is delicious when you get the spoon...painful when you hit your head on the cupboard...and just all-out tiring after awhile!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Helping Mom
is delicious when you get the spoon...painful when you hit your head on the cupboard...and just all-out tiring after awhile!
New Playmates!
Well, they're "old" playmates, actually, but I'm afraid that Abby doesn't remember that far back! I've been meaning to post these pictures for a week now, two of which I shamelessly just cut from Carissa's blog. Carissa and Tim stayed with us for two nights during their [well-timed, I must say] ND tour and they even BABYSAT all day Thursday while we were at work, bless their brave souls! Here is Abby, pampered by all the attention:
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
How Abby Earned an Apple
Well, Abby turned up her nose and said, "No" to a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and corn tonight. We didn't argue. It went in the fridge, and she skipped off to a puzzle.
She played and read books for two full hours until she saw me eating an apple. She scurried over and wanted it. I said no apple until she ate her dinner. She tried a couple more times, pouted, and disappeared. Minutes later she had Eric by the hand, leading him down the hallway toward the kitchen and reminding him of their mission: "App-uh. App-uh."
I intervened and said apples aren't for little girls who missed supper. Eric played the part of the uniformed accomplice that he was, and Abby wailed. She went off by herself for awhile to plot. When I opened the fridge to take out her cold dinner, she dropped to her knees by the crisper tray and nabbed an apple. She handed it up deviously but trustingly to be cut (as is the way you eat apples at 21 months) and I, equally devious, put it out of reach with a thump.
She wailed. She railed. She kicked. She begged. I went in the other room.
Then I heard some commotion in the kitchen so I rolled my eyes at dear Er and went out to investigate what kind of a theft might be in progress. She had climbed up in her high chair, strapped herself in, and was situating the tray, saying, "Eat."
I warmed up the dinner, placed it before her, gave her the fork she requested, and then watched in awe as she ate her dinner and even commented on the quality of the corn: "Goot."
When she was finished, I gave her a shining quarter of her red trophy and told her to go and show Dad. She was so proud as she marched into the bedroom to show off.
I had to wipe a small tear away. It's just so precious. HARD, mind you, but precious.
She played and read books for two full hours until she saw me eating an apple. She scurried over and wanted it. I said no apple until she ate her dinner. She tried a couple more times, pouted, and disappeared. Minutes later she had Eric by the hand, leading him down the hallway toward the kitchen and reminding him of their mission: "App-uh. App-uh."
I intervened and said apples aren't for little girls who missed supper. Eric played the part of the uniformed accomplice that he was, and Abby wailed. She went off by herself for awhile to plot. When I opened the fridge to take out her cold dinner, she dropped to her knees by the crisper tray and nabbed an apple. She handed it up deviously but trustingly to be cut (as is the way you eat apples at 21 months) and I, equally devious, put it out of reach with a thump.
She wailed. She railed. She kicked. She begged. I went in the other room.
Then I heard some commotion in the kitchen so I rolled my eyes at dear Er and went out to investigate what kind of a theft might be in progress. She had climbed up in her high chair, strapped herself in, and was situating the tray, saying, "Eat."
I warmed up the dinner, placed it before her, gave her the fork she requested, and then watched in awe as she ate her dinner and even commented on the quality of the corn: "Goot."
When she was finished, I gave her a shining quarter of her red trophy and told her to go and show Dad. She was so proud as she marched into the bedroom to show off.
I had to wipe a small tear away. It's just so precious. HARD, mind you, but precious.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Timeline of a Victory
5:30 p.m. - Abby ponders her plateful of ham, potatoes, and green beens and says, "Done."
5:31 p.m. - Dad reminds her this is all she gets for the rest of the night.
5:32 p.m. - Abby repeats, "Done."
5:33 p.m. - Mom puts dinner in the fridge.
6:15 p.m. - Mom and Abby make a dozen blueberry muffins.
6:20 p.m. - Abby watches them bake.
6:30 p.m. - The muffins are done; Abby points to them and says, "Eat!"
6:31 p.m. - Mom reminds Abby she has to eat ham, potatoes, and beans first.
6:32 p.m. - Abby throws a tantrum with the refrain of "Eat, eat, eat!"
6:33 p.m. - Abby goes into her crib to think things over.
6:40 p.m. - Abby is freed and runs to the muffin counter, pointing and saying, "Want."
6:41 p.m. - Dad reminds Abby she has to eat ham, potatoes, and beans first.
6:42 p.m. - Abby shakes her head and says no.
REPEAT LAST TWO LINES, ALTERNATING MOM AND DAD, UNTIL 7:30.
7:30 p.m. - Abby is given her last chance to eat dinner. Mom warms up meal and offers it again.
7:31 p.m. - Abby throws tantrum and ends up in crib again to think things over.
8:00 p.m. - Dad takes mercy on a small child and brings her out. He gets ham, potatoes, and beans from fridge.
8:01 p.m. - Abby eats the entire plate of ham, potatoes, and beans.
8:15 p.m. - Abby enjoys the sweet taste of a blueberry muffin.
8:15 p.m. - Mom and Dad enjoy the sweet taste of victory. :)
5:31 p.m. - Dad reminds her this is all she gets for the rest of the night.
5:32 p.m. - Abby repeats, "Done."
5:33 p.m. - Mom puts dinner in the fridge.
6:15 p.m. - Mom and Abby make a dozen blueberry muffins.
6:20 p.m. - Abby watches them bake.
6:30 p.m. - The muffins are done; Abby points to them and says, "Eat!"
6:31 p.m. - Mom reminds Abby she has to eat ham, potatoes, and beans first.
6:32 p.m. - Abby throws a tantrum with the refrain of "Eat, eat, eat!"
6:33 p.m. - Abby goes into her crib to think things over.
6:40 p.m. - Abby is freed and runs to the muffin counter, pointing and saying, "Want."
6:41 p.m. - Dad reminds Abby she has to eat ham, potatoes, and beans first.
6:42 p.m. - Abby shakes her head and says no.
REPEAT LAST TWO LINES, ALTERNATING MOM AND DAD, UNTIL 7:30.
7:30 p.m. - Abby is given her last chance to eat dinner. Mom warms up meal and offers it again.
7:31 p.m. - Abby throws tantrum and ends up in crib again to think things over.
8:00 p.m. - Dad takes mercy on a small child and brings her out. He gets ham, potatoes, and beans from fridge.
8:01 p.m. - Abby eats the entire plate of ham, potatoes, and beans.
8:15 p.m. - Abby enjoys the sweet taste of a blueberry muffin.
8:15 p.m. - Mom and Dad enjoy the sweet taste of victory. :)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
About that Nanny
She's given up eating completely. It goes in the fridge and comes out again only to be refused again and again until bedtime.
She has also started pushing and hitting at daycare.
And just today she decided that only she can do the buckles of her carseat: "I dood it."
She has also started pushing and hitting at daycare.
And just today she decided that only she can do the buckles of her carseat: "I dood it."
Monday, March 2, 2009
If the Terrible Twos are Worse Than This...
then I'm getting a nanny.
Meal time has become a battleground with the supposedly weaker force displaying unheard of staying power. Yesterday was an hour and a half of wailing in the high chair at Nana's over a refusal to take one bit of a chicken nugget. Last night was over an hour of the same, this time over a single black olive (which she eats BY THE CAN on her own choosing). This morning she refused to say thank you for the orange juice ("No!") so it went back in the fridge.
What would cause such a little sprite to choose sitting in the chair over playing and no juice over orange juice? It seems like she's paying awfully high prices just to exert that little (oh, it's NOT little!) will.
Meal time has become a battleground with the supposedly weaker force displaying unheard of staying power. Yesterday was an hour and a half of wailing in the high chair at Nana's over a refusal to take one bit of a chicken nugget. Last night was over an hour of the same, this time over a single black olive (which she eats BY THE CAN on her own choosing). This morning she refused to say thank you for the orange juice ("No!") so it went back in the fridge.
What would cause such a little sprite to choose sitting in the chair over playing and no juice over orange juice? It seems like she's paying awfully high prices just to exert that little (oh, it's NOT little!) will.
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