Mommy Milestones Part 2: Homestyle

A little while back I wrote about some of the milestones I have gone through as a mother of two toddlers.  Yesterday, my apartment passed a milestone of its own from which it will never recover: wall, meet toddler with marker.

Now, my interior decorating style below-toddler-height can best be described as exploded-toy-box-meet-crumbled-cookies and above-toddler-height as about-to-topple-over-piles.  My walls already have years worth of while-board-marker-gray from my husband not using his eraser much at work, chocolate-covered-handprints, crayon scribbles, wall stickers (and peeled paint from when the toddler thought it would be a good idea to reposition some of those wall stickers), posters of abc's (and the Taiwanese equivalent, shapes, colors, numbers, etc.) placed at kid-eye-level, old maps with chunks missing (from our pre-kid cat days), abstract art from the landlady that took me years to figure out, and other such things.  Additionally, we have been in this apartment for almost ten years and between all of the above plus the generally damp and bubbling paint from living in a sub-tropical country with a rainy season and fairly porous walls, it's not as if my landlords aren't going to have to give this whole place a total re-haul to make it livable for the next tenants, so I'm not too worried about it.  Still this house is definitely now branded as the home of a toddler.

(As an aside, I am reminded of my first day in my job as a helper in the nursery school when I was in seminary.  Emma, one of the smallest and cutest little girls in the class, was enjoying the finger paints when out of the blue she looked at me and said, "You don't finger paint on walls" and made it clear that this was not her first experience with this artistic medium.  I'm guessing Emma's home also bore the marks of a toddler.)

Fortunately, only a few other things got branded with the red marker.  The lower bookshelves were scribbled on -- you know, the ones in toddler reach which are always empty, unlike the ones crammed to within an inch of their lives above toddler reach.  Those, however, are non-porous and the marker should come off them, being that it was a white board marker that daddy accidentally brought home.  (You can lock all the markers in a box out of toddler reach, but you can never really safeguard your home, especially with an unobservant dad like Jonathan's.)

The only book that I have discovered so far as having come in the way of the marker is this children's book in Chinese I bought years ago when I was actively studying Chinese.

Ironically, the book is called Mamma's Sick.  

It's a story all about mommy being sick and daddy and two young girls running the house.  Now, I wasn't sick when this marker matter was happening, but it did happen in the interval of time between me leaving for work and the nanny arriving on the only day of the week Stephen leaves for work after I do, and I don't think that was a coincidence.  (Vivienne's terrible shampoo incidents and 9 out of 10 dismantling of mommy's purse also happen on daddy's watch.)

Here's a page from the book where the younger sister gets
into mommy's makeup and toiletries.  On the next page,
she gives herself a haircut.  Fortunately, we haven't reached
that stage yet.

However, I am proud of my home and all the marks it bears, because it's so much better a home with this little guy in it.  (This is not to say that I am encouraging any future occurrences.)

My little interior decorator, pre-interior decorating.
(Post-interior decorating, the football on his shirt was a bit
more colorful.)

Party Planning, Clark style

(It took a while to get this up, but this was mostly written the night before Jonathan's birthday party a few weeks ago.  Hopefully it won't take so long to put up pictures of the actual party.)

Last year around this time we were celebrating Jonathan's first birthday.  I was also 9 months pregnant. Basically, I hijacked a church pizza supper, threw some birthday hats and blowers on the table, blew up some balloons with Josephine during the church service while we were watching Jonathan and her daughter, Anastasia, in the cry room, and brought big cakes for the adults and a tiny pumpkin cake for pictures and for him to make a royal mess of.  I figured, first birthdays are mostly for pictures, and we managed to get some good ones with him making a total mess of himself in his nice, bright Ikea smock/bib.

Jonathan at his first birthday:
He doesn't know what's going to
happen, but he thinks he might
like it.

He was so busy with the cake he forgot to pull his hat off
until after the cake so we got great pictures.

This year, however, I decided to throw him the real deal, even though birthdays aren't really celebrated much in Taiwan.  With two toddlers, it's really hard to break out of the rut of every day life and this is a good excuse to invite everyone I know to come and hang out and break up the monotony of life.  Besides, I figured he would be old enough to appreciate some of the fun.  My friend (and former roommate) who now lives in Taipei has a daughter who just turned one, and Vivienne and I decided at the last minute to go up for her birthday about a month or so ago.  (Well, I decided and I figured Stephen would be much happier on his own with Jonathan all day than with Vivienne so she came by default.)  Beth went all out with her ladybug theme and it was an awesome party.

My friend's amazing ladybug spread.

I also decided that with two toddlers who are always in the middle of everything, a theme was probably pushing it.  Instead, I decided that we would stake out a spot on the Cultural Center lawn and order pizza from one of the nearby shops.  It would be a truly Taiwanese experience.  We could choose from Pizza Hut or Dominoes.  Then I figured we would need cake.  At first I was going to go with an incredibly cute Taiwanese cake like we did last year, supplemented, again, by the good stuff.  But the only one I really liked was a rather huge chocolate blueberry panda cake, and really, standard Taiwan cakes are not bad but not great.  And so, we are going with the good stuff (a cheesecake and a black-forest-y type cake from the coolest, no-frills bakery in town) and, as a bonus, a pumpkin pie from Costco -- with real whipped cream in a spray can.  A friend is helping make a tuna pasta salad and I'm bringing chips (a.k.a. crisps) and other goodies.

I figured if I was going to throw a whole lot of invitations out there for a birthday party, we should do something birthday-y.  Two-year-olds aren't really into organized activities, so I had to think about what two year olds ARE into.  Fortunately, I've had a lot of recent experience observing a two year old in his natural habitat, so I came up with Bubbles.  And Balloons.  And Balls.  So there we go, a theme and activities all in one.  Round things that begin with B.  Not as catchy as some, but easy enough to throw together.  And fun.

But when you are mommy to two toddlers, there's not much unencumbered free time at home to get a party ready.  So pretty much what I've been doing is buying things in bits and pieces for the past few weeks and throwing them into bags and boxes out of the way.

The night before the party, with one baby in bed, I had Stephen help me pull out those bags and boxes from our bedroom, and Vivienne helped me pull everything out to see what we had.  Helpful kid I have there.

Bubbles in one hand, wrapping paper in the other ...

Vivienne made sure that everything
got out of the boxes for mommy.

Taiwan does stationary supplies really well, and a few weeks ago I found some great Winnie-the-Pooh bags.  Deep in the recesses of my memory I remembered that there existed these wonderful things called goodie bags and thought maybe I should make some up in case any kids actually showed up.  The challenge came in finding things appropriate for kids in a wide range of ages, but I think I managed fairly well.  (There are a few extras with safer balls and no balloons in case really little ones show up.)

Time to put the finishing touches on the goodie bags.
Here is Vivienne once again being helpful 

The contents of the goodie bag -- cracker sticks, stickers,
vitamin gumdrops, Kinder chocolate, and -- of course --
the three B's: a ball, bubbles, and balloon sticks
(those ones you blow up and release to make that
annoying loud noise that kids love.)

The night before the party and it all comes down to this: assessing what I actually have, rummaging around to find anything I might need (I am particularly proud of remembering trash bags and being able to use up all those plastic utensils from take away meals), and loading it all back into boxes and bags.  

Vivienne takes stock of the party supplies.  (Mommy passes
thanks to Toys 'R Us and Ikea.  It's crazy how to my knowledge
Ikea is the only place in town to buy party napkins --
other than the ones sold individually for decoupage.)

Vivienne helps mommy get out root
beers for the party.

The plan: put most things into two large boxes that can be emptied and used as a make-shift table in the park.  Fortunately, I happen to have both a single and a double stroller, so transport shouldn't be a problem.  The kids can be loaded into Jonathan's awesome new double tricycle, a birthday gift from his nanny.  I have a few people coming over before the party to help cart things over, so I think this "birthday party in a box" might just work!

Oh What a Day ... (or A (Mis)adventure of a Little Sis)

If you know anything about us, you know that we don't operate on the same clock as the rest of the world.  Usually, my earliest work "morning" is 4 pm (though I'm starting a neighborhood class next month at the ungodly hour of 11 -- we'll see how that goes).  Every once in a while, however, I get called into a recording job for a company that publishes junior high school English books.  The work is fun, the company is great, the pay is good -- the hours are insane in comparison to the rest of my life.  9:30 am to me is what 3 am would be to a person who normally starts work at 9 am.  

If Vivienne wakes up when mommy is out, daddy needs to
come be her teddy bear and doesn't get much sleep either,
So it's not always daddy's favorite kind of morning, either.

And so, last night when Stephen said he'd watch the kids so I could go into the bedroom and rest, I jumped at the chance. Well, maybe I didn't jump since I was pretty darn tired, but I definitely took him up on the offer.  

It sounded like things were going well as I wound down and the drifted off into oblivion.  I got a good half hour or so of rest when I was awoken by the most blood-curdling screams little 11-month-old Vivienne could muster.  I gave it a minute or two to see if it was something daddy could handle, but it was soon obvious that it was not so I stumbled on out to join the party.  

It turns out that Jonathan is better at opening door knobs than we have given him credit for, and where Jonathan goes, his sister doth follow.  They made there way into the bathroom where there was a baby tub full of water and ready for fun.  Jonathan even managed to divest himself of his shorts, leaving himself in only a nappy.  He couldn't manage Vivienne's romper, however, so when I reached down to pick up the screaming little miss, I found her sopping wet.  Jonathan must have been engaging in one of his favorite bath time activities, washing his little sister.  I'm sure she had quite a few cups of water poured over her.  

If he had stopped there, all would have been fine.  She loves her brother and lets him get away with quite a bit.  However, Jonathan got fancy and tried to wash her hair.  Unfortunately, the baby body wash was not what he went for.  Hey, when you're two, one pump bottle looks like the next.  From the tell-tale remnants of blueish shampoo strewn about the bathroom floor, we're pretty sure he went for daddy's Head and Shoulders shampoo, and let me tell you, that is NOT a no tears formula.  That is a many, many, many tears formula.  And a baby with stinging eyes really does not want her eyes flushed out with water or wiped with a damp cloth or any other thing the Worldwide Web says to do for a baby with daddy's shampoo in her eyes.  And, from the looks of it, it got not only into her eyes,  but also her mouth because every time she went to nurse (her usual panacea), she came up again with a mouth full of bubbles and more tears.  Jonathan, being the excellent big brother that he is, ran in and got his Baby Giraffe to give her, but that wasn't helping either.  All this time she was sitting in her nappy in mommy'ss arms screaming and screaming and scrunching her little eyes closed.  

Eventually, however, she began to nurse and daddy put on Veggie Tales.  Apparently, Veggie Tales not only works on split lips (something Jonathan is becoming quite skilled at getting), but it also helps sooth shampoo-stung eyes.  She kept popping up from nursing to watch Bob and Larry and Junior Asparagus sing.  Eventually, things calmed down and she even let mommy put on her new little outfit (bought in a nine month size so the pants wouldn't fall down around her ankles) and even had time to marvel at the long sleeves.  Finally, she drifted off to sleep.  

Oh, the blissful oblivion of sleep!

After a short nap she was back to her happy self.

This morning was the first morning in months that she woke up with crusty eyes.  They're still a little red and she really doesn't want mommy to clean them, but other than that, she's back to her normal, happy toddler little self.  And all is quite, for now, until the next (mis)adventure of this little sis.  Ay-yo, as they say here in Taiwan.

An interesting question ...

Fun at the Cultural Center

As a Westerner living in Kaohsiung, Taiwan with two adorable babies who look nothing like each other, I stand out a fair amount, especially as I spend a lot of time wheeling them around the neighborhood and the Cultural Center in their mondo double stroller.  I also get asked all kinds of questions and launch into all kinds of conversions primarily in Chinese, which is to say that half the time I have no idea what I'm talking about or being asked.  However, they tend to all be in the same vein.  Often they start with comments about how much Vivienne looks like me and then queries about Jonathan not looking like me.  They often just assume my husband is Taiwanese and Jonathan got his looks from him.  Inevitably it leads to me telling them that Jonathan is adopted and more questions usually ensue, some of which I might understand.  Adoption is not something generally done in Taiwan I suspect, and it's rather a new concept for many -- particularly those of an older generation.  Today that got a new response from one grandmotherly-type patron of the children's clothing store downstairs.  She instantly asked me several times if he knew that he was adopted.  I kept telling her, "He's two.  He just knows I'm his mommy." In fact, at this stage, I don't even feel like an adoptive mom most of the time.  I know that questions and struggles will come, but they are far away on the distant horizon.  For now, I'm just the mom of two toddlers with less-than-orthodox bedtimes.

As much as I am looking forward to looking forward to getting to know my kids as little people and as fast as those days are approaching, I know that I am in an easy stage of their lives right now.  OK, so maybe not an easy stage, but a simple one at least.  Things are pretty predictable.  I know that without Baby Giraffe for my boy and nursing for my girl, there's almost no chance of bedtime sticking.  I know that if that's not enough, Pokoyo on the iPad works wonders much of the time.  I know that Jonathan will spit out at least one mouthful of food a day.  I know that Vivienne will only let me be out of her sight for so long.  I know that when Jonathan points to his mouth, he's probably hungry.  I know not to let my son hold his own cup of grape juice unless we want to go for the purple spattered look.  I know that a walk outside brings complete joy (or sleep) to my little ones.  And I know that they are ours and they are beautiful and that God has brought us the perfect children for this family in His own special way.

He's such a wonderful older brother --
most of the time, at least.

Jonathan knows some things, too.  He knows that if you put shoes on, you're going out.  He know that the high chair means food.  He knows the lullaby CD should be playing in his room -- even if you're leaving it and shutting the door.  He knows that if anyone is taking a shower, he should be in there playing in the water, too.  He knows which pacifiers are his and which are Vivienne's.  He knows that elephants roar and toothbrushes are fun.  He knows that the button on top of daddy's computer turns it on.  He knows grandpa and grandma live in the iPad, though they occasionally visit the laptop.  He knows that the DVD's go in the player and that you stomp on empty containers to squish them.  He knows that he should hand the empty bottle out of the crib if he gets a new one.  He knows how to play peek-a-boo and get-in-daddy's-chair-before-daddy-does and how to wave and do "Superbaby!"  He knows a lot of things in Chinese and English when he hears them and how to say "hi," "bye," and "up."  And he knows the people in his life.  Vivienne is awesome.  Daddy is fun.  Nanny is great and feeds him well.  He knows Mike and Lucas and Breanna and Jeanay and Deborah and Fawkes and Andrew and K. Kay and Katie and the big boys at church, Adam and Eden.  And he knows -- and I'm not sure when or how he figured it out, but he really knows -- that I am his mommy.  And at two, that is all he needs to know.  Though it would be nice if he added a bit more vocabulary to this extensive list of his worldly wisdom -- mamma or dadda, for instance, would be nice.

A rare picture of Jonathan and his mommy.

A Tale of Two Babies, chapter one, "Beginnings"

A Tale of Two Babies is a blog in retrospect (since I wasn't blogging at the time) about how our first two children entered our lives.  I'm going to try to go back from time to time and add to it, though the two actual babies usually prevent me from blogging about much that requires actual thought! 

January 2011 started with a journal entry wondering if finally I was pregnant (after several years of trying to get pregnant that involved two miscarriages, a bad infection, a week in the hospital, and lots of disappointments).  I had had a positive test saying that there was little lasting damage from the infection and had been powerfully prayed for at a conference we were attending and it seemed that really, now was the time.  After having been in church leadership for a long time, things had changed around and I wasn't any longer, which also seemed like God was freeing me up to focus elsewhere.  It seemed as if the time were right.  And there I was, on the first day of 2011, between the two possibilities, pregnant or not.  (A state which often led me to ponder on the relationship of the common expression "You can't be a little pregnant" and Schrodinger's cat, but that's for another time.)

Sitting in a church conference, two ideas kept coming up again and again.  The first was the Greek word pistis which is the word for belief, but it also carries the idea of trust.  I love that the two go hand-in-hand in Greek.  To believe in God is to trust him.  I wrote, "The picture that came to mind for that was Jill Pole riding on Aslan's breath in [C.S. Lewis's] The Silver Chair -- neither on the cliff above nor the land below but solely suspended between on the breath of Aslan.  That's how I felt.  Safely suspended between two possibilities, held by God."

The other idea was that of Peace.  From the moment in our first pregnancy that I climbed on the ultrasound table knowing that I had probably miscarried the baby, the "peace that passes understanding" was a major theme in my heart.

Other ideas that had been floating around really since the first miscarriage right before Easter were those of resurrection, life, and hope.  Having encountered death, it meant so much more to me that God was a God of life and that the resurrection hope was real.  I even dusted off enough of my Greek from seminary to write John 11:25-26 in the front of my journal ("I am the resurrection and the life ...").  I would read it and cling to the Greek words for resurrection and life, which are the basis of the girl's names Zoe and Anastasia.  That's what I wanted to name my first daughter, Zoe Anastasia, as a testimony to the God who could bring both physical and spiritual life into existence.  (This did not end up being the name of our first daughter since my husband had a say, but we kept the meaning of life in Vivienne's name.  Her father liked it better in Latin/French than in Greek.)

And so I wrote this journal entry with all the ideas and thoughts God had been giving me at the conference.  Everything was coming together.  Surely now was the time ...  And then, it turned out it was not yet to be.  I contemplated tearing out those first pages, something I had never done before (but this was a spiral bound journal, so you would even be able to tell).  I must have gotten God's message wrong.  But I decided that my act of faith would be to leave those pages in and see where God would take us.

And so, I wrote again, on January 2:
"And that which was hoped for is not yet to be.  It seems that in your sophia [wisdom] hope is to be deferred once again, and, oh, my heart is truly sick.  But it is Yours.  I am Yours.  May it be to me as You have said.  I am but Your handmaiden.  My testament to Your faithfulness, Your love, Your goodness, and Your hope still stands.  But I don't understand it.  I am no saint.  I seek no stigmata.  I have no other choice but to bear this cross You have given me.  Your grace will be sufficient."

And on January 3:
"Disappointment -- yes.  Despair -- no.

"I stand under the authority of the Father, the blood of the Son, the strength of the Spirit.  I place myself, Stephen, and any family You may give us in Your almighty and loving hands.  I claim the power of Your Word in our lives and in our bodies.

"O God, You are my God and nothing can hinder me.  You are good.  You are holy.  You are everything."

Little did I know, even as I went through all this and wrote all these words, my two month old son was living just a few blocks away from where I taught English three times a week and that two months later, he would be coming home with us.  But this post is too long already, so that is for another night -- if Vivienne Irene lets me put her down long enough to write it, that is.

Mommy Milestones

Yesterday's post was all about the milestones Vivienne us passing as she heads into this 10th month of her life.  Today I passed a few milestones of my own in my current life-stage as "mother of toddler."  First, I finally went shopping in a real, big store with my kids, thanks to my friend Katie and her van.  We've taken them to small stores before and department stores and even the one and only mall in Kaoshiung, but today, Katie, Jonathan, Vivienne, Stephen and I made a Costco run.  This is the first time I have actually been able to put my child in one of those little kid seats in the front of a shopping cart that I remember so well from my own childhood.  (Sorry.  No pictures.  Not only does Costco have  a big "No Photos" pictograph out in front, but I also decided toting a camera along would be a little much.  Oh, sometimes I really do wish I had an iPhone instead of an iPad -- but not usually.)  

Vivienne stuck to the stroller, but Jonathan did quite well in the cart.  The only thing he wasn't too sure about was the ramp-style escalator to get from the basement to the first floor.  He kept pointing to the floor, looking at us nervously, and whimpering.  While there, we picked up a large jar of animal crackers, something I have been meaning to do for a while ever since seeing them at church.  When Jonathan saw them it led to my first time opening a box of cookies and giving some to my kids before paying for them, for me, a strong mark of being a mother to a small child.  I still remember where the small boxes of animal crackers were in ShopRite in Edison circa 1985 -- last isle, opposite the refrigerated shelves where the yogurts were.  You know, those little red boxes with a string attached for carrying them that had pictures of animals in cages on a circus train.  I remember my mother would often let my brother and I pop one of those boxes open (or a box of chocolate wafers of similar dimensions) and let us eat them, later paying for the empty box.  It was such a lovely mixed feeling of the forbidden and the allowed.  The coolies weren't technically ours yet, but mommy said it was OK so it must be.

Later on in the evening I took Jonathan and Vivienne out in the double stroller and went into the nearby department store to change his nappy and look at a few things.  There I got to do other classic mommy things like watch my son throw a fit when I stopped letting him play in the sink (it was a pretty awesome Jonathan-sized sink, I must admit) and bribe him with candy (but they're vitamin C gumdrops made with real juice, so it's not quite candy, right?) and wrestle him into the 5-point harness (he was in no condition to be allowed the freedom of no shoulder straps) -- and then watch the moody little thing happily coo and giggle the whole way home.  Daddy came to meet us and we went to a late-night noodle and dumpling shop for some fried rice where I had my toddler drop half a cup of juice on my foot/sandal for the first time while out.  What a squishy walk home that was. 

But that was nothing compared to the sensation from the last milestone of the evening -- being absolutely covered in vomit when I picked him up while he was crying a little after bedtime.  (No, he was not sick -- just a bad combination of eating a fair amount today, a night-time bottle, a burp that went wild, and sobbing to get out of bed in the middle of the night.)  I've had him vomit on himself and bed before and had to clean it up, but that was nothing compared to this head to toe baptism.  (Oh, when counting my blessings I definitely include the fact that neither of my children have been particularly inclined to throwing/spitting up so far.)  Actually, we sort of lucked out.  Recently, Jonathan has taken to stripping his sheets and the waterproof cover off his mattress in particularly strong bursts of exuberance, and one such burst had hit him while getting settled down for the night this evening.  I had already redressed the bed once today so told Stephen it was his turn.  He skipped the waterproof cover, saying, "He's not going to throw up or pee on his sheets tonight.  He almost never does."  So it's just as well he waited until mommy picked him up to let it all fly.

Mommy, Jonathan, and Baby Giraffe all went straight into the shower, clothes and all (for those of us who wear clothes.)  I am afraid of the precedent set tonight of bathing/wringing out and drying baby giraffe.  He's already getting rather fragile and he has a lot of years where he's needed for comfort before he can retire, but that was one doudou in need of a bath.  However, it was all worth it when I left him for (the second time of) the night, calmed down, cleaned up, and happily hugging his rather soggy best friend.  I love being a mother of a toddler.

Jonathan's best friend helping him calm down from the trauma
of having to be put to bed the other night.  Both were a bit more
damp the last I saw of them tonight but just as sweet.

Snapshot of a ten month old ...

Jonathan has had a few posts of his own, but so far, Vivienne has only appeared in ensemble pieces.  However, since Vivienne Irene is ten months old today, so I thought it was time she got one of her own.

I have no idea how she stacks up against other babies her age, in part because there aren't any other ones around, in part because we are all for letting babies develop at their own pace -- and in part because I have no time for the internet/reading so can't check it out.  Still, we find her to be rather precocious -- the measure being what we can remember of her brother at any given age (but that's not too reliable since I'm pretty bad at remember what he did when).

While Jonathan was incredible advanced with all things mechanical, Vivienne has picked up hand gestures and other forms of non-verbal communication more quickly.  This last month has been made up of a lot of clapping ...

... pointing ...

Hey, you.  That's right.  I'm talkin' to YOU!

... "Superbaby-ing" ...

"Superbaby" Vivienne style, though
sometimes she does it one-handed
since she often is holding on with
the other hand.

and other things, such as waving and blowing "kiss-byes".

Is this a miss for a kiss goodbye or a one-eyed attempt at peek-a-boo?

She likes giving things to you, but if they're really good, she wants to have her cake and eat it too so she doesn't let go.

She's not too sure if she's ready to relinquish the ball or not.

She has also discovered clicking her tongue and smacking her lips, something Jonathan never got into.  She is also working on the mechanics of things.  Her particular favorite is putting cups in and out of each other.

In ...

... and out.

Finally, she is cutting her first tooth.  So far, so good.  It doesn't seem to be bothering her so much.

If you look real close, you can see a tooth coming in.

Sorry, Little Miss.
That tooth isn't enough for pomelos or pizza yet.

And she got her first straw cup of her own.  My babies seem to do the straw thing much better than the sippy cup thing.  I caught her using Jonathan's a few times and thought it was time she had one of her own.  No need to steal her brother's now, though he's liable to steal hers with those cool handles.

She's still rather behind in the hair department, though there's a bit more on top than there used to be.  She has gotten too curious to keep her hair bows on most of the time, though occasionally I can distract her for long enough for some pictures, so she usually sports the "bald is beautiful" look, which makes her grandmother happy at least.  My mother never was a baby headband fan, though, as you can tell, I am.

What a great mommy I have.  She's always thinking of me.
She puts toys on my head in case I can't find enough to play with.

I'm not too good at putting them back on yet, though.

She and her brother like each other more and more -- except when taking each other's things and when he hits her over the head or tries to ride her like a pony or pushes her out of the way.  Oh, the trials of being a a younger sibling.  Still, there's no one who plays peek-a-boo better than her older brother, and he takes care of her the best he can.

Where'd he go?

Peek-a-boo!

Here, Vivienne.  Have a cookie.

According to the pediatrician, she's right on track for height, but 2 kg underweight.  The internet reassures me that breast-fed babies are often "long and lean," so I am hoping this is OK.  I'm also told active babies are smaller since they burn more calories, and she is nothing if not active.  However, I am not sure there is too much I can do about it anyway.  After getting this report, I tried to give her a bottle with formula and cereal last weekend like the nanny does during the week and she was having none of it, knowing that mommy had "the good stuff" available.  Stephen had no luck with the bottle either when she knew I was at home.  Besides, it may be genetics.  Though she has an uncle on one side who is 6'4", she has a grandmother on the other side who is 5" tall  Who knows how her genetics will play out.  Still, her demure stature has its uses.  She hasn't grown out of most of my favorite clothes yet, and being small for your age makes you look smarter than you really are.  Also, it meant that the gift "Uncle" Andrew brought back from the US for her could get at least some use, despite being for a 0-3 month old.  (As an aside, I have always found it strange that Tommy Hilfiger designs such sweet little girl clothes since I mostly remember it as a rather hip menswear brand, but I guess I'm just behind the times.)

So pretty in pink.  At least it won't fit long enough to get too
messed up, I hope, and will look great on any potential younger sisters.

Jonathan had better watch out, however.  Though she's a bit underweight and skinny, she's scrappy.  She's been able to stand up for quite a while now, and can "cruise" (walking around while holding on to things) with the best of them.  She is never happier than when up on something, making her parents rather nervous at times.  She doesn't particularly enjoy the fall either since mommy and daddy aren't always fast enough, but that doesn't seem to stop her.  In fact, she inspired a living room makeover to keep her from getting up on the bar in the middle of the room so she's at least safe from that.  As a bonus, our living room is now cleaner than it's been since she was born and we found all sorts of missing toys and things.

My little monkeys climbing all over the place and giving
out heart attacks left and right.

Real walking can't been too far off.  In fact, Vivienne celebrated her 10-month birthday today by taking an actual step.  Her nanny and I were sitting on the couch trying to get her to walk to us while she just stood there chewing on a half-inflated little ball.  The nanny took the ball away from her to help her focus on us, so she just dropped to the ground to find it.  Then I had the bright idea of holding the ball up in front of her while she was standing, and there it was.  That first step.  Not to us, but to that little deflated ball Jonathan had reclaimed from the rubbish bin.

Here's an SAT question for you: "IPad is to Jonathan as ____ is to Vivienne."  The answer is "cell/mobile phone"She loves phones.  The one "toy" she'll cry about if you take it away is my cell phone, and the sight of it will excite her as almost nothing else will (unless she's really, really hungry.)

Mmmm...  Cell phone.

She has also figured out what to do with a phone and loves to hold her toy phone up to her ear making a cute little "Eh?"

This baby phone speaks Japanese.  Fortunately,
Vivienne's "Eh?" works in any language.

Vivienne is getting along better with her father, though they still have a ways to go to reach a relationship like her daddy and brother have.  Still, they are beginning to appreciate each other.

Daddy is learning her tickle spots.

She absolutely loves her nanny, though, who met us outside for a late-afternoon picnic at the Cultural Center the other day before I went to work.

Still, mommy is her one true love.  I basically never get her sad, because although she can scream and cry with the best of them, mommy and/or nursing is her panacea.  She' still sleeps with me at night.  My little free spirit has never done well with bars on the bed.  The only time we ever got her to sleep on her own was when she was small enough to snuggle into the carrier, and even the nanny gets her to nap on the sofa.  We have given up long ago getting her to sleep on her own, so she and I camp out on a tatami mat on the living room floor.  This was totally not my plan before she was born, but you do what works.  The up side is I think I get more sleep than most mothers do, albeit at our own strange hours.  It will be nice when she is weaned and sleeps on her own, but I'll miss my little Cuddle Bug.

OK, so this is a few months old, but I love this shot.
Besides, I don't have all that many pictures with me in them.

Vivienne Irene is living up to her name which means Life and Peace.  She is a bright, lively little one who brings joy to all who know her.  And she's fairly peaceful for a baby -- as long as she has mommy and we don't try to put her in a crib, that is.  And since she has mommy wrapped around her pretty little finger and we've given up and filled her crib with mommy's knitting projects and other things to keep out of babies' reach so there's little chance of her getting put in it, life is all good for 10-month-old Miss Vivienne Irene and those of us blessed to have her in our lives.

The "money shot" from our impromptu 10-month photo shoot.
Even daddy wants to get this one framed.