Daisy at 8 months

I'm not sure what it is about chronicling a baby's first year in such detail, maybe because right before your eyes you watch a whole person come into being. The wonder of that can never really be quelled and begs to be shared. So here we go.
Daisy is a very rewarding little girl. It's like every part of her is saying "Thanks so much for bringing me into this world. I'm really enjoying myself here." For example, she eats like there is no tomorrow. I have yet to find a food that she doesn't like. The only time I have ever seen her spit something out was when she had her first taste of injera, which I can't really blame her. Until injera gets into your soul, it is not unlike how Paul Theroux describes it--'a damp old bathmat'--in his book, Dark Star Safari. No airplane buzzing to cajole her into opening her mouth necessary, she's like a little machine. And she smiles. A lot. She just likes looking at people, and positively lights up when Elsa or Ezra comes around. Plus, (my personal favorite), she says "mama." Yes, I realize it is just the sound right now. But Elsa and Ezra were stingy with their 'mama' sounds. They started out with 'dada' (terribly unfair, in my opinion) and went straight to 'papa'. I think 'mama' finally made an appearance sometime after they each turned one. But Daisy. She's discovered that
satisfying 'mmm' sound and is going to town. I've never heard it said with such enthusiasm. I love it.

She adores Elsa and Ezra, like I said before. She smiles with her whole body, the way only a baby can, when one of them comes into her field of vision. Elsa fully embraces her role as 'big sister' and is one hundred
percent forgiving and tolerant of the fact that Daisy is in fact, a baby, and not simply a smaller version of herself, as Ezra seems to think. As soon as Daisy started to go on the offensive and get into his things, Ezra
decided she was fair game and he was clearly justifiable in pushing heraway, picking her up to relocate her, or bestow on her the full extent of his annoyance at her baby-ness. Elsa doesn't like to hear her cry, and once
we started letting Daisy work out some sleep issues on her own, Elsa would howl from bed, "Mama!! Get Daisy!"

Daisy's favorite activities are splashing in the sink, watching Bauer swim, and sitting in Grandma's swing and watching the pigeons strut and flutter. She also has a thing about poles, so I'm thinking either a future in birds
(I'm blanking on the right word for someone who studies birds--where is Google when I need it?) or as a pole dancer. The jury is still out but I'm confident when the time comes that she'll make the right choice.
Papa calls her DeeDee. The way he says it I know will stick with her for all of her life. She'll be 24, 45, 72, and still recall "My Papa used to call me DeeDee. He's the only one." She smiles when she hears his voice calling hername.

Yesterday morning she officially started to crawl. She's been doing the whole scooting backward-rocking back and forth-going from knees to backside-thing for a couple of weeks now, and yesterday morning she finally put it all together. She saw something she wanted and went and got it. Look out, world. One day shy of 8 months, she's a full month younger than Elsa was when she crawled, and a full 2 1/2 months younger than Ezra (he carried some serious girth with him to maneuver, poor kid). This proclivity to grow up fast is something I'm going to need to have a talk with her about. I don't think I'll be able to stand for that.
Happy 8 months, little girl.

I'm not a crafty person

Yet, both of my kids are. In their own ways.

 Elsa eats up anything that has to do with paper, glue, scissors and crayons.
 The girl is seriously creative. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to hold it
 against me (not yet, at least) that I don't share her aptitude for taking an
 old sock and turning it into an elephant. But today I decided I should throw
 her a bone and dig out The Collosal Craft Kit. That's its name. Which seemed
 entirely promising to me, surely I could pull together some beautiful and
 interesting craft project from The Collosal Craft Kit. (On a side note, I
 did not purchase The Collosal Craft Kit. My non-crafty eyes would have slid
 right over that particular object in Target. My mother did, and I wouldn't
 be at all surprised if one of her 5 love languages is actually crafts.) It's
 all there...pipe cleaners, stickers, foam sheets, scissors, a tiny tube of
 glue (don't they know that preschoolers love glue?), balls of fluff, googly
eyes, sequins. I pulled all of the items out and was sitting in my own
 little personal craft hell. But I straightened my shoulders, certainly a
 little butterfly wouldn't get the best of me, right?

Oh, no. The little eyes don't stick, the balls of fluff meant to be its body
 only want to stick to MY body, because I'm half covered in glue, and there
are sequins stuck all over my table and pink fluff adhered to my fingertips
and the antenna won't stick on its darn head (which looks like it went
 through some ill-advised genetic mutation). I thought I was nearly
 done...Elsa was happy with her butterfly and was contemplating a whole
 butterfly family (Lord, help), when Ezra comes inside and sees all the
 hullabaloo and decides he, too, wants to make a craft. So we whip out a
 little dragonfly meant to be a magnet, but really it looks more like
 what's-that-little-green-guy's-name?--GUMBY. And the magnet curls up and
 Ezra doesn't care a bit because he actually doesn't care a wit about crafts.
Thankfully.

 I'm saved because it starts raining. (Raining!) Big drops, each spaced about
 1 foot and a half apart, but enough for Elsa and Ezra to grab their umbrella
 and go gallavanting off into the rain. They like the rain. So I get to sit
 at the table and pick glue off of my fingers (the best part of the whole
 project) and contemplate never ever doing another craft in my entire life.
 I'll ask Grandma to do craft time when it comes time to homeschool.

 Elsa comes home to begin work on her butterfly family...the auntie and the
daddy and the baby to go with the already-finished mama...and I realize Ezra
is quiet and I don't know where he is. Daisy and I set out toward Grandma's
 house when I discover my other crafty child. HIS idea of crafty is holing up
 under the umbrella with toes sticking out, chugging syrup straight from the
 bottle that he swiped from Grandma's pantry.

What on earth, child?

It is a Sixth Sense

A few nights ago Elsa was sent to bed early for some infraction that I no longer remember the details of. I'd given her a choice of consequences--either she could 'pay' me with her dessert at dinnertime, or she could choose an early bed time. Smart girl that she is, she decided on the early bedtime. Although once bedtime rolled around and the consequence came to call, she conveniently forgot that she had been given a choice and became very upset at the injustice of going to bed without a bedtime story while Ezra was allowed to stay up and hear a story. When Caleb went upstairs to give her an extra hug and tell her goodnight, he asked her why she was so upset. Elsa's response made me realize I am fully a mother in every sense of the word:

 "Because everytime I do something bad, Mama always finds me!

Good girl. Now if only she'd remember that BEFORE the next time she decides to shove her brother in the dirt and sit on his head.