bubble recipe

Like many other children, Sage adores blowing bubbles. She can go through several bottles of bubble solution in a single day, which is why I went through many experiments to figure out how to make bubble solution at home, from household ingredients.

Sage's Bubble Recipe:
Mix one cup of water with two tablespoons of liquid dishwashing solution and one tablespoon of clear Karo syrup. Stir it gently, because too much froth will muck up your bubble wand.

You don't actually need a bubble wand, either. Anything that forms a closed shape and is hollow at the center will do. You can use a straw, for example, or even a piece of string tied into a loop.

Yay! I figured I might as well post some of the craft-y stuff I've been learning to do for Sage, so she can understand Mommy's 'magic' when she's old enough to do it herself.

baby bard

Just this evening, while messing around with a bottle of baby powder, Sage composed her very first original song. The tune is a bit tricky to follow, but the lyrics go like this:

Put on my knee,
Powder on my knee,
Jesus loves me,
Strawberry, strawberry.

It may not follow your traditional narrative logic, but clearly she has a fine grasp of basic rhyme and meter. Two years old, and she's already a poet!

her mother's daughter

With my continuing distress (and misplaced guilt) over Sage's spudchild Sara, I told Nikki we should get her a real doll. Not that she doesn't have any, because she does, but somehow Dora and the innumerable stuffed animals have fallen out of favor.

Besides, we wanted to get stuff to keep her busy on the plane and decided that a trip to the toy store would have multiple benefits.

Since Sage sometimes pretends to be a doctor (even developing a soothing foot massage, unprompted by me), Nikki wanted to get her a doll that came with a lot of doctor thingies: thermometer, stethoscope, bandages, injections and others.

But since Sage also has developed a fascination for all things Cinderella (going around with our artsy-fartsy flyswatter cooing "Bibbity-bobbity-boo!" and insisting on wearing her blue "Cinderelly" dress 90% of the time), I wanted to get her a young Cinderella doll that comes with two mice, a slicable birthday cake and of course, her lovely blue ballgown.

I placed both dolls (in their boxes) on the floor, called Sage over, and explained the pros and cons of each doll (my audience soon grew to encompass the competing salesladies and some other children).

Dean: So, Sage, there you have it. Now you need to choose only one. Which one do you want?

Sage (points to Cinderella): This one, Dad.

Dean: Are you sure? This other dolly has-

Sage (firmly): This one, Dad.

Dean: Okay.

I told the winning saleslady that we'd return for the doll once we complete our other purchases. Along the way, we spotted Barbie as Cinderella.

Dean: Sage, look! It's Barbie, it's Cinderella!

Nikki: You just want to buy her a Barbie.

Dean: Well, yes, but she has to choose.

Meanwhile, on a rack more her height, Sage spotted a vanity kit: mirror, lipstick, four brushes with a holder, and a set of false nails with adhesive, all in glorious plastic.

Sage: Dad, look!

Dean: Okay, give me that. Here, now you choose only one.

I placed the Young Cinderella and Barbie Cinderella in their respectives beautiful boxes on the floor. Next to them, I positioned the vanity kit. Again, I pitched each one to Sage, because I take my daughter seriously and want her to make an educated decision.

Sage: I want this one, Dad. This one, Mommy.

Crestfallen, I followed her finger to the vanity set and realized that it too was emblazoned with Cinderella's image.

Dean: But sweetie, it's...plastic.

Nikki: Ah, but it's also only P70.

Dean: It is?

I took a look at the price tags of the other dolls. Young Cinderella, P1200. Barbie, P1000.

Dean: Great choice, Sage! Let's go pay for it!

Later at home, we watched Sage pretend to paint her toes.

Dean: You know why she chose the kikay kit?

Nikki: Why?

Dean: Because she wants to be just like her Mommy.

Thankfully, the Kodak moment spared me any violent reactions.

Sage's spud-child

Sage has decided that her father's can of Piknik potato fries is her own little baby doll named Sara. 'Baby Sara' gets cradled in Sage's arms, sung to sleep, and dressed and undressed with rather troubling glee. (Poor Sara's wardrobe consists of sheets of typewriting paper which are wrapped around the can and sometimes fastened with tape... only to be whipped off again with the accompanying celebratory announcement, "You're naked!") Sara is also prone to frequent 'owies', which must be treated with a kiss and meticulous application of transparent tape 'bandages'.

Sage invented this game all on her own, and Sara is the first toy of hers that she actually named herself, with no prompting. So I'm thrilled that her imagination is vivid and thriving, but somewhat dismayed at the choice of object. Aside from the fact that people may think we never buy her proper toys, we are no longer permitted to eat Sara's contents. In fact, the lid of the can has been taped on, and any attempts to remove it have met with stern disapproval.

But the cutest part is that Sage treats her 'doll' in much the same way that we, her parents, treat her. She gives Sara horsey rides on her back, and embraces the can comfortingly, cooing, "Don't cry, Sara, I'm here, Mommy's here..." So since Sage likes to hold hands with me and dance around the floor that way, I asked her why she doesn't dance with Baby Sara.

"Mommy," Sage replied with sorrowful patience, "Sara has no hands."

I never learn.

big sis?

 
This is Mia Maestro, who plays Jennifer Garner's sister on Alias. Sage and I were watching her on TV when I realized that she actually looks a little bit like a grown-up Sagey. Don't you think?

budding writer

Sage is learning to write.

We are so proud of her! She's only two and a half years old, and already she can write the letters X and O, and identify several more letters on sight, including S ("for Sage!"), M ("for Mommy!") and D ("for Daddy!"). I bought her one of those books where you can trace letters and wipe them off again. She's pretty good at tracing scraggly As, Gs, Is, Js, and the various permutations of lower-case B (If you spin it around, it's also D and P), but refuses to accept that a single straight vertical line represents L.

"That's not L," she tells me. "L is this one," she says, pointing to capital L.

"Yes, it is," I attempt to explain. "That's the big L. But you can also write it small, like this, just a straight up-and-down line."

"No, Mommy," she says dismissively. And continues to work on her letter Ks instead.

Sage milestones

Sage's first social smile appeared on March 23, 2002, when she was just a little over a month old--about two months earlier than most children!