Chloë had a good visit with her grandpa this weekend (sadly, he has now gone back to his home in the computer), climbing all over him and dragging him around to play blocks or color or read or watch shows. Saturday a couple of our friends came over with their kids, and the three of them played in the backyard in the pool, and then on the slide, and then on the slide into the pool (and Dad watched them and, in some cases, doused them with the hose). Chloë's head went under water her first couple of slides because she goes down on her back, so we put her life jacket on her for some extra height, and she was happier after that.
This weekend she also reverted to a previous bad habit: namely, squeaking. Not long ago, she started putting an upward, questioning lilt on all of her sentences; and then she started pushing them up to horribly high, fingernail-on-chalkboard squeaking. I don't know why. We tolerated it and then, when it became apparent it wasn't a momentary thing, corrected it. She was cured, I thought, but then it came back. So we're back to correcting her. With luck, soon she will relent.
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