We decided to make Julia's crib into a toddler bed. It converts by just taking the front rail off and tah-dah, toddler day bed. We were stupid.

We thought that Julia, the second child, would be like Allie, the first child. Allie stayed in her bed. She woke up on weekend mornings, called us to tell us she was awake, and stayed in bed, sometimes even when urged to join us in our room. Allie woke from naps, called to tell us she was awake, and stayed in bed until we came to get her.

Julia does not do this. Big surprise.

We put Julia in her bed and she stands up and jumps on her fun, bouncy mattress. Even though she always could reach, she's now figured out that she can reach the overhead light switch from her bed. So she turns on the light. And turns it off. And turns it on and leaves it on when it's an hour past her bedtime.

She gets out of bed and knocks on her bedroom door, trying to get us to come and let her out. (I said we were stupid, but we're not that dumb. Her door sticks, so she can't pull it open. She does have to stay in her room if we want her to.)

Julia lays on the floor just inside the door, with the overhead light on, and revels in her independence and control of her environment. It makes me smile and tear up at the same time.

Big girl.

I can't believe this is my 107th post. Who da thunk I had so much to say.

So it's time for a lecture--hey you, go donate blood! Yes, you! Don't be a chicken, you can do it. It's really no big deal. Hey, if I've done it 55 times so far (over the last, oh my god--could it be, 20 years), you can too.

Think about it. How much do you really do for charity. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah, we send a lot of clothes to St. Vinnie's too. Uh huh. Boy, that isn't a very impressive list, frankly. Did you know that I used to tutor a woman for the Literacy Council of Green Bay years ago and she got so much charity food at Christmas and Thanksgiving that she offered some to me? Sorry, off the subject. But occasional food donations still aren't too impressive.

You know, you could donate blood. All it takes is a little time and you don't even have to open your wallet, except to take out your donor card the second and subsequent times you donate.

They're really nice to you. They give you kool-aid or orange juice and brownies, cookies, and crackers galore afterwards. AND YOU HAVE TO EAT THEM! Isn't that the coolest? You have to eat them to get your sugar levels back in balance (plus drink water, but that's boring). So no matter what you ate for lunch or how close it is to dinner--EAT UP! You've earned it. Doesn't that sound tempting?

Donate blood, give it a try. You might need some someday, you know. And you'd have paid your psychic debt if you've donated even a few times in the past. See, it's karma! Everybody needs good karma, right?

So seriously, try donating blood. It's a good thing to do, only 3 percent of Americans do it, and you can actually save a life. Donating an old can of sauerkraut just doesn't compare.

Julia is now 27 months old and she knows how to count to ten. How do I know that she can do it without coaxing her by getting her started? Allie, me, and Julia play hide-and-seek. And when it's Julia's turn to count, there you go.

Allie and I usually count to twenty, so Julia counts to ten, then goes llellen, then she pauses and starts over with one again. The second time through, though, she says one, two, three and then uncovers her eyes and hollers, "Here come!"

Julia is also completely in love with her candy bucket from Halloween. We really need to hide the buckets of both kids, but Greg and I aren't completely finished stealing all the chocolate yet. So Julia carries her candy bucket around the house, tries to take it to daycare (I don't think so!), and insists that her bucket be next to her head when we lay her down to change her diaper.

In the morning, she wakes up a little and almost immediately remembers (well before any thought crosses Allie's mind) that she has a bucket full of candy somewhere, so off she goes to look for it. I don't let her eat candy for breakfast, obviously, but the hope in her little brain springs eternal. We're planning an addict intervention for next week Tuesday.