More Everett

I avoided the Mall of America's Underwater Adventures for years because of its stupidly high prices. Turns out that for a teacher, it's the best deal in town: free. Plus, Lyla was free since she is under three. I was in such high spirits that I agreed to pay the criminal price of $7.50 for the photo you see above.

Lyla has a stuffed seahorse at home that she named Everett after a boy at her previous daycare. You push its stomach and it plays music; I don't know, maybe the human Everett was the same way. So the seahorse tanks at Underwater Adventures excited her greatly. "Ev-et! More Ev-et! Ev-et!"

Just before the gift shop came the jellyfish exhibit, and Lyla informed me that the jellyfish were also named Everett, which I thought was a startling coincidence.

Home. Lunch. Nap. Zoo.

At the zoo (big animal day today), Lyla and I were walking along the Minnesota trail, which has a lot of, you know, Minnesota animals. There's a huge beaver dam, and a beaver was swimming all around outside it. I lifted Lyla to the ledge that kids like to stand on, and she pointed and said "Ev-et!"

"The beaver's name is Everett?" (I am proud to be the first person to ever utter that sentence.)

"Yeh. More Ev-et."

So we continued to the otter, whose name was also Everett.

Big Bubble

Lyla missed her friend Oliver's first birthday party because she was sick, so we headed over there for a breakfast play-date this morning.

In Lyla's bag of party favors was a bottle of bubbles, or, as it should be called to more accurately reflect its addictive power over children, cocaine.

I'm tempted to craft a letter to the corporate honchos at Big Bubble and inquire as to what exactly the recipe is. "Soap and water, sir," will be the reply. Sure, sure. Whenever Lyla discovers that a room contains bubbles, she cranks the steering wheel of her life away from friends, family, and other amusements, and devotes every resource at her disposal to ensuring that someone, anyone, blows those bubbles right now. That's not soap and water, it's crack.

Nevertheless, here is photographic proof that the child does try to be polite. Those are the bubbles in her hand. You can read her face yourself.


Incidentally, that's a Curious George tat on her arm. We considered the small of her back, but a monkey tramp stamp on a toddler is not classy.

"Lyla, let's get a picture of you, Dada, and Oliver."


And all she's thinking is "Bubbles bubbles bubbles bubbles bubbles."

"Come to Dada's knee, Lyla. One kid on each knee, practice for when you're a big sister!"

It was all too much to bear.


"NOOOOO! Bub-buzz!"

We did give her several hits of bubbles, and she was borderline satisfied until she decided she wanted more, more, more, just one more, Dada, please, I NEED IT.

And as soon as we left, she crashed.

Julie Baggins (alternate title: Juliewise Gamgee)

We took Lyla to the Children's Museum because of the crappy weather today. Isn't it supposed to be summer or something?

On Friday Julie and I leave for two nights in a bed and breakfast on Lake Superior, which, if you recall, is a modified version of Julie's birthday gift to me. Her original idea involved us sleeping in a tent, but I have doubts about how well a non-pregnant version of my dear wife would do in that situation. And the pregnant version? Oh dear.

She eats like a hobbit, which Wikipedia will remind you involves seven meals a day: breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper. Here's a quick breakdown of today, not including snacks.

Breakfast: egg and cheese in an English muffin

Second breakfast: filled donut from the gas station

Elevensies: brat and potato salad

Luncheon: mostaccioli at Cossetta's

Afternoon tea: salad with goat cheese

Dinner: Chinese sesame chicken over white rice

Supper: hasn't happened yet but if history is any guide, probably a baked potato with shredded cheese and sour cream

So clearly this caliber of eating is not conducive to sleeping in a tent on the ground. The bed and breakfast also takes care of this summer's aforementioned crappy weather. My main concern is that a more ideal lodging would be a "Breakfast, Second Breakfast, and Elevensies in Bed." We shall have to make do.

Basket of...

When we're at Target, which is like every single day, Lyla cooperates for a certain amount of time and then requires immediate entertainment. One time a box containing a tube of Thomas the Train toothpaste kept her busy for 20 minutes. Another time it was her mother's empty Starbucks iced tea cup with cover and straw.

There's not a non-perverted-sounding way to say this, so I'll just say it. You know the huge basket full of giant balls? In the toy department? The really big balls? Yeah, those. During my childhood, one of the best ways to hear the word "No" was to ask for one.

"But it's only $1.34."

"No."

"But I'll buy it with my own money."

"No."

So today one of my crusted-over childhood wounds began to heal for good when I was able to provide for my daughter what was denied to me so, so many times. Lyla held onto it silently as we shopped, wouldn't let go of it as the cashier scanned it...


...and was still holding it as we pulled into our driveway.

And admittedly, I think at this point she's pretty much done with it.

Elbow licking

We live across the street from the city pool, but that's not what this post is about. It's about elbows.

"Where's your elbow, Lyla?"

Points.

"That's your wrist."

"El-bow."

"No no. That's your wrist. Here is your elbow. Right here. Can you point to your elbow?"

Points.

"That's your wrist again, honey."

As soon as Lyla can identify her elbow, I'm going to tell her to lick it. My prediction is that she will put forth a surprising amount of effort and then throw a temper tantrum. It will be hilarious.

Theft

I realized after Lyla was in bed that I hadn't taken a photo today. She was nice enough to stay asleep during this one.

Julie worked from home (actually Panera) for six or seven hours today and then headed to Southdale Mall to look at maternity clothes. Sometime during her one hour of shopping, someone stole her work bag out of her car. In it was her work laptop, cellphone, and iPod. Needless to say, she was not pleased.

The laptop didn't have any sensitive data, miraculously. And we were planning to get iPhones anyway, so the loss of her cell and iPod isn't tragic exactly. The cell wasn't a smart phone, and the iPod was several generations old. I believe it was the first year Apple made one with a touch dial instead of one that actually spun. It was white and thick as a hockey puck and would've made a decent stool for Lyla to stand on while brushing her teeth.

Still, it sucks. You don't want a pregnant lady coming home in tears because her stuff got stolen and she couldn't even call you to tell you about it. So we filed a police report, and I'm sure the boys in the crime lab will be working double shifts until this case cracks wide open. I mean seriously, what the hell else is there to do if you're a cop in Edina? I also called the head of security at Southdale (who I imagine answered the phone while on a Segway and wearing a bicycle helmet), who later called me to report that the security cameras caught nothing.

It all pisses me off. It's like, she's pregnant, okay? Don't fuck around with her.

Plumbing

This picture is quintessentially American: the TV tray for babies. You had to see her, though. A hotter mess there never was.

We finally got our counter and sink installed.


Yeah, it's nice. But check this out:


Now that's a thing of beauty. I did all that myself and saved a couple hundred dollars. Now I'm about ready to collapse from the four trips to Home Depot (trip one was me arriving with no wallet) and slowly learning to plumb. That's correct usage, right? Plumbers plumb. Anyway...

I like Julie's plumbing, too, because it makes babies. Okay, it's definitely bedtime.