How Oranges Ruined My Life

Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic ... But oranges have definitely proven a stumbling block to my child.

 (this is how she watches Elmo sometimes ... I have no idea why)

Chiara's vocabulary is multiplying and replenishing our apartment. She says new things every day that make me think, "How did you ever pick up on that??" Words like purse, dip, and boy* just kind of snuck up on me.

(*Quick story: There was a little 4-ish-year-old boy sitting in front of us this morning in church. She was giggling with him and shamelessly flirting. At one point he suddenly poked his head down so she couldn't see him anymore and she laughed as she sang, "Bo-y!" (with two notes, the first higher than the second) in her most girly, high-pitched voice ... I thought Eldon and I were going to perish from laughter.)

We're teaching her the colors, so now she officially knows yellow, orange, red, blue, purple, black, and green. She gets stuck on why pink isn't red and brown isn't black, but other than that she can always tell you what's what.

Keeping that in mind, she loves oranges. Oranges oranges oranges. Eldon had an interview for med school in Arizona and brought home two entire boxes of oranges. Happy day! So that's basically all we eat. And it hadn't occurred to me before yesterday that this would throw off her groove at all.

But suddenly in her world, orange was a color and a food. Woah. So she started calling other foods by color as well. Vitamins are yellow (lello). Apples are sometimes red (raa). But because I'm a little bit of an idiot I hadn't realized that when she was chanting purple at me that she was actually asking for something.

"Pu-poh! Pu-poh!" she would tell me as I cooked dinner.

"Oh, do you see something purple? Where is it, Honey?" I'd respond, celebrating my gentle and patient mothering abilities.

"Pu-poh!" she'd repeat, a little more emphatically. If I'm honest with myself she might even have been tugging on the door of the fridge.

"Where is purple, Babes? I don't see any purple."

By this time Chiara would typically do one of two things: give up, or get mad. All she wanted was grapes, and Mommy was holding out on her.

"PU-POH!!!!!"

Nope. I didn't get it. This was not one of my finer parenting moments. Usually I'm like the friggin' Urim and Thummim. Back when grapes were "nummies" I knew. Before that when they were just a little dance in front of the fridge, I knew. Now I know. Purples are grapes. Poor thing. I blame the oranges. What a confusing name for a fruit.

P.S. "Weenow" is fork. That one took me a while. :)

"POOPY!"

Chiara has for the last month or so been telling us when she poops. Sometimes it's gas, which is also alarming to her and she feels she must make the poopy announcement. Fine. In some ways this development is very convenient: I can get to it quickly and I can prepare her for potty training. In other ways - or maybe just one - it's less than convenient.

We were at church on Sunday (I know you can already see where this is going ...). It was during the first hour, so everyone was together in the chapel - later we break up into smaller groups, but the first meeting is the BIG one. It was just after the Sacrament was passed, so you know ... the most quiet time. We were sitting toward the back, entertaining Chiara with coloring books (not Jesus coloring books but Elmo coloring books ... not that I endorse, necessarily, Jesus coloring books) and apple slices. Then suddenly, Chiara stands up on Eldon's lap, grabs her bum and yells, "Poopy!"

I just laughed out loud remembering it.

Yes, dear Reader, during a moment of quiet reverence in the chapel, our child announced to the congregation that there was poop in her diaper. And then we smelled it.

So, I did what I had to do. I picked her up, grabbed a diaper and some wipes and headed for the mother's room. On my way out I smiled apologetically to those people who couldn't resist the urge to watch the struggling mother on her way to wipe poop off her daughter's bum. Sorry, sorry everyone. Please continue.

 (Chiara after church and needing a nap ... I couldn't get her to look at the camera.)

When we arrived at the mother's room I discovered that there was actually no poop to be found. It was gas that we'd smelled and gas that she'd announced. Joyful day. So I took her back into the chapel, diaper and wipes still in hand, smiling to the same curious people, and sat down.

"Just gas." I whispered to Eldon in answer to the look on his face.

The meeting continued as usual. Try to listen to the sermon, try to keep the lamb quiet and happy. And then ...

"Poopy!" she announces again. This time a little more quietly, but still ... probably everyone for a five-pew radius heard her. Eldon and I exchanged an embarrassed but admittedly laugh-stifling look. I smelled her diaper. Woah. Yeah, there was definitely something in there this time. Okay ... I grabbed my supplies and my child and ducked out the door again. This time I didn't meet anyone's eyes. Oh get over it. Pay attention to the sermon.

A little note on Chiara's poop, since we're on the subject. :) Sometimes it is completely odorless. Other times it can peel the paint off all the walls in your home. I'm serious. The nursery leader asked me once, "What do you feed her?" Um ... well, that one was yogurt with crushed flax seed, an orange and asparagus stir fry. I don't think the smell is to do with her diet, I think it's just her. She must just have an excellent odor-detoxer because everything else about her smells wonderful. Her hair, her skin, even her morning breath. I love it all!!

That was too much information, wasn't it?

in your diaper? really?

So, the lamb has developed a strange, strange habit. Less of a habit really, and more a fascination: of putting things down her footie pajamas.

I have no idea where this came from. It started with little things, like socks and pacifiers. Then it got more serious with toys and books. Once, a half-eaten apple, which I looked for forEVER and found behind her knee in the leg of her footie pajamas. I'd even LOOKED in her jammies for it, but didn't suspect it had fallen way down and bounced behind her. Silly me.

Today, though, I have to say was the ultimate winner. Eldon came into the kitchen where I was washing dishes (which is all I ever do, it feels like) and handed me my favorite necklace.

"Here," he said. "This was in her diaper."

So like any good mother would do (dripping sarcasm) I marched into the bathroom where she was having her bath and waved it in her face.

"Honey, this is no no! We do not touch Mommy's precious things!"

Blink. Blink.

She knew I was ticked, but wasn't quiiiiite sure why. I felt like she was thinking, "Uh, Mom? I wasn't even touching that." Yes you were! An hour ago when you friggin' stuffed it down your shirt!

But how do you explain such things to a 22-month old? You can't. So I kissed her and told her I loved her - probably giving her whiplash from mixed messages - and held up the necklace on my way out the door. "We just don't touch Mommy's things, okay? Thank you!"

I love her. But man, I could do without the down-the-shirt fetish.

P.S. I can also - while I'm in La La Land - do without the Elmo fetish. He asks stupid questions, refers to himself in third person, and his voice makes me want to rip my eardrums out.

Pajama Day (warning: gross details)

Eldon is gone to interviews this weekend (yay!) and Chiara and I are home. Chiara is sick. Last night at about 2am she started crying. Odd. So I went to check on her and she was covered in her own vomit. Like, covered covered. I recognized kidney beans, milk curdles, and corn ... but whew! The smell almost made me puke too. The most important thing with Chiara is that she doesn't like to have dirty hands, and she'd puked on her hands and was holding a very vomity pacifier. Sad day of her life! She was a little panicked about it. (Who knew that was genetic??)

First things first, I cleaned her hands so she could stop crying. then I took off her pajamas (fleece footies ... they're like waterproof or something) and tried not to fling chunks all over the carpet. Like a darling she had kept her puke very contained on her little toddler bed, so the mess was easy. I wrapped all the blankets and her little lambie doll/blanket thing - those blankets with animal heads on them, you know? - and swooshed them all into the laundry room. Then I snuggled her for a second while I planned my next move ...

I had just changed her linens the day before, so the others were still dirty in the hamper. Ahah! I thought. I'll wrap one of our queen-sized fitted sheets twice around her mattress, and cover her with the extra comforter in our closet. Perfect. Oh! Sick ... I hadn't noticed that her pillow needed attention. Luckily I double her pillowcases and the pillow itself was clean and dry. Love myself! Two new pillowcases, wrap-around sheet, clean jammies, wipe away new tears, gave her a bite of bread (she wouldn't drink the water I got her), soothe soothe, tuck tuck ... She snuggled right back into bed (the child really is an angel from heaven) and I blew her a kiss - she didn't blow one back which means she's really tired - and closed her door.

From there I yawned as I went into the laundry room, assessed the damage and decided the load couldn't wait until morning. Later in the morning. So I flopped the chunks off the sheet and blankets into the toilet, turned the dial to HOT water, added a little more fabric softener than usual, and hoped for the best. Then I walked to my room only to realize that she would most likely puke again, which meant she would need clean linens. So I read my book until the washing cycle was done a little after 3am, then put everything in the dryer and went back to sleep ... I woke up at 9am to the sound of her babbling to herself in her room, happy as a clam. I seriously love this child.

The morning went fine. I didn't want to risk her eating anything that might upset her again, but after wating a roll and keeping it down for over an hour I figured she was okay. She begs for sippy cups of milk, so I gave in and let her have one. She gulped it down - big mistake. Up it all came, through the wooden baby gate to the kitchen and all over the floor ... hardly a drop on the carpet. Again, my hat goes off to the child. Well done. After pointing out a few traces of chunk on her hands and jammies, she seemed satisfied with my cleaning job and sat on the couch to watch Elmo. I finished the floor and took the dirty towels to the laundry room. 

 (Watching Elmo right before her nap ... having a lethargic moment which means she doesn't feel good.)

 (Definitely ready for naptime ... with Elmo there for moral support)

After all that, the entire day went well. She didn't have a fever, and she was mostly her usual happy, perky self. What a trouper. She even felt well enough to put on my shoes and prance around ... an excellent sign.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure she's just fine now. :)

Anniversary date with a toddler.

Eldon and I celebrated our anniversary this week. Three years ... In so many ways it feels like three lifetimes. In my dreams I'm often still single and in college, then I wake up and I'm a wife and a mother and it all just kind of surprises me again and again. No three-year period of time could possibly be 100% bliss and contentedness, but the important thing to ask yourself is if the good moments make up for the lousy ones. In my case the answer is a grateful and resounding yes. Yes yes YES! So here's a quick list of moments I've loved over the last three years:

1. Unpacking all my stuff into Eldon's apartment and "making" a home for the first time.
2. Watching Eldon's face when I told him I was pregnant.
3. Playing with Chiara while she kicked around inside my tummy.
4. Bringing Chiara home from the hospital.
5. Getting a B+ on that statistics final that I took while sitting on my boppy pillow two weeks after Chiara was born.(I got some weird looks for that one, but if any of those students at the testing center that day ever have children they might remember me and think, "Oh.")
6. Graduating from BYU.
7. Eldon graduating from BYU.
8. Living with my parents for a while and celebrating together over everything Chiara did.
9. Holding brand-new Everett.
10. Moving into a new apartment that I love.
11. Figuring out that when Chiara says, "No-wee!" (snowing) it means she's cold.
12. Letting Chiara sleep in our bed all night (when she was sick) and smiling at each other over her head.
13. Celebrating a little victory with steak dinner and Martinelli's.
14. Eldon taking Chiara out all afternoon today so I could have some alone time.

Since Chiara was sick and we couldn't leave her with anyone, we had a date with her at home. We made homemade pasta with a bolognese sauce I'd been simmering all day, then snuggled up on the couch and watched Miss Potter (which is a darling film). Admittedly not the most exciting anniversary ever, but we loved it. So did Chiara. :)

Chiara cheering me on as I make the pasta dough. She loves to watch me cook and says, "Ba-ee? Ba-ee?" (Bite? Bite?) I swear, there's nothing she won't eat.

Eldon taking a turn. It's harder than it looks to get the dough as thin as it needs to be.

Ready to go into the pot. 

Eldon refused to use a "fancy" glass because he'd already broken one glass that day and didn't want to take any chances. :) Yes, that's celebratory orange juice, why do you ask?

Not to toot my own horn here, but that was probably the best pasta I've ever had. And I've had some GOOD pasta. And I love knowing I can make it for us again if we want ... right in my own house. Is that weird? It just makes me feel so ... powerful! :) 

Anyway, it was a fun night. I'm still glad I married you, Honey.