Watermelon

Olive is an eater. She’ll give almost anything a try but she definitely has her favorites. Banana. Tortellini. Peas. Even steak. But few foods can eclipse the gastronomical passion Olive has for that elegant and gigantic green fruit, the Cadillac of the melon world, that savior of mouths parched by summer heat: the watermelon.

My in-laws knew of this love affair when they sat Olive down for an afternoon snack this past weekend. They decided to see what would happen if Olive was confronted with not the usual handful of pieces, but with a half of an entire watermelon. Shock and awe ensued.

Olive is presented with the bounty.

“Really, this is all for me? You are joking right? Is this a dream, you know, like that movie Inception?”

“I can’t believe it! My head is about to explode with joy!”

“I LOVE WATERMELON! I LOVE MY GRANDPARENTS!”

Now down to business...

No, they didn’t really let her eat the entire half of the watermelon. Eventually they stopped laughing and taking pictures long enough to give her an appropriate serving size, but something tells me she wouldn’t have had a problem mouthing that whole thing.

(Photos courtesy of my mother-in-law)

Screecher Creature

My in-laws are in town this weekend to see Olive. As you may know, they live about a seven hour drive away in northern Maine. Where in northern Maine, you ask? Do you know where Canada is? Yeah, right next to that. So needless to say, Olive doesn’t get to see them every weekend.

Well, apparently she was fairly excited to see them yesterday cause she decided to put on a little screaming show. Now this wasn’t screaming like sad or upset screaming. Olive was in a great mood for most of the night. This was screaming in place of almost every other command or action or emotion. This was, “Look at me! Look at how entertaining and loud I can be! Hi Mimi and Grampy!”

Want more food? Scream. Want to flip the page of a book? Scream. Want to get in your chair? Scream. Want to get out of your chair? Scream. Happy? Scream. Tired? Scream.
And these weren’t little wimpy baby screams. These were full-on blood-curdling, ear-popping, teeth-rattling screeches.

And she was loving it. Every second. Big smiles every time she let one out. We weren’t quite as happy, especially if she let one out next to your ear while you were holding her. Would make you lose your balance. I wish I had a picture or a video for you, but I was afraid that she might have cracked the lens if she really went for the upper register.

Fashion Backwards

So I have read and seen and heard a lot about this new “designer diaper” trend. If you actually HAVE a life and aren’t fully abreast of this development, some Huggies diapers now come in a designer jeans pattern. No, of course it isn’t real denim. I mean, kids poop in it and then you throw it away – THAT would be silly. But they are meant to look like jeans. This, of course, is for the parent that…that…well, that likes paying 40% more for a diaper that makes a kid look like they are wearing daisy dukes, I guess. Either way, they are selling. A lot.

It didn’t take long for Pampers to respond to Huggies opening fashion salvo by announcing that Cynthia Rowley is going to design a line of diapers for that company. I don’t know much about Cynthia Rowley (until about an hour ago, nothing actually) but apparently in the past two years she has signed on to design diapers and uniforms for flight attendants. (Quick aside:How is this viewed in the “design world”? Aren’t designers supposed to be artists? Isn’t this kind like John Irving putting out a series of greeting cards or Martin Scorcese directing an episode of “Two and a Half Men”? Think actresses are beating down her door to dress them for the Oscars? “Oh, Cynthia, please, I need something regal. Something old Hollywood. Something elegant and simple. Something I can piss in and not have to worry about rash.” Okay, back to your regularly scheduled reading.)

I know, I'm about a month behind on this story, so I will spare you the commentary about whether or not this is ruining our country (it isn’t ). And this designer diaper thing is also not a quantum leap for parental consumerism…I mean, does anyone remember this post?. So let’s not take this too seriously.

But what has surprised me about the dozens of news articles and blogs I have read about this is how few stories mention that cute, multi-colored, fancy designer diapers isn’t a new idea. Diapers with polka dots and butterflies and pastel colors have been around for years. They just aren’t disposable.

Olive wears pink and orange and green and yellow and blue diapers. She has a bunch of “trendy” cloth diaper covers. We just bought a friend a diaper that has the Boston Red Sox logo and “Little Sox Fan” embroidered on the butt. And the best part is…you don’t need to throw it away after using it once.

When we chose to use cloth diapers for Olive, the “cute” aspect wasn’t really a factor. I mean, over 90% of the time the diaper is covered by something else – usually something FAR more fashionable. But it doesn’t hurt that the diapers are cute too. So if fashion really means that much to you when choosing a method of collecting human excrement – leave the faux jean disposables on the shelf and swing by or click on to Diaper Lab in Somerville, MA. They don’t have Cynthia Rowley – but really, who the hell is she anyway?

Teaching

One thing that I wasn’t prepared for as a parent (along with the frequency of getting poop on my hands) is the amount of teaching you need to do. With an infant, teachable moments seem few and far between because there is so little give and take. Yes, you talk and read and point things out, but there is no interaction.

With a toddler, it is constant.

At around a year, you need to be an ever vigilant teacher. Olive is constantly pointing, picking things up, tasting things, and talking. Yes, I can just let her play with those blocks or paw at flower petals without telling her what color the blocks are or showing her how to smell flowers, but I have this constant fear that my daughter is going to go through life without absolutely vital skills, like knowing what sound a pig makes or that grass isn’t for eating.

It can be exhausting. If Olive picks up a ball and starts playing with it, you have to make a choice. Do I just let her play quietly by herself, without Daddy hovering over her -- or do I start teaching.

-Yes, that is a ball.
-Can you say ball? B-B-B-B-Ball?
-It is a green ball, isn’t it?
-Can you throw the ball?
-Throw the ball to daddy, Olive.

Then she throws the ball and you need to confirm with her that, yes, that was the action you requested.

-Good job, honey. You threw the green ball to daddy. Oh, now you want to play with the puzzle?

Sigh.

And this isn’t just during playtime. This is when she is eating (Are those good blueberries? What is that? Is that a fork?) When we are in the grocery store (Yes, that is a banana). During bathtime (I’m washing your hands now, Olive. Can you show me your hands?).When we are in the car (Do you see the school bus, Olive? The yellow school bus? Do you see the douche bag who just cut daddy off, honey? How many fingers is daddy holding up, Olive? One! That’s right!). See what I mean about it getting tiring.

And we teach our kids absolutely useless information. Children’s books are filled with references to animals that live on farms or entire other continents. Why does it matter if Olive knows that a sheep says “Baa.” I’m pretty sure that sheep are never going to play a major role in her life. And hate to break it to you, Polar Bear, Polar Bear, but no one cares what you hear. You are going to be extinct by the time Olive goes to high school anyway.

But these teachable moments do have a payoff. Olive is picking up new words slowly but surely. She is starting to be able to perform tricks like pointing to her nose and stomping her feet. One of her favorite activities is grabbing books from her bookshelf, walking over to the middle of the room, sitting down, and starting to “read.” When she flips open the book she babbles, I assume imitating mommy and daddy reading out loud to her.

She doesn’t exactly have the longest attention span though…so now I just need to teach her that books have more than one page.

Country Bumpkin

As mentioned in a of previous posts, we had a fantastic family vacation to the northern reaches of Maine over the fourth of July. Why let a little disfigured toe get in the way of a good time.

Olive was exposed to all things Northern Maine.

1) Camouflage overalls


2) Riding lawnmowers


3) And of course, fully operational mini-cannons (at least Olive got dressed up to go play with artillery)


My mother-in-law took most of these pictures and I kept asking her to send them along, to which she would reply: “Why, so you can make us all look like hicks up here!”

What do you mean? I would never do that! I just want to make my daughter look like a hick.