Ceci n'est pas une bebe.

I keep calling her my baby, but look at her-- she's a kid. A kid in vaguely Communist-looking headgear.

We had a fabulous day at the farm yesterday with Ollie and Gus and their parents, but when I asked her about the day as I was putting her to bed, she kept telling me that we went to the park and she got to swing. Not wanting to make a liar out of her, we took her to the park this afternoon. Above, I finally figure out the "sport" setting on my camera in time to snap a photo during a game of "Catch You."

While Nora and I played, Rich flipped her car seat around to make it face forward. Another milestone accomplished. Sorry for the cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday I was sitting in the back seat with her on our way home from the hospital.

We made a huge deal out of flipping her car seat around, "big-girl style," and Nora's response was satisfyingly gleeful.

Although she seemed to second-guess some of Rich's lane changes.

Was she this sweaty when we left the park, or is this from the car ride?

Celebrating America's Small Farmers

Sometimes, having a kid means you get to do things that are totally fun, but that would seem creepy if you were all by yourself. Like driving to a farm and just hanging out watching their sheep for a long time.


Today was perfect for sheep watching. Blue skies, low humidity, and a couple of good pals available for a play date. We went to Turner Farm-- an oasis of good vibes in the middle of Cincinnati. It's also a stopover for monarch butterflies on their way to Mexico, so there were plenty of butterfly sightings.

We ran into some other friends at the farm. Here's part of the Pleasant Ridge Posse. Are you intimidated? (Note that Nora and Gussy are holding hands.)

Pigtails!

Did you hear me? I said, PIGTAILS!!

One-legged pigtails.

Kindred spirits. I wish I had been close enough to hear what they were talking about.

We ended the outing with lunch at a choo-choo themed restaurant and a plethora of eskimo kisses from Gussie's sweet brother Ollie. Great day!

Verdict: I am not a genius.

Nora was slightly frightened by the mini vacuum cleaner I got her, despite the big build-up over the past 24 hours and the manic joy Rich and I demonstrated while using it. She finally consented to hold the handle after about 15 minutes of my prancing around pushing the vacuum and squealing in delight, but at this rate it would be less trouble just to clean the $%^$ floor myself.

This time tomorrow, I may be hailing myself as a genius.

I bought Nora a Shark cordless vacuum cleaner-- one of those stick vacuums. She loves pushing things around, and she has blessedly inherited from her daycare lady a certain reluctance to endure filth , so I can't lose, right?

It has to charge for at least 20 hours before the first use, so we couldn't pull it out today. But tomorrow, tomorrow... my words trail off as I envision a life where my toddler happily keeps the floors dog-hair-and-cheerio-free. I really hyped this thing up at the store, and I keep talking about "Nora's vacuum," which makes her chuckle and shimmy up and down, so maybe she will develop a proprietorial attitude towards it. Maybe vacuuming will be, like running in circles around the ottoman and singing "Happy Birthday," one of those things she never seems to tire of.

Watch this space for an update. If anybody out there wants to start making kid-sized working vacuums in fun colors, please pay me millions of dollars first.