Can I Play With You?

"Can I Play With You?" As children, we all asked the question a million times. Not to be categorized as typical, Meredith took the request a step beyond her friends and directly to the source of all good playing. The playground itself!

Meredith loves playing at Clemyjontri Park, a playground designed to serve children of all ability levels, including those with special needs. Families travel hundreds of miles to visit this park, but we are fortunate to live mere minutes away.

On our way home from church today, Meredith started her refrain, "Can we please go to Clemyjontri today?" We had a lot packed into the day, including changing her room from a nursery into a big girl room (post forthcoming). We asked her to have patience as we tried to fit a playground into the schedule.

Three hours later, after filling her time playing with toys at home, she started asking again. It became apparent to us that she was not satisfied with our answer when we found her dialing the telephone to call the playground directly! Although, she doesn't know the number, her imagination quickly took hold and carried her through a (somewhat self-serving) conversation.

After being given the green light to play with Daddy, Meredith started to tell the park she misses it. Unfortunately, she was interrupted by the automated operator, "Dee dee dee, Please try your call again." Good girl that she is, Meredith was willing to comply.

Look out, world, there's another Bunting actress on her way!!

Training Wheels

Meredith has wheels!

Our neighbor outgrew her darling purple Schwinn and passed it down to Meredith. Frank added training wheels and off went our little girl!

** Disclaimer: The seat is too high. We know that. We will adjust it to make pedalling easier. **

"Vamanos, Meredith, vamanos!"







We took her out today for her first spin. She got the handle of it very quickly and rode to the end of our street, even stopping for a few photos.

Watching my little girl ride such a big bicycle so confidently, I was prepared to be emotional over how fast she is growing. Much to my relief, at the end of the street, she hopped off the bike because she was too tired to continue. Looks like those little muscles still have some growing before my baby rides away.

An Ode to NeeNee

Oh, little snowman,
You came to visit at Christmas,
Never imagining you would stay
Until snow melted and summer turned to fall.

You were dubbed NeeNee,
Once a "he," suddenly now a "she."
You're a baby, a daughter, a lovey, a toy.
You'll be Meredith's best friend when she's six feet tall.

She carries you, hugs you, throws you in the air.
You ride in strollers, baskets, and baby swings.
Never far, always smiling.
You, little snowman, are loved by all.

For Meredith's first Christmas, Santa Claus put a small, white snowman under the tree. Wearing a blue hat and scarf, he went relatively unnoticed among the piles of new toys.

One night, shortly after the holidays, I handed Meredith the little lovey as I tucked her into bed and whispered, as I often do, "Nighty night." Without realizing it, I must have repeated this over the next several nights. Within a few weeks, Meredith innocently reached for the toy with his carrot nose and said, "NeeNee?" A lifelong friendship was forged.

Of all the pink teddybears, fluffy lambies, and soft bunnies my sweet baby girl received, at nine months, she fell for a snowman. She hasn't slept without him since. Somewhere along the way, the snowman and Meredith became inseparable. She plays with him (sometimes "her"), talks to him (though NeeNee doesn't respond because "his mouth doesn't open"), and begs to bring him everywhere she goes.

Descending the stairs a year after NeeNee joined our family.

Last summer, when we visited friends in Kentucky, we realized their daughter, Andie, had the same generic snowman as Meredith. Of course, Andie's was in slightly better condition, not having been dragged through a year and a half of toddlerhood.

Andie, Meredith, and their snowmen.

Shortly after we left the Brown's, Laura packed the snowman away. Recently, she discovered him buried in a closet and sent him to Meredith. I thought it was a good opportunity to create a "back-up," in case the real NeeNee is ever lost.

The Experiment ~ I wrapped each snowman into a pillowcase and placed them in the wash, hoping this would help them both smell the same. Besides, the real NeeNee was very, very dirty.

Meredith could barely wait the full wash cycle before she needed to be with NeeNee again, so we climbed downstairs to the laundry room as the washing machine buzzed. I gingerly lifted out the new snowman, exclaimed how clean NeeNee was, and handed it to Meredith. She scrunched her nose and handed him back complaining, "He's too white." I gave him to her again, insisting he had just had a bath. "No, he's too clean to be NeeNee." (What!??!) I suggested she hug her snowman to make him feel better. She complied and quickly pushed him back to me, "He is too soft. He's too soft and clean. I don't want NeeNee to be clean!"

Experiment failed.

The Reconciliation ~ I pretended to dig in the washing machine again and pulled out the original snowman. Meredith was delighted to hug her grey, scruffy friend! Then, she realized her jackpot -- TWO snowmen!! She ran upstairs, excitedly told Frank he needed to rush downstairs, and yelled, "There are TWO NeeNees!!!" We have since renamed the new friend Clarabelle. While she is no replacement for Meredith's dearest baby (daughter, toy, friend, snuggie), she is precious, if not clean.

NeeNee and Clarabelle, shortly before their infamous bath.

An action shot of Meredith's gentle touch with her "baby."

MM and NN shopping together at a Christmas store.

NeeNee loves reindeer rides!

Like two peas in a pod... Gingerfriends!

Dr. Meredith

One of Meredith's favorite toys is her Animal Hospital, a darling doctor's kit/veterinary clinic that entertains her for hours and has even helped her develop a positive attitute toward her own doctor visits.

While trying to keep her busy last weekend, I suggested she play with the animal hospital.

"Uh oh, I think your butterfly isn't feeling very well," I offered.

Too bored to be placated with the same old ideas, she looked at me begrudgingly, "My butterfly… Um. My butterfly…" She trailed off. With her tongue clicking and eyes scanning the horizon, she searched to form a response.

I half-expected my three-year old to lose focus or confidence and move on to something else. Instead, she sought an alternative solution, stating, "I can't talk to you. I don't know the words to say it."

Impressed that my little gal could verbalize her shortfall, I helped her unravel her thoughts by asking, "Does your butterfly feel well or does she not feel well?"

Mustering a classic preschool attitude, she quipped, "My butterfly feels perfectly fine and does NOT need a doctor. Thank you, very much!"

Okay, let's find something else to play...