Tornadic Activity

Now that Avery is 16 months old, I can see where the term toddler tornado comes from. Toddlers carve a path of destruction wherever they go. Debris flies. Animals get tossed. Recovery is a long process. And just when you think everything is put back together, another massive gust comes through and shakes your house.


Avery's curiosity is off the charts. She's into everything, and I've stopped trying to keep up with the trail of toys. She also gets funnier by the day. Her ability to communicate is growing by leaps and bounds. She can repeat after us if it's just the right word, but once she starts saying it, it sticks. Puppy is her favorite word of the moment (puppeeee exclamation point), and "mommy" is finally sticking although she still calls me daddy just as often.

Recent vocabulary additions include Elmo, uffs (for puffs), apple, bubble, eye and green bean. Just today she started "ho ho ho" and she's been saying "owie" dramatically about a teeny tiny scratch on her foot. Avery loves herself a magazine and the First Lady is on the cover of Reader's Digest, so now she'll say "ah-ma." She can also sign hat and shoes and can sign and say "eat eat," so she lets us know when she wants food or milk, often by going to the fridge and trying to open it or sneaking the pack of raisins out when I'm grabbing food.

She knows how a lot of animals go, and for a dog she'll whine, "brp brp" and snort like Marti. When Marti licks, Avery does the same. Pigs snort, cats "meee," lions roar and donkeys go ee-ah.

She's getting so smart and often blows our minds. She'll do something or respond to us with her actions and we're just floored—where did she pick that up? She can follow simple directions, which may be totally handy here in a few months.

Kisses, hugs and affection are becoming more frequent, and she'll come running over for a hug or give a doll a kiss. It's so sweet. She "kisses" Alan by pretending to feed him. Not sure why, but it's pretty adorable.


She's also increasingly aware of her bathroom business so we bought a potty chair, which she thinks is the best toy ever. We're not really potty training in earnest (we're of the mindset that having to go to public restrooms all the time will be just as much work as diapers), but we figured if she's telling us, we'll listen. If we pay really close attention we can get not-even-half of a poop experience to hit the pot, thus getting to deal with the diaper and the toilet. The best of both poop worlds, truly.

Figuring it out.

I finally moved the dog bowls into the bathroom, so now I have to try to balance Marti's perpetual thirst with Avery's perpetual desire to splash in the water and play with the dog food. Now Avery has figured out how to open the bathroom door, so my days are numbered for that defense. And of course Avery is almost never far from my side, so when I'm in the bathroom, I'm stuck trying to pee while stretching out to keep Aves from the dog dishes. It's a glamorous life.

Planning their escape, I'm sure.

Most of the house is fairly well baby-proofed but there are certain baby-proofing difficulties, like the cabinet with the lazy susan. The door shifts, so while there is a latch, the door moves enough so that Avery can still easily open it. I don't mind her playing with cans and such, and sometimes it's easier to let her stay occupied in the cabinet while I get five minutes of cooking done. The other day though I heard a noise so loud that I thought I would look over and see her arm caught in a blender. Luckily she had just overturned a box of very loud pasta.


I even play defensive dish-washing. I can usually only get one or two dishes loaded or unloaded before she's on her way, attempting to play in food grime or stand on the door.

She's definitely formed attachments recently to her blanket, a doll and Goodnight Moon. She loves all three and will grab her blanket out of her crib to roll around with it. The book is an all out addiction, and Alan and I have it memorized. I hated the book at first but have come to love it as it's both simple and has so much going on to look at and middle finger point to.

Her middle finger is her favorite. For pointing and flipping people off.

She doesn't yet like anything in her hair, and I need to get her a little trim because her hair is always in her face. She does like to brush hair though, and if you're lucky you can get through a whole hairbrushing session without her smacking you upside the head with the brush.

Her first ponytail.

Our sweet little girl just gets sweeter by the day. We still go in and check on her each night. And now she's such a good sleeper that we don't worry so much about waking her. Our little Stinkerbell, Puffy Pillow Cheeks, sweet little miss Avery is always sleeping soundly, gearing up for a new day of tornadic activity.

The Half-Baked Bun

What, you don't come here for scary stories about bugs? Alright, alright. I'll offset my last post with something a little cuter. How about pictures of baby No. 2?



Unfortunately we didn't get the 3D pictures like last time because the baby wasn't cooperating. He/she decided that being good and healthy was the job for the day, not cooperating so we could get a sneak peek at a cute little face. Oh well. I go back in another four weeks, so maybe then!

I'm again opting to not find out the gender. I just don't care and like the surprise of it all. I like to speculate, convince myself one way or the other, and then change my mind. I'm definitely not one of those moms who has any instincts when it comes to gender. These are my theories so far:

1) It'll be a girl. This pregnancy has been the complete opposite of my pregnancy with Avery complete with vomiting, bone-crushing fatigue, food aversions well past the first trimester, more doctor visits, and a much, much larger belly much earlier on. My theory is that it'll be the complete opposite experience, except for the end result. Avery gets a little sister!



2) It'll be a boy. The pregnancy is the total opposite of my first, so testosterone must be making me sick. I'm also RAVENOUS, so some say that means boy. Alan started feeling the baby kick several days ago, a couple of weeks ahead of when he could feel it with Avery, so it must be a strong-legged boy. Avery gets a little brother!


So those are my gender theories. One of them is bound to be right. And I love being right.

Phobia

To say I'm bug-phobic is putting it mildly. I remember calling my mom as a kid (teen?) so she could walk me through picking up a dead bug that was in a kitchen drawer. I'm almost certain now that the "bug" in question was actually a dried spaghetti noodle. It didn't matter. Even a worm-like resemblance was enough to send me into a panic.

But there is a certain bug that I've only seen since we've moved to New Jersey that, when seen, takes all rational thought out of my brain and makes me a totally crazy person. I break into a sweat, my blood pressure rises, my heart beats out of my chest.

I saw a few of the demon bugs when we lived in our apartment before we moved into our house. Our apartment was by a river, and when asked, the apartment manager said they were simply water bugs, which is way too harmless a name for these suckers. I knew he was just placating me, so I tried to look them up. With nothing to go on, I've been calling them bazillipedes because while they don't have thick bodies like centipedes, they do have a bazillion feathery legs.

Over the summer, I was working in the office when I heard a kerfuffle in the living room. Alan was racing about, knocking things over. It sounded like a fight had broken out. When questioned from afar, he told me not to come in the living room. Which led to this Facebook status update:

Erin Whitehead

Oh dear. Alan won't even let me in the room to see the bug beast he is killing.

· · July 20 at 10:33pm

He later told me it was the toughest, biggest bazillipede he'd ever seen. I freaked out even knowing it had been in the house.

So, of course, the other night, I saw a freaking bazillipede in our dining room. It was up near the molding, way out of my reach. I immediately called Alan to see when he'd be home. He answered his work phone, meaning he was at least 30 minutes out of reach. A dilemma. I'd be stuck in the dining room for the next half an hour, in a cold sweat, watching the bug, waiting for Alan to come save the day. I realize this is ridiculous, but phobias aren't rational, people.

However, the bazillipede decided he had places to be. And boy, all of those bazillion legs help those jerks move fast. Shockingly fast. He was moving so fast that I knew I had to do something or I'd have a bazillipede leaping out at me from behind doors or worse, in Avery's room.

So what do I do? With Alan on the phone, I grab the fly-swatter and run, screaming like a banshee, to bust the hell out of the bug. He went behind our TV trays. Alan asked if I'd gotten him, and I reported that I thought I did because he'd lost a lot of legs in the fight. Sure enough, after a quick inspection, the little jerk was dead.

Have you ever seen Nothing to Lose with Tim Robbins and Martin Lawrence? And they get in a fight and Tim Robbins' move is to go running at Martin Lawrence with his elbow? That's totally how I fought the bug. While screaming.

So tonight, I decided to Google "bug with lots of legs" to settle this bug mystery once and for all. And lo and behold, Google must have improved over the last couple of years because the first link was a winner. Apparently, it's a house centipede. At least, I'm not going to go looking around any more, as this picture was enough to make me jump, cover my eyes, tear up and start to laugh hysterically. CLICK AT YOUR OWN RISK, PEOPLE.

Dining With Daddy

Dining with Daddy, with an ocean view, on our cruise in September. That look up at Alan is just too much. In the words of Rachel Zoe, I die.

Happy Halloween!

It's quite "tricky" to get an almost 15-month-old and a pug into their Halloween costumes. It's even trickier to get a picture of the pair. I did my best, so enjoy the treat. Happy Halloween from the cutest dinosaur on the planet and a repeat Marti the Moose!



The dinosaur is on the prowl and about to eat a delicious moose for lunch.



Walking in costume proved a little tricky for a new toddler.



The moose head never cooperates and I don't have a third hand.



One suspicious dinosaur.



And finally, a smile.



Make up your own sound effect for this one.


Happy Halloween!

Babies are Cute, but...

I love babies. That's why I'm having another. But seriously? This new stage is way, way more fun. That hard work starts to pay off, you start to see personality and communication and interaction. It's like a light bulb went off in Avery's head recently and she just became so smart. So funny. So cute. And smart. Like genius-caliber human on our hands here. She's stacking donuts and sorting blocks. And not just chewing on them.


Anecdotes more for my future reference than for anyone's enjoyment, although feel free to enjoy:

At 14 months exactly, Avery took her first tentative steps. She’s still wobbly but now seems to prefer being upright and looks less like a drunk by the day.

A few weeks ago feeling much steadier with Daddy Daddy Daddy. Love her hiked up britches.

She knows where her toes, belly button, tummy, ears, nose and hair are. She loves to try to eat her feet and when I tell her "Don't eat your toes, you're going to need them later, I swear" she giggles and tries even harder to get them into her mouth.

You name it, she'll point to the right object much of the time. Balloon? Baby? Ball? Dog? Cat? She'll nail it.

Signs in her vocab include fan, dog, milk, more, baby, ball, banana. She sees us with any food whatsoever and will immediately sign "more." "I'll have what she's having."

Favorite words are Daddy (which I'm now convinced she uses for either of us), dog, and yum yum. She said "nigh nigh" (night night) the other night, and you probably could have heard our hearts breaking.

She’s using objects for their intended purpose—she'll brush her hair with her brush, try to put her socks and shoes on, or will hold my phone to her ear (which is funny because that’s what I do with my phone the least).

She loves her walk-behind dinosaur but will also push her music table around like it's a walker. It ends up all over the place.

She’ll pick something up from the floor, something teeny tiny—fuzz, a piece of dirt—pinch it between her fingers and either give it to me or bring it to her mouth. Sometimes she genuinely wants to put it in her mouth; other times she just wants me to react and grab it from her. This is hilarious.

She crawls into our laps. Usually brings a book. It’s one of her favorite spots.

She can entertain herself with books for an hour. There's nothing that breaks my heart more than looking out and seeing her flipping contently through a book.

She’s super friendly with other people. At story time at the library, she’ll crawl over to another kid, smile hugely right in their face, and then quickly crawl back to me to check in.

She's increasingly fascinated with the toilet and wants to flush it. And grab the toilet paper off the roll.

She loves to beat me to the dog dish and splash in the water.

She loves Marti and looooves that she can get Marti to react. It's hilarious to throw food off the high chair and hear Marti scramble to snarf it up. And she just learned that she can lean over and give food directly to the dog; this is the best thing since sliced banana.

Here Avery has discovered that extra Cheerios sometimes pop out of her snack bowl and fall to Marti. She can hardly contain herself.

She loves being "scared" of Marti. If Marti comes racing in, she loves to come to me like she needs to take cover. Which, let's be honest, sometimes she does.

If you have her on your hip, sometimes she'll lean to the side to get right in your face and give you a huge smile.

And now a few pics for fun.

Checking out pony rides recently on the farm.

Not entirely sure how I managed to hold her up to the cow.

Her pictures should come with sound.

Strike a pose.

A Bonus Lesson from CPR Class

New Jersey is far from the stereotype of Snookis running amok and gold chains and track suits everywhere. But every now and then you see someone who fits the bill or experience what I call an "only in Jersey" moment. Like the road rage incident where a guy got out of his car to gesture madly to us to back up. Or a fight almost breaking out in an infant CPR class. Where would you see that kind of business? Only in Jersey.

So I signed up for a child CPR class. I meant to do it a long time ago, but I figured with another kiddo on the way and one who loves to eat, it would be a good idea if I had some basic knowledge of choking and CPR and such. The class started innocently enough. We made it through adult CPR and learning how to use a defibrillator before shit got tense.

We were in the infant portion of the class, with a table full of baby mannequins laid out before us. My half of the class was taking its turn practicing dislodging an obstruction by smacking our babies upside down and doing chest compressions. The teacher had gotten flustered explaining something to us, confusing his rights and lefts and which hand was to do what. And that's where the tension started.


Here we all are, smacking upside down babies and doing chest compressions, when the teacher told one man, a nerdish dad type, not to use the heel of his hand to do the compressions. The man insisted he wasn't. The teacher, in what I wouldn't really call "constructive criticism" again insists he not use the heel of his hand. The student, getting understandably defensive, says that he's NOT using the heel of his hand, the heel of his hand isn't even touching the fake baby, he swears. The teacher's all "Yeah, whatever." He may not have rolled his eyes, but that was his tone.

So the student gets a little pissy. And he snaps off at the teacher, saying that "Maybe if you'd show us what to do, we'd have an easier time understanding."

I think he was just sick of being picked on.

So the teacher huffs "FINE" and makes a "give me the baby" type of gesture. Which is when the student tosses the baby at the teacher.

Now, it wasn't a throw that was aiming at the teacher's head, but it wasn't the most friendly "here you go" toss either. The teacher caught it. And then we learned that you never, ever toss a baby mannequin.

"EXCUSE ME? DID YOU JUST THROW A BABY AT ME? YOU NEVER THROW A BABY. NOT EVEN MANNEQUINS."

Teacher went from angry to irate in the amount of time it took that baby to get to him.

Then there was a back and forth between student and teacher where the student is like "Of course I would never throw a baby. I've been a parent for two years" and the teacher is accusing his mannequin-tossing actions of being indicative of how this man parents his child. There's a "Don't you dare question my parenting ability" along with "Oh, I've got a few years of experience on you" in an "Oh, I will dare question your parenting ability" type of tone from the teacher.

Meanwhile, the entire class is uncomfortably shifting around, half of us with our fake babies in hand, waiting for the hostility to pass. After what seemed like an eternity, the teacher decided to carry on with the demonstration. So what does he do? Slams the baby on the table before proceeding to beat the obstruction out of it.

I wanted to shout "YOU NEVER SLAM A BABY ON A TABLE!" But I feared I would get tossed from class. Or punched.

After the teacher gave the baby back, he then pointed hostilely at the student, an "I've got my eye on you, mister" gesture. I swear, if there hadn't been a table of fake babies separating them, they would have come to blows.

After class, the student was the bigger man and went up to the teacher. I heard him say that he didn't mean to throw the baby and that he thought the teacher was making a gesture that he'd catch the baby. It didn't sound like the teacher was super receptive to the apology ("but you did throw it"), but I left quickly just in case it escalated.

Lessons learned at CPR? How to do chest compressions, dislodge a foreign obstruction, use a defibrillator. And that you never, ever, under no circumstances, throw a baby mannequin. But slamming it on a table is perfectly fine.

14 Weeks: Then and Now

Proving the theory that you show earlier with your second pregnancy, here is photographic evidence. Note: I started within a pound of where I started with Avery.

Here I am, 14 weeks pregnant with Avery:

I gave up on those jeans weeks ago.

Here I am, 14 weeks today with No. 2:

Definitely more belly, no? The pants can no longer comfortably button, I'm already wearing a belly band, and I'm about to just give in to maternity jeans. While I look forward to the impending comfort when I make that move, I know that I will be wearing them for an eternity and will be so sick of them, so I'm holding off.

While we're playing games, let's keep playing Spot the Differences, shall we?

Hair
Photo 1: Smooth, sleek, freshly cut and highlighted the day before.
Photo 2: All sorts of a mess, not highlighted in at least a trimester and possibly more like the length of a pregnancy, with 2-inch wisps of hair that make me look like a Totally Crazy Mom when I wear it in a ponytail, which is every day. (The wisps are thanks to regrowth from the massive amount of hair I lost after Avery was born.)

Photographer
Photo 1: Alan, who faithfully took a weekly pic.
Photo 2: Me. Remembering how annoyed Alan got taking weekly pictures by the end of the pregnancy (mostly because I was never happy with them and made him redo), I'm taking matters into my own hands.

Doors
Photo 1: Not hung.
Photo 2: Doors hung. However, bathroom mirror dirty.

Pug
Photo 1: Present.
Photo 2: Missing. Either bored of all my time spent in the bathroom or napping because product of Photo 1 had a rough night and interrupted precious pug beauty sleep.

The good news is that I'm feeling a lot better. Hitting week 13 was magical, and week 14 is treating me well today. The nausea is few and far between, and I've actually gotten a few things done over the last week. Food isn't grossing me out quite as much. In fact, the five pepperoncinis I had as a pre-bedtime snack were quite possibly the most delicious things I've eaten in my entire life.

Barf-O-Rama 2011*

I wasn’t apprehensive about going on a cruise earlier this month while battling bouts of morning sickness. Which is surprising because I’m the type who gets carsick on winding roads. Who pops a Dramamine when going on a 3-hour whale watching trip because I’d rather deal with the guaranteed-sleepy of a pill than the possible-vomitty of seasickness. So it’s a bit funny that the cruise didn’t have me rattled, especially because I didn’t check with my doctor to okay the use of Dramamine, and had it been okayed I’m the type who chooses to “tough it out” rather than pop a pill when pregnant unless absolutely necessary. So I bought some Sea Bands, which I didn’t even use. Cruises are leisure. Smooth sailing over smooth waters. And I was totally fine for the first four days, morning sickness and all. One minor dry heave when the boat lurched while I was in the bathroom, par for my morning course.

The first four days: I was a rockstar seawoman. I started thinking of joining the Navy. Writing Bridget Jones-isms in my head like: I am stud pregnant woman who can deal with open water; must look into buying fishing boat.

And then Day 5 happened.

Oh, Day 5.

We woke up during the night to drawers opening and closing. No, our stateroom wasn’t haunted. Or actually, it was haunted. By a little hurricane named Katia. We remained in the grip of the storm for an eternity. An eternity that made it look like everyone on the boat was drunk, stumbling around, trying not to vomit all over the place. And some people failed in their attempts to hold their vomit. I am one of those people. Here is my story.

Wanting to take advantage of the kids’ playroom, which weirdly limits the times kids under 2 can spend in there, we headed up for a couple of hours of crawling mania and toys that weren’t books. The attendant commented on the rocking, saying that because the room was at one of the highest points of the boat, you really feel the boat sway. I almost told him I didn’t know what he was talking about; I could barely feel it as we were practically flung back and forth as the boat pitched. I don’t know how Avery could even crawl straight.

Avery had a blast. Made friends with another little girl and adorably crawled through a caterpillar. I was fine. Still thinking of captaining a boat some day. Until everything changed. All of a sudden, I stood up, left Avery where she was and headed in Alan’s direction. “We have to go.” And then I put two toys away. Maybe mumbled “Uh oh” and high-tailed it to the bathroom.

I’m sure the attendant saw me turning all sorts of shades of green as I ran toward the bathroom. I’m sure he was hoping that I wouldn’t barf all over the carpeted kids’ room. And I was hoping the same thing, as I covered my mouth just feet from the bathroom. Let’s just say: I didn’t make it to the toilet, but I did make it to the bathroom. Barfing while simultaneously trying to dislodge the door stop that prevents kids from going into the bathroom unsupervised and locking themselves in.

I managed to hit the toilet, eventually, after hitting the diaper pail and oh, the floor. It seemed fitting to puke all over a room that I’m sure has seen its share of puke before. I then had to clean my mess up, which was about as fun as creating it had been. I blew off Alan’s offers of help; I love him for the offer, and I love him enough not to do that to him. He also explained that I was pregnant to the attendant, whom I hope was relieved at the extensive cleaning I had done, even if he would have to restock the non-absorbent paper towels.

I think I was one of the lucky ones who actually made it to a bathroom, kind of. I got the impression that others weren’t as fortunate, as I saw what looked like moist, freshly carpet-cleaned areas throughout the ship the entire day. I felt a ton better after my episode though, and didn’t have another incident the rest of the day. I did, however, carry a barf bag around, just in case.

*If that's not an enticing post title, I don't know what is.

Waving Hi

We've got a little someone—a very little someone—who wants to say hi.

Meet baby No. 2:


That's right, Sherlocks. Alan and I are expecting our second baby. I'm 12 weeks, 5 days along, with a due date of April 3. Avery will be approximately 20 months at that point, and we will be approximately very, very busy.

To say that this pregnancy has been different from my first pregnancy would be the understatement of the year. My "heavy gagging" of pregnancy No. 1 is hi-larious to me, as the nausea this time around kicked into full gear around 6 weeks, and I'm still waiting for it to let up. I feel like I'm being attacked by an alien from inside. An alien who flips my stomach upside down and gets its jollies from making me dry heave* and/or lose my breakfast, depending on its mood. Yet the cute little alien just kicks up his or her heels, relaxing, unaware of the turmoil going on in my stomach.


It's also been a little more nerve-wracking, as this little one has freaked us out a couple of times (troublemaker already), but the heartbeat was strong like bull last week and then again on Friday when we had this ultrasound. And because Avery was an early bird, Baby 2 will get star treatment. Apparently delivering a 35-weeker will earn you monthly ultrasounds to make sure everything is staying where it belongs. But I will not complain about getting extra shots of little baby bums.


Here's hoping that Baby 2 is getting all of the drama out of the way early and that he or she remains strong like bull. And also that I start feeling human again.

*I would think of Sweet Dee from Always Sunny every time I'd gag while going about my day. Watch this if you want to see what this experience might look like.

Funny Girl

Been busy lately with this hilarious girl.

I let her reach for her own snacks yesterday instead of handing them to her one by one. After her first attempt, I had to grab the video, and she gave a great repeat performance. I think she may have gotten even more on her first attempt, but this was still hilarious. And Marti is ever hopeful that one may come flying her way.



Master of destruction. You build or organize something, she wants to tear it down.



She's obsessed with her books and wants to point at everything. Or use our fingers to do the pointing.

We Survived Irene

When tornadoes or earthquakes* hit, there is little to no warning. Just bam, here's a tremendous force of Mother Nature. Afterwards, you survey the damage and move on. When hurricanes hit, you know they're coming. For days. And days. It gives you time to tune into the Weather Channel 24/7 to watch the weathermen talk about how stupid people are who get out in the storm while they're standing in the street during the storm. And sure, you have time to buy canned goods and the last of the water at Walmart, but you also have time to start going through worst-case scenarios in your head. It gives you time to imagine trees through your house, trapping your family inside.

It also gives loved ones time to freak out. Not that any of ours panicked or anything, but I'm sure it happens.

As I'm sure you know if you watched any of the Irene coverage, it had already been raining a ton leading up to the big storm. In fact, it had rained so much that my neglected garden was somehow managing to survive even though I'd given up on it a month ago. So as Saturday night hit and the rain we already had turned into more, harder rain, we knew This Was It. Irene had arrived.

Our main concern with the storm was trees falling over. We live in a neighborhood with some massive trees, and there are three or four within falling distance of our house. Massive trees that would do some serious damage. So we decided to camp out in our main floor office to weather the storm. Then at around midnight or 1, we had yet to go to bed because we had too much adrenaline going. But in fear of overnight pop-up tornadoes (you can take us out of Kansas, but you can't take the tornado paranoia out of us), we took ourselves and Avery downstairs to sleep. Even though it's far from cozy quarters down there, we figured we wouldn't be jumpy at every gust of wind, and if a tree came barreling through, we'd have more layers of house protecting us.

As expected, the power went out at 3:45 a.m. But when we woke up at 8 (Avery slept a little longer thanks to our fitful night), it seemed calm. Raining. Windy. But not bad. No trees down. Just this:


And this (the leaves, obviously):


I make light of it, sure, because that's how I cope with stressful situations, and, well, life. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Mother Nature and the damage she can do. I realize we got extremely lucky. Because you can compare the hurricane to a tornado in that while your street may be spared, a few streets over may not have been so lucky. And a couple of towns over there are entire roads blocked from fallen trees and flooding. We were also lucky in that we only went 26 hours without power and two days without cable and internet. So now we're back in business and thinking of all of the people who didn't fare so well. And thinking of making We Survived Irene T-shirts.

*Alan did feel the earthquake that hit last week. I didn't feel it, although from looking at receipts, I've pieced together that I was walking from the pharmacy to the bank when it struck. The clerk at the post office on the same street didn't feel it either, so I think the street was spared.

Avery's 1st Birthday!

Avery turns one today. I can't even believe it. It seems like just yesterday that my water broke while we were in the middle of a kitchen renovation. That my water broke while Alan was fixing squeaks in the floor by drilling into the basement ceiling. The drill bit in question was left behind and remains in the ceiling today.



Avery was in a big hurry to arrive and I was in such a daze that I barely remember the first time I held her. Here's photographic evidence to jog my memory. And luckily you can't tell how swollen my face was.


She's gone from our teeny-tiny baby who slept all the time...


...to our chubby little munchkin whose cheeks could not be contained. And who was so over sleeping all the time....


...to the girl of today who cannot be contained for a photo session...


...who has a best friend in Marti...


...is a trooper on hikes...


...who sleeps tons better....


...has a stellar blooper reel...


...and is a joy to be around.


She enjoyed her birthday cupcake while we were vacationing with family. She destroyed it, and ate some of it.


Marti helped her open lots of new toys, too. I think they're as much for me as for Avery. I was suffering severe toy boredom.

She makes us laugh and keeps us on our toes. She fills our lives up. I can't imagine life without our little girl along for the ride. Happy Birthday, Stinkerbell!

The Finger

Avery loves her middle finger. It's her favorite finger to use when pointing and touching things. And also when chewing out Daddy.

Outta My Way

Avery is in the expert crawler category now, and it's hilarious. Not only does she crawl at the speed of light, but she will fling items out of her way if they're in her path...and even if they're only sorta kinda in her path. And even if they're not impeding her movement in any way. What can I say, she likes the open road.



I love how she changes her mind and her direction in split seconds. And by the way, she has successfully made it to the dog bowl and really enjoyed splashing around until I got to her moments later. Add her love for the dog bowl to her love for climbing the stairs, and let's just say it's a good thing she's sleeping like a champ these days. The girl runs me ragged!

The Cuteness

Avery, waiting with Alan for me to pull up the car at IKEA. IKEA is practically on the Newark airport runway, and Avery loved watching planes take off. Squeal! Clap! Shrieeeeeek!


If I only had a picture of her in the same situation a couple of days and a couple of IKEA trips later. She was not this happy. And neither was I. Trust me.

To and Fro

Now an unstoppable force, Avery is keeping me very busy. She's a nonstop force of nature, crawling everywhere, climbing me like I'm a jungle gym. Once she got crawling down, all circuits started firing. She started sitting up on her own (I could write 5,000 words on How Sitting Up Interferes With Sleep), clucking her tongue, clapping her hands, waving, and crossing her fingers. All within a matter of days. I was rocking her before a nap the other day and instead of settling down, she used it as time to practice her tongue clucking, with her fingers crossed, while waving at me.

I sometimes make the mistake of calling Avery "Marti" and vice versa. I also sometimes tell Marti to "Leave it," with "it" being Avery. I also tell Avery to "Leave it," with "it" being "most household items and especially electrical outlets and dog toys." I also sometimes throw dog toys so that Avery's cute little bum will scurry after them. You're welcome.



Love this little look of determination as she comes toward me. And the sneaky look she gives me as she decides that yes, she will go ahead and try to go downstairs.

This Old House

When you have a house that was built in 1927, you come to expect surprises when you're doing minor repairs. Jobs are always more involved than you think they'll be, and they always take twice as long as you think they will. Removing wallpaper turns into a discovery of The Plurb and its companion Donkey Party, for instance.


Tiling the kitchen floor turns into labor and delivery. And a recent ceiling paint job turned into the ceiling falling down on our heads and the discovery of a leaking toilet from above:


It started when we rented a 10-yard dumpster. We had a lot of home-project junk to get rid of. We gutted part of the basement (no more Jersey basement party bar!), tearing out all of the paneling and carpet. Leaving us with this:

It's towing the fine line of "better-than-paneling/worse-than-what-we-had-before," but I'm sure we'll have a stellar after, eventually. While we were gutting, we thought we might as well toss the carpet from our office/den, which left us with a moment of hardwood hope before we decided to carpet. We ordered our new carpet and they called a couple of Fridays ago to schedule the install. (Side note: Avery practiced her "da-da"...with the carpet measuring guy. Ha!) In my boundless optimism, I scheduled for next-day installation. I knew we had to finish painting trim, the ceiling and the closet door, but what's a Friday night working on the house? (Answer: Normal.)

Enter a chunk of the ceiling coming down on Alan, a gaping ceiling hole and a mini meltdown from me. (My meltdowns always seems to involve toilets.) Unable to cancel the carpet install without shelling out $130, we instead had to cover our lovely new carpet with plastic and hope that no toilet water made it through.

I've rolled with the house-punches for the most part. But this last one put me over the edge. I mean, are you freaking kidding me? Why can't a simple paint job just be a simple paint job? Have you seen the oh-so-hilarious movie The Money Pit with Tom Hanks? I feel like we're a part of this scene sometimes. Especially the hysterical laughter at the end.



I don't know why I worry, though. A note on my husband: This man is not afraid of tackling any projects. Where I see a path to destruction, he sees the road to renovation. He's gone from someone who wouldn't fix the toilet to someone who could install one with his eyes closed. When I sometimes wish we'd just call in a pro, he shows no fear and always manages to figure it out on his own and do a damn good job. From built-in bookcases...


...to the kitchen floor...

...to what I'm sure will be an amazing "after" shot of the basement.* For now though, once Ceiling-Toilet Disaster of 2011 is finished (just some sanding and that painting yet to do) we are taking a reno break. It seems like at least one room of our house has been a disaster zone or been completely displaced since we moved in, so for awhile I just want to turn off the HGTV, spend money somewhere other than Home Depot and live with an unfinished basement. Maybe do something really crazy like get some art on the walls or curtains hung. Or maybe just relax.

P.S. We have backyard invaders. A groundhog perhaps? (Check him out climbing the fence at the back, to the left of our garage.)


Marti seriously strikes fear in no one.



*Clicking back on these earlier house links reminds me that I really need to show off some "after" pictures of our house. Ch-ch-ch-changes!