Nora Evelyn

Today is day one in our little “can Nora sleep in a big girl bed” experiment and the preliminary results are incredibly promising. I converted the bed (took the front off the crib) right after she got up this morning. Here she’s sitting in it for the first time (wearing a towel because she was gearing up for a run at the potty chair which, you understand, requires one to be properly attired). Her afternoon nap went as smoothly as ever (actually, she dropped her monkey and cried until I came in and retrieved him for her. Despite putting herself *into* bed she seems unaware that she can put herself back out again. We’re not complaining).

Bedtime went even more smoothly than usual. We finished teeth & bath, put her in her footy pajamas (“shoes! mama! shoes!”) and she climbed into bed herself, snuggled monkey, told us “bye bye” and went straight to sleep. Amazing. Can it last?

There’s just no way to delicately talk about advances in potty awareness on the internet. There isn’t. Let’s just say that someone (I’m not saying it was or was not Nora) is having a big day today. Someone made her first BM in the potty chair this morning. Later in the day, this person told her parents she’d done it again and needed a new diaper right after it happened.

I have no video or photos of whomever this is for what are probably obvious reasons.

Last night I went into Nora’s room because she was fussing (tossing, thumping, grumbling). As I walked in she very clearly said, “monkey”.

This isn’t as weird as it sounds. She has a stuffed monkey our friend Tami gave her and she won’t go to bed without this monkey. So, naturally, I figure she’s awake at 3:00am and tossing around because she’s either (a) dropped monkey and can’t get him or (b) taken off his shirt and is now annoyed that he has no shirt*. So I ask her if she needs help getting monkey and there’s no reply. “Nora?” and nothing. I peak in at her and notice… she’s asleep! I’m staring at my sleeping daughter and once again she says, “monkey!”.

sweet dreams, little one. Mommy, Daddy and monkey love you very much.

* incidentally, we’ve replaced most of the more vulgar swear words in our house with the disturbingly cathartic “monkey shirt!” It’s good for all occasions and only offends the hard of hearing (and monkeys).

On Saturday, at dinner, Nora’s Uncle Eric got her a green helium balloon*. As is always the case with helium balloons, Nora treasured it mightily. She also treasured the one given to her cousin, Kacie, but failed to claim that one. She proudly carried hers to the car, played with it (and sang into it) most of the way home and was proudly carrying it to the house when she let go of the ribbon and learned a very, very hard lesson about life. Sometimes loss is permanent. Daddy can’t fly 250 feet in the air over Argo Pond to retrieve your balloon no matter how vehemently you point, how mournfully you call out “balloon! balloon!” or how cutely you make your “I don’t get it!” hand gesture. For a while you could see the balloon drifting away into the sky from our dining room window so she stood perfectly still and watched it fly away until she couldn’t see it anymore.

Now every walk from the car means Nora must take a moment to point off into the western sky, squint up into our faces and say, simply, “balloon.” It’s not a question. It’s not a cry. It’s just a sad declaration of her loss and a remembrance of things past.

Probably she’ll let go of the next one too.

* the balloon was green, not the helium.

I’m pretty sure this is the first time Nora’s successfully shelled her own edamame; it’s definitely the first time she’s done it sitting at the table sans high chair. The experiment was surprisingly successful but, as the video shows, she’s not quite ready to give up that high chair. Note: the cardboard box on the table is the box for this new camera in case we send it back. Pity I didn’t think to move that.

Get the latest Flash Player to see this player.

Nora texted the word ‘Ink’ to our friend Lauren this afternoon. She also helped send Zara a “Happy 4th birthday” message this weekend (from her very own gmail account, no less). And not only did she manage to call Grandma and Grandpa with Jen’s cell phone but she also managed to set up a 3-way call (which we didn’t actually know the phone could do). Who’s the master of all media now!? Unrelated picture follows.

Okay, so it’s not jiff. It’s hippie-friendly organic peanut butter with flax seed oil. Either way, Nora loves it and I got to watch her figure out that you can use a mouthful of broccoli to work a mouthful of mushy peanut butter bread off the roof of your mouth (the alveolar ridge, don’t you know). This is Nora’s first-ever peanut butter sammich (don’t tell the allergen patrol!).

Note that the second half of her sandwich is peanut butter-side down on the table. :)

‘feis’ (pronounced [fɛʃ]) is an Irish word meaning “place where perfectly lovely dancers with unfortunate clip-on curls stomp their feet while pressing their arms awkwardly at their sides) and they’re all the rage since Riverdance (which I also blame for the clip-on hair). Occasionally at a feis, though, people will get bored standing around and an Irish dancing competition will break out. It was to such an event that my dear sister and niece brought Nora last weekend for her first ever day trip away from mom & dad.

Mom celebrated by going back to bed and dad, ever the dedicated academic, used the time to fall asleep on a stack of papers he needed to read. Nora, for her part, had an absolute ball. Here’s some photographic evidence from the day.

Just over 3% of the fingers in our house had a very, very bad morning today. Nora was helping get her clothes for the day (as is her wont) and slammed the 4th (ring) finger of her right hand right on the distal interphalangeal joint resulting in a fairly nasty laceration. There was much crying immediately after the event but she was quite a trouper during the washing, drying, neosporining, and bandaging of the wound. If anything, she was (and is) mostly annoyed at having something stuck to one of her fingers.

Here she is at breakfast, still tear-stained, and refusing to use her right hand for anything.

When I got home from work today Nora got very excited, put on her hat (really), made me get down her snowsuit for her, and pushed open the front storm door. I interpreted this as a subtle request to go for a walk and so we did! Here are some pictures of Nora on her first ever walk outside which included: crunchy gravel, a nice old man whom Nora tried to adopt, a puddle that stymied her briefly, crunchy leaves, the baby swings, a nice cyclist whom Nora tried to adopt, and a couple of big kids (comparatively wizened preschoolers).