It runs in the family

As my mom was cleaning out the folders upon folders of photos and videos taken of me and Rowan over the past several months, she came upon this. Taken at bedtime back in April, I think it is evidence that Rowan has clearly learned all her best moves from me. We have, of course, invited Daisy to tour with us once we lock down a manager.

Deflated

Sunday I went with my Dad to Trader Joe's. He got all kinds of naughty snacks that mom usually leaves on the shelves, and I got this handsome red balloon. One day later and it may not be afloat anymore, but there's still plenty of fun to be had.

Biker chick

When I was just a little kid, my dad bought me my first bike -- a pink and purple Kettler Kettrike. When Mommy made the argument for buying the gender-neutral version, Daddy insisted that I would never be willing to turn my bicycle over to a younger sibling, so we might as well make it girly. And Daddy told me when I learned to pedal the Kettler, we'd get a big girl bike.

Fast forward about two years and I'm still not peddling the Kettler, but I did pedal this other bike of mine (also pink) and Daddy said pedaling is pedaling...let's get this kid a big girl bike! And so it has come to pass that last Wednesday another pink bike was added to my collection. The Trek Mystic, tricked out with some flashy streamers and a bell. I can't pedal it yet, but boy do I look cute trying.

And with this major milestone achievement, I would just like Rowan to know...you still can't have my Kettrike.

September 2007: Taking the Kettler for a spin around the city

Showing the crowd a little enthusiasm for the helmet-fitting process

And here's where they took my bike away to "tune it up"...as if I didn't know they were just taking it out for one last spin in the back parking lot.

Hi, chair

Life as a newborn, from a culinary standpoint, at least, is rather bland. Every day the menu is exactly the same. Until one day, about four months after your arrival, at which time they start to serve up something similar to what cardboard would taste like if you soaked it in water and warmed it up a bit in the microwave. The trade off is that you get to eat this repellent concoction in the comfort of a high chair. Sophisticated seating with a cushy seat and a spacious tray.


Unless you happen to have a big sister at home. Then you enjoy it wherever you can get it.


Which is why poor Rowan has had to endure the rice cereal without the prestige that goes along with sitting in a high chair. Since we tend to eat most meals together, I always get dibs on the high chair and Rowan has to sit in her foamy chair on the counter.

Sure, it's not ideal. But Rowan hasn't said a single word about it. She's a trooper!

Just last week, though, after 2 months of foamy chair dining, Rowan finally got her first seat in the Peg Perego. She said it's like getting the keys to a Ferrari when you've been driving a Vespa your whole life. I told her not to get too comfortable.

Here I am back in May 2007, sitting in my high chair for the very first time. I'm clearly smiling because I haven't yet had my first heaping spoonful of rice cereal. Yep, this is more like how I remember the experience:

Rowan tries to lounge in the foamy chair. It's about as easy as it looks.

Rowan enjoys the finer things in life.

Me (July 2007)

Rite of passage

As is the case when joining any prestigious organization, becoming an official member of this household requires survival of a hazing ritual heard about only in whispers and mysterious rumors. If humiliation were sold in terry cloth, it would look an awful lot like this:

Rowan wonders if membership was really worth this.

Me (back in the day)

Better late than never

Me, my dad and Rowan celebrated Father's Day a couple weeks ago and cheesed it up for the camera right before bedtime.