Fixing

Today was class picture day at Lyla's school. In a couple weeks we'll be able to log onto their website, enter a code, and view the various proofs before ordering hundreds (no, thousands) of dollars in prints.

Lyla did very well, from what I hear, but there's a new baby in the class that did not do well. She screamed her face off. I hope there will be a print with eight or nine oblivious babies and one having a tantrum. I'd probably order that one.

One of Lyla's teachers told me that the photographer fixed Lyla's hair for the picture. This man found something about my daughter that was unworthy of his camera, an out-of-place hair that made her unphotogenic, something that needed fixing. Had I been there, I would have fixed his face.

I relayed this information to Julie at home, and she laughed and said this morning Lyla looked like she had slept on top of her head. Her hair was Picasso-esque. Still. Still! Okay, so I overreacted. You would've too.

Coyote

Sometimes the teachers at Lyla's school open the door that connects the two baby rooms and let the babies roam back and forth like free-range chickens. When I arrive, it's fun when Lyla has roamed to the adjacent room because then I can spy on her until she sees me.

Today was one of those days. In the center of the room is what looks like a kitchen counter island in a little person's house. Lyla was traveling its perimeter drunkenly, dragging one hand along it for balance. I stood in the connecting doorway until she saw me, at which point she let go.

On the old roadrunner and coyote cartoons, when the coyote would accidentally run off a cliff, he'd hang in midair until he realized where he was, at which point he'd plummet. The same was true of Lyla: for a moment she stood there, but then she realized she was unsupported and kerflumped to the ground.

In unrelated news, Julie got a look at Lyla's half-tooth. I tried to use her toothbrush to get a look myself, but her tongue and lip thwarted my effort.


But I did feel it with my finger. It's coyote sharp. Hopefully she won't be a biter.

Iguana

Lyla is beginning to crawl on her hands and knees instead of sliding on her stomach army-style. If her nose detects a Cheerio on a faraway table, she'll opt for hands and knees to more quickly transition to standing once she gets there. She still uses the army crawl for things like getting under barbed wire.

Her speed is improving, too. Now she's about as fast as an iguana that is not being chased by a predator. And she's making mischief in all sorts of new places:





Oh, and we can feel a tooth. It's coming. She might not need those Halloween plastic vampire teeth after all.

Chip

Saturday is Julie's day to sleep in, and Sunday is mine. That's an all-time, carved-in-stone rule. The only time you would relinquish your sleep-in day is if you needed to use it as a bargaining chip.


For instance, my friend whose girlfriend works for the Twins called me yesterday with an extra ticket to today's game. I told him I'd get back to him, and then I thought about what to say to Julie. "Woman, I know we planned to spend tomorrow doing quality family activities, but instead I'm ditching you for baseball and beer. Beer in plastic cups."


Such a declaration would have caused a delicate situation, and by "delicate situation" I mean Julie might have thrust her hand into my chest and extracted my still-beating heart.


So I gave her my sleep-in day (she awoke around 10:00) and everyone ended up happy, with hearts intact.

Discoveries

Lyla made three important discoveries today. The first was that there are cupboards in the kitchen with doors that open and close. The cupboards also contain lots of baby-inappropriate toys for when the opening and closing gets old. Which it doesn't. But if it ever does get old to open, close, open, and close those doors, the fun will not end.





The second discovery was a Little Tykes Push & Ride Racer, given to her by Auntie Jen. This racer will revolutionize playtime. It goes.



And, as you can see from all of these photos, the third discovery was that something fun becomes more fun if you're holding a Sharpie.

Carnage

I remember when Lyla was too big for her detachable car seat and too small for a restaurant highchair. Those were not good months for eating out, but we did it anyway occasionally, to the chagrin of one and all.

It's better now that Lyla can dangle her legs out the holes of the wooden highchair and flap them (yes, flap them) when she wants another spoonful of slop.

And it's better now that we can litter her end of the table with puffs, Cheerios, and bits of our bread. I remember months ago looking forward to such a day and picturing how I'd scour the table with various disinfectants before letting Lyla's food and hands touch it.

The reality is that we're comfortable with clean enough; we figure the table busser probably changes out his rag once in awhile. Right? Either that or these are germs that will prompt Lyla's immune system to work overtime, which will eventually lead to invincibility.

Tonight Lyla ate food from the second we sat down until the second we left. She scarfed a thing of sweet potatoes, half a thing of a lovely orchard fruit medley, and about 7,000 puffs. When we left, we winced at the piles of dribbled food beneath Lyla's highchair, which certainly necessitated the plug-in vacuum rather than the vacuum-sweeper hybrid. It was carnage.

But that's nothing compared to what we'll find in her diaper tomorrow morning.

Dashing

Tonight Lyla dined with the dashing and debonair William. He can walk, run, and jump, and he eats with elegance. He is of fine, fine stock indeed.

William gave us a preview of what our lives will be like when Lyla is taller and better balanced. For instance, Lyla has never shown any interest in our dogs' water and food bowls, but William pointed out that those bowls are in fact very interesting. The water bowl, especially, is an excellent place to dip your socked toe.

And so on. We have some hilarious times ahead of us.


The swivel chair alone will provide hours of entertainment.