You know what Mama says...

If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.
You may not hear from me for a year or two. Nora is officially an obstreperous toddler.

Going O'side

Eric left the hat boxes in toddler range this morning. Hilarity ensued. For the record, Nora chose those (matching!) gloves of Daddy's and Mommy's hat and put them on all by herself.
Lazlo is impressed.

open? OOOOpen? OPEN!

Ever since Christmas time, Nora has developed a peculiar obsession with opening things. It can be anything: a box of wipes, a grocery bag, a new pair of tights. The joy is in the opening. I guess that was to be expected. The part that I didn't expect is that she's getting good at it.

Kat had to work this weekend, so Nora and I had some time to hang out. In the last few hours, I've seen her figure out how to open the following two items, which she then ate:

Here she is enjoying the fruits of her labor:

And going back for more:

I know I'm probably being ridiculous, but this is another one of those bittersweet things where it makes me a little sad to see how fast she's growing up, but it also makes me really proud of her too. In any case, it's a fun little phase. Turns out there's a lot of things that need to be opened, so it's really not hard to keep her entertained.

It was a good, quiet weekend, and it left me with plenty of happy little memories to smile about as another crazy week begins.

Dirty Harry

Check out the squint on this kid...

I like to think of this as a cute affectation, but realistically, I know that it probably means corrective lenses in the near future.

Still, it's pretty adorable.

Adventures in Solitude (by Kat)

And, ugh, as well.

We just got back from a very nice trip to Minnesota and our prolonged Christmas is finally over. And with that, we have a toddler who is struggling to get back into her routine and is showing all of her two-year old self in the process. "If I can't step on your feet, can I kick your shins? If I can't kick your shins, can I hang on your coat? If I can't hang on your coat, can I whine incessantly? If I can't...."

After much angst (which it would enlighten no one to detail), Nora is asleep and Eric and I are studiously ignoring each other. We both spent the day in clinic and that can wear out your talking brain. I figured this would be as good a time as any to reintroduce myself to the persons who occasionally stop by this blog.

Hi. My name is Kat. I am a terrible blogger.

I have to admit that the holidays didn't inspire a lot of original thought in me this year. Except for the fleeting thought that I should start an offshoot seasonal blog documenting the appalling lack of taste in some of the festive displays around Central Pennsylvania. Specifically, there are some incredible, unintentionally blasphemous nativity scenes. Seriously, who thinks that it honors Jesus to have an inflatable nativity scene comprised entirely of giant teddy bears? Also, who doesn't find that creepy? And why, God, why did I not have a camera?

I also know that a select few people are scouring the blog waiting to hear my test results from last week. And I know that the rest of the world is divided definitively into "Who cares?" and "Wha?" And I don't want to talk about me. I want to talk about Nora, who is cute. So there.

OK, fine, Mom. Nora's not being so cute today, anyway. Here's the short, short, short story: I have had hip pain since I was a teenager. It has been physical therapy-ized, surgerized, explained away and come back. I've been told that it was a muscle strain, dislocation, a couple different kinds of fracture, all in my head, etc. This time, they've decided that I have hip dysplasia (yes, the same thing that they put down German Shepherds for...got it out of your system? Good, let's move on.). The left is worse than the right and the femur necks are apparently oddly shaped as well. Note to self: try to avoid using the word "deformity" when talking to a patient.

That's great (well, no it's not), but it doesn't explain the pain. There's no cartilage tear, which is what the test last week looked for. It's great news, since I don't have to have surgery yet, but I still feel like a jackass for complaining about pain when nothing is turning up. The sports medicine doctor wants me to see an orthopedic surgeon, and I agreed, but I'm left with a fatalistic attitude and an overwhelming desire to drop the whole damn issue.

There. Now you know. If you made it this long into the post, I suppose you deserve some sort of consolation prize. Here is your obligatory cute picture of Nora. She's checking out the fire in the fireplace.

Oh, and the title? It's a song so good that you should be paying me for encouraging you to Google it.