Mykala commenting on Tomato!

* “Drink ‘matos”

Alexander Micek commenting on Tomato!

Oh, right! I got that wrong. And after 90 straight days, too.

John commenting on Wisconsin Dells +1

FUN! I don’t know quite how Lucy will do at Wisconsin Dells but that would be a nice family vacation.

Lucy just had her first 4 word sentence yesterday. After a bike ride daddy was tired, so I sat on the couch. She wanted me to come over and play with her and her magnets with, “Mag mag.” So I went over and sat in her little green chair, avoiding the floor. Then she said, “Move dad, my chair.”

So I get it too… that come over here but if it isn’t on my terms, then I will get upset attitude. :)

Alexander Micek commenting on Wisconsin Dells

I love to hear the sentences. It is tremendous catharsis of all this pent up communication frustration. I think it really really helps with Ess’s frustration, too. Like, there’s still a driven, opinionated kid in our house, but now we have to guess much less at precisely what she wants.

Ess still doesn’t have S sounds, so she is perpetually telling us “nononono… hhhsshheee” when she wants us to come see something. Mykala’s great at deciphering her words, but sometimes I definitely need a little help.

Funny that you mention bike rides; they really are just the best thing since sliced bread. On these hot days, going out later in the evening, about an hour before sunset, seems to make the whole thing far more comfortable.

Goodnight, Bun

We’ve been teaching Ess that people have more than one name. For example, her grandpa Bop’s name is Michael. “I know a Michael, I know a Michael!” she explains, riffing off her book I Know a Monkey. So, my nickname for Mykala is Bun, which we told Ess kind of in passing, not intending to or even trying really to teach it to her.

So, of course I always prompt Ess with “say goodnight to Mama” when I am carrying her to bed, but tonight she goes “Goonight Bun! … I love you, Bun!”


I Love You

Mykala accidentally dyed her hair orange today, which kind of sidetracked our movie plans. (After some corrections, it’s currently more of a henna shade.) So, Ess and I headed over to my parents for a visit. She was unusually quiet in her carseat, watching the big drops hit her window. At my parent’s, I got to see how Ess is trying to figure out how to go to the bathroom not in her diaper; she’d tell use she wanted to sit on her potty chair, and then absolutely nothing would happen. The stages of connecting the urge to the action to the result are interesting — like the animal and human parts of the brain are learning to communicate for the first time.

We drove home in the dark, the rain still steadily falling. Pulled into the garage and I gently lifted Ess out of the car, pecking her on the cheek as I did so. “Love you Dada” I heard her say unprompted, for the first time she ever has. Then, she immediately began commenting on the color of the lid of our trash can.

“Wait, what did you say?”
“Green top onna trash can.”
“No no, before that.”
“Trash can.”
“Oh, Ess.”

But I know I heard it for real.



Paul McCartney, 1965: “Yesterday came suddenly.” I don’t know what that means, but if I squint, it looks like he’s saying time passes quickly.

So, yesterday: I got done with work and went to my parent’s to pick up Ess. She now knows how to put her little shoes on. They look like this:


So she showed us that. It was cool out, in the 50s, and Ess told us all she’d like to go outside. She ran off to find her sweatshirt, and Nannie zipped it up for her. (Later that evening Ess told me: “Dada has a zipper. Baby has a zipper. Mama has a zipper. … Everybody has a zipper!”) Then, we went outside to see the neighbor’s painted rocks. And the wildflowers. And the birdbath. And the carved bear in the corner of the yard. And the plane in the sky.

Ess wants to be picked up (“uppa dee, Dada”) or very much not: “No, own-baby walk.” She wants someone special to feed her (Mama) or her highchair to be in a very precise spot. When she tripped over and displaced the picnic blanket last week, I told Mykala “she’s going to put that back now.” But I underestimated her care and patience in placing it precisely how she wanted it to lay. Her mind is filled with thoughts and we get to hear them; this is a source of boundless joy. We’ve waited so anxiously and impatiently to hear those thoughts!

So I brought Ess home through the cool, slightly rainy early fall evening. We watered the plants. She ran inside. Took off her own shoes. I turned on my auto-generated iTunes playlist of 2,028 songs I have played ≥5 times since 2005. And in that random collection I heard, while we were feeding George, Ingrid Michaelson’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Try to listen to that song with your child and do anything other than cry. I remember it clearly, Ess had requested I “ohpee up” the closet door, and just as she was reaching her tiny hand into the big cat food bag, and as I reached to help her find the scoop, big tears jumped out of my eyes.

And Mama came home: “MAMA!” Ess squealed running toward the back door and throwing her arms around the middle of Mykala’s thigh, smiling big as she squeezed tightly. Ess watched Mykala cook, and ran around, reading Make Way for Ducklings while we ate. I worried aloud if us eating at the table and her running about was a bad precedent, but watching Ess run out of the kitchen and throw herself onto the couch and then run back to us with her update from the living room was just too good to interrupt.

As we read nighttime stories like Dinosaurumpus and I Know a Monkey to Ess, the cool air made the blankets of our bed more comfortable. Her big compliment right now: “good book.” Then, once we had put her in her crib for the night and turned the monitor on, a little voice sang over the speaker: “Baby Beluga in the deep blue sheee. Oh!”


Library Essie

Library Essie

Giant Toothbrush

Giant Toothbrush

Mama and Ess

Mama and Ess

Purple Sneakers

Purple Sneakers

Potato Stamping

Potato Stamping

On the Caribou Lake Dock

On the Caribou Lake Dock

Eating a Powder Sugar Donut

Eating a Powder Sugar Donut