To the faithful few who still check here occasionally to see if anything new is going on -- I apologize for my absence...and for the fact that you've had to stare at a photo of me for over a month now. I have high hopes of being a more consistent blogger, I just haven't had the energy for it lately. My husband told me today that he still checks my blog everyday thinking that maybe I will have finally posted a new entry. To at least give him something new to look at when he visits here...
Today when I put Margot down for her afternoon nap, I chose to not remove the four crayons she was gripping for dear life out of her hands. Mostly because I didn't want to her to get all riled up and upset and then not go to sleep. The thought did cross my mind that when I returned to get her up after her nap that there was the possibility crayon marks would be on the wall, but I figured the chances were slim to none since she seemed pretty tired. I assumed she would fall asleep holding them and she would eventually just let go of them. Oh Kristen, are you really that naive?
When I heard Margot talking to herself (the first sign that she's awake), I decided to go right up and get her up so as not to give her any time to see the crayons and use them. Oh, but I can quickly run to the basement and change over the load of laundry so I don't have to do it with Margot in a few minutes. Well, a few minutes was all Margot needed. Here's what I found when I walked into her room...Margot's latest canvas:
I wasn't upset at all. How could I be? I was the one who sent her to bed with crayons. Presented with the same circumstances, I'm sure I would've done the same thing. Honestly, all I could do was stand there and and try to stifle my laughter (plus, I've been enlightened to Washable Crayola crayons, so I was pretty sure the sheet would be as good as new after a load of laundry). Kids, you gotta love them.
Margot's been good for a lot of laughs lately. For the past three days, she's been carrying around her Easter basket filled with plastic eggs. She calls them bubbles. After about the twentieth time of trying to teach her to call them eggs, I gave up and started calling them bubbles too. Each morning she wakes up I think, "She's probably forgotten about the eggs," but every morning after we come downstairs she starts saying, "bubbles, bubbles" and walks around the house looking for her basket. At least she's finally realized that carrying the twelve plastic eggs in the basket is really is OK. The first day I gave her the basket, she tried continuously to wrap her tiny hands around four of the eggs and carry them around. Of course she kept dropping them, and then would get frustrated when they would split in two after hitting the ground. If I tried to help her pick them up, she'd get more agitated because she wanted to do it herself (yes, her independence is already coming out), but couldn't ever pick up all four eggs by herself. I started tucking one egg in each hand and one in the crook of each elbow, which seemed to help her carry them around a little bit longer. Eventually she set aside her independence long enough to let me show her the usefulness of the basket. Life is good now. Hey, maybe she's figured out that putting all your eggs in one basket isn't so bad after all (oh, that was bad).