Your Fabulous, Free, Familial Babysitters

Dear Laney,

A few nights ago, your Auntie Brynn and Uncle Nate kept you while your dad and I went out for dinner. Of course I wasn't there to see what you guys did in our absence, but here is what I'm able to put together based on the photos that Nate e-mailed me today:

1) Your aunt and uncle forced you to eat something made from cheese. CHEESE, I say.

2) They held you down and made you watch "The Backyardigans." I KNOW.

3) They tortured you by blowing on your tummy.

4) When they ran out of other fiendish ideas, they put you to work organizing Nate's ammunition. (No, seriously).

I don't know how you survived the sweatshop conditions. Looks positively hellish. I'd complain, but like I said - they don't charge for their services.

So carry on, Uncle Nate and Auntie Brynn.

Carry on.

Love,

Mom

Your Knight In Shining Bee Suit

Dear Laney,

This morning, we had to give your dad a ride to school, so we took the opportunity to ditch him and go out for a girls-only breakfast. We decided on the Cracker Barrel, because there aren't a lot of people there at 9am, and the people who are there aren't likely to be the kind of folks who get all judgmental if a toddler starts...oh, I don't know...hurling peach pancakes against the wall. Not that I know anyone who would do that.

You loved breakfast. You loved playing that game with the golf tees. You loved sitting in your own big girl chair. Everything was going swimmingly until we decided to check out the toys in the gift shop on our way out, and I innocently wound up a stuffed monkey. When that monkey started doing backflips, you started SCREAMING. You would have thought that monkey had come alive and stabbed you with a fork. So I threw you over my shoulder and high-tailed it out of there.

Next on our agenda: Tiny Tales at the Missoula Library. When we got to the Children's section of the library, you took up with a day care class full of kids about your age, who were all in their Halloween costumes. Without even waving goodbye to me, you toddled over to their table and sat down. A girl dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood kept poking you, until a 3 year old boy dressed as a bee yelled, "BE CAREFUL WITH THE BABY!"

Thank you, Mr. Bee. Your mama is raising you right.

I had been warned by a librarian that the weekly events for toddlers could best be described as "mayhem." But it was a well-controlled, warm-hearted sort of mayhem. Again, you didn't seem to care if I was there or not.

At the end of song time, the librarian dumped out a huge container of books for all the kids to go through. You ran to the librarian, tried to climb the poor man and then shoved a book into his hands. He gamely read you the first page, which is when you decided you were bored with that book and handed him another one. So I peeled you away, because I think after starting four or five different books, the man was starting to get his feelings hurt.

So - that was our big day. I really enjoyed watching you play today, and 16 years from now, I would be happy to let you date Mr. Bee.

Love,

Mom

Brooke's Hospital For Books: Now Closed

Dear Laney,

As you know, I've made a habit out of rescuing the sad little animals from your pop-up and lift-the-flap books when your reading habits become a little too violent enthusiastic.

But when you've put 9 bucks worth of glue on 8 bucks worth of book, it's probably time to throw in the towel. Before I retired my Martha Stewart Scrapbooking Glue Stick for good, I thought I'd bring all of the orphaned animal pieces together one last time.

Step right up and behold! For one night only! A flamingo with the body of a peacock, the ears of a monkey and the horn of a rhinoceros!

This is probably why - if I ever make it to Heaven - God will not put me on the Species Committee. I'll be stuck with Casseroles, like all the other Methodists.

Love,

Mom

A Sam n' Laney Halloween Flashback

Dear Laney,

When Sam was here a few months ago for a visit, we took Halloween pictures of the two of you. You remember? It was that afternoon you spent pulling on Sam's fake hair and making her squeal. I know it's not quite Halloween yet, but I've waited over six weeks to share these, and I figure we're close enough.

Speaking of Halloween, I got a birthday present in the mail yesterday from our friends Will and Lindsay, and Will had filled the box with about 3 pounds of Halloween candy. It took you about five seconds to figure out how to open a mini box of Milk Duds, but then you happily sucked on the same one for about two hours, leaving behind a steady trickle of chocolate drool everywhere you went. Remind me to mention that in my thank-you note to Will.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Love,

Mom

The Basement Project Continues

Dear Laney,

As I mentioned before, your dad and I had the wild idea to turn the dark, damp, dirt-floored hole in the ground under our bathroom our basement into an organized storage area.

And here's our progress thus far:

Next steps: drywall for the ceiling, installing a light fixture and trimming the floor.

But so far, we're extremely happy with the progress.

Love,

Mom

P.S. Yes, your dad does own a wetsuit. No, I don't know why. Why yes, this does look like an REI franchise. If we ever run into serious money trouble, I'm going to come down here and ebay all this crap gear while you're dad's not looking. Indeed, that is a Rubbermaid tub labeled "Peg Peg's Wardrobe." I don't know; you'd have to ask her.

Pardon Me While I Take To My Bed

Dear Laney,

For my birthday, Karen sent me steak knives and God sent me snow flurries.

Guess which present I liked better?

Love,

Mom

They Say It's My Birthday

Dear Laney,

When I was little, I thought the greatest thing that could happen to you on your birthday would be a trip to Showbiz Pizza with your friends, where you could spend hours playing skeeball and having an animatronic gorilla sing you "Happy Birthday."

I've since learned that birthdays can be way cooler than that - like the one I had today.

You and I went into town on the hunt for the perfect waffle iron (stick with me, it gets better), and then stopped in the mall so you could play on the train playground. Here's what you tend to do in a playground situation: stand right in the middle of the most high-traffic spot and then stare at the other kids as they have to wiggle themselves around you to get on the slide. I have no idea why you do this - maybe you should start collecting tickets or something, since you're already standing there.

Then, we met your dad downtown for pizza. At this point, you were probably starting to suspect that it was actually YOUR birthday.

We came home to discover that I'd received a bunch of gifts from friends, which made me feel really special, and a bunch of messages on the answering machine that I'm sure you'll be replaying for days.

When Dad got home, he surprised us with a cake, which reminds me...this is what you had for dinner last night: popcorn, smoked cheddar on Triscuits, a piece of chocolate cake and two Milk Duds. I know it's really really really bad parenting to let your toddler eat as though she's at a cocktail party, and this definitely falls under the category of "Don't Tell Dr. Hoover."

When you went to bed, I went into Alberton and had a drink with The Other Brooke. We had a great time, and Todd and Cedar walked over, too, so we all got to sit outside in downtown Alberton and eat french fries and more cake (except for Cedar - she doesn't like cake).

Thanks for spending my birthday with me and making me feel so special.

Love,

Mom

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Wackadoodle

Dear Laney,

For my birthday this year, we all loaded up the car and drove to Spokane for a weekend of festivities.

Before we dropped you off at your Grandma Sue's for a ragin' slumber party, we stopped at Babies "R" Us for a few essentials: two pacifiers and a "Backyardigans" DVD. While you and I browsed the baby-proofing products, your dad said, "I'm just going to run out and grab a cup of coffee for the road." When he met us back in the parking lot, he told me that he was shocked - shocked! - to learn that the closest coffee drive-thru was called "Hotties With Lattes," and was staffed entirely by girls in lingerie. I only include this moment in the story so you can add "Hottie With Latte" to your mental list of Careers That Your Mama Doesn't Approve Of. Serving hot liquids in minimal clothing just doesn't make sense. It'd be like trying to cook grits naked.

So we dropped you off in Grandma Sue's capable hands, and your dad and I went and checked into the Davenport Hotel. I got a massage, which was heavenly, but I would have paid the same amount of money for someone to just leave me alone in a dark quiet room for an hour.

The hotel was nice, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out the decor. Why on earth would a nice, new hotel be hosed down in naugahyde and faux leopard print? Unless Dolly Parton was having a yard sale, in which case all is forgiven.

Recently, photos have been revealed that suggest that while your parents were enjoying a leisurely dinner and remembering what it feels like to be rested, showered and wearing clothes that match...

your Grandma Sue apparently found you a gig working for tips at the Starlite Lounge:

I'm kidding, of course. What girl doesn't need pearls and a piano?

Even though your dad and I were in a nice, toddler-free hotel room, we still woke up every two hours all night long, because that's what you've trained us to do. And yet, when I woke up at 6am, I said, "Thor, I miss her. Let's go get the baby." See what I mean? Wackadoodle. [Note: This is probably a nicer way of referring to Stockholm Syndrome.]

On the way home to Montana, we stopped at the Mountain Gear store so you and your dad could check out the skis.

I'd like to mention that I got a new camera for my birthday and I'm crazy excited about it. It's about 90% smaller than the camera I've been hauling around, and it takes beautiful pictures, even through the windshield at 80mph:

If I had Oprah's money, I would buy one for everyone I know.

So...that was our big weekend. Thanks to Grandma Sue for all her help, and happy birthday to me.

Love,

Mom

Montalabama

Dear Laney,

Fall has come to Montana, and we all know how I feel about the cold. I won't go into it here - not because I believe in restraint, or because I believe in accentuating the positive - but because we have five more months of cold weather ahead, and I don't want to blow all my good material at the beginning.

Maybe because your dad gets sick of me complaining about being cold, he tends to light fires in the wood stove that make the temperature in our house skyrocket. So while you may glance out the kitchen window and think, "Gee, it looks like Montana out there..."

inside, it's Alabama. In June.

You and Ella started out the evening lounging by the fire. You shared your oatmeal cookie with her, which was nice of you, and you came away from the experience with no fingers missing, which was nice of Ella.

In the end, Ella decided it was too hot in the living room, and you decided it was too hot for clothes. While I'm not a huge fan of violating your privacy by shooting footage of you semi-nude, I didn't want to stop you and make you put on pajamas. Why? Because you were busy picking up all of your dirty clothes in the living room, one article at a time, and carrying them to the laundry basket in the bedroom. I am not making this up:

Maybe tomorrow, I'll show you how to run the washing machine and you can be one step closer to actually doing the laundry all by yourself. And maybe you can tell your dad to ixnay on the inferno-ay.

Love,

Mom

Eh, Close Enough

Dear Laney,

Your spoken vocabulary these days consists of "Mama," "Ella," "Hi, Gus!" (pronounced "Hyguh!") and "Uh-oh." You seem to have dropped "Dada" somewhere along the way, probably because "Uh-oh" takes up so much of your time.

Just because you don't say many words doesn't mean you don't know and understand about a hundred more, like "Shoes," "Pizza," "Diaper," etc.

An example -

This morning, you were eating a bowl of blueberries, when I felt your feet and hollered "This baby needs some SOCKS!" So, you crawled over to the laundry basket and pulled out a pair of socks that Peg Peg left behind. I figured we should just celebrate the moment instead of taking the time to talk about the difference between Laney's socks and big girl socks. So I just kept my mouth shut and put 'em on you.

Crazy floral pants and rolled-down black socks? Check. All you're missing now is an AARP card and a ticket to Boca.

Love,

Mom

Conflicting Agendas

Dear Laney,

Q: You know what you love, more than anything in the world?

A: Going outside.

Q: You know what you HATE?

A: Wearing hats, socks, shoes, pants, or sweaters.

Winter should be a screaming good time for us this year.

Emphasis on "screaming."

Love,

Mom

A Moveable Feast

Dear Laney,

Let me tell you about an exciting new discovery you made today - to be honest, I'm surprised it took you this long to piece it together:

Those sweet ladies in the hairnets at Costco exist solely to GIVE YOU FOOD.

And not just any food, but delicious, Laney-sized food.

As we rounded the corner past the dog food, there was a nice Sample Lady holding up a slice of Tillamook cheese. So you did the shriek-and-point, probably similar to what Columbus did when he "discovered" America. I asked for a sample, which was perfectly ridiculous, since you eat about a pound of Tillamook a day, and it's not as if you had forgotten what it tastes like.

Once you cracked the Costco code, you wanted to stop at every Sample Station: cheddar cheese, granola bars, mashed potatoes, tuna salad on saltines, and towards the end, Activia yogurt (and may I say, the LAST thing your system needs these days are "probiotics," whatever the heck those things are).

Let me tell you how screwy and Southern I am: In all of the hundreds of times I have shopped at Costco, I have never before tried one of their samples. Mostly because I knew I had no intention of buying the product, and so to take a sample would just waste the Sample Lady's time and be an abuse of the system. Crazy, I know. Welcome to Georgia, please tip your server.

You don't seem to have this kind of hang-up, and are certainly making up for my lost time.

As I type this, you are upstairs, sleeping off your 3000-calorie shopping trip.

Good work.

Love,

Mom

Projects Aplenty

Dear Laney,

We're in the middle of about 18 projects here at the house, and boy has our housekeeping gone to hell in a handbasket.

Your dad started to organize all of his "gear" today in preparation for moving it down to our new basement. Basically, it looks like REI threw up in our living room:

...but at least you're enjoying climbing on the mounds of tents, sleeping bags, etc.

I also worked on the invitations for Granny Jack's 80th birthday party today, which involved a lot of cutting and pasting. At about the 50th invitation, I considered teaching you how to use the big girl scissors.

After dinner, we all went for a walk. One positive thing about living in the boonies: there's no one around to make fun of your fashion choices. So here we are, with our crazy outfits on parade:

I'm not sure if Amy's mom Carol ever reads this blog, but we want to be sure to thank her for all of the super-cool handmade hats and sweaters that are in The Laney Collection.

Let's try and take it a little slower, tomorrow, okay?

Love,

Mom

Rough and Tumble (and Tumble and Tumble...)

Dear Laney,

In the process of learning to walk and to safely dismount from the furniture, you've taken a few tumbles in the past few days. You've splatted in the driveway, banged your chin on the coffee table, hurled yourself off the couch, tripped on the bottom stair, and gotten your finger caught in the spatula drawer. You're starting to look like an extra from "Fight Club." And all this in addition to the perma-bruise on the middle of your forehead from various tantums. Peg Peg says I should document all this in writing so the authorities can't accuse us of mistreating you.

Peg Peg's big on paperwork.

Today was a nice sunny Fall day, so you helped* me pick tomatoes in the greenhouse. Then you sorted all of the tomatoes using some internal quality control guide that I can't begin to understand. At the end of the day, only about 20% of the tomatoes made the cut. You get this from Tex.

Thanks for being patient with me this week, and for soldiering on in the face of walking-related adversity.

Love,

Mom

* Includes: poking holes in the tomatoes with your fingers, picking the green ones and throwing them, taking bites out of the little ones and then spitting them out, etc.

Laney & The Backyardigans

Dear Laney,

For over a year now, you have ignored the television set entirely. Occasionally, you'll rock out to the "Jeopardy" theme song, but that's about it.

This week, I've had to work twice the hours that I normally do, and I've been trying to work 10+ hour days while also entertaining you. A few days ago, in a fit of desperation, I cranked up our Instant Netflix account and turned on the first season of "The Backyardigans," a show I had never heard of.

To say that you loved it would be an understatement. To say that you loved it like my mama loves outlet malls would still not quite hit the mark. You're obsessed.

All day yesterday, you followed me around the house, grunting and holding out the TV remote. When your dad came home last night, you followed him around, too, and I had to explain, "P.S, she's now fixated on a cartoon about an ethnically diverse group of animals who have imaginary adventures in their communal backyard." This is the kind of development that can happen when your dad leaves the house for 14 hours.

So last night, instead of watching "Jeopardy," your dad and I watched an episode of the Backyardigans about going to Mars, and how astronauts never give up.

Neither do you, Laney. Neither do you.

Love,

Mom

The Cutest 48 Seconds Of My Day

Dear Laney,

Thanks for not giving up today. You were a real trouper.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I think those are the hardest-working leggings in show business.

Unfortunate Lesson Learned

Dear Laney,

Sad but true: orange markers do not actually taste like oranges.

Love,

Mom