There are so many times that I need my camera nearby, but it’s not in reach. Ah, if only I had a wand. But, alas, my camera is in my purse, and walking to my purse would ruin the moment.

Maya sits in a chair by my living room window (just outside the office) giving a lecture to all who might listen. She’s impossibly small compared to the kitchen chair she’s in, but she’s as comfortable as can be and talking away, patiently waiting for me to be ready to head to the gym.

A few moments ago, I was sure she was inconsolably upset after her balloon from dinner the other night “died.” She had a hard time grasping the concept that I couldn’t “fix” the balloon. I love toddlerhood at times like this, when her attention span is so short, she’s already moved on from the death of her playtoy.

I can’t believe it took us this long to hit the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, but we finally went this morning. Joy and Rod (Dominic’s slaves) have a family membership, so Maya and I joined Rod and Dominic for a bit o’ wandering around on the hillside this morning.

As you can see, Maya wasn’t quite sure what to make of the giraffes at first. They’re *hungry* in the morning.

Dominic was a bit more comfortable with the giraffes, as the old hand on this trip — he loved petting the girraffes’ noses (when they let him).

Buzzards and other carrion birds also live in the girraffe area. I love the way their dinner is presented inside a zebra carcas for a little touch of reality. Unless you look closely, you don’t notice the tin pie plate of meat inside the statue.

Maya chatted up one of the gorrilla matriarchs.

This female recently gave birth to a baby who’s just being introduced to the family. I feel your pain, honey.

Mossaic covering a full wall as you leave the hippopatomus area (dear God, they’re big). Cool, no?

I took a gazillion photos, and have lost the energy to blog all of it (grin)…so take a look at all of them here.

Otherwise, here’s a sampling:

Updated below.

Maya talks. Constantly. At this point, however, I might understand perhaps 10% of what she says, and the rest is babble that’s structured like sentences, has the tonal ups, downs, and pauses of a conversation, yet is still unintelligible.

That’s starting to change. New stuff:

• Oh, cool. The first time I heard this, I did a double-take, and thought I imagined it. Then I heard it again and started asking myself, “do I say that? Often?” Oh, cool.
• I fell down! This one was clear as day and in context with absolutely no question what was said (I had a witness who heard the same I did). We were walking along a sidewalk through the central part of Garden of the Gods, and Maya chose to walk *just* off the sidewalk. She tripped, then caught herself with her hands. “I fell down!” It was very matter-of-fact, and she got right up again.

I know that for some other kids Maya’s age, this is NOTHING. My nephew is speaking so clearly now that it’s stunning. But for us, this is something new, and it’s huge to me.

Update:

She’s reading. Sort of. At the very least, Maya is starting to recognize the shapes of words. I just clicked on the telly and pulled up the “Recorded Programs” screen from the DVR. Maya pointed at the correct block and said, “Oobi!” Gulp.

In the same way that she’s forming complete sentences from gibberish, I somehow wouldn’t be surprised if she learns to read whole words rather than individual letters.

Maya won’t even let me get close to her. She’ll come within two or three feet, then hurl herself onto the entryway rug.

I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen anything quite this pathetic.

Poor baby.

Teething.

I can’t hear myself think.

All. the. screaming. Please. make. it. stop.

I’m an auntie! (again)

My darling cousin Lani and her husband Michael welcomed little Asher Michael into the family today at 12:48pm. Asher weighed in at 7lb, 3oz and measured 20-1/2 inches long. He’s stunning, and totally missing that puffy-faced alien weirdness that so many newborns sport.

It was hard work (22 hours of labor — I’m tired just thinking about it), but he’s here now, and the family is all well and happy, if exhausted.

Too bad that’s the end of full nights of sleep for Lani and Mike in the forseeable future (grin).

…to be filed under “can’t have too many of these.” I love the highchair nap.

Maya spent a good hour in her room complaining, throwing books around, pulling everything out of the closet floor (the clothing she’s outgrown, waiting to be packed away), and randomly banging on the door. I finally relented and brought her downstairs.

She ate an enormous helping of pasta, then — no surprise, really — zonked out. I just hope she’ll sleep for long enough to avoid being cranky this evening!

These days you…

• …have discovered your shadow. It didn’t scare you, just fascinated you — you couldn’t seem to understand why that thing on the wall moved when you did.
• …run everywhere you go. Why walk, when running’s so much more fun?
• …spin like a whirling dervish for absolutely no reason. Then you stop and look around to be sure I’m watching and laughing with you.
• …eat apple slices as if they were watermelon. It’s pretty funny to see you hold a small piece of apple in both hands, and munch down the middle. It’s not as funny to find the discarded peelings, usually with my bare feet.
• …torment the dogs. Today, when I wasn’t looking (bad mama?), you cornered Clay in his crate and he nipped you. The idea that I could have to give up the dogs one day terrifies me. Then again, almost immediately after, you wanted Clay to be your best friend again. You offered food. He accepted the apology.
• …know that I have a small container of mini-M&Ms on the shelf with your diapers. They’ve worked their magic to keep you from struggling and rolling during changes, but you’re a bit too smart for your own good. Earlier today, you insisted that you needed a diaper change, even though you were clean and dry.
• …have started to head-bang. You’d do some 80s hair-band groupies proud. After you learned that I wasn’t falling for your trickery to get M&Ms, you pitched a 2-hour-long mother of all tantrums, complete with slamming your head on the (carpeted, thank god) floor. I hope the headache was worth it. You still didn’t get the candy.
• …love hiking as much as I do. This one makes me all warm-and-fuzzy inside. I can’t even tell you how happy I am that you like being outdoors. I wish I were able to take you outside all the time, all day long. I also wish you could understand why I can’t.
• …make up songs all. the. time. What are you singing? Beats me…but you’re pretty emphatic about it.
• …speak your own language. Some of my friends’ kids the same age are already using 2- and 3-word sentences. You’re not. You use signs. You use single words. You get your point across, and that’s enough for you right now. You also deliver long lectures in Klingon. When you finally decide to talk for real, you might actually give *me* a run for my money.
• …talk to strangers. You flirt with them, even. I still love taking you places, and even feel a little bit lost when you’re not with me. It’s good for me to get time away, but you’re so much of who I am.
• …need more time with other kids. I’m working on that whole “job outside the home” thing, and I know it will be the best option for us both. Just the same, when I consider how many fewer hours I’ll have with you, I’m sad.
• …make my heart swell until I think it could burst. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re stubborn. You’re active. You’re gorgeous. The best compliment I get, ever? “Wow, you two look just alike.”

It won’t mean much to anyone but me (okay, and the grandparents), but it’s been fascinating to watch Maya’s scribbles take form. Her initial efforts involved fairly broad strokes. As time’s passed, her movements have become increasingly fine and distinct.

I don’t think I’d even call this one artwork, per se. Maya repeated a series of very small movements, as if she’s trying to write letters. That’s my good little mimic — any time I write out the alphabet for her, she wants me to do it again. And again. And again.

Toddlers dig repetition.

Maya’s hungry for a snack. It’s obvious to me; I’ve learned the signs. I chop up an apple into wedges and offer one to Miss Thang.

No.
She brushes my offering hand away with emphasis.

Okay. You don’t have to eat it.
I take a bite and start to walk away. Maya melts into a puddle of tears and tantrum on the floor. I sit on the floor and hold my arms out to give her a hug and some comfort. Instead, she reaches for the apple slice and starts to eat.

Would this be the opposite of “be careful what you wish for?” At least she’s learning two things:

• I’ll listen to her when she tells me no.
• She’s allowed to change her mind later.