Hey You Guys...

So basically what happened is that I uploaded some pictures that have (almost) all been posted on the BookyFace, but if you haven't seen them yet, they'll probably be exciting. Let's pretend I'll post something of substance soon. You never know, it could happen...

Taken the day after Thanksgiving at 9:30 in the morning. Totally passed out on the couch and slept for like 45 minutes. It was weird.

The day Iris decided to enjoy coffee for the first time. She is now obsessed. You can almost see the caffeine coursing through her system. Please don't ask me how she got the coffee...

Okay, so there are like four different shots from the "Iris wearing Mom's Wellies" series, but this was the most descriptive. Hello? The child put on giant, adult-sized rubber boots and then pranced around the living room. This is from MONTHS ago, but I felt it was still worthy of note.

This one serves no other purpose than to be compared to the one following. Heyyy, ya think we're related or something?

My name is Iris and I enjoy crumpets and clotted cream.

Old video I finally figured out how to retrieve from my phone...

Okay, so, please excuse the poor quality picture/sound/screaming. This video was taken back in July, I believe, on a day that Kelly and I were at a loss as to how to kill time with the girls, so we plopped them on Lola's mini trampoline to entertain ourselves.

Untitled from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

Schrödinger's Teeth

In this thought experiment, there is a toddlermouth containing a finite number of existent teeth, a geiger counter, a hammer, a vial of acid, and a finite number of probable teeth (which is to say, it contains a finite number of existent teeth, likely screaming gums, negative eleventy sleep, possibly painful vocalization, and a finite number of probable teeth). Without viewing said mouth or irrefutable x-ray evidence of future probable teeth, one is unable to predict with certainty the likelihood that current or future probable teeth will irritate aforementioned hammer, nor will the toddlermouth open widely for anything other than a vitamin D milk delivery system of some sort; it will most certainly not avail itself to scrutiny.

One may presume, when presented with all available data, that the toddlermouth is either in a state of intense pain, or severe sassiness. While the scientific evidence remains inscrutable, the toddlermouth simultaneously exists in a superposition of the states "in-pain," and "attention-seeking." Only when the toddlermouth gains fluent speech is true observation attained, and the wave function collapses to reveal the identity of the fussypants' inception. The real difficulty is that it is also deterministic, or more precisely, that it combines a probabilistic interpretation with deterministic dynamics.*

Even if she could speak fluently, she'd likely blame her attitude on teething, new molars or no. Hell, I would, and I've had all my teeth for a while now. It's a handy excuse for unrestrained crankiness. I completely understand, and of course, observation is always subjective.

Points of Interest: Iris now calls me "Mommy." This was completely her idea, as Kyle and I have always referred to ourselves as "Mom," and "Dad," perhaps sometimes I threw out a "Mama," but never "Mommy," and certainly never "Daddy." The fact remains, I am now "Mommy." She also says "ducky, doggy, yessie, no-ie, shoesie, shirty, flowery, planty, foody, etc." Every word now gets the "y." Funny how steadfastly we avoided those parental titles, and not only did they happen anyway, but they make us totally melt upon execution. WHY, with the cuteness, Luella?

Short Story Time: Iris and I went for a walk after dinner tonight. She really enjoys simply walking; no stroller, no holding, just walking beside you and taking in the neighborhood. We circled a three block radius and headed towards home. As we approached our street, a dog barked kind of frighteningly in a neighbor's yard, and a car turned town the super-remote street on which we'd decided to amble. I tossed her on my shoulders and jogged home. The baby bounced and giggled, and I held her waist and unnecessarily jostled her, and it was seriously the best time ever. We were both laughing so hard we were snorting by the time we got home. She had a bath and we read some books, and she asked to go to bed. She kissed me goodnight and went to sleep. It was a good day.



*Shamelessly ripped off this entire sentence from wikipedia

Maybe she could be a back-up singer for Stevie Nicks or something...

Iris. Seriously.

Please stop making this face (and really, super duper please, for REAL, please please please please stop making the accompanying bleating/keening/dying sound):

You're taxing an already over-stressed system, which is to say, your parents are very nearly at critical mass with this sh*t. Critical mass being, of course, "wow I so totally don't care that you're making that face, so cut it out and quit whining at me."

It's not that we don't care when you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. We love you, and we want you to be happy. The problem that you face in this particular situation, my dear, is that we have stopped believing your sincerity. Remind me to talk to you about wolves and crying. This face does not mean that you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. This face means, "I haven't demanded anything from you in recent seconds, and also you are not doting on me endlessly whilst simultaneously accomplishing all the other tasks that comprise your day. Now entertain me better, and make me some dinner." This face could also very well mean, "I'm bored. Are you paying attention to me? What day is it? I like noodles. The sun is out. I have hands." Makes us all a little testy, you see.

I really would like to get back to that place where sympathy is my first reaction to your expression here, but when EVERY. SINGLE. THING. causes you to make this face, I really cannot find it in my heart to be moved. I also cannot really bring myself to feel too bad when I blankly tell you to stop crying and go sit down, preferrably somewhere far, far away from me. The sound, as I've mentioned, is probably the worst. Make no mistake, it is constant. It is a low hum in the background of life around here. It escalates frequently and never ends. It goes from completely fake-sounding, mildly grating but low, to loud, sharp wails that punctuate some weird dance of backwards-walking and near intentional injury as a means to extend the misery. Dude, fake crying in front of a mirror is doing nothing to further your cause. Yeah, I caught that. Remember? I was holding you at the time.

Yo, other people who know stuff that I don't (clearly): Is this the terrible twos? I thought that was overt defiance and gleeful obstinance? This is just... uhg. This makes me want to take her to the hospital to demand a medical reason for the woe. This has driven me to take her temperature at least three times over the weekend, because no one is this sad over the fact that I walked out of the room without taking them with me. This makes me want to peel my face off. Or maybe just my ears. Yeah, that would suffice.

Seventeen Days...

Is how long it took for day care to infect Iris with some Eustachian Tube-munching virus, warranting a trip to the good ol' Hippie Doctor Folk. Not so hippie that they didn't slap us with some azithromycin after interestingly minimal inspection, but definitely hippie enough to ask us to hold off on administering said drug for a day or two "to make sure it's really bad first." So we (called Grandma Reinhard, made her tell us what to do, and) got the prescription filled and gave it to her a couple of hours later. Iris is in pretty good spirits, all things considered, and would like for you to know that she weighs 27.4 lbs.

Addendum

Actual conversation between Iris and I, approximately four minutes ago:

I: Bears! Bears bears bears bears bears bears bears bea....

M: Do you want to count the Care Bears on this page? Let's count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,

I: AYT! AYT AYT! AYT! AAEEEEET!!!

M: *blinks* Did you just say "Eight?"

I: *nodding* Aaayt.

M: Okay, let's count the bears on the other pages too. *turns to next page, containing only one bear*

M: *pointing to single bear* One.

I: TWO!

M: *holding up three fingers now* Three?

I: Foooah!

M: Five...

I: Fiiiieee.... SICK!

M: Seven?

I: AAAYT AYT AYT AYT AYT. Nein. *stares in confusion at the little blue cloud of smoke as it puffs from her mother's ears*

Trust me, she didn't mean "nine." She was saying "no" in German because she was surprised to note that my brain had exploded at her shocking display of intelligence, and also because she's freaky like that.

Obligatory front porch photo of mildly willing participants!

Oh you guys. So precious in your back to school clothes, looking both eager and frightened with equal measure. Well, Kyle does anyway. Iris just looks like she has no idea we're about to drop her off in the den of iniquitous germ origins (AGAIN), which makes it a little sad for her. Let's all cherish this photo as the last time we saw her healthy for longer than six days straight. sigh.

Okay! We are being positive! and optimistic! This year will be GREAT! No prolonged ear infections; no evil hades children demanding Kyle's sanity on a platter! No! It's gonna be great.

Winner of the Way Rad Award Goes To....

Rebecca! For not only completing the edits on the entire photo session and posting them to her proofing site (I first wrote "poofing site" there, and I think I like it better. Heh. Poofing site...), but also for making this KICK*SS slideshow. I mean, really. Where does the awesomosity end?