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.

Elle-isms

From the mind of a 2-year old...

Scene: Costco (surprised?). E asks me for some water, so I get her a cup and press the water tab on the fountain drink machine. Of note, it happens to be connected to the pink lemonade dispenser and I suppose a little got mixed into her water.

Me: Here's your water!

E: It's apple juice.

Me: No, it's water.

E: Grabs my arm and pulls me towards her, looks straight into my eyes and says demonstratively,"Look at me. It tastes like apple juice."

Scene: early morning as I'm waking her up to get ready for school

Me: Good morning!

Elle, still in a sleepy stupor: I need to get dressed. I need to go see if the pool is closed.

I haven't a clue why this was her request, but she clearly felt strongly about it, so we went. At 6:30am. It was closed.

Scene: Dinner table. Elle wanted to take "a big bite" of my burger instead of the small pieces I had cut for her, so I handed it to her.

Me: May I have my burger back now?

Elle, pointing to my plate: Need to eat your green beans first.

Touche, Elle. Touche.

Scene: a few hours after Elle's first haircut. E spies a Barbie compact in the diaper bag.

Elle: I neeed the mirror! I need to find my haircut!

Scene: While staying at Sandy and Clay's house during our trip to Montana, E helped let their dog out to do his business, supervised the poo cleanup, etc.

Elle: Need to get the poop out.

Sandy, thinking she was referring to the dog: Where is the poop?

Elle: In my bottom.

Indeed.

Where the buffalo roam

When I first was persuaded chose to embark on our vacation to Montana without the Wee Golding, it seemed like an tolerable excellent idea. 6 whole days without picking up/carrying anyone might improve the asymmetric hypertrophy of my paravertebral muscles... no asking 487 times a day if anyone needs to use the potty... no eating dinner at senior citizen hours.... we might just be able to do things that didn't fit into the nap/bedtime/snack schedule or motor skill set of a 2 year old... I might be able to sleep past sunrise (the latter didn't happen, thank you mini-human alarm clock that has trained my body to wake up at the crack of dawn even without the deceptively sweet call of "Mommy, come wake me up!"). It sounded promising.

The first few hours of the trip were a bit sketchy, as it seemed that every adorable child between the ages of 0 and 4 decided to travel on the day of our departure with their tiny little Dora backpacks, all strategically placed to make me question the decision to leave E behind. Where were all the little holy terrors when I needed them? Not a rhetorical question. Answer: on the return flight to GSO.

But I rest assured knowing Elle would have a blast with Grampa/Mimi and Sandy/Clay.

She fastidiously made sure her wheels were clean before the trip.

And away she went.

Like good parents, we made sure the gas tank was full before she left.

Once in route, we decided to take advantage of our toddler free time. We bent rules. We ran with scissors. We recklessly abandoned any concept of portion control.

Mmmm. Airport breakfast.

We drove vehicles that have never been in the same zip code as a car seat.

We did not always heed warnings.

I still maintain that, in the court of law, this sign could be interpreted to mean only handicapped persons are not allowed to approach elk...

The foreign languages on this one translate into: Don't let your knee-sock wearing purse-carrying tourist son play hopscotch in the hot springs.

There was no mention of not licking them.

Gored seems like an unnecessarily graphic verb to use here, but apparently the point was not clear enough. Who can resist a buffalo?!

I suspect Yellowstone management put up this sign after the Marmot Incident last year.

Sorry about that buddy. He looked noticeably relieved this year.

While we didn't molest or feed any animals, we did happen upon this young black bear on our way home from the park. We were only about 15 feet away, but thankfully protected by 8 cylinders and a brush guard donning Suburban.

We didn't completely disregard our parenting personas, instead demonstrating occasional acts of responsible behavior. I kept my trusty bear spray handy at moment's notice.
If that didn't work, I was ready to splash Diet Coke in his eyes. Who's YOUR bear daddy?!

We caught only our allotted number of rainbow trout from the Yellowstone River, dutifully throwing back the "cutthroats". We pan-fried our spoils so that their little scaly lives wouldn't have been lost in vain.

We visited the world's most famous geyser, and I discovered that "Old Faithful" actually has nothing to do with the consistency with which my child will pee as soon as her diaper is removed. This geyser was minimally more impressive.

We snuggled and cuddled in caves and on top of mountains, quoting Elle's book "We're Going on A Bear Hunt" in her honor.

And, despite our attempts to be hip young whippersnappers again, we were still in bed at a reasonable hour every night. But for a sunrise like this, wouldn't you?

Elle takes on DC

Reluctant to disclose her political aspirations, Elle devoted her time in DC to pleasure, not business. Once Ikea and Costco were out of the way (twice each), she tackled the Zoo. I'm pretty sure she had more fun on the escalator and Metro than at the zoo, which is not to say the zoo wasn't thoroughly enjoyed... just that the pure joy of riding up and down the magical moving staircase and whooshing through underground homicide scenes tunnels was difficult to top. Upon seeing the other passengers holding onto the pole on the Metro, E assumed this position. I think she may be a big city girl after all.

I had a tough time answering the deluge of "What that is?" with this guy, but ended up announcing decidedly that he's an Aardvark, although I fully expected her to correct me. She humored me this time and let me think that she thinks that I'm smart. Whew.

Ummm.... fox? I mean, Alopex lagopus, of course.

Seriously, we did actually see some real animals. Only they were difficult to photograph through the plexiglass and/or hiding in the distant shade. And these guys were much more willing to pose with my daughter. And allow her to touch them in not-so-socially acceptable places.

Yeah, I know. That Panda is a good sport.

She was rather infatuated with the multi-colored giant pagoda-tummied bear. Mimi and Grampa also fell under the Panda's spell. He's working on world dominion. You heard it here first.

We saw the Monument... or Big Tall White Building, as Elle affectionately refers to it.

We showed a little leg at the Jefferson Memorial

And we acted actually were embarrassed that Jefferson saw our panties.

We ran through the grass with a grumpy look on our face.

We made appearances at the Museum of Natural History (Dinosoooors!) and the Air and Space Museum (Airpanes!)

And we left with the souvenier without which no 2-year-old's trip to DC would be complete...

Yep, a spacesuit.

I didn't have the hear to tell her that the pink patent leather shoes weren't very practical for moonwalking. And that they clash with the spacesuit.

Apparently in all of the hullabaloo to make the family trip to our nation's capital memorable (oh and for Mommy to work), we forgot basic things like watering our child. We do have indoor plumbing, E.

Welcome home.