Staying on Track

I've posted before about how K is kind of a brutal personal trainer.

She's getting worse.

This morning I was trying to wrap-up work stuff for the week, and she handed me an Oreo to "open" for her. (She only likes the middles. Um, for breakfast? I don't know. It's Friday.) Instead of twisting it and handing it back to her, I absentmindedly popped it into my mouth.

I wish you could have seen the look of horror on her face as she cried, "No! Mom! Spit it out! Spit it out!" There were tears. So many tears. (I know that they were really tears of "I can't believe that hooker ate my cookie" and not "I'm so disappointed in your dietary choices," but --)

I can take solace in the knowledge that she's tough because she cares. During my afternoon workout, I was making some really pained attractive noises as I was finishing the last few reps with some weights, and K ducked her head into the room.

K:"You okay?"
Me: "I'm okay. It's just hard."
K: (comes in, puts a hand on my face) "You're very brave."

Then she looked at me a little while before adding, "Your hair is really big. You need a haircut."

I don't know what I'd do without her.

Warning Signs

I'm considering putting a deadbolt on my bedroom door. Not to prevent middle-of-the-night bed crashing. (K has actually only come out of her room ONCE during the night this last week! That's amazing! I'm probably jinxing it here but I needed to share that Christmas miracle with you.) No. I think I need a lock for personal protection. Self-preservation. Whatever you want to call it.

K and I were in the car the other day. I was driving. She was playing with one of those God-Forsaken charming baby dolls that make noise. This particular one makes a sucking and gurgling sound (again, charming) like it's working on a pacifier or bottle.

K calls out from the backseat, "Baby choking! Baby choking!"

"I don't think the baby is choking, K. She's trying to suck on a pacifier. A binky. That's not choking."

At this point I'm still keeping my eyes on the road, because I am an attentive driver. (Ha!)

"No, Mom. LOOK! Baby choking! Look, mom!"

I look. She's sitting there, tiny toddler hands THROTTLING THE NECK OF HER BABY DOLL.

At this point I'm mostly amused. I've wanted to choke the life out of that particular doll before, too. I try not to laugh and instead explain why we don't, uh, choke babies.

Everything is quiet for a few minutes. Then I hear it again. "Look, mom. Baby choking!"

I think, okay, let's try a different tactic. "Why would you want to choke your baby? Why would you want to do that to Baby . . . What is that baby's name?" (K is an eclectic doll-namer, and has characters ranging from the mundane "Baby Sue" to the more colorful "Baby Dar-Dar" to one that's just called Baby Baby.)

K: "Baby Karinya [my last name]."

YOU GUYS. My daughter was not only enthusiastically choking a baby, but a baby who happens to share my FULL NAME.

I'm afraid of my toddler. If there's another long period of silence here on the blog, you might want to send someone over to do a welfare check.

Toddler Goofiness

(There isn't any actual substance here, just fluff. Fair warning!)

Is it horribly gloomy and cold right now where you live? It sure is here. On a happier note, K is working her cute toddler mojo hard enough today that she's counteracting at least a little of the winter blahs.

This morning, upon waking up:
K: "Where's Daddy?"
Me: "Daddy went to work."
K: "Oh. I was sleeping."

On the way to the store to grab a missing dinner ingredient, I noticed that she had a look of intense concentration on her face. A look that usually means she's working on a. . . diaper surprise.
Me: "What are you doing, K?"
K: (In a strained voice through clenched teeth) "I'm trying to stay warm!"

A short while later at the checkout, I was putting the groceries up on the counter when Ms. K snagged a piece of candy from the display, snuck around me, handed it to the cashier for her to scan, and then took it back and started walking towards the exit. I didn't notice any of this until I looked to see what the people in the next checkout line were laughing about. (I'm an attentive mother.) I was impressed enough that I let her keep it. If you want strawberry Mentos (?!) that badly, K, then by all means, enjoy 'em. (This is a more sophisticated candy-acquiring technique, as she used to be a fan of the "bite through the wrapper so mom HAS to buy it" strategy.)

Now she's wearing the bowl that her orange slices were in on her head as a hat. It's tough times in the Unlikely Origins household -- we can't afford both Mentos AND winter gear, so it's a good thing she's learned to improvise.

Toddler Moments

from the last week or so. I have big, sickeningly romantic news to write about here when I have time for a real entry, but for now? Cute toddler junk!

*"There's a buffalo on my head!" /Repeated for most of the hour-long drive between the new house and our current house, as she tried to balance her stuffed buffalo on her noggin.

*Me: "Sorry, K. The baby seat for the potty is at the other house already. There's no baby seat here."
K: [pats regular toilet seat] "No baby seat. Daddy seat!"

*K, upon waking up one morning: "Turkey Sandwich."
Me: "Is that what you want for breakfast? A turkey sandwich?"
K: "Turkey Sandwich . . . and chocolate."

Other Names

The three of us were hanging out this weekend when K referred to me as Kathryn (her actual name, though I bet you've already figured that out).

It wasn't the first time she'd done that. It seems like, while she realizes that I'm mommy and she's baby, she thinks we both share the "other name" of Kathryn.

"K," I said, wanting to prod at this a little more. "What's my other name?"
K: "Mommy!"
Me: "Yes, but what's my other name?"
K: "You!"
Me: "Yes, but what's my other name?"
K: [thinks] "Friend."

<INSERT MELTING HEART HERE>

We played a few more rounds of this game, and I told her that my Other other name was Karinya, and -- my name is not an easy one to pronounce, but she just about nailed it! It was the first time I'd heard her say my Other other name, and it was . . . one of those amazing motherhood moments that sort of cancels out things like last month's Desitin-on-carpet-and-favorite-chair incident.

Names are something we've been thinking a lot about lately. When we started the blog, I asked Bob what he wanted to be referred to as in posts, and after some deliberation about what labels to apply to ourselves in relation to each other and our family, we decided to just use our real names instead of "mom" or "dad" or whatever. Parenthood is all-consuming and life-taking-over enough (not that it's not worth it) but it's nice, sometimes, to remember that we have "other names," too.

*For those keeping score, K usually calls Bob dad or daddy, even though he didn't come into our lives until she was twenty months old. She started doing it on her own (there was no goading on either of our parts to encourage her to apply that label to him; it just happened organically. This thrilled me beyond belief) but she still sometimes rotates Bob or Bobby into her daily speech.

I'm a little tired and birthday partied-out, so I can't come up with a smooth way to tie this into the rest of the post, but: Unlikely Origins now has a facebook page! If you like us (and I hope you do?), please consider "officially" liking us on facebook. If you really like us, perhaps use facebook's handy "suggest to friends" tool, too? (Don't make me play the birthday card, folks. I TOTALLY WILL.)

Fair Warning From a Toddler

"Be careful, Mom. I'm going to bite you on the face." - K

What is That, K?

A substantive post -- complete with (someone else's) gorgeous photos and a killer recipe -- is coming soon, but for now I just had to share this.

K and I went for a run on our favorite right-by-the-lake, canopied-by-gorgeous-foliage trail today. (We're trying to squeeze in as many of those as we can before the weather really turns!) During the "cool down" portion of the workout I always pop K out of the stroller so she can walk with me, and she usually picks up acorns and leaves that catch her eye along the way.

Today she spotted (she has eagle eyes, I swear) and picked up a different nut than we usually come across.

Me: "What is that, K?"

K: Stops for a moment to look at the nut in question, then gleefully announces: "Poop!"

Me: . . .

Google has since confirmed my suspicions that the darn thing was actually a hickory nut, but -- man. Toddlers. We had a long talk about what we do and do not pick up as we made our way back to the truck.

I love her.