Just a quick post... mostly in photos

I'm short on time, but not on love. Charlie started hugging this week. This is just the most fun!

Want a hug?

That Mother-Daughter Magic

My mom and I have always had this sort of telepathic/psychic connection. 


No, really, it's true!


Exhibit A: This was when we still lived in Michigan, so I wasn't more than four. I had spent the day with Grandma Rose, my mom's mom. (I don't remember what we did, but for the sake of this post let's just assume that we baked a six-tier wedding cake for our own enjoyment and then graffiti-ed the side of the house with the leftover icing and sprinkles.) Driving home with my mom, she was quietly thinking about her mom. I guess Grandma had looked a little frail or tired that day, and it worried Mom. She hadn't said anything out loud, but I suddenly burst into tears with, "I don't want Grandma to die!" Weird, right?


Exhibit B: In second grade, my parents went on a ski trip. I stayed home. Mom thought that she should buy me a little something to make up for the crushing guilt of leaving me, her sweet little angel, behind show me how much she missed me. She selected this heart-shaped, decorative tape dispenser. It was pink with diagonal lines in shade of blue and purple. At the exact same time, I was in school coloring. Coloring what? A big heart that I had drawn diagonal lines on in shades of pink, purple, and blue.


Skip ahead a couple decades...


Exhibit C: Just today as Charlie and I were getting ready to leave Gramma's, I was sitting on the floor gathering our things. (OK, I was changing a diaper.) Apropos nothing, I almost blurted out, "No, I didn't watch 'American Idol' last night." Almost, meaning I didn't actually say anything. But what did Mom actually say? "Well, it's the second night of Hollywood Week on 'Idol.'" Half telepathic-half verbal conversation. Cool!


So you see, there's a pretty strong connection between the women in my family. Charlie is the first-born daughter of a first-born daughter to a first-born daughter. I already feel that deep, almost vibrating pull between us. 


Like last night while I was snuggling her to sleep. 


The room was dark and quiet, but she was still awake. It was one of those perfect moments where I could see a little glimpse into our future, one where we whisper to each other about things like the best parts of our days after we read our favorite bedtime stories. I was pretty sure that Charlie could feel that magic connection, that she could sense something profound in the room.


And then she farted.

I don't want to brag...

...but I'm really good at getting baby boogers.

Valentine's Day

I love that baby so much, and it's not just because she calls me "Mama" and likes to sneak up behind me to wedge her head between my knees.

In fact, if anyone else tried that I'd like them a little less. Probably.

Happy Valentine's Day! Now go squeeze something.

On reincarnation.

Background: Charlie spent the morning tooling around, her left pajama leg pulled up. We pulled it down again and again, but each time her surprisingly sculpted, incredibly delicious calf exposed itself. Or rather, she kept exposing it. 'Cuz she's tough, yo.


J: What did you call it?


M: Her hard core street look?


J: It has to mean something. (click, click, click on the computer) Yep, it means she's in a gang.


M: I hope it's the Latin Kings.


J: (more clicking) I don't think gangs have websites.

Eat it.

Yesterday Charlie and I slept late, all the way to nearly quarter to 8:00! Sure, that means a later morning nap time, but it also means happy, smiling, smooshy baby cheeks and extra-wild bed head. 

Surprisingly, it also inspired the feeling that breakfast should be made at home instead of purchased at Bruegger's. (Don't get me wrong, though - we love our Bruegger's! So much so that the Christmas gift of a bottomless coffee cup from the cats has probably already paid for itself. And it's only February. Mmmm... coffee. Even if it is decaf.)


But today we decided we had plenty of good things just waiting to be made edible, so we did. I made what were easily the best scrambled eggs I've ever cracked, toast with fruit preserves, and a cup of yogurt, all for my little monkey. Even the coffee I brewed was just right. (I can't vouch for Joe's Via, though.) 


And Charlie? Well, she enjoyed her water. And Mommy's everything bagel with cream cheese. 

Oh well.

At least there was sunshine...

And new Chucks!

A baby, I have one.

Yep, I have a baby. She's awesome. And no, she didn't pay me to say that. Unless you count peeing on the floor as payment.


This is what she used to look like:

And then, a few weeks later, she looked like this:

Then, after we watered her, she looked like this:

Then, for awhile there, after we sunned her, she looked like this:

And then she became mobile and looked a little more like this:

And now? Well, for now she looks like this:

That's her: My sweet little Charlie Bean. My tiny, little peanut. My organic-eatin', cloth-diapered, holistically-cared-for baby.

And what did she do yesterday?

She shoveled a fistful of cat food into that precious little mouth.

Naming a blog is hard.

So yesterday I decided it was high time to start a blog of my very own.

I like lots of blogs. I laugh at plenty of blogs. I read several blogs each day (because really, who has time for all that book readin' when there's an Internet sitting literally in my lap!). Hell, my mom has two blogs. But I didn't have a blog to call my own.

Until now, that is!

I announced to Joe as we were walking out the door to get dinner last night that I was going to start a blog today, and that I needed a name. Great. This should be easy; he's a creative services director (read: He actually writes witty and compelling copy everyday. Well, he writes everyday. Roofing can only be so compelling, you know.) and I'm a marketing director. That's creative too, right?

Well.

Maybe it's because it was the end of the day, or maybe we're just not as smart as I thought we were. Either way, it's lucky our daughter isn't named Fart. (No, really, that was one of his suggestions for the blog name because every time I see it written out, I giggle. Fart. Ha!) Anyway, after some snarky back and forth and many cries of "there are no bad ideas in brainstorming!" we settled on something involving my married name: KOPP. No, not like "cop," like "cope." Clever, I know. And not at all confusing since it's so clear in its pronunciation.

And there you have it, I now have a blog. And it has a name. And I'm kopping with it. (Ooh... this is gonna be fun gang!)