Jumping and monkeying and ignoring mama.

Nikki (aka "Nikok" as she's now being called by Ruby) has been begging me for recent video, but of course, when I sat down to upload the new ones that I took this week, I can't find my camera. Natch. (Though for those of you tracking my list of missing items, the nice, given-as-a-gift-to-us camera that I lost over Thanksgiving was indeed found! The nice people at SkyWest found it in the overhead compartment that I'd left it in. They found my f'ing camera and all 200 pictures I'd take in Texas. And these kindhearted Christmas angels actually had to go get another camera to check that the pictures on the memory card matched my description because our camera had run out of batteries. And even though it was no where NEAR enough of a thank you, we took them a couple of dozen of yummy cream puffs as a thank you.)

Aaaaanyways. Yeah, no new videos. So Nikki (and Granpa, who costars, and whoever else feels like sitting through these), here are some month-old videos of La Ru. The first 30 seconds of the first is jumping practice, then monkey call practice, then she realizes the papparazzi is on her and she gets all Sean Penn about it. The second video makes me sound like a stage mother, but she had just been making the Cookie Monster noise. And of course, the second I took the camera, she moved on to something else.

They're not the videos I wanted to post, but here you go, Nikok.

Cutlery-gate, part 2

I posted in frustration, and I shouldn't have done that.

Ruby is on track for all things developmentally. I know that; I wasn't frustrated at the fact that she wasn't "getting" how to use a spoon -- it was the bullheaded, headstrong, ornery refusal to allow me to help and show her how to do it. My mom yelled at me after my last post. "Do you think you're a smart person? Well, do you? Because you turned out fine, and you weren't using a fork and spoon at 18 months. What's wrong with you? Leave her alone." So fine. I left her alone.

...And, of course, she totally figured it out on her own. By now, we are using forks at an advanced level, and spoons at an intermediate level (though we may be matriculating soon). Here we are using a spoon to eat yogurt.

So far so good, right? Most of the snack was like this, spoon in yogurt --> spoon hitting mouth-target most of the time. But then towards the end we got experimental.

Using the wrong end of the spoon to dip...

...and then forgoing the spoon all together. Who needs 'em? (And you'll be happy to know that I remained chill and happy throughout.)

TGI Tuesday 1-20-09.

Happy Inauguration Day, y'all! (and happy birthday, Lacey!)

I want to disown my pets.

People, we have fleas.

Ugh. Gross. I feel so dirty... and sort of trashy. Like, fleas is not exactly a high-class insect problem you know? If you have silverfish because you own too many antique books, that's a bit classier. Fleas are just dirty.

Last week, I noticed that I had some itchy bumps, and then Ruby got a TON of "issy" bumps -- but W never got any so that was a bit of a mystery. And then we washed EVERYTHING we owned in hot water and chemicalized the shit out of the pets (hilarious -- I'm all organic this and natural that, but I have no problem pouring literal poison on these creatures I snuggle with). But still the bumps came. So I googled "itchy red skin bumps" -- which, if you value your eyesight and your sanity, you will never do in your life -- but no leads. A last-ditch trip to the derm today confirmed the icky diagnosis. Wade is apparently not as delicious as the two of us.

Anyways, all that to say: I want to disown my pets. Not just for the fleas, though that's 90% of it. There is Kermit's well-documented and wide-reaching awfulness. Lulu is less horrid, but still a pain in her own special way. For one thing, she's 160 lbs. of depression. If she's awake, it's constant sighing, eye-rolling, whining. On Christmas, my cousin was sitting next to her and out of the blue announced, "This dog makes me want to kill myself." You see? Her very aura is depressing to everyone around her. And it's not because we don't pay attention to her. She can be fed, walked and in the middle of being pet and loved on, and still start in on the sighing and whining. (And she's on pain meds for her arthritis, so it's not that.)

Oh and did I mention her recurring vaginal yeast infection that requires nightly cleaning? Do you know the size of the vulva on a 160 lb. dog? Can you even imagine?

So if anyone is looking to adopt a clinically depressed, arthritic, slobbery, chronically itchy-vagina'd giant dog WITH FLEAS and a senile, OCD, three-toothed stalker cat WITH FLEAS... drop me a line.

She's a big 'un.

Last week when I took Ru in for her check up, Dr. Bral told me, "She'll probably end up being about six feet tall."

I'm pretty sure the pupils of my eyes turned into exclamation points.

Apparently it's a decent rule of thumb that girls will be top off at about double their height at two years. And now, at 18 months, Ru is 35" tall (one inch shy of three feet, for the mathematically uninclined). NUTS. I looked it up at home, and quite literally, that is off the charts. Like, 35" is in the 50th percentile for a 27 month old. It's several hatch marks above the 97th percentile curve for an 18 month old.

As for weight, she's coming it at 30.5 lbs (again, above the 97th percentile mark for 18 months) and her head is nicely proportional at 19.1 inches around (between the 95th and 97th percentile).

Who is this giant child and where did she come from? I am a pixie compared to what she'll be in a few years. And W is tall, but... sheesh. I just wasn't expecting to be the little person in the family.

Whatever, I'm so not complaining. She's blessed. We're blessed. Hezareh Mashallah, as my mom says. A thousand thanks to God.... for my giantess daughter.

Dance Bonk Kiss Play

While I'm not sure if this blog has run it's course or not (can you tell with the month-long hiatus that I just haven't been feeling it lately?), I will always return to post items of such preciousness, such acute adorableness that not sharing it with friends, families, and the rest of the internet would just be wrong. So, in that vein, please enjoy this little snip of my beautiful daughter (looking a bit like a sumo wrestler as she dances -- I know, I noticed it too) and what happens when she gets a bonk. Bon appetite.