The title, in case you are curious is a rewrite of The Yellow Rose of Texas by the Daddy person. I won't finish the verse, but I suspect soon you will guess where I was going with the lyrics. Aunt Brite and I have done everything we can to try and prevent Squeaker from getting sick. We have tried to avoid hanging out with sick children, eschewed the nursery, skipped visits with her grandparents, burnt incense, sacrificed live ... Ok, so you get the idea. As was bound to happen, we failed. Squeaker picked up the flu that has been going around. It apparently has a two to three day gestation period and has a cut a wide swath through her friends and their parents (for the record, the Daddy person is about halfway through the gestation period now). Squeaker started crying at half past two Friday morning. The Daddy person went in to check on her and found rice on her sheets, rice on Hopa, rice on Blankey, rice just about everywhere. As we discovered over the next three hours, throwing up is hard on a little person. When we throw up, we know what is happening. We know to spit. We know to gargle some water. Squeaker hasn't learned that stuff yet. She doesn't know what "spit" means. I tried to explain. I tried saying it slowly and clearly. Squeaker didn't get it, which didn't make things any easier for her. Aunt Brite came over around 5 am. By that point squeaker was running on empty and slept for a while on her lap. That lasted for a little while before she got sick again. As some point she had been asleep and stable for a while so Aunte Brite put her to bed. Unfortunately stable didn't last and Blankey got a second trip through the washing machine. Hopa's reflexes seem to be better, she's has survived thus far with only one sponge bath. Blankey is actually back in the washing machine now, hopefully for the last time this weekend.
How 'bout some fun news?
As I mentioned a while ago Squeaker has gotten good at making animal sounds. She's picked most of them up from her reading. I realized recently that most children think house cats say meow, a quiet, delicate meow. When Squeaker makes the cat sound it comes across more like lion being introduced to waterboarding. If you have been to our house and met our cats you will understand why. In general she's getting good at using some simple phrases. Her "bye bye da da"s are clear and very sweet. She's also beginning to learn her way around town. In the car she'll say "Brah Mack Howse" when she realizes they are close to Aunte Brite's house.
Aunt Brite and I decided that Hope Bunny (aka Hopa) and her Blankey are too valuable to risk outside of the crib. Recently we started making a ritual of putting Hopa down to sleep in the morning. She is tired after an evening of watching over squeaker. Squeaker has picked up on this and usually says good night with a "shhhh, shhhh", so we'll remember not to wake Hopa. Squeaker had a visit from some of her relatives this week. One of them, let's call him "John", settled in on the couch while Squeaker was playing and everyone else was chatting. Squeaker noticed that "John" had drifted off to sleep so she came over to the others and said "shhhh, shhhh".
We spend a little time wandering around Tyson's Corner Mall last weekend. She enjoyed pointing out 'bay-bees' in every stroller, but the thing she enjoyed the most warmed the Daddy person's heart. The catfish and bass in the pond at LL Bean. I'll end with this video of her playing with one of our cats. Be sure to notice her interest in the camera. Have a good week.
