Your Last Day of Being Three

My dearest Molly,

Today was your last day being three. Daddy told you this fact this morning and you giggled. Then you told everyone today that it was your last day being three. It was so sweet. And it made me reflect on how much you've grown in the last year. You continue to amaze Daddy and me every day with your new words (passenger, perfection, Triceratops...) and with how sweet, kind, and loving you are. We could both listen to the sound of your giggle all day long.

The best part of three was how you took a simple "good night" and made it into the favorite part of our day. When you were "little," I would talk about how much we love our family. Then, one night, you pulled Daddy and me into your arms and yelled, "We... love... our family!"

It was a killer moment. (As Jerry Lee Lewis once said after lighting a piano on fire, "No one follows the killer!"

So every night, that's our tradition. Whether we're all at home, or Daddy or I are traveling, we always end our night with "We... love... our family!" It's always fun to hear Daddy do it when he's at a work dinner :) but he loves it.

And we love you too, Peanut.

Happy last night of three.

Love,
Mommy

American Idols Live ROCKS!

We had a G R E A T time at American Idols Live. I'll blog the blow-by-blow later, but thanks to David Cook (and Daddy's noice-cancelling headphones), we had a blast at your first rock-n-roll concert.

Here you are, waiving at the giant David Cook on the Jumbotron... David! Hello! I'm your biggest fan!

Another First: Corn on the Cob

Last night, you ate your first piece of corn on the cob.

We were having dinner on the deck... you were helping me set the table (sort of). I put our little corn on the cob dishes in front of Daddy's plate and my plate. "Mommy," you said in a kind of annoyed sort of way, "where's my corn plate?"

"Do you want corn on the cob? Really?" I asked. What's the right age to give a kid corn on the cob, I thought? Where's THAT in the lexicon of parenting advice?

"Yes, please," you replied as you promptly claimed my corn plate as your corn plate.

Ok, I thought. What the heck. She'll try two bites, then hand me the rest.

I was wrong. You ate it - every bite. Like a pro. Perfect corn-on-the-cob-eating form.

I don't know why this impressed me so much -- maybe it just seems like such a grown-up thing to do. It seems like yesterday when I was feeding you green bean puree... and now you're tackling corn on the cob.

(Side note: I'm not really sure why you're wearing your Steak 'n Shake hat. You've had it forever and haven't worn it in months... but you rediscovered it yesterday and it hasn't left your head since.)

So corn on the cob - a mini milestone... but one that I'll treasure.

And Joey Speaks French, Too...

At your "school" (a.k.a. day care center that we LOVE), they incorporate all kinds of great activities: yoga, music, and Spanish. This evening, you were showing off your mad language skills.

Molly: "Mommy, I can speak Spanish."

Mommy: "Really? What can you say?"

(Editor's Note: I don't speak Spanish... so the following is a phonetic translation.)

Molly: "Je blue blagga blue."

Mommy: "Um, I don't think that's Spanish."

Molly: "Yes it is. And the Spanish word for taco is burrito."

Mommy (to herself since Molly isn't really listening anymore): "Um, isn't the Spanish word for burrito... burrito?"

Molly (completely ignoring her Spanish-ignorant mommy and admiring her Lightning McQueen race car): "And the Spanish word for Lighting is race car."

Mommy: "Well, not really..."

Molly: "Blu zappa zing."

Mommy: "Ok, it's time for bath."

Molly: "Za kaching pow. That's Spanish for bathtime."

Mommy: "Right... when is Daddy coming home?"

(And the title of the post refers to one of my most favorite all-time episodes of the world's greatest sitcom, Friends. Here's the link. Enjoy.)

This Might Make Me the COOLEST Mom Ever!

Or, this could all go seriously wrong.

I put my name in through a friend of mine for some tickets to American Idols Live -- thinking if we get them, great! If not, no big deal.

And I just got word today, the tickets are ours. So we have a date with David Cook, Brooke White, and the other Idols on Friday night.

You're either going to L O V E this... or completely freak out during the first number. We'll just wait and see...

(Side note: I haven't blogged yet about the David Cook Book your aunt made you... more on that tomorrow.)

Won't You Take Me To...

One of your favorite afternoon activities at school is dancing. And one of your new favorite albums, much to my chagrin, is the soundtrack to that Oscar-contender, "Alvin and the Chipmunks." (The one with the creepy guy from that Earl show on TV...)

(Side note: from watching the commercials for that stinker, I didn't think it was really appropriate for you to watch... what with one of the chipmunks singing bow-chicka-wow-wow and all. But Grandma, Papa, and your teacher thought differently. Anyway...)

So a couple nights ago, you bust into "Won't you take me to.... FUNKYTOWN????" (Funkytown is on the aforementioned crappy soundtrack.) Daddy and I cracked up. How could we not? Our almost 4 year-old is belting disco in our family room. Then Daddy found Funkytown on iTunes... and we spent the rest of the night dancing and singing. (Which was a blast.)

Fast-forward to today. In the van... on the way home from school.

Molly (in a very sad voice): Mommy?

Me: Yes, Molly...

Molly (in a very sad, pouty voice): What can't we go to Funkytown?

Me: Um, well... I think Funkytown is far away.

Molly: Is Funkytown not in Missouri?

Me: No, sweetie. Funkytown is most definitely not in Missouri.

And scene.

Chillin' at Cracker Barrel

Or, what Molly will look like as a little old lady...

Have Apron, Will Travel

... Or, Why We LOVE The Home Depot...

Over the Fourth of July weekend, we drove to Ohio for my Grandmother's 90th birthday party.

(Interesting side note: after I was informed that we were having her party over July 4th, I told my mom, "But her birthday is in December. Did her 90th birthday just happen, or is it coming up?" My mother replied: "We really don't know... but she's 90-ish.")

Anyway... Aaron and I realized that July 5 was the first Saturday of the month. And you know what that means: Kids' Workshop at The Home Depot!!! And this time, the project was a bird house. We couldn't miss that...

So we packed up our orange apron and hit the road to Ohio. Grandpa said there was a Home Depot close to the hotel... it was literally across the parking lot.

It was neat to see how this Home Depot did things differently: They set everything up outside, under the Contractors' Pick-Up Awning. We signed in and got our supplies. Then, at the very end, Jeff the Home Depot guy stamped the bottom of the bird house and Molly signed her own name. Seriously -- too cute.

We had a great time... and Grandpa had fun getting in on the action too.

Thanks, Home Depot - you're the best!

Grandma wants to see this photo in a Home Depot ad... but what Grandma doesn't think her babies belong in an ad? Is that in Chapter 3 of the Grandma manual?

"Mommy, I'm Worried..."

Let me start off by writing that you are a very good sleeper. You always have been. (Thank GOD.) Luckily, Daddy and I got you into a routine early. There were a few on-and-off bouts. But after fighting through a couple “crying it out” phases, it’s paid off.

However, every so often, you try out a new stalling tactic.

Your latest is “Mommy, can you come here for a minute, please? I need to tell you something.” With a lead-in like that, it’s hard to resist. Upon entering your darkened room, I ask, “Yes, Molly?”

“Mommy,” you reply, “I’m worried.”

“Worried about what?”

At that point, I can almost hear the wheels in your mind turning... searching... trying to find something to be worried about.

Last week, you were worried about your elephants. “They trumpet in the night,” you explained to me very earnestly. “And they wake up my friends.” (A.k.a. the 12,000 stuffed animals in your bed.) “The trumpeting scares them, Mommy.” We identified Uncle Elmer (your elephant from Build-a-Bear) as the lead offender in the midnight trumpeting raids. So I had a very stern talk with him… and you went right to sleep.

Last night, you called again. “Mommy, I’m worried…” and I could see you searching around your room for something to worry you. Finally, you found something: “I’m worried about Hippo.”

“Hippo? Hippo is fine. He's on the back of your rocking chair.”

“Yes. I think he doesn’t like it there.”

“Would he rather be in bed with you?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

And after that, silence.

Daddy and I always love the creative, interesting ways you try to lure us back to your room. With Daddy, you always ask for pats and scratches on your back… and he can never turn that down. Or, sometimes, it’s the call of “Just one more kiss, Mommy.” And I will N E V E R turn that down.