Valentine's Day

Every once in a while I realize that the true genius of preschool teachers is that they work a little bit on a project every day for weeks. Q comes home with amazing crafts, but what I don't realize is how many days it took to finish the project.

I didn't start early enough.

Tuesday night I drew hearts (folded paper so that each side would come out as a mirror of the other) and Q cut them out. I cut out the 'card' part. It was really difficult for Q to stay on task and keep cutting until there were enough hearts (and he was doing two at a time). That should have been the tip off for me.

But in addition to Valentines, I'd also promised Q, and then his teacher, that we'd bring cookies to school on Valentine's Day. (Or rather, Thursday, since there's no school for him on Friday). So we have a serious deadline ahead for 12 valentines, plus 3 teachers, plus thematic cookies.

And I'd like to say now, in case I ever consider this again, perhaps it was too much work in a short amount of time. Perhaps in the future we can start making Valentines as soon as we are done writing thank you notes from Christmas.

We started out great: writing names on the front, gluing hearts on, putting stamps on the inside (they're gingerbread men and snowmen, but Q doesn't care) and having Q write 'from Q'. He adjusted that to 'love' at least once. And 'frve' another time. At least I'm smart enough to let that go. But then Q started to rebel. He was tired. It's hard to write that much, even if Mom tells you what letter comes next. Then the glue stick was exhausting. He had lots of energy for the stamping though. He was delighted to discover that if he stamped first in red, then in blue, he got purple! "They're going to love these valentines." He says this in his soft lovey voice he uses most often when he's talking about his beloved kitty, "Kitty is a newborn kitty. I'm nursing kitty."

Okay. So we keep plowing ahead. I am now writing the names on the front, Q stamps the inside, writes his name, I put glue on the front and Q picks out one of the hearts he cut before and puts that on the front. Done. Again. Exhausting.

But I'm not giving you the full experience. While this is going on, Noodle is going feral. She has discovered Q's craft box and pulled out the crayons. I hand her a piece of paper. She looks at it once, takes the crayons and disappears. I can't pay attention because I have to keep Q on task and keep feeding him letters. "Done!" he declares. I look. Half his name is missing. Try again.

Noodle tries to steal the glue stick. I rescue it. I try to distract her with an unneeded stamp. "NOOOOO!" she screams, standing on the chair next to me, leaning as far into the table as possible, precariously balanced on the edge. I scoot the chair in, and now she's got a sturdy surface from which she tries to steal the scissors. I try to distract her with colored paper and chalk. She is momentarily engaged and I continue to try to keep Q on task. "What color do you think Jack should have?"

We're getting there. More than halfway through the valentines. Noodle is scattering items from the craft box around the room. She happily climbs onto a comfy chair, clutching the ziplock baggie of crayons. She dumps these into the chair, where they roll into the crevasses. I stay focused on Q. Sometimes you accept that your couch will fall to friendly fire.

Noodle leans off the chair to peer at a crayon that has fallen to the floor. The cushion tips her off and she lands on her head with a thud. Ooops. Switch kids. I hold the exhausted Noodle as she sobs. Did I mention that it's after 6 pm and the kids are usually in the tub by now? I call for back up. J emerges from the den looking confused.

I put J in charge of the valentines, direct him to the list of children's names and say Q can tell him how they're made. I take Noodle upstairs for her bath. Q talks J into letting him add glitter to all the valentines. Have I mentioned that the floor under the table is now a melange of crayons, chalk, scraps of paper Noodle stole from the trash, k'nex (they're like legos) and toddler crumbs? (Toddler crumbs are much larger than preschool crumbs. Toddler crumbs are how toddlers store food for future snacking.) Add glitter to that mix.

Somehow it all gets done. Noodle is bathed. The valentines are made, except of course the ones for the teachers which I forgot to mention to J. Q is in his jammies, and everyone collapses on our bed for book time. Noodle insists on "lie-barry" books. J, unhindered by a head cold, reads most of the stories. We tuck the kids in bed.



Downstairs again, I find myself comparatively relaxed as I frost the cookies that J and Q mixed, and J cut into the shape of hearts while Q played k'nex (much to everyone's relief). As I switch between pink and lavender frosting, I realize this kind of stress is crazy and I wonder if I'm going to lose my slacker mom status. Then I see the debris under the table and I realize I have nothing to worry about.

Can't Keep Up

Noodle is adding words too fast to keep track now. She's combining words into two word combinations and is very pleased with herself: "Kitty drush?"
"Kitty cat?" I ask.
"Kitty drush?"
Wait a minute - she's in the bathroom... "You want your kitty tooth brush?"
"Yesh."

But yesterday she added (among others) two words that made me smile. Bunny - which sounds like "dunny". She confirms you're understanding her by adding, "hop hop hop."

And really amusing, she opened our copy of "Knuffle Bunny Too" turned to the last page and said, "Epilogue!" (not that clearly)

Evidently that word made an impression.

"More more more!" said the baby

Today Noodle was 'helping' me unload the dishwasher. She pulled out the white bowl that Q wants his oatmeal in each morning.

"King." She starts to wander around the kitchen. "King."

"Is that Quinn's bowl?" I ask.

"Yesssh!" She's delighted with me.

Although we'd gotten an attempt at his name a few days ago, she hadn't repeated it until today. I drew Quinn's attention to her, "She's saying your name!"

"I don't want her to!"

Ah well.

Practice Practice Practice.

Last night we had dinner with Grandma Sue. Lovely. As we were leaving, she offered Q her fashionable dark glasses from her recent eye appointment. Q was thrilled. So thrilled in fact, that when he got home (Grandma Sue stop reading until at least Thursday) he told J he wanted to write Grandma a thank you note.

So evidently the Thank You Notes Lesson from the Christmas season stuck. I'm thrilled and amused.

He's a funny little kid. We see signs of him getting older and more competitive ("I'm first!" he says at the top of the stairs) but he's still also just a generous little guy. We were discussing shoveling this morning, one of Q's favorite activities lately. We have a couple of inches to clear away.

Noodle gets excited and manages to say, "Baby ho-VEL!"

We assure her that she can shovel too.

Then Q says, "Noodle can help shovel. She's a very good helper."




New word updates, and words I'd forgotten:

cack-a (cracker)
ho-vel (shovel)
previously she had 'nana' for hungry, but yesterday she came out with 'hunny' which threw us off for a while.
dink (drink)
cah (car)

Yesterday she also did a lesson in possessives: Daddy Nose. Mommy Nose. Daddy cah. Mommy cah.
It's like she now actually can hear us when we talk. Just an amazing process.

ALSO! I forgot:

brella (umbrella)
an-mul (animal)

Little Updates

New Noodle Words:
Owl = Water
Owl = Owl
Gonga = Grandma
Tash = Trash
Tuh-tull = Turtle
Muk = Milk
Taol = Towel
Hanna = Savannah (the cat)
Rahly = Raleigh (the cat)
'anna = Joanna
George = Curious George (guess who's addicted)
Qin = Quinn (!)

She's also singing, in tune, "A-B-C -D-mumble, mumble, mumble..." (ending wanders a bit).

Behind me, Q is singing a pop song, "Ohhh, we belong together! Like traffic and weather, like traffic and weather."

Huge News

Monday night, I sat down with Q and a handful of beginning reader books. These are called 'BOB' books. Several boxes of very simple skill sets. Q and I look at one and I read a sentence. Then I ask him if he can read the next one. Three letter words or less, usually sentences of five words or less.

And Q does it. He READS.

I'm beside myself with excitement and delight. And yet I find that I'm checking myself. I don't want to boast that Q is reading when most of his peers aren't yet. (And, let's be honest, he read a few sentences and has since then shown no interest in repeating the event, perhaps because I'm making such a big deal about it.)

But this isn't about me boasting. This is about Q doing something really so cool that no matter how old your kid is when they begin to read, you really ought to be excited and thrilled.

And oh, baby, am I.

The Big Day of Trains

Today Q and I went to the Amherst Railway Society's Railroad Hobby Show. Q had a blast with his friend "Peter."* (*Not his real name.)

After a rough start that included several meltdowns, all my kid, which I initially feared were a result of illness and envisioned puking on my shoes, or maybe onto an expensive model train, Q ate two bags of cookies and rallied.

I was cautioned by Steve Cryon, a local model train expert, to bring along a sturdy bucket for Q to stand on. This was genius. Q and Peter happily lugged their buckets from train layout to train layout for hours. I wish I were kidding. Peter's mother and I trailed behind and did minor herding, trying not to yawn too obviously.

Don't get me wrong. These train layouts and displays are seriously cool. But I was satisfied after an hour. Not to mention that from late November till February, we have a train layout at the local The Connecticut River Museum (by Steve Cryon mentioned above) that is incredibly detailed and cool.

It was a minor miracle that no one flipped out when we left, but perhaps the promise of lunch (at 1:30) was enticing enough to allow for the graceful exit.

Peter's mom and I feel that we must have earned the equivalent of a Boy Scout badge in Motherhood: Good Mom's Club - Model Train Badge.

After putting the kids to bed tonight, I collapsed on my own, rousing only to yell, "Shake it off!" when Q appealed that he was, "Having a Bad Dream!"

And this is what Noodle did today with Grandma: Baby Lambs.

I'm seriously jealous.

The Cold Brave Winter

Noodle is popping out words like crazy. Today's included "potty!" as she patted the one hanging out in my sewing room. She kept talking about Elmo all down the stairs, causing me some distress (she doesn't watch that much Sesame Street does she?) until she was settled in for breakfast and I finally figured out what the little alien was talking about: oatmeal. We also got 'applesauce' at breakfast, clearly enough for me to understand on the first try. ('apasauce' ) My absolute favorite, which she says in reciprocation, if I say, "love you" she replies, "ov ooo."

This week I made the mistake of trying to explain how radios work to Q. Which led to (I believe in this order) satellites, cell phones, gravity and how the earth orbits the sun. Poor child. No telling what he thinks now. Next time I think I'll stick to, "It's magic!" Which is about as comprehensible as what I was telling him.

Tomorrow I am braving the world of train hobby shows. This might be a serious mistake. I'm feeling seriously fortunate because a friend has agreed to join me with her own 4-year-old. I was told to bring a bucket for Q to stand on. The timing was excellent. Noodle is getting Grandma all to herself, as well as a trip to see baby lambs. I am wondering why I am not going to see the baby lambs.


LATE NIGHT ADDENDUM TO THIS POST:
Shortly after I posted this, Noodle decided that she wasn't done for the night, she casually handed over four new words like she'd been trying them for months: bear, bottle (like empty soda bottles), lid (yes, odd, eh?), and hand. I know I've tried to get her to say bear before with no success, but the others seem especially odd. Not like 'emenems' which she picked up with the obvious positive reinforcement over the weekend. It just feels so strange, like someone figured out where the switch was and now she can talk.

Oh, and she has 2 to 3 canines finally cutting through her gums, after months of effort and waking me up. A relief for us both.

Mortality

Recently Q has been asking about death. I think the first questions came up when we read 'The Story of Jonah,' illustrated by Peter Spier. However, I'm sure the topic would have arisen soon anyways, since (unfortunately) Q is starting to pay attention to adult conversation. Overhearing me mention that C's mother and S's grandfather died this past year sparked another flurry of questions.

We've been over the subject in a fairly cursory manner, about what we think is appropriate for a four year old. He returns to the topic when I'm least expecting it, causing me panic attacks.

"Mommy, when will you die?" A pop quiz in the car this time.



I answer calmly, "We hope not till I'm very old, honey."

"About twenty years." J mutters from the driver's seat. "Shut up." I reply.

"A hundred years from now?"

"That would be a long time, but maybe a little too long." I reply. "I hope not till you are grown up with children of your own."

"About twenty years." J quips again. "Shut up." I reply.

Although I know there's simply curiosity behind it, the most unnerving are questions like, "Mommy, when will Noodle die? When will I die?"



My reaction is out of proportion to the questions. I see ghostly visions when he asks, as if to talk about death with a child is to invite Death to dinner. That-which-should-not-be-spoken-of.

Q is searching for something with his questions. Not necessarily ages or dates, but the answer to a question he doesn't quite understand well enough to ask, and I don't understand well enough to answer.

The First? Annual? Cookie Decorating Party

First of all, I baked too many cookies. I knew that the actual number of cookies to child ratio was unnecessarily high. But I couldn't stop myself. Especially after I softened the butter.

Then I made too much frosting. There's logic here. Really. If you make that many cookies, you're going to want enough frosting for them all.

This is after the initial mistake, which was inviting too many children, all of whom (well, except for the twins) had younger siblings who were very likely to come as well. After all, I do have two kids of my own, and the younger one is close to the same age as all the other siblings. The total potential number of children: 16. Mind you, we've never done the 'easy' birthday thing with inviting the number of kids of your child's age plus one. But well, I mean, all these kids needed to be invited. Or at least their moms did.

Then there was the disastrous week of illness which required a postponement of the party.

So there was a little psychological pressure to not screw it up further.

And if we assess the success of the party by how many children actually decorated cookies (almost all of them), or by how long any of them spent decorating cookies (Noodle got the record, spending approximately 30 minutes with cookies, frosting, and m&ms at the table, and somewhat reliable witnesses claiming that she was really decorating the cookies), we held a decent party.

But I like other measurements, like how many children cried when it was time to go: at least three. Or whether the children managed to 'mingle' amongst themselves (yes!). Or whether the adults had to constantly monitor every room (no!). And, lovely to experience, whether the adults got to enjoy themselves (yes!).

Final measurement - would I do it again? Yes. But someone needs to take photos. All that cleaning should be documented, as well as its demise.

Clean Baby

Last night we were at Grandma's for dinner and when we came home we did an abbreviated bedtime - no bath for the kids. So this morning, no surprise, as I'm nibbling on Noodle's toes I notice that they're a wee bit stinky. (Who knew she used her feet so much?) After breakfast I gave her a quick little bath and let her play some in the tub, then bundled her into a warm towel, let her toddle around, got clothes on her, read her a couple of books, slipped her feet into socks while she protested.

When her copper hair is freshly washed, the back curls up into ringlets. Having straight hair myself, I take serious delight in this. But more than just my vanity in her curls, getting a chance to savor a clean baby is a physical joy. The skin is so soft, hair smells of baby shampoo, newly diapered butts settling into your lap with a little paper thump. I nestle my nose into Noodle's curls and breathe in, relishing the moment and stretching it out as long as I can.

Noodle Attempts to Communicate with Aliens

This afternoon, Noodle carefully took my finger, stuck it into her mouth, and bit down. HARD. So, for future reference, if this kid is all snuggly with you, and tries to take your finger, I'd advise you to maintain possession.

She's been quirky lately. Mostly this takes the form of waking up very early (say, 5:30 am on Christmas) and yelling for comfort. I fetch her, bring her to bed with me, try to help her fall back to sleep, and instead she wants to practice. Primarily her newly learned baby signs and her words. This morning, in pitch dark, she demonstrated the sign for 'help' (too complicated to explain succinctly) and says, "Hep!" Then "baby" (as if rocking a baby in her arms). Then Daddy. The sign for Daddy is to take your outspread hand and gently touch your thumb to your forehead. (It looks like a sign made up by someone making fun of people doing baby signs.) Noodle does the sign for Daddy by rubbing her hand on top of her head. Luckily she combines this with the word, "Daddy," which is kind of a tip off for the uninitiated.

Other fun things include insisting that she's hungry (she uses the sound 'Na-na') and then refusing to eat. I'm starting to suspect that she wants a pictorial menu so she can point to her selection for this meal. Instead I resort to sitting next to her and running down today's specials: "Would you like some oatmeal?" "Veggie sausages?" "A cookie?" (The answer to the last is always yes.)

Today she ate all her blueberries and then asked for more. She cleared out all the blueberries on my plate. Then on Grandma's plate, including the one Nuala could see but Grandma couldn't, by yelling, "Mo!" until we cleared up the matter. Then Daddy's plate and the fruit salad bowl. She kept insisting there were more blueberries in the house until we tipped the bowl for her to examine. "All gone!" We told her firmly. She finally accepts this with the word: "Ahk On." Which was the incomprehensible word she was practicing at 5:30 on Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas!

Today was lovely. Four and a half is evidently the perfect age to celebrate Christmas. Q was thrilled because, "Santa Did come to our house!" (Never mind that Santa fills his stocking with toothpaste and office supplies.) He said lovely things like, "That's just what I wanted!" and "I think I should wear that (butterfly wings) for several days." He managed to almost not get overwhelmed and stay barely within calm when he really was desperate to open some presents.

Once rewarded with a present, he usually played with it, which is a happy moment on Christmas, in my opinion. Here you see him reading with Daddy right after opening a present...



Then wanting to be read to instead of eating brunch...



And now giving up on us to go read on his own...



Noodle had no problem with eating over presents:



But the umbrella was such a big hit we had to remove it so no one would get injured.



And me? I really felt the joy in creating a magical moment in my children's lives. It was a really lovely, quiet day and we were all together. Couldn't have asked for a better Christmas.

Quick additions

Q is now sick. Fa la la la la la la la la.

Sitting on our bed this morning, he made one of his typical statements: "When Noodle is twenty, I'll be twenty-three."

What was somewhat surprising, was that usually he states that as a question: "When Noodle is twenty, how old will I be?"

J and I exchange looks.

J asks him, "Hey Q, when you are twenty, how old will Noodle be?"

A pause. "Seventeen."

My eyes bug out.

He then goes on to recite one of his current favorite books in his favored current style: operetta.

Germs

We got our first snowfall of the year last week.

And over the weekend Noodle was smitten with her first ever gastro-intestinal bug. I had forgotten how absolutely disastrous these are for toddlers. Diapers are no match. Our usually cheerful Noodle is miserable: cranky and exhausted. After her much needed naps, she rouses in a beautiful and cuddly mood. And if you are really unlucky, you cuddle her at the wrong moment and find yourself requiring decontamination even as you attempt to comfort and cleanse the little one.

It's been fun.

We've been trying to prepare for what could be the first Annual Cookie Decorating Party. I was planning to spend last weekend scouring and reorganizing my kitchen in preparation. However, since I also had the GI bug (mine was done within 24 hours, toddlers have trouble shaking these things), well, I barely managed to do the usual seven loads of laundry. There are still baskets to be put away.

The good news for my dignity and my desire to have a relatively clean house for the invasion of 9 preschoolers and their siblings, is that a) my standards are pretty low and b) I have Friday off to clean too. The overall bad news is that if Q gets sick, or if Noodle doesn't get better, the whole ACDP will have to at least be delayed, if not cancelled.

I dread the look on Q's face if this happens. He's been counting the days on his Advent Calendar and the 20th is clearly embedded in his head. Oh for the easy days when he couldn't foresee more than a day ahead...

Hard Lessons and Consequences

Sad tonight.

Q loves scissors. He’s just reached the point where his fine motor skills make it possible to cut shapes, however clumsily. He got to use his scissors yesterday and came up with some excuse to use them today.

We were having a low key day and Noodle was napping, so I didn’t pay much attention. I determined that he did not want to learn how to make snowflakes, left him with the paper and his scissors and went about my own business.

Sometime during the afternoon, he took the scissors to a couple of books. Not severely. Luckily, each time it was to the final pages of a book, and fairly easily repaired with tape. However one of those books was a library book, much to my horror.

To add to the incident, Q then claimed he didn’t know what had happened.

Initially I thought perhaps Noodle had an opportunity to do the cutting, but taking a look at the damage, we realized only deft little fingers could have accomplished the work.

So the consequences: scissors are off limits for a while. (Undetermined, but my guess is that there won’t be unsupervised cutting for a few months.) And for the lying, which we gave him a few chances to back out of, down to the point of reminding him of a story he knows about someone lying, well the consequences for lying was that there was no booktime for Q.

Salt to the wound was that something got in his eyes right before bathtime (which he was hoping to avoid anyways). So he was sobbing over multiple indignities (beads removed from his custody, the eye pain, the bath issue, the scrubbing of his body) and then the news of no booktime kind of finished off the night with screaming sobs.

It might have been a mercy, actually. He fell asleep so fast that the crying might have helped him push through exhaustion into sleep.

Musical Babies and Miscellaneous Catch Up

He needed help to get back out. Flashback for me to when he was two and got upset when we started to remove it from the house. Back then he didn't want to use it, but it was his and he wanted it to stay.


Have I mentioned that Noodle knows that musical notation is for music? Keep in mind she's, what 18 months? Yesterday I caught her looking at a copy of 'The Night Before Christmas'. This particular edition has the words and music for both "Deck the Halls" and "Jingle Bells" on the back pages. Squatting on her haunches, the book spread open on the floor in front of her, Noodle hums a recognizable tune: A-B-C-D-E-F-G....

Often Q will sing to Noodle after we put the kids to bed, especially if Noodle is fussing. The other night we had the unusual circumstance of Q being inconsolable at bedtime (I refused to let him take a rope to bed with him). Over the intercom I could hear him wailing away. Faintly there came another sound: Noodle trying to sing to him.

Wednesday there is no preschool, so both kids have class at the Community Music School. They have both taken classes pretty consistently there since they were babies. Obviously, in Noodle's case, it hasn't been that long. The classes for babies and toddlers remind me of the story times I used to do for the same age: very chaotic, fun, and fast moving since no one has an attention span of more than a few minutes. It's a blast to watch and the kids get a kick out of it. Q being a Boy of Structure, really thrives in classes. The last few weeks he's had to go as a big brother along to Noodle's class (adults required), immediately followed by his own class (solo class). He stays focused and involved the whole time. It's kind of amazing and delightful.

Picking the kids up from Grandma's the other day, I was dawdling. Hearing a musical piece I asked Q, "Is that a flute?" (I thought it was an easy question.) "No." He says this confidently. Hardly worth answering. It was, after all, an easy question. "Is it a piccolo?" "Yes." I look at Grandma (the musician) for confirmation. Quiet nod from her. Well then.

Picking up on an opportunity to use positive peer pressure, two weeks before Thanksgiving, we signed Q up for gymnastics. I scoped the place out beforehand, catching a class in session. As we watch, Q whispers something to me. I bend down. "Can I try it, Mom?" He is, unsurprisingly, loving it. The unintended consequence is that he is bouncier than before.

Below is a photo of Noodle with my friend's son (13 months, several pounds heavier than Noodle) on Thanksgiving. Both needed naps, but didn't fall asleep till we were nearly home.

Logic for Toddlers

A few months ago we bought some 'Annie's Cinnamon Bunnies'. These are small cookies in the shape of, well, yes, bunnies. Cinnamon flavored. To amuse myself, and Noodle, I moved one in a bouncing pattern, saying, "Hop, hop, hop."

Noodle was delighted and learned the word 'hop'. One of the few vocabulary words that she has bothered to retain after learning. She even bounced her bunny cookie as she said it.

So we returned to conventional animal cookies a few weeks later. Noodle caught my eye and held up her animal. I couldn't identify it. (Low quality animal crackers are a little identity challenged, and they don't taste as good.) She bounced it up and down and grinned at me. "Hop, hop, hop." I found this pretty funny and no doubt egged it on.

Now we have the next logical step.

Q and I made chocolate chip cookies on Saturday. This evening, Noodle got one after dinner. She holds it up and catches my eye. "Hop, hop, hop!"

Parenting Pop Quiz

Today, in a largely futile attempt to give Noodle a longer nap, I went to the mall with a friend. Noodle, of course, woke up as we left her driveway. Thirty minutes tops. (sigh)

In any case, Q loved the idea because the mall is filled with machines. Shortly after we arrived, he politely asks, "Do you think there's a room that can fit two strollers to bring us up to the other floor?" Evidently he'd forgotten the word 'Elevator'. So we found him an elevator, and four separate reasons to use it.

After our usual twenty minute potty break in the family bathrooms (thank you to the god of malls for that invention), we decide a snack is in order. The Starbucks is located in a sunken area, so we proceed with the strollers towards snack heaven. And then I spot him.

Santa.

I balked, terror on my face. We haven't discussed Santa much. Q is totally into the concept of Santa. Totally into the idea of Santa coming on Christmas. But we just had a geography lesson yesterday on where Santa lives (Q thought he lived in New York City, which really does seem reasonable), so why would Santa be in a mall?

My friend Cynthia does not realize the extent or reason of my panic. Her only child is Noodle's age. She has yet to navigate this minefield.

So I plunge ahead into the pop quiz. Carpe diem. We stroller down to the Starbucks area, right past where one of the best looking Santas I've ever seen is discussing Christmas with children, monitored by bored photographers.

As we get into line, Q says, in his secretive voice, the one used for special and wonderful things, "Hey, there's a man dressed like Santa over there."

We went over to investigate after eating a snack. The area has a Polar Express theme, but it's not that magical, in my opinion. Q is intrigued by the fake snow on the floor and wants a closer look. But he is absolutely certain that it's not Santa. It's just not. I don't know how he knows.


Here Noodle attempts to sit in Q's lap. She wants him to read to her. I found her trust that he could read to her very endearing. He found it mildly annoying, although also amusing.

Q insisted that we should go outside so I could take photos of them in their winter jackets. Although it was only mildly chilly, I popped them into their coats to see if the hand-me-downs fit. Today Q managed to get into Noodle's jacket, so I guess there might be more room than there appears to be.

Ridiculously Sweet

Noodle's singing seems to manifest consistently on stairs. J thinks it might be an attempt at 'The Syncopated Clock', which I don't recall. All I come up with is 'Grandfather's Clock', which also might work.

After bedtime last night, I heard her chirping away at her little song, followed by Q singing her lullabies.

His devotion is well paid.

Yesterday she climbed up on the couch, then elaborately tried to climb into his lap for him to read to her. He wasn't sure how to take this, since she was preventing him from looking at his book.

Recently (this past week, actually) Noodle has started allowing me to hold her hand without arguing. (The explanation that if she doesn't hold my hand she'll be carried actually seemed to make an impression.) Today, walking over rough ground, she even asked me to hold her hand, which surprised me. But when Q got close enough, she switched allegiances and begged him to hold her hand. It took a little tutoring to explain how to hold the hand of someone smaller, but we sorted it out. As they set out, she looked up at him with pure delighted adoration.