belle on deck

1. She eats Easy Mac for every meal. I'm kind of kidding, but not really. Sometimes three times a day. I blame myself.
2. Little Caesar's Crazy Bread is probably her favorite food. In. The. World. 
3. Her favorite fruit is watermelon. The basically non-nutritional choice. Super.
4. She also loves tomatoes. Weird?
5. Her blanket accompanies her everywhere. I mean everywhere. I don't allow it to accompany us into public places, but "bank!" waits in the car patiently.

 6. Although she repeats many words I ask her to, she refuses to say anyone's name. Except "Mom," "Dad," "Va Va" (grandma), and "Va Pa" (grandpa). She recognizes names of aunts and uncles, but just points to them when asked to repeat their names.
7. She drinks water like it's going out of style.
8. She can locate the letter A on her puzzle. We're working on B.
9. The only two things she likes to watch on TV are Gilmore Girls and So You Think You Can Dance. And she only lasts for minutes at a time even with those quality productions. Cartoons hold no interest, a good thing really, except when we've been in the car for several hours and would love a distraction.
10. She loves playing the piano and listening to piano music. Before I broke my ipod, she'd carry it around the house while it played her some piano music. When she hears a piano, she moves her fingers in the air like she's tickling the ivories.

11. She hates touching her own food. It makes her fingers dirty. But she does love to get her fingers filthy in actual dirt.
12. She has a super weak gag reflex. If anything touches her throat that hasn't been thoroughly chewed (when she's only got the four front teeth to crush with, it happens more often than we prefer), she'll proceed to gag, gag, GAG. And then puke. It's super fun. (Have I mentioned we don't have a washing machine or dryer? Double awesome.)
13. She frequently steals my phone and calls and/or text messages people. Sorry all you people in the As and Bs. I think you get the bulk of my prank calls.
14. She drinks her sippy laying down on her back. Because she can't tip the cup, you see. Cracks me up.
15. Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest mom in the world. 

falling

We slept with the windows open last night.
When I left for my spinning class in the morning,
I wore a hoody.
I turned the heater on in the car.
When I was done, the Gatorade in my back seat was perfectly chilled.

We drove up the canyon 

looking for leaves signaling the switch.
We spotted a few yellow and red bursts of color among the green.
Which only means one thing.

FALL.
There's something in the wind that says it's here.
I can smell it - that combination of
leaves and hot chocolate and soup and long sleeves.
And finally I can breathe again.
It's like the summer heat sucks my extra oxygen,

steals it to fill the atmosphere with fire.
I exist in small bursts of energy,
fueled solely by air conditioning, bottled water
and the necessity of grocery shopping.

But then fall sweeps in,
blowing the heat south
(is that where the heat goes?)
and leaving me with cool, crisp air.
The kind that makes you turn your face into the wind
because there's something about pink cheeks
that makes everyone feel more alive.
The kind that makes you dig
your hands deep into your pockets,
not only because there's a chill
but also because it's so comfortable to be warm
and not hot.

Welcome back fall.
It's been a long year,
and I've missed you.

And your long sleeves.

The photo on the right is Annabelle's response to our requests to smile.
 Cracks us up every time.
Oh, and note that her blanket is missing in the first photo.
Thus the reaching.
Can't really function without that thing. :)

kicking the bucket

So I go to what we women like to pretend doesn't happen once a year: THE ANNUAL EXAM. Those three words tend to carry with them a general pall. It's like this inevitability that sits on your shoulder once the one year mark passes. You try to ignore it, but it gets rather heavy as it gets comfortable sitting there, kicking its feet up, just waiting for you to bite the bullet. And then you hear all the stories about how you may die if you don't get your exam, so you flick Inevitability off your shoulder and make the appointment.

Except at this one the nurse practitioner gives my neck a feel (that sounds so awkward, when really it's the least awkward part of this whole operation), and informs me that while my person is generally alive, MY THYROID IS DYING.

Super.

I thought she was nuts but agreed to have some blood tests and an ultrasound to verify. (By the way, an ultrasound on your neck is way less exciting than the one when you see a baby for the first time. Side note.) And then the tests came back, which more than confirmed that despite the fact I exhibit virtually no symptoms of an underactive thyroid, indeed. Mine is closed for business. Plug has been pulled. Might as well sell it a headstone.

The good news? There's a magic pill that will fix this. The bad news? It's a hereditary auto immune DISEASE (I have a disease), so my sweet Belle might have a lazy thyroid just like me. And when she goes to the doctor in a few decades and the doc gives her neck a feel and pronounces her proximity to death, I'll be all, "Thank your grandpa."

The picture? It was her or my thyroid. You choose.

our figurative backyard

So I've mentioned before that Annabelle really loves to be outside. This is one of the reasons I'm most excited to have a house with a backyard. Because living on the third floor of an apartment building is simply not conducive to opening the door and letting her dig in the dirt to her heart's content. 

Instead, I have a little girl who stands at the door, trying to to twist the knob, her efforts only broken by the persistent sign for "please," (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!). Then she'll move to the window, where she'll longingly point at the trees and completely break my heart.

So she often gets her way. The other night, she saw her daddy walking through the parking lot when he got home from work. She yelped a "Dad!" and ran for the door. Of course I caved, and she spent a few hours walking up and down the curb (she's obsessed with steps and transitions between surfaces) and digging in the dirt.

A backyard can't get here quick enough.

cruisin'

There isn't really much to say, is there?

Except to say that I can't get over how much I love this girl.

She may be getting big and not really a baby anymore -

she is driving, after all -

but I love her more every second.

my!

So the first time we took Belle to the zoo (in North Carolina, when she was about seven months old), she seemed completely thrilled the entire time:

(But come on - HOW CUTE?)

However, now that she's on the obsessed side when it comes to anything with four legs or a snout (they're mostly just called My! like my mom's dog, Miley, although dogs are now DOG!), we thought it was high time to get her back to the place where MYs! run wild. And indeed, she seemed to enjoy it much more than her first excursion:

By the way, not only is that the funny face she makes when she does the monkey sound, but it also tends to show up when she's like way excited, usually about some animal. She does, however, reserve the sound for just the monkey.

We lasted long enough to see the baby elephant Zuri and her mama get some training:

And someone squiggled and begged to climb up and down the bleachers through the bird show:

And then Belle was cranky and tired. Plus she up and peed all over both of us, which quite effectively ended our successful zoo excursion. Good thing we got the membership. We'll be back to see the MYs quite frequently I imagine. :)

magic rocks

I've often wondered how much more magical life would be if I could just see it through Annabelle's eyes. Her ability to actually consume every blink of the eye is enviable. She takes it all in, swallows it whole, loves every speck of dirt, cherishes each rock. She thrills at the spotting of a critter and wonders just why she can't give every single person, animal, and plant a love, usually in the form of a head bump. And why not really? 

I wish I could keep the experience that age doles out, but still maintain the naivety of childhood, that beautiful, simple belief that the world is good and amazing and mine for the taking. One rock at a time.

Photos taken in Jackson Hole. And yes she slammed her forehead into concrete not an hour before this rock hunting expedition. Poor clutzy thing. Too bad she inherited her grace from me and not her father...