| Sean Sandquist: Home Page of a Random Guy |
Sean is just some guy
who lives in the Twin Cities.
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22 December 2010 -
Lizzie has opened up an infant first-aid kit that she found in a drawer in her room and is playing with some of the items in it.
"What's this, Daddy?" She hands me the transparent plastic object that she's currently playing with. I take a look at it and give it back to her. "It's an eyedropper, sweetie." "A what?" "It's an eyedropper." She immediately lets go of it, and watches it fall to the floor. She then looks at me expectantly. "I dropped it, Daddy." 29 November 2010 -
23 November 2010 - Elizabeth likes going to the mall. We went there last week, and then she got to ride the merry-go-round that they have in the middle, and a new train that goes in a circuit around the first floor (presumably only around for the Christmas season). She also likes the toddler playground that they have by the food court, and also, the candy machines. When I was a kid, the machines took pennies and nickels (and occasionally dimes for the millionaires' kids); now they take only quarters or multiple quarters.) Just like I used to do, she always has to check the output slots for all of them, checking for any candy that the previous patron might have missed. Yesterday night Lizzie asked to visit to the mall again, and I didn't mind because I'm waiting for a book to show up at the bookstore, so we drove there again. As soon as we got in and she saw the candy machines, she ran up to one and wrapped her arms around the transparent globe. "I missed you so much." 16 October 2010 -
12 September 2010 - So Cindy and Lizzie and I are in northern Wisconsin, walking back to our car late in the evening after a family wedding reception (where there was music and dancing, and Lizzie had even more fun that I had been expecting). The stars are bright; really, really bright. Having lived in the Twin Cities so long, I've forgotten how dark the night sky can actually be. "Wow, the stars are bright," I say to Cindy. "You can even see the Milky Way. You can really see the Milky Way." "I can see the Milky Way," Lizzie replies. (She's just repeating me.) "I can really see the Milky Way." And then, looking up in the sky, adds, "It's in my planet book." She's not just repeating me. She actually knows what she's talking about. The thing is, Elizabeth doesn't have a planet book. I've never taught her anything yet about the Milky Way or planets. (So I'm thinking that her day care must have a kid's astronomy book, and that's what she's referring to. That would explain why she knew about comets a couple of months ago.) No point to this little story, except that's it's typical; I'm constantly being surprised about stuff that a two-year-old picks up that I didn't know that she knew. Another example: one day a couple weeks ago Lizzie came to me into the kitchen, holding a painted wooden block in each hand. She gave me one of the blocks: "Block for you, Daddy." She then turned around and left. A minute later, I overheard from the living room: "Block for you, Mommy." Then a pause, and, "'M' is for 'Mommy.'" I looked down at the block that she had given me. On it was painted the letter "D".
5 September 2010 - I've been watching Lizzie for a few hours while Cindy and her mom are going shopping. Once they get home, we are waiting for them. CINDY: Hi, Lizzie! 4 September 2010 - Elizabeth's grandmother, Cindy's mom, has spent the week with us babysitting Lizzie while our day care is on vacation.
CINDY'S MOM: (whispering) You know what? I really can't stand that Dora any longer.
19 August 2010 - Overheard in the hallway at work:
WOMAN: ...so, I wonder why they call the race a "5K" in the first place. 26 July 2010 - Cindy and Lizzie and I are just finishing up eating supper.
LIZZIE: Are we done now, guys? 18 July 2010 - Following a morning of several incidents of crying, kicking tantrums: LIZZIE: (declaratively) I'm cranky today. 12 July 2010 - I'm putting to Lizzie to bed, but then I notice that she's still clutching three Toasteds crackers from her evening snack; she hasn't eaten them yet. "Still want crackers, Daddy," she says. "You can't eat crackers in bed, sweetie," I say. "At least not unless you end up really good-looking." 11 July 2010 - I'm using the laptop and Lizzie hops up into my lap. "Look at the Moon, Daddy?" Occasionally I show astronomical images to Lizzie, mostly pictures of the Moon and the Earth. So I load up Celestia. "Here's the Moon, sweetie." "Look at Earth?" I turn the view around back at Earth. "There's the Earth." "Look at the Sun?" I turn the view toward the Sun. "There's the Sun." I zoom in close. Lizzie stares. "What happened? What happened?" She points at dark splotches on the surface of the Sun. "Those are spots on the sun. Sunspots, honey." "Look at comet now?" "A comet?" I say, surprised. I've never shown her comets before. I didn't know that she knew what comets were. "Look at comet?" Lizzie repeats. So I speed time up so that it's now 2061. "There's Halley's comet. Isn't it pretty?" "Look at Dora now?" 27 June 2010 -
25 June 2010 - UPDATE: My friend Scooter has discovered that the piece of playground equipment referred to in my previous entry is called the Saddle Spinner, and has already spawned a couple of frightening incidents. It's only a matter of time, I suppose, before it gets banned. 19 June 2010 - Last time Lizzie and I went by her favorite neighborhood playground, we discovered that they had ripped out all of the old equipment, and installed new ones. The new equipment is fine, not actually all that different from the old stuff, but it does include a new mysterious spinny seat, which has physical behavior that I can't explain. If you sit on it, it will start spinning, all on its own without any need of pushing. Eventually the spin accelerates enough that you have to jump off I can't figure it out, so I'm hoping someone might e-mail and explain it to me. Here it is. 14 June 2010 - Stuff my daughter says, part 1:
LIZZIE: (handing me her pajama bottoms) It's raining out, so I don't need my pants. 31 May 2010 - Cindy and Lizzie are sitting on the couch. CINDY: Lizzie, do you want a "wet willy"? 12 May 2010 - Almost every morning I make myself a sandwich for breakfast, and now as a result, Lizzie always demands one, too. "Sandwich, Daddy? Sandwich?" She always asks for either a jelly sandwich, or a ham sandwich. Ham sandwich, with butter, nothing else. (One morning I wasn't around, so she asked Mommy to make her a ham sandwich, but Mommy automatically also put a slice of cheese on it, which I could have told her was an error. Lizzie normally likes cheese, but not on a ham sandwich. Mommy is now aware that that was unacceptable.) This morning she asked for a jelly sandwich, but then after I gave it to her, she asked, "Ham too?" "No, sweetie, I made you a grape jelly sandwich." "I need ham, please?" "This already has jelly on it," I tried to explain. "Ham and jelly don't go together." However, two-year-olds are generally not very good with those types of explanations. "Ham on sandwich too, please, Daddy?" So I put a piece of ham on her jelly sandwich. (Actually, it was a slice of hard salami, but Lizzie thinks that salami is the same as ham.) She ate it, happily. So she'll probably want that every morning now. 29 April 2010 - Vikings stadium: Lawmakers would let cities compete to build new home
A bill would give cities and counties the option to vie for the team, potentially pitting municipalities against one another as they choose various taxes to get the job done. I'm rooting for Los Angeles. 4 April 2010 - We had a good Easter this year. First of all, no one got set on fire, and moreover, by the weekend Lizzie had thankfully completely gotten over the full-body rash that she had from an allergic reaction to amoxicillin. (Although relatively harmless, it looked hideous, and it was certainly no fun for Lizzie since it was very itchy, and it's pretty much impossible to convince a two-year-old not to scratch.) The Easter bunny had hidden two dozen eggs full of candy in the family room for Lizzie to search for. Most if not all of the hiding places were pretty elementary, not much different from when Elizabeth was one. Mommy at one point suggested that maybe the Easter bunny should have made the hiding spots a little more challenging; on the other hand, she wasn't complaining when fifteen minutes later Lizzie was still searching and not finding the last few plastic eggs, even with help ("Lizzie, look to your right" doesn't work on a two-year-old). But all of the candy was eventually found, and then we went over to my brother- and sister-in-law's house for lunch. The meal was good, and afterwards some of us played Wii. My brothers-in-law were engaged in an airplane dogfighting game, and after an unnecessary distraction from my sister-in-law they complained, and my sister-in-law responded in kind, which Elizabeth dutifully repeated: "Bite me," said Lizzie. My sister-in-law looked horrified, and that was my favorite part of the holiday. And now I see that Cindy picked out clothes for Lizzie to wear tomorrow to day care, which is a 24-month outfit and reads "Baby's First Easter" on it, which makes no sense at all, because a 24-month outfit obviously can't possibly be a baby's first Easter. In fact, it wouldn't even necessarily even be a baby's second Easter. It isn't for Lizzie, as a matter of fact; since her birthday is in mid-March, this is actually her third.
14 February 2010 - I just put a crying Lizzie to bed, because I wouldn't let her take a bath before going to sleep. "Daddy, bath?" She already had taken her socks, bottoms, and diaper off. "Daddy, bath, please?" But Lizzie had already asked for and gotten a bath this morning, and we've been forced to draw a line at no more than one bath per day. A couple weeks ago my friend Leif mentioned to me what a struggle it was to get his youngest son to take a bath. We sure don't have that problem at our house; Elizabeth loves baths. Our problem is stopping her from taking her clothes off and getting into the tub. The other day I had been watching her take her bath for more than twenty minutes, and the water level was starting to run low (our bathtub plug doesn't seal perfectly), so I figured that I'd be dragging her out of there pretty soon. Lizzie noticed the level going down, too. "More water?" "You don't need any more water; you'll be getting out soon." "More water, Daddy?" "No more water." "More water, Daddy, please?" She pointed at the water faucet. "You've been in there for almost half an hour. You don't need any more water." "Please, more water, Daddy, please?" I sighed. "You really have to have more water?" And Lizzie's face immediately lit into a bright smile. And then I realized simultaneously that, not only was I going to cave, but that Lizzie knew it, too. And she's only one-and-a-half. A guy that I know at work, a few years ago, after he had had his first daughter, once mentioned to me ruefully that he had never realized how manipulative a child could learn how to be, and at such an incredibly young age. I remember that conversation, because I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, but I think I'm starting to get it now. 6 February 2010 - So I was having lunch with my brother the other day, and he was talking. MY BROTHER: [Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, yada, yada, yada, yada, yada, yada, yada, yada, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, tripe, tripe, tripe, tripe, tripe, tripe, tripe.] [Pause.] So I know you don't watch the show, but that's what's happened so far in the first five seasons of "Lost." 26 January 2010 - Tonight at bedtime, just before going under the covers, Lizzie for the first time said to me (unprompted): "I love you, Daddy." Though actually, I'm paraphrasing slightly. What she actually said was: "I love you, Mommy. I mean Daddy." 25 January 2010 - Why everyone in America should be very happy that the Vikings lost last night: Because if New Orleans hadn't won, this is absolutely the only thing that we'd hear about in the news for the next two weeks:
Speaking of Brett Favre, during the game the TV coverage kept switching to his wife and daughter watching the game in the stands. Did anyone else notice that his daughter looks exactly like his wife? I mean, what's the matter with the guy? Doesn't he have any genes?
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