Diapered Olympian

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...

Great Fun

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...

1. driving all the way up from Florida and back (thanks Uncle Barney!)
   
2. sticking stickers all over the place (and each other)
3. laughing 'till there are tears (what better way to laugh)
   

Great Grandmas. They are great.

First Nuptuals

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.

The ride down was even great. She and Uncle Wes shared the back seat for the whole 2 hours and 45 minutes. They also shared the same hair at the reception.


Punk rock!

The Things We Keep

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.

So yesterday was uncommonly cool for August. Storey and I were headed for Lakewood Park. We needed long pants. Red pants. With a blue pony.

Do they make toddler clothes now that, after 35 years and three kids, will still look brand new?

George

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.

The next day at a garage sale, much to Storey's extreme joy, we found George, the giraffe. A new best friend to Bob and doll, La La. Pbbbttt, pbbbbttttt. George is now often selected for nap time as seen here.

My question: when did our baby become a toddler? She fell asleep on top of me. Her head on my shoulder and her feet somehow dangling all the way down to my kneecaps. How can that be?

First Word

Ah... the first word. We've been very selective in identifying Storey's. One could have said it was "da da", in that that's a sound she's made for months. But "da da" lacks meaning in our home (Jason is Papa) and seems more like verbal exercise as it's expressed at totally random moments.

But starting Friday, clear as a bell, Storey combined waving or greeting with her first, authentic word: a lovely, impish, gummy, "Hi!"


The best is waking up to it.

"Hi!"

"Hi!"
"Hi!"

Eck.

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.

Gross! I broke down, put Storey in her excersaucer (once a toy, now a containment device), and threw myself into the War Against Hair (WAH, as in "wahhhhhhh", which is what Storey did the entire time I was cleaning).

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."



(sigh)

No...

Because when she enters the room (giant ball of discarded fur trailing behind her) Storey squeals with glee, wiggles and jumps and bursts with the unbridled happiness that only Gracie inspires. She gives our kid kind kisses and tolerates all her tugging and petting, clapping and screeching with the patience of...

well... us.
Broom and vacuum at the ready.