Pretty much every evening we head out as a family for a daily walk. It is family time – a time when Steve can ramble non-stop about nerd stuff, and Stella can get mad about halfway through, demanding that we get home RIGHT NOW! It is what some people call bonding time.

In order for the walk to be even moderately successful, it is required that we load up with a minimum set of required items. These items usually include (but are not limited to): miscellaneous chunks of food stuffed into a baggie, Stella’s hat, a blanket (it is Humboldt County after all), a beverage in a tippy cup, Stella’s play cell phone that has a recording feature (on which we have usually record a witty and clever message like “Steelllllaaaa, I am your faaaathuh”) and Stella’s dolly. The dolly is one of those types that comes equipped with a pacifier and bottle, and as such, it’s mouth is permanently formed into an O shape. She quickly comandeered the bottle for herself, chewing on it until it resembled something spit out of a wood chipper, and for a long time she would hold up the pacifier and asks me “What dat foah?” I would remind her that it is a pacifier, and that no amount of duct tape in the world was able to keep one in her mouth when she was a baby.

Lately, she has lost interest in the specific items that were designed for the purpose of fitting in that dolly’s mouth, and has instead begun to implement all those sharing skills we have been drilling into her head by dumping, pouring or shoving a little of whatever she has into that tiny little O of a mouth. Just as we were getting ready to head out the door on our walk this evening Steve realized that Stella had “shared” some of Mommy’s water with her dolly (read: spilled water all over herself, her dolly and her stroller). You think from this little episode, we would have seen what was coming next.

At one point, while Steve was nerding out about photon laser blasters or prime number halos or some such topic that had him spitting with excitement, I look down to see cheese smushed all over the dolly’s face and – you guessed it – packed full-up in that little O of a mouth. Now, you haven’t seen yummy until you have seen a bald, plastic-headed baby with cheddar cheese rubbed all over it’s head and stuffed into it’s mouth. (Steve pointed out later that it was even shoved into it’s tiny little nostrils). Upon making this grisly discovery, we quickly came to the conclusion that it would not be worth the crying fit that would ensue should we try to extricate that poor doll from the terror it was being subjected to. It would just have to wait until we got home. I mean come on, it isn’t that big of a deal – right? Wrong.

Two seconds later, we look down to see Stella’s hand placed firmly on the back of the doll’s head while she proceeds to SUCK THE CHEESE FROM IT’S MOUTH. I won’t go into any further descriptive of what it looked like, as I think it is illegal in some states to even describe such a frightening scene involving a child. And, really, do you need much more of a visual on this one?

The evening ended with Steve performing a cheese-ectomy using a Q-tip and a wet-wipe. That, and we found another reason for us to consider our child special in a way that only she is.

Hi Stel,

It’s mama. Lately, I have been getting this sneaking feeling that if I don’t start recording some of your oh-so-cuteness, it will forever be buried under a pile of brain cells dedicated to hair dilemmas and car borrowing privileges. I need to do this periodically now that I know your MO, which involves a barrage of changing stages that tend to involve inhuman tests of strength and patience. Even after figuring this out, I am still caught off guard on a regular basis by your ability to morph from cute sweet and docile to firebreathing in the time it takes to change your diaper. If I have learned anything as a parent it is to never get too comfortable. One never knows when you are going to switch it up on us.

At least once every day, you pull out some amazing tightrope act that makes your father and I look at each other with a puzzled expression like, “Did you teach her that?” “No, did you?” We only have to wonder: Has Grani-K been bringing in special tutors at day care?

Like, for instance, when exactly did you learn to count? I would think it was The Count that taught you, except you don’t seem to have that really cool Transylvanian accent. You do, however, have the unmistakable Stella accent: “Unnn, Toooo, Feeee, Fooaar, Fieeee, Six!” Every once in a while you even throw in an 8, just to mix things up a little.

And while we are on the subject of talking, I feel like I need to give you big points in the patience department when it comes to our ability to understand what you are telling us. You will patiently repeat yourself as many as 15 or 16 times (yes, we have counted) until we eventually figure it out. It is like a twisted game show where you are Alex Trebek and we are the the less than brilliant contestants — except you don’t berate us when we get the answer wrong. It usually goes something like this:

You: “poatetwing! poatetwing!”
Us: “potty seat?”

You: “poatetwing!”
Us: “pants are wet?”

You: “poatetwing!”
Us: “party sing?”

You: “poatetwing!”
Us: “pots and pans?”

You: “poatetwing!”
Us: “park and swing?”

You: “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! PoatetWINGGGGG!”
Us: “Ohhh, you want to go to the park and swing!” Quickly followed by a high-five because we got it in under 10 guesses.

We go through this with you about 20 times a day. Sometimes we are better than others, but all the time you are as patient as though we are special ed students. I love that about you.

Another noteworthy change of late is that you are branching out in your tv worship. High Five will forever hold a place in your heart, but you have taken a renewed interest in your Baby Einstein and their lovely classical music soundtracks (the ones that NEVER get stuck in my head … ever.). And then there is Sesame Street. Along with your Elmo worship, you are now teaching me the finer points of Cookie, Oanie (Ernie), Bee Boad (Big Bird), Doaty (Dorothy), Noona (Mr. Noodle) and Zshoe (Zoey). You have even adopted the Elmo style of speaking wherein you talk about yourself in the third person: “Teppa toan, mama!” or “Teppa do it!” And yes, you still call yourself Teppa.

Have I metnioned your razor sharp memory? Gone are the days when we could dissuade you from a complete meltdown with the promise of treats and fun outings, knowing that your attentions could be easily diverted before we would ever have to follow through on said promise. Nowdays if we mention it we sure as hell better be able to deliver.

Recently, in an attempt to get you into the car without a wrestling match, we promised you a visit to Dore’s house. You reminded us of our promise each and everytime we stopped by exclaiming “Dowie How! Dowie How! Yah! Yah! Yah!” All day this went on until we had to deliver the sad news that Dore, indeed, was not actually home. You looked at us, puzzled, as if to say “But you said?!?” So we did what any good parent would do and tried to convince you that there was actually something BETTER than Dore’s house (which we all know is, categorically, untrue). “But Stella, don’t you want to go home and watch High Five?” You agreed, but we could see the look in your eye that said “I’m letting you off easy this time, and if you know what’s good for you you won’t try pulling this one again!” Duly noted.

Each week you get smarter and sweeter and I need these moments locked in print so that later on, when you are 14 and trying to talk me into letting you get your lip pierced, I will conjure these memories and go to my happy place.

Word of the week: Daaaaaaaadeeeeee!

Noteworthy pronunciation: ‘a’ an octave higher than ‘e’

Average volume level (on a scale of 1 to 10): 36

Noteworthy posturing: like that of a ski jumper in mid-air

Frequency of usage: approximately 642 times a day