Oh, honestly

Kindergarteners are crazy social butterflies. I'm not sure I can take this. Chloë came back to school after a week away (in Seattle) to an invitation to a party on Saturday. She already had one on Sunday, plus we signed both girls up for a Little Scientist workshop at Imagination Station. Then she got a form for Girl Scouts During the Day, a during-school (gym, in her case) six-week program for areas with few troops. (I knew that. When she got interested in Girl Scouts a few months ago, I tried contacting the local regional group on their website, since I couldn't find anything strictly local. No response.) And a new-to-Girl-Scouts day camp for spring break. And then there's ballet tomorrow and a playdate Friday afternoon. How are we ever going to catch our breaths when both of them are at it?

Chloë came home today and said, "Guess what? Sa'Mya has a loose tooth!" Sa'Mya is one of her closest school friends, due to their sitting across from each other the first half of the year. (Now she sits next to two boys, one of whom is nice, the other of whom is "uh." I'm interested to see who she calls her best friends come June.) She seemed genuinely excited about this news as a piece of news, but Eric and I both wonder if there's a level of when-is-this-going-to-happen-to-me going on as well. She doesn't seem upset about it. I hope she's not. She's one of the few of her friends and classmates who haven't had a loose tooth, but she's also the youngest in her year.

We bought birthday presents for those two parties yesterday (three presents in all, since Maia was invited to one of them too--the birthday girl's mother is one of Maia's preschool teachers) and I left the bag on the landing by the stairs. Today, while I was finishing up my work upstairs, I heard a commotion and Eric demanding to know which girl had taken out one of the presents and left it out. Both girls denied it. "Well, nobody's playing outside until one of you admits it," Eric said. Both girls denied it again. I told them to go clean the living room while whoever did it decided to confess. I sat in the office and worried.

I was sure Maia had done it. She got a Cinderella Barbie doll for Christmas, and while she loves it in general, she didn't like the two long locks of hair coming off the front of the doll's head (I thought it looked cute, since she's dressed up for a night of dancing, but my taste does not agree with Miss Purple-Shirt-With-Green-Pants-and-Magenta-Skirt-With-Stars's.) One day, I noticed that Cinderella's locks had been shorn off. "Did you cut off her hair?" I asked Maia. She denied it for quite a while, though she said "I saw her hair in the garbage," until Eric and I both explained that it's her doll, she can do what she likes with it, but it's more important that she tell us the truth. Eventually she admitted she had done it, and we talked quite a bit about lies and trust.

But obviously not enough. At length Eric came up and we talked about it, and at greater length Chloë came up and announced, "I heard from Maia that she did it." We explained that that was nice but Maia needed to tell us herself, which didn't happen until Eric sat down with her for a while and I took Chloë to the next room so she wouldn't keep butting in on their conversation. Eventually, she agreed that she had done it, and she got a room-time and no treat after dinner--not because of leaving the book out, but because she had lied.

I'm not very pleased about this. Is it normal for a three-year-old to go through a lying phase? I've already known she's in a can't-be-wrong phase: if she asks for bubbles in her bath and I say it isn't bath day, she says "I meant tomorrow!" If I say that no, she can't have marbled cheese (her new favorite thing) because there isn't any but she can have a string cheese, she says "I wanted string cheese!" And, of course, I know that a small child wants to avoid trouble, and knows that lying can avoid trouble. I just hope we're doing the right things to keep it from lasting. If we're raising an evil overlord, I at least want her to be an honest one.

Let's make Candy Land better

Chloë enjoys playing games, which is of course really awesome.  Unfortunately, as we all know, kids' games tend to be... well, hardly games.  The games are entirely luck-based; at best, they teach counting and taking turns, though some may involve a "learning" element--teaching letters or number or whatnot.

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...

Chloë the Explorer

Chloë's been intrigued by the products she's seen and the couple of Youtube videos we've watched that feature Dora the Explorer, and the show seemed wholesome enough, so she got a Dora DVD in her stocking. It's been a big hit. I'm now regretting it, as there's a ton of repetition in it, but it does seem to work well; Chloë's remembering a surprising amount about the different episodes. (She's supposed to; the shows follow a formula of "Inciting incident that requires a quest - Map shows two obstacles to get to the quest - Dora and friends successfully navigate those obstacles and some other problems while asking the viewer to act with them" with Dora and her sidekicks asking the viewer to count, or find something, or say something, or jump, etc.; and the map part of the show always involves several repetitions of their projected path so that the viewer can later inform Dora where to go next.)

One of the episodes involves going through the Milky Way and past the Space Rocks to the Purple Planet to bring some aliens home, and after watching this a couple of times Chloë has been playing "outer space" all around the house for days. Her sleeper is a space suit, her turtle is her helmet (Dora stresses the importance of wearing a suit and helmet; I'm glad she's concerned about safety); a plastic ring is her steering wheel; the Play Hut or her bed is the space ship. It's extremely cute, and much more soul-satisfying for us to watch than her wanting to be Princess Aurora or Belle.

But what interests me most about her Dora playacting is that the character she's most interested in is Swiper, the antagonist. As antagonists go, he's not much; he's a would-be thief, but all that Dora and her friends (and the audience) have to do to thwart him is say "Swiper no swiping" three times. There's at least one episode in which he succeeds, but mostly he's only a momentary threat, another task to perform. But Chloë has been talking and talking about him. "Where is Swiper?" "I see Swiper!" "Swiper is sleeping." "Swiper's mouth is full." "Swiper is playing in the snow." I guess I can see why; she puts herself in Dora's place as the pilot/climber/hide-and-seeker, and Boots is just an echolalic sidekick, and Swiper is a dynamic and contrasting element. Or maybe she's just naturally drawn to the character most closely allied with nefariousness. Though in that case, for my money she should be concentrating on Backpack. Any character who says "Yum yum yum, muy delicioso!" as he eats all the useful but momentarily unwanted props bears watching. Who knows when YOU may be unwanted?

Our daughter the genius...the evil genius.

Act I

Scene: a warm summer evening. Chloë is carrying water from the kiddie pool to the concrete path just below the back steps and dumping it there. Carrying and dumping, carrying and dumping.

Mama: Where do you think all that water goes?
Chloë (looking around at the steps, tomato plants, garbage can, and fence nearby): Mmm...in gaba cayyn?
Mama: In the garbage can? That's a good answer.
Chloë (mischievously, looking up at the sky): Adahay up to ky?
Mama: All the way up to the sky? That's a very good answer.

Act II

Scene: another warm summer evening. Everyone is lounging around after Maia's bath, which Chloë helped with and enjoyed immensely.

Chloë (poking at Mama's pants): Mama pae het?
Mama: Yes, they're wet. That's because someone was splashing during Maia's bath.
Chloë (starting to giggle): No.
Mama: Was that someone Chloë?
Chloë (coyly): No.
Mama: No? Who was it, then?
Chloë: Uddah Koë.
Mama: Some other Chloë splashed me?
Chloë: Hah [yeah].

Act III

Scene: same evening. Chloë lies on the bed, at her leisure, as her Daddy changes her diaper.

Chloë (for no discernible reason): Ha. Ha ha. [She considers.] Hahahahahahaha!

I feel pretty, oh so pretty

First, the overlord says welcome! to newly-born baby Kenneth, a possible future consort. She advises him to enjoy the rubber duck--it's delicious.

Miss Chloë has decided that an overlord should be well-groomed, and has therefore started practicing. We brush her six teeth every night (or occasionally morning if she falls asleep before we get to that point), and although she tends to cover the lower two with her tongue she enjoys it. Lately she's started taking the brush and trying to brush herself. Then she brushes mine. Then Eric's. She does the same thing with her brush and comb; her hair is now lying flat and getting long enough to get in her eyes, so I've been brushing it to the side. She grins and squinches her eyes closed when I do it, then grabs for the brush and smooths it over her head. Usually she either uses the back of the brush or, if she accidentally applies the correct side to her head, makes it all stand up wildly. Luckily she's naturally beautiful, so it doesn't much matter. So far she's been trying to brush my teeth with it, but I expect before long my hair will be getting roughed up too.

We took her for some studio pictures on Sunday. She was a little grumpy and clingy, but consented to smile long enough to get some good pictures. She also stole a rubber duck. (Actually, that's not true. We stole it. We all went outside for a family picture and the photographer's duck was the only thing keeping her happy, and then when we went inside the duck got grabbed and stuffed into the diaper bag with everything else and we forgot to take it out again.) She's been fondling it ever since. We plan to return it (after a good washing), but I'm a little concerned that she's so pleased about this theft. I want her to think bigger, more ambitious. Ostriches at least.

Baby-related trauma

I have a lump on my inner lower gum. It's not a sore or anything, just a bump that kind of gets irritated when I press it with my tongue. It only showed up in the last couple of days, and I couldn't figure out what it was. It grew too fast to be cancer, but I was worried it was an abscess or some other annoying problem.

So I went to the dentist. "That's an interesting little lump you've got," he said, and took an X-ray. "The good news it's not an abscess," he said. "Your bones look good, and you have nice teeth. Sometimes the gums just get irritated from food-related trauma. Did you burn yourself on anything hot recently? Eat a lot of potato chips?" I said no, and he wrote me a referral for a periodontist, saying, "It may just go away in a week or so. If it doesn't, you may have a growth in the bone that's getting infected or something, and you should go to a specialist."

I took the slip and went home. I was happy I wasn't going to have to have a root canal, but a little concerned about the possibility of having some exotic oral disease. What if I had to have surgery? What if they had to remove part of my jaw? What if they forbade me from eating chocolate?

Chloë was a little irritable and I thought she might be tired, so we nursed on the bed and fell asleep together. When we woke up, she was happy and playful; she grabbed the wipe rag and shoved it at my mouth, and I made "Aaaah! Gahhh! Graaah!" noises into it as I've been doing recently, and she laughed and slapped my cheek, then grabbed at my face, as she often does. Her fingers slipped into my mouth and grabbed at my lower lip, as they often do, and then at my teeth and gums. I removed her hand and remembered that I still hadn't clipped her nails like I'd meant to. I think I know where the lump came from.

Maybe you should have asked for coal...

Evil Santa is here to steal your presents...










But thankfully the good Santa is here too. (Thank you Santa Tom!)

More pictures posted on Eric's Facebook.

She's a natural

Chloe's first word appears to be "Ha." She said it last night, followed by "Ha Ha Ha Ha," just as an evil overlord should.

(Yes, I know it's way too early for her first actual word. It's not too early for her first babble, though.)

She's now really into grabbing at things. She's learned the "Throw the Toy on the Floor and Watch Mom or Dad Retrieve It" game, and appears to enjoy forcing us to do her bidding. And we have a little activity mat, the kind where she lies on the floor and little toys hang above her head, that my friend Courtney gave us because her son had grown too cool and mature for it. A couple of weeks ago she just lay there and looked, but now she reaches up and squeezes the little monkey in her hot fist and bangs at the little parrot, as if to say, "I’m the queen of the jungle."

Potential consequences

My coworkers have just suggested a truly excellent idea for getting enough sleep on maternity leave: once L.E.O. has reached six weeks, send her to daycare and stay home by myself the rest of the time.

This may be the major problem of planning for a child we fully expect to take over the world and order our execution along the way. We don't really have to worry about whether L.E.O. will turn against us as a teenager or abandon us in our old age. We're never going to get the bill if she needs therapy. No matter what we do, she's going to kill us anyway.

How does "Menendez" sound as a middle name?

"How was L.E.O. today?" Eric said when I got home this afternoon.

"Kicky," I replied, lying down.

He touched my abdomen in what's becoming a familiar motion and immediately got a curious expression on his face as L.E.O. kicked straight into his hand. "Indeed."

Then I got a curious expression on my face because there was suddenly a lot of pressure under his hand. "That's not you pressing down, is it?" I said.

"No...that's her pressing up."

Then I jumped as L.E.O. gave the biggest kick she's given yet, directly at Eric, who leaped away. We stared at each other. "I'm pretty sure she just tried to kill you," I said. I patted my belly. "Honey, at least finish gestating first."

Project L.E.O., the greed edition

As previously hinted, we are now registered for all the normal baby stuff, at Target and at Babies R Us, mostly at Bev's insistence because there's a shower coming up in a couple of weeks. There are a few non-normal baby things that we were unable to register for, however. These include, but are not limited to:

-home chemistry lab
-supercomputer with encrypter
-anything from here except the ABCs poster (because she has it)
-uranium
-Zeppelin of Death
-alternate transportation
-a tiara
-small hadron collider
-songwriters

Dad makes the geeky announcement

Project Little Evil Overlord is coming soon. You will be conquered... by cuteness.

Project L.E.O. is currently approximately fourteen weeks along. Circulatory and basic neurological functions are established and have been detected. As of yet, doctors have proscribed bionic and nanotechnology systems; the project goes forward nonetheless, and is on track for an expected completion date of 30 July.

The expectant mother is doing well except for occasional bouts of discomfort, and alternating joy and paranoia about her future son or daughter taking over the world. The expectant father is currently working on fortress plans and procuring over-powered but occasionally faulty weaponry with obvious self-destruct mechanisms. Just in case.

Applications for minions are already being accepted! No experience is required, though basic diaper changing and bottle-feeding techniques, ability to make cooing noises, and willingness to be cannon fodder when the "good guys" assault the fortress are a plus.

Pfft. Amateurs.

Note to other future supervillains: if the only people you have tailing you are the cops, you're doing it wrong.

I suppose we can give them the benefit of the doubt; perhaps this was all a cover-up for their real operation.