Elle-isms at 27 months

On the way to the Carolina football game (no comment from this Wake/Duke/Wake grad), we were looking for one of Elle's hairbows in the car.

Jay: "Where's your other hairbow, dude?"

Elle: "Dude, I don't see it!"

Nearing the end of the Thanksgiving Day Parade, everyone starts making a big deal about Santa's appearance.

Family member: "Elle do you see Santa?!"

Elle looking a bit perplexed: "Yes, but where's Baby Jesus?"

Sorry Santa, she's matured so much since her first Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I was putting my jacket on one morning as we were heading out.

Elle: "Mommy, take your jacket off. It not raining outside."

Me: "I know, but it's really cold!"

E, with a stern look: "Well, zip up... I worry 'bout you!"

During Thanksgiving lunch, Jay asks Elle if she can burp her ABCs and proceeds to demonstrate. She cuts him off around the C/D mark and says, "Dad. Not a good choice."

Walking to get the mail with her hooded jacket, the hood part falls off her head.

Elle: "I lost my hood... my NEIGHBORHOOD!"

She then proceeded to assume this stance and dare anyone to mess with her 'hood.

Thankfully, she didn't have to pull out her Cinderella Nunchucks.

Thanksgiving By the Numbers

You might think that a Thanksgiving involving call (mine), emesis (first Elle's then mine), and embryonic mice (the mama mice's) might be considered less than pleasant. But not so. It wouldn't be our family if things proceeded in a standard or drama-free fashion. And, believe it or not, we are thankful for that.

So here is our 2010 Thanksgiving by the numbers...

Number of family gatherings attended in a 24 hour peri-Thanksgiving period: 3

Number of family members seen during above festivities: 40

Number of accidents we had in our big girl panties: 0

Number of slabs of dressing I consumed: 7 (Don't judge. I know I have a problem.)

Number of dishes Jay or I cooked: Zero.

Number of "dishes" Elle cooked: 5,384. Have another pancake, PawPaw.

Number of Christmas songs Elle sang over and over during family gatherings: 4. (Silent Night, Jingle Bells, Away in a Manger, and We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Trust me, you don't want to deny her Figgy Pudding. She Will Not go until she gets some.)

Number of hours of fun that can be had with a plastic banana: Probably too many.

Number of times Elle perfectly executed the blessing prior to our meal: 3 (although she did pause once to call people out for not closing their eyes)

Number of times I had to wipe E's tongue off with a paper towel when something offensive came in contact with it: 3

Clearly, some things weren't so offensive.

Number of times my pager went off during Dinner #1: 4 (not bad)

Number of years it will take before I can eat mac and cheese again after seeing it come back up on the way home from Dinner #3... and cleaning it from E, me, her carseat, the floorboard, and neighboring counties: The rest of mine on this earth.

Number of things we have to be thankful for this year: Countless.

Not me! Wednesday?

I would never finally get around to posting a Not Me Monday post later in the week than... say... Monday. I am always perfectly on top of such things and couldn't imaging being delinquent and untimely in my posts. Or my morning conference attendance at work. But that's another story.

I would not allow my husband to turn my sweet innocent child into a Biker Chick.

Nor would I allow him to purchase 7 (count them, SEVEN!) scooters at a car dealership auction becaue they were "a good deal". I do not shudder with embarrassment when anyone comes near Garage Bay 1 and its neatly aligned flock of scooters. I would never threaten my Partner In Life with bodily harm if he does not find homes for the rainbow of transportation immediately.

I never work nights and leave Jay in charge of E's morning routine. She would never go to school with bedhead that would make Don King seem properly groomed.

And Diet Mountain Dew is certianly not a breakfast staple in the Golding Household. Even if it were, the one who consumes it would never let his daughter hold the can for a photo op to send to Mommy, just to show her that things were perfectly under control in her absence.

I would never take Elle to the Chik-Fil-A playplace on a rainy day without purchasing a single thing. I wouldn't justify this unethical behavior by reminding myself of all the times we've patroned the restaurant without using the Playplace. I certainly wouldn't panic when I saw the manager eyeing us, and tell E to put her shoes on...

grab the keys...

and Run For It!!

And finally,

We do not promote cannibalism in our household. That's just wrong.

Music to a Mommy's Ears

"More spinach cheese pancake!" (She left out the 100% whole grain part, but that becomes quite the mouthful)

"Girls can do it good as boys"

"Books are Elle's favorite"

"Mommy, I'm amazing!" This, I surmise, came from a book she has about a cat named Splat, who by the end of the tale declares that he is indeed amazing. I couldn't agree more, E.

My personal favorite:

"Mommy, what's this?"

-Those are the squirrels and the chipmunks and all the animals that live in the forest.

"God made them for us".

After incurring a nasty laceration which led to about 1 billion times the anxiety per unit actual danger than the average procedure I perform on a daily basis at work-- I care about my patients, but they are Not. My. Baby.-- E cried for about 90 seconds as I scooped her up and held her tightly, then she whimpered the words that absolutely sum up what I consider to be one of my ultimate goals as her mom,

"Mommy will make it all better". Oh, E. For the rest of your life, that is what I am here to do.

Not Me! Monday

I do not routinely consider salsa a vegetable. The fact that the tortilla chips are made of corn never crosses my mind either.

Incidentally, I also did not pass on the curly-haired gene to my poor little frizzy offspring. She scoffs in the face of humidity and always maintains a perfectly smooth and straight coif.


Speaking of ladylike manners, I would never tolerate my husband teaching our child the effects of pulling one's digit.



Particularly not in church clothes. I also would not die laughing when she actually produces the response that the finger pulling is designed to elicit. Laughter would not degenerate to public guffawing when I say "Shoo-wee Elle!" and she responds "It's just gas Mommy"




In true Halloween spirit, I did not almost give in to my daughter's desire to dress up as Mr. T...



I pity the fool who tries to give me one of those nasty peanut butter things in the orange or black wax wrapper!


I did not suggest that we stick with the original plan and be an astronaut instead. I also just did not have to think a little too hard about how to spell astronaut.

As the world's most enthusiastic holiday celebrater, I most certainly did not become an absolute curmudgeon when Halloween rolled around. Nope, the same person who has been known to bake Abraham Lincoln shaped cookies for President's Day would never get jaded by a full day of generalized Two-i-tude, complete with a few token tantrums, unabashed whininess, and no fewer than 7,489 utterances of the phrase "Mommy, hold meeeee!". Even complete refusal to take a nap would never spoil my excitement for the holiday festivities. Nor would said protest lead me to rock my child for 2 solid hours as if she were 2 weeks old and not 1,352 weeks old. And I most certainly wouldn't be grumpy that only 12 of those rocking minutes actually involved eye closure. Needless to say, I would never seize the opportunity when Elle answered the question "Do you want to go trick-or-treating" with a resounding and very typical of the day, "NO!" I did not allow either of our moods to dampen the spirit of the night, and we did not forgo the whole shindig. I am not a horrible mother.


I did not justify that E had plenty of fun during the party at school Friday, frolicking in costume with her best bud Isabelle.

Elle did not have wand envy.

And I did not secretly lament the opportunity to do my motherly duty to screen and prune the spoils that we would have brought home if I hadn't been the Halloween Grinch...


Nope, not me.

Beach Baby

Truly a beach bum, Elle has enjoyed beach trips virtually since birth. Her swimming experience even preceded that...

Barely a few weeks old, she got her first glimpse of the ocean (amidst overprotective mommy efforts to shield a seemingly breakable newborn from the heat, UV rays, sharks, jellyfish, and untoward effects of the all-you-can-eat Bennet's calabash buffet).

At this point Elle didn't sleep at night. At. All. So we rationalized that she might as well not sleep at the beach. Apparently showing off her newborn bikini bod and flexion reflexes was effective because we actually scored (a few) nighttime hours of sleep on this The First Beach Trip. Of course there was the night Jay returned from a 2am trip to CVS with armloads of various baby soothing products, including something strangely named "Gripe Water" in effort to calm the fretting creature we had so recently added to our family. Luckily, the CVS employee was very gracious the next morning as I returned $57 of merchandise. I thinks he wrote "Purchase made in Daddy Desperation" as the reason for return.

Beach adventures continued, as did the accumulation of thigh rolls and need for additional seasonal accessories. Somewhere there is a baby photo of Elton John that looks strikingly similar to this...

Teeth came in with the tide, and crawling turned to walking turned to... well... full out running with wild arm flailing and various motion related sound effects.

The "dirtiness" of the sand is still met with apprehension (that's my girl!), requiring constant wiping off of hands, feet, toys, and a futile attempt to "clean" a sand castle. Alas, there isn't much left when the sand is removed...

We hope Elle never takes for granted the grandeur of the ocean, the sunrises we're awake to see more often than not, and the chance to relax with family and friends a little away from it all.

Going to the beach now necessitates a Suburban full of toddler gear, early am wake-ups, dinner at senior-citizen hours, evening activities restricted to whispering decibel levels after 7:30 pm, and hoping the combination of swim diaper and potty training will protect our fellow pool mates. Between mid-day naps and around-the-clock snacks, I think I can get used to the new regime.