Cheap Paternity Tests

Wifey just called me at work. She tried to get some cute pictures of Munchkin out in the snow (since we have about 6.5 inches at this point and it is supposed to rain later this afternoon and melt it away. Pity.) and here was the result:

In short, Munchkin doesn't like snow. I am not sure that she is my daughter any more. I mean, sure, she has the cowlick smack dab in front of her head like me, and our chins are similar shapes, but really? How can you not like snow and be related to me? She is only one, so maybe I'll give her a few more years before I threaten to disown her if she doesn't like snow.

But should I need it, please let me know where I can get a cheap paternity test besides the Maury Povich show.

I Must Be Silly

Saturday morning I was taking care of Munchkin while Wifey was out practicing for a children's program we had at church this week. Munchkin was sitting in her high chair, refusing to eat the generic-brand chocolate chip instant oatmeal that I had made for her. She used to love the stuff. Now, not so much. She has decided that certain textures are not approved.

After eating about five or six bites in quick succession, I was a bit startled to find that she firmly clamped her lips closed. Upon a second attempt to get the oatmeal to her mouth, she tried the arm swipe (which I quickly dodged) accompanied by a head nod. I felt a bit like the mother from the Incredibles trying to feed Jack Jack. Drawing upon her inspiration, I started making funny faces and asking Munchkin to say, "Aaaaah."

"See-yee Daddy," Munchkin retorted.

A bit surprised, I attempted again to insert the spoon into her mouth with a plea to say, "Aah." And again, she told me I was silly.

I didn't know Munchkin knew that word. Evidently she has picked it up and learned when to appropriately use it in context. While her pronunciation could use a bit of work, she clearly knows what it means. I can tell this because when I asked her if she thought I was silly, she smiled and looked at me with the smug satisfaction only a one-year-old can muster.

In other related news, Munchkin can now say, "No way." At this point it is more of a parroting, as she hasn't used it in context. Her pronunciation, however, is impeccable.

I'm Being Eaten by a Boa Constrictor

I was reminded of the famous poem by Shel Silverstein whose title I borrowed for this post tonight. We went out shopping with Munchkin tonight, looking to pick up a few things for Christmas. We went to one local shop in hunt of a shopping cart for Munchkin, as she is loving containers at this point. If you can put something in it, or take something out of it, Munchkin is hooked. We didn't have any luck.

Instead of calling the night a total bust, we decided to go to a book store on the way home. The store has a decent children's section, but at this point, the main draw for Munchkin is this round rack of stuffed animals. Last time we stopped there, Munchkin grabbed a siberian tiger (a good choice, I might add) and carried it around with her for about 45 minutes while we browsed through various shelves.

Tonight she found the same tiger in a different color. She picked it out of the rest of the items immediately and started carrying it around, but lost interest after about five minutes or so. I guess it is safe to say that Munchkin likes black and white more than tan. As she was looking for other options to play with, I found a stuffed snake that was probably about four feet long. I put the snake around her neck like a feather boa, and she thought that was pretty great. Some kids started to come over and look at books, so she got quickly distracted. With her distracted (and with Wifey's approval), I snuck away to look at some things besides kids books that might catch my eye.

After about a half an hour of perusal, I headed back to find Wifey and Munchkin to see how things were going. I saw Munchkin meandering her way through some racks, so I ducked behind a shelf and waited until I could ambush her. As she drunkenly stumbled my way (while looking the other way as she is currently prone to do), I growled and jumped out. She squealed with delight and started running back to her mom.

Munchkin kept running around through the empty shelves, giggling as I was walking behind her and occasionally pinching or tickling her shoulders or sides. Munchkin kept looking over her shoulder to make sure that I was following her, and if I started lagging behind to take a peek at a book, she would slow down as well to do the favor of letting me catch up. I didn't see any patrons perusing the aisles, but in hindsight, maybe they were scared off by the squeals of delight of a little girl and the over-dramatic roars of her father.

After Munchkin navigated multiple different paths through the aisles and returned repeatedly to her home base (Wifey who was now finding books for Christmas for Munchkin), I could tell that Munchkin was getting a bit tired. She was easier to keep up with and wasn't peeking over her shoulder as much. Hoping to distract her, I steered her toward the stuffed animals.

And the best part was the fact that Munchkin read my mind.

Munchkin immediately grabbed a snake like I had grabbed earlier and attempted to arrange it around her neck. After some help from me, she walked around the same aisles for another fifteen minutes babbling happily and proudly displaying her boa draped over her shoulders.

It was getting late, so we had to put the boa back on the shelf. Munchkin immediately started to complain, so I picked her up and tried to distract her with something else closer to the front of the store. As I scooped her into my arms and bent down to whisper something in her hear, I realized that the side of my face was wet from her sweaty brow. Driving home, Wifey informed me that Munchkin was walking or running around the whole time I was browsing on my own. that means that she definitely got her aerobic exercise in for the day.

We got home, changed a soggy diaper, put on jammies, fed her a bottle, and she was ready for bed. She didn't get to sleep with a boa constrictor tonight, but I have a feeling that she might dream of one who accompanies her through the jungle tonight.

Tsunami Warning in Idaho

Tonight I wished I would have listened more to the radio. The skies were quite overcast this evening on my drive home from work. I had the radio on long enough to hear that there was going to be a winter storm warning issued in the higher elevations of Idaho, with some other (and much less severe sounding) storm warning for the valley. After grinning a bit to myself at the possibility of snow, I turned off the radio and called Wifey to let her know I was on my way home.

Sometime between the time we finished our grilled cheese and tomato soup dinner (can you ask for a better meal on a cold, overcast day?) and about 7:00, the rain started to come down. It didn't come down very hard, as Idaho is a desert region. In fact, there wasn't even that much of it. Little did I know, there was going to be a tsunami coming my way in a few minutes.

Wifey asked me to go give Munchkin a bath. She is one who enjoys her bath time. You can say things like, "splish splash" and watch her lightly tap the water. An occasional drop might escape the tub, but Munchkin doesn't like to be splashed in the face, so it is pretty calm. But tonight was different—she must have been feeling her oats.

It all started with the filling of the tub. As the water was pouring in, I placed her into the tub. She scooted close to the stream of more than tepid water coming from the faucet so she could stick her hand in it. She just kept turning to me while smiling and babbling, getting a kick out being able to play in the water. The water went off, and she started her normal exploration of the various floating toys, going from foam blocks to rubber ducks to bath books and back again. Then she landed on the container that we use to wash her hair.

This is one of those plastic containers that looks like something you might fill an iron with before pressing your shirt, although much more colorful (unless you are ultra chic and have some modern iron that is more of a design piece than an iron). Ours came with the baby bath that we used to use. It has a nice spout and holds enough water to wash off the soap, so we still use it.

Anyway, Munchkin picked up this container and started to pour water out of the spout per the usual custom. After several attempts of mimicking a waterwheel, her arm was getting tired. Being the smart cookie she is, she decided that she needed to use both hands. She picked up the full container as it proceeded to empty directly on her face.

This is the first time I have heard Munchkin let out an audible gasp. I think it startled her to have a small deluge of water directly on her face. I was interested to see if she would cry because she was startled, but beyond the gasp, I didn't get any reaction. She didn't even look my way. Little did I know, she didn't look at me because she wanted to start the mischief.

Now that her face was completely splashed, she really didn't have any inhibitions in the tub. The normal coaxing from me, "splish splash" was accompanied by larger arm windmills than I had previously seen. Pretty soon, she was turning circles in the tub while flailing about. I could tell she was having a good time, but the water was starting to get colder, so I laid her down to start the washing process.

Then the tsunami hit.

Munchkin likes to kick in the water. Tonight, she started kicking the second I laid her down. I got the washcloth soaped up while the tide started to rise. It subsided momentarily while I attempted to get one leg at a time soaped up, returning twice as strong after both legs were covered in suds. A dull roar, much the same as you might expect when approaching a class five rapid while rafting, roared in my ears. As I started working my way up to wash the rest of Munchkin, she started opening her eyes and mouth very wide while speaking in a very excited, low voice. For those of you who don't have the opportunity to hang out with Munchkin, when she gets excited, she pulls out her husky, low voice to let you know of her glee instead of a shrill, girly noise. It is pretty funny. That voice was working just as actively as her turbocharged legs.

She was even so enthralled tonight by her tidal wave abilities that she let me wash her hair without any protest—there was no pulling away, no batting at my hands, no trying to pull the washcloth from me—nothing. It was amazing.

Needless to say, I wished that the National Weather Service would be a little bit more descriptive in their less severe storm warnings to include exactly what I might expect to see. It is nice to know that a storm is coming, but if the National Weather Service would have let me know that I should expect a tsunami warning instead of a downgraded winter storm warning, I might have dressed in a slicker instead of a long-sleeved sweater.