Dancing Margaret

One of the things that Margaret does a lot is dance, to whatever music is playing.  We had Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No. 1 playing yesterday, and she was boogieing to it (it gets more boogieable later on, really it does).

Anyway, we have some video of her dancing to Woody Guthrie, but it’s a bit intermittent, since there were other distractions.

And apparently songs about the Columbia River make her want to a) pull her parents’ toes off; b) dance with her parents’ feet; or c) play the this little piggy game.  Forcibly.

So don’t say you weren’t warned.

Margaret’s Little Pony

We experimented with hairstyles last night.  Leo’s cousin is getting married in a few weeks, and Margaret’s hair has been getting longer and longer, and so we (well, I) decided to try out putting her hair in a couple of French braids.

Here are our conclusions from the experiment:

1) In order for this to succeed, one or both of us needs to be sedated.  And it probably shouldn’t be just me, because an unsedated Margaret with a drugged up caregiver is not a good scene.

2) Margaret’s hair is really fine, and probably needs a lot of hairspray to go in a braid.

3) Rat tail combs, though useful in combing and separating hair, are deadly vicious in the hands of toddlers.

Anyway, there will be no French braids, but we did get Margaret’s hair up in a ponytail.

Which she then proceeded to tear out.

And then she tried to look innocent, which didn’t fool anyone.

I Think The Grandparents Are Confused

I’m not sure that Margaret’s grandparents have read the memo we sent out about their various roles in her life, which is probably because we never sent the memo, because we thought that things were sufficiently clear without it.

For example, we didn’t think that this grandparent would be involved in introducing Margaret to the balance board:

Seriously, these grandparents are getting so difficult to control.

Not A Morning Person

At least, not until after she’s had her milk.  She notices that mommy and daddy drink drinks in the morning, and that makes them more awake, so she’s modeling that behavior.  Or I just took an unflattering picture.  One of those.

I Fought The Wall, And The Wall Won

Margaret attempted to dodge around Leo while running full tilt towards a doorway.  Leo was in the doorway.  Margaret hit the corner of the wall.  It was very sad.

We hoped that she had learned a lesson, but it appears not.  She has only learned that she can head-butt walls and live to tell the tale.

No More Monkeys

I have often wondered about the doctor in that rhyme.  I mean, think about it: the monkey falls out of the bed and breaks his head.  The mother calls the doctor.  The doctor says that monkeys shouldn’t jump on the bed.  But apparently the doctor just ignores the poor, broken-headed monkey.  It seems cruel.  And probably a violation of the Hippocratic Oath, although it probably doesn’t say “First, don’t be an annoying idiot when someone calls you about a child’s injury.”

Though it should.

Anyway, we got Margaret an off-falling-proof bed, to avoid the irritating comments of doctors who like to state the obvious.

All By Myself

First, an apology.  I have been having computer issues, and laziness issues, and vomiting issues (which is actually a pun, but perhaps it would be best not to parse too closely, because that would be needlessly graphic).  So I haven’t been posting as many pictures as I ought to.  I have been putting some up on facebook, so if people want to see pictures of Margaret, they can see them there.*

But that is a sad and pathetic excuse, even to me.

Anyway, it’s not like I have the excuse that Margaret is keeping me busy, because she’s becoming very self-sufficient.  Just yesterday she made her own breakfast.

Of course, she has been assiduously following the news, so she checked the nutritional information on the Nutella first.

The somewhat high sugar content, plus the fact that her hands aren’t big enough to get the lid off, contributed to her bypassing the spread (for which our furniture thanked her) and just having bread and milk.

This breakfast was pleasing to her, but she still wanted to check out what other people were having.

*And Mom, while I think that your desire to not intrude on the private space for your children that is Facebook is laudable, you ought also to realize that we are friends with EMILY and TRENT, and so we are already filtering ourselves more than we would be talking to you, so there’s really no reason, unless you’re just trying to avoid friends you successfully shook off half a century ago, in which case stop using us as an excuse and admit that you’re being anti-social.