Of pee pees and promotions

With the blur of holidays, birthdays, parties and vacation over the past several weeks, I somehow failed to acknowledge exciting news from the department of Rowan.

So late last fall, my mom went to school and proudly announced to the teachers that Rowan was making pee pees on the potty. But despite the fact that Rowan was occasionally using the potty at home, every time she'd ask to sit on it at school, that's all she would do.

Just sit.

But just when those teachers were beginning to think that my mom was all talk, Rowan went on the potty for the first (and second) time at school! Here's the official report:

And when regular school resumed shortly after her second birthday, Rowan was moved to the 2-year-old room! Here's her official promotion announcement:

The move was good and bad news. It was bad news because Rowan (and, okay, my Mom) LOVED her teachers. It was hard to say goodbye.

It was good news in that they took down her photo from the class bulletin board, which was not exactly the most flattering picture ever:


While Rowan isn't sporting a mouth full of water for the new class picture, sadly she looks even more bummed than she does in this one.

Oh, well. There's always next year.

The nickname game

It is not often that I have cause to talk about mongooses (mongeese?) on my blog, but today is the day! Because in order to appreciate this story, you need to be familiar with this guy:

Rikki Tikki Tavi

One day, my dad decided to add a little embellishment (and a nod to a cartoon he watched as a child) to the simple nickname of "Rowie." This is how Rowan became Rowie Towie Tavi.

As time went on, the name grew once again, and she became Rowie Towie Taffy Apple.

I, not being completely clear on the cleverness behind her nickname, started to call her Rowan Taffy Apple.

Or Rowan Taffy.

Or Rowan Taff, when we're keeping it casual.

This story ends up being funny for two reasons -- primarily because Rowan actually believes that her name is Rowan Taffy Apple.

And also because a couple months ago, my teacher asked my mom if we call her Rowan Taffy Apple because she's round. Like a taffy apple.

My mom set the record straight, but not before enjoying a good laugh.

And while Rowan pretended not to understand the conversation, in her head she was all like, Hey, this is MUSCLE!

Transfer student

Prior to our trip to Colorado earlier this month, there was much buzz around the house about ski school. While we had to work the system last year to get me admitted, this year I would finally be of appropriate age and potty-trained status. I was stoked to ride the school bus (see "ski shuttle") and to go to ski school every day!

But my first two days of ski school, I opted out of the afternoon lesson. And on "race day," when all the parents came to see us race each other 50 feet in the name of glory, I was nowhere to be seen.

Turns out I was inside perfecting my coloring techniques.

My family -- a collection of ski and snowboard enthusiasts -- was concerned, to say the least. They wondered, Was it still too hard for me to make it through the day without a nap?

Did I just not like to ski?!

So two days before we went home my Dad and Poppy decided to take me out themselves, and we skied for four hours.

FOUR. HOURS.

And only one cocoa break!

And the next day we went farther up the mountain and skied for three more hours.

Despite concerns about my love of the sport, the fact of the matter was that I just recognized that with all the cocoa and play breaks those ski school kids take, I'd never make the 2024 Olympic Downhill Qualifiers.

Leashes: Turns out they're not just for dogs.

Good thing, too, because while my speed is remarkable,

my ability to stop is not.

Bitty pig, please

Thanks to this book, I spent the entire ride home from school on Monday campaigning for a bitty pig.

I explained that my bitty pig would sleep in my room with me, go to the park with me (on days that were not snowy) and sit in my lap. It would not, however, sit in my mom's lap or Rowan's lap, as my bitty pig would bite them.

Despite my compelling argument in favor of the pig (I even offered to take it outside so it could poop in the grass), I was completely, absolutely and 100 percent negged. My mom's not even going to "think about it." We won't even "see."

Oh, cruel world.

Give me a hand

Like any kid my size, I am a creature of habit. I find comfort in routine.

As part of my morning ritual, after quietly waiting for Mr. Holiday to light up, I go and wake up my mom. And the first thing I often ask her to do is put her palm out so that I can rest the side of my head on it.

I realize that this is likely not a widely-adopted practice, but to understand its origin, perhaps I could show you this:

me @ 6 mos.

Since I was a really small baby, I've found something about a hand on the side of my face to be very soothing. Many nights it's how my mom helped me to fall asleep.

But perhaps it really all dates back to this:

me in one of my very first photo ops

My mom says that with four years gone by in the blink of an eye, it's nice to know that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Harvard Early Admissions, are you watching this??

This break from the January 2011 Steamboat Update is brought to you by the letters W, S, R, D, E and X. And the movie "The Letter Factory," which made this moment possible.

Rowan loves this movie SO much that for nearly a month she would ask for it almost every time we got in the car. Unfortunately, "Guh-ree" wasn't in the Rowan-English dictionary, so her requests were met with lots of "Uhhh, what do you want??" and blank stares.

She quickly made up for all that lost time by dedicating almost every letter in the alphabet (and its coordinating sound) to memory and practicing them regularly in the tub.

I, on the other hand, still dedicate the majority of bathtime to trying to stealthily drink the water. In my defense, though, I do already know all my letters.

That's snow fun

While there were so many exciting things to do in Steamboat, one of the greatest activities was right outside our own front door.

No, literally. It was right outside our front door!

Seventy-two inches of snow on the ski mountain made for some impressive mountains of our own on either side of the walkway leading up to my Grandma and Poppy's front door. Using nothing but my imagination and my posterior, I created a winter amusement park, complete with a slide.

Rowan passed on the free admission after rejecting every pair of mittens/gloves my mom tried to put on her, then falling face first in the snow on her way down the porch stairs.

These extreme winter sports aren't for everyone.

Look at me when I'm reading to you

As we prepared to head to Colorado earlier this month, the house was abuzz with talk of Rowan's first ski lesson. And while she never said much about it, the way she insisted on having her feet measured when we headed to the ski shop on our first day was proof that she was really excited, too.



Three days, two pink eyes and one infected ear later, though, Rowan's powder-based aspirations were dashed. Instead of the skis, Rowan had to settle for the stacks.

The library stacks.

Fortunately, Steamboat recently renovated their library and between long mopes around the house, Rowan was able to enjoy the large aquarium, get some important work done on the computer and host an impromptu story hour of sorts.

The lack of eye contact from her audience didn't seem to phase her in the least.

Rowan has the floor

So, it's been a while. According to the rotation of the Earth, it's been 14 days.

According to what it felt like to be on vacation with us in Colorado, it's been approximately two-and-a-half months. I don't really understand how the math works out, but my mom assures me it's correct.

Thought I'd break it down for you in a few posts, rather than trying to keep you awake through the whole detailed recount. Guess I'll start with the most notable part of our trip -- the nightly drama involved in getting us to sleep.

While Rowan typically spends an hour on the first night of every trip to Colorado "working out her issues" (e.g., screaming) in the Pack N' Play, every night thereafter tends to be drama-free. But now that she's 36 inches, those short netted walls are more of a subtle suggestion of where she should sleep, rather than a confining structure.

Hence, Project Big Girl Bed commenced on our first night in town.

Given our shared disdain for the unfamiliar, it surprised no one that Rowan was unhappy with the new sleeping arrangements, despite the fact that I was in the bed right next to her. And because Rowan believes that anything that's worth doing is worth doing as dangerously as possible, rather than get down from her new bed by crawling around the siderail, she catapulted herself off the rail, ricocheted off my bed and met the siderail once again, but this time with the back of her head.

Which is about the time that Mom and Dad decided to abort mission and settle for getting Rowan to sleep in their bed. An undertaking that took approx. five hours.

FIVE HOURS.

And that basically set the tone for the rest of the trip, in which our average bedtime was around 10:30 pm MT, despite the fact that bedtime efforts generally started between 7:30 pm and 8 pm.

Which is why it should come as no surprise that on multiple occasions throughout the trip, Rowan could be found taking a quick catnap in some unusual places. Like the 2-hour nap she took on the hardwood floor between the kitchen counter and the dining room table. Or the brief snooze she took on the tile floor next to the garage door. Or that time she fell asleep in the club chair with one boot on, one boot off, and a purse still slung over her shoulder.

Yes, you could argue that it's kinda funny that Rowan had no issue curling up for a nap on hardwood or tile, but screamed in horror at the prospect of sleeping on a bed with a fluffy comforter and feather pillow.

Maybe it was the sleep starvation talking, but Mom and Dad said it wasn't THAT funny.

Project Big Girl Bed: EPIC FAIL

Computer tutor

When Grandma and Poppy came to stay last month, Mom temporarily relocated her office to the family room. The introduction of the computer into our main living space created an obsession with playing computer games -- not just for me, but Rowan, too.

Since Rowan's enthusiasm for computers has ended badly in the past (like the space bar key that she ripped off my dad's laptop keyboard a couple months ago), I giver her a hand whenever she wants to play. Here I am helping her coordinate wardrobes for Strawberry Shortcake and her friends.

(The password is notesfromgaga)

Despite the camaraderie it's building, my mom thinks the computer's new location is a bad idea for many reasons, including, but not limited to, the following:

1. A 2-ton computer on a folding table wobbles like a bobblehead. Not good.

2. A 2-year-old on a folding chair in front of a computer wobbles in an equally precarious fashion. Less good.

3. A member of this household RIPS THE KEYS OFF OF ELECTRONIC DEVICES. VERY BAD.

But like many decisions made under this roof, logic is not a key factor, and so the computer is staying. Thus, in the interest of space bar keys everywhere, I am trying to give Rowan a few pointers in how to respect the technology.

(The password is notesfromgaga)

You're SO MEAN.

Yep, you heard me right. I said it for the first time on Friday.

Dad was awfully hurt until I clarified that it was actually Mommy who was So Mean.

Mom hasn't really spent too long dwelling on it, though. Rather, she says she's been focusing her energy on prying the dagger from her heart.

Happy New Year!

Last week I heard my mom talking about going out on New Year's Eve. She said that she's not a fan because you have to pay a lot of money to get inside the place you're going, it's sometimes very hard to get something to drink and, afterwards, there are lots of crazy people on the streets.

So when we got an invitation to a New Year's Eve party on our block, I had my reservations. But we gave them a cake at the door and they let us in for free, there were juice boxes aplenty and the only crazy people we saw on the way home were us!

Clearly my mom's never been invited to any of the GOOD parties.

Happy New Year!!