We brought home a small book Siena created in kindergarten called “Feelings.” I found it quite touching and the kind of thing I’ll want to share with Siena some day when she’s older. In addition to the sentiments she shares, perhaps unwittingly, with us, it’s great to see her writing and attempts at spelling, and how much both have improved in just a matter of weeks.

Unsure of whether the paper booklet itself will survived, I have scanned it for safekeeping:

Siena really does love her sister!

I was thrilled to hear that, because the drop-off that morning had been really dreadful with Siena crying, clinging to my leg, and not wanting me to leave. (So far, “I want you to stay with me daddy” has been one of the hardest things to say no to.)

I asked Siena why she had such a good day, and her response was, “Because no one shot at me or said any bad things to me.”

Is it too much to ask that the definition of a good day in school can be defined not by whether someone (pretend) shoots at your daughter and instead by whether she learned something new and exciting or had a special activity?

This anecdote is just adding to my vast portfolio of reasons why we just might not need boys anymore. Someday I’ll document it all. Or perhaps just find a way to get the kids into an all-girls school. Which of course must be a terrible idea once they hit 13.

When I first saw it as I was picking her up from school, I look at it, grabbed Siena, and asked her, “Did you draw this?” “Yes.” “Did anyone help you draw this?” “Nope.” So then I showed it to her two teachers. “Did you help her draw this?” “She did that all on her own.” When we got home I showed it to Mama, and she had pretty much the same reaction I did. Wow. Except for the humanoid figure, Siena drew everything on this page:

(Click for access to a larger version)

There we are, Siena and I driving to school yesterday. Once again, I’ve put on the radio from my “player” (as Siena calls my MP3 player…”Dad do you got your player?”) TMBG’s No! at Siena’s request. Siena is quiet and still in the back, listening to the music. My mind starts to wander as I stare ahead at the stretch of highway before me, vanishing into the distance. Something catches my consciousness in my peripheral vision, the intuitive reflex bestowed upon me by small, furry mammalian ancestors struggling for survival against larger, fiercer predators. Crap! It was the green highway sign for our exit! No way I can cut across two lanes to make the exit in time.

Siena we missed our exit! (we missed our exit, daddy?)

Thankfully I avoid uttering anything I’ll regret later (as Siena is a prolific repeater presently). I do laugh and shout out to Siena that we’ll have to turn around at the next exit, a few miles ahead. Half-way to the next exit, Siena is all a-flutter asking questions like, “Did we miss our exit?” and “Are we turning around?” and “Are we not going to school?” At some point, she says, “I’m going to be a big helper.” Yes you are, girl. Too bad you weren’t a big helper earlier and let me know our exit was coming up.

Ok Siena when we get to the next exit we’re going to swing around to head back, ok? (ok)

The exit ahead is a junction with another highway; a standard cloverleaf arrangement. I’m traveling north. Assuming I remember it correctly, I should be able to take the westbound exit, stay in the exit lane, and immediately exit again for the southbound journey back the way we came. If I’m lucky, and there’s no traffic in front me, and Siena doesn’t mind a few G’s, I can almost do this at speed, 35 mph ramp speed limits be damned.

We’re gonna take this one fast, I need to get to work.

I prep Siena for the adventure to come. She likes taking fast exits, what one might label as centrifugal forces even though that’s not really a true force. The roads are also in the process of being paved (thanks to the US Recovery Act), so large sections are in that noisy shredded state awaiting new pavement; because of the musical noise the tires make on this substrate, I’ve told Siena that the road sings. The transition from highway to exit involves a change in surface, which means bumps ahead.

All right Siena, we gonna does this? (yeah.)

We hit the exit (definitely not going to miss another one). Of course, I do break a little: I’m crazy but not insane, but we hit the turn pretty good. Good thing to, because I don’t really feel like waiting for the semi coming up on the westbound highway if it decides to exit; better accelerate extra coming out of the curve.

Look Siena, a truck! (is there a truck, daddy?)

Whew, the exit lane remains and continues around the cloverleaf. I can’t even see a sign for what this new exit dumps me onto, but it could only be the southbound lane of the highway I was just on. We accelerate out back on the highway (yep, the grooves indicate I’m on the right road) and head towards the original exit.

Here we go, baby, back to school! (are we going to school?)

The trip back one exit seems faster than the northbound jaunt was. Maybe I had excess speed to burn off. We zoom back towards our target.

All right, this is our exit, we’re not going to miss it this time!

As I hit this exit (need to remember to turn the other way from normal since I’m coming from the north this time) and approach the lights for the cross road, Siena shouts,

“We did it, daddy!”

as if this was all some great trial and test through which we persevered and which we have finally, after lengthy struggle, overcome (and as if she actually had anything to do with it!). Her exclamation breaks like the thunderclap that announces the start of a long-desired rain after a hot, muggy, oppressive heat. I laugh, and none of this troubles me at all.

Yes baby, we did. And now to school.

…and left me a sheep to ride.

Remarkably, after 1 year and 9 months of having a baby doll that Siena named, in her literal call-it-as-I-see-it way, “Baby,” she’s done a 180 and now has given the baby a name. We were playing on Sunday with some toys, and Siena closed the doll in a box. She then said, “Katie’s in there.” Given that Katie was not the known name of the doll, I was flummoxed. It wasn’t until repeated interrogation that I discovered Siena was calling the doll “Katie.”

I promptly told her to go into the dining room and inform Mama that the doll now had a name, which she did. “This is Katie.” We’ve randomly asked Siena over the past two days now what the doll’s name is, and Katie (or perhaps Katy) appears to have stuck. I’ve even referred to the doll as “Baby” and was corrected, “No it’s Katie!”

What’s interesting is we have no idea why she would’ve chosen now to give the doll a proper name, or why that particular name. It just sprang forth fully formed from her head like Athena from Zeus, and there it was.

We have subsequently discovered that Siena is sowing confusion at school, as at least one teacher now thinks we are calling baby #2 Katie. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. No, really. Given that Siena’s middle name is Katherine, it should be clear #2 will not be Katie. Right? Trust me. No slips of the tongue at home here.

This confusion at school follows the prior hilarity that most teachers were under the impression, thanks to Siena’s happily persistent insistence (you could say she’s a hard-headed woman), that we’d be naming the second kid “Sheep.”

Sheep Katie Ruark. Lovely, isn’t it? And the initials match Siena’s, too!

P.S. Title is the opening song of one of my favorite movies.

• Hi Carol! I’ve been out of Infant One since January, but you took really amazing care of me for a year before that. My parents were so grateful to have you not only to help ease them into the day care process those first weeks, but also to get started as first-time parents. Love -Siena
• Andrea – It’s always great to see how excited Siena is to see you when we cross paths at the end of a day. It really shows how important you were to her those first 15 months, and how much good care you took of her. We felt so much more at ease knowing she always had you looking after her.
• Hi Becki! It took Siena a while to get used to have you around in the morning after just being with Carol, but eventually she warmed up to you, and we always knew you’d be taking great care of her. Thanks for looking after our little one!
• Hi Lisa! You might think I don’t like you since I always seem to cry when my parents drop me off with you, but that’s not the case. I really love all the stuff you do for me and the fun activities we have. It’s helped me to learn all sorts of things my parents would probably never think of!
• Pat – Thanks for taking care of Siena in Toddler Three. We always know Siena will be having a good day with you there. Now if you could just teach us your nap secrets so we could get her to sleep longer on the weekends!
• Samantha! We’re really glad that you made the transition from Infant to Toddler with Siena, not only for consistency in her transition, but also because you’re doing a great job with her and her friends! We’ll all be sad and miss you when you graduate and move on, if that’s what your future holds.
• “Marna.” Yours is one of the names I love to say the most, and I love seeing you in the mornings when I arrive, you’ve been so good to me! Bright Horizons is truly fortunate to have you on the team, and I hope you stick around to see me grow even bigger and taller. Love! -Siena
• Julie, you’ve assembled a really great team for me in Boxborough. My parents were nervous about having me be one of the first children in a new center, but it’s been even better than my parents or I imagined it would be. Thanks for everything! “Bye bye Julie!” See you tomorrow!

First, we’ve been working on getting to “yes.” Not in the negotiating-agreement-without-giving-in sense (though lord knows that’ll be coming soon enough), but in having Siena say “yes” when asked a question about what she wants. Normally, the way this works is I go through a litany of things she doesn’t want, each of which merits a “No” answer with a shake of the head–and if the item is particularly distasteful to her, a wave of the hand. Then I get to something she wants, and she usually names it instead of saying “yes.” As in, I’ll say, “Do you want craisins?” and she’ll say “cay yay” or something like that. Then I’ll say slowly while nodding, “yessss,” and she’ll then say “yes” and nod her head.

This morning, as I went to take her out of her crib, she handed me her brown bear (ba boo) and her yellow blanket (ba ba), both of which I set on table next to the rocking chair. As I set her in my lap to get her out of her sleep sack, she pointed at something and said something that sounded like ba-ba, ba-boo, or ba-bee. I showed her brown bear and asked, “Do you want brown bear?” “No.” Then, “Do you want your blanket?” “No.” Then I saw it: “Do you want your Berner pup?” (this being a stuffed animal Bernese Mountain Dog puppy). “Yes.” Hooray! She said yes without being prompted. Needless to say, she got the pup.

That’s more than enough for a single entry, right? Especially by my increasingly low standards…however…

When I picked her up from school, I saw that her lunch box still had a full container of Cheerios. I checked her form, and it said she had eaten no breakfast. That’s not good. At least she ate all her pizza (Tuesday is pizza day at school).

On the way home, I went through my routine of telling Siena who she’d be seeing when we get home. As with the no/yes response, she likes to name the animals (and people) as I call them out. Nalia is often “yaa yaa”, Penny is something like “eh eh.” Today she did something that shows a real conceptual leap for her (or at least, a leap in her demonstration of understanding the concept). Being as we are, we have lots of nicknames for our pets. Consider Penny: Penny, Penster, Furbeast, Pen, Sporkie, Sporkinator. Tenzing has fewer nicknames, mostly just Tenzing and Zinger. Nalia generally is Nalia, Pup-Dog, and Fluffbutt (get behind a Berner to see for yourself).

We’ll pause here for station identificaton and a picture of Siena in the bath last night:

Welcome back. The conversation in the car today went like this (I always try to go in the order in which we see the animals):

Dad: Siena, we’re going to go home and see Nalia.

Siena: Yaa yaa

Dad: And we’re going to see Tenzing.

[long pause]

Siena: Duuuuuu

Dad: [laughing]

You are probably wondering, “When will this end?” “Can we get more pictures?” and, perhaps, “Huh?”

Well, we aren’t to the exhilirating/scary part yet, more pictures in the next post if I can remember, and here’s the deal, respectively.

The real conceptual development is that, as Tenzing and I are the only men in the house (occupied otherwise by four critters of the fairer sex), when he does something that is cuter than it is annoying, I often refer to him as “dude.” I don’t use this as a nickname on purpose when Siena is around, like I do with Penster; it’s more like “Dude, what are you doing?!” (It’s a male bonding thing.) Amazingly, Siena seems to have understood enough to know, either through repetition or sentence structure or tone, that “dude” is another nickname for Tenzing. I find that pretty incredible.

Finally, we discover that mom is also home, which has been a rarity around the house at dinner time because of her rotation schedule the past few months. So I set Siena down and get her coat off, and then she takes a step towards mom, trips on a slipper, and face plants. She’s silent for a moment, and then just starts screaming and screaming. We get her up, and discover that her nose is bleeding. Blood! This is probably the first time she’s really let loose with blood, definitely the first time from the nose, so of course that made the rest of the evening pretty stressful. It wasn’t copious or gushing or anything, but still, for first-time parents with the first-time blood, it can be pretty heart wrenching. It seemed to stop, mostly, during dinner, and she wasn’t at all troubled by it once she got over the mental shock. As usual (and I guess this will be true most of the rest of her childhood if not longer), we were more shook up about it than she was.

She ate very little for dinner, had a quick bath, and went to sleep 10 minutes early.

I hope she’s ok. What a day.

And now she gets dropped off in the toddler room instead of “Infant One” (the name of which has a vague Brave New World feel about it). The transition is a little rough on her. She doesn’t start and end the day with the same care-givers she’s been used to for the past year (which is to say, the past 80% of her life), and the new kids are all older than she is, and there are more of them. But she’ll adjust.

On the plus side, because the ratio of kids to teachers is higher, the monthly cost goes down! Woo hoo!

Description of injury: Red mark on nose

How did injury occur? Siena was walking on the floor, lost her balance and bumped her nose on the floor.

Description of equipment involved: floor

In laymen’s terms, she did a face plant and cried a little. The list of “equipment” made me laugh as I was reading through it at the center.

Various reactions from around the globe:

Teacher: “It could’ve been a lot worse, but she’s a real trooper.”

Dad: “I guess maybe it’s a little red.”

Mom: “You can definitely see some broken capillaries.”