Putting the smack down

Charlotte, my 1 year old, likes to express herself. She smiles, she coos, grimaces, raises her eyebrows, frowns, pouts, screams, cries, and babbles. She also likes to express herself with her hands: waving, shaking her fist, grabbing her hair, pulling on her toes, playing with toys, sucking her thumb, and laying some serious smack down on her parents. What? the food's not to your liking, smack the high chair tray! What? not the right toys? smack the floor. what? too tired to keep your head up? smack your head, alternating hands.
I love that babies/early stage toddlers have such a rich battery of non-verbal skills at their ready. Sometimes I find myself telling my 3 1/2 year old to use her words(instead of whining or blubbering). I watch people, unable to communicate efficiently, politely, or comprehensively, and I think, what if we all just smacked our head every now and then in frustration? What if, instead of tyring to come up with the perfect phrase to impress on someone just how intellectually astute we are, we simply sat down and started untying our shoes and drooling?
I think this world could benefit from the winsome ways of little ones.

ps-I really enjoy finding out from my trusty spell check that there were "no misspellings".

It's like Thomas the Train episode #47

Sometimes the most memorable scenes from my day exist in a haze of sniffles, tears raining down like Pagliacci in the final act. Not my own, but my 3 year old. Today my husband had a company picnic(thanks to the "Man" for a steady paycheck and health insurance!!)at Oaks Park in Sellwood. Fun was had by all-with only a few bumps. So the park has this little steam engine train that makes its way around the grounds amidst toots and whistles and a semi-comfy place to sit. Not a bad choice for two weary parents, one hepped up preschooler and a slightly delirious 1 year old. So we wait in line, it's getting a bit sunnier than the weather people had predicted. There's an amazon boy in back of me alternately breathing down my neck and jumping around like a crazed monkey. Abigail, the 3 year old, is waiting patiently with only minor queries as to the trains whereabouts. Then, after about 15 minutes of waiting, shift our stinkin' weight around from flip-flop to flip-flop, a harried gentleman comes by and says that due to mechanical difficulties, the train will be out of commission for the rest of the day. Then come the aforementioned tears. You would think we had told her that we had personally taken Santa out for a late night drive and then shot him out the passenger window going 60 on the interstate. Luckily, ice cream revived her spirits and we spent the rest of the afternoon in slight calm and partial order.

Hello Kitty

My first journal entry was penned in a Hello Kitty diary given to me by my parents at an airport in 1985. I was a wee lass, knowing not much of anything. Except that the fried food I had eaten was causing a certain queasy feeling in my 8 year old gut. My parents and I comprised a small military family gathering, a little camo-tableau; my father about to deploy to a post in Germany with my mother and I along for the ride. Not an auspicious beginning, really. But now, 21 years later I am still looking for a forum in which my feelings can be vented. I found such comfort in the strawberry smelling ink of my HK pen, scratching out my first few words of immature rebellion. Not that I have matured all that much. But at least the technology has. I continue to find comfort in writing, and embrace this new venue at which I can turn my head. This blogging realm.
I still have that shiny, hard plastic journal tucked away amidst boxes and spiders in our basement. I haven't cracked it in quite some time. Maybe my daughters will find a few entries amusing when they get a bit older. Who knows-most things about myself become funny with a little distance. Tune in for more musings later...