it's so quiet here

When we got to Utah, my daughter was awed at the idea of doing our laundry in our very own house! And last week when we turned on the "heater" she asked where the thing was with the "pipes" and was confused, because how do you heat up a house without a radiator? or two, or three? Well, you can do it, but it certainly is heat without character, that's for sure. No hissing, no clicking, no clacking. No loud random bangings in the middle of the night. Yes, middle America, we may have lost a burn hazard and gained some extra floor space wih central heating, but it came at a cost.



( I won't say the same about the in-home laundromat.)

I'm a wimp

It's time to start the sleep training. It's been time for a little while, but I'm having a hard time getting up for it. I know that after a few nights of letting my little girl cry it out, she'll be fine, and I'll get more sleep. But.

I think I'm going soft in my old(er) age.

Still. She's just 4.5 months. And sometimes she'll sleep through the night on her own.

Sometimes.

Also, she's really talented at hysterical crying. Fantastic at it, actually. Which, you know, hinders my desire to attempt the whole rigamarolle. (That's probably spelled wrong. Feel free to correct.) I think she knows this. She knows I'm weak.

But I just read through my know-it-all pediatrics book and I've been induldging my baby in all the things I shouldn't. Picking her up. Feeding her even if maybe she's not hungry. Letting her come to bed with me. I mean, of course she'd rather snuggle up with mom for a little while than sleep in her own bed. But it's all about forming habits now.

I'm just having a hard time giving up the sleep required in order to get her to sleep more. I know, I know. In the long run... for now I guess I just have enough stamina for the short run.

So. At least I'm thinking about it. That's a start.

green pants

The dreaded grass stain appeared yesterday. Actually, not so dreaded for me, a mother living in the era of Shout and Spray n' Wash and other happy titled stain removers. But for my daughter, oh my, those grass stains appeared on her new pink school jeans and her life was ruined, RUINED, I tell you. She sobbed and sobbed. She's headed for Broadway, that one. And then she choked out something I think we all metaphorically wish for from time to time. " I wish these pants were green (sob, sniff) because then it wouldn't matter if I got grass stains."