Fireman Small

Delia has a book about Fireman Small, who saves the day when a family has a fire in their home. Today, we went to a fire station to see the real deal. The fireman who greeted us was more like a "fireboy." When we asked his age, he said, "almost 20," as in," I'm 18, but I don't want to tell you that."

He was great with the kids, though. Delia loved sitting in the truck. She tolerated the siren. And she wanted nothing to do with fireboy once he donned all of his scary-looking gear.








I can't get this picture to flip for some reason, but I thought it was too cute not to share.

These eggs have crackers in them!

Easter morning started like any other for our little princess...






...then Delia discovered someone had dropped eggs full of crackers, M&M's, and play-doh all over Grandma and Grandpa's house. Wow!







Later, we visited Memommie to bring her Easter basket.





Finally, Delia needed some time to just chill out and read.





"Can a girl get a little privacy, please?"

These bubbles are mine

We seem to be working on a lot of important lessons all at once lately: potty-training; saying please, thank you, and sorry; and returning to a sleep schedule after daylight savings time messed us up.

We had a minor victory in these pursuits yesterday on the way home from Atlanta. Delia was kicking David's seat, and we told her she couldn't listen to her CD until she stopped. We shut the music off, then heard a plaintive, "sorry" from the back seat. That was the first time she said the word without us pestering her about it for 15 minutes. Success! We actually taught her something.

Sharing, however, is another matter. Grandma bought Delia a great bubble toy that is designed for toddlers and won't spill. However, our sweet girl was very reluctant to let the rest of us touch her new prize.





Grandma wanted to show Delia how to blow the bubbles, but didn't get too far with her.



Great-grandpappy had better luck.






"I like when you tickle me, but you still can't touch my bubbles!"

Big bed, small girl

Delia's new "shurniture" arrived yesterday. When David saw it, he said he had the feeling we had purchased her a car, or something equally inappropriate for her age. Delia seemed to love her bed, though. We'll just have to find her a step stool!

From generation to generation

More experienced stay-at-home mothers have told me that the days are long but the years go by quickly. I was thinking about that this weekend on the way home from my grandmother's funeral in Boca Raton. (A 12-hour drive during which Delia slept approximately one hour. Talk about a long day!)

It doesn't seem like that long ago that I was spending school vacations in Boca learning the rules to Canasta again, going out for pizza or the early-bird special, and explaining to my grandmother why watching PBS was not as good as going out to the movies.

How strange to be in Boca with my own family, hanging out with all my married cousins.
It was a sad, stressful couple of days, but it was nice to see everyone. We all have certainly scattered in recent years.

Delia had a chance to see her cousin Eli for the first time in a year. They were pretty cute together. They had fun watching each other spin and there were more than a few hugs and kisses exchanged. Their great-grandma would have enjoyed watching them, I think.


"This is my cousin, and that is her sippy cup."







Eli's Mommy, Sarah, knows all the best songs.
















"That girl kissed me!"







Eli and his family had to catch a plane. Who would entertain Delia now?



Hooray for cousin Daniel! We would have paid him good money to drive home with us. Delia found him to be quite hilarious.

Don't underestimate the strength of a frightened mother

We have always favored older homes. They can be quirky, but they also have unexpected charms. Our apartments in Montgomery, our place in Gloucester, our condo in Salem were all in older buildings and we loved them all. Sure, David's apartment in Montgomery was freezing in the winter, the floors in Gloucester sloped, and the HVAC in Salem needed some serious help, but these were small prices to pay (mostly) for the "cool" factor of older homes.

We live in a relatively old house here, too (at least by the local standards). The doors have been the biggest challenge. The hallway bathroom latch doesn't catch. Our bedroom door won't fit inside its frame. Oh, and the doorknobs all over the house stick.

This morning, I walked into Delia's closet to find her something to wear, and she shut the door behind me. This isn't unusual. It is, however, unusual for her to turn the knob. Which she did. From the inside, I turned the knob to the right. It wouldn't budge. I turned it to the left. It started to unscrew and threatened to fall off altogether. I was trapped.

It was 9:30 in the morning. I started counting hours until David came home from work. What kind of damage could Delia do alone in the house during 9 hours? Would she call her friends over to come party? Would they break into the apple juice and drink themselves silly? Would she draw on the cat? Put her babies in the oven?

I started to freak out a little bit. I don't think I could legitimately call it a panic attack, but its the closest I've ever come to experiencing one.

So I kicked the door down.

Really.

I ruined the doorframe.

Anyone know a reliable handyman?

The American Dream:

Sesame Street, a sippy cup full of milk, and a potty.