Middle Name Trouble

When you're a child, you know you're really in trouble when you hear your mother using both your first and middle names. Even if you don't know what you did, you might as well just start apologizing, because Mom is mad, and she's not going to let you off easily.

I first started using Samantha's middle name when she was around two. I find I use it mostly when I know she knows better. Dumping her snack onto the couch, spilling her juice at breakfast because she's wiggling around in her chair too much, or getting her clothes soaked when she was supposed to be just washing her hands, will all elicit a "Samantha Keiko!" from me.

The kids learn pretty fast the extra significance to the two names usage, too. Whenever I use it, Sammy always stops what she's doing and turns toward me, hands clasped behind her back, head down, looking through her bangs with sheepish eyes.

I didn't realize quite how fast they pick up on the nuance until I started hearing Ella use Keiko. She really can't say Sammy yet, so she generally doesn't address her sister by name. But when she's mad because Samantha took a toy from her, or isn't sharing, or when she sees Samantha do something she knows she shouldn't be doing, I'll hear, "Keiko!" come out of her mouth. It makes me smile every time.

This morning, Ella dumped her cereal bowl full of milk on the table on top of her peanut butter toast after smearing the toast face down on the table while I was helping Sammy go to the potty. When I got back into the kitchen, I scolded her, and for the first time, used her middle name.

"Ella Kameko!" I said.

"Keiko," she corrected.

New Camera Pictures

Here are some pictures from our new camera. It's awesome.

Penny



Ella



Sammy




Missy

And the finale:



Yes, that is a flea on Tut. (He has been treated.)

The Ant

Samantha does not like bugs of any sort, especially red tummy spiders. Any bug she sees she announces by running screaming from the area. She will not return to the area until the offending bug is removed and preferably squashed. Fortunately, ants are not bugs. She likes them and loves to pick them up and let them crawl up and down her arm. She loves it when they crawl upside down, and she twists and contorts to try to see them.

Today, her cousins came over to play. She found an ant and ran to show it off. I watched her carefully squat and place her hand on the ground to allow the ant to crawl off. Then she pointed, following the ant's path with her finger.

"See, Jacob? See my ant?"

Jacob looked down at the ant. Then, because he is a boy, he picked up his foot and stomped the ant and smeared it around and ground it into the pavement. He squished it good, that ant was dead.

Samantha looked up at her cousin in disbelief. Her mouth began to quiver, tears welled up in her eyes. Then she started sobbing, big, gasping, heart-broken wails escaped her throat. I was sitting under the canopy on the back patio. Our eyes met and she came running to me, throwing her shaking body into mine, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck, and buried her face in my neck, sobbing.

Her Auntie Ali asked her to go help find another ant. She shook her head no, looking with pleading eyes into mine.

"You don't want another ant, do you?" I asked.

She shook her head no.

"That was your special ant, wasn't it," I said.

She shook her head yes and began to cry harder. She cried in my arms for a few minutes, mourning her special ant, before getting over it and finding a new ant. I think the same scenario will play out in a few years, with boys instead of ants.

The Great Bottle Hunt of 2010

I am on a mission to get Penny to take a bottle. I have decided that as much as I enjoy breastfeeding, it might be nice to get out of the house for more than an hour without the baby in tow in the next year. Not that Sean and I really go anywhere, or have regular babysitters, but just in case.

When Samantha refused the bottle at ten weeks old, despite Sean giving her a bottle every day, I went on a mini bottle hunt. I had the Advent already and I tried a couple of different nipples, but we didn't try that hard. I figured when I went back to work when she was six months old, she would get over it and take milk from a sippy cup instead of starving.

I was wrong. She starved when I worked two days a week, drinking two or less ounces of milk the whole day. I fretted at work, worrying she wasn't getting adequate nutrition and was at home hungry and crying with Daddy, or worse, with a grandparent. I left as soon as I could. When I got home, she went on an eating binge all night long.

When Ella came around we really didn't try very hard when she refused the bottle. That's just what our babies do, I figured, and I was home mostly, so it wasn't that big of a deal. I had been-there-done-that with Samantha. She also went on milk fast when I worked, refusing even a drop of milk. She wouldn't even take it mixed into her rice cereal or other food like Samantha had. When it came time to wean her onto cow's milk she, unlike Samantha, refused that too. She also refused soy milk, goat's milk, and rice milk, even a no go on the chocolate varieties. She still won't take any form of milk, although she does love cheese and yogurt, so she gets a calcium supplement.

Well, now Penny won't take a bottle. I was going to ignore it, but I think I'll give it a try. I would really like her to drink cow's milk at one. I bought a bottle warmer today. I always thought part of Ella's problem was I couldn't get the milk the right temperature. I also bought a bottle that has a harder nipple within a softer nipple that's supposed to mimic breastfeeding better than other kinds of nipples.

A trial run today was a no-go, but the milk was at least the right temperature and she played with the nipple for ten minutes before giving up, so I'm encouraged. Maybe if Sean gives her the bottle she'll go for it. If not, I'm going to try a bunch of different bottles and see if she takes one.

Who knows, maybe we'll actually be able to go out on a date sometime, maybe even at night.

Photo via Flickr: The soft landing's photostream

The New Camera

For his birthday Sean received a new fancy, schmancy camera complete with a camera that looks like a professional could use it, a couple of big lenses, a lot of instruction manuals, and a huge case with many compartments. Therein lies the problem.

As Sean so aptly put it, "I don't know how to load the case. Where is the instruction manual for the case?"

There seems to be any number of places that all of the components could fit with a lot of extra room. Any suggestions?

Doll Colors

When I was shopping with Samantha for her Barbie doll this weekend, she initially picked out a bride Barbie that was blue eyed and blonde. My gut response to the blonde Barbie was to find the same Barbie with brown skin and see if she would prefer the brown Barbie to the blonde Barbie. I did find an African American Bride Barbie and she got that one. When I look around our house, I see that most of her dolls are brown skinned: Latina, African American, Asian. The white dolls we have, when I think about it, were mostly given to her by her Japanese relatives, while the brown dolls were given to her mostly by her white relatives.

It got me thinking why it bothered me that she would pick out a blonde Barbie. Is it really a hang up I have? Does the race of the dolls really make a difference? And isn't kind of funny that her white relatives tend to buy her brown dolls and her Asian relatives tend to buy her white dolls? Why is that?

Is it, that when we see her, we pick out the differences from ourselves instead of the similarities. Her skin is darker than mine, so does my mind make her identity more Asian than white? Do her Japanese relatives look at her and see lighter skin than theirs and therefore identify her more with her white heritage? And then we all buy the dolls that we think look the most like her?

Will she, as I've read about people who are half white, half African American, not really be accepted by either race as she grows up? Too white to be Asian, too Asian to be white, and therefore be an outsider her whole life, not really fitting in anywhere?

Am I not as color blind as I thought? I married outside of my race and truly believe skin color is not important and does not make a person who they are anymore than hair color does. Or do I not believe that, deep down. Do I really believe that your identity, who you are, is somehow linked to your skin color?

In actuality, I think the color of the doll's skin bothered me because I know she chose the blonde Bride Barbie because she thought she was prettiest. I know that because that's how I chose my dolls growing up. And the Bride Barbie was pretty. She had a beautiful white gown with ruching on the bodice, spaghetti straps tied halter style around the neck, a flowing skirt with a glittered, lacy overlay, with a hot pink ribbon around her waist and matching, strappy hot pink high heels. She wore a veil over her hair, diamond earrings, and a gigantic diamond ring that gleamed from the box.

But when she came with the blonde doll, I thought, is that Samantha's idea of pretty? Does she think blue-eyed and blonde is the prettiest Barbie? Does she not think the brown Barbie is pretty? The one, that in my mind, looks the most like her. I want her to grow up with a positive self image and feel pretty and I do believe the dolls she chooses can be a reflection of that.

When offered both dolls, she did choose the darker one. But, maybe she only chose it because she knew that was the one I was hoping she would pick. Maybe she only chose the blonde Barbie in the first place because it was displayed along the main aisle at her eye level, while the brown Barbie was in the Barbie aisle, over her head (which is a completely different issue I won't address here). Maybe, she didn't really notice the skin color, and she was just picking the most beautiful dress she saw. I hope so.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

I wish this post was about how easy it is to lose the baby weight and how every time I step on the scale, the pounds are just falling off. Unfortunately, I still have fifteen pounds to go, same as last month.

I got my hair cut a couple weeks ago and dressed for the occasion, wearing a shirt that was not stained and faded, a pair of non-maternity jeans, and a pair of black shoes. I noted the shoes were really too snug and thought, my feet must have grown again during my pregnancy. They grew a half a size with Ella, so I wore size 9 instead of 8 1/2. I must be a 9 1/2 now. That was as far as the thought process went. I'll deal with buying new shoes after I lose the weight and make sure I don't just have fatter feet.

The last few days I've been noticing I'm having a harder time reaching things I used to reach easily. They just seem farther away. Again, blaming it on the pregnancy, I just figured it was a lack of flexibility and I just needed to get back into shape so I could stretch a little farther.

Then, today, I noticed Sean seemed taller than usual. I felt like he was towering over me. I must be slouching or standing downhill or something. He said he had been eating more vegetables and had grown. Then again tonight he seemed taller, so I made him stand next to me. I swear he was taller. I made him measure me.

I am now 5 foot 7 1/2 inches tall. That is a full half inch shorter than I used to be. I knew that your feet don't really grow during pregnancy, your arches fall, making your feet longer in the process. It never occurred to me that also means you lose some height. A half inch for me. I wonder how tall Michelle Duggar used to be?