Things Fiona Knows

Her Age

If you ask Fiona how old she, she holds up two fingers. Then if you ask her how many that is, she counts the fingers and announces "two." She still needs the intermediary step.

Her Birthday

A week of so ago Fiona announced that her birthday was in January. We hadn't brought it up, so I assume either Miriam or Rita at day care told her. Of course, she also concluded that that meant that all her friends at day care had birthdays in January, which would defy all sorts of laws of probability.

Realizing that she had January figured out, I told her that the date in January when she was born was January 7th. She spent a few days thinking that come January she would be seven years old (boy are we not ready for her to be in second grade), but not when you ask her what day her birthday is she announces "January 7."

Incidentally, before she thought she was going to turn seven at her next birthday, she was convinced that she was going to turn four. Three is right out, apparently.

How To Set The Table

We hand Fiona the silverware and can even give her some extra instructions -- for example, sometimes she gets a spoon to go with her fork while Mommy and Daddy just have forks (if Mommy and Daddy need knives we handle putting those out ourselves).

The twist is that one of the first times she set the table both Andrea and I were running back and forth to the kitchen, so Fiona did all the setting by herself and was then showered with lavish praise for having done it all by herself with no help from Mommy or Daddy. Which means that now she wants to set the table without us in the room every time ("I have to do it by myself"). So we'll have all the food and drinks out and realize that we haven't put out silverware, and when we hand it to Fiona she makes us go wait in the kitchen while she lays out the forks.

Our Names

A week or so ago the doorbell rang while I was playing with Fiona and Andrea was in the kitchen. Andrea wasn't sure if I was getting the door or not, so she started yelling "Bill! Bill!" before she realized I was already at the door.

Fiona heard this and finally made the connection. She started yelling my name in the exact tone her mother uses. We asked her who Bill was and she pointed to me. Then we asked her who Andrea was and she pointed to her mother.

I'm always Daddy when we're playing, but if I'm in the other room and she wants my attention, sometimes she'll start yelling out "Bill! Bill!"

And I always correct her and tell her that my name is Daddy. We'll see how this one plays out.

Alton Brown

When Daddy gives Fiona a bath at around 7pm, Mommy watches Good Eats with Alton Brown on the Food Network. When Fiona sees him, she excitedly says "it's Alton!" She likes the silly faces he makes and the campy screams he gives in some of the sketches between food segments.

This evening Alton was shopping and Fiona announced that he was at the grocery store. Then the next scene showed him in his kitchen. Fiona said "Alton went home."

Mommy agreed that he had.

And Fiona declared, "I want to go to Alton's house!"

Don't we all, Fiona. Don't we all.

New Photos

Okay, so 1/3 of Fiona's life has gone by since I last posted an update to the photo site. There are new photos up there now--go have a look.

What Fiona Likes These Days

Pink

Fiona could probably go a month without repeating shirts, but about 3/4 of her shirts are off limits as far as she's concerned because they aren't pink. I've tried putting the clean pink shirts at the bottom of her drawer after we do laundry, only to watch Fiona dig past the green and blue and white to find the pink buried beneath.

She gets an especially nice look going when she matches her shirt with a pink skirt or pants. We call that look Toddler Pepto Bismol.

Seven Favorite Words: "I have to do it by myself"

Said any time we try to help her with something to speed the process along (for example, putting her hat on for her as we head out the door, or lifting her into her car seat rather than letting her climb her way in).

Also said when she wants to do things that she can't quite do herself but wishes she could. When we pick out her clothes in the morning, Fiona usually picks a shirt and then sends me out of the room so she can put it on herself. That goes fine, but then I come back and we pick out a pair of pants, and she sends me out of the room again. After a few seconds she calls me back because she's having trouble getting her pant leg all the way on. So I help the pants get past her feet, and then she sends me away so she can pull the pants up by herself.

Also said when she wants to do things she can't possibly do by herself just yet. Like twisting the cap off of the juice bottle, or squeezing out the shampoo and putting it on her scalp.

Princesses

This ties in to the affection for pink. We're in a girly phase. Last week I was at Costco browsing the DVDs and somehow Fiona spotted and got her hands on a Disney Princesses DVD. I managed to distract her by offering to get her some toy puppets instead. Still, I've noticed that parents can, in fact, avoid Barney or Teletubbies or Boohbah or whatever the latest fad in turning your baby into a zombie vegetable is. But there's no avoiding Disney Princesses--only a futile battle to contain their power.

Ghosts, Monsters and Dinosaurs

These are (apparently) found everywhere in our home. A few days ago, she pointed and said "oh no, a ghost!" I threw a blanket over my head and said "this ghost is going to get you!" At which point Fiona pulled the blanket off and said "not that ghost, a real ghost!" and pointed off into space and ran into the next room.

Hmm, maybe that's not such a cute story. I mean, I think she was pretending. She doesn't seem to have too much Haley Joel Osment in her. Guess we'd better monitor her visions.

Bags

Everything about them. Putting things in them. Taking things out. Closing them once you've put something in them. We have probably 5-10 little containers of various sizes containing puzzle pieces, crayons, blocks, and occasionally a stuffed animal.

Feeding the Cat

Fiona now feeds Buddy his dry food. She knows how to take the bag out and scoop the food. She can't figure out how to put the clip back on the bag to hold it shut, but that doesn't mean she wants Daddy's help (see "I have to do it by myself", above).

Of course, she still needs to be attended. After getting back from Costco last week (see "Princesses," above), I figured I could keep Fiona occupied for a minute or two while I unloaded the car by asking her to feed Buddy. When I got to the kitchen after carrying in the last box, I found a huge pyramid of dry food in Buddy's bowl, more dry food scattered across the kitchen, and Fiona continuing to scoop away, trying to carefully add yet another 1/4 cup to the top of the pile.

And all that dry food got her pink clothes dirty, too.

Come To Think Of It, I Haven't Seen His Toes In A While

Fiona sits on the couch between two barefoot parents, still giggly after playing "this little piggie" (or having had it played upon her). She studies the feet on the couch.

Fiona: (holding her foot against Mommy's) Look! It's the same.

Mommy: We both have feet.

Fiona: Yeah. And Daddy has feet.

Daddy: I do?

Fiona: Yeah.

Daddy: Does Aunt Kathy have feet?

Fiona: Yeah, Aunt Kathy has feet.

Daddy: What about Pop?

Fiona: Pop has feet.

Mommy: And Nana? Does Nana have feet?

Fiona: Yeah, Nana has feet.

Daddy: What about Papa?

Fiona: No.

Daddy: (disbelieving) Papa doesn't have feet?

Fiona: No. Papa has socks.

The Same Thing

Fiona's gotten very into finding things that match lately. We'll be sitting in the living room and suddenly Fiona will come running out of her bedroom holding her Blue's Clues bedtime doll and her Blue's Clues washcloth to show them to us and exclaim "it's the same thing!" She likes to point out which of her socks and shoes match (though sometimes she still plays it very chic and puts on mismatched socks).

Sometimes she can be downright spooky, as when she took a look at the picture of Pooh and Piglet hugging on one of her dress hangers and then went and found the exact page in one of her Pooh bear books (she has about ten) that features a completely identical picture of Pooh and Piglet hugging.

Of course, for her Gen-X parents, what's most fun is that she can now play "one of these things is not like the others" on Sesame Street (side note: they've added an awful intro music to the one of these things sketch, which even Fiona can't stand--she cried when it came on yesterday. The actual "one of these things" song, however, is still used for the sketch itself and remains unchanged). She still gets confused sometimes--yesterday there were three pairs of sunglasses and a beach hat, but the sunglasses were all so different from one another that Fiona didn't figure out the answer--but then that's a nice reminder that the "one of these things" game is not something toddlers figure out every time right away.

I'm Pretty Sure a Genetic Test Would Prove Otherwise

More stalling adventures: this morning as I tried to get Fiona out the door she insisted on making sure her doll did everything she did. So after she got her inhaler, the doll had to get the inhaler, too. If she needed to put on socks, she had to pretend to put socks on the doll as well.

It finally got to be too much for me when she insisted on having the doll use the potty before she did, and then wanted to spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning the doll up.

"Fiona," I barked. "I need you to go potty now."

Fiona responded in the same thoughtful, measured way she always does to orders from her parents. She shrieked at a pitch just shy of that level only dogs could hear, but carefully modulated to make sure of having maximum impact on Daddy's ears. And then she barked back at me:

"Stop it! You don't tell me what to do! You're not my Daddy any more!"

So if she has to obey Daddy, logically she wouldn't have to obey somebody who isn't Daddy. Always on the lookout for loopholes, I guess.