Thoughts...ponderings...musings...

Let me say right up front, if you were hoping to hear from me some words on the meaning of life or a solution for world hunger, world peace, congressional politics and the like - forget it. This is just another post about our daughter. I know you had high hopes for something different. Sorry to disappoint. The blog is titled Journey to Noelle, after all.

--Our Blossoming Gear head

Noelle loves the car (not her car seat, but the car), and you know this from reading some of my previous posts. And her love just continues to increase. It is becoming a blinding, driving passion for my kid. Our garage is like a beacon in the back yard, daily calling to Noelle -- "Come to me! Inside my large white metal door you will find the answer to all your toddler woes. Herein lies the VW which will take you on wild rides to fantastic new places. You will forget your teething pain, you will forget your mom's poor cooking, you will forget the mean kitty who scratched you because you pulled it's tail after a warning hiss. In the VW's velour interior your worries will melt away, and you can dream grown-up dreams of controlling your own destiny (or destination, at the very least) as you rattle that old set of keys daddy gave you. Ahhh, bliss!!"

Not to encourage this obsession, but in an effort to shape it, I purchased a toy car for Noelle. It's a plastic yellow taxi and has great wheels. Yes, great wheels. I have always been bugged by toy cars that have these lame little wheels that only roll on a smooth flat surface and never follow a straight line. Noelle's car has the kind that roll easily on any surface. Thank goodness. And she loves it! She would sleep with it, but I have to draw the line somewhere.

Yesterday when we were going upstairs to bed, Noelle brought her car with her. Moving on her knees, she carefully navigated her car up and over each step. This activity isn't all that notable except for the fact that it was accompanied by engine noises. Noelle was making a low growling rumble with each move of the little taxi. I thought only boys came into this world programmed to make car sounds. Not true. My daughter was producing RPM's with gusto.

--Dance Diva

Well, American Idol has concluded its season. We were sad to see it go, but happy that KC native, David Cook, came out the winner. I really missed Noelle's antics during each show and wondered what I could find to replace it. (Let me just interject that I certainly don't want to create a couch potato. Quite the opposite. Noelle is disinterested in TV as a whole, but anything with music gets her up and moving.) We settled on So You Think You Can Dance, another FOX reality show. As soon as the music starts and the contestants move across the stage, Noelle is in front of the TV dancing along. Her choreography resembles more of an African rain dance, but at least she's moving. It isn't long before I join her on the dance floor. If I don't, she pulls me up by my pinkie finger - hard. We hold hands and prance across the floor. Then we jump and wave our arms and twirl in circles. Quite soon I am panting. So I shout, "Look! There's Elvis!" and crash on the couch when she turns to look for the rock-n-roll king.

--The 2nd Haircut

I cut Noelle's hair today. It only took me 3 attempts to get it right - snack time, lunch time, snack time. Yep, I cut her hair while she ate in her high chair. Is that terrible? Or gross? If a kid eats her own hair, will she get a hairball? I just don't know how else to do it. Noelle never stops moving, not even when she's sleeping. But she loves to eat, so when her hands are busily picking up dried cranberries and shoving wheat crackers in her mouth, I can snip around her and she won't try to run away. I really do try to keep the hair off her plate. With each snip of the scissors, I sweep the blunt hairs to the floor. My cats promptly attempt to eat the dark poofs, but Noelle's food is mostly hair-free.

After a final inspection, I am fairly satisfied with her 'do. It only sorta looks like I used a bowl. Short hair is infinitely easier to care for, cooler in the summer, and I think she looks cute with a pixie cut. But when we visited daddy at work today... Well, let's just say that he was not as thrilled. Before I had a chance to mention it, he said with such a woeful voice, "You cut her haaaiiirrr!" I watched him run his fingers through her closely cropped locks as he sighed. "Well, she's still cute. But her haaaiiirrr!"

Can I just say, what's the deal with guys anyway? They all want their wives and daughters to have long flowing hair like some mythical fairy princess, or perhaps like Eve in the Garden of Eden.

I consoled Eric with, "Honey, it will grow. I promise." (Though inside I might have said, "Get over it, dude!")