<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910</id><updated>2012-02-07T14:29:14.388-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Kiddo Chronicles</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>66</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6975572087942898269</id><published>2012-02-07T14:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-07T14:29:14.400-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aunt Carole</title><content type='html'>Aunt Carole passed away last night.  She died suddenly, in her sleep it sounds like, while visiting her sister in Florida.  I guess, in the overall scheme of things, it's about as peaceful as one could hope.  Just too soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden's favorite bedtime book is the scrapbook of her first year.  Every time we get to the baby shower picture with Uncle Fred, Aunt Ann, Aunt Carole and Corning she points to Corning and says, "Is that Corning?"  I tell her yes, and she points to the beautiful music box he gave her when she was a baby, the one with all the clowns and bears that spin and dance on separate platforms while the music plays.  She says, "Corning gave me that."  I tell her yes.  Then she asks why we don't see him, even though she's heard the answer a thousand times.  I tell her, "Because he died."  She always asks where he died and I always worry about my answer.  If I say "the hospital" I'm afraid she'll be scared of the hospital, but since that's the truth that's what I say.  I remind her that people start their lives there and sometimes they end their lives there too.  Then she always asks why he died.  I always tell her it's because people don't live forever; we're born, we live and then we die.  I tell her that Corning was in his 80s, which is old, and he lived a long, great life.  One time she asked me if children ever die.  I told her it's very, very rare, but it does happen sometimes.  Then, she turns the page and we move on to other pictures; other stories.  She doesn't remember Corning at all, but I think she might remember Aunt Carole, since we just saw her a few months ago and she came to the girls' events.  Still, she won't have the kind of long-term memories I'd want her to have.  She won't know what an energetic, happy person Aunt Carole was.  To know how much she loved family and how excited she always was to see the cousins, Mike, Beth and I (and sometimes Kevin) together at the Cousins Cookout, and how she loved watching all the kids playing together; the next generation.  I don't think I'll take the girls to the funeral; they wouldn't understand it and it would be a lot for me to handle.  But, I do want to make sure the cousins keep getting together at least once a summer if not more.  Aunt Carole always made it happen and now it's up to the next generation.  I just hate that we, the next generation, are coming up in the ranks now and wonderful people like Aunt Carole are passing away.  I'm going to miss her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6975572087942898269?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6975572087942898269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6975572087942898269' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6975572087942898269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6975572087942898269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2012/02/aunt-carole.html' title='Aunt Carole'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4353963856737916220</id><published>2012-02-06T18:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-06T19:29:25.419-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kaya Doodle 2012</title><content type='html'>And then there's doodle bug!  My little monkey is 2 1/2.  Major milestones of late:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's in a big girl bed!  The first night she was so proud of herself she did her happy hands happy feet all over the place (she spins her hands and feet around in happy circles).  Then, she came out of her room at 10pm, toddled down the hall and announced that she wanted yogurt and cherrios.  We put her back in bed.  11pm.  Same thing. We brought her back to bed and told her if she wanted to keep the bar down on her big girl bed, she'd need to stay in there.  Now, she stays in bed all night and if she needs us she calls.  Unless we leave her door open, or open it in the morning to wake her up. Then, all bets are off and she bounds out of bed and out of her room toward her big sister's room with shouts of "Hayden, I wanna watch Go 'Aigo Go!  You wanna come to Hayden?"  Hayden is not quite the morning person that her little sister is, so she usually lays in bed like a little bug, rolled up in a ball while her sister spins like a whirling dervish around the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other milestones: Kaya uses the potty now.  Sometimes.  She pooped in the potty for the first time on Friday.  It was a national event.  There was a viewing.  She announced that "Kaya no scared of the potty".  I'm not sure what caused the fear in the first place, she wasn't afraid of peeing in the potty, just pooping for some reason.  But, I guess the fear has passed somewhat, but not enough for her to commit to the potty in earnest.  She dabbles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's all about yogurt and Cherrios, broccoli, mac and cheese and anything "spicy".  She even likes red peppers on pizza.  Crazy.  Totally in keeping with her personality.  She's our little wild child.  The joke is that when they're teenagers, Hayden will be the one to come in and say, "Mom, Dad, I totally trashed the car" and it will turn out she hit a curb while parking.  Kaya?  She'll lose a bumper and when we ask about it she'll say, "Bumper?  What bumper?"  That's our girl. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kaya is obsessed with the idea of dance class.  She went last summer and she loved it, but she's too little for "big kid" classes, so she dresses in a leotard and tights and goes to her big sister's class with her and dances out in the waiting room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other great loves - the swing.  She announced that she can pump when she turns three.  Until then she tries, but she really won't commit.  Also, the idea of going on the "late bus" (the bus we pass on the way to school if we're running late).  Riding her tricycle and watching "Go Diego Go".  Oh, and counting...one, two, three, nine, ten. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite book?  "Are You My Mother?" read as "Are You My Mudder?"  I read every word except "Mother" and she interjects with "Mudder".  Super cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other great loves:  Dressing up the giraffe "Giraffee" "Leah" and "Aliah" depending on the day and the mood.  Most of the time Leah is celebrating her fifth birthday.  There's often cake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4353963856737916220?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4353963856737916220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4353963856737916220' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4353963856737916220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4353963856737916220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2012/02/kaya-doodle-2012.html' title='Kaya Doodle 2012'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5683295749774128766</id><published>2012-02-06T16:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-06T17:25:44.292-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No, really, now I mean it</title><content type='html'>I can feel the time slipping away and I know I'm going to wake up tomorrow and the girls will be in college (or out getting their first tattoo....or both) and I'll think, My God, where did the time go, and why didn't I document more of it?  I guess the real answer is, because I'm busy living it.  But still, I do want to embrace these moments as much as I can as often as I can.  My "not so New Years, seeing as it's February" resolution is to update once a week.  More if I can make it happen, but at least that will be something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, let's see...to catch up on the last year...sigh....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll start with Hayden:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started worrying about some speech issues about a year ago when she still called herself "Aiden" (not all that great since 'Aiden' just so happens to be the most common Boys' name in the country right now).  her best friend was "Ria" (rather than "Maria") and there were words we couldn't make any sense of at all, sometimes whole sentences.  It all came to a head when she was trying to tell her daycare friends a story about having a popsicle for dinner and she kept calling it an 'opsicle.  The kids were making fun of her and she cried about it on the way home.  So, I called the Elementary school to make an appointment for her to see a specialist.  As it turns out, One, she LOVES going to school to take tests and work with teachers (let's hope that sticks) and two, all it really took was taking her to talk to a teacher to make her want to work on pronunciation herself.  Now she works on words all the time and she's getting MUCH better.  Tonight's big accomplishment was "refrigerator".  She's just a little rock star. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To that end, we're trying to decide whether to put her in half day or full day Kindergarten.  Everyone says full day is the way to go, but she just seems so little (Well, not little exactly, she's practically 5 feet tall already) and the idea of having her there all day just seems so "big kid" for my little girl.  She's just growing up so fast!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What Hayden is into:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A Very Young Everything" - I gave her my old copy of "A Very Young Dancer" and she's been an addict ever since.  We read that book all. the. time.  That was a gateway drug to "A Very Young Rider" and then I got her "A Very Young Skater" for Christmas.  I just went online and ordered "A Very Young Gymnast" and "A Very Young Circus Flier" to complete her collection.  I love that she loves those books.  They're black and white, kind of grainy, quite verbose, and yet she loves them.  Just like I did when I was her age.  It's so neat to see the parts of her that are so much like me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's also into coloring my students' quizzes.  They take vocab quizzes every Friday and to kill time they draw pictures on the back.  If she chooses their pictures to color they get extra credit.  So, of course the kids all angle to see what she's into so they can hedge their bets.  Lately?  "Tangled" "Disney On Ice" and anything related to ducks, specifically mallards.  I know, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disney On Ice comes from the fact that we took her there a few weeks ago (my mom and I) to see 100 Years Of Magic.  She was enthralled.  Mouth gaping open every time a princess hit the ice, just in awe.  The one tragic mommy mistake of the night?  I didn't get her a program.  She didn't have anything to show her daddy and little sister who didn't go.  One night I felt so guilty I couldn't sleep (I know, what does this say about my future as a parent?). At 1am I was online trying to find a program to buy.  No luck finding a program, but I did find a link to Disney on Ice Dare to Dream a princess centered show in Boston.  So, in the middle of the night, rather than ordering a program, I ended up getting tickets to a whole new show.  That will teach me to pony up the $20 for a program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else is my little monkey into right now?&lt;br /&gt;Her bicycle (with training wheels) and her scooter&lt;br /&gt;Her blue Bunny (always and forever)&lt;br /&gt;Stripping down as soon as she gets home and putting on costumes (sometimes for ice shows, sometimes for ballet recitals), always with the comment, "Mommy, you sit there.  You have to be Nutcracker quiet." Nutcracker quiet is the highest level of devoted silence.  It comes from the annual trip to see The Nutcracker, where Hayden sits stone still for an hour and a half, completely engrossed in the Nutcracker.  Same thing watching the Seattle Ballet version (stage and costumes by Maurice Sendak) on the tv. She'll watch the whole thing start to finish, completely enthralled. &lt;br /&gt;Dancing.  What she lacks in natural gifts perhaps (like her mother) she makes up for in sheer love (like her mother). &lt;br /&gt;Skating.  She took lessons for four months.  20 minutes into the first lesson she was on her feet with no aids, and by the end she could go backward and forward with relative ease.  So amazing to see.  Her favorite part?  Playing on the stands after class.  Seriously, we could have saved $200 by just taking her there and letting her run up and down the bleachers.  But, now she can skate too as an added bonus.  Highlight of the skating season?  The class where I managed to put her skates on the wrong feet, have her helmet on too loose so every time she looked down it fell into her eyes and dress her in tights that gave her a weggie.  Poor kid kept looking down to check her odd feeling skates only to have her helmet slip down over her eyes, to be left blinded picking at a weggie on the ice.  These are the moments you just can't capture on video. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else is my girl into these days?&lt;br /&gt;Bagels with cream cheese and peanut butter (at the same time. Ick). Yogurt and cherrios (there is no other breakfast) and mommy's "fuzzy water" (seltzer).  But only in a big girl cup.  Oh, and only big girl forks for her.  Gone are the days of anything that seems babyish.  At all.  Oh, and broccoli.  Always a hit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know there's so much more....but at least I've captured something of a snapshot.  Now, onto Kaya Doodle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5683295749774128766?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5683295749774128766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5683295749774128766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5683295749774128766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5683295749774128766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2012/02/no-really-now-i-mean-it.html' title='No, really, now I mean it'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3805630194133879992</id><published>2011-03-11T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-11T20:35:09.090-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Resolution Fail</title><content type='html'>Okay Rocky, this time for sure.  I really do want to get better about keeping up with this blog, at least once a week, just to have a record for myself if nothing else (since, let's face it, nobody is reading this anymore since I update so infrequently).  For starters, what's up with the kids?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden:  She has two Bostons.  A close Boston and a far Boston.  The far Boston is near Harper's house in California, and you have to take a plane to get there.  She spends most of her time at close Boston.  In close Boston the downstairs is outside and the upstairs is inside.  She has several babies, the oldest, Lisa, is almost three (The name Lisa comes from an episode of Care Bears that she was obsessed with for a while).  Speaking of obsessions, Hayden is obsessed, completely obsessed with babies being born and crying.  She'll watch documentaries of childbirth, youtube videos, anything.  In a pinch she'll watch shows with babies on them (Rugrats etc.) but given the choice she's all about the actual birth process.  Who knows, maybe there's a future in the OB there somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other obsessions:  Blue Bunny (of course).  She knows she has two now, but she doesn't care.  Her tricycle, which she rides at break neck speed around the house.  Inside the house, just to be clear.  Play Dough.  Of course.  Who doesn't love that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Kaya: Obsessions:  Play dough (to eat, not to play with).  "Mia Mia" kitty at Heidi's house (as in, "What did you do today Kaya? "  "Mia Mia!"  (For the record, the cat's name is "Milo".  He was Mia for about a week before they found out that she was in fact a he.)   Purple Monster Monty, her purple blanket bear thing that she can't be without.  Her bottle and her songs at bedtime.  She gets "ABCs" which she knows most of, "Twinkle Twinkle" (her obsession) "Itsy Bitsy Spider" (which she can't resist doing the hands to, even though it means putting down her bottle) and "Circle Game", my personal favorite.  When I finish the songs she puts down her bottle, gives me a round of applause, and then picks the bottle back up again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foods:  Both love pizza and as long as they make it they'll eat anything on it (green olives, anything).  Hayden loves brocolli, and anything she can dip in anything.  Oh and yogurt, we should own stock in Stonyfield Yogurt we go through so much of it.  Kaya loves anything her sister loves, and water in a special cup. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Books:  Hayden:  Angelina Ballerina, If You Give a Moose a Muffin, pretty much anything else&lt;br /&gt;Kaya:  I Spy, Bear At Home, The Wheels on the Bus. (She sings the song...so cute!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for now, must go to bed, kids will be up too soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3805630194133879992?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3805630194133879992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3805630194133879992' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3805630194133879992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3805630194133879992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2011/03/resolution-fail.html' title='Resolution Fail'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1436932398656927865</id><published>2010-10-12T16:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-12T16:38:41.857-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And the goal is....</title><content type='html'>The goal is to actually update this blog more than, say, every year or so.  Maybe if I could figure out how to link it to my Facebook page I'd be more motivated....add that to the long list of things to figure out...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The long list of things to figure out:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why the drawers to Kaya's dresser won't close&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How to give Kaya a time out that doesn't end with her laughing hysterically and me looking at the ceiling to keep from doing the same&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whether or not I'm missing precious bonding time by not staring lovingly into Kaya's eyes as I give her her nightly bottle, and instead using that time to read People Magazine over her head&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If my children will be somehow warped by thinking that their mother only wears sushi print pjs &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If it's okay that I could easily care for a family of four for over a week with only what's on the floor of the car.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1436932398656927865?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1436932398656927865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1436932398656927865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1436932398656927865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1436932398656927865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2010/10/and-goal-is.html' title='And the goal is....'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6389901512834227624</id><published>2010-05-06T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-06T17:16:44.834-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So, it's only been what, a half a year?  What's that in the overall scheme of things?  Let's see...what's been happening?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, the milestone stuff:  Kaya crawls, cruises and claps.  She also points, says something resembling "dada" and something I pretend is "mama" even though it's more like "mmmmm".  I take what I can get.  She's super cute and in almost every respect a really easy baby.  She goes to sleep without a fuss if I stay in the room.  If I leave, she cries, but as soon as I come back, she flops down and closes her eyes.  She doesn't do the "cry till you barf" routine that Hayden was so famous for (thank God!).  But then, we don't really test it either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Hayden, she's 2 1/2 going on 12.  She says, "That would be AWFUL!" after announcing the most likely looming disaster (As in, "If I jump, I fall.  That would be AWFUL!").  She's able to carry on real conversations now and she can understand some subtlties that we don't always think about.  So, we have to be a bit careful now about what discussions we have with her in earshot, unless we're okay with hearing them repeated in any situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In terms of "baby book" style memories...for postarity, here's Hayden's bedtime routine:&lt;br /&gt;7:30 - get pjs on "All by myself".&lt;br /&gt;Ride around the house on her tricycle in her pjs&lt;br /&gt;Make a bottle.  Yes, I know.&lt;br /&gt;Ride to the bedroom on her tricycle with blue bunny on the handlebars and bottle in hand&lt;br /&gt;Read a book.  Current favorites:  Richard Scary Around Town, Are You My Mother, Polar Bear, Polar Bear, The Little Engine That Could&lt;br /&gt;Drink Bottle&lt;br /&gt;Go Potty and Brush teeth.  (This can take anywhere from ten minutes to a half hour)&lt;br /&gt;Go back to the bedroom and shut off the lights.&lt;br /&gt;Sing "ABC Song", "Twinkle Twinkle" "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and, for the grand finale "Baby Beluga"&lt;br /&gt;Kiss goodnight and go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Average light's out time: 8:30pm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6389901512834227624?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6389901512834227624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6389901512834227624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6389901512834227624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6389901512834227624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2010/05/so-its-only-been-what-half-year-whats.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1215417110415464041</id><published>2009-12-09T07:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T07:58:58.665-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_I0tvz8NI/AAAAAAAACeo/B6WiZJIk_Xo/s1600-h/IMG_3574.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_I0tvz8NI/AAAAAAAACeo/B6WiZJIk_Xo/s320/IMG_3574.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413266085081510098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another year, another Perfect tree!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_I0KRYLJI/AAAAAAAACeg/rcSshR90EUw/s1600-h/IMG_3573.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_I0KRYLJI/AAAAAAAACeg/rcSshR90EUw/s320/IMG_3573.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413266075558620306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Cutting down the Chrismas Tree at Sargent Farm the weekend after Thanksgiving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_Izk3X-ZI/AAAAAAAACeY/OamKS4LZ0-0/s1600-h/IMG_3555.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_Izk3X-ZI/AAAAAAAACeY/OamKS4LZ0-0/s320/IMG_3555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413266065517443474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The girls enjoying their Christmas Photo Shoot&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1215417110415464041?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1215417110415464041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1215417110415464041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1215417110415464041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1215417110415464041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/12/another-year-another-perfect-tree.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/Sx_I0tvz8NI/AAAAAAAACeo/B6WiZJIk_Xo/s72-c/IMG_3574.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5500888375999557289</id><published>2009-12-09T07:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T07:49:59.309-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa....</title><content type='html'>Hayden has an interesting relationship with this guy, Santa.  Last year she really had no clue about the whole thing, or so we thought.  Then, in June I got her a Fisher Price Noah's Ark and she immediately identified Noah as "Santa".  No amount of discussion or correction can change this.  He is Santa.  Now we're in the season of non-stop, neck deep Santa mayhem.  We don't spend time in malls (even before the whole "Swine Flu" scare, we weren't big fans, but now the idea of hanging out in a petri dish of sneeze is even less appealing). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I explained the concept of Santa a few weeks ago, "be good.... keeping track....will bring something, maybe, depending on what you ask for, if you're good....".  I asked Hayden what she'd like, and after thinking for quite a while she announced that she'd like "nunus and butter" (noodles and butter).  I'm all about her shooting low.  Of course, the fact that the only real choices she gets these days invlove what she eats and what book she reads before bed may have something to do with it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, last Thursday, we went to the annual Christmas lighting in downtown Exeter.  We decided early on that we weren't going to wait in line to see Santa, since Hayden really didn't seem to care and the "terror to fun" ration just didn't seem likely to be in our favor.  But, while we were waiting lin line for a hay ride, we saw Hayden's friend Ryan in line for Santa, and we went over to say "hi".  In a very "Christmas Story" moment, Hayden was taken by the hand by an Elf and escorted up the stairs to Santa before she even had a chance to process the whole thing (or myself for that matter).  The Elf explained that Santa was in a hurry and really didn't have much time, but he could say a quick "hello" (Santa is on a very tight schedule these days).  To Hayden's credit, she didn't cry.  She just clung to me looking pretty horrified by the whole experience.  That is, until it was all over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we were done, she ran to Brian (who was still in line for the hayride) and announced that she had seen Santa. &lt;br /&gt;"Did you talk to Santa?" Brian asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Uh, hu," Hayden said excitedly.  "I ask Santa Dollhouse."&lt;br /&gt;"A dollhouse?" (This was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; not on our radar).&lt;br /&gt;"Uh, hu.  Santa bring dollhouse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope Santa was listening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5500888375999557289?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5500888375999557289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5500888375999557289' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5500888375999557289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5500888375999557289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/12/santa.html' title='Santa....'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6330258254763719923</id><published>2009-12-09T07:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T07:35:30.600-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A long overdue update</title><content type='html'>It's five months later now and life is just chugging along so fast that there's hardly any time to update.  But, the holidays are upon us now, so how about a quick recap of the past few months. When asked, Hayden said that she's most proud of the fact that she "close eyes and go night night on mat."  She also, "play soccer right now" (with, in this case a plastic head from some long forgotten toy).  After rolling the ball under the couch, she went to find "Baby Kaya" to ask where the ball might be.  But, now, she's cheering her sister on as Kaya rolls  back and forth on the floor.  Other Kaya milestonse:  She can sit up unassisted (for a few minutes anyway; then she topples over onto the floor.)  She also eats rice cereal, which she seems to like, as long as you're willing to treat it like spackle and just keep on filling her mouth as she thrusts her tounge in and out.  As for sleep, not great.  Unlike Hayden, who didn't like going to bed on her own, Kaya is happy to be put down awake at night, and she can fall asleep on her own.  She just wakes up.  A lot.  All night.  Over, and over and over again, to the point that we're thinking of putting the number for the gypsies on speed dial.  But, we're hopeful.   Guardedly optimisitic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Hayden, she talks up a storm and is a total big girl.  Right now, she's "calling" Maria on the phone, and she'll probably have a long conversation about cabbages and kings, most of which will make sense to the casual listener.  She knows she has brown hair, brown eyes, and she can name all of her body parts and the color of pretty much everything.  Right now she's just announced that she's going to "go potty poop".  She's had some success at daycare, but not at home yet.  So, this could be a first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we're all home doing the happy snowday dance.  In a few minutes we'll decorate the Christmas tree (it's been up for two weeks.  It went a week with no lights, and now it has lights,  garland and bows.  We're hoping to put the finishing touches on today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6330258254763719923?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6330258254763719923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6330258254763719923' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6330258254763719923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6330258254763719923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/12/long-overdue-update.html' title='A long overdue update'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2874535063132102348</id><published>2009-07-14T17:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T17:06:40.707-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I did not expect</title><content type='html'>1. Kaya sleeps! I'm sure I'm jinxing myself, cursing myself etc. etc. so on and so forth, but I'm going to come out and say it anyway. My girl sleeps! She's been sleeping from 11pm to around 4am, getting up to nurse and going back down until between 9:15 and 10:15. I've had to go in to make sure she's still breathing. But, before you hate me too much, remember that I am also the mother of the non-stop puking will not sleep ever child. So, this is nature's way of making sure Kaya survives infancy. (On that note though, Hayden went to sleep like a big girl tonight for the first time in a month after Daddy had a long talk with her about how she can do it...I think it was her Father's Day gift to him.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I thought Hayden would be jealous of me nursing Kaya, because I can't really do much with her while Kaya is eating. What I didn't count on is that Hayden was/is TERRIFIED of seeing Kaya nurse. The first time she saw it she came running over yelling, "No, Baby! No!" and "Uh Oh Mommy!" She was desperate to get Kaya to stop. In all the "You're a Big Sister" books we got for Hayden, none of them mentioned breast feeding. They all said things like "babies drink milk" with pictures of a baby with a bottle. Fine, but not that helpful to our situation. So, we've talked about how the baby isn't biting Mommy and how the baby isn't hurting Mommy (which some of you know is only slightly true, since nursing hurts like hell the first week or two). But, she seems to have come around. Unfortunately now she says things like "Baby Booby?". I tried for "breast" but it just didn't feel right. I should have known that "booby" is way too much fun to resist saying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Hayden and Maria are both obsessed with watching me change Kaya's diaper. It's like a national pastime for those two. I don't know if it's just that she's so small or if it's the fact that someone other than them has a diaper, but whatever it is, they seem to love the fact that Kaya is almost always poopy. Me, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Hayden has renamed herself and her sister. She is now "Dee Dee" and Kaya is "Ki Ki". Most of the time Kaya is "baby" but when pressed, she'll call her "Ki Ki". We don't discourage this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I feel like our family is complete. I loved, loved, loved being pregnant and I really thought I'd mourn the fact that this is probably our last child, but at least in the last week (which I realize isn't much time in the overall scheme of things) I really feel like we're a family. With Hayden it felt like us as a couple with a baby, but now I really feel like we're a family in a more solid, complete way. I don't know if that makes sense, but it feels good to feel that way. Who knows, maybe we'll have more, but I feel like I can put away my maternity clothes without a pang.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I think I had Post Partum Depression with Hayden. I don't know if it was to the point of being full scale PPD, but looking back now I can see that it was there. I remember being afraid to pick up Hayden, afraid to put her down, terrified about driving with her, feeling incapable of taking care of her basic needs, and feeling utterly dependent on Brian. Now, some of that is just first time parenting and some of it was because I was so incapacitated by the c-section, but I really think some of it went beyond all of that, or at the very least came out of that and then grew. In the past week, I feel like myself. Not some supermom but not an incompetent freak who doesn't deserve children. Just me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure there's more but my baby is calling....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2874535063132102348?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2874535063132102348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2874535063132102348' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2874535063132102348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2874535063132102348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/07/things-i-did-not-expect.html' title='Things I did not expect'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5777640591996757760</id><published>2009-07-14T17:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T17:05:50.404-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Birth</title><content type='html'>Saturday June 13th was Kaya's due date, but as of Friday night I was still feeling nothing that felt like anything close to labor. I wasn't comfortable, but at 40 weeks pregnant, who is? At about 3:45am I felt the first real contraction, so I started timing them and trying to rest in between each one. They were about 10 minutes apart at that point so I just glanced at the clock to make sure things were on track and rested. Because we were going for a VBAC (Vaginal birth after c-section) they didn't want me to labor at home for too long so I figured when we got near the five minutes apart mark we'd have to think about leaving. But, in the meantime I wanted Brian to be able to rest as much as possible. By 6am the contractions were less than 7 minutes apart, so I got up to take a shower. Brian was up when I got out, and we decided it was probably a good idea to make some calls to get Hayden taken care of for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michelle and Paul came over with Maria at around 7:30, which was perfect, because we knew Maria was exactly the kind of distraction Hayden would need. Sure enough, they took Hayden with them to Maria's swim class and she occupied herself happily throwing toys in the pool and splashing in puddles, blissfully unaware that her little sister was on her way. In the meantime, we called my mom to come up for the weekend so that Hayden could stay at home in her comfort zone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a quick drive through Dunkin Donuts, we made it to the hospital by 8:30. By then, my contractions were 5 minutes apart and I couldn't walk or talk through them. I think we freaked out the front desk guy when I stopped mid-directions to have a contraction. Funny, it's a hospital, you'd think they'd be kind of used to that sort of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended up in triage for an hour with an older, fairly grumpy nurse who asked me about where I was on the pain scale about fifty times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a word or two about hypnobirthing: Since the whole idea is to use hypnosis techniques to distance yourself from the intensity of the experience, there are certain things that are discouraged, for example, usually you ask the nurse to word it some way other than "pain" when talking about the scale, and you also tend to discourage talk of time tables, since in hypnobirthing once things get going an hour tends to feel like about 10 minutes anyway, but talking about time can make it harder to stay in that "happy place".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt; So, I worked on getting myself into hypnosis while listening to a woman on the other side of the screen throwing up, and the nurse marking off my pain scale over and over (I was about a 6 at that point - 4cm with contractions just under 4 minutes apart.) All I wanted to do was get in the tub and relax, but the triage was just never ending. It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but because VBCACs are higher risk, there's a lot of poking, prodding and monitoring that goes on. One thing I did kind of like was the monitor that tracked my contractions. It was nice not having to tell Brian when one was coming since he could just see the rise of the line on the screen. At that point the way it worked was, every time a contraction started, Brian would work on relaxation/visualization/b&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;span class="word_break"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;reathing techniques with me. Because I was only at 4cm and we weren't at the heart of it yet, he spent most of the time just reminding me to relax my shoulders, etc. and to breathe in deeply and out deeply. Once I convinced Nurse Ratched to let me stand up, things felt a bit better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, my doctor came and asked if we had seen any rooms. The whole floor is set up like a bed and breakfast and the rooms are all beautiful, with big jacuzzi tubs and all medical necessities tucked behind movable pictures and in other out of the way spots. The first room they showed us was "Charmingfare" the name of the farm we take Hayden to all the time. It seemed like a good omen, and I had zero interest in room hopping, I just wanted to get in the tub ASAP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to wait for the doctor to come in to hook me up to the heart monitor, give me the IV for Group B strep and God knows what else. Luckily, it could all go in the water. But, waiting for the doctor felt like forever. Brian and I danced quite a bit over the course of the next hour. When a contraction came, I'd lean my head into his chest and he'd apply pressure to my lower back - it looked very much like Junior High 80s dancing. It helped quite a bit, and between contractions I could talk and just get settled in. Then, when one came I'd just say, "Brian, over here" and he'd come over and dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just after 10am the doctor came in and checked me. 6cm and around 80% effaced. Not too bad for just a few hours. Finally, they approved me to get in the water. We "lit" some fake candles that we had (nice, gentle flickering) turned on the music and Brian put some eucalyptus on a washcloth (such a great smell! Reminded me of riding on the motorcycle outside of San Francisco). I relaxed in the water and Brian read hypnobirthing scripts to me. Most were water related, so it was pretty easy to just close my eyes and get into the zone. Every time a contraction came, he would switch over to coaching about breathing and relaxing, and I just stayed down in my "hypno-place".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was interesting because there were people around quite a bit in the next few hours, poking, prodding, trying to take blood, etc. At one point there were three or so people in the room arguing about taking blood. I was in the water too deep and they couldn't get to my arm. I would have moved but they were trying mid-contraction, and there was just no way at that point that I could do anything other than just breathe. The tuned on the lights, came over and started arguing about what they should do. Brian put a washcloth over my eyes and just kept talking to me. I didn't realize any of it was going on until later when he told me about it. I knew he covered my eyes, and I knew there were people in the room, but I didn't have any idea that there was tension or that they were arguing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was no clock in the room so I have no idea where things were at time wise, and one of the greatest things about hypnobirthing is that an hour tends to feel like about 10 minutes (because you spend so much of the training convincing your mind of that) but I knew things were getting close because there was no breathing room between contractions and things were much more intense. My friends who have done hypnobirthing and I have talked about whether or not we'd describe the feeling as pain, and after a lot of thought, I'd really have to say no. I guess that's because when I think of pain I think of pulsing, radiating sensations (being cut with a knife or slamming something in a door) whereas this is just so totally different it doesn't really fit into that category. It's just intense, intense pressure. In my mind now I think of it kind of like being forced under water. For a while you're held under water for 30 seconds and you have four minutes to recover, then it's two minutes to recover, and then you only have about 10 seconds to catch your breath before you're down again. The more relaxed you are the more you can just keep going, but if you panic you start to drown and there's just no way to get back to relaxing after that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing that made the biggest difference for me toward the end was the understanding that when you hit the point of wondering what the hell you were thinking, it means you're almost done. I never wanted drugs and I never told Brian I couldn't do it, but at one point I did start to end contractions with, "shit, this is hard" and variations of that basic theme. Right around that time the doctor came in to check me. I was at 8 cm and +1 station (not sure what that means, even now). She said, "things are progressing well; it looks like it will be about another hour, maybe a bit more." Worst moment of the whole experience. The idea that this could go on for another hour almost did me in. Thank God for Erin and Mindy who both told me over and over that when you feel like you can't do it you're almost there. I just told myself over and over that she was wrong, that we were looking at ten minutes, and I imagined a graph in front of me, with all the mountains of contractions I had been through and about another 10 or so ahead of me. I figured I'd take those 10 one at a time and if I needed to add to the chart from there, so be it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse came in and told me it was probably time to get out of the water, since I could go from 8-10 really quickly. I told her I'd get out of the water after my doctor checked me again. I could just see myself standing there shivering and uncomfortable for an hour if my doctor turned out to be right. She kept trying to convince me to get out, and I told her to get my doctor in for another internal and we'd go from there. I'm sure she thought I was being pushy, but at that point I really didn't care. She left to get the doctor and all of a sudden a strong contraction hit and I found myself pushing. My water broke and I said something like, "I'm sorry, I pushed". The nurse rushed back in and said that I needed to get out of the water. Okay, but by that point, I had no idea how to do it. I was trying not to push, but it was completely beyond my control at that point (kind of like throwing up, the muscles just contracted without my consent). Brian coached me out of the tub step by step and I stood at the door of the bathroom asking where to go from there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We need to get her into the bed," the nurse said. &lt;br /&gt;I went over to the bed and stood next to it.&lt;br /&gt;"Can you get in?" the doctor asked?&lt;br /&gt;"No," I told her.&lt;br /&gt;"We need her in the bed," they told Brian. I really didn't think I could get into the bed, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they needed me laying in bed. Internals are done in all sorts of positions and situations and the last thing I wanted was to be laying down in a bed, because in terms of gravity there's no worse position to birth in. But, somehow they did manage to get me into the bed. The doctor examined me and then said, "don't push yet, I have to go get your chart". Um, okay. Will do. Again though, it's like throwing up, it's really not something one can control beyond a certain point. I found myself pushing hard with the next contraction, and apologizing as I did so. Brian kept telling me to just go with my body and I think the nurses just adjusted to the fact that this was going to happen with or without a chart. The next contraction her head crowned and they put my hand down to feel it, and then the next contraction I opened my eyes for the first time in about 2 hours and I saw Kaya come out. I never really "pushed" in a traditional sense, it was all muscle contractions and I just went with them. The actual birth part didn't hurt at all (until later when the results of her having been born with her fist up next to her face became apparent).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They put her right on me and she stayed there for about 20 minutes curled up under a blanket. One of the great things about having been in the water was that I wasn't wearing anything so it was skin to skin contact. Not something I thought about at all, but it sure was nice. Just the feeling of looking at her after the whole process and after seeing her born was so different than it was with Hayden. With Hayden I was drugged and scared and they took her away right away and I just felt so removed from the whole process. With Kaya it was the exact experience I had wanted and everything about it just felt so right. The staff was completely blown away by Brian's involvement and coaching (I was too, but I knew from the last time that he'd be amazing). Apparently, for all the natural births they see, the don't see many at all that have the level of husband involvement that this one did. Honestly, there's no way I could have done it without Brian. No way at all. It's just too high a level of focus that's needed and the whole experience is too intense to go through alone, at least for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in the end on a scale of 1-10 I'd rate it a 10+. Amazing, empowering and beyond anything I've ever imagined. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Not sure that I'll have the chance, but I just feel so blessed to have had the chance to do it my way after everything that happened with Hayden's birth. Honestly, one of the greatest experiences of my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5777640591996757760?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5777640591996757760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5777640591996757760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5777640591996757760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5777640591996757760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/07/birth.html' title='Birth'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1278485091691734222</id><published>2009-06-03T16:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T17:19:30.408-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Words and other updates</title><content type='html'>Hayden is growing like crazy and while she still speaks in about 50% Muppet, her English skills are coming along.  She has "normal" words like "cheese", "shoes" and "bye bye" but she also has those odd words that we just can't quite understand:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GaGa =  Still cracker &amp;amp; Duck&lt;br /&gt;DaDuche = Tractor &amp;amp; Jacket&lt;br /&gt;Mummus =  Hummus (that one isn't too weird)&lt;br /&gt;I fwy =  "I try"&lt;br /&gt;salsas = socks&lt;br /&gt;Bipers = Diapers  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny language related incident: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were in the car stopped in traffic and there was a lane of cars stopped next to us.  Hayden kept pointing to one of the cars and saying, "Da!  Da!"  Since "da" usually means, "that" I just figured I'd humor her by saying, "Oh, I see, there's a car there". &lt;br /&gt;She got angry and started waving her arm saying, "Da! Da!" &lt;br /&gt;I said, "Oh, do you see a red car?"  &lt;br /&gt;She stopped waving her arms, looked at me and gave a deep, exasperated sigh. &lt;br /&gt;"Woof" she said, and pointed to the dog in the window of the car next to us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For about a week every time we got in the car, Hayden would flip out and scream the entire way home, yelling "I fwy!" at the top of her lungs.  I had no idea what "I fwy" meant and there wasn't anything in or around the car that in any way fit in context.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, one day Heidi was outside while I was putting Hayden in her car seat to leave.  As usual, she started screaming, "I fwy! I fwy!"&lt;br /&gt;I asked Heidi what she thought it meant and Heidi explained that in "Hayden speak" "I fwy" usually means, "I try" as in, "I want to do it myself". &lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, she wanted to buckle her carseat herself.  Once I started letting her do it life got much easier.  (Don't get me wrong, she still screams bloody murder every time we go anywhere in the car, but at least she doesn't yell, "I fwy!" constantly.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1278485091691734222?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1278485091691734222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1278485091691734222' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1278485091691734222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1278485091691734222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/06/words-and-other-updates.html' title='Words and other updates'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5928722443931894670</id><published>2009-05-04T18:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T18:56:41.428-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One of those days</title><content type='html'>Hayden has been going through this phase for a while now, off and on.  Her strategy (if it's fair to call it that) is:  Get very, very angry.  Cry.  Puke.  Sob with big, wracking sobs as mommy and daddy clean up the mess.  Get cuddled.  Repeat as needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time she does this at home, although it's almost always when there are other people visiting.  But, last Sunday she upped the ante a bit.  We were at church (that still doesn't roll of the tongue for me...at church...just to clarify, it's about as close to a bunch of tree hugging pagans dancing in the woods as a church is likely to get).  Anyway, when we go to church, Hayden goes to the nursery.  She cries and clings to me, then Michelle, one of the babysitters takes her and she lunges for me, yelling until I'm out of sight.  Then, she turns and looks out the window at the squirrels until I come back. And we're not talking about a four hour Baptist service or anything, this is a 45 minute, tops, Unitarian Universalist service. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last weekend I went to drop her off and it was the perfect storm of bad baby karma.  First, Michelle, the squirrel watcher, wasn't there.  The only other kid there was Alex, who is Hayden's age and a sweetheart, but he was screaming bloody murder for his mommy, and that threw Hayden off a bit.  I can kind of see why.  But, I had it in my head that it would be fine.  So, after a few minutes of playing in the water table with her, I turned to leave.  She cried, as expected, and lunged for me, as expected.  But, I figured, "she'll be fine.  She always is."  What I didn't count on was that the woman who took her would hold her by the door and stroke her back while she cried.  This is not a strategy that works with Hayden.  At all.  Ever.  Distraction is the only hope. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stood on the other side of the door for a minute, where she couldn't see me, trying to decide what to do.  Finally, I decided I'd give her a few minutes, and if she didn't stop crying, I'd go and get her.  I went to the couches one room away from the nursery where I listened to a chorus of Alex Hayden screaming.  There was an older woman sitting there who was clearly annoyed by the fact that I was letting my child cry.  I smiled sheepishly and told her that my daughter always cries for a minute and then she's fine.  As if on cue, one of the babysitters came to find me to tell me that Hayden had gotten "a little sick".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She didn't get a little sick.  She went completely exorcist baby on the place. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was puke everywhere.  All over the older women who was holding her.  All over her, all over the floor, her bag, the toys, the carpet...you name it.  It was everywhere.  I stripped Hayden down to her diaper, only to realize that her "back up" clothes had been used during a bad pee incident a week before.  All she had in there was a grey velvet skirt left over from God knows when and a pink onsie that's almost too small.  But, it was better than nothing.  While the woman went and cleaned up, I tried to scrub baby puke out of the carpet and off my kid, all the while feeling like the worst.mother.ever.  By the time I started cleaning vomit out of her shoes while she sobbed, "shoes! shoes!" (she hates being without shoes) I was about ready to cry myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stayed with her for the rest of the service.  My little vomit scented kid playing happily in the water table in her velvet skirt and little onsie, smiling at me and patting my knee saying, "mommy" in that reassuring, "you haven't left me" voice of hers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cut to yesterday....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Church again.  Needless to say, I'm a bit gun shy at this point, but I'm hopeful that things will work out better.  The "squirrel girl" is there, and Alex isn't.  The stars were better aligned, no doubt about it.  Everything went off without a hitch.  Amazing.  I felt strangely vindicated.  Not a bad mother.  Nope, not me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night there was a special May Day service for mothers and daughters.  We went with a friend and her newborn.  Long story short, Hayden did well up to the point where the service became quite and meditative.  She doesn't believe in reflection.  So, I figured, "I'll bring her to the nursery, just for a few minutes."  What could possibly go wrong? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, she didn't throw up on anyone. They were so scared of her that as soon as she started crying, they ran out to get me (squirrel girl was off duty).  I held her for the rest of the evening in the back room while she stroked my face and said, "mommy".  In the car I asked her if she was sad when I left, "uh hu," she said.&lt;br /&gt;"Did I come back?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Uh hu."&lt;br /&gt;"Do I always come back?"&lt;br /&gt;"Uh hu."&lt;br /&gt;"So, if I leave, you'll know that I'll come back, right?"&lt;br /&gt;Silence.  Dead silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, for the first time ever, Hayden threw a fit when I left to go to work.  Sobbing hysterically, inconsolable.  Tonight when I came home she wanted nothing to do with me.  She just wanted Daddy.  Daddy to hold her, daddy to play bubbles with her.  No mommmy.  Brian had been with her all afternoon though, so I decided to try to put her to bed to give him a break.  She wanted nothing to do with that, but for some reason, I decided it would be fine.  She cried and screamed for daddy until I had to give up and get him.  By then she was beyond hysterical.  There was no calming her down.  Brian sat with her for a few minutes and then tried to put her down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, it didn't go well.  Leaving her crying is always a recipe for disaster.  When Brian came out to the kitchen with her screaming from the other room, I said, "should we get her or let her puke?"  Brian took this as more of a rhetorical question than I had intended, and he was frustrated at what felt like a lack of support.  In reality though, it was just a question of fact, as in "do we have the energy to clean up baby barf and do laundry tonight, or should we let her win?".  In the end, it was decided for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good news?  She didn't get the carpet, so about fifteen minutes was cut off our regular time.  But, of course, we're still looking at cleaning up a barfy kid and all the collateral damage.  When I went to change her, Hayden started to cry harder and said, "No!  Bye Bye!" and then reached for Brian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end he put her down and she wouldn't kiss me goodnight.  Worst. Mommy. Ever.  But, I can't promise that I'll never leave her again. But, for the moment, she's won the battle and she's got the whole war on her side.  Biological warfare will do that to a person&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5928722443931894670?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5928722443931894670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5928722443931894670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5928722443931894670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5928722443931894670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/05/one-of-those-days.html' title='One of those days'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5121316447450866661</id><published>2009-02-27T17:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T17:58:53.580-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's top ten</title><content type='html'>So, we're neck deep in the plague around here, and it's totally my fault.  I was off this whole week, and Hayden really doesn't do well day after day at home, so, even though her buddy, Maria was just getting over the flu, we went out together on Wednesday.  Maria was sick Sunday into Monday, and we had been over there on Sunday, so we figured if Hayden didn't already catch the bug, she'd be fine.  And then, as if that wasn't tempting fate enough, yesterday we visited another friend who is on medication for an ear ache.  The reality though is that Hayden probably caught this from licking a grocery cart or something.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever the case, last night at 11pm Hayden woke up with all the telltale signs of croup.  She sounded awful, wheezing and barking, and she was terrified.  We got her into the bathroom and turned on the steam full blast, called the doctor just to see what to watch for, and basically resigned ourselves to a long night.  She said "Daddy" constantly, but she didn't actually want Daddy, so we decided to let him sleep while I did a circuit course around the house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kitchen for the sippy cup that she'd push away after crying for it.  Bedroom to rock in the chair that squeaks so loudly it drove us both to distraction.  Bathroom to sit on the floor watching Brainy Baby on the tv I dragged in there, steam going full blast, hot to the point that it messed up one of the windows in there.  And then, to the living room to sit on the couch watching random middle of the night tv.  I know the Cartoon Network has a moral obligation to appeal to the stoner public in their late night programming, but nothing says desperation like having your kid watch barely concealed animation porn at 3am.  This is when On Demand would be a godsend.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From 11pm to 4am, Hayden didn't sleep.  At all.  And every time I drifted off on the couch, she'd poke me and wheeze out, "No!  Off" and insist that I get up and move her to the next location on her agenda.  It was like being on a forced march.  Finally, at 4am she fell asleep on top of me on the bathroom floor watching farm animals on her baby video.  She's been obsessed with roosters for a long time now, and by the grace of God, there was a whole rooster segment in this one. It relaxed her enough to put her out.  For three hours anyway.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was back up at 7am, but Brian took her for that shift.  He had to go to work though, so from about 10am on Hayden busied herself projectile vomiting, and I chased her around with paper towels.  This is when wide pine flooring in the bedroom feels like a decidedly bad idea.  I still haven't really tackled the aftermath of that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We managed a record nine clothing changes between us.  It was like Baby Flu Catwalk, a new outfit every fifteen minutes.  I learned a few things though.  First, never dress a puking kid in a onesie.  The only thing worse than being covered in vomit, is being covered in vomit, reaching down the vomit covered pants of your child to unsnap them.  Also, if the barfing kid wants to watch 14 straight hours of tv, let her.  Upsetting her just makes it worse, and in the end, you'll give up anyway, only by then you'll reek of baby puke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden became quite the tv critic today over the course of her 14 hours.  Here are her top ten baby shows, worst to best.  The worst left her wheezing out "Nuh No" and saying "All Done" in baby sign language.  The best had her lifting her sweaty little head and applauding.  The ones in the middle are ranked according to how long she left them on before she insisted on something new, and on how many times she was willing to rewatch them over the course of the day.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top Ten Baby Shows According to Hayden:&lt;br /&gt;10. The Wiggles (That is one creepy show.  I took it as a good sign that she was afraid of the pedophile looking pirate)&lt;br /&gt;9.  Dora the Explorer&lt;br /&gt;8.  Word World&lt;br /&gt;7.  Sid the Science Kid&lt;br /&gt;6.  Curious George&lt;br /&gt;5.  Yo Gabba Gabba (Now, that's a stoner show.  The Andre 2000 DJ in a leisure suit?  The Gabba Gabbas that live in a retro 80s Boom Box?  It's good stuff.  I think it would have beat out Elmo's World if the whole plot of this one hadn't revolved around the bathroom.  Hayden was just too traumatized by the steam room experience to want to spend more time vicariously in the bathroom)&lt;br /&gt;4.  Elmo's World (not the rest of Sesame Street, just Elmo's World.  What's with Mr. Noodle though?  He's not someone I'd ever want my child spending time with.)&lt;br /&gt;3.  Backyardigans  (All the colorful kid appeal of Barney without the creep factor)&lt;br /&gt;2.  Wonder Pets.  (They're just cool.  Who doesn't love a chick in a WW2 Flying Ace hat?)&lt;br /&gt;1.  Classical Baby:  The Music Show.  Grand Prize Winner, hands down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, 21 hours later, Hayden is sleeping soundly.  Let's just hope this lasts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5121316447450866661?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5121316447450866661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5121316447450866661' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5121316447450866661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5121316447450866661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/02/haydens-top-ten.html' title='Hayden&apos;s top ten'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8726375830097511318</id><published>2009-02-16T17:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T17:45:14.529-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do as I say....</title><content type='html'>Hayden is really into brushing her teeth right now.  She won't accept any help (story of our life) but she loves doing it.  So, I try to model good teeth brushing as often as possible so she gets the concept.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, she was brushing her teeth with gusto, really getting the concept and doing it right.  Before I could stop her though, she took the brush out of her mouth, turned, and spit on the floor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's time to move on to phase two:  Get the child a stool to stand on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8726375830097511318?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8726375830097511318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8726375830097511318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8726375830097511318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8726375830097511318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/02/do-as-i-say.html' title='Do as I say....'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8183620111674840448</id><published>2009-02-11T17:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T18:00:46.266-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Our first conversation</title><content type='html'>Yesterday Hayden and I had our first conversation.  She's into saying "uh hu" right now (she doesn't say "yes" yet).  And, of course, she says "no" all the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we were walking to the car from Heidi's.&lt;br /&gt;"Did you have fun at daycare?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Uh hu".&lt;br /&gt;"Did you play with Maria?"&lt;br /&gt;"Uh hu."&lt;br /&gt;"Did you go for a walk in the mud?"&lt;br /&gt;"Uh hu."&lt;br /&gt;"Did you go to see Fred?"&lt;br /&gt;Long pause.  We don't know anyone named Fred.&lt;br /&gt;"No." &lt;br /&gt;"Do you want to go home to see Daddy?"&lt;br /&gt;"Daddy!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that's it.  The first ever conversation with my child.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8183620111674840448?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8183620111674840448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8183620111674840448' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8183620111674840448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8183620111674840448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/02/our-first-conversation.html' title='Our first conversation'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2518820751835078333</id><published>2009-01-18T18:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T18:45:22.929-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bobby.</title><content type='html'>So, I'm Bobby.  I guess it's better than "Daddy" or "Heidi" my two names up until about three days ago.  Now I'm Bobby.  Hayden says it with great excitement though, so I'll take it.  Other words:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoes!  (Always said with awe and excitement)&lt;br /&gt;Hi&lt;br /&gt;Off (to mean on, off or down)&lt;br /&gt;Bye&lt;br /&gt;Santa (always with a goofy grin)&lt;br /&gt;Daddy&lt;br /&gt;Bobby ;)&lt;br /&gt;Heidi&lt;br /&gt;Cheese!  (Her favorite)&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm (for hummus)&lt;br /&gt;Doo Doo (for rooster)&lt;br /&gt;GaGa (cracker and duck.  Usually the context clues help with that one.)&lt;br /&gt;NahNah All done - said with the sign language gesture for "all done")&lt;br /&gt;NO!  (how could I have forgotten that one?!)&lt;br /&gt;BaBa (Bottle)&lt;br /&gt;There are more I'm sure, and a lot of words that she'll copy (from "Apple" to "I love you") &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First sentence?&lt;br /&gt;Kev swears her first sentence was "You're still there!" while playing peek-a-boo.  I heard it too, clear as day, but it's hard for me to think it was real. Kind of like the plant speaking in full sentences.&lt;br /&gt;She said "I love you" with prompting&lt;br /&gt;Tonight in the tub she was putting toys on her feet and I said, "You did that".  She responded "I did that".  Cool on a few levels, mostly because she changed "you" for "I".  Still, I'm not sure I'm totally sold that she says all those things given that most of the time she speaks only fluent Muppet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2518820751835078333?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2518820751835078333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2518820751835078333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2518820751835078333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2518820751835078333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/01/bobby.html' title='Bobby.'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3729654101694101597</id><published>2009-01-17T19:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T19:25:23.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKg-JBtQ7I/AAAAAAAAA68/_r1GEpNZZ4w/s1600-h/IMG_1820.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKg-JBtQ7I/AAAAAAAAA68/_r1GEpNZZ4w/s320/IMG_1820.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292469501549167538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Baby at the OK Corral&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKg93o9e_I/AAAAAAAAA60/cx-Vxy9LRco/s1600-h/IMG_1822.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKg93o9e_I/AAAAAAAAA60/cx-Vxy9LRco/s320/IMG_1822.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292469496881970162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3729654101694101597?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3729654101694101597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3729654101694101597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3729654101694101597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3729654101694101597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/01/baby-at-ok-corral.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKg-JBtQ7I/AAAAAAAAA68/_r1GEpNZZ4w/s72-c/IMG_1820.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4762471800045169200</id><published>2009-01-17T19:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T19:23:43.454-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfIiIb7UI/AAAAAAAAA6s/d4Ps5vCFeCs/s1600-h/IMG_1817.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfIiIb7UI/AAAAAAAAA6s/d4Ps5vCFeCs/s320/IMG_1817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292467481063714114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hayden, obsessed with Uncle Kev's hat.  Note the binky/cigar action there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfIPQjRQI/AAAAAAAAA6k/bYFUiNo7Ipg/s1600-h/IMG_1813.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfIPQjRQI/AAAAAAAAA6k/bYFUiNo7Ipg/s320/IMG_1813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292467475997476098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Spinning, the all time favorite pastime.  Hayden is obsessed with spinning.  She can get herself going so fast that her head can't stay upright.  She does this thing where she twists on the bottom of her foot and just gets going like crazy.  We worry that she takes after Uncle Kev and his rave obsessed ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfHUGfN7I/AAAAAAAAA6c/7ho1Ma67U58/s1600-h/IMG_1802.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfHUGfN7I/AAAAAAAAA6c/7ho1Ma67U58/s320/IMG_1802.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292467460117575602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is Daddy walking Hayden around on her hands.  Note the shoes.  It's a good thing they both think it's funny. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfG12-6pI/AAAAAAAAA6U/YUKw2GUeV2Y/s1600-h/IMG_1798.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfG12-6pI/AAAAAAAAA6U/YUKw2GUeV2Y/s320/IMG_1798.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292467451999480466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;You can't see it in the photo, but Hayden is trying on her new shoes from Bamma.  She's crazy about shoes.  Everything is "shoes?!?" (always said with a hint of a question, like she just can't believe her luck).  Bare feet "Shoes?!"  footed pjs "shoes?!"  Thank God the closest they come to designer baby shoes is Robeez.  She'll be dangerous when she gets older. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfGqHm5TI/AAAAAAAAA6M/N9qY5Nt6C9s/s1600-h/IMG_1760.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfGqHm5TI/AAAAAAAAA6M/N9qY5Nt6C9s/s320/IMG_1760.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292467448847983922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I thought this one showed the preggo me better, but really it's more of a photo of the tree.  Cool tree, smells like oranges and it hasn't lost a needle yet a month and a half after we cut it down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4762471800045169200?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4762471800045169200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4762471800045169200' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4762471800045169200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4762471800045169200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/01/hayden-obsessed-with-uncle-kevs-hat.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXKfIiIb7UI/AAAAAAAAA6s/d4Ps5vCFeCs/s72-c/IMG_1817.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6879299544052748985</id><published>2009-01-17T13:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T13:10:10.862-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIzCxT45I/AAAAAAAAA6E/ZMW8LnxtFIg/s1600-h/IMG_1763.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIzCxT45I/AAAAAAAAA6E/ZMW8LnxtFIg/s320/IMG_1763.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292372553867977618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIyxEYm3I/AAAAAAAAA58/kRdZNgfYmbQ/s1600-h/IMG_1758.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIyxEYm3I/AAAAAAAAA58/kRdZNgfYmbQ/s320/IMG_1758.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292372549116140402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIykPiO4I/AAAAAAAAA50/JwQAkRbFMKU/s1600-h/IMG_1755.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIykPiO4I/AAAAAAAAA50/JwQAkRbFMKU/s320/IMG_1755.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292372545673247618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;New Year's Eve!  It was just the small crew of us, Kev, Lorrie and mom.  Michelle, Paul and Maria came over for a while and the girls played, and then the kiddos went to bed.  We played games till midnight, watched the ball drop and then called it a day.  Not a bad way to bring in the new year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6879299544052748985?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6879299544052748985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6879299544052748985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6879299544052748985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6879299544052748985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-years-eve-it-was-just-small-crew-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJIzCxT45I/AAAAAAAAA6E/ZMW8LnxtFIg/s72-c/IMG_1763.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6165450326865050566</id><published>2009-01-17T13:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T19:12:49.312-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHjYMRDfI/AAAAAAAAA5s/UM-bmt0YFww/s1600-h/IMG_1754.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHjYMRDfI/AAAAAAAAA5s/UM-bmt0YFww/s320/IMG_1754.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292371185228647922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHjIv-j5I/AAAAAAAAA5k/rvrXDO5fjFg/s1600-h/IMG_1744.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHjIv-j5I/AAAAAAAAA5k/rvrXDO5fjFg/s320/IMG_1744.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292371181083463570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHi9igxpI/AAAAAAAAA5c/PLDhL10WDqM/s1600-h/IMG_1727.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHi9igxpI/AAAAAAAAA5c/PLDhL10WDqM/s320/IMG_1727.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292371178074195602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHinYCNtI/AAAAAAAAA5U/3FbXNUusLCE/s1600-h/IMG_1698.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHinYCNtI/AAAAAAAAA5U/3FbXNUusLCE/s320/IMG_1698.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292371172124669650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHiKaYLpI/AAAAAAAAA5M/URebNwvMGj8/s1600-h/IMG_1689.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHiKaYLpI/AAAAAAAAA5M/URebNwvMGj8/s320/IMG_1689.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292371164349869714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holiday photos: Christmas morning with Hayden's Christmas morning Crazy Hair.  Opening presents with Mommy, Hayden and Maria on New Year's Eve, and a very blurry photo of the family.  I didn't realize how out of focus it was, but making it sharper will mean deleting all of these and I'm not having the easiest time uploading photos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas was a lot of fun.  Hayden is really into saying "Santa" these days.  She doesn't say "Mommy" but she says "Santa" with this goofy grin on her face all the time.  She did really well opening presents and waiting her turn while other people opened theirs (I'm figuring this will be the last Christmas where that really happens for a while!)  Her favorite gifts?  A baby with a bathtub from Nana and fake food for her kitchen.  She also got a Little People garage from Uncle Kevin and Auntie Lorrie that's a big hit.  Christmas itself was pretty much devoted to opening presents and eating.  Not a bad way to spend a day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, the photo with the fish is Brian and Hayden at the LL Bean Outlet in Freeport, ME.  They have a big fish tank there with a little bubble you can stand in to be "in" the tank.  As you can imagine....big hit!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6165450326865050566?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6165450326865050566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6165450326865050566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6165450326865050566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6165450326865050566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2009/01/holiday-recap-christmas-morning-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SXJHjYMRDfI/AAAAAAAAA5s/UM-bmt0YFww/s72-c/IMG_1754.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4574685497464441212</id><published>2008-12-15T19:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T19:25:00.873-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Storm</title><content type='html'>On Thursday night the ice storm hit.  Hard.  We were up all night listening to limbs and trees crash down in the woods next to the house.  The house itself is fine, some debris, but nothing too bad.  But, of course, along with the rest of the state, and most of New England, we were without power.  It took about an hour to figure out that school was closed (no phones, no internet, no tv).  Once we realized how widespread the damage was we went on a hunt for a place that would be open for breakfast.  As it turned out, there was once pocket with power near Portsmouth, so along with half of Southern New Hampshire, we headed out there with the Wheelers (blog link on the right).  We ended up in Barnes and Noble for most of the morning just enjoying the warmth and the light.  Then, Brian and I headed out to Western MA to spend the weekend with his parents.  We decided to drive through southern New Hampshire rather than through MA to get there because it's usually faster (again, without power there was no way to tell how bad things really were). It was insane.  We drove over more than a dozen downed lines, and we had to drive under about seven more dangling over the road.  Most of the 2 1/2 hour route was just one lane cut through debris, trees, branches, power lines, most still in the road with just a small section cut out for one car to get through.  And those were the roads that were open.  Whole sections of 101 were closed, and that's a main road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Western MA was fine where we were and we had a nice visit with the family.  We stayed for an extra day because there was no school today (or, as it turns out, tomorrow either).  When we came back, we took the Massachusetts route.  I'm sure the other one is still mostly impassable, with 200,000 homes to restore power to the streets aren't a huge priority. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're home, with power.  Some friends aren't so lucky and they may be without power for a while.  We don't have phone service, but that's just fine, at least we have heat and lights.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4574685497464441212?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4574685497464441212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4574685497464441212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4574685497464441212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4574685497464441212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/12/ice-storm.html' title='Ice Storm'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3652551180113178962</id><published>2008-12-15T19:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T19:15:12.972-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcciBX56wI/AAAAAAAAA4k/WvvHtR-nN2c/s1600-h/IMG_2310.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcciBX56wI/AAAAAAAAA4k/WvvHtR-nN2c/s320/IMG_2310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280220458925026050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hayden loved pressing the button on the penguin's foot to make it dance.  Pure joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcchZhisxI/AAAAAAAAA4c/bXX-r36p2s4/s1600-h/IMG_2308.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcchZhisxI/AAAAAAAAA4c/bXX-r36p2s4/s320/IMG_2308.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280220448228029202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Opening presents from Grandpa and Mei Mei&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUccgtd_wiI/AAAAAAAAA4U/ck2J2E_W6nQ/s1600-h/IMG_2302.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUccgtd_wiI/AAAAAAAAA4U/ck2J2E_W6nQ/s320/IMG_2302.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280220436401996322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once she got the hang of it, Hayden decided there was nothing better than ripping paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUccgM8y_7I/AAAAAAAAA4M/vIe40_mdXww/s1600-h/IMG_2267.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUccgM8y_7I/AAAAAAAAA4M/vIe40_mdXww/s320/IMG_2267.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280220427672813490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden met Santa on Sunday. She wasn't sure about the whole thing, but as long as Mommy and Daddy were there, it was okay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3652551180113178962?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3652551180113178962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3652551180113178962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3652551180113178962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3652551180113178962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/12/hayden-loved-pressing-button-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcciBX56wI/AAAAAAAAA4k/WvvHtR-nN2c/s72-c/IMG_2310.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1867388965100243788</id><published>2008-12-15T19:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T19:09:10.527-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcbMOq-CCI/AAAAAAAAA4E/F9AZDoZKPAc/s1600-h/IMG_2223.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcbMOq-CCI/AAAAAAAAA4E/F9AZDoZKPAc/s320/IMG_2223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280218985025898530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcbL9oDWaI/AAAAAAAAA38/LBzNc1KAmu4/s1600-h/IMG_2231.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcbL9oDWaI/AAAAAAAAA38/LBzNc1KAmu4/s320/IMG_2231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280218980450261410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Gingerbread Fun!  Hayden loved making it, no interest in eating any of it.  She did the whole side of the roof; she's quite proud of herself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1867388965100243788?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1867388965100243788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1867388965100243788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1867388965100243788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1867388965100243788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/12/gingerbread-fun-hayden-loved-making-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcbMOq-CCI/AAAAAAAAA4E/F9AZDoZKPAc/s72-c/IMG_2223.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6106191085460334958</id><published>2008-12-15T18:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-15T18:32:57.143-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcS3LS1QKI/AAAAAAAAA3c/qPKWNX4Jdn4/s1600-h/IMG_2256.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcS3LS1QKI/AAAAAAAAA3c/qPKWNX4Jdn4/s320/IMG_2256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280209827249078434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcS2qlPYWI/AAAAAAAAA3U/r3iV8mmSDh8/s1600-h/IMG_2218.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcS2qlPYWI/AAAAAAAAA3U/r3iV8mmSDh8/s320/IMG_2218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280209818467918178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We got our tree from a great little local farm and Hayden has been fantastic with it.  She still pets it like a puppy now and then, but she's been great about not really messing with it.  This makes us happy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6106191085460334958?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6106191085460334958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6106191085460334958' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6106191085460334958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6106191085460334958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/12/we-got-our-tree-from-great-little-local.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SUcS3LS1QKI/AAAAAAAAA3c/qPKWNX4Jdn4/s72-c/IMG_2256.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3566068583611952483</id><published>2008-12-01T14:18:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T14:23:45.803-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates</title><content type='html'>Hayden is really into picking up and cleaning lately.  When she's done with her play dough, she takes her cookie cutter, play dough and utensils to the sink and hurls them in.  Then, she goes and wipes off her play table before pushing in the chairs and moving on to new games.  Honestly, I don't know where she gets this.  It must be from Brian, because....well, let's face it, my idea of picking up is hurling everything into the closet and shutting the door fast before it all comes tumbling back out.  I really hope this neat thing is here to stay.  We don't need two of me in this house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got our Christmas tree on Saturday.  We were both scared that it would take up the whole living room, like last year's did, and there would be nowhere for Hayden to play.  So, we made sure to find one that, while long and full, still fits easily into the corner of the room.  Then, we found ornaments that are "shatterproof" (that's the hope anyway) and we went to town decorating.  On Sunday morning, Brian introduced Hayden to the tree, telling her to "touch gently".  Since that's what we say about pets, she put out her hand and gently stroked the tree.  Now, every so often she'll go over and pet the tree.  But, other than that, she leaves it alone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3566068583611952483?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3566068583611952483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3566068583611952483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3566068583611952483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3566068583611952483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/12/updates.html' title='Updates'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-537795816031624986</id><published>2008-11-27T18:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T18:45:13.971-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9a51oSU0I/AAAAAAAAA20/i_zqo2a1E3Y/s1600-h/fall+2008+295.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9a51oSU0I/AAAAAAAAA20/i_zqo2a1E3Y/s320/fall+2008+295.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273533638369235778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9a5xqv-mI/AAAAAAAAA2s/Wd9Z4x2ncoA/s1600-h/fall+2008+293.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9a5xqv-mI/AAAAAAAAA2s/Wd9Z4x2ncoA/s320/fall+2008+293.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273533637305825890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I forgot about these.  This was the hayride, and right after the photo was taken, the horse nudged Hayden with his nose, hard.  It was a bit traumatic but we managed to get over it and Hayden still loves horses, so all is well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-537795816031624986?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/537795816031624986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=537795816031624986' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/537795816031624986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/537795816031624986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-forgot-about-these.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9a51oSU0I/AAAAAAAAA20/i_zqo2a1E3Y/s72-c/fall+2008+295.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2727406224558928248</id><published>2008-11-27T17:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T17:58:02.349-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5QyxrxI/AAAAAAAAA2k/6_A0XQKWHR8/s1600-h/fall+2008+340.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5QyxrxI/AAAAAAAAA2k/6_A0XQKWHR8/s320/fall+2008+340.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273521533853216530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5ahvn6I/AAAAAAAAA2c/vT_ToWZdSrM/s1600-h/fall+2008+298.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5ahvn6I/AAAAAAAAA2c/vT_ToWZdSrM/s320/fall+2008+298.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273521536466132898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5NLwizI/AAAAAAAAA2U/QCRRXiew08Y/s1600-h/fall+2008+307.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5NLwizI/AAAAAAAAA2U/QCRRXiew08Y/s320/fall+2008+307.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273521532884257586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden and Maria painting pottery for Christmas gifts; Hayden loving the tub again after a tough few weeks, and (in the wrong order) Hayden at Halloween.  There, we're caught up!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2727406224558928248?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2727406224558928248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2727406224558928248' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2727406224558928248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2727406224558928248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/11/hayden-and-maria-painting-pottery-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9P5QyxrxI/AAAAAAAAA2k/6_A0XQKWHR8/s72-c/fall+2008+340.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3330742470643491035</id><published>2008-11-27T17:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T17:55:22.602-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQ3SFLpI/AAAAAAAAA2M/x5k2Gnd1XLU/s1600-h/fall+2008+294.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQ3SFLpI/AAAAAAAAA2M/x5k2Gnd1XLU/s320/fall+2008+294.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273520839810428562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQtraJrI/AAAAAAAAA2E/EeFDemkkuEA/s1600-h/fall+2008+291.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQtraJrI/AAAAAAAAA2E/EeFDemkkuEA/s320/fall+2008+291.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273520837232305842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQRGTTpI/AAAAAAAAA18/M0n2SKK2yJw/s1600-h/fall+2008+286.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQRGTTpI/AAAAAAAAA18/M0n2SKK2yJw/s320/fall+2008+286.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273520829560475282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQB0b_BI/AAAAAAAAA10/nV7GRfJpjxk/s1600-h/fall+2008+268.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQB0b_BI/AAAAAAAAA10/nV7GRfJpjxk/s320/fall+2008+268.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273520825459014674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQI2n4TI/AAAAAAAAA1s/FJR6t4CADUM/s1600-h/fall+2008+260.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQI2n4TI/AAAAAAAAA1s/FJR6t4CADUM/s320/fall+2008+260.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273520827347231026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Photos from the Fall Hayride (finally!) and the Deerfield Fair.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3330742470643491035?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3330742470643491035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3330742470643491035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3330742470643491035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3330742470643491035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/11/photos-from-fall-hayride-finally-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SS9PQ3SFLpI/AAAAAAAAA2M/x5k2Gnd1XLU/s72-c/fall+2008+294.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5417788445989951743</id><published>2008-11-19T16:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T16:59:50.622-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>What is it with the posting once a month thing now?  So much is going on and I feel like I just can't keep up to document it.  Big things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden is kissing everything and everyone now.  Weebles, me, stuffed animals, daddy.  Everyone.  The cute thing is she makes this exaggerated fishy face and then a loud smacking sound.  It's all quite cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bad news:  She's back to the not eating thing.  All she'll eat is hummus, American cheese and whole apples (not cut, not sliced...whole).  Yeah, but with the apples, she carves off a section with her teeth and then takes the peel out of her mouth and hands it to me for safe keeping/disposal.  She won't take another bite until the offending peel is out of her sight.  Won't put it on the tray, or anywhere else, just my hand.  We were out shopping last weekend and I used an apple to gain another 20 minutes in a store.  It worked, except that I ended up with a slimy hand full of apple bits so I couldn't really shop.  But, I was able to roam the store for a while (note to self:  Bring little baggies for apple bits).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking of calling the chewing specialist again just to check things out.  I don't think this has anything to do with motor skills though.  I think she's just stubborn.  Strike that.  I KNOW she's stubborn, but I think the battle of baby wills is finding its way into the kitchen.  Ugh.  Now I understand why parents do so many odd things (cutting crusts off bread, feeding kids mac and cheese every night).  In the end, it really is easier than the full on brawl we end up with at the dinner table.  It starts with a shake of the head, and "no".  If I persist, it moves to flailing of the arms to knock the spoon out of my hand and/or the bowl on the floor.  This is accompanied by a constant stream of rasberries to ensure that any food that even grazes her mouth doesn't find its way in by mistake.  This can go on for about as long as I'm willing to let it go on until I break down and either end dinner or feed her what she wants (which she'll eat cheerfully).  Just the mention of hummus brings a smile to her face, and the sight of anything unfamiliar or unacceptable (and by that I mean pretty much anything that isn't hummus) brings a full on red faced tantrum.  Ugh.  Just ugh.  And even though she knows the sign for "all done" and she can say "da du" (all done) she won't do it most of the time because she's not done eating, she's just done with what I'm offering.  She'll eat the foods she likes forever.  Thank God it's not french fries and coke or something, but I'd still like to see her eat more than a three food diet.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sleeping is going well, thank God!  Not spectacular, but okay.  Hayden goes down at about 7.  Then flips out till one of us goes in and strokes her face, then she's fine and out till between 6 and 7 am.  Not too bad.  Sometimes on weekends she'll even let us give her a bottle at 6 and then she'll go back to sleep till around 8am.  Heaven.  Pure heaven.  Of course, I don't have to deal with the mornings much because Brian is more of a morning person, and unlike me, he can't go back to sleep once she wakes him.  I can fall back asleep mid sentences...and have.  And, two, she doesn't call for me.  I'm still "Heidi" and since Heidi lives about a mile away and deserves her rest, the task tends to fall on Brian.  When she starts saying "Mommy" though, payback will be a bitch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5417788445989951743?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5417788445989951743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5417788445989951743' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5417788445989951743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5417788445989951743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-is-it-with-posting-once-month.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4145591393434851935</id><published>2008-10-20T17:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T17:32:44.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh so much going on</title><content type='html'>I'll start with the bad news and go from there.  Last week was the bad news.   Hayden is teething, and or sick, and or going through some kind of a non-sleeping phase.  Not good.  We'd put her down at 7pm and this otherwise easy going sleepy baby would turn Exorcist on us and projectile vomit across the room.  Just so we're clear, I'm not talking about us leaving a screaming kid in her bedroom with the door shut until she gets so hysterical she throws up.  No, I'm talking about in the time it takes to warm a bottle to go in there, it's a world of vomit.  We're onto week two of this, and there doesn't seem to be any end in sight.  If we stroke her face while she goes to sleep, she's fine, but she'll have none of the "night night" shut the door these days.  So, that's not so much fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, last week at daycare she had an accident.  She was climbing up the slide and a bigger kid tried to help her by pulling her arm.  Heidi said she could tell right away that something wasn't right, but Hayden wasn't crying or anything, just favoring her arm and "whimpering" (OK, that just breaks my heart).  When I got there to pick her up, Brian's car was there, which I thought was a bit odd.  Hayden was in Heidi's arms with her arm propped up on a little pillow.  I pretty much knew right away.  We took her to the hospital and she screamed when they put on the little ankle bracelet.  She was actually pretty good with the x-rays (I think she was terrified) but the ankle bracelet undid her.  Poor little monkey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had dislocated her elbow, which apparently is a really common injury for kids.  They just did a kind of gentle Indian sunburn kind of maneuver and that was it.  She was as good as new.  I think it was more traumatic for Brian and me than it was for her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that's the negative.  On the good side, we went to Point of View farm on Saturday for a hayride with friends.  The weather was fantastic and everyone had a great time.  Hayden liked the horses until one butted her in the head with his head.  Did I mention that she's having a tough week?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll have to post photos soon, but I'm on my jankey old computer and it takes forever to do anything, so for now, I'm going to check out Michelle's blog to see if she posted photos from the weekend.  I know, it's terrible, but I just don't have the patience to devote four hours to my crazy slow computer downloads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll post photos soon.  I promise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4145591393434851935?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4145591393434851935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4145591393434851935' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4145591393434851935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4145591393434851935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/10/oh-so-much-going-on.html' title='Oh so much going on'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3357678495647944790</id><published>2008-09-30T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T19:48:17.084-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deerfield Fair</title><content type='html'>I'm lazy.  The pictures and recap are great, and if you haven't seen Hayden in a while, it's a fantastic picture.  Just go to the link for The Wheelers (probably right there to the right of this) and check out the photos.  We had a ball, pouring rain and all.  I'll be back to post more of my own stuff soon, but for now, I'll just hijack Michelle's thread. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3357678495647944790?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3357678495647944790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3357678495647944790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3357678495647944790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3357678495647944790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/deerfield-fair.html' title='Deerfield Fair'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3675505604814226340</id><published>2008-09-25T17:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T17:35:06.731-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sigh....</title><content type='html'>For the past week, when I come to daycare to pick Hayden up, she takes off in the other direction away from me.  Yesterday, she hid in the playhouse in the backyard, with the little plastic door shut to keep me out.  :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I pick her up, she cries and flails and reaches out for Heidi.  To make matters worse, she says Heidi, and Ella (a girl at daycare) along with "Daddy".  Still no mommy.  Today, I called Brian and ended up crying.  I KNOW it's fine, it's normal, it's so far from the end of the world, but I had a bad day at work, and I guess I just wanted that "mommy love".  And yes, she loves me.  She loves me like crazy, and I know it, but I swear to God, if she says "graphite" before "mommy" I might have to give her to the gypsies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, cutest thing ever...last night Michelle, Maria and Hayden and I went to get Mexican food after our weekly trip to the playground.  Hayden got her first kids' meal, a quesidilla, black beans, and a juice box.  And she ate!  She loved it.  The two of them sat side by side with their juice boxes and their food, and it felt like going out to eat with my daughter, more than with a baby.  Just a weird time shift thing.  I blinked and she became a little girl.  My baby is morphing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3675505604814226340?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3675505604814226340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3675505604814226340' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3675505604814226340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3675505604814226340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/sigh.html' title='Sigh....'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5644006386321884506</id><published>2008-09-01T16:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T17:13:08.467-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A trip down memory lane</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-63c9b0924585a867" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v15.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D63c9b0924585a867%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331265955%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1CF3D176CD4FC6F7BE352613179CEAD9CC724E12.7E8BAAA363F56B4679E804B31974454BC9D346D7%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D63c9b0924585a867%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DZjv-PIV9jemaXxdXpAh3_lgICSc&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v15.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D63c9b0924585a867%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331265955%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1CF3D176CD4FC6F7BE352613179CEAD9CC724E12.7E8BAAA363F56B4679E804B31974454BC9D346D7%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D63c9b0924585a867%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DZjv-PIV9jemaXxdXpAh3_lgICSc&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;This is Hayden's very first crawl.  Now, I'll try to figure out how to download her first steps.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5644006386321884506?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=63c9b0924585a867&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5644006386321884506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5644006386321884506' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5644006386321884506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5644006386321884506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post_01.html' title='A trip down memory lane'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2204279038436235096</id><published>2008-09-01T16:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T16:10:33.292-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's Dresser</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx2aJv9OaI/AAAAAAAAAog/KYB3gJ9AAFk/s1600-h/Hayden+8+months+on+128.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx2aJv9OaI/AAAAAAAAAog/KYB3gJ9AAFk/s320/Hayden+8+months+on+128.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  This is the dresser Brian made for Hayden for her Birth/Dedication back in March.  I love the fact that it's something she'll be able to grow into.&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2204279038436235096?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2204279038436235096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2204279038436235096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2204279038436235096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2204279038436235096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/haydens-dresser.html' title='Hayden&apos;s Dresser'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx2aJv9OaI/AAAAAAAAAog/KYB3gJ9AAFk/s72-c/Hayden+8+months+on+128.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4286691344197296860</id><published>2008-09-01T16:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T16:05:14.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Labor Day Baby BBQ</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx1KnTDi-I/AAAAAAAAAoY/3IjqAxbGUwE/s1600-h/IMG_1971.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx1KnTDi-I/AAAAAAAAAoY/3IjqAxbGUwE/s320/IMG_1971.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  We had a great time at our Labor Day BBQ.  Hayden was outnumbered by the boys without Maria there, but she held her own.  It was a beautiful day and we all had a great time.&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4286691344197296860?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4286691344197296860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4286691344197296860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4286691344197296860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4286691344197296860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/labor-day-baby-bbq.html' title='Labor Day Baby BBQ'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLx1KnTDi-I/AAAAAAAAAoY/3IjqAxbGUwE/s72-c/IMG_1971.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4003095201690822590</id><published>2008-09-01T13:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T14:03:44.647-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's Birthday - Better Late Than Never</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxDHC8FI/AAAAAAAAAn4/W_JJW-25-IU/s1600-h/IMG_1810.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxDHC8FI/AAAAAAAAAn4/W_JJW-25-IU/s320/IMG_1810.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxBty-NI/AAAAAAAAAoA/v-DY_jZnNaM/s1600-h/IMG_1852.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxBty-NI/AAAAAAAAAoA/v-DY_jZnNaM/s320/IMG_1852.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxQWeLxI/AAAAAAAAAoI/jz7yrigmF_g/s1600-h/IMG_1860.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxQWeLxI/AAAAAAAAAoI/jz7yrigmF_g/s320/IMG_1860.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is Hayden exploring her birthday cake.  She's not sure what she thinks of the whole experience.  In the end she decided that while she loves real lemons, lemon cake just isn't her thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Auntie Luanne and Uncle Dave made Hayden a quilt with all of the family and Hayden's godparents. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden's "fishy cake"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxgcIDyI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/iRXG8joyxW0/s1600-h/IMG_1878.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxgcIDyI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/iRXG8joyxW0/s320/IMG_1878.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4003095201690822590?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4003095201690822590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4003095201690822590' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4003095201690822590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4003095201690822590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-post.html' title='Hayden&apos;s Birthday - Better Late Than Never'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLxXxDHC8FI/AAAAAAAAAn4/W_JJW-25-IU/s72-c/IMG_1810.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8528810773296116281</id><published>2008-09-01T08:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T09:05:59.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Photos of Hayden</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSZQP90tI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/bt_m3APA5Is/s1600-h/Hayden+8+months+on+318.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSZQP90tI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/bt_m3APA5Is/s320/Hayden+8+months+on+318.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241084291420377810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSZ7aQ3lI/AAAAAAAAAnY/rqU-LYu4BDE/s1600-h/Hayden+8+months+on+251.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSZ7aQ3lI/AAAAAAAAAnY/rqU-LYu4BDE/s320/Hayden+8+months+on+251.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241084303006293586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSaAxjP6I/AAAAAAAAAng/qcF1r8V9KHI/s1600-h/Hayden+8+months+on+287.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSaAxjP6I/AAAAAAAAAng/qcF1r8V9KHI/s320/Hayden+8+months+on+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241084304446144418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSaShiHTI/AAAAAAAAAno/uTbVgCzgwlc/s1600-h/Hayden+8+months+on+289.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSaShiHTI/AAAAAAAAAno/uTbVgCzgwlc/s320/Hayden+8+months+on+289.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241084309210799410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8528810773296116281?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8528810773296116281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8528810773296116281' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8528810773296116281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8528810773296116281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/some-photos-of-hayden.html' title='Some Photos of Hayden'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6E3HmfWEqAk/SLwSZQP90tI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/bt_m3APA5Is/s72-c/Hayden+8+months+on+318.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2812427478777059206</id><published>2008-09-01T08:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T08:53:56.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates</title><content type='html'>It's been way too long since I've updated.  I was trying to get photos downloaded so I could link them, but it just hasn't been happening.  Damn these old computers!  Check out the link to Michelle's page (The Wheelers) to see some recent photos of Hayden and the gang.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm back at school and Hayden is back in daycare.  She's loving it, as expected, but it's really messing with her schedule.  I've been so busy gearing up with this new year that I haven't been able to pick her up till about 4pm which means she goes down for her afternoon nap around 4:45.  Not good when bedtime is at 7pm.  She already had two nights where she went down at 4:45 and slept straight through to the next morning.  Not good.  I hate to see her miss dinner and sleep in her clothes.  Ick.  So, last week I tried to wake her up one night to feed her dinner.  Boy was that a mistake.  I really do get the "don't wake a sleeping baby" thing now.  Good God was she a mess.  She screamed for a half hour non stop until I gave up, put her pjs on her and put her back to bed.  She was out in seconds.  The plan now is to get out of work a bit earlier so we can get back on a regular schedule.  We'll see....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news:  She walks!  Real, getting places on two feet walking.  If she's in a hurry, she still crawls, but walking is getting to be more and more of a habit.  She still doesn't say "Mommy" which makes me kind of sad, but she does say "Daddy" a whole lot, along with "Uh Oh" "No" and "Da" for "that",  and "De" for dog and cat.  And, of course "Aduguadee" for just about everything of interest to her.  We're pretty sure it means, "Get a load of that!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2812427478777059206?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2812427478777059206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2812427478777059206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2812427478777059206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2812427478777059206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/09/updates.html' title='Updates'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3976332964914238937</id><published>2008-08-11T08:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T08:19:01.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend Festivities</title><content type='html'>This was a busy weekend for us!  On Friday night we went to Luanne and Dave's house and had a wonderful meal and half watched the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.  Hayden wasn't really in a sleeping mood so we let her stay up and "eat" with us.  She actually did pretty well licking food.  She didn't eat anything, but she gnawed and licked in ways that made me think that progress will be made sooner or later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, on Saturday we went down to Somers, CT where I grew up to visit my "other family" from childhood.  You know, the house where you're always at as a kid when you're not at home?  My oldest friend, Jaime, was there with her husband and beautiful new son (well, six months...new-ish).  It was just so surreal almost  to be in the same living room together so many years later as parents with "big kid" lives now.  There's something about old friends that is just so comfortable, even though I've only seen Jaime twice in almost 20 years, it didn't feel like time had passed.  Well, I guess that's not really true, since so much has happened and changed in both of our lives, but we fell back into an easy friendship in a way that felt right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday night we stayed with Dad and Bonnie and then on Sunday we went to Caroline's first birthday party (Brian's goddaughter).   Ben and Michelle have two labs, Jaime and Dom have two Boarder Collie mixes and Dad and Bonnie have two little white fluffy pups.  So, this was the weekend of dogs for Hayden.  The verdict:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bit scared of the boarder collies, but I think that was just because she was playing her usual game of "crawl into another room and then turn around and laugh when mommy comes in after me" only to crawl into another room, turn around and see a big doggie face in hers.  She warmed up to them a bit, but only from across the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not loving the fluffy white yippers all that much right now either, because she was being changed on the floor and one ran over to her to say "hi".  She's okay with them as long as she's taller, but she doesn't like the surprise factor that comes with the little ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The labs?  Loved them.  Almost too much for my comfort level though.  Her way of saying "hi" to Ghengis involved putting her hand in his mouth and trying to grab his tongue. This I did not expect.  Apparently Ghengis is used to it from life with two babies, but still, we spent a lot of time working on "gentle", which finally amounted to her feeding cake to the dogs with a fork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good news?  She can use a fork.  The bad news?  Apparently, it's little more than a doggie toy right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3976332964914238937?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3976332964914238937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3976332964914238937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3976332964914238937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3976332964914238937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/08/weekend-festivities.html' title='Weekend Festivities'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8227570169386703483</id><published>2008-08-07T08:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T08:41:23.370-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Figuring Out the Food</title><content type='html'>I think I mentioned the whole Hayden not eating thing.  Well, we've been trying to incorporate food for a while now, with mixed results.  She really, really likes holding food and touching food and mushing food now, but the eating is still not all that great.  We've been working on cheese lately, and that's the best we've done so far.  If I feed her little bits of cheese, she'll eat them, but the self feeding is still a struggle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I decided to just take little bits of cheese and put them on her tray, with the thinking that if she decided not to eat them, she'd just go cheese-less.  She was very excited to have cheese on the tray, but she got frustrated when I didn't feed it to her.  She looked at it, wailed, held her hands up to me, held cheese out to me, but she wouldn't eat.  She kept reaching for the big slice of cheese on the counter instead.  Finally, I fed her a little bit of cheese and she pushed it out of her mouth.  I tried again, and she pushed it out again, reaching for the big slice on the counter.  I figured, "what the hell" and gave her the big piece. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She took a bite out of it, chewed and swallowed, just like a big girl. Then she looked at me and smiled, as if to say, "see, mom, this is what I've been trying to tell you."  I realized then what part of the problem has been.  We got into a bad catch 22 where the more she gagged, the smaller I cut her food, but because she's only functioning with five teeth, she couldn't get a good chew on the little bits, so she had to swallow them whole, like pills.  Thus, the gagging.  Bigger pieces allow her to gum the food and then she's able to get it soft enough to swallow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, slowly but surely, mommy is learning.  Hayden is doing her best to teach me, but "no" "uh oh" and "bye bye" only get a kid so far.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8227570169386703483?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8227570169386703483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8227570169386703483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8227570169386703483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8227570169386703483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/08/figuring-out-food.html' title='Figuring Out the Food'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4403720766511843192</id><published>2008-08-03T17:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T17:05:50.436-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will Walk For Play Dough</title><content type='html'>Hayden has been *thisclose* to walking for a while now, but other than a few safety steps to get from one piece of furniture to another she really hasn't done much in the way of actually walking.  But, tonight she decided that she HAD to have a container of play dough, and I decided that she really did not need to be licking a play dough container, non-toxic though I'm sure it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I put the play dough up on the bar in the living room and Hayden went into full on baby meltdown mode, which is the normal response when I take anything away from her.  Only this time, instead of crumpling up in a ball on the floor and sobbing, she stood up and walked, mummy style, toward the play dough, stepping over toys as she went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes...I did let her play with the play dough after that.  I mean, come on.....  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4403720766511843192?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4403720766511843192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4403720766511843192' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4403720766511843192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4403720766511843192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/08/will-walk-for-play-dough.html' title='Will Walk For Play Dough'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-497004168708458990</id><published>2008-08-02T13:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T13:20:23.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brian's Birthday</title><content type='html'>Last year Brian kind of got shortchanged in the birthday department.  I still couldn't drive, and could barely walk after the c-section, so there were no gifts.  Maybe a handmade card compliments of Vicidin, but that was about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this year, I figured we'd do it right.  I got Heidi, Hayden's fabulous daycare provider, who has been offering to babysit forever, to come over to watch the kiddo.  Then, I got reservations to an amazing restaurant in Haverhill (who know, right?).  They were even kind enough to honor an amazing weekday special for us, even though it was a Friday night.  We decided to go early so we could have a whole evening to ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heidi came over at about 5pm and Brian and I took off to the restaurant, where we had a 2 hour meal, complete with martinis, amazing wine, and some of the best food I've had in years.  It was great to just catch up.  We did pretty well with the "don't talk about work or kids" thing.  Not a word about work, and we didn't even talk about Hayden all that much.  We toasted our 20 year anniversary of knowing each other, and we reminisced about living in San Francisco, and what an amazing period of our lives that was.  I couldn't have asked for our lives to have turned out any better.  (OK, a bit more financial security would be nice, sure...but aside from that...) life is just very good to us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After our fantastic dinner, we called Heidi to make sure she could work the tv remote ok.  This was our big concern.  We knew Hayden would be fine, she adores Heidi and the feeling is mutual.  Besides, Hayden goes to bed pretty well in general.  No, we were really worried that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Borat,&lt;/span&gt; which we had scheduled to record, would switch on and she wouldn't be able to get back to what she wanted to watch.  Or, worse yet, it would pick up an episode of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Real Sex&lt;/span&gt; or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Cathouse&lt;/span&gt; or something else that would forever color her impression of us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, the tv situation was under control and she had all the snack food she would need for a while, so Brian and I came back to Epping and went to The Holy Grail, a restaurant/bar we've been meaning to check out for a long time.  It's an old church that was converted into a restaurant, and it represents a piece of our shining hope that Epping is di-hicking itself just a bit.  Not that Epping is totally backwoods, but any town that's known for its racetracks is going to have a tough time breaking into the fine dining scene. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We loved &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Holy Grail.&lt;/span&gt;  The owner used to teach at Exeter High, and we talked about the school, the politics etc. for a while while Brian and I enjoyed a good scotch.  The atmosphere is really comfortable and interesting, and the food looks good.  Plus the drinks were "Epping priced" rather than "Boston" priced.  Always a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got home at around 10:30 and then we talked to Heidi until well after midnight.  I love having people we can trust our baby with.  It just makes it so easy to go out, and Brian and I really needed some time to ourselves.  It was wonderful to have a meal that didn't include the words, "Honey, could you..." in any context other than, "please pass the rolls". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we're going to see about date night once a month.  I'm sure between Michelle and Paul, Heidi, Jenn and Patrick, Luanne and Dave, and any number of our friends we can work out some kind of trade.  I feel like this really recharged my batteries.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-497004168708458990?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/497004168708458990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=497004168708458990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/497004168708458990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/497004168708458990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/08/brians-birthday.html' title='Brian&apos;s Birthday'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-3499730078449190097</id><published>2008-08-02T13:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T13:04:31.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's birthday party</title><content type='html'>The party last Saturday was a rousing success.  We had 40 people and luckily the weather cooperated so we weren't all crammed in the house all day.  Instead it was hot and muggy and the kids played in the two kiddie pools and a few of the Tweens hung out in the "big kid" pool.  Hayden was a champion super-baby, going to everyone, smiling and playing and mutilating her birthday cake in proper one year old form.  I have to post photos soon (problems with this computer) but there are some on The Wheeler's blog (a link is on the right of this page). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe my little baby is a toddler now.  It's just crazy.  Crazy, crazy, crazy.  And the questions have begun in earnest..."when are you having another?"  Man, how time flies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-3499730078449190097?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3499730078449190097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=3499730078449190097' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3499730078449190097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/3499730078449190097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/08/haydens-birthday-party.html' title='Hayden&apos;s birthday party'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2778706799599010359</id><published>2008-07-29T18:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T08:07:17.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's First Birthday</title><content type='html'>I can't believe my little girl is one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Hayden's actual birthday (the 23rd) she decided that big girls don't nap, so after playing a few rounds of "for the love of God child, sleep!" I gave up and took her shopping.  We went to my favorite thrift shop and then consignment shop and had a mini baby shopping spree.  Then we went to the outlets and continued the fun.  All in all I spent almost nothing between gift cards, store credit and the wonders of consignment shops, and we ended up with WAY too many toys, as always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we went to Exeter to Me and Ollies to meet up with Michelle, Maria, Katy and Max.  From there we all went to Jenn and Ryan's house and had a nice play date.  Hayden wore the Happy Birthday hat Maria passed on to her from her birthday, and Hayden had a ball.  (Photos to follow soon!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, Luanne and Dave came over for dinner and we let Hayden open some presents and "eat" cake.  She mushed it around and looked at it, but she had NO interest in eating it at all.  But, she loved her gifts - a Weeble Tree House and some soft pjs from us, and a deck of cards with baby friendly activities from Luanne and Dave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went to bed like a champ and then the adults toasted her birthday with martinis.  A good birthday was had by all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2778706799599010359?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2778706799599010359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2778706799599010359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2778706799599010359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2778706799599010359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/haydens-first-birthday.html' title='Hayden&apos;s First Birthday'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4227880935638627979</id><published>2008-07-21T17:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T17:39:34.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Smart</title><content type='html'>Hayden has been doing that thing where she gives me things.  I take them and say, "thank you" and she smiles and hands me something else.  We were in the living room playing the "Thank You" game.  She handed me a block, a baby doll, and a ball.  Then she reached over and grabbed a balled up sticker off the floor.  She examined it for a minute and then held it out toward me. &lt;br /&gt;"Can I have that?" I asked.  She looked right at me.&lt;br /&gt; "No", she said and held it closer.&lt;br /&gt;Two things there.  One, she said "no" for the first time in response to a question.  And Two, she totally got the fact that if she gave me the sticker, I wouldn't give it back.  I asked her again a few minutes later.  Again she told me no.  She held the sticker until Brian came home.  Another cool thing.  While she was playing with it, she figured out where she had pulled it from (a toy of hers) and she tried to stick it back exactly where it came from.  Seriously, baby genius on our hands. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4227880935638627979?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4227880935638627979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4227880935638627979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4227880935638627979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4227880935638627979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/so-smart.html' title='So Smart'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6031712129623351214</id><published>2008-07-21T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T06:55:13.639-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Worst.  Mother.  Ever</title><content type='html'>Last night we went to our friend's house for Game Night, the once a month get together of a group of friends from school.  Just about everyone in the group has kids and every month we do things the same way.  Monica and Russ get a babysitter for their daughter and so do Rick and Maria.  Mindy and Brendan have their son with them and they put him down in a pack and play and we do the same with Hayden.  She's been sleeping in a Pack and Play since she was about a month old, and she's always been fine with it.  Lately though she's started to have a bit of anxiety about sleeping in other people's houses, and it sometimes takes a while to get her to fall asleep unless the room is pitch black.  But, with Blue Bunny and her Soothie, it usually goes okay in the end.  We always have her monitor too, so once she's down we can check in on her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night she went down to bed in the Pack and Play in Mindy's guest room and it seemed like she was doing okay.  I turned the monitor on so I could hear her, and I came downstairs.  There were ten adults and two older kids, and the noise level was a bit high.  High enough that I didn't hear Hayden on the monitor until she was in full baby hysterics.  Brian went up to check on her, and when he came down, she was asleep after drinking some more bottle and cuddling a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stayed until midnight, and she slept the whole time. When we went in to pack her up though, there was vomit everywhere.  She had gotten sick all over herself, the Pack and Play and all across the carpet.  It must have happened when she was crying for me early in the night before Brian went to check on her.  I felt awful.  My poor cub ended up sleeping in pukey pjs.  I feel better that at least Brian went in and gave her a bottle and cuddled her, so at least she didn't just lose hope and settle in in a pool of vomit, but it still makes me sad.  (And no, I'm not sure how Brian didn't notice that she was all pukey.  He wasn't holding her in a way that put him in contact with it I guess). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden's birthday is on Wednesday, and Luanne and Dave invited us to their house for a baby b-day dinner.  I think I'm going to move the location over here so Hayden can fall asleep in her own bed.  I don't want her to be sad on her birthday, and even though I know 9 times out of 10 she's fine in her Pack and Play, I still don't want to do that to her on her birthday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6031712129623351214?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6031712129623351214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6031712129623351214' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6031712129623351214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6031712129623351214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/worst-mother-ever.html' title='Worst.  Mother.  Ever'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8518358576199201800</id><published>2008-07-18T17:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T17:41:35.367-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Afraid of books?</title><content type='html'>OK, this has to be some kind of joke.  My child is terrified of books.  Not the physical presence of books in a room, thank God, but the reading of books just sets her off.  It started with "Mommy Loves Me".  A simple board book with cute photos of mommies and babies and simple little phrases about mommy's hugs etc.  Totally benign.  By page three Hayden was hysterical.  Baby bullshit.  Pushing the book away and screaming.  If I didn't know better, I would have thought she had fallen out of her crib or something.  It was the most upset I've ever seen her without being physically hurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the next night I figured we'd avoid any reference to mommy love.  Instead we opted for "Polar Bear, Polar Bear What Do You Hear?".  A solid Eric Carle classic.  The tears started right around the Polar Bear and by the lion she was in full melt down mode.  I put the book away but it still took her about ten minutes to calm down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I let it go for a few nights, and then tonight we tried "The Going to Bed Book" by Sandra Boynton.  Again, a classic, mellow baby book.  It's not like I'm reading the kid Poe before bed.  Baby Batshit meltdown.  This time though she cried harder when I put the book down.  So, I'm hoping she likes books so much that it sends her into stimulation overload, rather than the opposite.  I don't know though.  She doesn't seem too impressed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8518358576199201800?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8518358576199201800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8518358576199201800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8518358576199201800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8518358576199201800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/afraid-of-books.html' title='Afraid of books?'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2868315727042277929</id><published>2008-07-18T17:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T17:35:31.852-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hayden's first party</title><content type='html'>Hayden's friend Maria celebrated her first birthday last night.  It was a perfect evening for a party.  We all got to the park in Exeter along the river at about 5:30, then they had pizza delivered and yummy baby food for the little ones.  A really good band played from about 6:15 till 8 and we all just hung out, visited, ate and enjoyed the evening.  I have to say, it was the perfect first birthday party.  Low stress for everyone, fun for kids and adults, one of the few pleasant evenings we've had.  Just the full package. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got some photos from Michelle to make Maria a scrapbook for her birthday, and I had a great time making it.  It was fun to look through photos of another baby who I've known for pretty much as long as Hayden.  I think of her as looking the same until I go back through photos and I see how much she's changed.  Of course, putting it together made me think about the girls, and it made me wonder if they'll grow up as friends.  I know that the more a parent wants the kids to be friends the less likely that is to happen, but part of me still would love to see them share a bond as they get older.  There's just something about those childhood friends that link people in unique ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month ago I heard from my oldest friend, whom I hadn't talked to since my wedding, and before that...I don't even know how long it had been.  She just had a baby too, and we talked for over an hour about parenthood and life in general.  There's just a certain comfort level there, and even though we don't talk often at all, I still feel close to her.  My other friend Jenn from high school is the same way.  We don't get together as much as we'd like, just because life keeps getting in the way, but she's one of those people who I know I could turn to anytime and she'd be there for me in a heartbeat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about that sometimes with Hayden and I wonder who she'll be close to as the years go by.  Right now we have such a great group of friends with young kids, and I just feel blessed to have people in my life who are sharing the same experiences and who are there for those day to day adventures of parenthood.  As the kids grow and their personalities develop, I know they'll all find their own paths, but still, it would be really cool if Hayden could look at photos years from now and be able to say, "I've known these guys since birth".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2868315727042277929?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2868315727042277929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2868315727042277929' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2868315727042277929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2868315727042277929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/haydens-first-party.html' title='Hayden&apos;s first party'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5230153493879166037</id><published>2008-07-09T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T13:08:51.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Week of Adventure</title><content type='html'>On Friday Hayden and I went down to Marblehead for the 4th of July with mom.  Brian stayed back to work on Operation We're Not the Clampets: Stage 2, The Pool.  It's going pretty well now, but I did make the decision not to come home until there was water in the pool, because looking at a mud pit in the backyard was just getting to be too much for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't sure about taking Hayden to see fireworks.  I figured, best case scenario, she'd sleep through them.  Worst case, she wouldn't.  And that could be unpleasant for everyone else trying to enjoy their evening.  But, in the afternoon we went for a walk to Fort Sewall while Hayden napped in the stroller.  While we were there, they set off a cannon.  My kiddo slept through it.  The decision was made then....fireworks it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went down to the beach at about 8pm, and Hayden had a bottle and hung out people watching in her stroller.  When the fireworks started, she was so busy looking at a baby nearby that she didn't even look up.  I finally got her attention, and she watched for a minute, and then she became obsessed with another kid.  It wasn't until the fireworks really got going that she got interested.  She reached over for me to pick her up, and I held her in my lap while she watched.  She LOVED them.  Her eyes were wide, and she kept looking over at me as if to say, "can you believe this?!"  She was fantastic.  She snuggled in and watched the whole show, even the finale, without so much as a squirm.  She was transfixed.  As soon as it was over, I put her back in her stroller and she was out.  She slept till 7:30 the next morning.  :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stayed in Marblehead for a few days for the Festival of Arts.  It was fun, but I've realized that my ability to handle large crowds is really compromised with a stroller.  I just don't enjoy the navigation, the curbs, avoiding people's ankles.  I mean, I'll do it, but I found that I really just wanted to hang out in the park on a blanket listening to music.  That's much more my speed these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday night we went to my cousin's house for a lobster bake.  Hayden got to see her first live lobster out of the tank.  She thought it was pretty cool.  What she really liked was her cousins' playroom with all kinds of cool kid toys.  She played and hung out till I put her down in her pack-n-play to bed, so I could enjoy a kidless lobster dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Monday morning, the Cub and I drove down to the Cape to see my friend Mara, who was staying down in Chatham with her extended family.  HUGE house just minutes from the beach.  It was glorious.  Again, I wasn't sure how Hayden would handle it all, but she did great.  She loved the beach, and I loved seeing her loving the beach.  The best thing about it all?  She's back to her pacifier (long story short:  She gave it up at about 4 months, but is obsessed with it again now that she's teething.)  I hated the idea until the past few days, but now I'm loving it, at least for the beach.  She had her pacifier in her mouth the whole time, so I didn't have to worry about sand, shells, seaweed, or anything else being popped in there.  So, she played in the sand and loved it, and I was able to relax a bit.  The ocean was a tough sell at first, but once she realized the waves weren't going to kill her, she was all over it.  She liked sitting at the edge of the water anticipating when the next wave would touch her toes.  Of course, we did have those rogue waves that knocked her a bit, but I was there to lift her up as they came, so it wasn't bad.  Then, we headed off to a little tidal pool by the dunes, and that was a huge hit.  She could sit in the bath temperature water playing with seaweed, and neither of us had to worry about waves.  What did scare her?  An enormous inflatable dolphin toy.  Terrified her!  She was not okay with that at all.  But the rest of it went over well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday morning she got up at 6am, and I took her outside to play so nobody else would wake up.  We played till 8am, when Hayden was ready for her nap.  The rest of the house was still asleep when I put her down.  She napped for another hour and I sat outside with my coffee and a book.  Now that's a vacation.  That one hour was just blissful.  And, later when we went to the beach, Mara watched her for a while while I went swimming.  Pure heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hayden was so wiped out from the trip that she slept until almost 8:30 this morning.  That's so late we both woke up in a panic wondering if she was alright.  Now she's out for her second 2 hour+ nap of the day, and Brian is putting water in the pool.  I'm so glad that project is almost done.  The yard is still a wreck, but at least we have the pool back.  The rest will just have to wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5230153493879166037?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5230153493879166037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5230153493879166037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5230153493879166037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5230153493879166037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/07/week-of-adventure.html' title='A Week of Adventure'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6523913822180325759</id><published>2008-06-27T14:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T14:23:58.239-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A chewing specialist?</title><content type='html'>So, Hayden needs to see a chewing specialist.  She'll be a year old next month, and she can still only eat Stage 2 baby food (lump free).  She'll try anything, but if there's even a hint of texture she'll start to get "that look" (this is a look we've come to know well) and then seconds later the carrot chunks, chicken bits, cherrios, you name it, will be all over.  Brian and I have gotten to the point where we just hold an extra towel under her chin to catch it all, and then we continue feeding her.  The problem now is the fact that other people feed her, or she gets curious about other babies' food, and, frankly, we feel the need to keep up with the diaper-clad Jones who are all feeding their kiddos Baby Mum Mums with abandon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called the doctor, feeling pretty stupid about it to tell you the truth, but he told us to come in.  Now they want her to see a chewing specialist.  Honestly, what kind of a degree is that?  "You see, I specialize in chewing, swallowing and other oral related functions".  I know, it's all very important, especially as a marker for major problems, but I'm really not all that concerned. She won't go to college eating pureed sweet potatoes.  Well, God, at least I hope she won't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6523913822180325759?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6523913822180325759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6523913822180325759' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6523913822180325759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6523913822180325759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/06/chewing-specialist.html' title='A chewing specialist?'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-7682277886541030511</id><published>2008-06-26T17:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T17:52:09.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The First in a Long Line of Fears</title><content type='html'>Hayden almost choked tonight.  She was crawling around in the kitchen, gnawing on the empty, (clean!), seltzer bottles she's obsessed with lately.  Seriously, give that kid hundreds of toys and what does she want?  Recycling.  So, she was contentedly munching on plastic while I sorted out the junk mail.  I could lie and say, "I turned away, just for a second", because that's what we're supposed to say, rather than admitting the truth, but the reality is, when she's quiet and doing something that I'm comfortable with, I'm pretty happy to take the opportunity to go through mail, unload the dishwasher, etc. especially when I'm in the same room less than five feet away.  I was thumbing through a baby catalog, imagining the plans for her first birthday party, when I looked up to see her sitting there with the cap to a beer bottle in in her mouth.  I wouldn't have seen it except that her mouth was open around it, in a big, shocked looking "O".  I ran over and pried it out, and she started crying, maybe because I did it so fast, or because those things have really sharp edges, or, more likely, because she really wanted to eat it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a realist.  I know that this is just the beginning of a long, long, line of, "holy shit, look what could have happened" moments.  And I know that at least 99% of those will be ones that will leave me feeling like a monumentally crappy mother, at least for a while.  I mean, we're not the kind of family who loses a kid to choking on a beer cap for God's sake.  (Now, a wine cork, that I can see...)  And, to feel like my kid was in danger, even for a second, because I was sorting junk mail just does me in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn't the first time I've felt that deep fear of danger averted.  The first time we were still in the hospital.  Hayden was less than a day old, and the midwife came in to apologize for the monumental series of missteps leading to her birth, beginning with the fact that they never caught the fact that she was breech (and had been the whole time, most likely) through the fact that when my water broke with a levee-breaking gush and didn't stop, they didn't ask me to come in so they could be sure of the umbilical cord situation, straight through to the twenty hours of labor (unmedicated) while the midwife dealt with more pressing issues.  It wasn't until I saw her face and heard her talk that I grasped the weight of the situation.  She told us we were lucky that everything turned out well.  She said it a few times with a sadness etched on her face that didn't match our reality.  I got the distinct impression we were the family where it turned out okay, and that there was another couple, maybe not so different from us, who sat hearing the other side of that reality. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the blessing before Hayden's birth, a friend said that having a baby is making the decision to let your heart live outside your body.  It sounded quaint when she said it then.  Now that I catch glimpses of that raw volnerability now and then, it is no longer cute or funny, or greeting card hokey.  It's the most frightening thing I can imagine.  Beautiful, but so goddamn scary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-7682277886541030511?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7682277886541030511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=7682277886541030511' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7682277886541030511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7682277886541030511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/06/first-in-long-line-of-fears.html' title='The First in a Long Line of Fears'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4306798373635722527</id><published>2008-05-21T17:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T17:05:53.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do I Wake Her?</title><content type='html'>Hayden took a 20 minute nap at daycare today.  That's 20 minutes out of an 8 hour day.  So, when we got home, I gave her a bottle and put her down for a nap at 5pm, which is the normal time for her late afternoon nap, when she takes one.  She went down without a fight, which is rare, and now, three hours later, she's still asleep.  I thought about waking her up, but I really am of the belief that you never wake a sleeping baby, but now I'm afraid her little clock will be completely off.  I don't see how she can sleep through the night this way, since she didn't have dinner, but I don't know about waking her, since it's technically her bedtime now.   And, yes, I did go in to make sure she's still breathing.  I wonder if that impulse will ever be quelled, or if I'll be doing that when she sleeps in on college break.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the plus side though, I got about 15 senior portfolios graded.  15 down, 120 to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4306798373635722527?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4306798373635722527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4306798373635722527' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4306798373635722527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4306798373635722527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/do-i-wake-her.html' title='Do I Wake Her?'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8645238711409866940</id><published>2008-05-18T12:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T12:43:23.234-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm in a funk</title><content type='html'>Truth be told, I've been in a funk for a while.  Our yard is straight out of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Clampets&lt;/span&gt;, and I'm developing a real complex that we're "those people".  You know, the people whose house you walk by and you just can't help but think, "why, in the name of God, don't they pick up the crap in their yard."  The worst part is that we live in a walking neighborhood, so people really do stroll by and think, and probably say, "why is there an outhouse in the side yard?"  or "what is that huge, rotting archway to nowhere?" or, "why don't they cut up all the trees that have fallen all over the property?"  And really, these are all valid questions.  The answer is in the form of a two foot tall person, and the two adults who just can't seem to get their act together enough to work around her crazy, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tyrannical&lt;/span&gt; schedule. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm in a funk.  I want this cleaned up, and I know in my heart of hearts that it may not happen for months.  I might just figure out the chain saw and take a go at it myself next weekend.  I mean, how hard can it be really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other Bear Cub related news, she's standing now.  Honest to God standing.  It's crazy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8645238711409866940?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8645238711409866940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8645238711409866940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8645238711409866940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8645238711409866940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/im-in-funk.html' title='I&apos;m in a funk'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8029043827682652899</id><published>2008-05-16T17:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T17:11:49.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hell Hath No Fury</title><content type='html'>One of my students is being ignored by her friends.  It's a long, disturbing story that I can't and won't get into here, but suffice it to say, she's hurt.  A year ago, I would have felt badly for her, but now it raises some kind of mommy viper in me, and I just want to tear into the kids who are hurting her.  This is a girl I have a special bond with, and I admit that I'm protective of her, but I had no idea just how much  of a mother bear I have in me.  I didn't do anything, or say anything to those awful kids, and I won't, but it did make me think.  If I'm this passionate about a student's hurt feelings, how on earth am I going to handle it when Hayden gets her feelings hurt?  I've already gotten my feelings hurt on her behalf once, and it wasn't pretty.  I just don't know.  I'm glad I have a few years (I have a few years, right?) before I really have to deal with this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8029043827682652899?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8029043827682652899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8029043827682652899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8029043827682652899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8029043827682652899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/hell-hath-no-fury.html' title='Hell Hath No Fury'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8988792277412176219</id><published>2008-05-16T17:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T17:07:31.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother's Day Continued</title><content type='html'>We went to the zoo!  Hayden was terrified of the sheep.  They're used to being fed those little petting zoo pellets, so they run right over and nuzzle in.  She was not cool with that.  She cried and clung to me, and I have to admit, in a little corner of myself, I really cherished that.  She's not a big cuddler, so when she snuggles in, no matter the reason, I embrace it. (Pun somewhat intended). I'm not saying I plan to torture the kid with wildlife to get my mommy on or anything, but I do really love that I get to be the comforter sometimes.  I love being the mommy who can make it all better.  Of course, just getting her away from the sheep made it mostly better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What did she like?  The wolverine. I kid you not.  That's what she got into.  She couldn't get enough.  She laughed and squealed and flapped her arms.  She just thought it was the coolest thing ever.  That and the big turkey.  She clung to the chain link fence until we pried her little hands off, she was so into the big, gobbly turkey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a perfect zoo day, springtime with little baby animals everywhere, nursing and being groomed by their mommies.  A nice family outing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the way home, we stopped for wine tasting.  That was fun too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8988792277412176219?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8988792277412176219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8988792277412176219' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8988792277412176219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8988792277412176219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/mothers-day-continued.html' title='Mother&apos;s Day Continued'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-7405813745349789591</id><published>2008-05-10T18:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T18:13:51.162-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother's Day Weekend</title><content type='html'>It's my first mother's day, and I've realized a few things.  One, I have more fun shopping for things for Hayden than I ever had shopping for myself.  Today we went to a huge baby gear and clothing sale in Portsmouth.  We got a baby size life jacket (for the pool and/or the pontoon boat we'll be going out on this summer for the hypnobirthing picnic), a Nantucket T-Shirt, a few other cute outfits, a new sling (since I lost mine), a great big toy that really doesn't need to be in out living room but Hayden loves it, and, perhaps coolest of all, little tiny "bear feet" slippers that match the ones I've had for years.  We had a ball...oh, speaking of balls, Hayden fell in love with a little ball filled with glitter, so we got it for her at the toy store.  I just can't resist her gummy little smile. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a great day.  We spent the day with friends, saw other friends at the sale, and just had an easy, fun time.  Brian cooked me a wonderful dinner as part of my Mother's day weekend festivities, and we're settled in for the night to watch Juno.  Nothing says Mother's Day like a movie about teen pregnancy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-7405813745349789591?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7405813745349789591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=7405813745349789591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7405813745349789591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7405813745349789591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/mothers-day-weekend.html' title='Mother&apos;s Day Weekend'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1751318323837880963</id><published>2008-05-09T20:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T21:09:20.315-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Exedus</title><content type='html'>Right now I commute almost 40 minutes to work, and while that's not as bad as it probably could be, it's not fantastic.  This year we also discovered that my vacations will never be the same as Hayden's, since I teach in a different state.  So, I figured I'd send out an application to the one school in the area that I could see myself teaching at.  None of that is snobbery, it's just that with out expenses, I can't afford to take a pay cut and most of the schools around here just don't pay all that well.  So, I found my ideal school, 6 minutes from home, same vacations as Hayden and the same salary (or very close anyway) and I applied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The interview was great.  There was a team of eight interviewers and they asked interesting, albeit difficult questions.  One asked me to talk about a lesson that went badly.  I figured, what the hell, I'll give them my train wreck.  I told them about the time I was being observed and I decided to have the kids try to identify the context and speakers of various quotes from Macbeth.  My supervisor was taking copious notes as my kids grappled with the quote, "I have given suck and know how tender tis to love the babe that milks me, yet I would, while he was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums and dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this."  The kids got caught up on "the babe that milks me" and you can just imagine where it went from there.  The worst part was, they weren't even trying to be obnoxious, they honestly thought it was about a good blow job.  Nice.  Needless to say, it was an interesting post-conference with my supervisor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, score two for me....I was honest about a failure, and I managed to recite a soliloquy from Macbeth all in one fell swoop.  They liked me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And today, they offered me the job.  A great thing for me I think, and certainly a solid step for the life of the family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1751318323837880963?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1751318323837880963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1751318323837880963' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1751318323837880963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1751318323837880963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/exedus.html' title='The Exedus'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-7326386320292826037</id><published>2008-05-07T19:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T19:30:24.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our little acrobat</title><content type='html'>Why won't my child just lay on the changing table like a normal baby?  The first time she ever crawled, it was to get off the table and now she's out of control.  Honestly, it's like trying to dress a wet squid.  Most of the time now we just put her on the floor so she doesn't roll off the table, and then we try to snap her into her onsie as she crawls across the nursery.  I say we because it takes two of us most of the time.  It's an event.  Oh, and why do the makers of baby pajamas make them with snaps?  I swear, snaps on a spazzy babies are the creation of the devil.  And, if you mess them up, you have to start over, or risk having the baby end up with two feet in one leg of her pjs.  Zippers people.  Zippers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-7326386320292826037?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7326386320292826037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=7326386320292826037' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7326386320292826037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/7326386320292826037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/our-little-acrobat.html' title='Our little acrobat'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6211546417413246559</id><published>2008-05-06T19:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T19:12:59.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you're a mom when...</title><content type='html'>A kid can throw up in class and you don't even bat an eye.  Too bad she barfed on the kids' senior portfolio papers, and my 165 page practicum portfolio.  Poor kid.  We couldn't leave the room because there was nowhere to go, and I couldn't clean up because we only have one working bathroom on our side of the school.  Overall, a pretty lousy afternoon.  But, on the bright side, I'm so used to it by now, it didn't phase me.  Yup, I'm a mom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6211546417413246559?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6211546417413246559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6211546417413246559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6211546417413246559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6211546417413246559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/you-know-youre-mom-when.html' title='You know you&apos;re a mom when...'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-8308853354612837356</id><published>2008-05-04T09:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T09:46:06.072-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If you want to lift the mood,  bring a baby to a funeral</title><content type='html'>Our close friend Corning died this past week.  He had been in the hospital for a while, but I think we all kind of thought he'd get through it and go back to being the same old Corning, strolling around town, napping in every antique store, and greeting every dog by name throughout the town.  But, it didn't work out that way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wake was Friday night and the funeral was yesterday at the church Corning's uncles founded around 100 years ago.  We knew we'd bring Hayden with us to both the wake and the funeral.  Corning loved her, and he'd want her energy there (especially since we're good about taking her out of situations when she does fuss or cry).  At the wake, she entertained the troops with her gummy smiles, and she was a nice distraction from the heavy sadness of the occasion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The funeral yesterday was held at a gorgeous church in Lynn, MA, almost a mini-cathedral.  It was probably Corning's favorite place in the world, aside from his bench by the water in Marblehead.  The service was beautiful.  Corning's submarine buddies lined the walk outside, and the place was full, which is a real testament to the effect Corning had on the people around him.  A soloist sang, and Hayden stared at the stained glass windows and craned her head to see the singer.  I broke down at one point, and she looked over at me with such old soul eyes, it was as if she just got it on some profound level.  By the end of the service Hayden had fallen asleep listening to the people talking about Corning and singing songs in his memory. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all went to the cemetery after the service, and people stopped on the street to watch the procession; there were at least thirty cars following the hearse.  It was pouring, so we covered Hayden with blankets and an umbrella, and she chewed on my watch while we stood for the service.  The Navy played taps and presented the flag to his sister, and the Masons crept in, as is their custom apparently, and they gave a short presentation before disappearing away into the mist. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was probably the hardest goodbye I've had to say, since Corning was the closest thing I really had to a grandfather; but I feel blessed to have had him in my life.  He gave Hayden a very old book of children's stories shortly before he died, and I'll be sure to tell her where they came from, and she'll hear Corning Stories through the years.  I just wish she could have known him longer.  He was one of the most caring, genuinely good people I've ever known.  He will be missed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-8308853354612837356?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8308853354612837356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=8308853354612837356' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8308853354612837356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/8308853354612837356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/05/if-you-want-to-lift-mood-bring-baby-to.html' title='If you want to lift the mood,  bring a baby to a funeral'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-1371912734930189035</id><published>2008-04-30T19:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T19:35:31.657-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We have Words!</title><content type='html'>Today at the park I was on the phone and I said something about a cat.  Right away, Hayden said, "ca, ca, ca".  I thought it was cool, but I didn't really think much of it.  Later, when I was telling Brian about it, I told him that Hayden said "cat" and instantly she said, "cat" with the "t" and everything.  It was really weird.  Honestly, it was as if the cat had turned around and said, "what's up?".  I mean, we talk to her all the time, it just never really crossed my mind that she's listening.  That changes everything.  I guess it's time to stop swearing like pirates, hu?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-1371912734930189035?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1371912734930189035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=1371912734930189035' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1371912734930189035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/1371912734930189035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/we-have-words.html' title='We have Words!'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-4155953909790394054</id><published>2008-04-27T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T17:56:00.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Least Jolly of All Jumpers</title><content type='html'>You know those jumpers that hang in the doorway that every baby goes nuts over?  We've been told by so many people that those things are a secret weapon that will buy us time to make dinner, empty the dishwasher, and even pay bills...all in the same night.  Now, that's a pretty tall order, but we were psyched at the thought of it.  Seeing as we haven't done laundry since before the PA primaries I'll take any secret weapon I can get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we rigged the thing up between the living room and the kitchen.  Brian had to make a door frame of sorts to hang it, which meant using power tools, which scared the cub.  Once she was scared, that was it.  The Jolly Jumper became the source of all things scary, and there were tears.  We put her in it and she cried.  We gave her cherrios and she sobbed.  We gave her her white kitty and she was not impressed.  Finally, Brian gave her a push and she thought about that for a minute, since she really loves to swing.  But, no, the tears won out again.  She is not a jolly jumper.  We'll give it another try tomorrow, but I don't know about this.  It's not feeling like a secret weapon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, Hayden is asleep!  She went down with no tears, no fussing and no baby puke.  I just poured a glass of wine, and I'm ready to relax for an hour before my bedtime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-4155953909790394054?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4155953909790394054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=4155953909790394054' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4155953909790394054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/4155953909790394054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/least-jolly-of-all-jumpers.html' title='The Least Jolly of All Jumpers'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-2107352130138822182</id><published>2008-04-26T20:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T20:30:32.887-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All Things Inappropriate</title><content type='html'>Why is it that I can give the baby a blanket, a cool toy or a bottle, and she'll crawl all the way across the kitchen floor to haul off the fire extinguisher?  It's like she has baby radar to find the worst possible thing to become obsessed with at the worst time.  On Monday night we went out to dinner, to a nice restaurant, I might add, and she insisted on bringing her sneaker to chew on.  Granted, it was brand new, and had never touched the ground, but the patrons in the restaurant don't know that.  But, the fact that she projectile vomited her dinner across the dining room may have trumped the sneaker (needless to say, one hell of a tip was left).  On Sunday I went out to do yard work, and Hayden insisted on bringing a plastic coat hanger with her.  She threw such a crazy, demonic fit when I tried to take it away that I figured she could just have it.  Tonight it was a water bottle.  Not bad at all really, but I wish sometimes she could be obsessed with "kid" things.  A lovey perhaps.  A stuffed bear.  But a fire extinguisher, a sneaker and a coat hanger?  What are we, the Clampets?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-2107352130138822182?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2107352130138822182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=2107352130138822182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2107352130138822182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/2107352130138822182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-things-inappropriate.html' title='All Things Inappropriate'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-5082716606169963424</id><published>2008-04-26T05:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T05:47:00.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Long Lost Art Of Sleeping</title><content type='html'>For the past week, things have been rough in sleepy land.  Hayden went from being a girl who went down at 8pm like clockwork with no problem, and slept until about 6am.  No waking up in the night, no fussiness going down.  It was baby heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, a week ago, something happened.  We're blaming it on object permanence, but who knows.  All I know is, Hayden screamed when her little head hit the pillow, and while we waited out our Ferber/Brazelton ten minutes, she got so upset she threw up.  Now, that makes you feel like a fantastic parent, let me tell you.  Next night, same deal, only this time it took only five minutes for her to throw up, and she did it twice.  Third night, three minutes to puking.  We were clearly going in the wrong direction.  For the past week, we just caved.  I couldn't stand to hear her cry, and the laundry was getting out of control.  But, after only getting three hours of sleep last night, which was sort of our fault for going out and having fun till about 2am and then getting up with the kiddo at 5am, we decided we had to break the cycle, puking or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this morning, Brian got up with her at 5am, changed her diaper, but didn't feed her, and put her back down, alla Ferber and Brazelton.  After about five minutes of ear splitting screaming, she settled back down to sleep and now, at 8:30, she just got up.  Life is so good.  Brian is still sleeping, and Hayden is trying to unplug the computer.  Time to tend to my child.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-5082716606169963424?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5082716606169963424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=5082716606169963424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5082716606169963424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/5082716606169963424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/long-lost-art-of-sleeping.html' title='The Long Lost Art Of Sleeping'/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270647553564175910.post-6911558720808210980</id><published>2008-04-25T17:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T17:50:10.464-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I feel like we're a bit late in the game here since Hayden is nine months old already.  But, in the words of Dr. Phil (God help me) the only thing worse than putting something off for one day is putting it off for two.  But, seriously, Dr. Phil?  I used to read literature for God's sake.  Real, big kid books.  Now, it's Parenting Magazine, and random books that I start and never finish.  So far, that list includes:&lt;br /&gt;Eat, Pray, Love (good first chapter)&lt;br /&gt;My Sister's Keeper (again, compelling first chapter.  That was recommended by a student)&lt;br /&gt;The Burn Journals (disturbing.  About a kid who sets himself on fire.  True story.  Makes me hope he came from a screwed up family so I can feel safe from that)&lt;br /&gt;Wild Ducks Flying Backward (I started that so long ago I have to re-start it)&lt;br /&gt;Water for Elephants&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, this is getting embarrassing, but suffice it to say, I just can't hold a thought anymore.  Hell, maybe that was always the case, and now I just have an excuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kiddo just went down to bed, and I haven't had a real conversation with husband man in a long time, so we'll start this thing for real in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3270647553564175910-6911558720808210980?l=thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6911558720808210980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3270647553564175910&amp;postID=6911558720808210980' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6911558720808210980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3270647553564175910/posts/default/6911558720808210980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thekiddochronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-feel-like-were-bit-late-in-game-here.html' title=''/><author><name>Elaine</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09453214925020704604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
