Elle-isms

Capturing the hilariously entertaining things that erupt from my not-yet-3-year-old's mouth is nearly impossible with the rate at which they emerge. And doing so over a 3 month period just adds to the challenge. So here is a smattering of the more recent Elle-isms.

While trying to get Jack to catch a frisbee: "Jack, you're incorrigible"

At least she listens to me, even if she does project the quasi-discipline she hears onto the dog...

E: God lives in my heart.

Me: That's right, he does!

E: But not in my eyes, cause they blink.

Me: (Pause)

E: And not in my hair.

E: And not in my mouth. Because I probably might bite him.

How does one respond to that, anyway?

Upon coming downstairs in the morning-

E: Where are my shoes?

Me: Oh, we left them upstairs!

E: We forgot! We for-really-got!

Driving by a man in a Subway sandwich costume with just his legs sticking out of the bottom:

Me: Elle, do you see that dancing sandwich?

E: Yes, we can eat him! But we'll have to take the legs off first.

At Costco, wanting to play with the swingset on display way up on a super high platform

E: Can you get me up there to play?

Me: It's too high-- I'm not tall enough!

E: Maybe you could turn into a giraffe, then you'd be tall enough!

Out of the blue riding in the car-

E: Inside a volcano is magma.

Pretending to plant a garden in the yard

Me: That's a very nice garden Elle.

Elle: I am extremely very clever, Mom.

Indeed, Elle. Indeed.

Berry fun

I was determined to take Elle strawberry picking this year. It just seemed like such a quaint, picturesque thing to do, especially for my berry-adoring child who may actually have been cast as Strawberry Shortcake if latter weren't so... well... animated.

But with every attempted picking outing, something came up. It rained. I had to work late. It rained again. Etc. I became convinced of the anti-berry conspiracy when we finally made it to the farm only to find a sign that said "Closed for Irrigation". Seriously?! My suspicions for fraudulent activity were confirmed when we returned the following morning and the Strawberry Workers admitted that there was a family gathering the day before and there wasn't anyone available to staff the crop. I knew it! Irrigation Schmirrigation.

So at last we arrived armed with sunscreen and strict Mom instructions not to eat the berries before they were washed. The big white bucket was bestowed upon us.

And picking commenced. Elle laboriously scrutinized each berry, casting most aside with the disapproving announcement of "Too mushy" or "Too yellow, still needs to grow".

And although I fully expected her to nosh on the pesticide coated fruit the whole time, she never sampled the first one... although she did continuously call out her neighboring pickers for similar offenses. "Mommy, he's EATING one! He didn't wash it first!" Little tattletale.

Her high standards paid off, and I'm convinced we ended up with a bucket of the least mushy, most red and fully grown strawberries in the field.

It must have been that extra irrigation...

Easter was, admittedly, eons ago. Nonetheless, I can provide (horribly belated) photo documentation that we joyfully celebrated our Savior's resurrection, competitively hunted eggs, and frolicked in the holiday fun with good friends.

At first, she was definitely into quality over quantity, and by "quality", of course I mean only pink and purple eggs. I desperately tried to steer her to the golden eggs, which could be exchanged for a valuable gift, but she wasn't interested. Why settle for gold when there are pink ones out there? Who cares if the coveted pink eggs are filled with choking hazards trinkets and mostly melted candy?

Not pink? Not a keeper.

This is concentration. Or obstipation.

The best Easter friends pull your wagon.

And let you pull theirs.

They give the best hugs.

And make the silliest of faces.

And they empathize when your last cupcake is no more.

And they forgive you for taking a month and a half to write your Easter post.

Happy Easter.

Guest post

Mommy has emerged from her blogging hibernation, or so she says she will if I could ever possibly develop the skill of independent play. But that's another story/post. While she's trying to organize the photos and stories and hilariously entertaining commentary that has been my life for the past few months, I thought I'd catch you up with the two biggies. Now that I'm nearing 3 (August 6th people, mark your calendars), I've mastered typing and basic html. Wish Mom would teach me the strikethrough though. Anyway, back to the big news.

Number 1. Mommy is board certified! After relentless studying for approximately 1/6th of my life, she is officially a board certified radiologist. Yay Mommy! Definite cause for celebration...

Number 2.

Yep, Mommy and Daddy are brave enough to try for another kid as beautiful, charming, smart, clever, and generally awesome as me. I've decided I want a baby brother named Cinderella, although M & D don't seem crazy about that idea. I've got time to persuade. The new baby is scheduled to arrive via stork on January 8th, which is Daddy's birthday. I'm pretty excited. I've already claimed the task of burping the baby. Can I have another cupcake?

Explanation of Truancy

In approximately 8 weeks, I-- along with every 4th year radiology resident in the country-- will go to Louisville Kentucky where the entirety of my last 31 (err... I mean 29) years of training will culminate in one event that strikes fear in the heart of everyone in this field... the Oral Boards. 4 consecutive hours (no breaks, potty or otherwise) of taking unknown cases in 11 different sections, all under the intense scrutiny of of an examiner in whose hotel room you are being examined. Yes, the hotel room in which they sleep, brush their teeth, and well... use the potty. Bizarre? Absolutely. Stressful? Incomparably so.

Thus, as my task between now and May is to learn everything there is possibly to know about radiology (and avoid being an invisible Mommy and Wife), my work days are often 12 hours long when board reviews are added in, and studying should be occupying all of my free time. In reality, I reserve a good amount of that time for reading Charlie and Lola books, having tea parties, and drawing spaceship scenes by command of a precociously imaginative 2 year old.

When I first started medical school, someone made the analogy that it was going to be like trying to drink from a fire hydrant. Preparing for the Boards is similar, although instead of just trying to survive and consume a bit of water along the way, the goal this time is to catch every droplet in the stream without letting a single moelcule pass by. So blog posts may be few and far between over the next couple of months, but I will leave you with a few Elle-isms in the interim.

All three of us on the couch one morning:

Jay: Elle, would you please grab the phone for me?

E: I can't Daddy. I'm too busy sitting in my Mommy's lap.

On St. Patrick's Day:

E: It's Patrick Day! It's Patrick Day! Happy birthday to Patrick... Happy Birthday to Patrick... pause... Hey, Mommy-- Where's Patrick's cake?

Me: Elle, would you like pizza for dinner?

E: I don't like pizza. I like okra.

(Yes, we obliged)

Upon getting the prize from her (gasp) Happy Meal*

E: We need to find a Mary to take care of this little lamb!

*Dad's dinner choices are not always Mom-approved.

Me, after she had been on the potty an inordinate amount of time: E, are you ready to wipe your bottom?

E: No, Mom. My bottom is busy right now.

As I keep telling myself, A board-certified Mommy is a good Mommy...

Holding strong at 29...

Being "grown-up" takes some getting used to. Especially for someone who has spent the last... ahem... 29 years... vehemently trying to deny the process is/has/will ever take place. In my less-than-grown-up world, birthdays are meant to be at least a week long celebration-- complete with daily countdowns--culminating in a 24-hour period of party-having, cake-eating, balloon clad, unbridled festivity focused on the birthday boy/girl. Very mature, I know. But with each 29th birthday I celebrate (this will be the third, for those keeping count), I'm starting to realize that perhaps the center of attention is no longer mine. Of course, I've fully accepted that this is true for 364 days of the year, but that last day I've been clinging onto is officially slipping through my (icing-covered) hands.

This year's birthday was spent helping Jay in the garage, cleaning windows, and nearly enrolling Elle in boarding school after an unsuccessful 2+ hour battle for naptime. Or even rest time. Anything other than erupting from one's room every 12.5 seconds screaming/singing/dancing time. Sigh.

The plan for a family birthday dinner degenerated rapidly as I had visions of an over-tired toddler (and self-professed grumpy berry) melting down when she discovers her fork has 4 prongs instead of 5. The horror. So we abandoned the dinner out and I stuck candles in my Domino's delivered pizza with only a moderate amount of pouting. I began plotting my Barbie/Strawberry Shortcake/Smurf/Batman bash for next year. I'll be 29 you know.

But somehow, when the "festivities" were over, it occurred to me that actually, I wouldn't change a thing. Growing up-- with my awesome husband and sweet little one-- might not be so bad after all.

There should be a third video in here, but I have failed miserably at getting it to upload. Darnit Jim, I'm a radiologist not a computer programmer.

The Plague

Presumably courtesy of the daycare petri dish, I am quarantined with some unholy combination of the bubonic plague, Ebola virus, and scarlet fever. I'll spare you the details but let's just say that my colon and I will never be friends again. So go ahead and cancel that lunch date, splenic flexure. Sitting in a (semi) upright position at the computer is the most strenuous thing I've accomplished of late, so in addition to being overdue, this post will be comprised of a few random photos and lackluster comments with no particular cohesion... or... let's face it.... coherence.

First, a Valentine's Day greeting.

That was the "Happy" part.

And this is "Valentine's Day", but with a super exaggerated tongue extrusion for the "L" sound. Drama queen plus enunciator = my child.

In keeping with the eccentric facial expression theme, here is the current "Cheese" face.

I think she must be watching Bewitched marathons on the We channel when I'm not looking... And yes, she eventually twitched the nose again and turned the dog back into her dad.

As promised, I have nothing clever to say about this photo. Only that I thought it was cute, and marveled at how grown up she looks in the ponytail and headband.

And finally, I leave you with the sight Jay and I witnessed when we turned our heads for 10 seconds at the little arcade at JP Looney's. Our seemingly innocent 2 year old wielding a very large, albeit plastic and bright orange, rifle asking me to help her find the reindeer. Oh. Dear.

Watch out boys.

I anticipate higher quality posts in the future. But for now, I have to start making friends with an internal organ that hasn't betrayed me...