|"Pirate sisters Chloë and Maia, best friends for ever!"|
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Saturday, September 21, 2013
"I don't need 'positories any more!" Maia said brightly yesterday. Then she took a wipe and tried to stuff it up her ducky's butt.
We went to Seattle last week. While we had a good time overall, travel didn't agree with Maia's digestive system. There were no poops for the first two days, and when she was straining but getting nothing out, we decided to use suppositories, which we've used for her once before. They were highly effective then, but she was ambivalent about them--she knew they worked, but she didn't like how they went in, which I really can't blame her for--and refused these. Of course, being two, her refusal didn't mean as much as she might have wished. We administered several of them, as well as tons of fruit and juice and gummy fiber pills (Chloë also had a couple since they tasted yummy, she said, but since she didn't need any of that sort of help and we're the ones who wipe her butt, she went off them), and eventually a vegetable laxative pill.
She didn't do terribly well the remainder of the trip, but it wasn't so bad we wanted to take her to a doctor. She did start crossing her legs when she was straining, presumably because it hurt--she mentioned this a couple of times when I was changing her, so I took extra care cleaning her, and when I forgot once told me, "Wipe gentwy!" We discouraged the leg-crossing, and by a couple days after we got back, she had gotten back to normal consistency and frequency. She got milk today for the first time in a week.
We're not sure how much each remedy helped, but I'm fairly confident that getting back to her normal schedule was a part of it. Funny how travel can affect something like digestion and excretion. She didn't have this problem our last trip out, admittedly. But it certainly wasn't the change in diet, since Mom and Dad pushed fruit and vegetables even more than we do.
Monday, September 9, 2013
"Which one?" Chloë asked her. "Jupiter?"
"She wants Jupiter," Chloë told me. "But not the real Jupiter."
"Why not?" I inquired.
"Because one, she couldn't carry it. And two, it wouldn't be in orbit any more. And three, it would be bigger than a room."
Sunday, September 1, 2013
"On my chest," Maia decided, and together they applied a wet washcloth onto her chest.
"Now, it's time to take off your Band-Aid, Maia," Chloë said kindly. "It's not going to hurt. Ready? One--" She yanked off the washcloth. "That didn't hurt, did it?"
The removal of Band-Aids is Chloë's hangup, not Maia's, of course. I thought it was interesting she chose to channel her experiences in that way. (The "I'll count to three...one [rip]" technique is Eric's; I just reach over and pull it off quickly when she's not prepared.)
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
In the meantime, Chloë and I ended up talking about Christmas at bedtime tonight (it followed naturally from her checkup tomorrow and cranberry juice...just trust me) and she said, "I love Christmas and Thanksgiving! They're my favorite days!"
"They're good days," I agreed, and prepared to say something about having to wait for them.
"Every day is a good day," she sang, her head nestled against me as we snuggled. "Every day is a good day!"
Monday, August 19, 2013
"Yes," I said.
"Because I wanted some."
"Water!" she cried. Her little fist landed on the table. "You like water!"
"I'll have water next time," I promised.
...So I think my little unplanned hiatus is at an end. We'll see. I'm feeling less robotic than I have been the last several weeks. Eric says I'm yelling at the kids more, which I suppose could be interpreted as another symptom I'm feeling better. Or that it's time to hire a babysitter. Or make cookies with Chloë.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
This evening, near bedtime, Chloë and I were talking about that scene; I told her that Raegan was very sweet for asking about it.
"Why was that sweet?" asked Chloë
"Well, when you worry about someone, that shows that you care about them. Like when you tell me when something happens to Maia, it means you care about her, right."
"Yes, because she's my best friend!"
Monday, June 10, 2013
"Maia," I called, since she was close, playing by herself at the moment, and I knew she'd want to see. "Come over here. There's a bunny in the yard."
She looked up from the aircraft carrier toy she was playing with. "Maia," I said again. "Come here."
She gave me a few more seconds of face time (a look Courtney interpreted as "Aircraft carrier, Mom") and then went back to playing. I shrugged and went back to the game.
A few minutes later Maia got tired of the aircraft carrier. She carefully put away the little accessories she'd been playing with, stood up, and walked over to me. "I comed, Mama!" she said brightly.
The rabbit, of course, had moved on. But it actually wasn't out of the yard, so I was able to show it to her after all.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Chloë doesn't do naked time anymore because she would rather play "dance class," which consists mostly of wearing a dress and occasionally scolding Maia or me because class is about to start. She loves her dresses and her dancing. She can now dress herself entirely, except for socks which she continues to have problems with. You'd think that, considering she hasn't taken them off except for baths and momentary changes since, like, 2011, she'd have figured them out by now.
We've decided to get rid of her size-four clothes, except for a few loose shirts and skirts. Have I mentioned yet that she's a big girl? We're planning on taking away her sippy-cup rights, but she's not interested in this at all; she's even regressed away from straw cups, preferring actual sippies when she can get them. She's also showing a more typical-than-I-hoped tendency to be a picky eater. She doesn't like cheesy pasta anymore. She doesn't like green beans anymore. She doesn't like fried rice or peppers or smoked sausage. She has discovered a love for sweet potatoes, and still professes to enjoy frozen peas, and of course is extremely keen on candy and popsicles and ice cream. We're anticipating more fights at the dinner table wherein she demands something else for dinner and we refuse. Fun times.
She's also regressing a little when it comes to leaving Eric and me. We sent the girls to Memaw's recently so we could go out for our anniversary (six years! And we haven't killed each other yet!) and have left them at Aunt Angie's a couple of times, and each time she's wept and screamed about it. "I want to stay with you," she wails. We expected that she'd have fun once we left. And, the report goes, she did stop crying not long after the door closed behind us, but she was pretty quiet and was very, very glad when we came back. She doesn't like going downstairs without us, either. I worry a bit about this lack of...what is it? Independence? Self-confidence? Secure attachment? (Only I just looked up this last and no, she shows signs of secure attachment; the "secure" describes the attachment, not the child.)
We've signed her up for swim lessons, and she's agreed that sounds fun, though I anticipate a fight getting her socks off, just like last year. We're planning on going to Daytona Beach for the Snyder family vacation again this year, and she told me that she would "try to go in the water."
She now owns a few learn-to-read books, and we've started sounding out words. Sometimes she's delighted by this--particularly the one session we had with the foam bath letters--and sometimes she squirms and doesn't want to participate. I'm hoping to get her to the point where she can recognize a couple of words on sight ("Hi" is good, since it's the first word of her Dora learn-to-read book) and give her some confidence that way.
She remains a loving sister, though she does try to order Maia around more than I'd like and at the same time tends to wail and scream, more than Maia ever does, when Maia doesn't do what she wants. "I love Maia best of our family," she told me recently. I'm good with that. When we snuggle at night (another thing I want to wean her off of--not that I don't like the snuggling, but she needs to sleep without it eventually) she whispers, "I love you," and I stroke her hair and whisper back, "I love you too."
Monday, May 27, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Chloë: I won!
Maia: I two!
Friday, April 26, 2013
Ahem. I really got on to share Chloë's newest song, which she sang while playing with her My Little Demon figurine just now:
"I am the skeleton one, because I have a skeleton
And I live where there are dinosaur and people...skeletons
And I live right here in the cat"
Thursday, April 25, 2013
I did the seesaw and helped make the swing set long enough to accommodate all three swings she wanted by putting multiple Colorforms end-to-end. She did the rest. And then there's Legos:
As for Maia, Chloë's very fond of telling her "No! Don't color on my picture!" or "Don't eat your hands!" or "Come to my room for a sleepover!" She's actually drawn multiple pictures depicting things Maia shouldn't do (take her lip balm, mostly) with "MAiA" and "ON" (she still hasn't captured the concept of writing left-to-right) written on them. She's so funny. But they still get along great, especially now that Maia's able to play and understand better. With the weather improving we've been getting outside as we can, and they love playing in the sandbox or using sidewalk chalk or flying kites together. She's finally learned how to ride the tricycle, including turns, though she still fusses when she gets stuck. She likes to have her own way, but she's also very encouraging to Maia. She's excited about Maia's party and the present she picked out (and also the one that we picked out), and will happily wait for her or fetch things for her, and they do decently well on sharing, even the LeapPad.
And now that she's finally mastered riding her tricycle (she rode all the way around the block today! And kept going even after taking a tumble!), she's found a new way to have fun with her little sister:
Monday, April 22, 2013
We spent a good part of the weekend outside. I worked on the garden and the girls drew with chalk, blew bubbles, slid down the slide and tried to ride Chloë's tricycle. Chloë can ride it but has trouble with corners and with getting stuck on the far end of our lawn. Maia can't reach the pedals but she doesn't stop trying. She's been so enamored of it that we decided to get Maia her own (shorter) tricycle for her birthday.
It arrived Friday, and I took Chloë into confidence about what was inside and told her she couldn't tell Maia because birthday presents should be secret. So far (as far as I know) she hasn't told Maia, which is frankly better than I expected. She has whispered to me in front of Maia, "We're keeping the tricycle a secret!" but that's not so bad and is utterly cute.
Saturday I took her shopping for Maia's birthday present. We've been talking about what Maia would like, and Chloë said she wanted to get her a stuffed cat and a stuffed duck and maybe another stuffed dog. I discouraged the dog, since Maia already has two and that's plenty, but we searched for a cat and a duck and at the second store (Toys R Us) found both. She picked out the ones she thought Maia would like and said, "I will carry them, since I picked them out." At the checkout line she told the cashier, "These are for my baby sister for her birthday. Because she likes my cat." The cashier thought she meant a real cat, but Chloë set her straight.
She carried the bag to the car, and when we arrived home carried the bag inside and retrieved the roll of wrapping paper so we could wrap them. "They will be all snuggly in there," she said as we crammed them together to get them to fit in the last remaining bit of wrapping paper. (There's another roll for the tricycle, if we decide to wrap it rather than assembling it ahead of time.) They just fit, and after Chloë selected a bow we put the present up on a shelf in her closet. She was so delightfully pleased to have gotten a present for her sister. I was so pleased my daughter is such a loving big sister.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
"No, mine!" Chloë declared, and rolled onto me and dug her elbow into my ribs (accidentally).
"Okay, you win," I gasped, and rolled over.
"Why do I win?" she asked, scooting into my spot.
"Because you hurt me. Come to think of it, that's not a good lesson, is it?" I added to myself.
"What's a lesson?"
"It's something you learn."
"Oh, I already know that."
"What, how to hurt me?"
Sunday, April 14, 2013
"No," she says, because she knows I will make a sad face and say despairingly, "Sad Mom." She used to then say, "I will come up and sit with you," which would make me smile and say brightly, "Happy Mom!" But lately, she doesn't bother. Because Chloë is usually around for this, she's taken to saying, "I'll sit with you!" or throwing her arms around me for comfort, even though I've laughed and told her we're just playing often enough that it should have sunk in. And since Chloë's been doing this, Maia will say, "Chloë will sit with you," and lounge in front of the glider, all independence, even if Chloë's not around.
Chloë asked me to read out of her Elmo omnibus today. We read "Elmo Loves You," which is a poem in the formula "A loves to B, C loves to D. E loves to F, and F loves to [do something ending in -ou]. Elmo [does something], and Elmo loves you!" Afterwards I said, "And what do you love to do?"
"Watch body videos," she replied. Our Youtube selection has expanded to include videos on the liver and the kidneys (also Vihart's Doodle Music), and she does indeed ask to watch them morning and night. The other day she went to her room to dress and asked suddenly, "What's a duodenum?" And then later, to Eric, it was, "What's an esophageal sphincter?"
She's constantly asking what this or that means. "What's a plank? What does walking the plank mean?" "What does repair mean?" "What does focus mean?" "Then what does concentrate mean?" "What's an esophageal sphincter?"
The other day Eric was talking to her about school, and mentioned "college" (I don't know if he described it as optional or not). "I know what that is," Chloë said. "Mama was talking about it last night. During her Goldilocks story."
Eric turned to me. I certainly hadn't mentioned the educational level of Goldilocks or any of the bears, so I thought a moment. "Cottage."
"I forgot," Chloë said, with a charming grin.
"Stop eating the soap," Eric groaned to Maia at bathtime today.
"Yum," she replied.
Chloë and I discussed this morning what would happen if we moved to a new house, and how someone else would come live in ours. "Would they play with our toys?" she wondered, so I explained, "We would bring our things with us. The furniture and toys and books and clothes, all those things."
Tonight, at dinner, Eric groused about how the rectangular place mats never sufficiently protect the tablecloth on the round table. "This table isn't coming with us when we move," I reminded him.
"Mama! You said it was!" Chloë scolded me.
We went to the fabric store yesterday to give Chloë the opportunity to buy something with her money. (Her choice: a felt princess hat and a wand with streamers, the latter of which she didn't like and tried knotting on the shaft, so I wound it around and glued it down and got her now-frequent praise of "You're the best!" I was also happy when she was dressed up in these while playing with Maia, and at some point Maia said something about her being a princess. Chloë said, "No, I'm a pirate now! Arr, matey!") Maia, as usual lately, was very difficult to get to follow me through the store, preferring to linger and look at things longer than I could stand. At one point she stopped at a small display of stuffed animals. Chloë and I moved on to the next aisle. When Maia didn't follow, I went back and said, "Come on, baby bird, let's look at something new."
She turned to me, holding a purple hippo in both hands, and said, "This animal misses its mama so much."
(I did not buy it for her. But it was a very close thing. She got a wand of her own instead.)
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
We got Chloë a math-based game for her LeapPad for the trip. She's already played every level and won every badge, and still plays almost daily. I venture to say she likes it.
She made a snake out of clay at preschool, and shortly after she brought it home I opened up the modelling clay they got at Christmas. I ended up making most of the things that first session (including a puppy for Maia that she was enthusiastic about, even as she slowly squished it into nonexistence), but a few days ago Eric let them play again and she made her own nest and eggs:
She is the most talented girl ever.
Maia has decided that limit-testing is a great pastime. "Don't do X," I say sternly. She stops and says, "I not doing X any more." Then, as soon as I've stopped eyeing her, she does X again.
She's also very fond of ordering me around. When she greets me when I get home in the evening, she says, "Hug, Mom? Hug?" Then, as soon as I pick her up, "Take your jacket off!" She likes to take hold of my cheeks and move my face around, probably for the faces I make while she's doing it. "Open your knees," she says when she wants to stand between my legs when I'm sitting on the couch; and if she wants to be enclosed in them, "Close your toes."
She knows most of her letters and some of her numbers. She persistently forgets about the existence of the number five, but otherwise is doing pretty well on counting, too. She now calls Chloë "Chwoë" instead of "Toë." It's still very cute, but I kind of miss Toë. Her voice is so small and high and articulate. She's the funniest thing.
She enjoys playing the "I'm your blanket Mama" game, meaning that she stretches out on top of me and I pretend to sleep (complete with snoring noises), and then she gets up and walks away and, if I don't do anything, prompts, "Where your blanket Mama?" whereupon I say "Hey, where's my blanket? Come back, blanket!" And she does.
She's not in pain. She's just sleeping. Can't you tell?
They had a good time on Easter. I hadn't planned on doing an egg hunt for them, but Chloë remembered last year's and asked after it, persistently, so I hid eggs around. They picked them up. And, true to form, if they missed one we'd say "There!" pointing, and they'd say, "Where?" while looking right at it. When do young children learn to see?
Chloë keeps asking about going back to the skating ring (where her cousin's birthday party was more than a year ago) and they were both terribly excited about their return to the park when the weather turned (briefly) warm a few days ago. So am I, for that matter. We've got some seedlings started that they helped plant, and I hope to get the garden in shape to plant more things outdoors soon. They'll love it.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Evidently she was, or was by the time Chloë finished speaking. There were some murmurs. I burrowed deeper in the covers, savoring my last moments of being warm and prone and un-climbed-on. "I'll go get Mama," Chloë said, and I nodded to myself. There was a quiet pause.
Then I woke up again to hear Chloë saying something else to Maia, and Maia answering. The clock said 7:25, which meant it was high time to get up. So I elevated myself and padded to Maia's room.
Chloë lay on the floor, on her stomach. Maia lounged in her crib. They were both pleased to see me, but not as enthusiastic as they sometimes get. "Where were you?" Chloë asked as I lifted Maia out and prepared to change her diaper. "I went to your bed but you weren't there."
"I was there," I said. "Maybe you couldn't see me because I was next to Daddy?"
"Maybe you were under the blanket," she suggested, darkly, as if I'd hidden from her on purpose. I hadn't, but now I know how to fool her. Or at least I did. I suppose she's wise to that trick now.
Monday, March 18, 2013
She loves Candy Land, but it's a horrible game. So the other day, I spent some time with her trying to make it better--but it still needs a lot of work. Let's consider the "alternate" version given in the Candy Land rulebook, which actually integrates an element of thought, though no reduction in luck. This variant is to draw two cards, then use just one. It is useful for teaching how to determine which of two cards is best--a great skill for gaming!--but it's a true baby step.
Next try: Draw a hand of three cards. Play one, then draw one. Again, it adds an element of thought, though the game is still mostly deterministic; the only difference is that the cards that could set you back now simply become dead cards in your hand. OK, we're getting better.
Next try: Same as before, but add an attack. On your turn, if you're not in the lead, you can spend a card to move the leader backward rather than moving yourself forward. We didn't finish this game--Maia woke up and that was the end of that--but I think that, once you figure out how to play, this version turns into a complete slog where no one advances significantly.
I think the next step is to take the "special" cards--the doubles and the picture cards--and give them some sort of alternate special power.
At this age she's not ready for a complete strategic overhaul of Candy Land, but hey, it's worth starting now...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
|I mean what I mean, dahling.|
(We got it today. It was a purple headband with a big purple flower that had some rhinestones in the middle.)
Maia, methodically taking blocks out, then putting them back in the little wagon they belong in: "One in. Two in. Three in. Four in. Five in. Six in."
So: numbers and words, all of them, being sucked in by both girls. It's delightful to watch in both of them. Each day there's some little nuance that wasn't there before. Maia's grasped the "stop counting when you run out of things to count" concept; Chloë asked "Is there a barn in our world?" tonight because she knows that Dora and Diego and Huckle and Lowly aren't in our world.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
I talked back to her some and got settled in the driver's seat, and headed down the road toward home. Maia started singing: "Aay bee tee dee...you too, Mom!" So I joined in.
She knows most of the alphabet song, though "LMNOP" is rendered as "emopee," and she waited for me to chime in with S. But she did her best in her beautiful baby voice--toddler voice, really. Then she started again. "You too Mom!" So we sang, and sang, all the way home.
* * *
That night...no, I guess it must have been Monday night, because it was after Maia went to bed. Chloë and I were up, and she was looking at her spider counting book, which she made at preschool by stamping the appropriate number of spiders on each page. The front had three spider stickers on it. "That's the mama spider," she said, pointing, "and that's the big sister spider, and that's the baby spider. But there's no daddy spider."
"You could draw one," I suggested.
"I don't know how."
"I'll show you. We can practice on another piece of paper."
I expected her to say no, but she didn't. So we went to the easel, and I held up the spider counting book and demonstrated, then counseled her on how to draw a spider. "First a big circle for the body. Then a small one for the head. Then eight lines for legs. Four on each side." Once she had that down, we refined the legs by adding extra segments, and she added a face to the head all by herself. "Now I can draw one on my counting book," she said, and did, and executed it beautifully. She was so pleased to have the spider family complete.
* * *
We left the spider book on the table, and tonight when dinner was winding down she pointed it out, and the status of each spider: "That's the big mama spider, and the big daddy spider I drew, and the two small ones are the big sister and the baby."
Maia listened as she shoveled pasta into her mouth with her fork. Then she said, "That big Mama over there," pointing at me. "That big Daddy over there. That big sister over there." She considered. "Small Maia here, eating her food."
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
She did exactly that, and when Eric had gotten up and retrieved Maia, who'd woken at about the same time, both girls collected around me, touching me and patting me and rubbing my back--exactly the way I do when they're not feeling good. I told Eric that I felt like an ancient king with slave girls fawning on me. Sometimes the girls' constant attempts to touch me get on my nerves. But it was very sweet that they knew I wasn't feeling well and wanted to comfort me.
They did the same with Eric the other day; he was feeling a bit overwhelmed, and they clustered around him, saying, "I love you Daddy." When I've been upset, Chloë will turn to me and say, "What's wrong, Mama?" in a concerned tone and try to stroke my arm or back. Maia often pats my back when I'm holding her--though I think that's just because we do it so often to her she thinks it's de rigueur when being held. These are sweet, sweet girls we have.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
This came about because earlier in the day she was asking about when she would be one hundred, and how old I would be then. I of course replied thoughtlessly that I wouldn't, I'd be dead.
"We won't do anything," I said. "That's what being dead means."
"But what will you do?" she insisted.
I thought. "We'll rest."
She was satisfied with that, and I was relieved. We've talked very, very briefly about death, since "Omi's Mama" was here and then gone, and we went to her memorial, which I perhaps mistakenly told her was a celebration of Omi's Mama's life. She was excited about going to "the celebration," and did in fact have a good time--she enjoyed the music during the service and the food and running around with her cousins at the reception. But she doesn't understand what death means, and I don't want to explain it to her. I will, of course, when the time comes, but it doesn't have to be now.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Maia (points to picture of herself and Gunnar at James's wedding): Who that?
Me (pointing to Gunnar): That's Gunnar.
Maia (pointing to herself): Maia. Pretty little baby.
Maia (pointing to the picture of herself at the dentist with Eric and Chloë--the dentist took the picture and gave them a copy because she was so good her first time): Maia.
Maia (pointing): There.
Me: Where's Daddy?
Maia: Holding sisters.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
These are Chloë's most prominent traits at the moment. She whines. All day. For no reason. (Well, sometimes for reason.) She whines for food. She whines to snuggle. She whines that she's tired, and then that she's not tired. She whines because she wants a shoooooooow, right noooooooow. She whines because I gave her a straw cup instead of a sippy. (And let me tell you, it annoys me when my clients get upset with me for not reading their minds. It annoys me no less when my daughter does it. Though she did learn--this morning she said very carefully, "Mama, will you give me my hot chocolate in a sippy? In a sippy.")
We've moved to a sort of hybrid temporary sleep schedule for her. She really still needs a nap after lunch, but she's very reluctant to get it, and if she does, she generally doesn't get to sleep very quickly. So she gets a mandatory fifteen minutes of quiet time during the day. If she sleeps (as will happen when Eric snuggles with her), she gets to stay up an extra hour at night. If she doesn't, she goes to bed when Maia does. I'm hoping this settles out one way or the other, because I don't like the variability, but it seems to be working so far. But the no-nap days she's particularly whiny, and snaps angrily whenever we suggest it's because she's tired.
Maia is also devoted to her sister--her most frequent question when they're apart is "Where Toë?"--but is definitely working on her independent and defiant side. She continues to be happy to play by herself much more than Chloë ever has. And she's showing an inconvenient amount of rebellion, often running away in the store or in the street, refusing to do things I ask. Possibly her most annoying habit is, when Chloë gets told not to do something, to immediately do whatever Chloë was just forbidden. I assume she would have gotten to it sooner but didn't realize it fell into the "forbidden therefore desirable" category.
Her canines have finally started filling in, and she's started saying "poopy" to mean a diaper with anything in it. She's had a few successes with the potty, but I consider this "hey, I just went in my diaper" to be the best next step for her potty training. Though considering the trouble we went through with Chloë, I can hardly set myself up as knowledgeable about it.
Monday, January 7, 2013
"You'd go to dentist school to learn how to do that."
"What's dentist school?"
"It's a school you go to to learn how to be a dentist. You would go after you finish regular school."
I explained about the different levels of school (and didn't describe college as being optional) and how dentist school would come after that. "I don't think I can do all that," she said.
"Of course you could," I said. "A lot of grownups do it. And all dentists."
Then we discussed what toys would be best for her waiting room and whether the kids would have to wear bibs in the dentist chair. It was probably not the deepest conversation I'll ever have with her about her future, but it was a good first one.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
And, tonight she went in the potty! Chloë's seat on the toilet, to be exact. She was having constipation issues, and after changing two diapers (one bloody, poor kid) I noticed her starting to strain again and suggested she try on the potty seat. She likes it, so she agreed, and after a moment we heard a tinkling noise. I started in on the joyous praise, and Chloë, like the good sport she is, added her own "I'm toe proud of you, Maia!" and kisses. Maia beamed and said, "Again!" and tinkled a little more, and we duly repeated ourselves as she laughed in delight. Then she strained and produced a poop, and we went wild. She got three stickers and two mint M&Ms (I went a little overboard), and was wholly delighted with herself, saying "Yay Maia!" and clapping. I was delighted too with our big girl. This augurs well for the coming year.