Dear Little Trip,

After we got over our three day Christmas sugar buzz, we packed up our stuff and headed to Dallas for Christmas Part Deux. The Rocky theme ran through my head as we pulled into the parking lot, but the thrill of the airport bus kept you distracted long enough to get us through security (and Daddy and I both managed to avoid a "thorough" pat down and the crazy new scanners....Seriously, Mommy was sending telepathy messages to the security guys not to even think of asking us to go through that thing with a toddler in tow). We did a lot of running around to get you nice and tired before we had to board, and while everyone in Terminal B may have been giving us the side eye, everyone on Flight 1605 better be loving me.

Gran had Christmas going in full force when we arrived, and you were opening a new pile of presents about 15 minutes after we arrived. Gran was worried that Max the Pug might overwhelm you with his jumping and barking, but poor doggie....He spent most of the week trying to escape your kisses and hugs. God bless him for never even giving you a warning growl. That dog is going to be rolling in bones and belly rubs when he goes to heaven.


No longer a gift wrap rookie.


For the love of all that is holy, people, click on this picture and check out Gran hiding in the tent!


What you get for teaching your kid to share. And yes, he stuck it right back in his mouth after Max had a suck.


We had an awesome time at the Special Christmas Choo Choo Train exhibit at North Park Mall (That isn't really what is was called, but work with me people). And you liked it almost as much as you liked going up and down the escalator like a big boy 67 times.

We also had an old school lunch at The Highland Park Pharmacy one day, and while Daddy and I lamented how you just don't eat enough, you scarfed down a hot dog, Cheetos and a chocolate malt. Apparently, we are just not feeding you the right things. And truly is there anything cuter than an almost two year old covered in artificial orange dust saying, "Tseetos! Tseetos!"? No, my little friend. There is not.

Gran fed you ice cream with chocolate sauce every night, and you took a lot of walks outside in the crisp air and played in the leaves. Big Daddy (who has become "Big Da") fed you olives and boo boos while you two watched football, and you continue to be entertained by your "Uncle Jeh" and have a slight obsession with your Aunt Jenny's boobs.



Big Da, this is an awesome bowl game. Pass me a beer.


Talking on my cell phone (This is an early model, of course, circa 1989).

We had an awesome time in Dallas and we can't wait to go back!

Deal Little Trip,

Yes, yes, yes...Mommy is slacking on posting. I'll pay for your therapy later.

December brought with it the always wonderful Hanukkah and Christmas. Hanukkah sort of snuck up on me this year, but I came home one day to find you singing the dreidel song and realized I had better get on it! Oma and Opa came over for the menorah lighting, present giving and latke eating....or if you are a toddler: The applesauce smearing, wrapping paper ripping, and massive amounts of gelt eating. Gelt are those little chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. Apparently, if your Big Heads will not unwrap another piece for you, it is entirely appropriate to just eat the whole thing with the foil on it. Hey, whatever you have to do to get to the chocolate, kid. If there is one person who understands this, it is Mommy.


Checking out my new ride!


After a tediously ongoing (and still unsettled) annual "discussion" about whether to get a fake or real tree, a Noble Fir was purchased and dangerously decorated from top to bottom with energy inefficient and lead containing lights and expensive glass ornaments. Yes, even at the bottom of the tree. Yes, even though multiple people of the grandparent variety warned me that you would stick one in your mouth and be scarred for life. For the record, you did not eat any lead containing lights or glass ornaments. I can neither confirm nor deny that certain low hanging ornaments may have been pulled from the tree because they were fruits. And you were hungry. And you just learned how to say "orange." Or something that sounds vaguely like that.


Soon to be a mess of pine needles and wrapping paper.


There was no convincing you it wasn't a real carrot.


Holy Tacky Awesomeness Dada!


Holy Tacky Awesomeness Part Deux!


Eve-of-Christmas-Eve Celebration with Lilz. We are about three seconds away from a helpful push right here.


And still loving Lilz's sparkly shoes. For the record, Lilz does NOT like little boys to wear her shoes.

Mommy didn't really have any plans to buy you presents this year. You have enough toys to happily remain on the naughty list through the fourth grade, and plenty of family members filled up the space under the tree with their own offerings. But Dada and Lilz's Big Heads gave me the guilt trip of all guilt trips at our Eve-of-Christmas-Eve Celebration, so off I went to Toys-R-Us on the afternoon of December 24th to purchase gifts. Yup. December 24th. Afternoon. Toys-R-Us. In and of itself, this act has put Mommy on the "Nice" list until 2016.

We had an awesome time decorating cookies (read: eating sprinkles straight from the jar), and then it was off to bed so that Santa could make his stop in the suburbs.


I better have a taste of these sprinkles before we get started. Just to make sure they're OK.


And maybe just another taste for mid-session quality control.


They say moderation is key in life. But I am a toddler, and I have no idea what moderation means.


That cookie under that mound of sprinkles? That one is mine. Santa can have my broccoli.

We spent all of Christmas day in our jammies, and you spent much of the day opening presents, playing with presents, dancing to Christmas music, and eating sprinkles you found embedded in the carpet of the breakfast nook. It was pretty perfect and wonderful. I spent a lot of time giving Daddy meaningful glances over your head. And maybe eating a few sprinkles.


Boy in motion.


Dada definitely not reliving childhood fantasy right here.


Or here.


Cooking plastic pizza in new microwave while wearing Elmo slippers? Check!


Dear Santa, Next year we would like a toy vacuum that actually cleans the floor. Thanks, Mommy.

Dear Little Trip,

Your second Turkey Day! We kept it pretty low key and had all the obligatory yummy food and family time. Dada rocked a fried turkey and you rocked a killer plaid button down.


Seriously, does it get any cuter?


No, I think it does not.


Have I mentioned you are not a vegetarian?


Thankful for each other!


Let's get it on!


Turkey makes me thirsty.

After dinner, all the Big Heads were sipping wine, doing the dishes and talking about grown up things (like how brilliant and interesting you are), when we noticed it had gotten kind of quiet. Anyone with a child knows that a little too quiet is usually a lot bad.

Apparently you figured out that the beautiful gold box Opa brought over was filled with something you wanted. Namely, chocolate truffle eggs. Amazing how your dexterity improves when you know you only have moments to get the gold foil wrapper off the egg and get as much of it in your mouth as possible before the Big Heads notice what's going on.


Can I fit the whole thing in there?


What chocolate truffle egg are you speaking of, Mama?


But I don't wanna give it back.


Fine, you take it.

Dear Little Trip,

Mama is slacking a little on the blog again, although it's mostly because between you, the house and work, sometimes getting my fingers over to the keyboard is just a little too challenging.

November brought the Memphis grandparents for a visit, and you had a blast bringing them to the edge of exhaustion every day they were here. You were happy to run circles around them at the playground, on walks with The Little Red Plastic Car, at The Discovery Museum, and various eating establishments in the Bay Area. You know that saying, "I need a vacation after my vacation?" Ummm, yeah.


Proving you are your mother's child, you show a little Sharon crank when you get hungry and the din din is taking too long.


And now I am happy. So you can also be happy. In that order.


Showing Bebe the ropes in the train room. Hustling lessons on how to swipe trains from unsuspecting toddlers included for additional fee.


These grandparents train up just as easily as the others! Sweet!


And they know my favorite game! Sorry about that slipped disc thing you might have.


Poppy was trying really, really hard to get a great picture of the three of you. Really, really.


This is my, "Hurry up and get me an organic hot dog" face.


And this is my, "Thanks for trying to keep me quiet in the restaurant with a giant bowl of butterscotch pudding" face.


After a long and unsatisfactory debate between your Mama and Dada (with a majority of your grandparents weighing in unprompted), a haircut appointment was made for our sweet baby boy at The Children's Hair Club. Seriously, it really is called that. Mama talked it up for days as a super exciting event, in the way that parents do for experiences they are hoping their kids will tolerate, but fear they may instead spend the entire time screaming, or at least scowling and ruin their once in a lifetime photo opportunities. Other than the vacuum, I don't think you have ever met an item or experience that actually scared you, but still I find I must gush in an over animated tone at some of this stuff. I think it's in the parent rulebook.

Don't tell Dada, but the entire time we were driving there, I almost turned around and headed home, because cutting that soft, wispy, baby hair and thinking of those blond baby curls hitting the floor really made me want to weep. I love the stage you are at right now, but I miss all the stages that have passed too. Every day you are more of a little boy and less of a baby, and I love it and hate it simultaneously.


Kid has an unholy obsession with sitting in any other seat than the car seat.

Anyway, you of course showed no fear during your little trim, and Eddie The Barber humored me by leaving you a little shaggy, wispy and with some curls. It's not quite the baby mullet it was before, but it's still precious and requires blow drying when the weather is cold...and Oh, how I love aiming the blow dryer at your little wet head while you race back and forth past the air current screeching with joy and proclaiming, "Wind! Wind!"


Who cares about the sharp blades whirring by my head. I have many Matchbox cars to inspect.


Dada said it's a travesty to get your long hair cut while sporting a Lincecum jersey. Touche, Dada. Touche.


I get a sucker, a balloon, and I can still technically be called a no-good-long-haired-hippie? Well thank you very much!

Dear Little Trip,

You + Halloween = Love

I mean, how could combining so many of your favorite things not be a rousing success? You've got your all consuming obsession with dee-yar (deer), your heart-felt passion for ringing ding-dongs (doorbells), your long time love of running down sidewalks like a bat out of hell, and your new found love of candy (Lord help me).

When we arrived at the grandparents' house for trick-or-treating, Oma opened the door in full witch costume, complete with giant feather rimmed hat. You spent a good 10 seconds giving her the side eye, but decided she was still your favorite spoil-you-rotten-crazy-Dutchie. Then, it was on to the good stuff.





She just promised me unlimited M&Ms if I learn Dutch.


The fawn is not interested in photo ops with the doe and buck.


Not answering the door fast enough? I'll just let myself in.


Go Giants! Kicking some Ranger ass while we collect candy!


Mama, can we have Halloween every night?


Oh boy...this is going to get ugly.

Dear Little Trip,

As Mama attempts to make our new house look a little more like a home, we've been spending some time at our casa. I decorate. You decorate. One of us uses paint. One of us uses sticky fingers. One of us uses a hammer. One of us uses toy trucks. When we're not working on the house, we like to tear it up on the block with the pink stroller. The pink stroller is no Little Red Plastic Car, but it does allow you to be the pusher of the vehicle, and does allow for the all important transport of little diggers and the occasional stuffed bunny. Also, you look like a total bad ass pushing that thing around with no shirt on.


Real men wear pink!

Back inside the house, you have a knack for finding all sorts of interesting items to check out. Apparently the bathroom counter is no longer outside your reach, as evidenced by your discovery of Oma's shower cap and Opa's toothbrush.


I will just rub my grimy, germy fingers all over this stuff. Ingesting my germs just builds your immunity.


And what is so funny, people?

We had an impromptu family night out last week at Sol Food, a yummy little Puerto Rican joint that's close by. You weren't too impressed with dinner, eschewing all but six black beans, but Mama's Lime Aid was a big hit. You call it beer. We don't argue.



"Mooore, Peeease."

Everyone who knows Mama knows that Halloween is not exactly a day in our house. It's not even a month. Halloween is a season. And during this reverent time, we must partake in the procurement of pumpkins. Last year we enjoyed an almost quaint pumpkin patch / parking lot in the city. We bundled you up in your fuzzy, orange pumpkin suit and you ate leaves and posed for endless pictures at our mercy, as you were (much to our advantage) unable to walk yet.

This year we took a drive over to Nicasio to the super-crunchy-organic pumpkin patch. Nicasio is located...well, I don't know where the heck it is. It's in the boonies. Far, far in the boonies. And the roads are twisty and so they lulled you right to sleep. But no matter. Once we got to this wonderland of pumpkins I knew you would perk right up. Only it was extremely hot. Too hot to wear the uber-hip black skull shirt and too hot for your parents to have forgotten the SPF 300. But we wandered around in this sauna of overpriced pumpkins and sent you unhappily into the pint sized hay maze. That lasted about 16 seconds. Knowing we were out of our league in this furnace they call Marin County, we headed for the small shady area, where you proceeded to rearrange all the mini pumpkins and unstack all of the shopping baskets. We left with a few little pumpkins and then Mama made Dada stop at the grocery store so that we could stock up on pumpkins that were no doubt grown with dangerous chemicals but did not cost 30$ a piece.


Will probably need years of therapy to get past being stuck in this thing.


How bout this one, Mama? No? OK. I drop it now.


I'm not destroying the display. I'm deconstructing it.


If there is a stack. I must unstack it.


Halloween is exhausting.

On a yummier note, Oma brought some highly processed and super delicious Little Debbies over a few days ago. We thought we'd let you in on the fun.


Swiss Cake Roll? As in roll the whole thing into my mouth at once? Don't mind if I do!


Happiest. Baby. On the planet.


Wait a minute....Is that a Nutty Bar?


Shout out to my home girl, Little Debbie!