Choices, Choices

Margaret found some soccer cones that had taken up residence in our garage, and of course she wanted to play with them.  We’ve set them up in the yard a few times and showed her how to dribble through them, but it just hasn’t really stuck the way we would hope.  She tends to kick them rather than the ball.

On the other hand, they do make marvelous hats.

Even if they only stay on for a moment.

The real problem, of course, is that hats in that shape are usually either dunce caps or witches’ hats, and I don’t really like either choice.  Perhaps she’ll grow out of it.

Cruelty to Babies

Kate keeps wanting me to take a picture of Ellie’s face right before she starts to cry, because it’s a cute little mad face.  I keep saying that when she’s about to cry, I don’t have time to take pictures because I’m trying to soothe and comfort her.

But today, she was doing tummy time, which makes her mad sometimes, but it is madness that needs to be endured for her own good, and so I took a picture.

It is cute. 

But it degenerates quickly.

So sad.

Important Milestones

Ellie has learned how to blow raspberries.  I’m not sure that Margaret really knows, as we made no effort to teach her, and you can get a long way in communication without knowing that particular skill.  But Ellie just taught herself, so I’m sure Margaret will figure it out sometime in the next seven or so minutes.*

She’s very thoughtful about her spitting noises, though, so that’s good.

*Not an actual estimate, because Margaret is (thanks to any and all deities real or imaginary that caused this miracle) asleep.  As is Ellie.  At the same time.  As they have been doing for the last week and a half, because sometimes things go right in the universe.

Bad Seed

I think Margaret is trying to teach Ellie to flash gang signs.

You can tell she’s a scary character by those flowered one-piece pajamas she’s sporting.

Roll Over, Roll Over

I think Ellie’s really got it now.  She had rolled over before, but I really felt that it was not  a roll motivated by intelligent, roll-oriented action, but rather the result of angrily thrashing everything her little brain could find that would thrash.

But yesterday, I think she went over on purpose.  And did it 4 times in a row, before I took the hint that she maybe didn’t want to be on her tummy since she was GETTING OFF OF IT EVERY TIME I PUT HER THERE.

She also kept rolling out of frame.  Doesn’t she know about what is due to her public?

She’s also trying to figure out how to crawl achieve forward motion, though at this point her strategy consists of putting her face to the floor and pistoning her legs to scoot herself along.  It gets her a few inches, but it doesn’t look comfy.

The Many Faces of Ellie

Often, Ellie’s expression is just so cute that I have to take a picture of it, and that means that I have a lot of pictures of her face without much more by way of commentary than “Ellie made a face.”  This is a problem for me, because I like elaborate verbal structures around the pictures of my children, since it makes me feel like I’m doing something here.

So I am writing what I assume Ellie’s internal monologue must sound like.* 

Oh, here we are at the park again.  What a surprise.

Perhaps I shall spend the time exercising muscles I don’t usually use.  Let’s start with this mouthy thing.

And the right eyebrow.  Ah, that’s nice.

Hey look!  I’ve been magically transported home.  Who took my shirt?  Was it my fist?

I’ll teach it to do that. 

All right, that didn’t work.  Perhaps we could settle this with a bout of fisticuffs?

Also, I saw this bunny outside, and it had nasty, big, pointy teeth.

And I heard my Nana thinks my eyes look brown in pictures.  Here, Nana.  Proof.

And as long as I’m showing off my accomplishments, look at this head lift.

I’m so proud of myself, I could just grin.

And grin.

And grin.

And then plan something mischievous. 

*We’re just going to assume, for the fun of the thing, that there is internal monologue beyond “Goo, goo, goo, MILK.”

Playing Nicely

I don’t know if you’ve gathered from the last few posts (and if you haven’t you either haven’t read them yet or are EXCEPTIONALLY DENSE), but Margaret’s fascination with holding Ellie has continued, which is very nice, because they are really very sweet together.  And it is very cute and warms the cockles of my heart, whatever those are.*

In one of these sessions this morning, Margaret gave Ellie a Lego flower.

Which Ellie promptly put in her mouth (such is the way of Ellies the world over).

Margaret took it back, as is the way of Margarets.

And then she looked at me somewhat shamefacedly, because she knows that she’s not supposed to  take things from Ellie, but as she said, “Legos not go in the mouth, Ellie.”  This is a rule more honored in the breach than the observance,* but let us not quibble too much about that.  At least she KNOWS she’s not supposed to put them in her mouth.

Anyway, Ellie doesn’t seem to mind.

*I know that that’s not really what it means in Hamlet, but it’s what it has come to mean.  Someday I may also note that something begs the question when it just makes us ask the question.  Why, you ask?  Because I can.  So put that in your pipe and smoke it.