Jackadilloprincess.com

This guy, right here:

My nieces had a pool party for their birthday on Saturday, and Robbie got to go swimming for the first time.  He thought it was the BEST. THING. EVER.  He kicked, he laughed, he forgot that he was starving and hadn’t napped.  And after getting out of the pool, he couldn’t take his eyes off the water.

Kaylee, on the other hand, has a love/hate relationship with the swimming pool.  Sometimes she despises the fact that water is wet, and other times she gets adventurous and wants to leap into the deep end.  (Which, for her, is still the shallow end but farther from the stairs.)  On Saturday, she started out in her surly mood, demanding that no one be allowed to take the pool toys into the pool.  But by the end, when she realized that her DADDY! was there and he’s way more adventurous than boring ol’ Mommy, she got into the spirit of things, and she was doing this:

… which I only watched long enough to snap a couple of pictures, for fear that my heart would stop.

After a couple of days of generally ignoring her because Robbie was sick, we decided to make today all about Kaylee.  We dropped Robbie off with Grandma and took Kaylee to McDonald’s, and then to the movies to see “Shrek Forever After.”

This was her first visit to a movie theater, and we weren’t sure how it would go.  She hates loud noises and is sometimes afraid of the dark, so this could have been disastrous.  When one of the theater’s chairs tried to eat her, we briefly thought this was a bad idea.  But then she sat on my lap through the entire movie, sipping an Icee and eating popcorn, occasionally looking at me or Rob with the biggest grin on her face.  She made it through the whole thing.

Afterward, she played in the fountain outside.

There’s not really any witty conclusion to this, or really any point, except to say that we had a really good day.

Which is a nice change from the two previous days, when the best thing I could say was that I only got thrown up on twice.

Kaylee got her first ever chain letter yesterday, welcoming her to the “Sticker Club” and asking her to send the letter to six more friends and promising to shower her with riches (stickers) if she participates.  I will, of course, be mailing out letters on her behalf in the next day or two, because I’m hoping someone down the line will join in, and Kaylee will get a happy sticker surprise in the mail.

I showed it to Kaylee and she was moderately enthusiastic that she’d gotten some mail, but didn’t really understand the whole chain letter aspect of it.  I tried to explain.

“This letter means you’re going to get stickers in the mail!” I said.

“I got stickers?” she asked, getting excited.

“Um, no, not yet.”

“I want to watch Barney.”

So, you know, she doesn’t really care.  YET.

But if she’s anything like me, future chain letter participation could be fraught with drama.

I remember receiving some chain letters when I was in elementary school, and I would always get so excited about the promise of letters from faraway, magical lands, like London or Milwaukee.  I’m sure I imagined becoming pen pals with exotic strangers, and we would become lifelong friends who would someday meet and go on an adventure together.

Instead, I think I got one reply one time.

But, oh, the possibilities!  When I received a chain letter I would immediately compile a list of the friends I would be mailing it to, and I’d complete my part of the bargain by sending a friendship bracelet – or whatever piece of childhood junk was called for – to a previous sender.  Imagine, I thought, I could get enough friendship bracelets to cover my whole arm!  I will be the most styling girl at school. (It was always “styling” and never “stylin’”, because I did not believe in abbreviation for the purposes of slang.)

Once, both my brother and I received chain letters from one of my friends, and I was horrified to discover that my brother had no intention of participating.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, it was the ultimate betrayal.  Some girl in Texas (or wherever) was watching her mailbox in eager anticipation of a postcard from a random stranger, and she wasn’t going to get it.  I could imagine her salty tears leaving tracks down her face as she sobbed on her mom’s shoulder, wailing, “Why didn’t I get any mail today, Mom?  Whyyyyyy???”  Didn’t my brother understand that there were people counting on us?  Didn’t he realize we’d been entrusted with something sacred, and we had to pass it on for the good of society?  If we didn’t do our part, than we were no better than the communists!  (I didn’t really understand communism.)

Maybe my brother wasn’t going to participate, but I was damn sure going to do my part.  I grabbed my Colorado postcard and penned a vitriolic screed – a tiny one, as it was just a postcard – lambasting my jerk of a brother and begging for forgiveness for his callous disregard for the sanctity of the chain letter.  I was crying hot tears of anger when I handed it over to my parents so they could put a stamp on it.

This is about the point where I expected them to lash out at my brother, because he was clearly in the wrong here.  I thought for sure they’d ground him for a week, or at least deny him dessert.

But they laughed at me. Can you believe it?  I know.

And then they had the nerve, the gall, to tell me I might be taking this whole thing a smidge too seriously.  They sent me back to my room with a bottle of Wite-Out to change it.

So I wrote another one, this one with slightly fewer words but just as much anger, and was made to rewrite it again.  By the time I was finished with several rounds of revisions, the postcard was so weighed down with Wite-Out as to require two stamps.  My parents couldn’t get me to agree to a simple “Hello from Colorado!”  Instead, some girl two states away received a postcard with Pikes Peak on the cover, and on the back an angrily scrawled message: “I regret to inform you, the chain has been broken.”  I secretly hoped she would take a quarter to the postcard and scrape away the Wite-Out to uncover the tale of treachery and betrayal that had taken place that day in the Beasley household.

That was the last time I participated in a chain letter, because I just couldn’t take the heartbreak of trying again.

And now, two decades later, I’m sitting here getting Kaylee started in the roller coaster ride of chain letters.  I’m steeling myself for the tears, anger and frustration that could result in her joining this potentially nefarious “Sticker Club.” Most likely this initiation into chain letters will end in one of two ways: 1. Nothing happens at all, or 2. She gets a few packets of stickers and uses them to redecorate our couch.

But some day, some day, she will get another chain letter.  She will be older and wiser, and she will notice when something goes awry in the chain letter process.

Yes, she could take it in stride.  It’s not impossible.

But remember: This kid has my genes.

Shit.

Kaylee is obsessed with umbrellas — or “gorillas,” depending on how she chooses to say it in the given moment.  I’m pretty sure it’s Dora The Explorer’s fault.  She made me buy her an umbrella of her very own last weekend, and ever since we’ve been working on understanding that it’s a Bad Thing to open umbrellas indoors.  I’m not trying to make her superstitious so much as I’m trying to keep her from knocking shit off the dining room table.  (I’ve just realized that’s probably where the bad-luck superstition came from in the first place — annoyed mothers.)

Today we had our first thunderstorm of the season, and Kaylee was giddy with excitement that she could use her umbrella in real rain.  Such was her excitement that she ventured outside during thunder that was definitely louder than my hair dryer.

And so she stood there, relishing the experience of using her new umbrella, happy as could be.  On our covered patio.

I took the kids grocery shopping on Monday – a feat I accomplish every week without pulling out my hair, and only occasional tears (mine).  I rarely bake, so Kaylee is unfamiliar with the baking aisle at the store, and yesterday she became fascinated with a package of food coloring.

“What is this?” she asked in awe, staring at the brightly colored eggs and iced cookies on the box.

I explained that it was for changing the color of your food; for example, you could use it to turn your macaroni and cheese green.

And that was it.  She had to have it, and she had to eat macaroni and cheese for lunch.

I tried to convince her to use just one color to turn her lunch a pleasant shade of orange or green, but that child would not rest (or stop screeching) until she tried every single bottle of food coloring (which turned out to be neon colors).  She also did not understand the meaning of “Just use one or two drops, ok?”  We ended up with this unholy creation:

Surprisingly, Kaylee wasn’t at all squeamish about eating macaroni and cheese the color of death.  It didn’t occur to me until it was too late that the food coloring would also stain her skin:

Oh well.  Small price to pay for that kind of culinary masterpiece.

We took a trip to Denver yesterday to visit Brooks Brothers in the Cherry Creek Shopping Center – you know, because that’s how we roll.  Rob needs thousand-dollar suits for his executive position and all the lavish parties we attend … or perhaps it was the $500 Brooks Brothers gift card he won at last year’s office Christmas party.  Given the economic climate, we figured he should finally spend it before further economic collapse renders it useless.

Our typical attire consists of ratty t-shirts and jeans, so going into a store where the weekend sale includes two sweaters for the bargain-basement price of $499, well, that was new to us.

At first I was kind of uncomfortable, because I felt out of place among the other clientele.  And then I was really uncomfortable, because I got tired of trying to discreetly adjust my ill-fitting maternity pants while I waited for Rob to try stuff on.  There is just no sophisticated way to hike your pants back up to your boobs in the presence of others.

But eventually the staff won me over by fawning over Kaylee.  While I’d assumed they’d be unhappy with a 2-year-old running around the store and touching all the expensive things, they instead told me how cute she is and gave her candy.  That’s a fast way to both of our hearts.

Here’s a blurry picture of her relaxing next to really expensive ties, and in front of a wall of really expensive shirts:

That blurry person in front of her is Grandma, who is trying to keep her from touching the ties.

After that, we decided on an impromptu visit to Santa Claus, because the line wasn’t too long and Kaylee’s never sat on Santa’s lap before.  She was all gung-ho about it at first, and Rob had her planning to ask him to give her a kitty cat for Christmas.  But once she was on his lap, she just seemed to think he was kind of weird.  Hence the complete lack of a smile:

She did not ask for a cat.

I’ve mentioned on this site before that I find it easy to be creeped out by small children.  Really, would anyone remember the line “I see dead people” if it had been spoken by a middle-aged accountant?  No.  Because it’s the innocent child’s voice saying something shocking that makes the moment memorable.

So anyway, I’ve been waiting two years for Kaylee to say something creepy.

Last night, as we were getting ready to head out for dinner, Kaylee turned to Rob and, completely out of nowhere, said, “I got scared last night.”

Kaylee gets scared of a lot of stuff – toilets flushing, dogs barking, the vacuum cleaner – so we weren’t too worried. And Rob said, “You got scared?  What did you get scared of?”

“I got scared of the ghost.”

Dude.

First of all, I didn’t think she even knew the word “ghost.”

Second of all, it looks like we may have to move.

At the very least, it’s not like she told us all about an imaginary friend who’s encouraging her to play with knives.  (“She says it’s funny to stab small animals!”)  But still.  I’ll be watching her closely for signs of demonic possession from now on.

Kaylee finally has enough hair to put a tiny ponytail on the back of her head:

She is so proud of herself.

Kaylee has been fascinated lately with an episode of “The Backyardigans,” in which one character tells another a knock-knock joke:

Cartoon character 1: Knock, knock.

CC2: Who’s there?

CC1: Banana.

CC2: Banana who?

CC1: Knock, knock.

CC2: Who’s there?

CC1: Banana.

CC2: Banana who?

CC1: Knock, knock.

CC2: WHO’S THERE??

CC1: Orange.

CC2: ORANGE WHO?!?!?!

CC1: Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?

Character number two contemplates the joke for a moment and then falls over laughing. Every single time, Kaylee points at the TV and says, “He’s laughing hard!”, while fighting to control her own giggles.

Today, she tried her hand at telling the joke herself.

Kaylee: Knock, knock.

Mommy: Who’s there?

Kaylee: Banana.

Mommy: Banana who?

Kaylee: Banana.

Mommy: Banana who?

Kaylee: Orange.

Mommy: Orange who?

Kaylee: Orange please banana!

Quite possibly the best joke I’ve ever heard.  If not the funniest, at least the cutest.

After our morning Stroller Strides class, Kaylee and I often end up wandering around the mall for a while, looking at puppies, playing in the play area or getting a smoothie at Orange Julius. On Friday, we happened to see the Easter Bunny headed for the Easter Bunny pavilion, and Kaylee freaked the hell out, but not in the way I expected her to.  Having seen Donnie Darko twice, my natural reaction to a 7-foot-tall rabbit is to want to run in the other direction.  Kaylee’s reaction was to insist on following the bunny around and yelling “Bunny!” at the top of her lungs.

We didn’t have time to go to the photo pavilion and meet the Easter Bunny on Friday, so I promised Kaylee she could see him today.  Another family was ahead of us in line, so we had to wait, and I could see the anxiety eating Kaylee up inside.  Could she see the bunny now?  How about now?  Now?  I’m pretty sure she thought the wait was going to kill her.

When it was finally her turn, Kaylee approached the Easter Bunny hesitantly and made sure to keep a little distance.  She warmed a little when he offered his hand for a high five.  Then when he patted his lap for her to sit down, she leaped into my arms.  After a couple more high fives, I put her in his lap and waited for the screams.

But then she didn’t scream.  And then she even smiled for the camera.  And while I paid for the photos (holy shit, do you guys know how much Easter Bunny photos cost???) she talked to the bunny, gave more high fives and accepted paper bunny ears to wear on her head.

The only way I could get her away from the bunny pavilion was to bribe her with a smoothie, and she was so elated from meeting the Easter Bunny that she told the guy behind the counter all about it. “Babble, babble, babble, BUNNY, babble.”  “She wants you to know she just saw the Easter Bunny,” I translated.  The guy was a good sport and asked her all about it, and even pretended to understand her explanations.  Later, she told Gram all about it on the phone.  “Bunny!  High five!  Lap!  Bunny!”

I can tell she’s really getting older, because this is the first time I’ve seen her hang onto an experience all day and stay excited enough about it to tell everyone she sees.  My little girl is growing up.  *sniff, sniff*

On another note, I don’t think I like the Easter Bunny very much.  The giant bunny head extends way, way above the shoulders of the man who’s playing the part, so you don’t know whether to look into the bunny’s eyes, which are two feet above his shoulders, or somewhere near his mouth, which was my best approximation of where the guy’s actual eyes were.  It doesn’t help that he stays in character at all times, meaning that he doesn’t talk at all.  So when you say “thank you,” he just stares back at you with those giant, creepy, just-a-little-too-cheerful cartoon eyes.  Maybe next year I’ll have Rob take her.