People love my Christmas cards. I think the reason is I always overthink them, and by the time I actually get them out, it's usually Valentine's Day. By then, the winter boredom has set in and they have nothing better to do than read a long photocopied letter of me blathering and bragging about my brilliant child and all the hilarious things she did this year. (Hey, you're reading my blog. You don't even need the long, boring letter!)

But this year is going to be different. It's November, and I'VE ALREADY ORDERED THE PICTURE PART.

And the best thing? I got them for free. 100 of them. You can, too. Go here, read it, and do it. One of the codes expires on Saturday the 21st (tomorrow) but the other one doesn't, so you could at least get 50 free. No shipping, even.

I really liked their interface. The backgrounds were fine, I found one I liked, but the best part was that I could add as many photos as I wanted, wherever I wanted, in my choice of sizes, and could add captions and clip art and the whole works, so you can take something plain and really tweak it to your own liking. On the card I made, each photo is labeled with the month, some with the place, some with who the heck she was supposed to be (Halloween). The software was easy to use, and after giving it the OK, I was able to browse all my own photos on my computer very easily, which frankly kind of shocked me (no waiting for long individual uploads.)

So now, all I have to do is return the paper ones I bought, write a letter, copy it on the cute candy cane paper I got, stuff them, address them, put the return address on them, stamp them and mail them.

Yeah, OK, so I'm still thinking February.

Though the temperature rose into the 60's this weekend, we're definitely into the chillier months of the year. The leaves are pretty much all down, the air is cooler, and I always shove a warm jacket in the back seat when we go somewhere, just in case the temp drops by 30 degrees (which it does, as soon as the sun is as low as the housetops.) There's been little rain, and the air is dry. Rowan and I have limited baths to every other day, the true sign of Winter Approaching.

I pulled her out of the bathtub and dried her with a towel, and then reached for the lotion. She usually doesn't need it, but has recently begun scratching herself and announcing it to the world every time--"I scratch! I scratch my leg!", so the moisture is necessary. This time, I tried a new brand.

"Mmmm!!!!" she said, "Smells good, Mommy!"

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? It smells so clean and fresh," I said, rubbing the lotion on her kneecaps.

"Yeah!" she answered. "Smells like..." She looked at the bottle, then back at me.

"Clock. It smells like CLOCK!!!"

Apparently, that's how clocks smell. Perfectly logical, if you ask me. I wonder if oatmeal smells like Quakers?

She knew, before we did.

One day, she attacked Rudy. Our neighbor's dog, a little black poodle who should really be called a puddle because he just loves everyone and everything and he's all about the love and happiness. He got chomped, blood and everything. I was mortified.

The Fed Ex guy dropped a package at our door, and had it not been for the glass, he would have lost some of his own package.

She won't leave me, for a second. Even in the bathroom. She forces the door open with her head, and if it won't budge, she leans agains the door and whines.

Even when the tests said no, she knew. And she was right.

The baby's due May 15. Rowan is very excited. And Lucy? She's on guard.

She had a good morning. A friend came to play, we had lunch, and her friend's mom came to get her friend around 12:30. Though it was a little late for Rowan, who normally naps around 12, I figured she could make it.

We headed up for the nap. She was crying already. Cried while we put toys away. Cried as we climbed the stairs. Cried, asking for Advil and water and to have her fingernails and toenails clipped. She climbed into bed, still crying.

"You've had your Advil, you've got your water. Here are your babies, here's your blanket. Lucy gave you kisses, I gave you hugs. Why are you crying? Is there anything else you need, Honey?"

"Moooooommmmmyyyyy!!!" she wailed, "I just need to crrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy!!!!"

Sometimes, she's just so wise.

Angelina Ballerina, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

More pictures are to come, but after finally finding my camera cord I was able to find one photo where she wasn't a blur of pirouettes and jetés (which, admittedly, looked more like karate kicks.) Rowan went as a favorite book character, Angelina Ballerina. This was the first book her daddy read to her after she was born, and is loved by the whole family.

Her costume was put together with various things we had around the house--a tutu from the hand-me-down box, white shirt and tights, white mittens (not seen here, and the kazoo isn't part of it, either), her Easter shoes, and ears and a tail made by me the day before. We ribboned and rosed her up and drew a nose and whiskers with washable markers. She really did look adorable, and had a blast trick or treating with her friends at one of the dorms on the Penn State campus.

And she shared her candy. Bonus.

This is a post about potty training. If you're the squeamish sort, bye bye.

After a few tinkles months ago, the magic stopped. She was no longer interested, and would answer queries with a quick and final "No!" and walk away, to color in her Kai-Lan coloring book or make another little pink play-doh ball with matching play-doh crumbs.

During her visit with her maternal grandparents in DC, I heard the expected, "She's so smart! She knows her ABC's, can count to 20 in English and 10 in French* and she's only 2? She should be potty trained by now. So'n'so's kid was trained by 18 months! Why isn't she trained yet?"

Yeah, like I haven't tried. Sigh.

So they tried, the questions, the incentives, the promises. And her response?

"No!"

Then this week, she refused to let me change her diaper. I was kicked, screamed at, cried on, hit, and just generally abused. Not fun. Even so, she'd begin crying suddenly, with an "I peed my big girl bed!" or "I peed my booster chair!" (while wearing a diaper, still.) Since her dad finally had a weekend where he didn't have to really do much (this is exceedingly rare--he never takes any time off, but he needed it), it became his job to deal with diapers and the like. Rowan needed Mom to take some distance.

She didn't fight him, but still had no interest in the potty. However, she did have an interest in the Hello, Kitty! panties.

So he tried it. She wet through a couple of times, but he said it seemed to make sense to her. She insisted on the panties over her diaper at bed time.

Today? No requests, and many refusals. (All the panties were dirty.) But tonight before bed, she acquiesced. She sat on the potty, happy, with Mom in the room, for a good 5 minutes.

And?

She FARTED. At least 5 times.

I call that a win.












*That would be Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Close enough.

She teaches me every day!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

You go to Washington to visit the monuments. We go to hang spoons from our noses in public.