Abso-fruit-ly!

When I suggested to The Wife that she take NJ out to the backyard and pick up the pears that had started to fall from the tree, she assumed it was a cynical ploy on my part to get them to do that chore instead of me. Sure, she was right about that, mostly. But I also thought it'd be fun for the kid.

And it was! She scooped up a bunch of "pay-ears" and found a couple of nice, clean, healthy pears she wanted to eat. I joined them (after the hard work was done, natch) and lifted NJ up so she could pluck a couple of fruits from the branches. NJ dug that a great deal.

Once inside, hands and pears all washed, she enjoyed the fruits (literally! Ha!) of her labor.

All the sweeter because I picked it myself, Daddy. All the sweeter.

Maybe the kid needs a butter churn or a pasta maker for Christmas.

... And Now, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

As many of you know, I've been somewhat preoccupied the past few weeks -- wrecking my family's vacation and sweating buckets and coughing up blood and so forth. Things are close to back to normal now, and hopefully I'll be blogging frequently very soon. The kid has taken one of those exponential personality leaps lately and there's much to tell.

Meantime, to tide you over, here's an appetizer: An adorable kid eating a cupcake.

She ... wore ... bluuuuuuuuue iii-cing ...

There are more of these, right?

Lots more, I hope. Bring them to me.

NJ's Kulinary Korner, Part 2

Today, NJ learned that there is a thing in the world that is a "chocolate milkshake." She finds them to be highly pleasurable.

The beginning of a beautiful friendship.

She's even confident that she can indulge in the occasional "chocolate milkshake" and not drink herself out of swimsuit season.

The 'before' photo.

NJ's Kulinary Korner

It was a big week for NJ's taste buds -- the kid busted two new taste sensation moves on her palate, and refined a third that can be tricky for an almost-two-year-old to pull off.

First, the refinement -- her first experience with corn-on-the-cob came last month, and last night she proved that she's got it down:

Is it true, Daddy, that you can fashion this thing into a pipe once I'm done eating?

Now, the new stuff.

I've been wanting to take the kid out for sushi for a while now. Last week I spoke to a friend whose daughter is almost 4, and when that kid was 2 she was eating not only sushi but oysters on the half-shell -- something I didn't even muster up the courage to try until I was an adult. So this past weekend we lunched at a very good nearby sushi joint.

I would quote from the Tubes' song 'Sushi Girl' here, but I'm trying to rein my habit of making references so obscure that only I get them. As fun as that is -- and trust me, it's fun. Sometimes I really crack myself up.

NJ mostly stuck to tempura, rice and veggies, as we're well aware of concerns about potential shellfish allergies and mercury in uncooked or steamed fish (The Wife went semi-mad when she couldn't eat sushi during the pregnancy). But when I gave her a bit of my fatty tuna she scarfed it down and asked for more. And more. I had to get another order. It won't be a regular thing, by any means, but she's gotten a taste for it and found it to be good.

But the real action came Saturday when we swung by a the soon-to-be-open ice cream place a couple of blocks away. It doesn't open for a couple weeks, but on the weekends they've hauled out a cart and sold sample-sized cups (it's very good, too!). NJ got her first taste of ice cream, and if she could articulate a little better she'd tell you that her life has been irrevocably and forever changed.

"Really? This tastes like this? Wow! I could really get used to 'chocolate ice cream.'"

When you ask NJ to 'make your sad face' while she's eating chocolate ice cream, this is as close as she can get.

I forgive you guys for not giving me ice cream before. Just make sure it's always in the house from here on out and we're good.

The best part of the ice cream introduction? She had some for dessert two nights in a row, and both times I watched as she ate a bite, and another, and another, etc. until she just put her spoon down and asked to get up from the table. In other words, she ate until she'd had enough, then stopped. One day I'll have to ask her how she does that.

A Bib And A Rib

After her introduction to barbeque in Houston, Texas, U.S.A. a couple of weeks ago, this past weekend NJ learned to eat ribs. What follows are some photographs of her with greasy hands, a greasy face, and a couple of ribs in the aforementioned greasy hands and face. And no, there's no barbeque sauce -- she's a toddler, not a heathen.

So, just eat the soft outside, right?

When Daddy eats a rib, he looks all dog-dumb and glassy-eyed, so I guess that's what you're supposed to do. Full speed ahead!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand here we go.

Hmmmm ... a little chin-stroking contemplation is in order, I do believe.

It's good! I like it. The skin is crunchy and peppery, and yet the meat isn't tough or overdone. It's a tangy, succulent taste treat. I give it four dirty diapers out of five!

Back off, Zeus! Don't even think about it.

(Not pictured: "Cookie ... one?")

Master Spooner

The kid waffled between adorable smiling tyke (she smiles on command now, in fact) and cranky sourboots all day, but dinnertime was a revelation. She's been demanding a utensil during meals for a couple of weeks now, but me or The Wife always had one on hand, too, to do the heavy lifting while she dabbled. Tonight, though, she ate an entire cup of yogurt with a spoon, by herself, completely bib-free. It looked like this:

I'm trying out a yogurt fu manchu. Eat your hearts out, Luis Tiant and Ming the Merciless.

Sure, there's a smear of blueberry yo across NJ's face. But can you see the yogurt on her shirt? No? I'll wait while you get your glasses. OK, now: See it? Still got nothing? Yeah, that's what I thought. Darn right you can't see it -- the kid didn't spill but one tiny drop! One single, solitary, head-of-a-pin dab of yogurt. Let's blow that photo up a bit:

If you're rounding up, you'd have to say that she spilled *no* yogurt at all.

We don't strap a bib on her at dinnertime any more because whatever she's wearing is going in the dirty clothes hamper anyway. Clearly, though, in a matter of almost no time at all we'll be able to get rid of the bibs forever!