. . . a phrase or two

Overheard ...

"We can't go to Ty's house because it's too late and it's raining out and there's a storm outside."

"It's a gown, Mama. We call it a day gown." (* As opposed to a "night gown" which is a new gift from Gram just for big girls. This statement in response to Mama's request that she not lift up her dress in public.)

"Around the bend, Rusty! Around the bend!"

"That's a power station. We neeeeeever, ever touch a power station. It will kill us."

"Yeah, we call it a red-tail-hawk. So, if you see another one like that, it's got little wings, so birds can fly when it's daytime. You know how the birds need to fly home because the moonlight is drying away the rain? But I don't see the moon because it's raining. So, tomorrow I have oranges. Can I just have one popsicle? It's ok Dadoo. We dip into the paint and we paint our eyebrows."

. . . 3 years, 3 months, 27 days

In the flash of the last 8 months, our baby adorable turned three. She's officially just about three-and-a-quarter, and the reality of that seems impossible.

In the flash of the last 8 months, our tiny girl has gone from diapers to pullups to panties, and training cups to travel mugs to not needing or wanting that first morning milk. She's changed shoe sizes and pants sizes and grown an inch and a pound. Her hair is long, long, long. She walks (runs) everywhere and doesn't want to hold our hands except when something near her is loud. She talks about lots of things and asks a lot of questions and makes a lot of accurate observations. She sings and makes up her own songs. She laughs and makes up her own jokes. She lets us rinse the shampoo right out of her hair with no hesitation, no washcloth, no worries.

In the flash of the last 8 months, she's adapted to a lot of changes, learned how to write her name and added a million words to her speech. She dresses herself daily in a minimum of two different dresses. She even gets the buckle part right on her shoes ("I put the buckles on the outside, Mama!"). She pretends to sleep during naptime, but plays with her trains instead. She still doesn't eat much meat besides chicken, calamari and hamburgers, and she still loves sweet tea. She loves hotels and had a great time at Disney World.

In a few short weeks, she'll officially be a big sister to her very own little sister. She wants to name her 'donut' or 'fountain' or 'cloud'. She wants to teach her how to dig in the sand and how to walk and how to stand on one foot. She doesn't want her baby sister to sit in her chair or play with her trains or wear her new dresses. But she does want her baby sister to sleep in her bed.

As we-the-family near the day when our three becomes four, Mama still can't quite believe her tiny baby adorable is so grown. It did fly. It really, really did.

... a little rest

Each time our girl crawls into her bed, for nap or nighttime, we-the-parents begin the countdown. It's the countdown to noise, running, comfort and disentanglement.

Our daily exercise in emergency response usually begins with the sounds of our tiny girl's cries, sometimes even screams. These cries coincide with the rapid approach of another noise: the oh-so-soothing sound (complete with accompanying vibration) of the military aircraft that fly in increasingly lower flight patterns over our home.

Ordinarily, the tiny one is fascinated by all things aeronautical. We love to drive after jets and Coast Guard choppers in the car, or run after them at the park. We stop everything during mealtimes to run to the back door and peek up through the trees to catch a glimpse of whatever the moment's flying object may be.

Except when it's time to sleep.

When it's time for sleep, be it a short nap or a full night's slumber, those same super-exciting flying chunks of metal become the ghost in the corner, the monster under the bed, the terror in the closet. When it's time for sleep, the sound (and feel) of these aircraft send our girl into panic, and us into high-speed rescue mode.

Lately, we've had more frequent fly-overs. Last night, in fact, more than six super loud flying machines passed our house in an hour. Each time the tiny one cried out, each time Mama raced across the house, each time there were more tired tears, and longer moments of comfort needed before those little arms would release Mama's neck.

Today, during naptime, same thing. In fact the first words our tiny one spoke as Mama went to rescue her from bed were, "Mama, something's always making noise out there and waking me up".

So this evening, we-the-parents prepared once again for the onslaught of aviation action. Except for some reason, Uncle Sam's flyboys are off duty this evening. We've only had the pleasure of one flyby. And this time, the girl did not awaken.

Perhaps it's sheer exhaustion. Perhaps she's getting used to them again. Whatever the cause, the small, sleepy girl is finally getting some rest. She's sleeping so hard, in fact, that when Dadoo went in to check on her, she didn't even move as he removed her safety supply of nighttime friends*: two Pez dispensers (one bunny, one clown, both empty and lying under her stomach), 3 race cars (Lightning McQueen, El Segundo, and Cheerios, also lying beneath her stomach) and 1 stuffed rabbit (in red evening coat with carrot, this too, lying under her stomach).

Sweet dreams.

*The nighttime friends supply was once down to a mere five count of soft, furry things. It now includes the aforementioned pez dispensers, race cars and rabbit, as well as the bigger Bunny Hop, the smaller Yellow Bunny, Cupcake the cat, Otter, Cinderella (yeah, hard plastic), Leopard, Owl, Baby, and Lion. Sometimes we also include Thomas, Percy and Toby (the trains) and depending on the night, Hermit (no misspelling) the frog. She keeps saying her bed is too small ...

. . . a quick panic, followed by dessert

Dadoo & Averie in living room.

Overheard by Mama:

Averie: (Screaming) AHHHHHH! Uhhhhh! Oh No!
Dadoo: (Running out of kitchen) Averie, what's happened?
Averie: Ahhh! Mosquito! Mosquito! Mosquito! Oh no!
Dadoo: Well, that's a mosquito hawk. It's not bad. Remember, we like them.
Averie: Ahhhh! Ahhhh!

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: No.

Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: No.

Thwack! Thwack! Bang! Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: Yes.

Averie: You did?
Dadoo: Yes, Averie. Don't open the door, ok?
Averie: Oh, ok, Dadoo.


. . .

Later, at dinner:

Dadoo: Averie, would you like some cake?
Averie: Oh! Sure! Sure I would. It's in the kitchen. I saw it there. I better go check on it. You stay right here, ok? I'll be right back.

. . .
*Um, yes, it's been awhile. Life, etc. More soon. Well, hopefully.

. . . a serious face

She is tiny, but she is fierce. No rain's gonna mess with her. Nope.

. . . blueberries at the park

The park ... a blanket ... some blueberries ... and a pretty girl.

Summer, beautiful.

. . . a need for personal space

This morning, at the sink.

Mama is spritzing the girl's curls with detangler, attempting to remove the stickiness leftover from last night's sucker.

Dadoo is wiping banana off the girl's cheeks and chin, leftover from this morning's breakfast.

The girl is wrapped up in her 'beauty cape', struggling against her parents and desperately trying to reach her ladybug toothbrush.

Mama: spritz, sprinz, spray, spray.
Dadoo: wipe, wipe, rub, rub.

Averie, (loudly, in frustration): "No guys! Stop washing me!"

We-the-parents: "Sorry, Averie. Mama and Dadoo are sorry."