Kids' Music: The Good, The Bad & The Danceable

Turns out, it's pretty much all danceable when you're a toddler.

Those are some serious jazz hands in the lower left.
And in the lower right she practices her rhythmic gymnastics routine.

Let's back up.

There's been a suspicious lack of discussion in this blog regarding my efforts to expose LG to a wide range of music. There are two very good reasons for this.

1. Once you have a kid who is running around doing things, it's hard to spend considerable effort on something like the "perfect playlist."

2. It turns out that once kids age to a certain point, they start to have preferences about stuff.

Back when I wrote about making playlists to dance to when LG was a few months old, she couldn't tell me what she didn't like. She didn't try to steal my phone out of my pocket so she could play with it. She also couldn't tell me to play The Wiggles, Hi-5, or Wee Sing, over and over and over and over again. In general, though, I think we've been through these stages.

Stage 1 - We Sing
If I had to guess, I'd say her conscious relationship with music began sometime around 6 months old. Around that time, she was awful in the car. She cried for most trips longer than 5 minutes or so, and we were at a loss for what to do about it. We sang a lot in those months. Mary Had a Little Lamb, The ABCs, B-I-N-G-O, whatever we could remember. It's sort of weird how hard it is to remember kids' songs and nursery rhymes when there's a screaming kid in the back seat. My inability to remember the words led me to sing bizarrely long versions of Old MacDonald where I would name animals according to the alphabet, then start over again with a different set. You don't know the line separately sanity from insanity until you've tried to come up with multiple animal names and sounds for the letter 'Q.'

Stage 2 - Wee Sing
At 10 months or so, we we started playing Wee Sing for her. Something about those awful, off key children's voices really did it for her, and she'd calm down. But then a funny thing happened.

She learned the word "No."

When a song came on that she didn't like, she'd say "No." And if we didn't change it, she'd say it again. And again. And again. So we did. This process went on for a while, until there were only about 4 songs she'd tolerate for any length of time. Then I discovered more children's music. The slightly more on key Countdown Kids, for example. At first, she liked most of that music, too. Then "No"reared its ugly head once more, and we whittled those songs down to about 4 that she liked. For those keeping score, we now had about 8 songs that were played on an infinite loop in the car. And woe unto me if I somehow deleted that playlist from my phone and had to skip through 20 songs to find the ones she wanted.

Stage 3 - The Muppets Sing
This process repeated for a while, but the very best thing that happened is our discovery of the vast library of music produced by The Muppets. At first, not surprisingly, she only like Elmo songs (Specifically, "Elmo's Song"). Then, gradually, she started to like Grover* ("Fuzzy & Blue" is awesome).

(*While I fully recognize that none of us are immune to commerce and the ever-present nature of licensed characters, I get a ridiculous amount of satisfaction out of the fact that my daughter's first exposure to Sesame Street was aural. It's sort of funny to me that she knew who Grover was, what he sounds like, and that he was blue well before she had ever actually seen him.)

After that, it was only a matter of time before Kermit, Miss Piggy, and Fozzie worked their way into circulation. I cannot express how happy and relieved I am that I can now listen to the soundtrack to The Muppets or The Muppet Movie rather than the umpteenth version of "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

And there is nothing better than a toddler singing "Mahna Mahna."

Still, I couldn't help but think there was a way to get her to listen to non-kids music, at least some of the time. Like many things, an answer came accidentally.

Stage 4 - BJ, Dionne and Dusty Sing*
Hollie and I needed to go shopping for something or another, and whatever the need, we had to go together, which meant taking LG with us. At some point on this trip, it started to rain, and on the walk back to the car, I started absentmindedly singing "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head."

To put it bluntly, LG thought this was amazing.

I make up a lot of songs on the fly, and I think she may have thought that's what I was doing; the big difference being that this was actually a good song. Every time it has rained since then, she goes "Raindrops keep falling on my head, Daddy!", which is occasionally just a statement and occasionally a singsongy request. Either way, it finally occurred to me to play BJ Thomas' version of the song for her.

Breakthrough!

That was just the beginning. On the album of Bacharach songs I have on my phone, "Raindrops" is followed by "Do You Know the Way to San Jose?", the high-pitched "whoa whoa whoa" chorus for which seems tailor made for little kids. And despite the regressive gender stereotypes implicit in the song, "Wishin' & Hopin'" also seems to push all the right buttons for LG.

In case you think I'm making this up, get a load of a recent dance she did to some Bacharach.


You'd think it was a remix based on these sweet moves.

*Much credit to Burt Bacharach and the recently departed Hal Davis. You don't realize how many of their songs you like, let alone how many of them were sung by Dionne Warwick, until you start looking at their output online.

Stage 5 - ???
It's ongoing process, for sure. Hopefully, I'll be able to sneak even more music into the rotation. Current plan of attack: Show tunes, followed by punk covers of show tunes. All the hours I've wasted on Me First & The Gimme Gimmes albums are finally going to pay off, I can feel it.

Bonus:
Sometimes just singing isn't enough. You need an instrument to express yourself fully.

Many Hands Make Light Work, Unless Two of the Hands are Very Small

One of the many signs that LG is growing up (she turns 2 in less than a month) is the fact that she wants to help with everything. In some cases, it means we actually get stuff done (marginally) faster, like when she wants to help put her diapers away. It other cases, it's something you put up with because it keeps her occupied and happy, and maybe you can actually make dinner while she's pretending to chop a tomato with a butter knife. In the best scenario, it's really cool, because it lets us share activities that I already enjoy. It gives me hope that we can come to enjoy these activities together, especially once she's a little more coordinated.

In nearly every case, though, it makes a huge mess.

Take this muffin adventure from two weeks ago.

Center bottom: "No, I don't know why Dad is wearing a v-neck to make muffins."

See those dishes in the sink? Yeah, like 90 percent of them were from muffin making. Between giving LG her own bowl of ingredients for every step and trying to prevent cross-contamination with eggs, I think we used half the Gladware and bowls in the kitchen.

That said, this was a lot of fun for all concerned. LG loves wearing her apron, so giving her a valid excuse to do so rather than just letting her wear it around the house is always a plus. (Hat tip to the Sreholser's for the good Captain.) If memory serves, she was actually a bit cranky before we decided to bake, and the act of helping out actually calmed her down.

The below video may be a bit on the long side, but it's amazing (to me, at least) how calm she stayed during the whole thing. I took implements out of her hand, kept eggs away from her, and she still took it all in stride because the whole process was just so interesting to her.



Side note: Pardon my attire. I had just gotten home from work, and we decided to do this right before bed. Easier to just doff the dress shirt than change clothes, given the time constraints.

Then there are one-off tasks, which in the below instance wasn't really a task we were actively engaged in. She just wanted to sweep.

I really enjoy the sidelong glance she's giving the broom, like she just doesn't trust it.
Neither do I, sweetie. Neither do I.

The day after the muffins, we got some corn at the farmers market. I have fond memories of shucking corn with my brothers in our garage when I was young, although I remember being really bad at it. I guess this is a bone to pick with my Dad. Why did it take me so long to shuck corn?

If I had to guess, I'd say it's because I did it the same way LG is attempting: a single layer of husk at a time. All the more reason to get her started early, so by age 6 or so, she can do it by herself, quickly.

Please note our choice of age-appropriate pop culture t-shirts.

I won't embed the video of the corn shucking, but you're welcome to check it out on our YouTube Channel. Feel free to hum the corn-shuckin' folk song of your choice while watching.

More recently, LG helped out in the kitchen at Hollie's parents' house. While she spent equal time eating pepperoni as actually helping, she certainly enjoyed splashing tomato sauce all over these pizzas.

Guess how many toddler handsful of cheese it takes to cover a pizza.
Answer: Way more than I have the patience for. That's why Hollie and Aunt Heather helped her on this one.

Other activities she wants to help with:

- Walking the dog: For which I need to use the extra-long leash so I have room to hold the middle so Lola doesn't drag LG down the sidewalk.

- Selecting produce at the supermarket: Okay, so I select the produce. But I do let her put it in the bag. Anything to keep her in the cart.

- Wiping her tray after dinner: She barely lets us clean her face after any given meal, but give her the wet washcloth afterward, and she'll wipe all manner of smeared apple sauce, yogurt or mushed peas off of her tray. Granted, most of this ends up on the floor, but that's when the dog helps out.

Everybody pulls their own weight somehow!

Too awesome to forget (but we might, hence the blog record...)

LG's mama here. I have been bugging Matt to make a list of all the funny things LG has been doing recently so we don't forget them. She's turning into a little person right before our eyes, with full sentences and opinions and an imagination. I'm afraid she'll grow out of these particular toddler-isms soon, and we won't remember them. He then suggested (rightfully so) that I record them in the blog, so here we are. In no particular order, here are some of the completely endearing things LG has been doing lately:

• Oranges

LG knows all of her colors--not puce or chartreuse, but the biggies. She sometimes confuses black and white, which I like to attribute to the fact that she is unconcerned with the racial divide that still plagues this country, but for the most part, she nails it. However, nothing is ever "orange." Ask her what color her orange hat is. "Oranges." What about Zoe from Sesame street? "Oranges." Oranges? "Oranges." It is the sweetest thing in the world, and it's contagious as Matt and I have started using the plural for the color, too.

These flowers? Oranges.

•   Okay

Up until recently, LG never said "yes." Her responses to our never-ending questions where either an emphatic no or silence. Silence was obviously affirmative, so we went with it. She does actually say yes on occasion now, but more often than not, we get an "okay." Here is an example of a line of questioning that makes me laugh every time:

LG: Have it! (pointing to Matt's bagel and shaking her hands as if to imply that if she does not get the bagel in the next 10 seconds we'll regret it for the next 10 years.)
Me: Do you want a piece of Daddy's bagel?
LG: Okay. (said as if the sharing of the bagel was an unexpected but perfectly acceptable idea that Mommy came up with all on her own. A tiny toddler shrug is implied.)
END SCENE 

•  Give the dog a bone

LG knows lots of dogs: a beagle named Kola, a shih tzu named Chewie, a boxer named Chloe and, of course, Lola. She likes them all well enough. She's not all love them and kiss them and hug them and squeeze then and call them George about it like some kids, but she likes them. There is a pretty adorable trend though. When she's not around a particular dog for a while, she becomes very concerned about whether or not said dog has a bone. For example, if you're talking about how she's going to Connecticut to visit Kristen and Don, she asks about Chewie. Once you let her know that, yes, she will see Chewie, she asks in a voice dripping with anxiety: "Bone????" She relaxes a little when you assure her that Kristen and Don would not deny this poor dog his bone. Then the calming mantra of  "Chewie has a bone" begins.

• Toddler Loops

Doing silly things over and over again is not LG-specific. Toddlers are masters of the loop. However, there are two baffling loops she gets into. One may be my fault. I once took two cups and knocked their ends together and said the fateful phrase "Clippity Clop." Now, it's like a never-ending Monty Python skit in our house.* Everything must be shoved onto/into one's hands and made to go "Clippity Clop." Cups,  blocks, dinosaurs, anything. Mama must do it. Daddy must do it. All. the. time. The other loop is totally Matt's fault.  One evening Matt made a game of letting LG shuffle away from him and pulling her back into his lap with a "No, no, no" to emphasize that her attempts at escape are futile. Giggling ensues and all is right with our little family unit. Sounds fun, right? Less fun the 15th time she has dragged you to the living room demanding the "Nonono" game. She even recognizes that, by the 6th time, we're not into it because she stops really trying to get away because she knows we'll let her.

Don't even get me started on the hokey pokey. Or, rather, don't get her started on the hokey pokey. We'll be turning ourselves around all night. 

• I heart nature

This one is a point of personal pride with me. Kid loves touching bugs and will talk about all buggie encounters for days. LG's retelling of an encounter with a pillbug was filled with flapping arms and wiggling fingers, breathless excitement, and shouts of "UP MY ARM!" in full voice. LG is usually very gentle and not at all squeamish. She can also identify by name with some consistency robins, doves, geese, cardinals, blue jays, parrots, ducks, chickadees, and chickens. For the record (because I will forget) she's been naming these birds for months now. 

The aforementioned pillbug. UP MY ARM!
(Notice the cup on her hand.  That was a "Clippity Clop moment in progress.)

And, I may have mentioned it before, LG calls seeds "baby trees."

I can say without hyperbole that that may be the single cutest thing ever released into the interwebs.

• Running and jumping

It may come as a surprise to our friends and family that Matt and I may not have produced the most athletically gifted child. With his estimated Little League average at .050 and my two big points spanning my basketball career, LG will most likely not be a professional athlete. We've come to terms with it. Plus, if she was physically adept, I would not have the joy I feel every time I see this kid run and jump. Jumping only recently involves her feet leaving the ground, which is a step above the stage where she shouted "jump," but only simulated actually jumping with her upper body. You know when a gymnast takes that big stutter step after a particularly complicated vault that causes the whole arena to gasp? That's every hop for LG. However, the running is the best. I will be very sad when LG starts running like an actual human being. The poetry that is all of her limbs moving in opposite directions when she tries to run defies description, but since this is a blog I'll try. It's like a crab is simultaneously trying to swat away a fly and rumba... but with some forward thrust. Can't visualize it? This video may help a bit, but you really should see it in person. It's amazing.

All in all, there is way too much that she does every day that makes me laugh to include here. So, as a parting gift, a portrait:

Man, I love this kid!

*Get it? Holy Grail? Horse sounds with coconuts? No? Uncultured swine....

Making it Rain

I like to make things. Whether I get it from my parents (who have been crafting and woodworking my entire life) or whether I'm just tapped into the current Maker movement, I just like to create. It's why I like LEGOs, origami and cooking so much, I think. (It's not coincidence that all of those things usually involve a set of detailed instructions. I said I like to create. I didn't say I was creative. I leave that to Hollie.)

Now hold that thought.

When it got super hot last week, Hollie and I were initially satisfied to break out LG's little kiddie pool to help her (and us) cool off a bit. LG, like most kids, loves playing with water. That said, the pool has a finite capacity for creative play. In short, Hollie and I got bored with it faster than LG did. So, in an effort to expand the kinds of play available to us, Hollie got some water balloons.

These were a big hit! Though they mostly hit the ground right in front of her.

Seriously, she does enjoy water balloons, but playing mostly involves throwing them straight down while yelling.

While this was an improvement on basic pool play, Hollie and I both thought we could do more. And then the Maker bug hit.

I don't remember when Hollie passed me a link about making a water wall, but it stuck in my head. So on Independence Day during LG's nap, I dug through the shed and the recycling bin, and found everything I'd need.

The best thing about being the sort of person who likes to make stuff is that you almost always have things on hand to make that stuff. My father, for instance, literally has been collecting wood for decades, and if he wants to build something, he has several tons (This is not an exaggeration; you can measure his collection in tons.) of wood lying around ready to go. Likewise, my mother's stash of paints, paper, stencils, stickers, beads and baubles is apparently limitless (and impeccably organized).

Start with a couple of pieces of scrap wood, some plastic bottles, and a handful of screws. Add a small cordless drill and about 40 minutes, and voila!

Not as complicated as the one I linked earlier, but if you look closely, you'll see that it's modular, which means I can add to it or change it around later.

The temperature kept rising last week. We got the pool out around 85 degrees, water balloons at 89, water wall as the mercury cruised into the mid-90s on July 4. But the forecast for Saturday was 103. And as the temperature rose, so did my enthusiasm for doing something crazy. Heat will do that to you.

Earlier in the summer, we pulled out the oscillating sprinkler, which fascinated LG. She kept shouting "Raindrops on my head!" Having already introduced her to BJ Thomas' classic take on Burt Bacharach, this pleased me.

And once Hollie showed me what you see to your right, I knew what I had to do.

After a quick sketch with dimensions and a family trip to Lowes for some PVC and a handful of other supplies, I was well on my way. I was confident I could have something built in less than an hour.

But as a wiser man than I once said, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.

Or in my case, no rough sketch will take you all the way to implementation if you don't accurately count how many PVC joints are necessary to finish the darn thing. In short, I needed two additional trips to Lowes.

But at least I had help putting it together.

In the meantime, though, Hollie had her own set of creative things for LG to do in the water.

No, she is not baiting tiny pool sharks with chum.

Hollie had been thinking about dye-play for a while, and the extended time necessary for me to finish my project meant that she could experiment with dye packs she created using food coloring, water and small condiment containers. The only real problem was LG's apparent inability to walk to the opposite side of the pool.

Back to my boondoggle, er, creative endeavor, when it was all said and done, it probably took me about two-and-a-half hours to finish my one hour project. This is normal. You can't rush creativity! (Or PVC cement.)

But when it was complete? We had a good time.

The massive puddles in the yard were unexpected, but I prefer to think of this as a feature, not a bug.

She was reluctant to go through at first, but she got over it.

It should be noted that by this time, the water was quite cold.

And if she needed a little encouragement, well... that's what Daddy is for.

Father's Day, Year Two

Sometimes, you hit a particular milestone--say, your second Father's Day--and you struggle to put into words exactly what meaning that milestone has for you. You knew the day was coming, and you specifically thought about what you might write, but you came up blank.

And then sometimes, the day actually arrives, and a series of events crystallizes your thought process, rendering moot hypothetical situations like one described in the previous paragraph.

This past weekend, the day before Father's Day, we hosted a small get-together for a few friends who recently had children. The kids in question are still quite young (says the guy with the 21-month-old), just 4 and 6 months old. We really enjoyed the time together as young families (at least, Hollie and I did. I hope everyone else did, too).

But for me, what was neat was watching two other dads interacting with their kids. I'm not about to wax nostalgic about LG as a 4-or-6-month-old infant; I enjoy a regular night's sleep too much for that. And it got me thinking about that time in our lives. I watched as these two guys went through the same routines with their kids as I did, and I realized just how much has changed in a really short amount of time.

For instance, I rarely need to rock LG to sleep anymore. She doesn't need me that way because she learned how to soothe herself to sleep. And while I do pay attention while she eats, she can mostly handle that task by herself, too, so I don't have to sit her on my lap or spoon anything into her mouth (minus the occasional vegetable). If she's fussy, I don't spend nearly as much time guessing what's going on in her head, because much of the time, she can tell me. In this small span of time, she's amassed a tremendous amount of skill and knowledge. She's still the same kid, but she's also sort of not.

And in another year or so, those kids will have the same skills and knowledge. Some of it will come from their dads, just like LG learned some portion of those things from me. It's not easy--though often fun--but we're building these little people, one nap, one spoonful, and one word at a time. When I see how far she's come, it doubles as a realization for how far I've come. (Cue the very special episode music.) And how much further we have to go.

Now that the metaphors have been dispensed with, I also have physical evidence for how far we've come. Last year on Father's Day, we went to a rinky-dink carnival at a local mall. You know the kind; half the thrill of any given ride is whether or not the thing will fly to pieces while you're in the middle of it.

Last year, LG and I rode the carousel, and it was difficult to get a picture because she spent most of the ride reaching out for me to pull her off the godforsaken fiberglass horse. This year, between the carnival and a trip earlier in the day to the Camden Children's Garden, she rode the carousel five times.

But who knows, maybe it was the chicken.

Hollie and I also crammed into a very small train last year, and while there was slightly less clawing to get off than on the carousel, we did bear witness to one of the first instances of the phenomenon we would come to call "worried hands." This year, there was no train to be had, which was fine because LG didn't need Mom and Dad cramping her style by tagging along.

Not when there were steering wheels and bells to be had.

I'll need Hollie to back me up, but I think she might have ridden that fire truck two or three times in addition to a similar set of jalopies, which she rode multiple times.

We take a lot of pictures, and we don't often take the time to compare one particular point in the year with another. The changes are fascinating and bittersweet. And, frankly, more than a little terrifying.

Parental Bias and My Inability to Guess a Child's Age

It is inevitable, I suppose, that every parent will at some time or another brag about his kid. I'm sure I've been guilty of it in these very pages. If I'm being honest, the very essence of this blog is about showing off my kid, and what is that, if not bragging? Be that as it may, I'm perhaps hyper aware of the fact that all parents think their kids are the best, and while I'm no different, I don't want to heap praise on LG undeservedly (which is probably super annoying to people who aren't my wife). As best as I can, I try to stick to the facts.

Do I think she's cool? You betcha. Is she a lot of fun these days? Absolutely. Is she smart, dextrous, athletic? Yes? Maybe? Good for her age? The truth is this: I have no idea. I just think it's cool to see what she's capable of.

Like ruining a perfectly good funny face picture by being so stinkin' cute.

It's really hard, especially with your first kid, I think, to be entirely sure whether or not they are smart or physically adept. You can read milestone charts, and be impressed with her progress. You can tell the pediatrician all about the wonderful things your kid can do, and wait for (and receive) the practiced smile and nod of approval. But spend one afternoon at a playground watching a bunch of other kids run, tumble, climb and shout; I guarantee you'll have no idea whether your kid's progress is normal or not.

By way of example, we went to the park yesterday. And she stunned me by leaving behind the relatively short play equipment we typically climb, and doing her level best to give me a heart attack by seeking out the tallest, least-guardrail-adorned structure on the playground. I am, of course, both excited for and terrified by her rapidly increasing ability to climb. And while she's doing just fine, she's still climbing steps on her hands and knees, not using ladders or monkey bars. So imagine my confusion when two children--who don't look much older than LG--come over and practically leap up the side of a ladder, blast past my daughter and vault down the twisty slide.

Wait a minute. Here I am, impressed with my kid's physical prowess, and she's summarily shamed by these tiny dervishes. Their caretaker casually walks up and asks LG's age. "About 20 months," I sheepishly reply. "And yours?" I'm silently dreading the answer, because I don't want to know just how far behind my kid is, as she struggles up the last step before the slide. Am I too cautious? Does she need more free rein, less hand-holding? Please, ma'am, what can I do to make my child less physically awkward?

Her answer? "They'll be 3 in September."

This revelation not only relieves any remaining concerns I have about LG's athleticism, but immediately throws my fatherly pride into overdrive. These kids are a full year older than her, and look how well she's doing now! In another year, she'll be turning somersaults up the side of the play tower and performing a back handspring off the ledge.

Clearly, I have problems with expectations versus reality.

Yeah... we have a long way to go before back handsprings.

Also, while I didn't think 75th percentile for height meant she was that tall, it clearly means she's bigger than I realize. No way I'd have guessed those kids were a year older than her.

To be fair, I am perhaps overly concerned with issues of physical development. I was a gangly kid, and I sucked at sports. It's not that I want her to be good at sports (and honestly, I don't really care if she plays any), but I'd like her to not be a total spaz like her dad.

And as for mental acuity, that might even be more difficult to assess comparitively. Again, I think she's doing well. She loves books. I mean really, really loves books. She's already memorized a few of her shorter books, and will say the words as you turn the page. She sometimes does this frighteningly quickly. I have no idea when that sort of thing is supposed to start.

She talks a lot. She sings a few songs. And of course, she only does this when it's just me or Hollie around. Unlike the physical stuff, I have no way of comparing her development with other kids. And even if she didn't clam up around other people, it's not like there's a park where you take your kids and you all read and sing together. (Actually, I guess that's the library.)

But occasionally, I'll get lucky, and we'll get something on video. And even though I don't have any idea whether other 20-month-old kids can do what I'm about to show you, I still think it's pretty darn impressive. Adjust your language receptors to toddler, and I think you'll agree.

See? How many kids under 2 know the alphabet that well?

If you know the answer, please don't tell me. For now, I prefer to think my kid is a genius. I'm not bragging, just stating the facts.

My daughter is a weirdo (and other Muppets as assigned)

A lot of development has happened in the two months since I last wrote here. LG has gone from one-word declarations to two-, three-, and four-word statements and sort-of questions. Individual words have become more complex, with two-syllable words very common, and the occasional three-syllable word popping up without warning. She can distinguish and name about 15 capital letters of the alphabet. (I'm not entirely certain how this happened. It could be her alphabet stickers, or working with her Grammy.)

Her memory of past events continues to surprise me; without any prompting, she'll walk up to you and say, "Chewie bone!" referring to friends' dog that we haven't seen in five weeks and the fact that they played with a Nylabone together. (Yes, my daughter played with a slimy Nylabone. She's gnawed on worse.)

Not pictured: Nylabone

But the biggest change in the last few weeks is that LG has gotten weird.

Exhibit A: At the aforementioned visit with Chewie & Co. (in Connecticut), we went out for dinner to a nice tapas restaurant in New Haven. Our three-hour car ride up the previous evening was horrible with a capital H, so it was with some trepidation that we brought LG to a nice dining establishment. She'd done well in restaurants before, but she had been low on sleep for the previous 24 hours. We were nervous.

Turns out, everything was fine, and she ate very well. (Sidebar: She loved chorizo and dates. She hated razor clams.) But the whole experience took a turn for the strange when she turned her gaze to a fixed point on the ceiling, waved as if to a good friend, and said "Hi!" This continued for some time. She'd eat for a few minutes, then tip back to look at the same area of the ceiling, wave, say hi, and occasionally engage the invisible ceiling person in more meaningful discussion (at least, it sounded meaningful. It was certainly emphatic.). I can't put my finger on why, exactly, but as the meal wore on, this behavior started to feel really creepy. Maybe it was the fact that there weren't many people in the restaurant. Maybe it was because it was dimly lit. Maybe it was because her exclamations were increasingly fervent, as if she was warning us about something.

Maybe this says more about me than it does my daughter.

Exhibit B: As noted, LG still isn't wild about the car. Most short trips are okay, but if an outing will involve strapping her into the car seat more than twice, you know you're gearing up for a fight.

Which is why it's so strange that this happens any time the car seat is in the house:

LG to self: I hate this seat SO much.

Every time. Seriously, child, what is your deal?

Exhibit C:

I admit it. This isn't that weird. I just like the picture.

Exhibit D: We're out to breakfast the other day (yes, another story about going out to eat). The Station House is a nice little diner with a good menu that doesn't get terribly crowded on weekend mornings. The flipside of no crowds is that there's just one server.

The food was taking its sweet time getting to our table, so we busied ourselves pointing at the country craft decor, and asking LG if she could identify the various animals featured. Yes, that's a duck. What sound does it make... yadda yadda yadda. This progressed until we got to pig.

Hollie: "What sound does a piggy make, sweetie?"
LG: "Hiiii-ya! Aahhhhhh!"

Hollie: Yes, that's what sound Miss Piggy makes. Good job.

See? Total weirdo. I love it.