Poop-casso

Mommy went to the chiropractor, leaving Daddy alone to look after the Demon Child. No problem, Daddy thought, I’ll just put her down and maybe go up a few levels in World of Warcraft.

She went down peacefully enough. She didn’t even need a bottle. Very cuddly in her blanket, on top of the old comforter she uses to snuggle in, with some stuffed animals to keep her company. Ah, peace!

Twenty minuter later, I hear a cry. Then a shriek. Then a continuing series of shrieks. I should probably have panicked, but I get this a lot and it’s usually a false alarm. But not this time. As I opened the door, I was hit full force by the stench of baby-shit gone bad! Poor Sophie had para-trooped out of her crib, which is fairly high up, and was sitting on the floor, covered in crap. It was in her hair, on her arms and legs, on her hands, and she was quickly spreading the brown love around the room.

I saw her diaper had been thrown off, presumably just in time for the big event. It was completely clean. The bed itself was NASTY. Poop smeared everywhere. We got one of those cute white cribs with little nibs up and down the bars. Those little crevices had tons of funky stuff in there. And lo and behold, the biggest chip in the dookie cookie had been thrown between the crib and the wall, and lay “nestled” between the crib, the carpet, and the baseboard.

I had about 45 minutes of solo cleaning until Mommy got home. She found the whole situation hysterical at first, but it was probably another hour before life was back to normal. Sophie played in her pack-n-play the whole time, and avoided further smelly surprises.

Halloween

Let's face it, the Sophster was “supa-cute” this year. Don’t you agree? Check out that costume! Mommy picked it, and while Daddy was rolling his eyes at the mall, mommy’s fashion judgement ruled the day. We got non-stop comments about how cute she was during the trick-or-treat downtown, as well as door to door later. I’m sure I’m being totally unbiased on this, and I highly doubt any other kids on the planet were praised for cuteness.

That settled, I need to point out that the photo session that this photo came from prompted a new lens purchase! Our front deck runs the width of the townhouse, and isn’t very deep at all. It’s like an outdoor hallway. So as the crazed flower run to and fro, my 50mm f/1.4 struggled mightily to keep her in focus. While it takes absolutely unbelievable images, I constantly wish I could “step back” and get a wider view. To this end, the new walk-around lens is a Canon 17-85 IS. I’m getting it tomorrow. Will let you know what I find!

Hellion's Diary 10-21-07

I love swimming. I always want to go swimming. But my parents haven't taken me to the pool since September despite my daily request. Today like any other day, I asked Mommy to take me swimming, but she said it was time for lunch and gave me a bowl of chicken soup instead. Naturally, I pretended to eat it for a while and poured it out on the tray of my high chair and dove in. Boo-yah! I'm swimming!! For some reason, this did not make my mommy very happy... she says she needs to find me a day care.

So far she's only found one, and it's called Daddy day care, and I like it. I get all the books I can reach out of the bookshelves while daddy plays on the computer. When Daddy gets tired of me asking for my turn by saying "I wanna puush (the buttons on the keyboard)!" and stealing his mouse (meow, I win!) we eat cookies and chocolate for a while, then go outside to the park, both of us in T-shirts and no jacket, even when it's raining or getting dark. This is quite fun as I get to wear at least one article of clothing backwards, or inside out, while socks are mismatching and shoes on wrong foot. After playing a little bit we get thirsty and hungry but Daddy sees no use for the sippy cup and a tub of snack Mommy keeps in the stroller for us. So we take a long walk to McDonald's, eat "bu-gers", drink diet coke, then split the biggest tub of German chocolate ice cream at Coldstone Creamery. I wouldn't mind going to the day care every day. Who wouldn't?

I know… I’ll make a major mess

Daddy got home from work today around 7 and the terrorizer ran to the stairs to greet him. "Hello Daddy!" she said in a sing-song voice. What a wonderful thing to hear after a long day at work. In a more cheerful mood, I came up the stairs to give her a hug. No dice. Squirm city. Instead, she ran over to her toy shelf, and with both hands, proceeded to dump as much of it as possible onto the floor in minimum time.

Meanwhile, Momster reclined on the couch, reading "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7)." She's a big Harry Potter fan, but stubborn as she is, she's insisting on reading the books out of order. She read the sixth book, then the fifth, then the fourth, and now is working on the last one. A friend who follows Harry Potter with religious zeal was *scandalized* to hear of this, but Momma would brook no dissent. Anyway, when Momma gets into a reading mood, she becomes oblivious to trivialities like screaming kids. Thus, Daddy was on deck for entertainment this evening.

How to entertain a hyper-active toddler? Especially if I'm hungry and in the mood for a samurai movie? Hey, I've got an idea…

Sophie made it about an hour into "Seven Samurai" before showing signs of sleepiness. Of course, she hardly hung on the plot twists. Mostly she kept lunging for Daddy's drink, Daddy's remote, Daddy's food, and Daddy's coaster. I fed her when I could by making ninja-like food jabs when I could get her to stay in one place for a second. I'm sure I'm supposed to put her in her high chair in the kitchen and feed her. But I'm trying to keep it trailer. And listening to her cry in frustration at not being able to chew and run at the same time is no fun.

At last, the time came to put her to bed. Lately we've been having a really easy time of it. I use props, which again is a big no-no in the books. But with the difficulties we've had getting this kid to sleep properly, I'll use whatever helps. Maybe I can wean her of them later. The ritual is as follows: change into jammies, start the iPod playing some sleepy music, start the humidifier, turn on the kaleidoscopic light, cut the room lights, sit in the nursing chair, give her the bottle, put her on my shoulder afterward with one of Mommy's shirts, wait a minute, and put her down.

I love putting Sophie to bed. Tonight she put her arms around my neck as I waited for her to fall asleep. It totally makes up for the stress!

Wasabi no ko?

Hello, thanks for reading (probably backwards). If you’ve made it to this second sentence you're probably a really good reader who wonders, why did you name your blog "Wasabi no ko?", translated as "Wasabi kid"?

Well, a child does factor into it! I have a now 17-month-old daughter. We’ll call her Sophie. That happens to be her real name, but that’s what we’ll call her anyway. She was born May 12th, 2006, and is the most adorable little imp that you can imagine. So adorable, in fact, that her mother and I still have not given her to gypsies or put her in a little reed basket, floating down the creek.

Like many parents we eagerly anticipated Sophie's first steps, first words, first BM not made of tar. And as proud as we were of her achievements, a feeling of dread would soon follow. Sophie’s mom (the Momster) and I quickly learned that each time she leveled up (ding!) in the game of life, her powers grew. Her capacity for destructive, mischievous, giggling evil expanded! Take, for example, her first steps, which came to her relatively late in comparison to the children we know - at 14 months. At first tentative, she quickly progressed to self-propelled book-flinging, invoice-tearing, TV power-cycling fury.

Unlike her locomotion, her verbal skills have come early. At 17 months she has a vocabulary of hundreds of words, and has for the last 3 months. She is beginning to combine words, although the pesky grammatical glue appears to elude her. She very faithfully reproduces the glue Daddy uses, though, especially when he stubs his toe or forgets to remove her finger from a drawer before closing it. Let’s just say that the F-bomb is in her linguistic arsenal, ready for deployment for maximum parental collateral embarrassment.

So, she’s feisty, she’s spicy, and everything else was taken.  It’s fate!