Toddler Days...

At lunch with my favorite girls at our favorite frilly restaurant, Brick Street, one of them asked me if I'd given up on our blog. "I know, I know," I said, a bit ashamed. "I just haven't felt inspired to write." In reality, I've wanted to sit down and update the blog for quite some time, but just haven't had the energy!

No one told me that my new toddler would take so much energy. It's as if she went from a sweet, smiling, calm little baby girl on August 8th to a (mostly) sweet, hyperactive, fiercely independent toddler on August 9th. Did I miss something here? Does an imaginary switch flip the minute the clock strikes midnight on the baby's first birthday? Don't get me wrong, I love our little monkey more than anything and have enjoyed each and every step along the way. But now, I sometimes gawk in disbelief at Luce as she purses her lip, emits a shrill grunt, and attempts to toss her plate of food across the room. Other times, I repeat my mantra of "relax" over and over again as she whines for food only to purse her lips and turn her head away when I try to coax her into taking a bite.

From the time she wakes up until her head hits her ladybug-covered sheets at night, Luce is a bundle of energy. Though she won't walk on her own (she refuses any attempts at holding her hand and walking), she spends most of her time cruising from one piece of furniture to the next finding fun new objects to explore. So far, her favorites are Emmy's dog-bed (Yuck!! She finds this particularly enjoyable when rolling around making sure every inch of her clothing is covered in black greyhound hair), the plethora of remotes, cords, and computer parts her computer-geek Dad keeps near the tv, and the stairs. For someone who can't walk on her own, she can sure scale hard-wood steps like a pro.


As I look back over the month since Lucy's first birthday party, I can't help but smile. Yes, it's been a trying time. I've had days where I thought I just might pull my hair out. The week of teething was almost unbearable. Yet, there have been so many moments of laughter. Each and every day, we see Lucy discovering the world around her. Last week, she discovered the joys of ice-cream. She loved it so much that she promptly began to scream when it was finished. She's begun to make new faces (our favorite is the Papa Copeland. I'll post a pic), laugh unabashedly with a gravely, hearty chuckle, say uh-oh each and every time she drops her sippy cup and waits for us to pick it back up, giggle with glee when she cruises over and types on my keyboard as I try to work, and clap along to the new songs she's learning at school. She's trying new foods, playing with new friends at school in the Young Toddler class, and learning the importance of "Yes" and "No."

And every time I start to forget that sweet little baby girl that I've known for the first twelve months and fear that she's disappeared, I find that wonderful, perfect spot once again in the mornings. Each day, Lucy wakes up around 6:30 for her morning milk, and we always bring her into our room. She always closes her little eyes, puts one of her hands on Jamie's arm and the other on mine and sighs with content. As we feel her milky breathe, warm on our faces, we fall in love with her all over again.

Introducing...the Incredible "Baby" Hulk

Don't be fooled--Behind those big eyes and sweet smile lurks a fierce little growly hulk. I first witnessed Miss Lucy's alter-ego this morning while getting her ready for school. As I attempted to unzip her snuggly little pajamas, she immediately let out a loud (and might I mention, high-pitched) grunt. "I'm sorry Luce," I said, looking at the furrowed brows and big eyes scowling at me. She responded with another, "Nnghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." This time, it was even louder. That's odd, I thought. I'd never heard our little sweetie do that before. Perhaps she's just sleepy. Not being a morning person, I can definitely relate to AM crankiness.


However, tonight at dinner, the baby hulk returned. Before our food arrived, she was her usual bubbly self. Playing and gobbling up her apple bites and yogurt, Lucy seemed happy enough. It wasn't until I offered her some of my baked potato that things took a turn. Thinking that she was finished with her potato, I made the mistake of moving her plate away.


"Nnnnngghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she grunted, scowling at me, little fists shaking. Jamie and I looked at each other and laughed nervously. "Ok there, little hulk," Jamie said as I gave her more of my baked potato.


We've sinced joked about our little Lucy "the hulk" Copeland, though I think both of us are a a tad bit nervous. "The temper comes from your side babe," I told Jamie as we drove home. "That's a Copeland for ya..." :-)

July 4th in the Bluegrass and A Very Special Birthday Girl

Last weekend, we loaded Lucy, Poods, and Emmy greyhound into the Subaru and made the slow trek home to the Bluegrass. The trip was long overdue, and I was feeling homesick for all of the trappings of my hometown: our lackluster trips to Tumbleweed during which we'll either find a wadded up dollar bill in our slightly stale chips or we'll wait for two hours for our food only to find out that we've been forgotten, yet the salsa always makes everything OK; our Target pilgrimages during which we must visit at least 3 of the Midwestern strong-holds including the dingy, run-down, slightly "gangsta" store of my childhood and site of my first experience with gainful employment; and not to be forgotten, our favorite pizza dive, Bonnie & Clyde's, easily spotted among the Check Into Cash facades, pawn shops, and gas stations lining Dixie Highway thanks to the bright yellow sign from the 80s and the multi-colored, bottle glass windows. Though our beloved Kiddie Corral (a dangerous, elevated "pin" where parents would dump their kids to watch the pizzas being made so that they could enjoy their goblets of beer in peace) is now gone, just walking in and seeing the tow-headed owner with his walrus mustache and hearing him call out "I have a pizza ready for two of diamonds, two of diamonds" over a loud, crackly microphone, makes me realize I'm home; and last, but certainly not least, is our Amy Willis time. No trip would be complete without experiencing the aforementioned activities with the presence of a Willis. :-)

This time, we headed home for an extra special reason: Miss Macy's first birthday party. Macy's mom, Amanda, is one of my dear friends, and I cannot believe how quickly this year has passed. The party was so much fun. Ever the hostess, Amanda had everything coordinated with ladybugs, including Miss Macy's cake, bib, and dress. I can't tell you how sweet it was to watch this precious little girl discover one of life's true delights--CAKE. But what was even better was seeing the expression on Amanda's face as she watched her baby girl move away from those chaotic, achingly tiring yet indescribably beautiful days of infancy. It's amazing how one finger and one rose-bud shaped mouth, stained with red icing can be so much more.

And now, I must mentally prepare for my own little pumpkin's journey into toddlerdom next month. Kleenex anyone?

A Baby "Must-Have"

Babies are big business. Mega stores like Babies R' Us make a fortune on a multitude of useless baby gadgets, the majority of which no baby really ever cares about.

It's funny how your attitude changes before and after baby's arrival. Before Baby Luce, I was in love with the idea of everything matching. I wanted the matching stroller and carseat, the matching swing and jumperoo, the matching boppy and blanket...you get the idea.

My how times have changed! Today, while at the aforementioned baby gadget superstore, I had to bite my tongue (just as people always warned me, turning 30 has made me quite cheeky).

"Noooooo Mom, I registered for the BLACK one, not THAT one," the pregnant lady in the denim mini and flip-flops whined to her Mother who had casually remarked that she really liked the delightfully cheerful stroller with polka dots--the same one that I own.

"She can't have that stroller. I have to get the black. She could clash with those colors..."

Though I held my tongue, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I glanced down at my own daughter, the same one who only months ago never left the house without matching dress, socks, shoes, and hairbow. She looked up at me, a faint trace of dried food across her cheek, squash stains on her shirt, bare feet swinging in the air.

"Oh you just wait Miss denim mini lady. We'll see if you're still worried about matching your little one's clothing to her stroller this time next year!" I thought as I walked away.

You see, I've learned in these past 10 months that babies don't care if they match or how much money you spend on them. In fact, you can buy them the shiniest, fanciest, most expensive item on the Babies R' Us "Must Have," list, and they will almost always find something else more amusing.

Proof positive is in the video below. Check out Miss Lucy playing with her new favorite toy: a colorful plastic ice cream scoop from Ikea. Grand total: $.98!

A Big Day for Our Little Girl (And for Her Mommy Too)

A few days ago, I glanced at our little pumpkin as she played happily with her toys. From the back, she looked the picture of perfection. Cute little dress, wispy hair, dimpled elbows, laughing the sweetest laugh while shaking her caterpillar rattle.

And then she turned around.

Her usually shining, green-speckled eyes were hidden behind a wave of dark matted hair which appeared to be stuck to her nose in a slimy concoction of snot and leftover squash.

That's the moment I knew it was time for a hair cut.

On the way to Jelly Beans--the kid's hair salon--I was doing fine. This is not THAT big of a deal, I told myself. It's just hair.

I was still doing fine as our energetic stylist wet Lucy's hair and gave her toys to play with. As she cut the first few strands, I felt a slight twinge. Lucy played on happily, looking much more like a little lady than an infant.

I distracted myself by taking a few photos, trying desperately not to notice the pile of rapidly accumulating hair. Only when the stylist asked, "Would you like me to cut her bangs?" did I start to regret ever stepping foot into Jelly Beans. The twinge I first noticed felt much more like a knot in the pit of my stomach as I watched Lucy's hair fall in wisps to the floor. Before I knew it, the stylist gathered Lucy's hair into a small bag, gave us a certificate with a lock of her hair, asked for our penny payment (first haircuts are just a penny!), and cheerfully waved us on our merry way.

As I buckled Lucy into her car seat, I marveled at my new little one. Could this neatly groomed little girl be the same disheveled, feathery-haired baby I brought into the salon? The knot in my stomach moved into my throat.

I decided to call Jamie. I desperately needed reassurance that I hadn't somehow ruined our daughter forever. I generously offered to bring him lunch, eager for him to see the changeling sleeping soundly in my backseat. He did not make me feel any better.

"Ohhhh....cute....., but I REALLY did like her crazy hair," he said when he saw her.

That's when the tears made their way to the surface. "I hate it!" I proclaimed, feeling that in my decision to cut her hair, I'd somehow managed to destroy Lucy's delightfully quirky little personality. After all, she's known for her crazy, fun hair. Would she be the same without it?

And then Lucy woke up, looked at me, and grinned her toothless smile. Suddenly all was once again right with the world. As I sat behind and watched her playing, picture perfect in her flowery dress and dimpled elbows, she turned to look at me. What did I see?

Two shining, green-speckled eyes.

She's Her Mother's Daughter!!!

For those of you unfamiliar with the culture and traditions of the South (especially South Carolina), let me be the first to tell you that they are extremely particular when it comes to their traditional foods. There are two staples that South Carolinians cannot live without: sweet tea (so sweet it'll make your teeth hurt) and grits.

Early on in my relationship with Jamie, I broke the cardinal rule of grits (or would it be grit?) consumption. On the way to dinner with two of Jamie's friends, I mentioned that while I always deplored grits as a child, I now quite enjoyed them. They seemed pleased at this proclamation.

I could see Jamie nod in appreciation almost as an affirmation to his friends that his Yankee (only in South Carolina can a Kentucky girl be considered a Yankee) girlfriend wasn't so bad after all.

And then I did the unthinkable--I described the way I like to eat my grits ...with a heap of butter and some sugar. The car became silent. You could hear a pin drop. "You eat sugar on your grits?" PAUSE "Oh no, you NEVER eat sugar on grits. Only a Yankee would ruin grits with sugar."

I didn't point out that I'd watched my Nanny--born and raised in Alabama--eat her grits with butter and sugar on many a morning. "Well how else would you eat them" I asked.

"With butter and cheese or with shrimp and cheese of course." And that was that.

A few weeks later, I decided to try to try to eat grits the "proper" way. I was confident as I ordered the blackened catfish served over goat cheese grits. When my plate arrived, I took the first bite, still confident that my Southern friends wouldn't lead me astray. "How do you like it?" Jamie asked as I tried to smile while swallowing the first bite. It was Awful!! I felt as though I were eating catfish-infused glue. Though I managed to swallow a few more bites, I finally gave up. "I can't eat this. I'm sorry." Jamie looked at me like I was crazy, proceeded to finish my plate, and shook his head in amusement.

Today, I still eat grits, but I eat them my way. At first, I kept my shameful "sugar" grits habit a secret. If we dined out for breakfast, I'd open my sugar packets under the table, quickly sprinkle them on my grits, and stir before anyone could witness my blasphemous behaviour. Now, four years later, I pour mountains of sugar on my grits unabashedly.

Much to Jamie's (playful) displeasure, our Lucy seems to have inherited her mother's "Yankee" taste when it comes to this Southern staple. While at breakfast Saturday morning, I ordered grits. After buttering them, I thought I'd give Lucy a taste before I drowned them in sugar. I could see Jamie's eager anticipation as he watched his little girl perform one of every Southerner's rights of passage--that first taste of grits.

She opened her mouth, took a small taste and immediately her lips contorted. First, she looked at me as if to ask, "What is this wretched substance you've given me?" and then she looked at Jamie as if to ask, "And why on god's green earth did you let her?" Jamie looked at her in disbelief. Could it be possible that his child did not like grits? Surely there could be no worse fate.

I tried again. Perhaps she just needed a minute to get used to this new texture. She opened her little mouth, an innocent, eager little bird. This time, her reaction was much more pronounced. Her lips puckered, her nose wrinkled, and she actually shook her head in a shudder. Yes, die-hard Southerner Jamie's baby girl shuddered at her first taste of grits!

"Man, that breaks my heart," Jamie said crestfallen.

"Oh, relax. I'll put some sugar on them and I'm sure she'll be fine, " I said, stifling a laugh, secretly happy that even though she was born in SC, my little girl is still half "Yankee" at heart.

Reading with Daddy

Each day, we try to read to Lucy. Though she enjoys it when I read "Mommy Kisses" to her, she especially loves when Jamie reads "The Very Hungry Catepillar." In fact, she loves all things Eric Carle. Yesterday after work, Jamie captivated Lucy with a paticularly "energetic" version of the classic catepillar tale.