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Shower the people you love with a long, boring story about locker room politics

Before I left for an overnight business trip to Tampa two weeks ago, I signed up for a gym membership through work with the rationale that the minute I returned I would dive headfirst into pre-training for the Mini. My plan for the next few weeks involves experimenting with all the different aspects of training to smooth out out any potential kinks, everything from keeping pace on a treadmill to defining "cross-training" within the running community. Come the third week in January, I want all of my fears surrounding the logistical aspects of training to be laid to rest so that I'm not thrown off-track by something like operating equipment at the gym. No anxiety over the unfamiliar, no distractions, just me concentrating on my goal.

Except that I never actually made it to the gym. Of course, there was always a perfectly valid reason not to go: waking up late, errands after work, Christmas shopping to do, blah blah blah. Then last night I realized that hey! All these excuses aren't doing my training (or my waistline) any favors. Throw into the mix that I'm standing up in a wedding in September and shopping for bridesmaids dresses commences in four short weeks, and voila! Instant mental kick in the pants.

So on Sunday night I decided that this was the week to get the proverbial ball rolling. Despite the upcoming holiday and consequent onslaught of goodies sure to blanket every surface of my office (who recommits to health and fitness BEFORE the New Year?), despite hosting my sister's family the previous weekend, despite getting under the covers at a quarter to one. This was the week. Monday was the day.

When I set my alarm for just four hours later, though, I had my doubts. Luke was also concerned.

"Maybe you should just push it off until after work," he said. "I can take care of the kids through dinner and even do bedtime."

It was tempting, but too late. My work clothes and shower gear had been stuffed into a backpack. Lunch was made. The iPod was loaded. A padlock had been located for securing my cubby in the locker room. I'd even outlined a brief schedule to account for every major chunk of time between leaving the house and arriving at my office. An extra twenty minutes of sleep after all that careful planning wouldn't add enough to my day to justify skipping the workout, I reasoned. More importantly, the longer I waited to get to the gym, the less likely I was to follow through.

"I'll set the alarm and see what happens," I said. "If I'm too tired, I'll wait. But at least I want to try."

And I did try, first at 4:40 a.m. when my alarm started beeping, then again at five. I felt Luke's warm body next me, sensed the presence of Kara's feet near my hips, and thought how nice it would be to cuddle as a family a little while longer. But I got up, anyway, and thirty minutes after my feet left the mattress, I was following a 5K loop on the treadmill. I ran 3.1 miles in under 35 minutes, gave myself a hearty pat on the back, and made my way down to the locker room, where I would shower and get ready for work.

This is where things get interesting.

Now, I don't consider myself a prude by any means, but when it comes to getting dressed in front of people who either a) don't share my DNA or b) didn't contribute to the conception of my children, I'm a little shy. Love handles, tire gut, back fat--these are parts of my body I'm not exactly excited to show the rest of the world; in fact, I prefer taking any steps necessary (short of surgery) to give society the faulty impression that I am absent of any of these physical flaws. I don't wear bikinis or low-rise jeans, and unless it's a ring-collar tee-shirt, I never wear a top without sporting a control-top shaper underneath. An argument could be made, I suppose, that I should be happy with my body as is and that hiding my natural shape is a slap in the face to women's lib, but ladies, there's nothing natural about my back fat. Not when it consists of french fries, cheeseburgers, and ice cream, and certainly not when, with a moderate dose of healthy eating and exercise, I can make it disappear. Which I totally plan to do. It's just taking some time.

(Plus, my high school may be the only one in North America where showering after gym class wasn't required. There were showers for that purpose, yes, but the instructor always ended class a few minutes before the bell, so there wasn't enough time to clean up without being late for your next class, and washing the stench from your arm pits wasn't a valid excuse for tardiness. And in going to the gym as an adult in years past, I either went after quitting time or, if it was in the morning, went back home to get ready for work. Granted, I did go back and forth from my dorm room to the community showers on my floor wearing only a towel, but I was 18 then, and too blissfully young to be appropriately insecure.)

Anyway, where was I? The locker room. Right. Long story short, I am not a fan of changing in the locker room. But the gym is closer to my job than it is to my house, so overall, getting dressed there is definitely the best solution.

It was around six-thirty that I started pulling out my shower things, and overall activity at the gym was still pretty low. Still, I debated the best plan of action for even getting to the shower. Should I strip down now and just wear my towel or walk over in my sweaty running clothes and strip inside the stall? In the end, I stripped in the stall because the idea of soaking my clean towel with perspiration just didn't seem right to me.

The actual shower was uneventful, even pleasant because the water pressure was good and there weren't any children trying to climb their way in (though I did make a note to purchase some cheapie rubber flip-flops because the ones I had on featured cloth lining and probably weren't intended for full-on H2O immersion). Once I was all cleaned up, I wrapped my towel around my chest, grabbed my clothes from off the floor, and made my way back to my locker, where business casual attire and my trusty black shaper awaited.

At first I was the only woman there, but the thought that somebody could join me any minute kept me from ever letting my guard down. I cursed the length of my towel as it constantly slipped from my grasp, holding it in place with my chin as I slipped on my underwear, then cinching it around my waist by leaning into my backpack so I could quickly fasten my bra. It wasn't until my pants were on and the shaper was in place that I could fully relax and go through the rest of my routine without feeling so self-conscious. And even then I was on edge, as I kept dashing back and forth between my locker and the sink to retrieve my moisturizer, Q Tips, and hair spray.

The more times I do this, going to the gym before work, the more natural it will become, and I won't always care about another female catching an eyeful of thigh. I know this. That's why I'm in pre-training now, so that I can overcome my silly inhibitions and fears before they have a chance to negatively impact my regimen. I've run on a trail and in my neighorbood, in rain, shine, and below-freezing temperatures. I've run on a treadmill. I signed up for a gym and got my first time out of the way, and I'll get a tour of the equipment this Saturday. I earned a $50 gift card to Dick's Sporting Goods for my level of participation (four to five events) in my company's racing circuit, so I'll be getting better workout clothes. And soon I'll have a training program. The pieces are falling into place. It won't be long before they're all working together.

That's the Jingle Bell Run

When I checked the weather last Friday night and learned Saturday's high would be a respectable 41 degrees, I breathed a sigh of relief. I've run outside in the high to mid-thirties but never in below-freezing temperatures. Seeing as I'm still relying on baggy maternity pants and ratty cotton tee-shirts for training, my wardrobe isn't exactly prepared to handle frostbite-inducing conditions.

So of course I woke up that morning to a whopping 19 degrees. Oh, well. At least it was sunny.

What to say about my second 5K? Luke, Katy, and I participated in the Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk for Arthritis, and it was awesome. There were close to two thousand people poised at the start line, most of us donning a Santa hat, reindeer antlers, or similar holiday gear. One of my coworkers dressed up as an elf, and we even saw a gal sporting a Christmas tree bodysuit. 'Tis the season!

This 5K was a big deal for the Frema-Useless Clutter household; I was hoping to improve my time from September's Corporate Challenge event, and Luke was marking his official reintroduction to running in general. He used to do it faithfully in college and slowly let it drop off once he graduated, but my company's support of local racing events by paying registration fees for employees and a plus-one had inspired him to pick it up again. This one wasn't originally part of our 2009 line-up, but work will sponsor any race as long as at least five employees are willing to sign up; I learned about the race through a local race event manager, and it only took a week to get 17 coworkers on board. I thought it would have been harder, convincing people to get outside on a frigid December day, but either we're all super ambitious or very, very stupid.

So anyway, Luke and I signed up, and Katy signed up, and as you would expect, it was extremely cold. I was especially thankful for my Santa hat and its ability to provide some much-needed head warmth.

 

Freezing my ass off in the "10-Minute Mile" group.

The race itself was awesome. I had no problems ditching my iPod to chat it up with Luke and Katy, and the time on the course went by pretty quickly. However, my fears about not training hard enough on my trail runs came to life around mile two, at which point Katy sprinted ahead and my legs took on the weight of frozen cement. Luke was keeping my pace and graciously gave me permission to catch up to her. "It's okay, I'll be fine," he assured me, but I just shook my head and willed my feet to keep moving. I couldn't have gone faster even if I wanted to. 

Out of the three of us, I was the last to cross the finish line, gloves off, fleece around my waist, and Santa hat in hand, physically drained but focused on my husband, pushing my body to catch up to him.

At first I was disappointed in myself--I thought that after consistently running a minimum of three miles at least twice a week, I should have been able to keep a faster pace or, at the very least, maintain the pace that I did without feeling like my lungs were going to explode. Luckily, though, Luke had the good sense to glance at the digital clock overhead as he finished, and when he reported a time under 33 minutes my spirits lifted immediately. We may have separated near the end, but he'd stayed in my line of sight the whole time. I couldn't have been more than 30 seconds behind him.

Thankfully, I was right. Official times were posted that afternoon, and despite my less than graceful performance, I shaved a good three minutes off my September time, finishing 33:05:02, and I am damn proud of it. (For more stats, check out my new Races page, where I plan to keep a complete record of my racing history.)

A snapshot of our course courtesy of Luke's cell phone.

Training for the Mini-Marathon starts next month, and there's still a lot to do. I need to pick a training program and find the best training log for measuring my progress. I want some better work-out gear. I would love to get a watch that tracks distance and counts laps. I need to plan how and when and how my gym training is going to take place. Thankfully, I've got few more weeks to iron these details out, so until then, I will continue to research my options. 

I'll also remain grateful for Luke's support and involvement. Running has turned out to be a fun way to feed the non-parenting aspect of our relationship as we help each other clock as much training time as our schedules allow, look for races to run, and share stories about thoughts and dreams born on the trail. Sometimes it's hard to justify spending time on individual hobbies once the kids are in bed because that's the only time we have during the week to be with each other, so we need activities like this that kill several birds with one stone, activities that foster alone time and address personal health and keep our marriage healthy, too. It's a tall order, but Luke is 6'4". I like tall.

 

My two-year-old... (she'll make her way)

... made pee-pee in the potty this month! It happened last Monday while I was at work (of course) during her regularly scheduled potty time with Luke. It was much in terms of volume, but he said that afterwards she was so taken aback by the experience she totally freaked out. There have been no repeat performances since then, but her interest is definitely piqued.

... still relies heavily on a lovey for naps and bedtime. Bunny came to us when she was around six months old and originally purchased as a back-up for a similar stuffed animal she received from Luke's brother's family when they came to meet her at the hospital. We wanted to be prepared in case it ever got lost or destroyed in the wash, but instead of keeping it in a safe place we tossed it into one of her toy bins, even switching out the bunnies at bedtime occasionally to make sure she was equally comfortable with both. Somewhere along the way she became more attached to the back-up bunny, and now he's just Bunny and she loves him with the passion of a thousand love letters. Not even Nathan at his young age favors anything as much as Kara does Bunny. God help us the day we leave him behind in Chicago or drop him at a rest stop, because isn't that just the way?

... has expanded her vocabulary beyond simply picking up new words; now she's stringing them together to make simple phrases, among them being "stay home" and "no froggies" (courtesy of Max and Ruby), "sit here, "night-night," "there you go," and "I sorry." And just today she said her first three-word sentence; when Luke inquired about Bunny's whereabouts, she replied, "There he is!"

... makes loops when she draws.

... always wants us to draw with her. Luke is known for owls, cats, and dogs, while I can be counted on for fish, flowers, and hearts. We both do letters, numbers, and shapes.

... seems to like the color blue best.

... is finally engaging in small talk on the phone. She's always had a thing for telephones, but now she'll actually say hello. Last week when I called from Tampa, she threw in a couple of "Mommas" just to tug at my heartstrings good and proper.

... remains a finicky eater. It's to the point that she will reject foods simply for the fact that they've been offered to her. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich can grow mold in front of her but becomes a hot commodity in the pieces coming from Luke's or my plate. Though last night at dinner she did attempt to eat corn off the cob. Breakfast food still remains the top fail-safe option for any meal of the day.

... is still missing two canines on her bottom gums.

... can get in and out of the tub without breaking her neck or needing too much help.

... wears size 3T pants and 4T shirts, mostly, depending on the brand (Carter's reigns supreme, thanks to the outlet store in close proximity to our old apartment).

... is learning to pick up afterself. She likes to help me wash off the crayon marks in the tub after bath time but needs more coaxing when it comes to putting her toys away.

... loves Little People play sets, as evidenced by her parents' choice of birthday gift and several of her Christmas presents.

... was so patient with Luke and me this year as we learned how to parent two small children and I regained my footing as a working mom taking on more responsibility. I'm so glad we have Nathan, and there are no regrets about their closeness in age at all, but I know he arrived earlier than siblings normally do and sometimes I wonder how different 2009 would have been for her had she remained an only child just a little bit longer. But what she's gained by having Nathan as a companion overrides any of the extra attention or experiences Luke and I would have given her without him in her life. That's not true for everyone, but it is for us. I know that now.

... continues to enjoy reading as much as she did when she was a baby. Current favorites include Snow, Bear Stays Up for Christmas, The Little Red Hen, The Best Nest, A Fish Out of Water, Let's Play in the Snow, Noodle Man: The Pasta Super Hero, My Big Girl Potty, Little Monster's Alphabet Book, Ten Apples Up on Top, and the original version of Where the Wild Things Are.

... still falls asleep to instrumental music every night.

... likes being tucked in.

... thinks Eskimo kisses are the funniest things on Earth and will swivel your face back and forth with her hands to get them on demand.

... recognizes every single letter of the alphabet.

... loves getting blanket rides back and forth in the living room (with Nathan in tow, of course). It's a little more taxing for her parents.

... will have a joint birthday party with Nathan in early January, which will also be taxing for her parents, but at least it'll be cheaper for them and less overall travel for their guests.

... still ends up in our bed several nights a week, sometimes as early as midnight, other times as late as four-thirty. Either way, from that point on, rare are the moments when actual REM sleep takes place because she'll start out at the end of our mattress (where Luke and I have a pillow waiting for her), then squeeze her way between us, then curl up in a ball on the floor, then come back to bed and jam her head into my side while draping her legs over Luke's hip. After all that, still she wakes up at whatever time I'm able to drag myself out of bed for work, always with a smile on her face, making a beeline for the master bathroom so she can rest her cheek on the toilet seat cover. (I don't know, either.) I feel like it should bother me, her constantly interrupting our sleep, but the truth is that I'm keenly aware of her growth and development these days and how fast time is passing, and I will take her physical closeness any way I can get it. Last night, just for a few minutes, her restlessness unexpectedly placed her right next to me, her neck resting on my arm, her body curled into mine, and for the first time since she was a baby, I was able to hold her to my chest without the constraints of a rocking chair. It may be her birthday, but I'm the one with the best gift a mother could ask for.

... is loved more than she will ever know.

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Enjoying crisp fall weather.

 

Playing with her brother. Observing their antics is one of my favorite pastimes.

Napping with Grandpa before Thanksgiving dinner.

 

Basking in the glory that is Max and Ruby.

Surrendering to kisses from Momma. 

The winning photo for our holiday card, thanks to our tripod and insanely good luck. This was the very first shot we took to benchmark positioning on the staircase. After that, bodies were twisted, faces were blocked, and there may have been screaming by a certain someone over Luke's attempt to wear a Santa hat. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to neither confirm nor deny these allegations.

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I want to say something deep and reflective here, but the words are catching in my throat. Motherhood is simultaneously the most rewarding and most frustrating job I will ever have in my life, and being the oldest, Kara plays a unique role in that. I will always be a rookie with her. She is my first baby, will be my first child out of diapers, first kindergartener, first slumber-party goer, first teenager. She opens my eyes to new ways of thinking, forces me to re-evaluate processes and goals when my patience is on the verge of running out and I'm not sure how to move forward. When she's thrashing about on the changing table because she suddenly can't stomach a diaper change, I have to pause and remember what I'm trying to accomplish--the goal isn't to restrain her and prove who's in charge. It's just to change her diaper. Yes. That basic.

It's not that Nathan doesn't inspire these feelings, too, because he does, but my reflections on his uniqueness are better suited for his birthday post next month (dear Lord, why are you doing this to me?). The difference is that Kara's the one catching my heart off-guard when I'm completely unprepared. As a result, I often find myself so overcome with emotion over each new milestone and each new challenge that I can't even put one foot in front of the other.

There's one thing, though, that isn't colored by her age for me, and that's my admiration of who she is at her core. Her headstrong personality, her affectionate nature, her very existence on this earth is cause for me to thank God every night. I am not perfect, but what I lack in grace I try to make up in gratitude and a willingness to learn how to do better. And that started with her.

Happy birthday, baby.

(Video courtesy of Luke, as usual. Amazing job, honey.)

Alternate route

Today I'm in Tampa to present at a quarterly sales meeting, but since the meeting isn't until tomorrow morning, my biggest accomplishments have included eating a blueberry muffin and successfully boarding my flight. Several of us are meeting for dinner tonight, and since I had several hours to kill between checking in and heading out, I marched off to the fitness room to give treadmill running a try.

In the beginning, I put off investigating indoor training opportunities for as long as I could, determined to start my running career by taking advantage of our beautiful trail system instead of waiting in line for a machine, but now the temperature is dropping and it's getting dark earlier AND we had our first snowfall on Monday, and while I've built my average base to a respectable three miles, I'm only getting out a couple of times a week; come January I'll be doing a combination of running and cross-training twice that often, and Lord knows I have enough excuses for putting off exercise without adding inclement weather to the mix. Time to find plan B.

So yesterday I signed up for a free gym membership through work, even though I dreaded the idea of running inside among strangers. On the trail, I pass runners all the time, but they're all too busy focusing on the path ahead to mentally critique my form. The stationary aspect of treadmill running shines a bright light on everyone's (read: MY) flaws, increasing the chances for raised eyebrows and snickering behind my back. Plus, how can I keep my motivation up if I have to run mile after mile without actually getting anywhere? But since I live in the Midwest,I have to make this work for at least seventy percent of my training in the winter months, whether I like it or not. At least, that's what I told myself before lacing up my shoes this afternoon.

Luckily, I LOVED it.

First of all, it helped that for my virgin indoor run, I was the only person in the room, so I could fiddle around with the program settings all I wanted without fear of embarrassment; good thing, too, because fifteen minutes in I realized I'd been walking the whole time, waiting for the machine to kick it up a notch based on the program I'd chosen.  Then I accidentally hit the emergency stop button and had to start all over again. In the end, though, I think I covered more ground in less time than usual because I could clearly see the instances where my pace was too slow when measured against 5K standards (ten-minute miles are the ideal minimum) and increase my speed accordingly. After today, I'm now thinking I've been slacking off a bit in my trail runs, swappng speed for distance, to the point that I'm worried about even being able to match the time of my very first race back in September. We'll find out soon enough on Saturday, when Luke, Katy, and I will take part in the Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk for Arthritis in downtown Indianapolis.

Have I mentioned before how much I enjoy running? Because I so do. And today, as my feet pounded on the rotating rubber carpet of the treadmill, I imagined getting up at five in the morning to make the 15-minute drive to the gym, mixing up trail runs with stationary ones, taking classes for strength-training and endurance, and overall just DOING what I need to be doing to complete this half-marathon in one piece. Then suddenly, just like that, I could visualize it, could see myself crossing the finish line in May. It's no longer the impossible dream I thought it would be. I can do this.

I can do this.

My ten-month-old...

… took four steps last Wednesday! Then yesterday he walked from the sofa to Luke’s arms—a good two feet. He could very well be running by the New Year.
 
… finally holds his own bottle, though the occasional indifference to eating mentioned in last month’s update still applies.
 
… is still taking things slowly with table food. He’s had bits of pancakes, bread, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and turkey, but that’s about it. His stomach is just too sensitive, as evidenced yesterday morning when he took a sample of whole milk from Kara’s sippy cup and promptly threw up five minutes later.

... will bring you his favorite books when he's in the mood for a story (or so I hear. Luke is the only parent who can testify to this at the moment). Those books include The Shape of Me and Other Stuff, Moo Ba La La La, Chicka Chicka ABC, Big Dog Little Dog, Frosty the Snowman, and The Fire Engine Book.

... hasn't figured out the proper way to hold his books yet, so he can be deep in concentration while looking at a page that is upside down reading right to left. To each his own.

... doesn't care for socks. It used to be that at least one would fall off through the natural course of play, but now he pulls them off deliberately. During a diaper change at church last Sunday, he even peed on one. Way to guarantee at least partial nakeness, son.

... has a list of nicknames, including Buddy, Boo-Bah, Boo-Ba-Dee-Boo, and Momma's Little Handsome (my personal favorite).

... loves to play with his mini Taggies blanket, a set of Tonka trucks Molly brought with her to the hospital, Little People farm horses, and pretty much anything else that semi-fits into his mouth. He's also taken to pushing around the shopping cart walker we bought for Kara's first birthday last year.

... likes to roll around on pillows, the same red pillows Kara's been attached to since she was six months old.

... looks adorable in denim overalls.

... has bangs that are quickly growing into his eyes. Luke asked me when I wanted to cut his hair for the first time, and I gasped out loud and clutched my chest and told him there will be no scissors near my precious baby's head for...I don't know. A while. Definitely not today.

... is never placed in front of the TV, but there's no denying he watches it. Kara watches anywhere from two to three Max and Ruby episodes a day, depending on the day (though it hasn't been three in about a week, after a recent pledge to cut down her screen time), and while Luke is great about making sure it happens when he's eating or sleeping or otherwise occupied, when I'm home, more times than not he's hanging on the entertainment center, staring up at the screen, mesmerized by the colors and voices, at least for a few minutes.

... is still rocked to sleep for naps and bedtime, though he seems to switch his positioning based on the parent in charge of getting him down. Luke has the best luck with the traditional newborn cradle, while I find it easier to cuddle him on my shoulder or sit him on my lap with his head nestled in the crook of my arm. Not that he starts out that way, mind you--he thrashes around a bit trying to get comfortable until exhaustion eventually overwhelms him, and suddenly he's curled into my neck or sprawled over my arm. For a while there I dreaded bedtime with him, had plenty of choice curse words to share while bouncing him up and down through the squirming and crying, but now that he's a teeny bit more cooperative, the whole routine is more manageable.

... usually wakes up two to three times a night and requires anything from assistance with his pacifier to removal from his crib so he can be rocked to sleep all over again. His prime wake-up times seem to be between 9:30 and 11:30 p.m., with a third thrown in right after Luke and I turn out the light, no matter what time it is.

... is on the fence about bathtime. Sometimes he screams the entire way through, other times he's content to munch on one of his rubber boats. Keeps things spicy!

... has made a number of friends at church, with his eye smiles and boyish grin.

... tucks in his lower lip when he's lost in thought.

... adores playing with Kara, sometimes a bit too much. Sometimes, he's so excited that he ends up smacking her in the face repeatedly, no matter how many times we move his hand away. Luckily, Kara thinks it's funny.

... is still all about the pointing.

... loves full-on mouth kisses.

... will be the honored recipient of my first completed crocheting project--a short black scarf I actually started in college and finally put the finishing touches on today. I think I originally wanted it to be for my dad, but when I picked it back up again I found that the stitches were so tight that I couldn't add more than two or three rows before my needle just couldn't fit through another hole. It's way too small for an adult but perfect for a person who can't yet wipe his own butt. At first I felt bad, having something handmade for one child but not the other, until I remembered that Kara's closet contains at least six blankets handmade from family and friends, and Nathan has Molly's beautiful quilt, but that's it. It's not a terrible thing to try and even the score.

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As promised, here are some fun Nathan outtakes from his first professional photoshoot the Sunday after Thanksgiving. He was a pretty happy guy for most of the morning, so we even got him in two sets of clothing. Once again, the last one is my favorite, though we did get a handsome shot of him wearing his sweater vest, too.

 

If you're really, really, ridiculously good-looking, you can get away with not owning wearing shoes.

 

Doesn't he look like a mini-version of Richie Rich or something? So spiffy!

 

Cool! Fingers!

 

His eyes seem to change depending on his outfit, anywhere from green to blue to gray, but in this picture it's the wonderment that gets me, not the color.

 

Happy ten months and some change, buddy.

My 23-month-old...

... finally calls her parents by name! Last month, she was playing around with "Daddy," sometimes hitting the second string of Ds, sometimes not, but now she nails it, and "Momma," too. It's a wonderful thing to hear your child call out for you, even when she uses it to play on our emotions. Just last night after twenty minutes of sporadic whining from her crib, she finally started asking for Luke, which had him climbing the stairs towards her bedroom with tears in his eyes.  Not five minutes later, her plea changed to "Momma." Luke says she calls for me periodically throughout the day, which has me fretting about my business trip next week, a simple overnight that won't have me gone 24 hours, but already I can hear her voice calling for me, wondering where I've gone to, not understanding why I won't be there when she wakes up in the middle of the night.

... loves tortilla chips, tomato soup, cheese cubes, bites of Shredded Wheat and Banana Nut Crunch cereal, and twisty pretzels. French toast, scrambled eggs, and pancakes with the tiniest dollop of syrup continue to reign supreme.

... increases her vocabulary by leaps and bounds every day. Household favorites include "Oh, no!", "Hooray!," "apple," "Naynuh" (for Nathan), "airplane," "sorry" (without the "r" sound), "please," "thank you" (uck ooo), "yes" (YES!), "again," "done," "Max" (For Max and Ruby), and "okay" (oooooooKAY!). One day her language capabilities will fail to be newsworthy, so I'm eating it up now.

... can count numbers one through ten fairly consistently, with help. She likes to count the steps as she walks up and down our staircase and the various ornaments in Merry Christmas, Mouse! (one star, two angels, three snowflakes, etc.) Two nights ago she counted all four reindeer perfectly, no mistakes. Clearly, she is genius.

... can manage the staircase on her own while holding the railing, though one of us is always behind her because she's easily distracted (look, there's my bunny! socks! teddy! ah!) and sometmes loses her balance as a result.

... loves hats: holding them, wearing them, forcing them onto Nathan's head, and transforming ordinary non-hat items into fashionable noggin gear. Yesterday she took a nesting bowl and practically suctioned it to his crown for a good two minutes. Luckily, Nathan was cool with it.

... isn't above stealing her brother's pureed vegetables (as long as they're not green) but makes up for it by allowing him to play with one of her favorite toys (for a limited time).

... knows how to say "please" and "thank you" and does so correctly 70 percent of the time.

... melts down at the drop of a hat (hello, almost two!). Yesterday's tantrum was caused by Luke serving her applesauce in a bowl instead of the manufacturer's cup. I never did thank her for that.

... still adores Max and Ruby and never wants to watch anything else. She'll tolerate the last few minutes of the DVR recording, which usually includes a couple of Laurie Bertram videos and the opening credits to Dora, The Explorer, but if we start with a Dora show she shakes her head violently and shouts "No no!"

... is a big fan of hugs and kisses and showers them on us all day. She hugs my legs during pre-run jumping jacks and wraps her arms around my torso when I'm lying on the floor after I've come back, pressing her lips against mine before laying her head on my shoulder. Ah, bliss.

... has potty time as instituted by Luke once a day. There's a potty chair for downstairs and a potty seat for upstairs, the latter of which she will only sit on backwards, on the floor. As for the potty chair, well, did I mention her love for hats? At least she hasn't christened it yet.

... takes my ear warmer headband, pulls it around her knees, then walks around the house as if she's preparing for her runway debut.

... presses her face into books to share kisses with beloved animals, usually dogs, cats, and ducklings.

... is really digging The Little Red Hen.

... has a strong affinity for penguins, possibly indicating a future career as a marine biologist.

... has more fun with bathtub crayons than actual crayons.

... still wakes up at night a few times a week and has once again taken to finishing those nights out in bed with us. Her preferred spot is at the end of the mattress, so we keep a pillow for her near our feet. Sometimes she's relatively still, and others she thrashes about in a constant attempt to get comfortable. They are not the most restful nights in the world, but I still treasure that time with her, waking up to see her face snuggled in our covers.

... turns two in two weeks. TWO WEEKS. How did this happen? It feels like only yesterday we brought her home to our little two-bedroom apartment on the northwest side. Those memories aren't far from my mind these days, as I reflect on the baby she was and the little girl she's quickly turning into. More thoughts on that in approximately 14 days, when I'll probably skip the monthly newsletter format and instead spill my guts about how proud, in love, enamored I am with her.

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Since we're fresh on the heels of our last professional photo shoot, I thought this month I'd show off some of my favorite Kara shots. It wasn't exactly a stress-free time, and there may have been screaming, but we did get some frameworthy options; the last one's in an 8x10 frame in our living room and planted in a 5x7 at my desk (along with Nathan's, of course, which you'll see in the next couple of days as part of his ten-month (OH, GOD) update). It's not the most expressive of the bunch, but there's something about her outstretched hand and controlled, lady-like smile that tugs at my heart.

Working on the lady-like thing.

She found the football prop in a basket near the back drop and had to have it, despite having never picked up a football in her almost two years on Earth.

Wheee!

We didn't order this print because we wanted something more indicative of her everyday mannerisms. Now I'm kicking myself. We may ask for a few when we take Nathan for his one-year shots in January.

 

She's going to be TWO! (WAH.)