Talk the talk

Rachel has been talking up a storm for several months now, and while most of you have heard the wonderful singing part, you haven’t heard much of her actually talking. It goes on incessantly. ALL. DAY. LONG.

So I thought I’d share.

I was showing her the pictures in her monthly letter the other day and she just started telling me what she was doing in each of the pictures. I went back to the beginning, started recording, and got her descriptions of all of the pictures.


What a difference a few days makes.

Three days ago, this was the forecast for Hurricane Ike:

And that would be San Antonio, right in the middle of the path that was forecast. We stocked up on supplies, local weather guy was predicting 100 MPH winds, and it was general doom and gloom us.

Of course, we all know how difficult it is to predict the track of storms, as has been evident by all of the doom and gloom that just didn’t come true this year.

This is Ike’s current track:

At this rate, it looks like Mom and Dad may get more rain out of it than we will. I’ve been watching the skies all day, and we’ve had some beautiful high clouds, but that’s it. No rain, no wind.

I hope we get some rain tomorrow, but with as far off as the forecasts have been all week, I won’t be surprised if we get left high and dry from Ike. It’s a lot like Rita a few years ago…pouring rain in Houston, just three hours east, and not a drop of rain here.

Two years, three months

Dear Rachel,

Yesterday, you turned 27 months old. It’s been yet another busy month, and it’s going to get pretty hectic this weekend as we prepare for what might be a really big storm, and no, I’m not talking about a temper tantrum you’re going to throw.


Your big thing this month has been the use of pronouns. About three weeks ago, you looked at me after I’d gotten off the phone and said, “Dada talk to Mama on he phone.” While it wasn’t exactly correct, it was a start. Since then you’ve been calling everything “he,” “she,” “her,” “hith,” etc. You’re still trying to figure out gender on some things, like you called your cabbage patch baby, Kinzie, “him” when you went to bed the other night. I guess it’s because we don’t talk about Kinzie as much as we talk about Andy, so you didn’t quite know what she was.


You’ve started calling us by different names this month as well. One day, you just started saying “Mommy” and “Daddy” instead of “Mama” and “Dada.” I guess that means you’re growing up a little more.


Your other big thing has been your sentences. My God, can you ever string the words together. It’s funny to listen to you try to sort through everything. I’m sure that, in your head, you know exactly what you want to say, but your mouth just doesn’t quite keep up with your brain. You’ll start sentences two and three times just to get the right conjugations and plurals/non-plurals on words. The great thing is that you realize when you’ve made a mistake, and you’ll start over so that you can correct it.


You have been using your pink stool all over the house, and getting into all kinds of things that we don’t necessarily want you getting into. For a while, it seemed like every time we asked you to come join us, you’d have to go get your stool first: “Dit my pink sool?” A couple of weeks ago, you got your stool and stood up on it to see the biscuits that Mama had taken out of the oven. Then you reached out to grab one and burned your arm on the hot pan. Since then, we’ve made you keep your stool in the bathroom so you can use it to brush your teeth, but nothing else.


Speaking of brushing your teeth, what is up with you lately? Sometimes you’ll happily stand there brushing your teeth, and other times it’s like pulling teeth to get you to brush them. You started this thing where we’ll hand you the toothbrush and you’ll stand there with it, waving it in the air, and when we take it from you and try to brush your teeth for you, you hold your hands over your mouth. Then even other times, you’ll stand there and ASK us to brush your teeth for you. I have no idea what’s gotten into you, and we never know if it’s going to be a happy brushing day, a mommy and daddy brushing day, or a fighting to the death brushing day.


Another thing you’ve started to do this month is to get out of bed. When we converted your crib to a toddler bed, we went out and got you a soft gate to keep you from falling out at night. That soft gate doesn’t completely cover the side of your bed, and you’ve figured out how to shimmy your skinny little butt around the side so you can get out of your bed. The problem is that you shimmy over a short wooden rail, but it’s too high for you to get back into bed, so when we come in your room to scold you for playing when you should be sleeping, you can’t get back into bed without our help. There have been a couple of times in the past week when we heard you out of bed at 10 PM, when we’re getting ready to go to bed. Staying up that late doesn’t make you the most pleasant person to be around the next morning.


There have been plenty of times this past month when we’ve been ready to sell you to the lowest bidder on eBay. Your terrible twos have come on full force, with all of this wonderful screaming and crying, and in spite of that, we still love you. Just know that when we punish you, it’s because we want you to grow up to be a wonderful, well adjusted, polite human being, not a Republican.


We love you very much. Please don’t make us sell you.


You say it’s your birthday?

Today, Monica turns 30 for the second time. When I put the banner up for September, she looked at me and said “That looks like way more than 31 candles.”


You see, that’s what happens when you get old. Your eyes start to go, and you think you’re seeing things. There are, in fact, exactly 31 candles on the banner.


It’s been a heck of a year. Here’s to decades more birthdays together. Happy Birthday, Moni.

EDIT: Fine, fine…I’ll admit, there were actually 33 candles in the banner, but that’s hardly “way more” than 31. It has been appropriately photoshopped so there are now EXACTLY 31 candles. You didn’t even notice the difference, did you? But at least my wife can now get on with her life knowing that, once again, she was right. Are you happy now?