Boundless energy

The best part of being a child is how anything you do makes your parents laugh. I play the piano with my feet and they roll on their bellies laughing. I hop in my silly contraption that makes noise and has lights and they rush for the video camera. I grab Belle's tongue and pull her hair and they think it is the funniest thing. (The best part about it is if the dog ever gets annoyed ... she is the one who gets in trouble.)
Keeping your parents laughing and in good spirits can be a difficult chore. It is a finely balanced line between keeping them exhausted but offering them just enough sleep so they do not turn into complete zombies.
Here is my work out plan:
10 p.m.: Papa is watching television, make just enough gurgling sounds that he gets up, puts his food out of Belle's reach and walks to the room. Be sound asleep when he arrives.
10:30 p.m.: Hear Papa go to sleep. Give him 10 minutes to get comfortable and then start thumping your left foot repeatedly on the mattress. If he doesn't run in within one minute, making whiney sounds as if you're about to wake up. This will surely bring him in at mach speed. Offer up a cute smile or flip onto your tummy. Feign slumber.
12:30 a.m.: Begin stirring and then start giggling and eating your toes. This time don't stop until he picks you up. At this point, Maman will have lectured him on something he did wrong so he will be super sympathetic. Close your eyes. When he closes the door, start laughing again. Repeat as often as desired. Stop before Maman intervenes.
3:30 a.m.: Ok, he's clearly had enough sleep. Spit out the soother, fling Lumpy around by the trunk and start offering faint whimpering sounds. This time it is important to look pained so he feels sorry for you. After a few forehead and/or tummy rubs fall back to sleep. He's had enough.
5:30 a.m.: Now it's time to get Maman up, she's been asleep for too long. Make gurgling sounds and act hungry. She never withholds food.
6 a.m.: Go back to sleep, you've had a busy night.
6:45 a.m.: With parents walking around with luggage under their eyeballs, start sticking out your tongue, cackling at the top of your lungs, play any instrument they put in front of you or pester the other pets. Anything you do at this point will render them incapable of laughing to the point of incontinence.

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This is extremely disturbing. Now I didn't write the cutlines for either picture, heck the most experience I have with cutlines right now is chewing on them when Papa is trying to read his paper in the morning. But there does seem to be something rather amiss with the assumptions relayed by whoever did write the cutlines.

Playing with Papa's mind

So it's 4:30 a.m. and I have two new teeth keeping me up, a seven-month-old set of lungs that I really want to test out and a tremendous urge to laugh. So what do I do? Wake up Maman and Papa for the sheer amusement factor, of course. Maman stumbles in and we chat for a half-hour or so until she dispatches Papa to the scene.
Now it's time for some fun. I offer up a few giggles, bat my eye-lashes a couple of times, blow a bunch of raspberries and now it's time for a full-fledged play date. Unfortunately, Papa is having none of it. So I get stuck rocking in the chair, playing with Lumpy and listening to the torrential rain storm outside. This proved rather boring so eventually I made it back in my bed where I did somersaults, full-belly laughs and baby gymnastics. I love early morning aerobics.
At about 6 a.m., Papa waved the white flag. Victory! Maman came back in looking rather refreshed so I knew this would be no fun. So I went to sleep. The best part was when I could hear Papa groan when he saw Maman come back to bed. Oh how great it is to be a baby.

Our first picnic

The best part about being seven months old is every time I do something, it is my first. On Sunday it was time for my first picnic. After running for 11 miles in the morning, Papa thought it was completely within his rights to eat Dixie Lee. So the entire family (minus Gribouille and Toulouse) sprawled out on a big blanket in the backyard and ate really greasy chicken and fries. Unfortunately I was only allowed to eat my thumb and a few assorted toys but I was able to partake in the picnic festivities in my own way.
A few observations on this whole picnic phenomenon. Why is it that adults who are so concerned about me eating any dog hair or picking up any dirt off the ground and putting it my mouth are so completely enamoured with the concept of eating with their hands on an old blanket and the possibility of ingesting grass with their fried chicken? As well, why is it that Belle, even outside, feels compelled to lick my face everytime I decide to grab her fur?
After scanning the newspaper on Monday morning I'd like to point everyone out to this distressing story. I know Koalas aren't as cute as they look but I'm really torn about this story.
This story is sooooo my parents. Unfortunately Papa isn't a huge barbecuer yet though he keeps promising Maman he will soon become one. But his bizarre love for gadgets is symbolized very well in this column. So the day he becomes a big barbecuer, he will be like Wente's husband. I bet my Tigger bank account on it.

Just keep swimming...

Just wanted to offer a giant shout-out to my dear friend Jaime for lending me her frog-shaped swimming pool this summer. After reading Jeffrey Simpson, it is the best way to cool off. Simpson had a scathing column on Lord Black of Crossharbour and David Radler on Saturday. While Simpson can get preachy at times, his tone can be tough but not petty. He notes how Black and Radler did not make a lot of friends in the media community. It will also be interesting to see if Radler does rat out Black as Simpson seems to imply.
The events leading to this debacle far surpass my mere seven months on this planet, thus it will be crucial for me to quickly read Black's auto-bio "A Life in Progress" and Richard Siklos "Shades of Black," which do well to document the dynamic duo's rise up Canada's corporate ladder and offer some interesting insights as they tumble down. (Could it be true that the Winter/Barlow tandem were right all along?) Until that time arrives, who can argue with Bébé Caillou?
In the meantime, I love the pool. It's funny why Papa keeps taking me out when my lips turn blue.

PhD in car seats

Ever installed a car seat? Well if you haven't had the joy then you are missing out. Elle was looking forward to her Saturday morning trip to the Farmer's Market but before the excursion she dispatched the Servant to put in her new car seat.
Well 90 minutes later and the trip to the market clearly shot, it was time to go to a workshop on efficiently and effectively installing car seats. Two Transport Canada officials advised the lowly Servant how to buckle in the seat and now we are on the road. I now have a PhD in car seats.
Oh, BTW, I have found a great use for pool noodles ... Elevating car seats. Oh yeah, Belle likes to eat them. Quelle surprise.

Blogging blahs

For some reason our inaugural foray into blogging has decided to hide from time to time. The text is there but for reasons passing understanding it needs to be highlighted to be visible. Technology is so over-rated sometimes.
So Elle has a new tooth, Maman has a new job, Grand-maman is babysitting and oil is trading at $67.49. What is this world coming to?
This blog is originating from the Blackberry so we're hoping this experiment works better than the last one.

The Blogging Begins

Apparently this whole Internet blogging thing is creating quite the craze. So we -- Elle and Belle -- have requested the Servant to begin chronicling our adventures on the Web. Please feel free to offer any feedback.