The photo says it all...
About four weeks ago, I took this photo, knowing it was likely the last gums-only photo we'd get. Look at that smile... (wait, if there are no teeth, is it still a smile?) (yes! of course it is!)
Friend Celia!
Bath (ahhhh...)
Papa and pumpkins!
Family tree (Storey, Grandpa and Grandma)
Baby airplanes at the beach.
Friend Sam at the Zoo!
What we hoped for was that eventually she'd talk to us about things she wanted to happen. Well, these last two weeks it started happening. She's got milk, bath, more, finished, eat, drink, night night, and elephant (of course!) all in her little grasp, using them all to express preference. In the morning we come downstairs and ask, "Do you want to play or eat?" and she'll sign which one she wants to do depending upon whether she's hungry yet or not. After eating a bit, we ask, "Do you want more or are you finished?" and she tells us more, finished or drink. Less whining. Less tears. It's nice. She's got control but within the limited choices we give her. It makes for a happy kid, which makes for a happy us.
One very large play date at Lakewood Park.
And now, Storey Rain Williams, representing the United States, will attempt a triple half back with a quarter twist - off her rocker. This is a very difficult routine, but just before her nap she successfully nailed it on every attempt. Let's see how she does here today...
For my brother Dylan's wedding, folks traveled. Cousins, Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts. And since it wasn't our wedding this time, we were able to visit more than usual with some of those travelers. Storey is unbelievably lucky to have three out of her four maternal Great Grandparents alive and well. Grandma Marceille (88!) in particular is not only around, but still doing things like...
This weekend: a wedding! It was our first with kid in tow, Storey's first (she being the towed kid), and my brother Dylan's first (and ideally last). It was lovely. Storey was exceptionally patient and her usual swell self. Likely the highlight for her; she found the perfect opportunity to have a one-on-one (loud) conversation with the priest during the ceremony (why waste such a great audience?). Jason quickly whisked her away right after she made a huge raspberry to punctuate an especially touching moment.
My mom has had three kids, all about 10 years apart. Her youngest [Uncle Wes] will be 17 this November. That's a long time to hold onto anything baby related. But she has. Little artifacts that, for her, embody the babyhood of each of us. The thing she held onto from my youth was a fabulous jumpsuit. Red. With a blue prancing pony. And matching zippered jacket. The only thing that would make it more early-70's would be if it were made of velor and had a fast stripe or two down the leg. Recently she pulled it out of storage in that Storey is big enough (almost too big!) to wear it. I have fond memories of Dylan and Wes in that jumpsuit. When I picture them, the images are partnered with the smell of graham crackers. Nice memories. That one jumpsuit has gotten a lot of play.
Do they make toddler clothes now that, after 35 years and three kids, will still look brand new?
This past Sunday the three of us went to the Zoo for the first time. It was swell. Storey, who is a big fan of horses, horse noises, etc. got her first peek at an elephant (horse) and a giraffe (horse). There was lots of pointing, excited wiggling and horse pbbbbbbttt pbbbbbbbting to be had by all.
I'm not sure what the purpose of this post is (do any of them have a purpose, really?). Catharsis maybe. Regardless, it's about dogs. Or a dog. Specifically Gracie. This time every year, she sheds. Huge amounts of hair. It's everywhere. I loathe it. I take her outside and brush and brush and brush, huge rafts of fur floating on the breeze across the lawn like the down of a cottonseed tree (only black, less romantic and more houndy if you will). I do this, and yet, these were our stairs this morning.
Ah, the question that runs through my head as I vacuum and sweep and sweep and vacuum; If I could go back in time, would I find us, pre-kid, considering a rescue named Belle (now Gracie), and whisper in our ear "DON'T. Don't do it. She's hairy and she peeps incessantly. When you have a child, she will drive you both completely insane."
There's never enough time for everything. The dogs are bored and seem more like furry furniture than pets, spousal-only time has become a distant memory, and the hours I used to enjoy to myself... talking with a friend, going for a walk, laying in the sun, reading a whole book, gardening... I've come to accept that there isn't that kind of time anymore.
This right here is a man who really likes being a grandfather. Who can blame him? When else are you socially permitted to make silly faces and goofy noises at someone and get nothing back but big gummy smiles?
You CAN'T visit Stowe, VT and not go to the Ben & Jerry's Factory.
In my family, appearance-wise, my mother's genes prevail. Brown hair, brown eyes. Us three kids, all brown. My poor father has a gaggle of turdly children, none of which allowed his recessive blue/grey eyes to mark them as his own. He just had to take my mother's word for it.
So much of early kiddom is about milestones. Our pediatrician tells us to watch for them, note them as signs of health and proper development. Like slow rolling stones, the months between sitting and moving can seem void of anything notable.
The two most common questions of Jason and I these past few months after "How old is she?" are "Oh, she's standing/crawling right?" and "So, how many teeth do we have?" The answer to both, at eight months and three weeks is still, "Nope." and "None." In fact, I've noticed myself lately heading these questions off at the pass with the admittedly odd introduction of, "She's almost nine months, noteethyetandnotcrawlingeitherjustbusydoingotherthings."
So this morning, she worked her first canvas (and ate her first paint.) (no worries! non-toxic.)
Storey has mad skills involving those fingers now! She's moved on from nostrils to Os. A much more socially acceptable favorite.
Bob (in red) likes to look on in admiration. Bob is thumb-less, so, alas, Os are not part of his morning routine.
Storey's developed the unfortunate habit lately of waking up between 4 and 5 o'clock in the morning. Up for good. Ready to start the day. We are not. Usually, I placate her with a boob or two until Jason gets up to get ready for work and blessedly whisks her away to sit in her swing while he showers.
