Ducks, seagulls & pigeons

Greta's identified ducks for awhile -- rubber ones, plastic ones, real ones. She also learned how to say "seagulls," which she clearly breaks into two syllables: "sea-gull." Yesterday, we tried our best to teach her "pigeon." During a stroll through Old Town, Mommy found some stale corn and puffs in her purse. Greta thought the ducks would like it, but she couldn't throw it far enough to hit the water. So it hit the dock instead and the pigeons swooped in like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Greta found the whole thing amusing. Like going on a bear hunt, she wasn't scared.

Thirsty kitty

Remember Greta's baby doll? The one she likes to feed with a bottle? The bottle that we couldn't find so Mommy improvised? Well, we found the bottle. But now it's not the doll who's thirsty.

Wildlife photography

A tip of the hat to my blogging sister for this post's headline. Last Sunday we visited the National Zoo with Grandma & Grandpa before their flight home. The pandas were in rare form. Usually they sit way up in a tree or way back in their rather large "habitat." But Sunday they roamed freely and came quite close to the camera. This is the Daddy, Tian Tian, who was preoccupied with scratching an itch on his back. We also saw the zoo's digital control room, where a staffer, highly paid I hope, operates a joystick all day tracking the movements of baby Tai Shan for Animal Planet's "Panda Cam."

My vote for best zoo animal, however, isn't the cuddly pandas. It's the 4-ton, 15-foot Nile Hippopotamus, who can hold his breath underwater for 6 minutes. Greta points at him and says, "Hippo!" but she doesn't like to watch him very long.

I also like this shot. Greta's "is it OK?" glance back and Grandma & Grandpa's steady walk forward seem to sum up the generation gap. I think the photo was taken after Greta coughed up her breakfast on the walkway, which the sparrows quickly consumed.

Greta Loo-Who

You saw Grandma Merrill putting the scrunchy in her hair, now you can see what Greta did with it. It was like her Superman vest. She was able to climb faster, jump higher and talk in complete paragraphs. Oh, and dance disco like John Travolta in "Stayin' Alive.'

Thanks, Grandma & Grandpa!

A lovely, albeit brief visit from Grandma and Grandpa. Two photos say more than words.

Happy Birthday, my love

Carey Ann Mathews Merrill, aka Greta's mom, is 35 today. We celebrated in spectacular fashion yesterday with a night in Washington, Va., home to The Inn at Little Washington, a culinary experience on many people's "do before I die" lists. Here's Carey with her first course.

And here I am with my main course.


And here we both are, fat and happy, afterwards.

We left Greta in the capable hands of her paternal grandparents. The inn is just 65 miles outside D.C., so we were actually gone for less than 24 hours. Came home today and had a nice afternoon stroll through Old Town, followed by some cookie making at home. Greta participated only in the eating.

Learning to be a mother

It seems a little early yet, but Greta is embracing her inner mother. Carey broke down on a recent shopping trip (Marshall's?) and bought Greta a baby doll. Greta let it sit in the toy box for awhile, but now it's with her most of the time. She drowns it in the tub, she carries it into her crib, and she feeds it a bottle. Of course, it came with a tiny toy bottle, but we're pretty sure that's rolling around underneath a car seat. So last night when Greta started saying "Bottle! Bottle! Bottle!" Carey had to improvise. Luckily, we saved a few of the Avent bottles and nipples, and that did the trick. Cute. Also note the new top tooth, about halfway descended.

'Tis the season

As promised, we (well, Carey mostly) trimmed the tree yesterday and Greta already has a present under it! Neither myself nor Greta were much in the mood; we mostly watched from the couch between football snaps. But Greta appreciated it when it was done. The Pottery Barn beanbag is courtesy of Grandma & Grandpa Merrill. She doesn't quite understand it's hers yet. When she does, we'll get a photo of her lounging on it.


For some reason, Sunday was also sort of Daddy's Day. Maybe Greta knew Mommy needed a break, but she clung to me more than usual and used my name a LOT more than usual. Taking advantage of that, I forced her to play the male version of dress-up. She left the hat on for at least 10 minutes.

It's beginning to look a lot like...

We picked up the tree today. A $45, 5-foot Douglas fir. Nice shape, but that's a lot of money for a dead evergreen. Greta likes it though, even without any decorations.

We'll trim it tomorrow... more pix then, promise.

Still afraid of Santa

We had breakfast with the jolly old man this morning at Rock Bottom Brewery. A fundraiser to support AIDS Ministries. Thought we'd be charitable and get our annual photo with Kris Kringle. Alas, here's the kid in the great man's presence:

Even Jewish Jay couldn't bring himself to face the red guy:

But they had their happy moments, too:

Cute story

I'm in NYC today and tomorrow, so no pix to share, but thought I'd share a story from daycare. Breakfast always arrives on a cart some time around 8 a.m. I aim to get Greta there just in time for the food, but sometimes we're early. Lately, I've dropped her off around 7:50. She shows me things in the room and brags about me to her friends until the food comes. When the kitchen drops off the food, they don't wheel it in. They leave it outside the door on a cart, but they jiggle the doorknob to let the daycare providers know it's ready. That's their signal to clean up the room and start washing kids' hands.

But now Greta is on to their signal.

On Tuesday, we were reading book XIV in the award-winning Elmo series of board books when the doorknob was jiggled. We were clear on the other side of the room, but Greta's baby ears heard it immediately. She shot out of my lap and proclaimed, "Clean up!" She then proceeded to sing her baby-talk version of the song, which the ladies use to inspire the kids into helping, but which I'm told only Greta has bothered to learn. It sounds vaguely like this: "Mina! Mina! Evey-buddah mina!"

Pavlov and his dogs have nothing on our kid.

Dinner date with Jay

After Carey's cookie-decorating party on Sunday (no pix, sorry, Carey couldn't find the camera battery), Greta's pal Jay hung around for dinner. We dragged her princess table into the kitchen and the kids ate like, well, civilized kids, for about 15 minutes. Ground beef, broccoli, grapes, blueberries and cottage cheese. Jay's first taste of the latter; he wasn't impressed. Regardless, they do look like young adults, don't they? When is the first college tuition payment due?

Saturday snapshots

A nice full day in your nation's capital. Little G only slept until 6, so we were all showered and ready to leave the house shortly after 7. Had a long breakfast at Brooklyn Bagels in Clarendon, then went to the commissary for the first shopping trip in a month. Mark McMahon eat your heart out: 14 bags for a little more than $130. We'll miss that benefit indeed.

After putting away the groceries, we hiked down to Old Town for the Scottish Christmas parade. Lots of men in skirts, lots of terriers, and Sen. John Warner, R-Va., shielding himself from the terrorists in an armored Humvee (in his "defense," the gentleman from Virginia was walking in front of the Humvee when we saw him, but it still seemed incongruous). Here are my two favorite pics of Greta watching the parade:



After the parade, we stopped at the Bittersweet Cafe, usually a less-than-satisfying culinary experience, but with all the crowds downtown, it was the closest place when Greta started howling for food. She thoroughly enjoyed her Mac & Cheese and Meatloaf, and as you can see, she tried a new utensil trick as well.

When we got home, Greta thoroughly dominated her playroom, exploring some areas she's never checked out before. I can't imagine it's too many pounds before she rips right through the fabric basket, but it's a cute photo for now.

One cool cat

I was lucky to get another early release on Friday. Came home to find Greta and Mommy in dancing mode. At one point she pulled the glasses off Mommy's face. After we told her Mommy needed those to see and they were fragile, she demanded her own glasses. Best we could find were some 6-month-old strawberry shades. At her age, she can pull it off.

Thanksgiving photos

Apologies for the delay, but I finally edited and photo-captioned our pictures from the holiday weekend with my sister and her two kids in Rye, N.Y., and a day with our friends and their daughter in Manalapan, N.J. 83 photos total. See them all by clicking here. The one below is my favorite, as I explain in the first photo caption.

Manalapan mayhem

We arrived in central NJ around lunchtime. Enjoyed a submarine from the world's greatest grocery store, Wegman's, then met our former neighbors Melissa & Joelle at their new house. Greta had a great time checking out the huge backyard and built-in jungle gym. Joelle also has a toy room filled with all her stuff, and a kid's table in the living/dining room. The girls pretty much just ran all over the place for a few hours, with Greta eventually shedding all her clothes.

Blogging with an audience

No pressure, but Mommy & Aunt Sara are peering over my shoulder as I compose. There was some discussion about which photo to feature. Your humble blogger wanted to use the image on the right.

The ladies of the house thought one of the two pix below qualified as the shot of the day. In any case, 'twas a full day of outdoor fun. Near 60 degrees here in Rye, with a light westerly blowing off the sound. We went for a morning walk along the beach and an afternoon walk to the playground across from Sara & Peter's first place in Rye. In between we supported the local economy at Piazza Pizzeria and watched the kids run and roll around each other in every room of the house. I do wish we lived closer to family so the cousins wouldn't need a day to adjust to each other. And I'm bummed that my Mom & Dad won't get to see all 3 of them together on Saturday.

But we're smart to split up the return trip south, I think, and we're eager to see our friends' new home in Manalapan, N.J. So I'll blog from there, with Joelle and Elmer, tomorrow night.

Sippin' cousins

We arrived at my sister's about 4 p.m. after a dreadful 8 hour trip. Greta only had two mini-meltdowns and both were manageable. I think Mommy & Daddy were much more disappointed in the lack of traffic flow than she was.

Anyway, we still had a good 2 1/2 hours of play once we got here. Here's the best shot I captured just before Greta's bedtime. Max had a glass of ginger ale with a long straw, so Greta demanded, "water, water, water!" And a straw, of course.

Daddy's home early!

My boss was kind and let me leave a little after 5 p.m. this day before Thanksgiving, so I surprised Greta & Mommy by walking in the door before 6! It was a trip watching Greta's night-time routine... the girl is FIRED UP before dinner, bath and bed! I joined her and Mommy for a march around the room and a roll on the yoga mat. When we started to wind down, Greta got all lovey, and Carey captured this picture. I could die happy tonight. Certainly hope I don't, but I could.

Hoopin' it up

Greta loves all round objects, and they're all "balls." She has an entire plastic bin full of balls of various sizes, in fact. Everything from small, super-bouncy balls garnered from a gumball machine to a fabric-encased "Hug & Learn Globe" that sings when you push on a continent. Those are all well and good, but it's important that she also appreciate the real purpose of "balls" -- that is, the primary objects of all sports. We've covered soccer already and she's quite a little kicker, right and left feet. Now she's getting into basketball. Sunday we played at a local court about a mile from our house. She can't throw the ball very high yet, but she seems to understand the goal -- to get it in the hoop. When I made one, she would exclaim, "Yay!" She says the same thing when she successfully climbs into her high-chair or "bumps" herself to the bottom of the stairs. But I'll take it. Next up: a screening of "The Hick from French Lick," a biopic about Larry Bird.

Monkey see, monkey do

Carey had a girl's day out on Sunday, with friend Jenny Bengs and her two daughters. Greta is the 'tweener of the group, a little more than double Imogen's age and almost half of Sadie's. So that makes her a perfect learner when she's around Sadie and teacher when she's around Imogen. Here she is helping Imogen work on her neck strength.

Shower power

Occasionally, when Greta either misses her nighttime bath or when she's just particularly fascinated with our morning ritual, we take her into the shower with us. Our shower is just a stall, probably 4"x4", so we've learned to adapt. After she's been scrubbed and rinsed in our arms, she sits on the bottom of the shower floor, water cascading all over her as she says things like soap, 'poo (shampoo), water, duck (she has a few of the yellow rubber variety), and book (foam, waterproof).

Saturday, Greta joined Mommy in the shower after Mommy was done with all her self-cleaning and had shaved her legs. We figured a couple minutes of water play and on with the day. So 5 minutes go by, 7 minutes... "Rob, are you taking a shower, too?" Carey gets out. I get in. I wash myself, shampoo the hair, exfoliate the face. All the while Greta sits on the shower floor, splashing away and practicing her vocabulary. Clean and rinsed, I ask her, "Greta, is it time to go take on the day? Time to turn off the water?" "No." She's getting REALLY adept at using that word in context.

Mommy went and got the camera at that point, fancying herself Annie Leibowitz or something. I gave Greta another 5 minutes, then carried her out of her shower playground.

Deja's last day

I'm spelling it wrong, but that's how it sounds. Anyway, another one of Greta's daycare buddies is moving on, Miss Sobia informed me today. Today is her last day. We're pretty sure Deja taught Greta how to ask for second helpings of food (More? More?). I explained to Greta that Deja's Daddy was being transferred by the Air Force. When she stuck out her lower lip and started to pout, I told her that if she thinks this is rough, wait until January. Bye-bye to Deja will be nothing compared to bye-bye to Mommy!

I also told her that she should enjoy being a kid, because once she's a parent life becomes a long goodbye. Someone smarter than me described parenting as "the long, slow process of letting go." So Greta lets go of her pal Deja, and is checking days off the calendar with Daddy, as the countdown to letting Mommy go to Southwest Asia has officially begun.

Clean up, clean up, everybody clean up!

Lately when I drop Greta off at daycare, the ladies feels the need to tell me a story. Maybe it's because they know Carey is soon heading overseas and I'll be the primary caregiver. In any case, I find it amusing and as all who know me know, I like to be "in the know."

Today Miss Nancy offered, unsolicited, that Greta is the only kid who likes to clean up the room when they are done playing in a certain area. All the ladies make a big show of asking, "Who wants to help clean up?" While the other kids become suddenly interested in their shoe laces or the foam ducks, Greta proudly declares, "Gre-ta!" and starts picking up the puzzle pieces or the stuffed animals or whatever is strewn about the floor. I told the ladies that's because we sing the "Clean Up" song at home, and because her Daddy, NOT her Mommy, is fastidious to a fault.

Cheerios are so yesterday

For 18 months, Greta has adored Cheerios. We have a Cheerios book, where the round oats fill in the car tires. We have a plastic contraption inspired by Pavlov, where you turn the wheel and twist the lever and out pops a cereal treat. We've survived many a long car ride thanks to a handful of Cheerios squirreled away by Mommy.

That was then.

This is now.

Introducing... Apple Jacks!

My sister and I used to only get sugared cereal when we got a 100 on our report card.

Greta gets them when they're on sale at the commissary.

Don't be overly alarmed though. We don't reach for the mini boxes very often and the doc said her teeth show no sign of premature decay.

The beanie, by the way, was a gift from Aunt Kathy. I'm amazed she wears it, but she sure can pull it off, huh?

18 Month Well Baby Visit

As the name of this blog suggests, Greta grows! Unfortunately, yesterday was our worst doctor's visit ever. I think she was having flashbacks to the allergist she recently saw, because from the minute we walked into the room where they measure, weigh, and take vitals, she entered full meltdown mode.

The technician was very understanding, and we weighed Mommy alone (with tantrum-child stomping nearby), and then Mommy with Greta. Fully dressed, with fancy New Hampshire shoes on, she tipped the scales at 10.8 kilos (23.8 lbs). She wasn't very cooperative with the height measurement, although we tried to entice her to stand next to the wall ruler with stickers to place on the wall. She smacked them away, but not before the tech jotted down 83.9 cm (33 inches). I'm not sure how accurate the head measurement was, but after 5 tries, I'll take the 47.5 cm (18.7 in.). Listening to her heart and lungs was awful as well, as she twisted away from the stethoscope with cries of "No, Mommy, no! Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye!" Her aversion to having her back touched or examined makes sense since that was where her egg allergy was tested.

Fortunately, we only had to wait a few minutes before the pediatrician came in. Unfortunately, the minute Greta saw her, the "No no no Mommy. Go go go, bye bye bye bye bye" rant began. Doc said she was growing great (45% for weight, 85% for height--keeping pace with their growth arc chart), was very verbal (which we knew), and said it could take two years for Greta to overcome her new-found aversion to doctors. No worries about her bulging lymph nodes (thank goodness), and some advice on my upcoming absence (talk on the phone, make videos and tapes, show lots of pictures).

Greta didn't get her shots because they were out of flu vaccine and I apparently scheduled her appointment three days early based on her 1-year shots (a fact I wish the Tricare Appointment Line could have mentioned), so we need to return next week. Should be fun. Then she doesn't need to return until her 24-month well baby visit, which doesn't involve shots (which is a good thing because Rob will probably be in charge of that visit!)

Weekend in pictures

I'll share stories throughout the week, but here's the full slideshow of our weekend with the cousins. 45 photos in all. Enjoy!

Weekend in North Carolina

Lots of stories and a full slide show coming later, but for now here are a couple photos of Greta and her cousins. That's Greta & Kate, first, having fun with stickers. And then with the Steele kids at dinner Friday night. (clockwise from Greta, it's Riley, Carah (obscured), Kate, and Matthew.

Window gazing

One of Greta's favorite things is to look "out" through things -- doors, windows, anything with glass. Lately I've caught her doing it with a friend or two.

Beads!

Greta is about 70% spoiled. We don't give her EVERYTHING she wants, but most things. At daycare, for instance, there is a kid's-sized table featuring a wire and wooden bead sculpture. Lots of circles and squares and triangles threaded on loopy wires that kids can move all around. Well, we went to Ikea over the weekend and what did we find? Something Swedish toy makers, in their infinite wisdom, call a Bjorgadahl. Actually, I don't know what they call it, but I'm sure that's close. Maybe a Smorgobt. Here's Greta with her Bjorgadahl/Smorgobt, now proudly displayed on her own kid's-sized table:

Sunday meals

We've only been parents for 18 months + 1 day, but among the many senses we've honed in that time is the ability to know which of our friends will one day make great parents. Aaron & Amy Reid are at or near the top of that list. You don't need any more evidence than this photo, taken Sunday morning at the neighborhood playground after a nice breakfast with the Reids and the Winthrops. Greta is really into her sunglasses now -- thanks, Aunt Sara!


After they left, Greta took a monster -- 3 HOUR! -- nap, affording us the luxury of cleaning most every room in the house and allowing me to even watch a little of the 1pm football games. Mid-afternoon, soulmate Jay came by to check out the new play space. As ugly and commercial as the table is, I must admit the kids like it. They don't usually sit in one place for so long. But with strawberries, blueberries and cheese to eat, they were content for at least 15 minutes. I like this shot because it shows them mirroring each other. Not just the hand-to-mouth, but their cheeks, too ... both a lovely shade of crimson thanks to the wind chill and the change in temperature.

Saturday in pictures

No time for any witty stories, but here's a link to a slideshow from Saturday . Some really nice shots, if I do say so myself.

First Flush

Although I think we've only blogged about it once, there have been at least three occasions where Greta has, without warning, added more to the bathtub than simply toys or bubbles.

Just over a week ago, she stood in the tub and said something that sounded like "bahpoo, bahpoo" to which I responded, "Greta, we don't stand in the tub because it's not safe. Let's sit back down." She sat, but kept saying "bahpoo, bahpoo." I started repeating it: "bahpoo, bahpoo...what are you saying? What do you want? Shampoo?" She shook her head "no." I tried again "Bahpoo...Winnie the Pooh?" Again, "no." She then stood back up, adamant and repeating "bahpoo," and leaning forward. I echoed her: "Bahpoo...bahpoo...[insert light bulb illuminating here] BATHROOM? You have to go to the bathroom? You have to poo?" I asked, to which she nodded vigorously. I immediately started to lift her from the tub to put her on the toilet when out popped a tiny poo that landed in the tub. I was too late, but at least now I knew the code word.

Fast forward to tonight: Greta was enjoying her bath, smiling and splashing, and then she suddenly turned serious. She stood up and declared "BAHPOO!"

"You have to poo?" I asked as I scooped her out of the tub and onto the toilet (we don't own a training chair yet). She nodded and repeated "Bahpoo!" Within seconds she did her business like a pro.

After I cleaned her up and changed her into her diaper and pajamas, I took her back to flush the toilet. I told her how proud I was of her and how it was good that there was no poo in the tub. She reached for the toilet handle, and with her first poo flushing down the pipes, I realized our baby girl isn't a baby anymore!

Marquis de Greta

Our brave little girl visited the allergist yesterday. An abundance of caution on our part, but the Navy captain (which Carey assures me is a much higher-rank than an Air Force capt.) at Bethesda Naval said we did the right thing by bringing her in.

After a break-the-ice chat during which Greta toyed with a cross-section of a human brain and what looked to me like plastic models of the small intestine, we were ushered into the exam room. First we watched a DVD advertisement for an EpiPen, a lovely device that people with severe allergic reactions are instructed to jam into the outside of their thigh, straight through any clothing, when they've eaten too many peanuts or buried their face in cat fur. Then the nurse explained to us that she was going to prick Greta five times with tiny plastic needles (they looked sort of like miniature versions of the plastic sticks that hold homemade popsicles, but sharper). One was "the control," containing just water, one was a histamine, just to prove to the doctor that Greta's skin would indeed react if agitated, one was concentrated egg (the allergy for which Greta was being tested), one was the active ingredient in flu shots (to see if she could get a regular dose when it's ever available around here), and the fifth, well, it escapes me.

So the nurse asks us to lift up Greta's shirt. All the pricks would be on her back. As soon as we unsnap the onesie, she starts whining and clings tighter to Mommy. Following protocol, the nurse takes a marker (permanent, of course, so the marks will take, oh, a week to wash away) and carves tiny, blue hieroglyphics on her back, one for each of the five samples. As Greta feels the marker tip on her back, her whine becomes more of a low-grade howl. But it doesn't hurt yet, so she's not apopleptic.

Marks made, it's time for the plastic prickers. Thankfully, the nurse is quick, although prick #2 doesn't work, so she reaches for a second sample and hits the same spot again. Greta's howl is now a roar, with salty tears streaming down her face. I start punching the air with each prick, like I'm celebrating a touchdown or something. Carey begins to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Loudly. None of it works. The whole process takes maybe a minute. When it's over, we're told to wait 15 minutes and then they'll examine the welts and decode them for us.

So we watch the Wiggles. Capt. Freakin' Feathersword. Greta is interested for about 2 minutes. She then amuses herself by removing tissues from the box and mock wiping her nose. The tears dry quickly and she's back to her curious self after about 5 minutes. The nurse and the doctor return after 15, and we're told to pull up Greta's shirt again. Needless to say, it's a lot like ringing Pavlov's bell. Greta thrusts out her lower lip and begins to whimper. The nurse takes out a plastic ruler to measure the spots, the biggest of which looks like a mosquito bite. As the ruler touches her back, Greta rachets the whimper up into a howl again, and the tears begin to stream. The analysis takes about 5 minutes and the news is positive: Greta may be allergic to concentrated eggs, but she's likely to outgrow it. We should avoid giving her scrambled eggs, but shouldn't worry about other foods unless egg is the first ingredient on the label, like egg pasta.

5 minutes after hearing the good news, we pack up and start to leave. Greta's face is still wet with a few un-wiped tear streaks and her expression can best be described as worried. Who knows when somebody might lift up her shirt again and poke her back? But she relaxes a little when she figures out that we're really leaving. As we walk out of the exam room, Greta pivots on Mommy's hip, looks directly at the nurse who inflicted all the pain, and says, "Shank you. Bye-bye." And then... and then... she blows her a kiss!

Our little torture lover!