Genevieve is 11 months old!

Haaa ha ha ha!

I love this photo. She was watching the dogs bark at the fence. She is getting so, so big. We have six teeth now. She walked behind a walking toy for the first time yesterday, and right after I took this picture, she just let go and, like, stood there for several seconds. She was just standing there like it was no biggie, watching the dogs, then she put her arm back out and grabbed the toy again. I squealed and tried to grab another photo but I wasn't quick enough. Plus, the pooper scooper would have been in the background. Whoops.

I ordered first birthday party invitations yesterday. Crazy.

A few things.

Children defy statistics.

Theoretically, one has a 50% chance of putting one's shorts on with the front on the front and the back on the back.



I think we're running with a 5% success rate. Heh.

Payne has inexplicably attached himself to an ice cream scoop:

They met at Target and have been inseperable ever since. This has earned us some strange looks in public. Especially since Payne approaches complete strangers with the announcement "My got an eye keem goop!".

Oh, and Stella decided her work place wasn't ergonomic, so she made a few adjustments; brought in some new equipment...

You've really got to keep the head, neck, and spine as fully aligned as possible.

Just call him George,

crossing the DeleWal-Mart parking lot.

Rachel's Slightly Illegal Cleaning Service now operational!

We offer exceptionally low prices due to our very accomodating staff, and all cleaning supplies (used men's athletic socks and spittle) are included.

Call today and we'll include a special wood floor treatment of old milk spatters and infant tear drops on the house!

Boys.

While walking into a restaurant last night, Payne sneezed about four times in a row, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. I asked him "Payne, do you need a tissue?". His response: "Nope. My just need mine arm!". Ha!

The games my children play.

Splatter

Playing field: Within the confines of a motor vehicle.

Rules: Player 1 inititates game by making eye contact with Player 2 and blowing raspberries as hard as humanly possible. This continues until exhaustion forces a player out of the game or the driver of the motor vehicle yells. The winner is the player most thoroughly drenched in their own saliva.

Hysteria

Playing field: The living area of a domestic residence.

Rules: Player 1 initiates game by making eye contact with Player 2 and laughing in an uncontrolled fashion. Player 2 reciprocates. Player 1 responds in kind. Repeat until nearest adult puts on a cartoon. The winner is the player closest to the t.v. when the aforementioned caretaker gives in.

Rocky Mountain Sheep:



Playing field: Anywhere.

Rules: Player 1 initiates game by approaching Player 2 and smashing their head and face into the opposition. Players then shove each other with their noggins until a player is pushed to the ground or the nearest adult interferes with play. The winner is the player furthest from the floor at the point of cessation of play.

Post-game, both players are thoroughly checked for any instances of profuse facial bleeding and asked how sumo wrestling with one's head can be sooooo funny.

A small confession:

I'm a complete baby clothing related prude.

Even with boys, I manage to find things worth my moral opposition. I won't put Payne in sleevless shirts, or shorts that are more than a couple of inches above the knee. I turn down shirts that say "Ladies man" or "L'il Romeo" etcetera. I've even spotted boys sweatpants with a phrase written across the butt, and turned those down as well.

With Genevieve, the list is endless:

-No halter dresses or tops. Because, you know, all of those babies in halters look just like Victoria's Secret models?

-No one shoulder dresses or tops.

-None of that one full shoulder and one spaghetti strap business. That there is for floozies.

-No off the shoulder dresses or tops.

-No sweetheart necklines. What exactly would the middle of the neckline be drawing down to reveal?

-No ruching at the center chest. Again, what optical illusion are we trying to create, exactly? Gross.

-No baby bikinis, and two pieces must cover her belly entirely. I don't want any 15 month old boys in shades checking out her chubby belly, you know.

- No baby heels (yes, these exist).

-No sassy phrases like "Little diva", "Flirt", "Daddy's Princess". Those are just...off putting.

-No writing on the butt.

-No glitter. I may lose this battle sooner rather than later.

-Hell, I'm not even crazy about true spaghetti straps (I prefer a flat, wider strap).

-No peep toe shoes. They're not work (read: playground) appropriate, guys. We don't want her encountering play place discrimination.

-No suggestive skirt gathers, like a raise in the hem at the thigh (Oh yes. I've seen this in the toddler section). I don't need no baby can-can dancer.

-No lingerie style lace. I bought some leggings with a wide lacy trim and found myself repulsed by the effect once they were on.

-No patches of transparent fabric (Seen this too, sadly).

Pretty much, if anything could be worn on a full grown woman and viewed as sexy, its not going on my daughter. As I've never seen a woman walking down the street in ruffle butt bloomers or a summer bubble (looking anything but ripe for institutionalization) I deem these items acceptable, even though they show a lot of baby leg.

I mean, I bought her this and it's really cute (and it was like 40% of its original price) but it still makes me vaguely uncomfortable:

This is all reeeeaaaally ironic, considering I have no qualms displaying her naked butt to the world...

Many of the things I won't buy aren't even remotely offensive to 90% of the population, so I know the crazy is all me. However, it doesn't go down quite as weird as it seems from my list. It's more like I'm shopping and flipping through the racks going "Nope. Nope. Nope. No way in Hell." but I don't think about why I've immediately rejected something until I'm dissecting my own reaction to it. The negative reaction is immediate and sort of visceral, and then I move on.

I'm pretty sure once she outgrows the toddler section of mainstream stores I'll be trying to order most of her clothes out of a catalogue that caters to fundamentalist Christians. She is going to haaaaate me. Ha!

Seeing as her father proclaims with great conviction that she is going to grow up and become a nun, I think we may compound each other's parental conservatism to a leeetle bit of an excessive degree. If any of my dear friends ever spot Genevieve sporting a neck to ankles jumpsuit while clutching a baby safe rosary, it might be time to sit me down for a talk.

Does not compute.

Ms. "I would probably eat my own young" chillin on the couch with Daniel-Son (heh heh. It works on so many levels....) here.

There are some potential explanations:

- The apocalypse is near.

- They're conspiring against me.

- Breakfast cookie proximity was sufficient for Stella to risk bodily injury.

- She was trying to smoke him out, as I later heard "Dewwa! You tooted! Dat's tinky.".

I don't trust them. Hmm...

The many faces of Inmate Genevieve.

Awwww...


Tee hee.


Heh heh heh heh.


Ha!


Haaaa ha ha!


Haaaaaaa ha ha ha! (beats fist on table)


Wow.

Ah, the mind of a three year old.

The other day we were reading a book and Payne described the following picture as such:

"Dis a picture of a mouse putting a swing (string) in a bassek (basket) and he getting some pop corns!"

Man, I love their little brains, all free of the bindings of conventional knowledge and stuff.


Some more of his little sayings that make me remember how cute he can be:

- "My want to wear it on!"

- "Gee-vive! You're kiwwing (killing) me!" as in, she's being annoying. Who do you think he learned that from? Hmm...

- "Mommy, I put dat dere for a weason."

Three has been rough on us, but Lordy do I love this kid.

The reason we do a lot of pony tails.

Baby G has some awesome morning hair:


She still has the, uh, lift that she had as a newborn, and her hair is so fine that she has a natural feathering thing going on.

Add the volunteer center part in there:



And you've got....



So, if it were 1977 and Genevieve was, you know, a dude? We'd be good to go.

She's going to punish me for this post at some point in the distant future, isn't she...

My Son is a Klutz.

His legs and arms are a constellation of bruises and scratches. He still has a goose egg or light scar from a recent cut on his head most of the time. He is quite simply a walking disaster.

On his first birthday he looked like he'd lost a fight. Up until age two he had a split lip or a wound from biting himself while falling the majority of the time. At two he ran directly into a support column at the zoo. He was running full speed in one direction and looking in another. Bam. His arms even swung forward at impact, just like on Looney Tunes. For awhile I just assumed his propensity for self injury was normal. I mean, it took 4.599 billion years of planetary history for a bipedal organism to really nail the concept of walking upright. Who am I to judge my toddler for still being a little shakey on the concept?

Now I'm having to face reality. The poor child is definitely more accident and injury prone than his peers. He straight up falls out of chairs, while sitting relatively still. At this point its hard not to laugh when it happens, because one minute his shaggy little head is visible above the table, and then it's just...not. A couple of days ago he was very simply walking across the hardwood barefoot, and his feet (in a true display of defiance towards ordinary laws of physics) went straight out from under him and he fell HARD straight down onto his butt. A lot of the time he'll be running behind me while we're out and about, and I'll hear him fall. It goes something like "tap tap tap tap tap tap tap SPLAT (extended pause) waaaaaah! Mommyyyyyyyy!" and really, "splat" is pretty much dead on. It's like he takes a flying leap and his entire body hits the tile/pavement at the same instant.

Oh, and my own personal favorite. Yesterday, he ran into the garage door as it was opening...backwards. He blindly clotheslined the back of his neck with a large noisy moving target. That takes a true gift.