Reagan On A Roll

We were sitting down to lunch when I asked the kids what day it is today.

Colby: "December 26th!"
Mom: "Yup.  And who's feast day is December 26th?"
Colby: "Stephen!"
Mom: "Yes.  And who was St. Stephen?"
Colby: "Me!"
Mom: "Uhhhh, you're not a saint.  But you and Dad were named after St. Stephen.  Who was he?"
Quinn: "He helped the poor."
Colby: "He helped the widows."
Quinn: "He helped the orphans."
Colby: "And then he died."
Mom: "Yep.  How'd he die?"
Colby: "I don't know.  Did he die in a fire?"
Mom: "Nope."
Colby: "Did somebody shoot him?"
Mom; "Nope.  I'll give you a hint.  He was the first martyr after Jesus died."
Reagan.  "I KNOW!  He was run over by a reindeer!"

Uhhhhhh.... no.  Not sure if there were any reindeer running about in 1st century Palestine.
Mom:  "Stones.  He was stoned to death."  End of lesson for the day.

-----------------------------------------
Mom: "Reagan, eat your grilled cheese sandwich please".
Reagan: "I can't.  The cheese is gross.  It's full of blood."
Mom: "Full of blood????"
Reagan: "Yes.  It's COLBY cheese."

Fatigue

Little Miss does not have the "good sleeper" gene that her brothers have.  To my ever-lovin' dismay.  She's crabby crabby crabby, falls asleep around 5 pm despite my best efforts, and then is wide awake well into the evening - long after the Dad and I have hung up our Parenting Hats.  She hates sleeping by herself, hates sleeping in her bed, and throws a fit nearly EVERY NIGHT.  We've tried threats.  We've tried hanging Christmas lights in her room.  We've tried bribery.  It all works for maybe one night or so, and then... back to sleeplessness.  It's a BAD HABIT, as the rest of this family really treasures an early bedtime.

Tonight was the usual struggle.  Actually - not sure why I'm using the past-tense "was", when she's still wide awake at the moment, and it's 10 pm.  About 2 hours ago, I tried (and failed) to put her to bed.  This is what she told me:

"I'm not TIRED!  My eyes and head and chest are tired, but my hands and feet AREN'T tired, so I can't go to bed."  Very interesting, little girl.  At the time she was lying on a swivel chair, slumped with feet on the floor, and she certainly looked exhausted, but her feet were spinning her and that chair around and around and around.  So a very apt description, I'd say. 

She MIGHT Have Brothers???

The scene: Walmart restroom.  Mom in one stall, Reagan in the next.

Reagan: "MOM!  It's a race! (pause).  I WIN!"

Good grief.  I had to wait until all the other patrons left the area before I'd come out of my stall.  Didn't want to see if anyone had placed money on our "race" or not.

M

Happy Birthday Jesus

Reagan has been VERY excited for Jesus' upcoming "birthday".  She asks daily to make Him a birthday cake.  On the way to school today she asked again.

Reagan: "Mom, make Jesus a birthday cake?"
Mom: "Sure, we can do that.  What kind of cake should we make?  Chocolate, cherry-chip?  Those are your favorites."
Reagan: "No.  He needs all white.  White cake."  Interesting.  And very appropriate.  OK.  White cake it is.
Reagan: "Mom, I make Him a birthday card, too?"
Mom: "Sure!  What would your birthday card say?"
Reagan: "Happy Birthday!  I love you!  Brush your teeth!"
Mom: "Uhhhh... okay...."
Reagan: "Then I blow up balloons, and hide behind the couch, and yell SURPRISE!"

hee hee hee.  Oh, how you make me smile, little girl!

Relations

Reagan: "Dad, will you be my sister?"
Dad: "Yeah, sure.  I'll be your sister."
Reagan: "You're my sister, and Reagan's your sister."
Dad: "Now I have two sisters... Aunt Diane and Reagan.  But you're still my daughter."
Reagan: "I don't want to be a daughter.  I don't like daughters.  I want to be a son."
Dad: "You'll always be my daughter."
Reagan: "I don't like daughters.  I want to be your son and your sister."
Dad: "Oh, okay."

Conversations on the Way to Church

Reagan: "Mom, your name is Monica, not Jessica."
Mom: "That's right, Reagan.  My name is Monica."
Reagan: "Dad calls you Jessica."
Mom: "No.  I'm pretty sure he knows my name is Monica."
Reagan: "You're my mommy."
Mom: "Yup.  And you're my daughter!"
Reagan: "No I'm NOT!"
Mom: "Yes you are!"
Reagan: "I'm your son!"
Mom: "No, you're a girl, and girls are daughters."
Reagan: "But Colby and Quinn are your sons..."
Mom: "Yes...."
Reagan: "I want to be a son, too!"
Mom: "Do you want to be a boy?"
Reagan: "No.  I'm a girl."
Mom: "Then you're my daughter."
Reagan: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I don't WANT TO BE A DAUGHTER!  WAHHHHHHHHHHHH" (Commence overdramatized whining and wailing here. Envision Oscars being won.)

Mom: "Fine.  You can be my girl son."
Reagan: (suddenly stops crying)  "YEAH!!!"

{{sigh}}

Things I learn when Rob's burning brush in the back yard....

Just realized that Reagan calls marshmallows  "SMUSHMALLOWS".  It's actually a much more appropriate name, I think.

Exercise

Reagan is my work out partner. I bench press her, and use her as resistance for my lower abs. I suppose it would be more intense if the girl weighed more than my left hand.

I asked her to sit on my feet so I could do sit ups.
This was her response:
"I can't! You have two feet and I don't have two butts!"

Silly girl.

Snippet

Sat down with Reagan yesterday after breakfast.  She had a tall glass of milk, I had a cup o' tea.  She looked at me, smiled, lifted her glass and said "CHEERS!"  We toasted each other, celebrating that we actually had a quiet moment to sit together at the table.

Then, as she sipped her milk, she said "Mugga mugga".
Me: "Mugga Mugga?"
Reagan: "Yeah.  Mugga mugga."
Me: "What's that mean?"
Reagan: "It's what the tigers say in the neighborhood."
Me (because I wasn't sure I heard her right) "It's what the TIGERS say in the neighborhood?"
Reagan: "Yes".
Me: "OK".
Reagan: "Mugga Mugga".  And she toasted me again.

I sometimes just feel so out of the loop with my kids.  I have no idea what she's talking about!

Fall Photo Shoot

Forecasters are predicting today to be the last nice day of fall before the snow comes.  Reagan and I decided to take advantage of the colors and warm temperatures!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snippet From The Back Seat

Reagan: "I'm not a woman. I'm not a woman. I'm not a woman.  I'm not a woman."

Games and Grammar

Reagan: "Mom, will you play ROCK BABYSITTER with me?"

Mom: "I don't know that game Reagan.  How do you play it?"

Reaga: "Like this!"  Then she makes a fist and pounds it against her opposite flat hand while counting to three, and then lies it flat.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Yeah.  Rock.  Paper.  Scissors.

I kinda like "Rock babysitter" better. 

Fashion Forward Foot

Totally unplanned and unexpected when getting dressed for preschool this morning...

+

=

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

Conversations from the Back Seat

Reagan talks non-stop on the way to school.  Jabbermouth city.  Just want to remember these things, because they're precious moments.  Or... well... sometimes, maybe not.

Run fast, the princess is going to shoot you???? 

 



 

Singing the ABC's

She's certainly got the tune right.  We've got a little work to do on sequencing, though.

Well Child Visit

Little Miss is getting all geared up to start pre-school, and today was the obligatory visit to the doctor, to make sure she is well enough to learn her ABC's.   So, for posterity's sake, here's Reagan's stats:

Height: 39.5"
Weight: almost 29 pounds
BMI: < 3rd %
Weight %: 5th%
Height %: 50th-75th%

Vaccinations up to date, bloodwork complete, everything is honky-dorey!!!  When the doctor asked Reagan to draw shapes, I cringed a little.  She did some, but then turned to me and whined "I can't DO it!".  I know she can, but... well... she's three.  But THEN the doctor asked her to stack blocks and inside I did a little fist pump.  YES!  The girl can STACK like nobody's business.   She stacks things all day long.  Groceries in my grocery cart, the tupperware in the cupboard, the shampoo under the sink....  she's our tower-making superhero.   Reagan made short order of those 10 little blocks, and truly impressed the doctor, because, as the doctor noted, she's the first and only three year old she's ever seen to make a build a tower of blocks with a foundation.  Yup.  First Little Miss arranged blocks to make a stable base, and then built her tower on top of that. 

That's my girl. 

We're supposed to encourage calories, because she's grown 2 inches in the last 3 months (I could've guessed that... all her pants from the spring are too short, and when I had her measured for school shoes, she had jumped up two shoe sizes!) and since her weight has stayed the same, her BMI plummeted off the low end of the chart.  Not too concerned - the girl eats and eats and eats.  But the doctor recommended Boost or some kind of high-calorie nutritional drink to give her body a little buffer in the event of a gastrointestinal illness.  That's easy enough to do.  So wish we could arrange a mother to daughter fat infusion from my backside.  I'm a giver that way, and would be willing to sacrifice.

SO... she's been checked out and ready to start preschool.    Commence Mommy Sobs Now.

Goodnight Daddy

Reagan's Daddy has been gone on business, and she misses him.  Tonight at bedtime, she asked me to "send Daddy a kiss".  Send him a kiss?  "Yes".

OK.  Here you go, Daddy.

Language

Reagan, in stark contrast to her brothers, is very concerned about whether the words she says are "bad" words or not.  It makes me smile - most of the time.

Reagan: "Mom, is SHEESH a bad word?"
Mom: "No, Reagan.  SHEESH is okay."
Reagan.  "OH, SHEESH."

Reagan: "Mom, is road a bad word?"
Mom: "As in the road we're driving on?"
Reagan: "Yeah."
Mom: "No, road is not a bad word."
Reagan: "YAY!"

Reagan: "Sex-say"
Mom: "Reagan, that's not nice to say."
Reagan: "HOT".
GRRRRR.  Brothers.  And stupid "Mr. Poppers Penguins",  the supposed "kids movie" - which is where they learned to say such things.  We've got a new rule in the house.  If a person is pretty - say she is PRETTY.  Or BEAUTIFUL.  Or something non-degrading, that doesn't reduce her to an objectification.  Because it drives me crazy to hear my small children talk like teenagers, in ways that aren't appropriate in the least. 

But go ahead and say "road" all day long, if you want.

SHEESH.

Smiles all Around

On the way to daycare yesterday....

Reagan: "MOM!"
Mom: "Yes Reagan?"
Reagan: "I NEED to slide down a rainbow!"
Mom: "You need to slide down a rainbow?"
Reagan: "Yes!  It's fun!"
Mom: "I'm sure it would be.  It sounds fun!"
Reagan: "I'm going to need a really big ladder."

Yes you will, little miss.  I want to live inside your world all the time.  It's such a pretty place.

Twiggy

So, I was getting the daughter dressed this morning when I noticed that she was wearing a bracelet.  One of those "Live Strong" -type gel bracelets, except this one said "Courage".  The thing was - she was wearing the bracelet around the middle of her THIGH.  And it wasn't even tight.  Which made me realize that the bulkiest part of her THIGH is smaller than my wrist. 

Good grief, child.  Seriously????

Un-squeamish

I was happily mowing the lawn this afternoon when I saw my darlin' daughter, dressed in an all-pink princess ballerina tutu, a feminine pink bow in her stick-straight pig-tails run up to me, smiling from ear to ear.  Oh, bless the X-chromosome!  Something frilly and sweet in our testosterone laden household.   Yeah for girls!! 

 Reagan had something in her hand that she obviously wanted to show me, so I stopped the lawn mower to check it out.

It was a bird.

Reagan: "Mom!  Look!  A birdy!"

At first, I thought it was a toy bird, but upon closer inspection I could see that it wasn't. 

Reagan: "It's DEAD, Mom!"  And then she handed it to me.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW GROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!

After internally retching for a few seconds, I grabbed her and screechingly explained how we don't pick up dead things, as they are disgusting, and germ-filled, and.... EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.  BLECH.  ICK ICK ICK.

Then I decontaminated her with Germ-X and every anti-bacterial soap I could find.

And she just looked at me like I was insane.  Because it's "just a dead bird, Mom."  Big whoop.

UGH.  GROSS.  EWWW.  Ick.  Disgusting.

Now I have to go outside and figure out how I'm going to get the dead bird off the lawn mower so I can finish mowing.  I certainly am not touching that thing.

Blood Loss

Reagan got her first ever bloody nose tonight, and it was a GUSHER.  She was outside with Daddy, and he brought her inside in a panic.

"I don't know what's wrong with her!  She's just covered in blood!"

Little miss wasn't crying - just drenched in blood - from the nose down.  AHA.  The culprit. 
I washed her up, and pinched her nose for a good 10 minutes before it would stop.  Afterwards, she was concerned.

Reagan: "MOM!  Reagan's blood all gone!  Reagan no grow bigger!"

Mom: "No, Reagan, you still have blood left.  And you'll make more."

Reagan: "No, all gone!  Blood all gone!  Reagan no grow BIGGER!"

She took a good deal of convincing that she was allright, and that the most important thing in her life (growing bigger) was still on the table.

((smile))

Myth Buster

I'm not crazy.  Honestly - I'm not.  I'm pretty sure I'm not, at least.  But I've been noticing something lately about myself.  I sparkle.  Not "glistening with sweat in the sunshine" sparkle.  Legitimate, "it won't rub off, but there it is" sparkle.  At first, I thought there must be sparkles in my Suave Aloe Vera body lotion, but... nope.  There's not.  And then I noticed yesterday that REAGAN sparkles, too, and I don't use that lotion on her, anyway.  I could not figure it out!  Quinn and Colby sparkle a little, but not nearly as much as Reagan and I.  I did thorough skin checks to make sure.

 I was racking my brain as to the cause of this phenomenon, and really couldn't come up with anything.    Reagan suggested that our sparkles came from her gold sparkly shoes, but I don't recall rubbing her little size 8's against all of our skin.  Quinn and Colby were equally stumped.

I made the mistake of mentioning this outloud in the presence of my husband.  It went something like this:
"We all sparkle, Rob.   It's not lotion, and it's not sweat.    I think maybe the kids and I are magical."  You know.   Like the Cullens in Twilight - without the blood-lust. 

"Yes, I sparkle.  Everyone sparkles."  No they don't.  Not like this.  I certainly know that I don't typically sparkle like this.

He did his snort, eye-roll, "I can't believe I have to explain this to you, dummy" look. 

"It's SALT.  From dried sweat.  Salt is a crystal and glistens in the sun."

OH.  Well then.  Okay.

I'd really prefer to believe that I'm just magical, though.

The Things She Says

Current favorite expressions:

"You're a GENIUS!"  I think she thinks that's an insulting term, given the context in which she says it.

"Oh, sick!"  In response to being kissed, in response to dinner, in response to just about anything now.

"DUH."  Well, she says it more like "DU-UH". Kinda two syllables. 

"I don't like your TONE."  (Where'd she hear this one, I wonder?  Mea culpa).

So funny to hear her chirpy little voice, with it's poor intelligibility making her sound even younger than her 3 years, say things that SHOULD be coming out of a teenager's mouth instead of a sweet little girl. 

RICH

Reagan found a penny on the ground this morning.

Reagan: "Mom!  I found money!"
Mom: "Yes, you found a penny."
Reagan: "I can buy something!"
Mom: "Yes you can."
Reagan: "Mom, I buy a hot tub now?"
Mom: "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
Reagan: "One money, one hot tub!  Hot tub heavy."
Mom: "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
Reagan: "Mom, we go store now?  Reagan buy hot tub?"

I wish it worked like that, sister.  I really do.

Cleptomania

Little Miss likes to take things, and put them in other things.  I find bags full of Lincoln Logs, stuffed animals, combs, and balloons.  I find find vases filled with water.  I find toy baby strollers filled with shoes.  You get the picture.  Well, lately (not lately - she's ALWAYS done this) she's been taking MY stuff, out of my purse, and then depositing them... somewhere.  It DRIVES.ME.CRAZY.  In April, she climbed up her 4 foot tall dresser and grabbed her jewlery box off the shelf.  Before I even realized what she had done, she had lost the gold and ruby baby ring my own grandmother had given me when I was a baby.  Precious, heirloom stuff that I could not find, even though I tore her room apart afterwards.  I honestly have not vacuumed her room since this happened, afraid that it would sucked up forever. 

Last week, she took my cell phone, my camera charger, AND my iPod.  The tendency towards high-end electronics is a bad turn.  NOT GOOD. 

Well, since Saturday, I am please to report that I have found 3 of 4 missing items!!  My cellphone was found in a tea-pot during our Alice In Wonderland Tea Party.  A teapot full of water, I might add.  My camera charger was found in a pink Hello Kitty Backpack, along with 15 children's books, and the baby ring (HALLELUJAH!!  The BABY RING!) I found yesterday, down in our old yucky basement, in a puddle of rainwater.  Yes.  I was doing laundry down there, in the leaky basement, and saw a small little something, and.... there it was.  She must've put it in one of her pockets or something, and it fell out.  On the floor.  In a puddle of rainwater.  If it had gone into the washer or drier, I am sure that it would've been gone forever, in that same vague place that houses all our missing socks.  THANK YOU LORD.

So, now it's just my iPod missing, and I have absolutely no idea what random place I might find it in.  I have checked all logical places, but I have NOT checked all illogical, 3-year old brain places.    I will keep looking.  Let's hope it didn't go down the toilet.

VBS

Reagan started Vacation Bible School last night.  It's really her first "away from Mom" activity, with the exception of the sitters.  I was curious as to how she'd do, so I snuck in to VBS early to watch her in action.  All the VBS kids were in the fellowship hall, singing, dancing - a big group, having a fabulous time.  And there was my daughter - who LOVES to sing and dance - sitting on the ground.  Silent.  By herself.  With her eyes nearly closed.  WHAT?

I asked her later why she wasn't singing and dancing like all the other kids, and she just sighed and said "Reagan TIRED".  She looked tired.  Quinn and Colby insisted that it was because she didn't know the words to the songs, and doesn't really know how to dance, but that just made Reagan start screaming and crying.  At the top of her lungs.  In the car.  ALL.THE.WAY.HOME.

I believe her.  She's tired.

Budding Artist

Reagan drew a fishy today, and a pretty darned good one at that.  Even her brothers were impressed.  Quinn asked who drew the fish, and when I said Reagan, he wouldn't believe me.  "Even the tail???"

Yup.  Good job, little girl!

New 'Do

Reagan has gotten all of one haircut in her 3.5 years of life.  This is because her hair is so thin and frail  it breaks off if someone glances at her funny, and there hasn't really been much of a NEED for a haircut.  The one she did have last November removed approximately .000593 inches of hair, and was more because I wanted my mother to be "the one" to give her haircut, and not because she actually needed one. 

So, imagine my horror when I looked at my darlin' daughter the other day, and noticed a large bald spot right smack dab on the top of her head. 

Mom: "WHAT happened here?????"

Colby: "Oh, Mom, that was me.  It was hurting Reagan, so I had to cut it out."

Mom: "What was hurting Reagan?"

Colby: "The gum.  My gum got caught in her hair."

The obvious question... HOW???... I left unasked.  Really - anything is possible with these kids.  Colby continued.

Colby: "I tried pulling it and pulling it, but it was just making her cry, so I got the scissors and cut it out."

He was saying this as if he was doing Reagan a genuine act of kindness, that he made her ridiculously bald out of the sheer goodness of his heart, to help her avoid pain and suffering.

Mom: "Next time"  (there WILL be a next time, I have no doubt) "you should come and get me.  I'll get it out for you."

When I was cleaning upstairs not long afterwards, I found what I thought was a dead mouse.  Nope.  It was the enormous chunk of hair/gum that was removed from my daughter's already balding head.  Much bigger than I thought. 

Her hair doesn't stand a chance.  It just doesn't.  It's getting shorter and shorter the longer she's alive. 

HMMMM. I wonder if she has big brothers?

Nothing says sweet little princess more than a three year old weilding a Lightsaber to her mother's head, yelling "I fight you, Mama, wi' a WEAPON!"

Shoes

Mom: "Reagan!  Your shoes are on the wrong feet!"
Reagan: "No, Mom!! Reagan only has THESE feet!"

Kisses

Reagan is NOTORIOUSLY stingy with her kisses (which is a trait I hope she keeps until she's happily married to the man of my choosing).  In the meantime, though, she steadily refuses to kiss even her closest, most loved and cherished family members, including Daddy and her grandparents, except on extremely rare and usually coerced occasions.

That's why it was crazy last night when she would not.stop.kissing.me.  On the cheek, on the nose, on the forehead.  Each followed by HILARIOUS laughter.  For a good 10 minutes or so.  It was such a silly thing, that, even though it kind of wore out it's welcome after minute 3, I was loathe to put an end to it.  Don't know what brought that on, but I think I just got my quota of kisses for the next several months!

Silly, silly girl.

All in A Name

Sitting around the table at dinner one night while on our cruise, we were quizzing Reagan on her family's names.

Mom (pointing around the table): "Reagan, who's that?"
Reagan: "Steve!  David!  Uncle Tom! Aunt Diane!  Daddy Rob!"

Little girl was doing great - she got everyone's name right!!  Then I made the mistake of pointing to myself. 

Mom: "How about me?  What's my name?"
Reagan smiled a big knowing smile, and proudly shouted "JESSICA!"

((Sigh))

Mother Nature

Reagan found a flower hairclip (or five) that I had made her.  The look works for her, I think.

Overheard

Reagan, counting on her fingers, talking to herself on the way to the bathroom:
"Lights on.  Check."
"Go pee.  Check."

Hope she doesn't miss a step.

Growing up, Reagan style

Reagan: "Mommy!  Reagan go pee!"
Mom: "Good job, Reagan!"
Reagan: "Reagan get bigger!"
Mom: "Yup, you're growing up."
Reagan: "Reagan use BIG potty!"
Mom: "I know.  You use the big toilet now..."
Reagan: "Reagan's butt fits now on the big potty!"

hee hee hee

That part will just keep growing and growing and growing, sistah.  At least, if you have any of your mama's genes.

Taking Care of Mommy

Mama had the viscious flu bug last night, which... you know... sucked.  I don't know what it is about Tuesdays, but we have had no less than FOUR incidents of vomitting on the way to piano lessons so far this year, by sundry members of the family.  This time, it was my turn.  Vomitting while driving... don't recommend it.  I have a nasty mess in the car to clean up, but just couldn't even BEGIN to deal with it last night.  Anyways... you're welcome for the visual.   Dad took over Cub-Scout duties, which left Reagan and I to chill out at home.  Or rather, Mom to ATTEMPT chilling out (between trips to the bathroom), and Reagan to be "caregiver".  It was very sweet. 

Reagan: "Mommy sick?"
Mom: "Yes, sweetie, Mommy sick."
Reagan: "Mommy play game with Reagan?"
Mom: "I don't think so, Reagan."
Reagan: "Mommy use green blanket.  Reagan share.  Feel better!"
Then she wrapped me up in her blankie (of which she is normally VERY possessive) and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  Getting a kiss out of Reagan is a rare and wonderful treat - she does NOT give them away voluntarily very often.  Unfortunately, she wanted to lay on my belly most of the evening, which was NOT a good thing, and try as I might to get her to give me some space so that she didn't catch what I've got... she absolutely refused.  So I did my best to breathe elsewhere, and little girl fed herself dinner (microwaved her own pizza and grabbed some strawberries out of the fridge - her independent streak came in handy for the first time EVER).  I suppose when you're sick a mommy, and you can't have your OWN mommy around... a little girl is the next best thing.

New Favorite Word

Little Miss runs around yelling  "NEVAHHHHH!" in answer to any question these days.  With gusto.  Like she's a super-hero denouncing her evil nemesis.

Mom: "Reagan, will you go get dressed?"
Reagan: "NEVAHHHH!"

So dang cute.  So much better than just plain "NO!"

Lullabies

Out of the blue, Reagan has started asking me to sing her a song before bed.  No one, and I mean NO ONE has EVER wanted me to sing to them before.  I find it incredibly endearing that the sound of my off-kilter, off-key voice soothes her to sleep.

That, my friends, is love. 

Tidbits

Reagan's current "entourage" includes 5 blankets, 4 pillows, 6 stuffed animals, a princess doll, and a sleeping bag.  She takes them around with her wherever she is in the house.  It's the entire contents of her bed.  She often uses a laundry basket for transport.  And she can't go to sleep without every.single.thing.  She is a mound at night, with the sleeping bag as a "fork" (fort) on top, draped over the lot. 

We may have a hoarder on our hands.
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Despite saying it three times a day for her entire little life, Reagan still does not yet know the words to our grace before meals.  Not a problem in her world, though.  She loudly proclaims "grace grace grace grace grace grace" throughout the entire thing, in complete rhythmic unison with the rest of us.  And really... isn't that what we're asking for anyways? 
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Reagan's hair.  It deserves a blog of its own.  Good grief, child.  My thin stringy mixed with Rob's straight stringy,  formed..... Reagan's ultimate, break-off the moment you look at it, microns-thin, tangle-iscious head of horrors.  Looking back at pictures, I see that it was much thicker a year ago than it is today.  I've had friends from India suggest I shave her bald and start over, with generous dollops of almond and coconut oil.  It's what they do there, they insist, and look how beautiful and thick their hair is!!  And it is true - they have beautiful, thick, luxurious hair.  But genetics may have a little to do with that. 
I honestly don't think I need to shave her head.  At the rate she's going, she'll be bald on her own in the next month or so anyway.
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Last week I realized that virtually NONE of Reagan's clothes fit her anymore.  She's always been petite, so we've gotten by with 2T's well into her 3rd year.  But the high-waters, short sleeves, and crotch-at-her-knees jammies just weren't cutting it anymore.  So I cleaned out her drawers, and then took her on a trip to the consignment store.  7 shirts, 4 pants and $11 later, she's stocked for the new season!  I DO get more "use" out of clothes than most mothers of toddlers, I admit.  But getting over a year out of something really might be pushing it!

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Reagan and I have found common ground in the television department lately.  While folding laundry, Reagan snuggles up next to me, and we watch "Cake Boss".  The girl is obsessed with birthday cakes, and STILL talks about her "castle cake" from her last birthday, 4 months ago.  Daily.  Honestly.  "Reagan had a castle cake.  Mommy made a castle cake.  Castle birthday for Reagan."  Makes me feel good that I put the effort into that thing, because it obviously meant a heck of alot to her!  And she LOVES Cake Boss!

Who's Yo Daddy....

Went swimming last night.  Reagan didn't want to come out of the locker room.

Mom: "We need to go now, Daddy and the boys are waiting for us!"
Reagan: "Which Daddy?"
Mom: "Did you just ask which Daddy?"
Reagan: "Yeah.  Daddy with brown hair?"
Mom: "Uh.... yes.  Your Daddy with the brown hair."

When we finally left and found Rob and the boys out in the hall, Reagan smiled.

Reagan: "There's Dadd wi' brown hair!"
Rob: "As opposed to the OTHER one with blond hair?  What have you been doing while I'm at work, Mom?"

Learning From the Big Brothers.... a little too much

Spent all morning cleaning, only to find a pile of blankets, pillows and stuffed animals in the middle of the living room room floor.
Mom: "Who made this mess in the living room?  Reagan???"
Reagan: "Well, DUH!"

Good grief.  Although wholely an appropriate statement (who else in our testosterone-laden house would leave a pile of PINK blankets in the middle of the living room???), I didn't appreciate my three year old sounding like a seven year old boy.

Mini Me

 Today, after counting to three to her brothers when they were not focusing on getting ready for school, little Miss complained that they didn't eat their vitamins.  Then, she took a shower with me, pretending to shave her legs.  Next, she sat down at the dining room table with her toy computer, one of my breakfast bars, a tablespoon of peanut butter and glass of milk (hers had a straw), and blew her hair dry with my old hairblower. 

HMMMMMMM.  Where'd she learn to do all THAT???

Who needs a mirror when you've got a daughter.......

Nap Time for Daddy

Daddy laid down on the couch for a few ZZZZ's.  Reagan, ever the thoughtful child, decided to "help" Daddy nap, by providing him with the same entourage that SHE insists on whenever she naps.  There's a grown man in that pile there somewhere, I swear. 

A Quote After Snowmobiling

"Mom, das AWE-sum!"

I think she liked it!

What Reagan does While The Boys are in Piano Lessons....

.... in a nutshell.... she rocks out in the car, and screams at her brother.

How Rumors Get Started

Reagan: "Mommy, Sammy dead."
Mom: "Yes, sweetie, Sammy is dead."
Reagan: "Daddy shoot Sammy.  BAD SAMMY.  Sammy dead."
Mom: "NO!  Daddy didn't shoot Sammy!  Sammy got hurt and died!"
Reagan: "Daddy shoot Sammy.  Sammy dead."


Oh great.  That's just what we need her going around saying - that we shoot our dogs.  Poor Sammy. 

Hiccups in the sink

Reagan was being silly at bedtime tonight (stall tactic?  Absolutely), thinking it was HILARIOUS to call her night-time prayers "grace".  After about the 10th time, she made herself laugh so hard, she got the hiccups.  All of a sudden, she jumped out of bed.

Mom: "Where are you going?"
Reagan: "The kitchen!"
Mom: "Why?  It's bed time.  You need to get in bed."
Reagan: "Reagan put hiccups in sink!"
Mom: "You need to put your hiccups in the sink?
Reagan: "Yes."
And there she went.  I found her on a stool, leaning over the kitchen sink, hiccuping.  WHAT?  Where was this coming from?    Then it hit me.  She thought hiccups were the same as vomitting.  OOOHHH. 

I tried to do some explaining, but I don't know how much she understood.  And it took some heavy coaxing to get her back to bed and leave the sink behind.

Silly girl.

Mommy Daughter Day

Every once in awhile, the laundry needs to be left behind, the floors need to stay dirty, and the dishes need to continue to rot soak in the sink.  Today was one of those days.  Turning a blind eye to all the housework that obviously needed done, Reagan and Mommy decided to have a day to ourselves.  We went to the local indoor park and played dinosaurs, slid down slides, swung on tire swings,  and built a block castle.  Then, because all that playing makes a gal hungry, we feasted on Chicken McNuggets and a yogurt parfait. 

The dishes didn't disappear while we were gone, but Mommy's learning to let it go, and allow us these precious moments every once in awhile. 

Flushed

At grandma and grandpa's house the other day, we heard a horrific scream from little miss.  I know this child's screams, and this one definitely wasn't "my brother is touching me", or the usual "I want a cheesestick" scream.  This scream was pure. terror.  I jumped up and ran into the bathroom, where I found Reagan jacknifed in half, knees to ears, up to her shoulders in the toilet bowl.  Poor thing had fallen in. 

Now if that isn't terrifying, I don't know what is.

A Diego Education

Reagan is a HUGE Diego fan.  Sometimes it surprises me how much she knows about animals, and then I realize.... Diego.  We were playing with the animal cards today, and one fell on the ground.  Reagan promptly said "Puma fell down".  Puma?  Really?  I picked it up, and sure enough... it was a puma.
So then I wanted to know how many animal names she really DID know, so I started quizzing her.  The basics were a cinch - bear, monkey, spider, seagull, alligator.  But then she also knew puma, jaguar, cheetah.  She didn't know tapir ( I wouldn't have either).  When I showed her a picture of an armadillo, though, I had to laugh.

Mom: "What's this, Reagan?"
She looked at it quizzically for a second before giving her answer.

"Pillow pet!"

:)

Singing in the Shower

Our musical daughter, in a rousing performance.... could it be?  An Aho who can SING???

Dancing in the New Year