I Want To Rock n' Roll All Night. Wait - No, I Don't.

Dear Laney,

Already, there are some profound differences between you and your brother.

When I was pregnant with you, you weren't what anyone would call "active." In fact, twice during that pregnancy, I had to call the midwife and ask, "I haven't felt the baby move in 24 hours. Can I drop by your office to be sure everything's okay?" You were so happy chilling out in there that I think you would have stayed indefinitely, enrolled in some correspondence classes, and found a way to explain to your future boss that you'd need to work "remotely."

Your brother, on the other hand, never stops moving. Ever. But he really gets going around 10pm, when I want to go to bed. He kicks, he twirls, he punches, he tries to sit up. Your dad doesn't even have to reach over and feel, because he can watch it all happening from his side of the bed. He sometimes asks me, "How does that feel?" and I always say, "Imagine your liver and your spleen don't get along. And they've launched a jihad against each other."

Your dad just says, "If he can kick like that, maybe we should build some uprights in the backyard."

It's so bad some nights that I can't sleep at all, so I lie there in the dark and imagine what your brother will be like based on what I know of him so far: He likes to party all night. He likes to get rowdy. He loves to kick and jump. And then I come to the logical conclusion - that I will soon be giving birth to David Lee Roth.

If my next ultrasound comes back looking something like this, I will not be at all surprised.

Peg Peg, see if you can find us a gold lame jumpsuit in a 3-6mo.

Love,

Mom

Your First Time At The Movies

Dear Laney,

You've been acting so grown up lately, I thought you might be ready for your first trip to the movie theatre. Your dad and I had not been to the movies since since seeing "Star Trek" in the summer of '09. At this point, you might be doing the math in your head and realizing that you were also born in the summer of '09. Coincidence? Hardly.

We perused the movie listings and discovered that "The Lion King" was playing at our local movie theatre in 3D. You had never been to a movie, your dad and I had never seen a 3D movie... it was going to be an adventure for everyone! [Not to ruin the suspense, but after having read 723 blog entries, you should know that any story that starts out with an optimistic tone and an exclamation point is bound to go a little off the rails.]

You always hear people talking about how expensive movie concessions are, but since I hadn't bought any in so long, I thought it was one of those cliches - like comedians making fun of airline food - just an overused joke that may or may not be true. But gadzooks! Do you know how much a small popcorn and a small fruit punch COSTS? TWELVE DOLLARS!!! I didn't smuggle snacks in my purse because I thought getting popcorn should be part of the "experience." I didn't think getting out my Visa should have to be a part of the experience, however. Ok, rant over.

They showed a preview for "Alvin and the Chipmunks III," and your dad and I rolled our eyes at each other at how stupid it looked, but as soon as Alvin started singing, you hollered, "MOM! 'AT'S FUNNY!"

I couldn't keep the dang 3D glasses on over my already big plastic eyeglasses, and when I asked you if you wanted to put on your glasses, you looked at me like I had three heads and said, "NO, MOM! IS DARK!" Well, duh.

For the first 30 minutes of the movie, you were a doll. Then you got restless and wanted to walk around the aisle, which was fine because we picked an area where we weren't near anyone else. You sat in my lap, you walked around, you sat on the ground and ate the last of the $1-per-kernel popcorn from the bag, and then the movie was over. It probably went about as well as could be expected.

In the parking lot after the movie, you saw a crow perched on the light post next to our car and yelled, "BIRD! I COMING! I SAVE YOU!" You climbed the cement foot of the light, then Dad asked, "How are you going to get all the way up there? Are you going to climb the 30ft pole?" You actually lifted your knee up against the pole like that was exactly what you were going to do, before deciding, "At's hard work!" and getting down. In short: The bird you wanted to rescue who did not need to be rescued was not rescued. And this was the highlight of our trip to the movies.

Love,

Mom

Welcome To The Big Ten

Dear Laney,

We only have one TV in our house. It's old and weighs a ton, and your dad and I haven't replaced it because we're cheap as hell thrifty! Also, researching which one to buy plus hauling this one out just seems exhausting. Never underestimate the power of inertia in this house.

More importantly, I didn't want us to be one of those families with a TV in every room; I didn't want us to scatter to our various corners instead of spending time with each other. I really shot myself in the foot with this rule, because having one TV means that your dad and I watch a lot more preschool programming than we would otherwise (where "otherwise" = none). Also, for all intents and purposes, we live in a three-room house. Having more than one TV just seems kind of silly, like that time we all stayed in the Honeymoon Suite at the Howard Johnsons in Cedaredge, CO, and they had this entertainment configuration:

Having one TV means that if a member of our family puts his big, wide, hairy, Hobbit-like foot down, we all end up having to watch Nebraska football. Apparently, Nebraska has been moved into something called "The Big Ten" this year, which is a big deal to people who care about such things. I am not one of those people. I was surprised - shocked, even - to learn that there is such a thing as football being played outside the SEC. I figured Midwesterners would be too busy making sculptures out of butter to play any real football.*

After kick-off last night, we were left to our own devices. You toyed with the idea of hunkering down with Ella and going to bed two hours early. You played the "Oh No, Piggy!" game on my iPod. Then, you headed upstairs. Minutes later, I heard Dora's grating voice coming from your room. All on your own, you had remembered that I had stashed a mini DVD player in your bookcase for a future plane trip. You set up a chair at the side of your bed, and banged on the buttons 'til you found the one that made the DVD play.

I know there are people who think that watching TV will make you stupid. To them I say, there are only a few more months of football left in this season, and then we'll make it a point to get smarterer. Also, Thor grew up in a cabin with no television and has a graduate degree, but Laney's the one who can operate the electronics in the house. Just saying.

Love,

Mom

* I say this purely to annoy your Nebraska relatives. And Grandpops. And your dad.

Montana Monkey

Dear Laney,

Yesterday, we rode with your dad up into the mountains so he could cut firewood for the winter. I thought it would be fun if you wore your Halloween costume and we went for a hike. Mostly, what you wanted to do was hang out in the truck and pretend to drive me to Tracy's house.

I did get a few photos of you in full monkey regalia... Since I couldn't possibly pick a favorite, here they all are:

Ooh ooh! Aah Aah!

Love,

Mom

Solving the Mystery (with an assist from Steve Jobs)

Dear Laney,

I'm sure this won't mean much to you, but Apple founder Steve Jobs passed away this week. I've been a little shocked at the outpouring of emotion across the internet, but I guess to people of my generation who veer a little towards tech geekdom, he was sorta our Elvis. Obviously, I didn't know the man, and for all I know he was rude to children and dogs. But every day for 12 years, I have spent most of my waking hours using a machine he invented. Because I work in an industry that exists to cater to the lowest common denominator, I long admired him for refusing to use focus groups, and for creating what might be the world's most successful company sheerly by trusting his own instincts. I will remind you of this when you're in high school and want to do something stupid just because everyone else is. "Sure," I'll say, "You could wear those bike shorts to prom, or you could found a company that's someday worth a kabillion dollars. Up to you."

I was thinking this morning about how much Steve Jobs has already affected your daily routine, and you are only two. You Skype with your grandparents on my MacBook, we listen to Barney Songs on the iPod in the car, you love the Pixar movies, and you play all kinds of kids' apps on the iPod Touch. In fact, it was that same iPod Touch that just helped me solve two mysteries that had been frustrating your dad and me for weeks.

MYSTERY #1 - For several days in a row, you would walk around the house, randomly saying, "Oh no, Pegge." For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. My best guess was that you'd had a secret conference call with your grandmother about how the Democrats were one day going to steal your inheritance, and as a result you'd been reduced to moping around the house, shaking your head and announcing, "Oh no, Pegge!"

MYSTERY #2 - When we'd leave the house, you'd yell, "How big dey are!" Your dad and I would always ask, "How big what is?" only to have you repeat - louder - "HOW BIG DEY ARE!" the way some people shout at folks who speak a foreign language, thinking that instead of being Swedish, the person across from them is actually hearing impaired. Your dad and I must have guessed every component of the car and every item in the front yard without ever discovering the "big" things you were referring to.

It turns out that the answers were waiting for me in my iPod Touch:

When I got the mysteries solved, I was so elated you would have thought I'd mastered The DaVinci Code. Actually, that's a bad comparison because I was so busy rolling my eyes through that movie that I've already forgotten what the big secret was at the end... although I remember it being something about how organized religion could stand to be a little nicer to girls.

Now, to celebrate my victory, why don't you sing us a little ditty for a grand finale?

Yeah, I've always thought those letters after "T" were just extraneous, too.

Love,

Mom

Happy Anniversary To Thor (with an assist from Lyle Lovett)

Dear Laney,

Today is your parents' third wedding anniversary (observed). I must really love the guy, because I've spent over 3.5 years with him out here in the desolate frozen north without running him over with a snowplow and rehearsing my call to 9-1-1. If history is any guide, if I did call to report that kind of thing to the authorities, they would say, "Gee, it sure is a long way out there. Can I e-mail you our self-reporting form*?" or "We'd love to investigate, but we don't have that kind of gas money in our budget.**"

There are a lot of people I love and respect who have been married more than once, so obviously this marriage thing can be a little tricky, and I certainly don't take our success for granted. On my wedding day, your great-Aunt Robyn pointed to your dad, and said, "Don't tell him, but that boy is a door prize." She was/is right. Your dad is loving and giving and infinitely patient. He's calm and methodical and smart in all the ways I'm not. He's a great dad. He can do stuff. That last one sounds simple, but don't underestimate the power of a man who can remodel your bathroom in a weekend.

Three years later, and I still feel blessed that I drew the magic ticket that won the big prize.

Love,

Mom

* What the Sheriff's deputy said when I called to report my car accident.

**What Animal Control said when I called to report being bitten by a dog.

The Enemy Within

Dear Laney,

To say I was sick yesterday would be an understatement. I thought your brother was trying to kill me from within, like that awful scene in the movie Alien, when... Never mind. Let's just say I felt really, really bad. As the saying goes, I would have had to feel better to die.

I still thought I could make it through an early-morning trip to Target with you for some essentials. Somewhere near the intersection of shoes & strollers, I bent over to pick up a piece of paper and found I couldn't stand back up. So I sat down next to the shoes display and prayed, "Dear Lord, let 'em not have to haul me out of here on a stretcher. Also, please watch over my toddler who is now probably 12 aisles away, taste-testing the bug spray." But to your credit, you sat down next to me. "As long as we're here," I asked you, "Do you want to try on some shoes?" "Sure, Mommy!" Because your mom was incapacitated in the shoe department, you now own a pair of purple galoshes. Thank goodness I didn't have my sinking spell over in Electronics.

I spent most of the rest of the day lying on Grandma Sue's couch, moaning. Grandma Sue watched you while I moaned, which was a huge help, although at one point she offered to go get me some Chinese food, which I thought would have been a real step back, gastrointestinally-speaking. Finally, your dad came and got us and drove us home.

Around 6p, your dad confessed that he had also had a stomach bug the day before, maybe the same one I was currently enjoying! With the added bonus of a baby!

You and your dad made macaroni and cheese for dinner (or, as you call it, "Mac O'Cheese"). You kept asking me, "Sick, Mommy?" and trying to feed me your cheesy pasta. You're not normally one to share your macaroni, so I could tell you really cared. I could also tell it hurt your feelings every time I said, "No, thank you." So finally I developed a system where I would take a bite, say "Yum!," and then spit it in the sink. That's the kind of gross thing you do when you really love somebody.

I'm feeling a little better this morning. But then again, I'd have to.

Love,

Mom

Conversations Heard 'Round Our House

This morning, 9AM

Laney: DAD! I coming! I he'p you!!!

Dad: Great! Can you hand me that saw?

Mom: NO, She can NOT hand you A SAW.

Last night, 8PM

Dad: Laney, can I help you put on your pajamas?

Laney: No, Mom do it!

Dad: Ok... Can I read you a story?

Laney: No. Is Mom's turn.

Dad: Well, you just let me know if you think of something I'm qualified to do.

Laney: K, Dad.

Every Saturday morning, approx 10am

Laney: Wanna watch Ora Splora.

Dad: But Laaaaney... It's football season.

TV: D-D-D-D-D-Dora...

Love, Mom

The Closest Your Dad Will Come To Being In The New Yorker

Dear Laney,

Every week, The New Yorker magazine has a write-in contest where they provide the cartoon and you provide the caption. I'm sure it says something about our lifestyle that when I saw this week's cartoon, I thought, "What's funny about that? It just looks like Thor going out to collect some data for the Forest Service."

Love,

Mom

Don't Touch Ennyting

Dear Laney,

When people say, "This has been one of those weeks," let me explain the kind of week they're probably talking about:

On Monday, you were home sick and miserable, I had a huge work deadline, and the Pump Guy surprised us by showing up to put the pump on our well. He would have called to let us know he was coming, but he'd been out hunting and forgot. This passes for a perfectly reasonable excuse in Montana. (Also: I was bagging a trout, I was trapped in the snow, I hit a moose with my truck).

After working all day long, Pump Guy casually said, "So...I think your husband asked me last week if I take credit cards, and here's the thing - I don't." Well, here's the other thing: Holy crap. I won't tell you what the total for the project came to, because talking about money can be seen as tacky, but I will tell you that it added up to The Contents Of Mom's Checking Account + The Contents of Dad's Checking Account + Everything We Made At Last Weekend's Yard Sale + Your Nascent College Fund. I would have put my head between my knees to keep from hyperventilating, but at 7 months pregnant, I can't get my head that close to my legs.

Yesterday, you were feeling so much better - and were in such a sweet mood - that I let you do my hair. As a side note, I always thought that if I opened a beauty parlor, I would name it "Curl Up And Dye."*

Then you threw on some accessories so we could hit the road for a family walk...

Shirt by: BabyGap

Pants by: OshKosh

Necklace by: Talbots

Bracelets by: Party City

...but what you really wanted was to push your teddy bear in a stroller.

You of course wanted to do it all by yourself, and when your dad stepped in to help you push it up the hill, you told him: "Stop! No! Don't touch ennyting!" This was one of those times as parents when we were supposed to step in and tell you that you do NOT talk to your father like that, but mostly we stared at each other wondering if we'd heard you right. Sometimes, you can be very mean to your dad. Speaking of bullying:

This morning, Ella and Gus got in a tussle, and - depending on which dog you ask - either Gus fell into and through our greenhouse window, or he was pushed. CSI report is pending. Gus is perfectly fine, but our window is gone and needs to be replaced.

I think I'm going to take your advice and go sit on the couch and try not to touch ennyting for the rest of the week.

Love,

Mom

* Since originally publishing this post, I have received an e-mail from eagle-eyed reader Clay Mercer of Dooly County, GA, letting me know that there is already a hairstyling establishment in Cordele, GA called "Curl Up And Dye." I should have known. Cordele has always been on the cutting edge of comedy.

The Long Goodbye

Dear Laney,

So, here's something you think is fun lately: saying goodbye.

You load up your backpack (essential items: one shoe, a cap-less marker, three pennies), and open the front door. Oh yes, you can open the door all by yourself now, which scares the hell out of me since we currently have a 6-ft deep trench in our backyard in anticipation of a water line being installed. You turn around at the open door, and say "Bye, Mom! See ya in da morning! Miss you!" then you walk a few steps, come back and do it all over again.

It seems you don't want to actually go anywhere so much as hold dress rehearsals for running away from home.

Last night, we didn't get much sleep because you've got whatever ailment it is that makes green goo come from your nose and makes your speaking voice a dead ringer for Kathleen Turner's after a pack of cigarettes. At 2am, I woke up and realized that you were no longer in bed with me. Then I panicked, and performed this internal monologue:

She can actually open the door on her own, and could conceivably hit the road if she wanted to. Maybe all of that practice was leading up to something, the way inmates at Alcatraz made guns out of soap waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape. Maybe she's halfway to town, and I'm going to have to report her missing. And when the judgy cop asks me, "What was the last thing she said to you?," I'm going to have to admit: "Bye, Mom! See ya in da morning! Miss you!" and he'll snidely ask me if I thought that was a red flag. And I'll officially be the Worst Mom In The History Of The Universe.

But nope. When I got downstairs - again, this was at 2am - you were stirring one of the pots from your kitchen, and singing the "Bate, Bate, Chocolate" (translation: Stir, Stir, Chocolate) song from Dora the Explorer. I cannot express how annoying this song is without resorting to vulgarity, so I'll let you all experience it for yourselves:

Mom: Whatcha doing, Laney?

Laney: Makin' 'ookies.

Mom: You're making chocolate cookies?

Laney: Yep.

Mom: OK, well... I'm going back to bed.

Laney: Bye, Mom! See ya in da morning! Miss you!

Love,

Mom

Don't Try This At Home

Dear Laney,

I'll just warn everyone up front that there's a video clip in this post, and for its duration, we'll be catching glimpses of your naked butt. And here's why:

You have a new war cry that goes something like this: I SELF! It took me a minute to figure out the missing section between those two words, but I think it's either I (can do it all by my-) SELF, or I (think you should keep your hands to your-)SELF. Either way, you're adamantly refusing help in the given situation. I SELF is most irritating to me when you holler it to let me know that you're going to put yourself into your car seat and buckle yourself in. It's great that you can actually do it, but not so great that it takes you about 12 minutes and you only want to do it when we're already running late. I've given up on fighting you, and started keeping magazines in the car so I can use those 12 minutes to catch up on current events.

But back to the nudity...

As you know, we're working on potty training around these parts. You've mastered the part where you go to the bathroom and sit on the potty at the appropriate times, but you haven't mastered the part where you're able to pull your pants down by yourself. I'll follow you into the bathroom and remind you, "You need to pull your pants down before you potty. Can I help you?" "NO! I SELF!" ...only you can't really do it YOU SELF, and what ends up happening is that you pee in the potty through your pants. More independence for you, more laundry for me.

So we have a new pants-free policy around here.

Now, on to the post at hand, which is this:

You and your dad get a little nutso around bedtime. I don't endorse anything that happens in this video, and I strongly urge readers not to try this stuff at home.

The end.

Love,

Mom

Second-String Swimmer

Dear Laney,

You had a swim class last Wednesday, but I just wasn't up to the challenge. The very idea of squeeeezing my big pregnant butt into a bathing suit and hopping up and down in chilly water singing "Ring Around The Rosie," followed by an inevitable locker-room fight with a toddler who by-God doesn't want to put on her Dora panties seemed oppressive to me. Running the Ironman would have been preferable - at least when you pass out from exhaustion there, they bring you Gatorade.

I had a flash of genius and realized that the whole point of getting married is to have someone on hand to do all the unpleasant stuff you don't feel like doing (see: taking out the trash, lifting heavy objects, cutting Ella's toenails). And let's not forget the break you get on your taxes! All that to say that your dad got drafted into service and had to take you swimming.

By all accounts, you were not in the mood to be swimming with Dad. No tanks, don't wanna sing. No blow bubbles. 'On't want to. Out! Outta pool!

Your teacher is hell-bent on getting you to blow bubbles, which clashes with your need to never ever under any circumstances get your face wet. Several times during each class period, she'll bounce over to you and ask you to put your face in the water and blow bubbles. Blooow Bubbles! That's when you turn your head and gaze off into the distance and pretend you can't hear her, even though she's standing 18 inches from you. Peg Peg calls this move the "Genie Mae," named after your great-great-grandmother, the original Southern Machiavelli, who could pretend the person in front of her didn't exist if they weren't worthy of being on her radar.

I want you to blow bubbles, of course, but I'm also secretly glad every time you spurn her advances. Sometimes, the perky must be stopped.

Love,

Mom

No! MY Gasses!

Dear Laney,

Guess what Grandma Sue left at our house and will never see again.

Love,

Mom

Bought And Paid For

Dear Laney,

Because your birth didn't go exactly according to plan, we ended up incurring some medical expenses that we hadn't really counted on. In the end, even with our insurance, you ended up costing us $818/pound. Considerably more than a Thanksgiving turkey, but less than Beluga caviar.

I mentioned to my friend Brian at lunch the other day that I was about to send in my 25th and final payment on your hospital bill, and he said, "Great - you can finally take her off layaway." And then, like a dream sequence in a sitcom - the ones with the cloudy borders and harp music - I thought how much easier parenting would be if only you could keep your infant stashed in that sketchy back room at TJ Maxx, awaiting pick up.

We're glad you're ours, free and clear, but I hope this isn't going to be one of these situations where you send in the last car payment and those mysterious dashboard warning lights start popping on.

Love,

Mom