No. Touch. Kitty.

On the phone with my mom today, she said she wished she had a recording of the conversation so she could play it for Harper when she is ten.  Unfortunately, we have no phone tap.  I guess we can perform a reenactment using this script:

 

Mom:  Hello.

Me:  Hi.

Mom:  What is going on?  You sound like you are either laughing or crying.

Me:  Both.  I think I gave Harper a black eye.

Mom:  Don’t you hate that!  It is amazing they survive what you put them through.  When I think of what I did to your oldest brother, Will. 

Me:  It is not like I dropped her.  Harper, no.  I was carrying her into the living room.  She leaned out at the wrong time, I didn’t stop fast enough, and her head hit the door frame.  No touch kitty.

Mom:  Is she o.k.?

Me:  She is fine.  She barley cried.  Kitty does not like that.  But it is her first Christmas, and, oh, the pictures.

Mom:  Makeup.

Me:  Harper, no.  She looks like Rocky.  Harper.  No.

Mom:  Well I guess you can’t put a steak on a baby’s eye.

Me:  Spanky does not like that.  No. Touch.  Kitty.

Mom:  And, you pobably don’t have a steak.  (See as how you don’t eat meat.)  What about frozen peas?

Me:  We moved all our food to the basement freezer to make room Harper No for the cookies.  HarperNo.  HarperNo.  We have teething toys, but she won’t hold still.  Notouchkitty Notouchkitty.

Mom:  You sound like you are busy.

Me:  RUN SKANKY, RUN!

Mom:  I would just go with the make up.

Me:  O.k.  Love you.

Mom.  Love you, too.  Bye.

 

(Sorry for the lack of a picture.  I’ll get my act together soon.)

Happy Holidays!

Skylar worked late tonight, so Harper and I played ‘Holiday Photo’ to pass the time.  I dressed her up in my Christmas jumper from when I was a baby,  rubbed warm water though her hair & dried it in an effort to tame her perpetual bedhead, sat her in front of the curtains of my dreams, pulled out some ribbon for props, got out the camera, and spent the evening hours beyond frustrated and feeling like a failure.  It is Harper’s favorite game.  Really, the only game she can play…  I have a new found respect for those people at the Sears Portrait Studio, whom we will soon be visiting with coupon in hand.  (Because, now that we are parents, it is mandatory we send out a photo card.  They don’t let you leave the hospital with the baby unless you promise, scout’s honor.) 

Oh no he Didn’t!

Dignon ate his first baby toy.  It was such a lovely toy, too.  Our friend Liz gave it to Harper.

So sad.