our parenting goal.

To raise a Harry Potter…

Well, you know what I mean. Holland, you can do anything!

19 months.

I let another month go by without blogging a dang thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m shocked. It’s not like we did anything though. Christmas, New Year’s, my birthday. NBD. Well, New Year’s really was NBD.

At 19 months, Holland is funner (I know, I know) than ever. She (mistakenly, wrongly, stupidly?) thinks she doesn’t need a nap, and will play in her crib for a solid 2.5 hours. She likes to list off her friends to make sure everyone else we know wears, does and has the same things we do. (Yes, Holland, everyone is wearing pants. Everyone is eating dinner. Everyone — wait no, not G-Pa — has hair.) Every animal on Old McDonald’s Farm says “Holland.” (Or “Hawa,” as she calls herself.) I think that’s a bit far-fetched and self-centered, but I don’t mind. She has to kiss all of her stuffed animals in her crib as I hand them to her before she goes to bed. She is obsessed with reading the same books over and over again. (What a nerd.) She says “la” while she gives you a “love” and rests her cheek on you, or just somewhere near you. She lays down with her feet under the couch or the bed every time I work out to remind me to do my sit-ups before I call it a day. She’ll tell me “no, no, no” if I start singing a non-Holland-approved song in the car. That always makes me feel good. If your sweatshirt or jacket has a hood on it, she’ll make you wear it.  In fact, she has strong opinions about what Ashton and I wear in general. She was pulling on a jacket of mine in the closet the other day, and I said to Ashton “she wants me to wear my Lululemon jacket.” She kept pulling and said “lulu.” She now demands “lulu” almost every day. (That story felt kind of brandname-drop-y. It wasn’t a Burberry jacket though. Phew.) She wants to help with everything. (Pictured here: Laundry. Also pictured here: Our apartment is freezing.) She thinks it’s pretty cool that she now has bottles to give to her babies and animals. We have really well-hydrated toys around here. She doesn’t really watch TV, but could stare at pictures on the computer screensaver for hours. (90% of which are of “Hawa.”) She loves carrying bags around. If she picks one up after we’ve been shopping, she’ll go find her little fake keys, then blow me kisses and say “byebye.” It became a little less sweet when she actually started trying to open the front door. She calls all slippers “bear bears” because her slippers have bears on them. And she has the beginnings of girl hair.

It’s all just pretty cute to have a Hawa in your life.

She’s watching herself in the mirror in this picture. Ya know, wanted to make sure she looked hip while feeding her baby. We all do it.

18 months. her second half birthday.

We love a good half birthday celebration around here. Especially when they’re kind of like a pre-Christmas celebration.

Checking the water level.

And her little Dutch shoes ornament.

The chicken dance?

She’s a little unsure about eating this carrot.

But not as unsure as she is about caring for this baby as a single mom.

Changing diapers is hard work.

we have a blog still? who knew?

That’s how I felt typing in thegrewalgrill.com just now. Okay, I typed “theg” and Chrome filled in the rest. That smarty pants. The feeling was the same though. I miss writing on this blog. No. Correction: I miss writing. And this blog may be my best and only outlet, other than the several texts I send throughout any given day.

But tonight as Holland and I had the following conversation for the 9th time today, I thought, “I could put this on the blog I guess.” I mean, I can’t only blog on the 18th of every month to show you what she looks like one month older and wiser, too. Well, really, I can. But then this poor blog looks forlorn. And that is no way to look during the holidays! Also, I hear a rumor that some of you might want to know something more of my dear Holland than just what she looks like eating graham crackers.

E’re go. Here is the conversation we have at least 17 times a day.

Holland: “More!” (Well, “mo.”) “More, more, more.”

Me: “More what?”

Holland: “Please.” (“Peez.”)

Me: “But more what?”

Holland: “Please!!”

Me: “Holland, what do you want? Can you tell me what you want?”

Holland: “More! More! More!”

And after only just a few guesses tonight, I figured out that she meant more Christmas trees. (We went down Christmas Tree Lane for the second time in three days.) Or at least she gave up on what she really wanted at the suggestion of more Christmas trees.

So then I said: “You want to see more Christmas trees?”

She said: “Holland.” (“Hawa.”)

Me: “Does Holland have a Christmas tree?”

Holland: “Yeah.”

Most conversations with Holland lately include her referring to herself in the third person multiple times. I love it.

17 months.

And never happier than when she’s eating a cracker in her car seat. Or simply letting one rest on her face.

her little pony.

Holland rode a pony at the pumpkin patch this weekend. You know, NBD.

Waiting for her turn.

Getting situated with this guy. He first put her on side-saddle. She was such a lady for a moment.

She didn’t understand how to hold on apparently. But he strapped her in, and let her go solo.

And she became the pony pageant baby for a minute.

Waving to the crowd as she went by.

And I guess that made the pony men nervous. Or maybe it was me saying, “Woah, Holland!” But they came back to give her a hand.

But she still liked it.

A lot.

Until she was all pony-ed out.

16 months.

Sweet 16 — you know you want to sing it like on MTV — and more of a little girl-ham than ever. Such a silly heart.

Her tongue is out for the greater part of every day.

She carried this bag around tonight with her three best friends in it. Bear Bear, Baby and Kitty Cat.

She loves to try to put socks on herself. (And maybe that skirt is a little short.)

birth order.

I was just reading this article about birth order in families because you know, it’s nap time for my first-and-only-born. Time for meandering through the world wide web.  According to research, that I haven’t looked into anymore than this one quick read, “firstborns get approximately 3,000 hours more time with their parents between the ages of four and 13 than the younger siblings get when they pass through the same ages.” 3,000 hours! And hasn’t she already had thousands of hours of one-on-one mommy/daddy/baby time? Right now, if Holls could communicate on a more sophisticated level than “NO,” “nana,” “shoe,” she would be like “I am so blessed to be the firstborn!” (Or something more creative/interesting probably.) But when she’s 13, maybe she won’t think it’s so cool. I find all this birth order stuff really interesting. What would it say about being the only girl with six brothers? Or the fifth of seven? Or having an eight-year span to be the baby?

And, no, I’m not pregnant. But NEWSFLASH we are thinking about having more children in this life. Aaaahhhhh. We have been thinking and planning for baby #2 since I was in labor with Holland. (That’s an intended exaggeration.) So what will it be like to be baby #2 of… well, who knows how many. But we plan to have more than just the one country-kid.

Now let’s take a look at how cute my phone thinks she is lately.

Notice that the tiny barbecue is getting soaked in the rain. That Ikea bag cover didn’t make it through last winter.

We spend a lot of time diapering our babies and stuffed animals.

She carried around a diaper in this mini Sephora bag for a whole day until we left it at a friend’s house.

elder wise.

Ashton tells me my last blog had grammatical mistakes and was simply weird. (He also was sure to tell me he still thought it was funny though. He sure knows the way into my heart.) So let me clarify, I don’t actually hate when people say their babies are turning into toddlers. Of course I don’t hate that! Come on now my bloggies (and my husband!), what a silly thing to hate. It’s just like, “Duh, of course they are! That’s what happens, new mom.” And I really am loving every minute of this baby to toddler transition time, besides all the whining, climbing up and into everything, and the hitting. But, hey, she’s a toddler. It comes with the territory (or toddlertory, if you will). Anyway, in an effort to move that dumb blog further down, and hopefully out of your minds, let me give you this one.

Spencer Wise is now Elder Wise. We’re all a pretty good combination of sad and happy about it. Ashton has told me it will never be the same again, but I’m going to try to not think about that. Spencer will always want to bring us In N Out and Jack in the Box milkshakes — I promise our whole relationship was not based on fast food –  and watch TV in our little apartment. I’m also not going to think about how I’ll be almost 30 by the time we see him again. Yikes.

Here are just a few shots of his last few days with us. You can see how broken up about it Holland was.

Holland has started to make this face that we’ve affectionately named “the squinty beaver” when we put a camera flash on her. I guess I got caught up in the moment and couldn’t help myself from being a squinty fool either. Or maybe she learned it from me!?

did you see my baby turned into a toddler?

Don’t you hate when people say things like that? I think I do. Because, like, of course your baby turned into a toddler. That’s what happens. But I mean, really. Did you? And have you seen how cute she is? (Also an annoying braggarly comment for parents to make. (Apparently “braggarly” isn’t a word. The spelling suggestion is “bar girls,” but I don’t think that’s what I mean.))

I basically spend my days in disbelief of this mini grown up. That, and praying for the sweet release of nap time. (Just kidding.)

PS Someone at church commented that she was “one of those kind of girls” because she wore a “denim mini” to church. Her mama’s never been so proud. (Also kidding.)