This is What Happens When You Underestimate a Toddler

When the big kids were one I remember thinking how big they seemed to me, mostly because I had no basis for comparison. Now that R is one and I have a five-year-old and a three-going-on-thirty-year-old, she seems much more baby-ish to me. That being said, I often forget about what she is capable of doing physically (like her new habit of just standing up in her high chair when she's done eating). My tendency to forget really backfired yesterday when I bought P a marshallow dream bar (Starbucks name for a Rice Krispy Treat) as a treat while we were out on girls day. While I was loading groceries into the car I put the bar, in the bag, on the back of the cart, presumably out of R's reach, only to turn around and see this:

That's right, her two little front teeth allowed her to chomp off a corner before I could (take this picture and...) get it from her. But oh well, she worked hard for it, lived to tell about it, and gave me this great photo op for her scrapbook!

R is ONE!

And there it is, ladies and gentleman! Just like that our baby girl is ONE!

Here's to the late night feedings, hugs and kisses, lost pacifiers, toothless smiles, messy diapers, countless tears, new discoveries, love, and adventures that have made Rogue Scout's first year all that I prayed for and more!

We love you, Sweet Baby R, and can't wait to see who you are growing in to!

Fire Team Highlights

John went back to work today. When we were putting the big kids to bed last night we were trying to prepare them for not seeing John when they woke up in the morning and they kept asking "so, he's going back to Afghanistan?". I kept telling them no, that he would just be working at his company, the building next to BN, which they are familiar with from FRG meetings, numerous trips to S1, etc. When it finally sunk in that I was talking about a building that she is intimately familiar with, P looked at me with confusion written all over her face and said "Daddy works there?". She had no idea.

Skip forward a few minutes from that conversation and P and I are talking about someone who was poisoned (yes, I know my kids talk about weird things -- do you know their parents?). Here's the play by play.

P: So, he was poisoned, like the Man in Black?
Me: What?
P: You know, like the Man in Black was poisoned on the train car in Pioneer Park?
Me: No, that was not the Man in Black, that was President Harding.
P: Oh, but the Man in Black is still dead, right?
Me: Yes, he's still dead
And then Gunnar pops out of bed and, in his super-sad-almost-in-tears voice, says "the Man in Black is dead?"
Seriously, I could not write this stuff.

In other news, Baby Rogue is one, and I'm not writing a big entry about it because I'm still sort of in denial. How did a year go by so quickly?

As If...

I can remember, vividly, a conversation that John and I had almost exactly two years ago, weighing the possibility of having another baby.

On Friday R will be one! I can't believe we ever debated bringing her sweet little soul into the world!