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Sunday, June 19, 2005

Father's Day 



Apparently, it took a few shoots, but Evelin and Celeste put together the coolest father's day present for me (and for Celeste's grandfathers). And, since Evelin had her book club that morning, Celeste and I got to spend a nice chunk of time together. We went to the farmers market and to the carwash.

It seems that a lot of the "first experiences" I share with Celeste end up scaring her a bit (I'm thinking particularly of that MARC train a few weeks ago). The carwash was a touchless drive-through type and I thought Celeste might be interested in seeing the water spraying the windows and such. When the first presoak/soap stage flew past the back window, her interest was piqued, but something — the noise? vibration? boredom? — started her crying when the high-pressure rinse cycle started. She would cry while the water was on the hood and front of the car, and then freeze with a look of horror on her face as it passed along the sides and rear of the car (she is still in a rear-facing carseat, so the back window is what she could see best). I had my seat back and was talking to her, but she didn't want to be comforted. As soon as the carwash was finished, she was okay with things ... maybe she was just embarrassed by how dirty the T.R.U.C.K. was.

Blogger Commenting:
THat is AMAZINGLY CUTE! and a very funny story.

Where did the letters come from?! how did she come up with that idea?! Ohhhhh, I should have pressed her early for her clever, mommie idea!
 
She actually made the letters (Evelin did; Celeste isn't allowed to use scissors yet) from sheets of foam stuff ... The idea came from a friend of hers on the Parenting AML board ...
 
She's so pretty! She's got perfect Kewpie-doll cheeks. Beautiful!

(I habitually refrain from commenting on cuteness of babies until they're out of the Winston Churchill Look-Alike stage that all babies go through. Actually, I habitually refrain from commenting on the cuteness of babies at any time, because it's usually met with a "would you like to hold him / her," and / or the thrusting of said baby toward my arms, and there's no good way to extricate oneself from that gracefully. Fortunately, I have little interest in grace, so I just run away screaming. This is extremely effective and also a lot of fun.)
 
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