Hittin' The Road

So, I've had it with Blogger. So many outages, no real ability to layout the site. I've moved the whole kit and caboodle over here: www.glowering-monocle.com.

Come on over! And change those bookmarks.

Dear Harper – Month 28

I should’ve just given up on the trash can a long time ago. The metal trash can that used to sit next to the computer. See, back when we used to have an actual desk where the computer lived, the trash can resided under said desk and housed things like old pieces of paper and pencil shavings. Then you came along, and our desk was tossed out in favor of an IKEA thing that can be closed in an effort to save space and stuff. Anyway, ever since you could push things while walking on your knees, the trash can has been your receptacle for your dolls and other toys. Every once in a while, I’ll dump it out and put your toys away, only to have you hijack it again within minutes. You like to pile your dolls in it and push them around the apartment. Never mind the doll carriage you have taking up a lot of space in the room that used to be our office that is now where your toys live.

In other news, we’re doing our best to indoctrinate you with the goodness that is “The Simpsons.” Some would argue that you’re too young, but you’re so in love with Homer that I think it would damage you more if we didn’t let you watch it. You get to watch a little of season 7 (best season ever) before bed each night. You used to watch the documentary “Babies,” but now you let us know: “No Babies. Homer.” Good girl.

Your good taste can also be transferred to music. Your current favorite song is Whiskeytown’s “16 Days,” and you even corrected your father on the lyrics the other day. One down side to your music taste is that your father has turned you on to the show “Glee,” which we have never really seen, but you really enjoy listening to that cast of twentysomethings pretending to be teenagers sing the Journey song “Don’t Stop Believing.” The other day (making it something that happened in your 29^th month, since I am getting behind on these letters) you were “helping” me cut eggplant (“No like it”) in the kitchen, when you started to act like you were going to cut your hand with the butter knife. When I said, “If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to take it away from you,” you immediately began to sing the refrain of “16 Days,” which is “away from you … away from you.” Yeah, you’re a genius. But I’ve always known that.

Lately you’ve been commenting every move your father and I make with “Machst Du?” Sometimes you’ll say the same thing in English: “Doing?” As in “what are you doing?” When I told you that if you said that one more time I would most certainly lose my mind, you paused for a moment and then said, “Machst Du?”

You’ve apparently chosen the long road to potty training, peeing maybe once a day after a lot of convincing and peer pressure (“Do you want to pee on the toilet, like Samaire and Viola?”) and pooping once in a blue moon, but only if I let you play the harmonica on the toilet. We’re afraid you’ll be in diapers forever if we keep forcing the issue, and I know I’ve said this before, but toddler poop diapers are disgusting. (Disgusting being a word that you used to describe the cup of juice from yesterday I just tried to make you drink.) We’ve had the following conversation more than once:

Me: Harper, where does Mommy poop?

You: On the toilet.

Me: And Daddy?

You: Toilet.

Me: And Samaire?

You: Toilet.

Me: And Harper?

You: Poopy diaper.

Well then. Although now you give your daddy and me stickers when we pee on the toilet, too. And sometimes you’ll applaud.

Another thing I find myself saying a lot of you, like a good mother, is, “That’s not a toy.” My cell phone, the thermometer, the lamp: All not toys. The other day I picked up my cell phone, only to have you immediately take it out of my hands, reprimanding, “Not a toy, Mama.”

You got your very first tricycle at Easter, and while you seem to like sitting and peddling, the concept of steering seems to be beyond you. Luckily the trike has a push handle for us poor parents, but it doesn’t do us much good when you don’t steer; you can only pretend like going in circles is fun for a while. After a round with me and your father both yelling “Steer! Steer!” you got fed up and said, “Harper walk.”

You’re talking and talking and talking a lot, and it’s a hilarious mix of German and English. And if you get the feeling that someone doesn’t understand you, you’ll switch to the other language. This is where I should cough up some examples, right? Well, two years of inadequate sleep will erase important parts of your brain, just so you know. Oh, wait, here’s one: Ich sneezen. Meaning, we suppose, I sneeze.

Love,

Mama

Proud!

Proud!, originally uploaded by B&B Music Factory.

More posting to come soon. We were busy whiling away the Easter holiday in Austria.

The HOS

Down South

Don’t you just love how my resolution to update my blog regularly has just kind of gone by the wayside, just like my resolution to … uh … well, you know, run more and do more sit ups and stuff?

We got confirmation last week at work on something that most of us have been waiting to happen for years: Our company is being moved to a different city. A city about 45 kilometers south of where it is now, making it a whopping 90 kilometers away from Frankfurt. (Lisa: Dad, that’s over 10,000 miles away. Homer: I’m aware of that. Lisa: That’s over 16,000 kilometers. Homer: D’oh!)For you ‘Mericans, that’s about 45 miles. Which, when put like that, doesn’t sounds like much. And yet, it would mean 90 miles of driving a day, which would mean a lot of gas, which would mean we would have even less cash for lavish vacations to Kansas and stuff. Ergo, we’re probably going to move. Away from my beloved Frankfurt. Into the land of people who spend their Saturday mornings scrubbing the sidewalks in front of their houses with brushes. Not, brooms. Honest-to-God brushes. Oh, and not just the sidewalks … also the drain pipes. And, the really frisky ones can been seen scratching the cracks in the sidewalks with hooks on sticks.

On the bright side, we could probably afford to rent something that would allow for us to comfortably host guests. Maybe we could even find something with a yard. That we can spend our free time brushing.

Hot stuff, coming through

At work, I realize that I have a booger on my pants that is not my own and dried yogurt matted in my hair. Are these the parenting equivalent of Girl Scout patches or something? Or should I just start turning on a light or two while getting ready for work?

And I could talk about this crease I am slowly making permanent on my upper lip (from sleeping on one side all night as to not disturb my booger making yogurt smearer), but that would officially make this into a mommy blog, right?

Designs, designs

I know that it must be annoying that I keep changing the design of this thing. I am unfortunately not skilled enough to design web stuff myself, and the Blogger options are kind of lame. Any suggestions are welcome.

Dear Harper – Months 26 & 27

Yet another trip to the U.S. has come between me and your monthly letter, you jet-set toddler, you. We spent most of February in the U.S., where you did a fantastic job traveling all the way from Charlotte, NC to Boston, stopping in West Virginia, Washington, D.C., New York City and Vermont in between. We managed to visit a lot of friends we hadn’t seen in a long time (or, in the case of Kristin and Piotr, friends we had never seen before), and you only had a few mega meltdowns. And only pooped on someone’s floor once. So, you know, we’re calling the trip a success.

‘Next To You’

These days, whenever I’m at home, it’s very important for you to sit as close as you possibly can to me. You’ll say, “Next to you,” then, “close enough,” which usually means “not close enough.” Sometimes I get the feeling you’d just like to move back into my uterus. It’s the same when it’s time to sleep. You usually fall asleep on top of me, crushing me with over 30 pounds of Harper, or you’ll fall asleep with your arms wrapped around my head or arm.

But before you get me in a toddler-love headlock, we usually read a few books. And lately you’ve been demanding “read to you!” So, I let you read to me, and it usually goes like this: Cow jumpa moon, three bears chairs, young mouse, comb, brush …. mush! That’s all the farther we get with “Goodnight Moon,” because you demand that I let you read it now, but you don’t know any more than that. Sometimes I can convince you to share the book with me, then I can usually get through to the end, but I’ll admit: It’s kind of a creepy book anyway. Why does a baby rabbit need a phone in his room? Is he planning on eating that mush in the morning? Who is the old lady? And – where can I get a bedroom with a fireplace in it?

So, you are talking up a storm, and sometimes we can follow you … and sometimes we can’t. Right now your favorite word seems to be “too.” If mama has a headache, Harper, too! If mama and daddy are having coffee, Harper, too (but really, hell no)! And your daddy has brainwashed you into loving soccer – which means you’ll yell, “Goal-a goal-a goal-a” anytime you see anything ball-shaped (Goal-a is not, as far as I know, a word in English or German, but it is something your father loves to yell when watching and playing soccer). And, yesterday as you were watching a soccer game on TV with daddy, you repeatedly used another favorite phrase, “Ich kann’s!” That means “I can” in German, and you are actually not that bad at kicking a soccer ball around. We’re kind of hoping that you are really good at soccer so you can take care of us when we’re old. OK?

Sometimes you’re shy around people, and you’ll actually say, “Harper. Shy.” When we got back from the U.S., we visited Uschi at the doctor’s office downstairs, and you didn’t want to give her a hug when we left. But no sooner were we in the stairwell did you say, “Uschi, hug!”So we had to go back to give her a hug. All in all, you’re not really shy, but you are definitely cautious and like to watch other kids play at the park before you join in. Which reminds me of another favorite word of yours: Look! Harper look!

Something new you like to say is “like!” You’re like a walking Facebook page, liking everything you see. Today you said, “Harper like laugh.” You also like the new rug in our bathroom, your friend Ella and your blue and white striped jacket.

You are also apparently very empathetic, which I suppose means we’re doing something right with you. The other day I had a splitting headache, and I made the mistake of saying, “Mommy sick.” This made you burst into wailing tears, and I had to do my best (though a cloudy veil of throbbing pain) to explain to you that I wasn’t really sick, but just said that because I didn’t know how else to explain to you that my head hurts really bad. After a lot of hugs and kisses (and a fistful of Tylenol for mama), everything was fine.

‘Harper Stinky’

Potty training has become something of a pain around here … and this is where these letters to you are probably going to be a source of embarrassment to you later (your grandma, by the way, has great stories about me pooping my pants when I was little, and they embarrass me to this day; I’d like to think that I am merely chronicling your childhood here, so you know, it’s just the facts…). But the thing is this: You refuse to poop in the toilet. We’ve come to learn that if you disappear somewhere and you’ve actually shut the door behind you, you’re dropping a load in your diaper. When you come out, you’ll announce, “Poop!” And then your daddy and I will stupidly say, “Let’s go to the toilet!” even though we know the answer is, “No. Diaper.” We keep telling you that if you can manage to poop in the toilet, you can wear underwear like your best American friend Samaire, to which you say, “Maire … underwear.” So, you know, I’m not sure how much is sinking in. Actually, that’s a lie: I know you understand, but I guess you’re just not ready yet, and while we’ve tried to ply you with promises of Tootsie Pops if you poop on the toilet, I think we just need to give it a rest. But seriously: It’s really gross to change your poopy diapers, and I will forgo any mother’s day gifts for the next 10 years if you just start pooping in the toilet.

You and your bestie Samaire

‘Hamboo?

When we were in the U.S., we apparently went out to eat so often that you now like to play waitress. You’ll take our orders by either writing on a little notepad or by pretending to write on your hand. Your restaurant has a very limited menu, and before anyone gets a chance to order, you’ll usually make suggestions: Hamboo (hamburger)? Onnie (onion)? Dinger (these weird dried fruit bar things that you love almost as much as you love gummy bears)? Dummy dares (gummy bears)? Water? Wine? Candy? When asked what kind of candy, you’ll usually say, “Purple one.” Okay then.

Harper like laugh. Yeah, I think that pretty much sums it all up.

Love,

Mama

This month’s nicknames: Gum gum, Baby Bear, Harper Bear