They think- oh great, let's shoot the elephant and point their guns. Horton braces himself to be shot but refuses to leave the egg (this is really all in the story!). The hunters change their mind and decide that the elephant is such a spectacle that they'll kidnap him and take him to the circus and charge tickets to see him. The circus travels to Palm Beach where the mommy bird decides to check out the tent and runs into Horton where a fight over the egg ensues. Eventually the egg hatches and horton and the elephant-bird are free to leave and live happily ever after. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to stop the story once it's started. Reading it was like being on a runaway truck. There's really no amount of rhyme that makes it ok. After we finished, I thought it wasn't much of a pick me up so I put it away. Unfortunately her daddy found it and read it to her once as well before he came to the same conclusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that night as everyone was sound asleep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: The passengers (girl loves her trains) are coming to SHOOT ME! THEY ARE COMING TO SHOOT ME! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rushed into her bedroom. She sat right up and reached for me. Her cheeks were wet with tears. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: They are coming to shoot me with their guns and I told them, (sob) No I DON'T WANT THAT!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wiped her tears and hugged her tight. She couldn't settle down. She came back to our bed for the rest of the night. For the next 2 nights she had similar nightmares. And during the day she talked about people pointing guns. It's enough to make your blood run cold. Needless to say that book has been removed from the library. I don't know if it's good at any age- really, at what point is it good to introduce a kid to stories about parental abandonment and guns? No thanks. I feel awful- I can't take that back now. Thanks Dr. Seuss for introducing my kid to guns. What's up with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Epilogue: Yesterday she woke up talking about Thumbelina and butterflies "Flapping their flappy wings." Ahh, that's better. Hopefully we're out of the dark for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6645892213604730529?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6645892213604730529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/horton-hatches-nightmare.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6645892213604730529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6645892213604730529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/horton-hatches-nightmare.html' title='Horton Hatches a Nightmare'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-1562983052820560220</id><published>2009-10-01T21:55:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T08:53:09.056-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoozie-woozie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning the alarm did not go off. &lt;br /&gt;I need to be at work by 8am.&lt;br /&gt;In order to get my daughter to daycare just before 8am, we need to leave the house by 7:30am. &lt;br /&gt;In order for us to leave the house by 7:30am, the alarm needs to go off by 6:30am.&lt;br /&gt;This morning the alarm did not go off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:15am: I opened my eyes slowly and thought- my, the sun seems brighter than usual for 6:30am. Then I looked at my watch-- I filled with panic and dread and resignation all at once. Nothing to do but give it your best shot, right? Here we go-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I scooped up Millie and got her dressed. I brought her downstairs. I put her lunch together while Daddy gave her breakfast. I ran upstairs and got dressed for work while she ate. When I came back downstairs she was finishing breakfast. I told her we needed to get going to school now. She asked me to carry her. Hooray! I thought- I won't have to coax a dawdling toddler down the stairs. I scooped her up and flew out the front door and strapped her into her carseat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:45: Pulling out of the driveway. I raced towards daycare. Daycare is 20 minutes from our home. Fortunately the daycare is 1 mile from my job. Not bad, I think, I would be late but it won't be catastrophic.&lt;br /&gt;8:00: In the home stretch, rounding the corner towards her daycare, a happy singsong voice from the backseat...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Where are my shoozie-woozies? Where are my shoes? Where are my shoozie-woozies? Where are my shoes?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (Gasp followed by groan as she recalls how she scooped up Millie and swooshed out the door without the usual routine of stopping at the front door to let Millie put on her shoes) Your shoozie-woozies? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:01: At the red light I slowly turn and look at my daughters sweet little sock covered feet. No shoes. Oh I was so close! I almost made it. For a few moments I contemplated whether or not the daycare would mind very much if she had no shoes for a day... no good. I've got to turn around and go home. We round the corner and make a loop and head back home. I call my office and tell them I've got a daycare emergency and won't be there. Hopefully I'll make it in by 9am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:25: Home again- run into the house, grab the shoes (and a banana for breakfast- now I've got all the time in the world, may as well eat). I place the shoes on my daughters feet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:50: Back at the day care, after her hour long scenic ride to daycare, Millie is dropped off with a smile on her face and shoes on feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:00: Another working mom walks in the door, heart pounding and breathless, and prays for no more adventures for the rest of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-1562983052820560220?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/1562983052820560220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/shoozie-woozie.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1562983052820560220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1562983052820560220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/10/shoozie-woozie.html' title='Shoozie-woozie'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8706779018070061336</id><published>2009-09-20T18:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T18:39:37.403-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Pun</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At bedtime...&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Do you know which stories you want to read?&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  I will pick.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Yes, you can pick.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: But not my nose.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Correct. But not your nose.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: (grins).&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: (grins back).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8706779018070061336?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8706779018070061336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/09/pun.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8706779018070061336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8706779018070061336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/09/pun.html' title='A Pun'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6006926147085796953</id><published>2009-09-08T18:31:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T22:29:20.462-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Confusing colloquiliasms</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day we spotted a rainbow over a local ice cream factory. Ever since then, whenever we pass the factory she says, "Do we see a wainbow?" So far, no luck on repeat rainbows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we had the following exchange:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Do you see a wainbow, Mommy?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: No. Not today but we better keep an eye out for it. &lt;br /&gt;Millie: (Silence as she tries to figure out what that means).&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: (Silence as she thinks to herself-- that may not be the best way to phrase it for an imaginative toddler).&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: That means we will be watching very carefully for it.&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Then I will keep TWO eyes out for it.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: That's a good idea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6006926147085796953?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6006926147085796953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/09/confusing-colloquiliasms.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6006926147085796953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6006926147085796953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/09/confusing-colloquiliasms.html' title='Confusing colloquiliasms'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-1048410533146436295</id><published>2009-08-24T12:18:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T12:35:09.129-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep Update: The Big Girl Bed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For us it's definitely following a two steps forward one step back course:  The first night in the big girl bed she sailed right through till morning without a problem. The second night she was up every 3 hrs.  Every time she goes through a bad sleep period we always back-slide in terms of how we handle it.  We always start from the beginning where we rush right in and comfort her for as long as she seems to need it whether it's 10 minutes or 1 hr. We never plan on it being an hour but she often asks us to "Sit in the wocking chair" and if we're doing that time passes in a surreal way until the next thing you know you've been sitting next to her bed for an hour or more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after the first night she woke up 3-4 times and we started off with sitting with her. Between sitting there for an hour, her sleeping an hour, then waking up again--  it was an awful night of no sleep for everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night we decided to go with The pick her up and put her back in bed without talking Method-- SuperNanny style.  She was able to do that somewhere between 15-20 times I'd estimate.  Maybe it just felt like that and it was only 10 times-- either way it was constant back and forth between 1am and 3am. Not fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night we found her standing on her bed pulling things off the tall dresser next to her bed. We thought the room was mostly safe- but sometimes we underestimate how creative this little girl really is.  So we removed everything potentially harmful from the dresser and put her back to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night we tried bribery-- if she stayed in bed all night she'd get a treat in the morning.  That worked!  She stayed in bed all night and the next morning she got a doughnut hole from Dunkin' Donuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night, we tried it again... but she discovered how to take off her pajamas and diaper.  And she was stealthy and quiet about it-- as my husband would say, "Like a tiny ninja."  We were downstairs listening to the monitor when we heard a soft rustling and asked each other, "What was that?"  But then it was quiet again-- so we moved on.  A few minutes letter another faint noise... I decided to go upstairs and investigate.  I found her in the room next to her bedroom, our office, standing by the futon-- naked, no PJs, no diaper- just a smile.  She looked like she was thinking about what she should do next. I called my husband and told him he needed to come upstairs and see for himself.  It's like the freedom from the crib rails has made her delirious and she wants to free herself of anything confining including her clothing. So we put her clothes back on and sat next to her bed until she was asleep.  We also moved the gate we had in the hallway right up to her door. No more naked wandering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning she asked for her treat but we told her that running around naked does not get you a treat and since she got up she would not be getting one.  She fussed but she understood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night we reminded her she needed to stay in bed to get her morning treat.  She nodded her big exaggerated toddler nod. Can you see where this is going?  We didn't say-- "and keep your clothes on."  So sometime after midnight we heard quiet rustling. My husband investigated- he found her naked on her bed. We believe she did try to pee on the diaper because there was a wet spot near it but turns out her aim is not great when it comes to trying to pee on the diaper she'd taken off in the dark.  So, yes, she stayed in her bed but she got naked and wet the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the last few nights we've asked her to promise not to get out of the bed AND to keep her pajamas AND diaper on.  So far she's doing ok... it's been ok for 2 nights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The modified cry-it-out did work for us more reliably than anything else back when she was 6 months old-- when she was in a crib.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how you get a toddler to cry-it-out and go back to sleep in her big girl bed because Millie is finding all kinds of new and creative ways to run amok in her room.  She's not crying-- she's getting naked and swinging from the drapes.  Is there a chapter on that in the sleep books?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, 5 nights and counting. We are still rewarding her for staying in bed- a little book or a tiny toy. OK, I confess- we started off with a doughnut hole-- but we're better now. Hopefully some of this delirious energy is settling down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-1048410533146436295?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/1048410533146436295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/sleep-update-on-big-girl-bed.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1048410533146436295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1048410533146436295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/sleep-update-on-big-girl-bed.html' title='Sleep Update: The Big Girl Bed'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4840573384482378609</id><published>2009-08-09T13:30:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T18:29:47.454-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Parenthood</title><content type='html'>Mommy: This day isn't working out quite like I planned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Isn't that basically the definition of parenthood?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For better and worse, these little ones come bearing all kinds of surprises. In all honesty, the majority of these surprises are gifts of pure love and sheer delight. These surprises are, however, sprinkled with unexpected and challenging, um... opportunities for personal growth and character building for everyone involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a rough sleep weekend. Who knows why- new bed? low grade viral thing? teething? constipation? Take your pick. After these rough spells we seem to be coming out the other side still intact as a team. That's the important thing. It's character building for the family. I'll try to remember to ask myself that at 3am-- what kind of family do you want to be on the other side of this rough patch?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4840573384482378609?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4840573384482378609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/parenthood.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4840573384482378609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4840573384482378609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/parenthood.html' title='Parenthood'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8069831062130811449</id><published>2009-08-07T18:10:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T18:18:21.980-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><title type='text'>Big Girl Bed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the delivery men came around 11am and in a flurry of activity and whirring drills the crib was disassembled and a twin bed frame was erected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mattress arrived 2-3 weeks ago. It was on the floor in a nearby room.  We had already bought sheets for it and were using the mattress to read bedtime stories&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There wasn't enough room for both crib and bed in the room so when we got the word from the furniture delivery folks that they were on their way, we scrambled to take down the crib.  And by "we", I mean my husband. I tried to entertain Millie and prayed she wouldn't be too disturbed by watching her crib be taken apart. She seemed intrigued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We let her take a peek as they started to put the bed together then we went to the kitchen for lunch.  After lunch was completed, we went upstairs for the big reveal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She walked into her room and didn't say anything at first. We held our breath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she turned to me and said, "Mommy will you get me in?"  She can climb in but I think at first it seemed enormous to her compared to the crib she woke up in this morning.  I helped her up into the bed a little and she climbed the rest of the way up and said, "I'm in!" like some kind of explorer scaling a wall into a castle.  She, of course, immediately started bouncing up and down.  After a few minutes we said, "Ok Millie, ready to take a nap in your big girl bed?"  She said, "Yesh!" And toddled over to the pillow end where she said, "I made it," and lay down.  Then she spread out her arms and said, "It's so comforbul and beautiful."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were relieved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat in the rocking chair next to the bed for a little while to make sure she was settled and drifting off to sleep.  She was so excited, she sang at least 5 songs (Mary had a little lamb, The Wonderpets theme, Twinkle Twinkle, Baa Baa black sheep and then "I'm not perfect" by Laurie Berkner) before I said, "Ok Millie, time to close your eyes and go to sleep."  I sat reading my book until her breathing become more regular- finally she was asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking in on her sleeping, she looks so little in that big bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's hoping for sweet dreams...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8069831062130811449?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8069831062130811449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/big-girl-bed.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8069831062130811449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8069831062130811449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/big-girl-bed.html' title='Big Girl Bed'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5109328647757904605</id><published>2009-08-05T08:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T18:30:35.897-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Comedienne</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie has always had a rough time with saying goodbye at bedtime. She cries for us to come get her after we leave the room when we put her to sleep. She's gotten to the age when shes trying to strategize on any way that might get us back in the room besides crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently there have been lots of diaper training attempts. So on the monitor we may here "Millie poop". As we crack the door open though, she actually chuckles and says, "Millie funny." Is my 20 month old mocking me already-- I thought I had to wait until at least she was thirteen. I'd be worried if it weren't so funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's clever but she hasn't figured out the timing of the punchline yet. If she says, "Millie funny" before we've actually checked her diaper- we now know we can say "Night night, Millie," and turn around at the door. She's right though, Millie funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5109328647757904605?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5109328647757904605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/comedienne.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5109328647757904605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5109328647757904605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/comedienne.html' title='The Comedienne'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4086628196675135672</id><published>2009-08-03T20:12:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T20:18:03.875-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='songs'/><title type='text'>Songs- Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Singing- is there anything sweeter than being serenaded by your daughter while you put her to sleep?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie has decided she loves the "Hush Little Baby" song... even though I don't sing it. It's one of the songs on the lullaby CD that plays in the background as part of the wind-down to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She started off dancing as soon as she could walk. Now that's she's talking up a storm, this means she also sings spontaneously day and night. At least a few times every day she sings a bit of some sweet melody to herself. No audience necessary. In fact, you can now ask her to make up a song about something and she'll just start singing about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie- sing the laundry song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Laundry, laundry, pushing buttons, pum de pum pum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4086628196675135672?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4086628196675135672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/songs-part-2.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4086628196675135672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4086628196675135672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/songs-part-2.html' title='Songs- Part 2'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-7849167594875693672</id><published>2009-08-01T20:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T21:23:14.078-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad-isms</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie was sick this past week.  It was a particularly bad cold s0 we took her in to see the pediatrician just to be sure everything was ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our pediatrician is wonderful. She pretends that Millie has all sorts of fun things in her ears. Dr. Lee will say, "Is there a dinosaur in your ear?"  Millie, will gladly let Dr. Lee take a look to see what kind of amazing things are in her ears.  This time the following exchange occurred:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Lee:  Is there a Monkey in your ear?&lt;br /&gt;Millie nods.&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Lee:  Let me take a look. (Looking into her ear)  Oh my goodness! There's a monkey in there! What's that monkey's name?&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  (smiling) Jack.&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Lee:  Let me take another look.  (Looking into her ear) Oh my goodness- there are two monkeys in there!  What's that other monkey's name?&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  Rambo.&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Lee:  Rainbow?&lt;br /&gt;Millie:  No.  Rambo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahh, the clever things she picks up from playing with Daddy.  You see, Millie's grandmother bought Millie these lovely ribbons for her hair.  One day, Millie wanted to play with the ribbons while playing with Daddy.  Daddy decided the way a man should play with a bright pink ribbon was to sing the theme from &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eliQEStzhu4"&gt;Rambo &lt;/a&gt;while tying it around his forehead.  Now Millie thinks that's clearly what you do with a ribbon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all, one of the first things she ever learned to say was, "Luke, I am your father," while speaking into an empty cup-- with heavy breathing noises and everything.  More recently, it's been the word "Dude". Daddy's a fan of The Big Lebowski.  So, if you are hanging around my home at bedtime, you may here my daughter say, "Dude! I need to go to bed, Dude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-7849167594875693672?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/7849167594875693672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/dad-isms.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7849167594875693672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7849167594875693672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/08/dad-isms.html' title='Dad-isms'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5228680211623588519</id><published>2009-06-30T18:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T19:12:46.371-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Diaper Change</title><content type='html'>Millie loves &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wonder-Pets-Save/dp/B000MX7V7K"&gt;The Wonder Pets&lt;/a&gt;. The main characters are a guinea pig named Linnie, a duckling named Ming Ming and a turtle named Tuck. Each episode is a mini musical with some repeated refrains so you can sing a long. The duckling often sings at the climax of the show "This... is... sewious..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just now during a particularly pungent diaper change:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: Whew!&lt;br /&gt;Millie: This... is... sewious...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This... is... hysterical.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5228680211623588519?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5228680211623588519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/diaper-change.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5228680211623588519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5228680211623588519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/diaper-change.html' title='Diaper Change'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-5560155733733435897</id><published>2009-06-17T08:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T10:22:16.731-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I ain't 'fraid o' no goats</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjjeLJytH2I/AAAAAAAAAGo/d3KvcTROwzM/s1600-h/feeding+goats.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjjeLJytH2I/AAAAAAAAAGo/d3KvcTROwzM/s400/feeding+goats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348268840690982754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of mine with a blog tries to post a picture every Wednesday and calls it "Wordless Wenesday". So I'm going to try to start up with that.  Here's a first sampling. This is yesterday at a local farm, Clark's Elioak Farm.  The farm has a little petting zoo with baby goats. She loved it. She was even brave enough to get up on a horse for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/Sjj7pTWobSI/AAAAAAAAAGw/VDYOxmPmZLk/s1600-h/ponyride.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/Sjj7pTWobSI/AAAAAAAAAGw/VDYOxmPmZLk/s320/ponyride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348301244490870050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Clearly this has not been wordless so I could introduce the idea.  Next time you'll know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-5560155733733435897?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/5560155733733435897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-aint-fraid-o-no-goats.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5560155733733435897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/5560155733733435897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-aint-fraid-o-no-goats.html' title='I ain&apos;t &apos;fraid o&apos; no goats'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjjeLJytH2I/AAAAAAAAAGo/d3KvcTROwzM/s72-c/feeding+goats.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-4836224309642290447</id><published>2009-06-15T18:56:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T21:20:30.552-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy:  Millie, time to go upstairs and get ready for bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Millie (focusing on her coloring):  No!  I have a clean diaper and lots to do to get ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-4836224309642290447?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/4836224309642290447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/overheard.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4836224309642290447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/4836224309642290447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/overheard.html' title='Overheard'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-164621203650149284</id><published>2009-06-12T13:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T13:48:48.151-04:00</updated><title type='text'>woah!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjKUJ2Cqo_I/AAAAAAAAAGg/QJDSj5AYuz8/s1600-h/airport+park.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjKUJ2Cqo_I/AAAAAAAAAGg/QJDSj5AYuz8/s320/airport+park.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346498604488631282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It is so fun watching her get excited about things.  She has such enthusiasm and passion for life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Whenever we drive anywhere these days she narrates and gets excited about driving under the underpasses- she calls them tunnels.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Millie: Here we goooo!  Is that a tunnel, Mommy?  Here it is!  Whoooooo!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Just a few months ago, we made a short trip to the Konterra Model Airpark to see the model airplanes take to the skies!  There were 4-5 pilots operating their planes.  It was pretty quiet except for the plane engines... that is until we got there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The pilots were happy to hear Amelia shouting "WOAH!" as they performed loops and rolls.  I'm sure it gave voice to that same excitement they have inside but are now too grownup to display. Whenever she said, "Did you SEE THAT MOMMY!"  You could see the grin on their faces as if to say, "Yeah, I think it's pretty cool too."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-164621203650149284?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/164621203650149284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/woah.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/164621203650149284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/164621203650149284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/06/woah.html' title='woah!'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SjKUJ2Cqo_I/AAAAAAAAAGg/QJDSj5AYuz8/s72-c/airport+park.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-2423238324988885561</id><published>2009-05-17T10:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T10:39:40.473-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Existential growth spurt</title><content type='html'>Last night Millie wouldn't sleep. Sleeping has always been her Achilles heel-- we figure she's so engaged with the world she doesn't want to let it go. Sometimes it's also teething, or a tummy ache, or a cold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night she cried out at 11pm and was really inconsolable- night terror? I don't know. I couldn't get her to settle back down. Then her dad came in to try to help and he took over. I heard her babbling away with him. At 12 am I went in and took her back from him to see if nursing would help. I'm trying to wean but it's hard if it's the only thing that will console her on a night like this. She settled down peacefully but didn't want to be alone. She was upset if I put her back in her crib so at 1am I brought her in to bed with us where she fell happily asleep until 7:30am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning my husband said, "What do you think it was last night?" "I don't know," I said.&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Well, there was a bizarre moment when I was holding her last night. She kept trying to settle down on my lap but at one point she sat up and said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where did I come from?"&lt;br /&gt;Wha??&lt;br /&gt;Then she asked, "Where did I get my eyes?'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What did you say?" I asked him, in shock. "I told her she came from Mommy and Daddy. And you grew the eyes when you were inside mommy's tummy," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She seemed to accept that and settle back down but not to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now we can add to the list of things that keep Millie up at night: existential angst. It's like she went through a physical and psychic growth spurt last night. She seems taller this morning too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I'd want to sleep alone either if I were her and all that was coursing through my little brain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-2423238324988885561?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/2423238324988885561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/05/existential-growth-spurt.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2423238324988885561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2423238324988885561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/05/existential-growth-spurt.html' title='Existential growth spurt'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-7245374120560047213</id><published>2009-05-08T22:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T10:36:41.502-04:00</updated><title type='text'>toddler-ese</title><content type='html'>This afternoon while she was enjoying her pretzels...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Millie's eating her good snack-a-lacka."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to be sure, I checked with dad. Nope- he hadn't taught her that word. It's all her own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snack-a-lacka.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Humor and style. I like it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-7245374120560047213?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/7245374120560047213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/05/toddler-ese.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7245374120560047213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/7245374120560047213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/05/toddler-ese.html' title='toddler-ese'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-1251751427307358807</id><published>2009-04-21T14:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T10:39:02.659-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='favorites'/><title type='text'>Favorites: Books</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/Se4SIPTFNRI/AAAAAAAAAFo/L8p_5ZpSrZw/s1600-h/curious+george.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327215341980693778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/Se4SIPTFNRI/AAAAAAAAAFo/L8p_5ZpSrZw/s320/curious+george.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been trying to figure out how to record and share her favorite stories, music, etc. Not sure how. Should I run a little widget or something on the side with a list?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I'm just going to put it here. So, here is Millie's favorite book right now. She loves hearing about George and the Trainmaster. Also loves hearing about George and the Dump Truck. Makes sense, I'm sure it's easy for her to identify with lines like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When a line is long, it's not easy for a little monkey to be patient."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Poor George. It's too easy for a monkey to get into trouble."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's exactly how I felt when I was a kid. Somehow I was in trouble and couldn't figure out how it had happened *again*.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Aunt Kristen and Uncle James for the great book!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-1251751427307358807?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/1251751427307358807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/favorites-books.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1251751427307358807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/1251751427307358807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/favorites-books.html' title='Favorites: Books'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/Se4SIPTFNRI/AAAAAAAAAFo/L8p_5ZpSrZw/s72-c/curious+george.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3778241472256459389</id><published>2009-04-19T21:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:21:14.603-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Group hugs</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my husband left for a short business trip to Italy in 10/08, Millie reached out to give him a hug while I was holding her. It was the first time we'd been apart as a new little family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She reached for him and then leaned into me and squeezed our little family together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did she really just call for a group hug? Wow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now she does it every night as her dad hands her to me after stories at bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's our routine:&lt;br /&gt;Stories.&lt;br /&gt;Group hug.&lt;br /&gt;Then bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's such a great kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3778241472256459389?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3778241472256459389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/group-hugs.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3778241472256459389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3778241472256459389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/group-hugs.html' title='Group hugs'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8484982964421843659</id><published>2009-04-17T18:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:22:43.951-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Guess who?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently Millie has decided that we should call her Goofy. I have no idea why. She sees maybe 20 minutes of Disney programming all week... okay maybe 30 minutes total for the week. We may say she's silly but we never called her Goofy. Either way, I'll ask her if she wants something and she won't respond unless I address her as Goofy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie, Want more milk?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Goofy. Goofy want more milk?&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Ok, Goofy do you want more milk?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Yes. Goofy wants milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The week before that it was Snuffle-upugus. This week it's Trainmaster and Gecko. We read a story with Curious George when he goes to the train station. They have someone there called the trainmaster who changes the numbers on the signs. So, sometimes she's trainmaster. Today it was Gecko. We saw a Wonderpets** episode where they save a baby gecko. So today it was:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Millie, where are your shoes?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Gecko. Where are Gecko's shoes.&lt;br /&gt;Mommy: Ok, Gecko, where are your shoes?&lt;br /&gt;Millie: Right here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny watching her try on different personas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wonder who she'll be tomorrow... anything is possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**Note: Really we don't let her watch much TV but it's the only way she'll sit still for 10 minutes while I try to get her hair into some sort of civilized shape. Looking around for a kids show one morning we discovered The Wonderpets. It is a truly lovely little cartoon with 12 minute episodes. A guinea pig, a duckling and a turtle save other baby animals. Usually there's a little life lesson and something educational too. The best part is they sing everything. After all, the mini-operas that Bugs Bunny did were truly the best episodes of those cartoons. The Wonderpets have these mini-operas and catchy tunes that don't annoy me that much when they get stuck in my head. If you don't know them or you're looking for a 10 minute distraction for your kid in case of emergency-- I highly recommend checking them out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8484982964421843659?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8484982964421843659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/guess-who.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8484982964421843659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8484982964421843659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/guess-who.html' title='Guess who?'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-8410266715304590860</id><published>2009-04-02T10:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:20:48.491-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Tea Party!</title><content type='html'>Millie cracks herself up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was trying to put her down to sleep this week, she started talking about her day. She's quiet for a moment and looks away concentrating, then turns to me and says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Giant Crab!"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes Millie, we saw a giant crab at the Maryland science center today."&lt;br /&gt; "Wake up crab!" &lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Amelia, the people were trying to get it to move by jumping around." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a motion sensor activated animatronic crab. Then..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yo ho ho."&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Max was pirate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had watched all of 3 minutes of Max and Ruby on TV while I tried to comb her hair- TV is the only thing that gets her to sit still while anyone touches her head. On this particular episode Max the rabbit was pretending to be a pirate and kept saying Yo-ho-ho. His sister Ruby wanted to have a tea party instead. So the next thing Amelia said was...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Tea Party!"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes Millie, Ruby was having a tea party with her dolls."&lt;br /&gt; "Happy Tea-Party" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that she busts into a hearty fit of laughter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Happy tea-Party! ah-ha-ha-ha-a"  It's like she's saying, "Get it? Happy Tea Party!"  She said it like 5 times and each time she thought it was more hysterical.  Of course, I laughed too- not because I had any idea what the joke was in her mind but because it is just so funny that she cracks herself up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-8410266715304590860?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/8410266715304590860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-tea-party.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8410266715304590860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/8410266715304590860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-tea-party.html' title='Happy Tea Party!'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-2025931310658537161</id><published>2009-03-20T12:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:23:13.475-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Songs</title><content type='html'>Everyone should have a song to greet them in the morning. This morning Millie sang and clapped the greeting song from her daycare to me as I got her dressed: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning Mommy, good morning mommy, good morning mommy- it's nice to have you hear." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's nice to be here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-2025931310658537161?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/2025931310658537161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/03/songs.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2025931310658537161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/2025931310658537161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/03/songs.html' title='Songs'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-3085524335400520061</id><published>2009-02-10T20:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:22:19.831-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Give it back.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SZIvbxGSN-I/AAAAAAAAAEY/x9xHfv67t1g/s1600-h/hands+around+the+world.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301351865451165666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 114px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 119px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SZIvbxGSN-I/AAAAAAAAAEY/x9xHfv67t1g/s320/hands+around+the+world.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the last couple weeks, our daughter has been coming home from daycare saying things like, "Sophie take the coat off."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's been in a class with the same kids for over a year now and actually Sophie is one of her favorites- I think. Whenever you ask her, "Ready to go to school?" She looks up at you thoughtfully then responds excitedly, "Sophie! Cole!" Like she can't wait to see them. When I dropped her off, these same kids would actually drop what they are doing to run across the room- saying my daughters name with glee and giving her a huge hug. My daughter was never really receptive. She would brace herself and accept the hug but it wasn't necessarily returned. The next thing this other little girl would do is start trying to help my daughter off with her coat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when she started saying "Sophie take the coat off." I'm thinking she just doesn't want Sophie taking off her coat. Nothing new. Then recently it turned into- "Sophie take the rattle." "Sophie take the toy." Today, I had the luxury of going to her daycare and hanging out for a couple hours. While I was there the 6 two year olds in the room were relatively well behaved. Every now and then though, Sophie would walk up to my daughter and gently remove whatever she was playing with and walk away with it to play with it herself. My daughter would say, sadly, "Give it back." To be honest, there was no struggle. When the other girl tried to take it, my daughter easily relinquished it. It's like she didn't quite know how to say, "Not finished yet," or something to that effect. On the occasions I saw, the teachers were elsewhere. So I think to myself, "It Takes a Village," so I stepped in and said, "Sophie, that's not nice. We share with our friends and take turns. Give it back." If she didn't, I would gently take it and give it back to my kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this evening my husband and I are anxiously trying to decide how to handle this.  To be honest, I bet Sophie keeps doing this because they are buddies (as much as two year olds can be) and she wants to play with whatever my daughter is playing with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far we've considered the following:  1) Mention this to her teacher so she can keep a close eye on them and teach Sophie how not to bully and our daughter how to handle it. Or 2) Teach her how to tell her teacher that someone took her toy. Or 3) Teach her how to go up to the offender, take back the toy, and say "NOT your turn yet." That last one was my preference. Frankly, my little piggie is of a size that for now, I think she can hold her own. I know though that I should not be trying to teach her 2 year old hand-to-hand combat. Ahh, play ground turmoil-- already? Why can't we all just get along?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-3085524335400520061?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/3085524335400520061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/02/give-it-back.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3085524335400520061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/3085524335400520061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/02/give-it-back.html' title='Give it back.'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SZIvbxGSN-I/AAAAAAAAAEY/x9xHfv67t1g/s72-c/hands+around+the+world.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6925470295481409160</id><published>2009-01-23T18:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:24:28.524-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Good, the Bad, the Amazing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dawn of a new day on the morning of the Inauguration.  Our view...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SX0OmU2shzI/AAAAAAAAAD4/jTBMwug-sJI/s1600-h/dawn2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295404788453508914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SX0OmU2shzI/AAAAAAAAAD4/jTBMwug-sJI/s400/dawn2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, we made it there. My husband changed his mind.  However, he said he preferred that we all go together on the condition that we spent the night in our own bed rather than at his friends house one mile north of the mall. He preferred that we set out at 3am (what is it with men and wanting to leave at 3am for trips) and head into DC the morning of the Inauguration. I decided that it was worth it to go together even if it meant arriving 10 hrs early.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we left our home at 3:30am. Traffic was already backed up for miles at the first Metro station for DC. We abandoned the 1st station and drove one station closer to the city where the line was shorter- only 1/4 mile. We ended up parking on the street (score!) and walking for the station. In the station more lines for Metro tickets- I thanked my practical husband for getting our tickets the day before. We flew past the line and onto a train.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were on the mall by 6am. We got a sweet spot- probably 50 ft back from the fenced in ticketed area, right next to a Jumbotron TV screen. To our east a clear and beautiful view of The Capitol building (see our picture above!), to our west, a clear and beautiful view of the Washington monument. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our initial plan was to scout out the area whenever we arrived and then head inside somewhere to stay warm until 9 or 10 am. Then we would come back outside to wait for the Swearing In.  At 6am, the Mall was already getting congested and the buildings weren't opening to allow people to warm up until 8 or 10am.  So we decided to stay put... &lt;a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/10310/saturday-night-live-bad-idea-jeans"&gt;bad idea jeans&lt;/a&gt;, we should've stuck to our plan. It started off well enough- they handed out free flags which our daughter loved waving around. By 8:30, though, she reached her limit and was just through. She was tired but couldn't fall asleep in the backpack child-carrier like she normally can on trips.  Too much excitement, too cold to fully relax, too many people. Just too much.  Total meltdown- she refused to keep her gloves on, tears and snot were flying everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided to head home.  We had agreed ahead of time that if she totally lost it, we would bring her home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ducked into a hotel on the way back to the train station because she just couldn't go another block. People were looking at us and our screaming child- I worried that they were going to call Child Protective Svcs. Thank God the hotel was very hospitable to those seeking warmth and shelter. I settled into a cozy lounge chair and tried to warm up her cold little hands and feet. Within minutes she was comfortable and asleep on my lap. She slept well until some daft elderly woman approached gently, leaned into her sweet sleeping face and yelled "Isn't she cute- SOUND ASLEEP!!" After which of course, she was no longer asleep. Thanks. We packed back up and headed home. We were home by 11:30am- in time to watch the main event in the comfort of our home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So overall, I think we had the best of both worlds-- we were there, we felt the love, we felt the excitement, we felt the hope, we have a couple pictures. Our daughter will be able to say she was there and waved her flag and learned how to say "O-BA-MA!".  Then we went home and watched each delicious moment of the Swearing-In from the comfort of our home while she slept in her dads arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, my dear practical husband said he has no regrets and he's glad we went. I'm glad too. I truly hope my daughter looks back on these times as the years when it seemed like Obama was president forever... the same way I feel about Reagan (I could've sworn he was president like 16 years).  I'm so glad  she was there on The Mall to greet history. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;*He was right by the way. We later learned it was nearly impossible for people to get to the mall from the north due to two checkpoints on the parade route. Most people who tried to come from that direction eventually ended up giving up and turning around after hours of waiting.*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6925470295481409160?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6925470295481409160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/01/good-bad-amazing.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6925470295481409160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6925470295481409160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/01/good-bad-amazing.html' title='The Good, the Bad, the Amazing'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SX0OmU2shzI/AAAAAAAAAD4/jTBMwug-sJI/s72-c/dawn2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1617247689244401805.post-6115299423895611223</id><published>2009-01-18T19:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T22:26:14.318-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Inauguration</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SXPUydadbOI/AAAAAAAAADc/dc18_o-4MKA/s1600-h/MarchonWashingtonPhotoAA.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292807950444621026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SXPUydadbOI/AAAAAAAAADc/dc18_o-4MKA/s320/MarchonWashingtonPhotoAA.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the inauguration of my blog. And- as it so happens, it coincides with the inauguration of our next president. Which has raised an interesting issue in our lives as new parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My husband and I are quite excited about the presidential election outcome. We went to quite an activist undergraduate institution- Oberlin. But I admit, I've probably been guilty of feeling activist by nature of knowing others who have been more active. We recycle and give money... but pretty low impact stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We live close to DC and we have debated the practical logistics of actually going down to the mall and being a part of the inauguration. Before we had a kid,we may have actually debated the practicalities of such a decision for just the two of us with a lively but fun debate. If we had disagreed- I might have done my thing and let him do his thing. Now that we have a toddler- this multiplies both the Pros and the Cons of going. It will be cold-30F . It will be crowded-estimated 2 million. It could even be dangerous- 2 million cranky cold travelers. On the other hand: It is is historic. It could be amazing. We will never have this particular chance again. We will have pictures- she will be able to say she was there on the Mall on that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Having a partner that disagrees now turns a fun and lively debate into a passionate disagreement between two parents who both want what's best for their kid but have diametrically opposed opinions on how that is best accomplished. He says I should go alone- but for me it's about sharing this moment in history with her. What to do when one parent wants to take her somewhere that the other parent disagrees with. Legally, I think if I took her out of state or something that would be parental kidnapping. See how one disagreement in how you spend the day takes on the level of a felony when there is a child involved?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in sum:&lt;br /&gt;PRE-CHILD: Parent 1: "Hey, Wanna go do something wacky?"&lt;br /&gt;Parent 2: "No."&lt;br /&gt;Parent 1: "Ok, I'll go on my own. See ya."&lt;br /&gt;Parent 2: "Ok,  Thinks to self, "Boy I love that girl and her wacky ways."&lt;br /&gt;End result: Neither individual is remotely perturbed by the outcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;POST-CHILD: Parent 1:"Hey, Wanna go do something wacky with our child?"&lt;br /&gt;Parent 2: "No. Absolutely not- are you insane?!"&lt;br /&gt;Parent 1: "Ok, I'm going and I'm bringing her. This is important. How could you not see that!"&lt;br /&gt;Parent 2: "Go alone."&lt;br /&gt;Parent 1: "No, I need to share this with her and you-- but if you refuse, I'll at least share it with her. If you deprive her of this opportunity, I don't know if I will ever forget it."&lt;br /&gt;End Result: Each person is deeply hurt and disturbed by the entire discussion and wonders when the insane alien replaced their spouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As one friend put it: "Hmmmm...hours and hours on trains, in cold, no nap..... vs. lifelong memories of unparalleled historic event."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1617247689244401805-6115299423895611223?l=thats-some-pig.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/feeds/6115299423895611223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/01/inauguration.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6115299423895611223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1617247689244401805/posts/default/6115299423895611223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thats-some-pig.blogspot.com/2009/01/inauguration.html' title='Inauguration'/><author><name>sqpeggy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cj8sEmKSH4k/SXPUydadbOI/AAAAAAAAADc/dc18_o-4MKA/s72-c/MarchonWashingtonPhotoAA.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
