The winter of our discontent with the weather (and other things)

Had a thankfully peaceful evening with Leah, without any drama, health-wise, or discipline-wise.  When putting her to bed, I read to her "Adventures of Eloise", which my parents took out of the library and brought along on their recent trip with Leah to the Poconos.  We got to a page about Eloise ordering room service, and saying "Charge it please and thank you" (one of her favorite lines - Eloise's, not Leah's).  At this point, I thought it might be educational to pause and explain to Leah what "room service" is.  So I gave her a little speech, reminded her how we stayed at a hotel when we went up to Cornell, and while we did not order room service at the time, one can order it should one so wish.  Leah said "I want to stay at a hotel again!"  I said, getting excited: "sure, we will go and stay at a hotel again, it will be fun!"  To which Leah promptly clarified: "but I don't want to go on vacation.  I don't like vacation with swimming and the beach" (referring to the stressful experience of going to Dominican Republic with us about a year ago).  I started to go on an on about how there are all sorts of vacations, where you can go to museums, and beautiful parks, and see pretty buildings, and not just the beach, but she interrupted me and said, beaming: "and I want to go to IHOP! like I did with babulya and dedulya."  IHOP. Which of course, is the ultimate highlight of any vacation. 


Nikusya, on the other hand, cannot hold much of a conversation these days.  But he seems to understand everything and is trying very hard to communicate.  At his 18 months old check-up earlier this week, the pediatrician medically confirmed that he is "perfect" in all respects, and even offered that she can just "eat him up".  All of that considering that he literally turned her office apart during the visit.  His favorite activity at home tonight was to bring the step stool to various parts of the house, climb on top, and try to cause mischief by reaching all sorts of dangerous things from his new higher vantage point.  My attempt to hide the step stool, as always, was met with very spirited screaming.  When it was time to take him upstairs to get ready for bed, he immediately noticed signs of the impending destruction of our upstairs bathroom.  He pointed to each missing item (missing cabinet drawers, a gaping hole where the vanity mirror once was), exclaimed in horror, and said "papa!  papa!" over and over again.  He might not say much, but he certainly knows where the blame lies.