The Benefits of Kites, Lost a Tooth, Rides a Bike

So, this is really old news by now, but Inge does ride her bike very well, without training wheels, and she lost a tooth. And we're enjoying fall.

Oh, and thanks to Namma, who sent Lewis a kite, the kids ran off a bunch of energy flying their kites like this at the park. Please notice the stride and athleticism evident in this photo.

Inge riding like the wind

See? no training wheels.
See? missing tooth.

And another cute inmate of our assylum

Inge was lapping Lewis regularly... without training wheels is much faster.

Now Mona stops our hearts as she climbs things and plays near edges.

And this is a classic look from Lewis.

Mom-O-Rama

Assuming it hasn't already been done, I have this idea for a game show for mommies.  See, it could work like this: moms would be assigned a task to complete within a specified amount of time (in a public arena of course), and points would be won or lost based on how well they performed.  For instance:

The Make-up Challenge--Within an enclosed 3x4 foot bathroom space, plausibly dirty, Mom has to apply makeup for an evening out while monitoring a busy one-year-old.  Points will be deducted if the child opens the toilet or falls in the tub, or if more than two substances have to be removed and reapplied.  Time: 2 minutes.

Or this one:

The Craft Store plus Public Restroom Bonanza--Mom takes four children to a crowded craft store.  In less than fifteen minutes she must sort out and purchase everything she needs for running a booth at a craft fair the next morning.  Deductions for losing her temper or allowing anyone to stand up in the cart.  Bonus Round:  A trip to the craft store restroom.  Double points rewarded if 1) no child touches the floor and 2) Mom can hold the defective stall door shut without using her head.

Conversations with Mo-Mo

About a month ago we noticed that little Mo had popped up a maturity bracket.  No longer a baby, now she considers herself to be one of the kids.  Whatever they do, she wants to do too.  She is a participant, a force to be reckoned with, and--except when excluded--a happy little camper.  More than that, now you can have a conversation with her.  She has moved in the last week from her characteristic little "gnh-gnh" for "thank-you," to a full-on "dank-you," of which she is obviously proud.  Now when you hand her a drink, she says "Dank you....Mommy."  There is a pause--sometimes a long pause--between words.  It is her Processing Pause; during it, she is searching for the phonemes to form the next thing she wants to say.  But the next thing will be there, and sometimes one more, and therein lies the difference.  She's going the extra mile, talking above and beyond; this is not a pragmatically driven skill anymore.  Now, we are conversing. 

*** ***

Not to say that we aren't being efficient.  Mona can communicate that Lewis is preventing her from her heart's desire (whatever that may be) by means of a very aggrieved face and only two words: "Lu-is have."

*** ***

Sometimes it is her tone that comes as a surprise.  Unremarkable as it would be from a three-year-old, from a sturdy little one-years infant, it makes you do a doubletake.  As when Nelly addressed her (and when the listener is only one, you really don't expect a reply), "Mona?" and Mona replied, acerbically, "what?"  Had it not been for that tone in her voice--that I have things to do and stuff to think about, so be quick tone--it would have been nothing.  

*** ***

Same dealie.  Tonight at the park I said to her idly, as you do say to a baby, "Do you have stinky pants?"  I was hoping not.  She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and said, "What?"  A little taken aback, I said again, "I think you have stinky pants."  And she replied, "Nooooooooo." 

*** ***

And then there's the matter of her imitative abilities.  We were at the store  a few days back and a man a few aisles over was suffering from a terrible sneezing attack.  From the very first splashy explosion, Mo-mo was all over it: 

Whoosh! said the invisible shopper from an aisle or two away.

Mona perked up her ears.  Woof? She said inquiringly, looking at me for confirmation.  

Whoosh! repeated the shopper.  

Woof! asserted Mona.

WHOOSH!, went the man.  WHOOSH, whoosh.  And rounded the corner right in front of us.

Whoosh, said Mona, following him hopefully with her eyes.  By this time I was in a bad position.  If we stayed and I kept laughing this hard, something truly embarrassing was going to happen right there in the aisle.  But the whoosher got over his problem, so that was good.  

*** ***

Funner even than Mo-mo conversation are Mo-mo kisses, because this girl is a born snuggler.  If you happen to be an aunt or an uncle, a grandma or grandpa, and she hasn't already--maybe someday she'll give you a "kees," too.

A Few More From Our Trip

A storm rolled in on Labor Day evening. It was fun to watch and photograph.

Here's the other Douglas, enjoying the downpour.

Abby loves the rain

Aunt Abby, with Inge and Lewis

A water splash on Abby's hand

Jesse Ventura--at the Rally for the Republic

Mona and Nelly clapped for all the good points... ie, when everyone else clapped.

This is my Uncle Tim, who was on the video crew at the Target Center in Minneapolis.

Ron Paul, the guy we all came to hear--after all, he cured our apathy.

Yes, Uncle Chicken is the tallest of them all.

The whole crazy crew

On the plane home again

And an obligatory wing shot... you just have to take one, and post one.

Of Turple Pucks, Wet Water, and High Estrogen Levels

Yesterday when we asked Mo-Mo to say "purple cup," she said as clear as day, "Turple Puck." 

*** *** ***

At some other point in the day, Nelly experienced a wet flip-flop.  Not being your outdoorsy sort of girl, she kicked it off in disgust and wailed, "I don't like wet water!"

*** *** ***

And speaking of girls,  earlier this week we had a real girl moment.  By which I mean (and those of you with daughters will understand me), we realized afresh that we have three of one kind and only one of the other, so when The Great Sadness hits, the imbalance really becomes very noticeable.  

What happened was this: Our lovely neighbors the Myers have much to recommend them, not the least of which is a row of bunny cages along the side of their apartment.  The bunnies that inhabit these cages live good bunny lives, being fed by the Myers, and admired, patted, and poked, by us.  They grow fat and sassy, they fall in love, they bear young; their offspring grow and surpass them in beauty and pokeability, and then one day...there are suddenly not as many bunnies in the bunny cages, and the cycle goes on.  Well, so, the Myers are actually marvelous chefs, and the bunnies do have an ontological purpose.  And the thing was, Inge either didn't know this, or had forgotten it--I don't know which--but whatever the case, when I left for a walk on Wednesday morning, Inge and Lewis were happily poking bunnies; and when I came home from that walk Inge was sitting at our kitchen table in a flood of tears, along with the family Bible and with Peter, who was wearing the focused look of a father who knows he gets to explain the Fall of man, creation in bondage, the problem of pain, the hope of heaven, and wildlife conservation and management in the next five minutes, and it better be good.  

Time crept on towards lunch.  The heart-to-heart proceeded well, though soggily.  And then suddenly--probably because of hunger, or possibly just because they wanted to show solidarity--the two younger girls simultaneously hit a wall.  Now you have to understand that Nelly hadn't had a word to say either for or against the bunnies up until this point, and Mona obviously wasn't even a player, but for about thirty seconds it went like this:

Inge, red-eyed and red nosed:  Well, I just don't want to talk about death any MOOOORE!

Nelly, cropping up from somewhere and joining quite unexpectedly at full-throttle: I, Uh, Waaaaaah, I...er...I....waaaaaah....I'm just crying about the BUNNIES!

Mona, cooperatively: Waaaaaaah!

Lewis, stolidly looking for the silver lining (hey, it's what guys do): I'm actually kind of happy that the bunnies get to live until this week.

Inge:  Did you hear Lewis?  Lewis is HAAAAAPPYYYY....

Nelly: Waaaaaah!

Mona: WAAAAAAH!

Inge, appealing to me with a return to the main point: There's one bunny that I actually kind of like, and Mr. Myers said we could buy it--we could save it!  

Peter and I exchanged glances, exactly like they do in books, and I think he decided that all that could be said had been said already.  For good measure, I repeated it over again three or six times while I was fixing lunch--until I began to sense some deja vu--and then we banished the word "bunny," the thought of bunnies, and all the concepts of cuteness, vulnerability, and social injustice, for the rest of the day. 

If anyone knows for sure whether bunny-heaven and our heaven will be the same, could you give me a call later this week?

The Problem with THAT is...

Peter, looking at Lewis's toy plane, which is being flown by a toy elk, and conjecturing in good Daddy style: So, Lewis, when you grow up, do you want to be a moose and fly a P-51?  

Lewis:  Well, but...

Peter:  Or no, wait, that's an elk, isn't it?  You can be an elk and...

Lewis: No, I...

Peter: ...and when you fly to our house you can live outside and eat grass and...

Lewis: But they...

Peter: ...maybe we can have a tent for you to sleep in, and...

Lewis, finally getting it out:  But they aren't MAKING P-51s anymore.  That's an OLD plane.

Simonne

The Farm

When we were back in the Midwest over the Labor Day weekend we took a day trip up to my grandparents farm (now run by my Uncle Jay). And speaking of Uncle Jay, here he is in his biggest tractor.

And here are Inge and Lewis getting a ride in the big tractor.

Lewis also got a ride with his Uncle Josiah on the four-wheeler.

And this is my grandpa. On the way to the Shop where Jay is getting ready to park the tractor.

Jay backs the tractor into the shop, while Grandpa watches, and Joel (my cousin, Jay's son) roller blades across the pad in front--three generations of everyday life on the farm.

Here's an angle of the inside of the Shop, which is kept in very, very good order.

Jeremiah my nephew in the driver seat, Isaac my cousin on the wheel--this is the smallest tractor on the farm... or just about anyhow.

Grandpa and Andrew out on the lawn enjoying a barley pop with all the guys.

Here I am showing off some photos. Grandma turned her head, and hence got blurred. Thanks to Abby for the photo.

Here's Nelly on the bridge I climbed on when I was a kid... or at least it might be the descendant of the bridge I played on, since Grandpa has rebuilt it a number of times over the years.

On the drive home the weather stripping on the top of the windshield started coming up and would vibrate and make some awful noise as we reached about 75 MPH. Here's Andrew on the hood trying to convince it to stay down.

A Good Place to Visit

Here's a fun new blog by Bekah Merkle.  Highly recommended, folks!  Here is where you want to get your fashion advice from here on out...

http://rebekahmerkle.blogspot.com/

Ike

Here's a hilarious link

Speaking of hilarious. Look up the "Theremin" and make sure you watch Thomas Grillo.

Grammy and Grandpa and the Grandkids

More of these are coming... sorry I'm a bit behind.

We are Proud of Ingrid

Last week, Inge lost her first tooth.  This week, she learned how to ride a bike. After weeks or months of practicing on the twenty foot section of sidewalk we have (back and forth, back and forth, with stubborn regularity) she has finally mastered this heart's desire.  Now, when she rides on the flat, she sits bolt upright, a look of frightened ecstasy on her face.  She also wobbles terrifyingly from side to side, her elbows stick way out, and she goes very fast.  

Today at the park I overheard a little boy who was observing her circuit around the grassy area, and talking to his mom. 

"That's like my bike."

"Yes, that's like your bike.  But it doesn't have training wheels." 

"No.  [reverently]  She's a BIG girl." 

English as a First Language

When you are one, and are the fourth in a line of energetic siblings, it is of critical importance that you hurry up and learn the sentences you will most often want to use.

Like, "I want a ride, too."  (Ahna-why, choo.) 

Speaking of the word, "too," in Mona's vocab, it serves a multi-functional purpose.  Standing alone, it can mean anything from, "I want one, too," to "I want two of those things, just like everyone else seems to."  

Ron Paul... Gone or Not?

Found this on a Ron Paul video search today... this is from today.

Grammy and Grandpa's House

We flew to Grammy's house Wednesday. This was the first flying trip in a while. I think the kids enjoyed it.

Nelly and Aunt Abby talking to Grammy, I think.

Inge can climb the rope almost as well as her Uncle Mike.

We went to the park and the tennis courts in Barnesville.

Note Jeremiah's face down between his legs and Uncle Christians helping Mona out.

The doggy dig was Jeremiah's favorite activity when we first arrived at the park.

But he can also climb.
And so can Mona
And sliding is fun too
The light was just beautiful that evening in the park.

And Josiah, Andrew, and Dad having a discussion on the swings.

Dad, making a point

Inge and Jeremiah sharing a horse swing

Hah, Andrew can still climb too

And the two littlest girls like each other too

And she's down for the count.

And here's Douglas dressed in full battle gear for WWII.