Monday, April 29, 2013

Weekend in Santo Jorge

After a couple of failed attempts to enjoy a quick family vacation earlier in the year, we finally found a weekend we could escape the cloudy skies at home for warmer pastures. We loaded up in our car and headed south for the desert.

We were lucky enough to convince Grammy Lu and Bunk to join us. They are endlessly patient when traveling with our littles. They didn't mind when Bug realized that saying she had to go potty = getting out of the car, and proceeded to repeat herself every 10 miles. They didn't mind when I had to feed Mister half a bag of animal crackers to keep him quiet, or when we spent three hours every afternoon flopping about the condo like slugs while the kiddos slept. It was fantastic.

One of our favorite outings while we were there was a quick trip to Pioneer Park. Turns out the Pioneer Park in St. George is full of beautiful red rocks and sand, as opposed to the Pioneer Park in Salt Lake City, which is full of homeless men and drug dealers.

I've always been wary of that tank top's propensity to make me look 4 months pregnant when I'm not. I bought it even though it was a size larger than I normally wear since it was on clearance for FIVE DOLLARS.
Fears confirmed. It's going in the maternity bin.

Can you even...? (P.S. Other shoe was safely stored in Daddy's pocket)
Bug scrambled all over the rocks searching for the perfect place to shout "Vinyah!", which, being translated, is the African chant at the beginning of Lion King.

Mr. Baggins has a particular affinity for both of his grandpas, but doesn't seem to care much for either one of his grandmas, at least until he has had some time to warm up. Grammy Lu worked for hours, DAYS even, to get this kind of interaction.

By the end of the weekend, though, she was the only one he trusted to lead him into the pool for splash time.

Bug had no such reservations about the water.

Daddy and Bunk engaged in a classic round of Throw The Kid
Back at our rented condo, Bug got the whole spa treatment.

The weekend was relaxing, slow-paced, and absolutely perfect. We came home well-rested with our skin tingling from the sunshine and a Daddy who is ONE YEAR OLDER.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Would that every girl could be so lucky.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Someone needs an imaginary friend.

My daughter is good at all kinds of things, but if you wanted to know, entertaining herself is not one of them. Bug likes social things. Bug likes interacting. And at three years old, Bug really, really likes to discuss every possible step of every potential activity of our day AT LENGTH.

Don't get me wrong, I love chit-chatting with my little princess. I am proud of her extensive vocabulary and complex thought processes. She amazes me every day.

Also, she is exhausting.

Today, we ran some errands (and discussed those errands before, during, and after each stop.) We straightened up a little (and talked about that, too.) We talked about breakfast and we talked about snack time and I endured a several minute-long soliloquy from her about the proper way to put on and then wear her shoes, which she has taken to referring exclusively to as iceskates. (Icescapes, to be precise.) After enough conversation to tire even me--which, trust me, as an award-winning chatterbox myself is impressive--I gave Bug new instructions. I told her it was time to play by herself in her room.

If Bug's life was accompanied by a movie soundtrack, you would have heard those screeching violins from Psycho in the background to illustrate the terribleness of that suggestion. Apparently to my social butterfly, the fragments "by yourself" and "in your room" absolutely negate any and all pleasantness implied by the aformentioned suggestion to "play".

Nevertheless, I am the type of Mommy who feels that playing alone is a valuable skill to know. (Also valuable: having ten minutes wherein I can load the dishwasher without having a detailed conversation about loading the dishwasher.) I was a talkative kid, for sure, but I also used to set my alarm for the middle of the night just so I could quietly finish my Nancy Drew mystery without anyone bothering me. And so, alone playtime was enforced.

I peppered her with suggestions as I herded her into her bedroom. Your tea set! Your books! Your princess dress ups! Your art set! I reminded her.

So, any guesses what my daughter decided to do with her unrestricted alone time in her bedroom full of books and toys?

The contestant who answered "climbed into her bed and sulked" should please come to the lower concourse to claim their prize.