"Good night, Boy Wonder. Have pleasant dreams."
"NO! No pwesant dreams. Daddy told me to have SWEET dreams."
Hey, whatever works.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Twelve weeks
I am realizing that I post about Boy Wonder a lot. Well, duh; I started blogging mostly so I could blather about my children. But I have two, and what I meant to say is, I haven't posted about Baby Boone very much. And, although he might not initiate surreal conversations, put on puppet shows, or loudly sing the alphabet on the drive home, he's definitely worth talking about. So here goes.
Baby Boone was born on 4/5/06, which is a pretty neat birthdate. He has lots and lots of dark hair; right now, it's about collar-length. We're not sure what color his eyes will be; under a strong light or outdoors, they look almost gray-green, but in normal light, they look gray-brown. We'll see what happens. He's very contact-oriented and cuddly. So cuddly, in fact, that for the first few weeks we were home, he woke up crying after twenty minutes in the bassinet, but would sleep soundly for several hours if cuddled against someone's chest or in someone's arms. Usually mine; on days when just the two of us were home together, I'd park in the recliner with the baby, the remote control, and a pile of books, snacks, and beverages. He would wake up to eat, and then drift back to sleep in my arms, and I would hold him for hours.
He's a very mellow baby. Boy Wonder was pretty easygoing as well, but Baby Boone is seriously laid-back. He is also a very quiet baby; until he started cooing recently, he was eerily quiet. He does like to coo, though, and will sometimes interrupt a meal to gaze up at me and say, "Lah! Hai. Oooh," and other charming, vowel-heavy things.
His smile is like the dawn breaking, and I will do any number of silly things to see it spread across his face. He seems to enjoy watching his brother, as Boy Wonder dances around his bouncy chair waving a stuffed dinosaur at him; this morning he smiled hugely, and made a noise that was almost a laugh.
He is beautiful. He will always be, to me, and you can quote me on this. Even in twelve, or thirteen, or fourteen years, when he will no longer be a cuddly baby and might tell me that he hates me, or that the way I dress, or talk, or walk, or do anything is horribly humiliating to him. His sweet baby smile will always be with me.
Baby Boone is twelve weeks old today. Happy twelve-week birthday, kid. May you have many more.
Baby Boone was born on 4/5/06, which is a pretty neat birthdate. He has lots and lots of dark hair; right now, it's about collar-length. We're not sure what color his eyes will be; under a strong light or outdoors, they look almost gray-green, but in normal light, they look gray-brown. We'll see what happens. He's very contact-oriented and cuddly. So cuddly, in fact, that for the first few weeks we were home, he woke up crying after twenty minutes in the bassinet, but would sleep soundly for several hours if cuddled against someone's chest or in someone's arms. Usually mine; on days when just the two of us were home together, I'd park in the recliner with the baby, the remote control, and a pile of books, snacks, and beverages. He would wake up to eat, and then drift back to sleep in my arms, and I would hold him for hours.
He's a very mellow baby. Boy Wonder was pretty easygoing as well, but Baby Boone is seriously laid-back. He is also a very quiet baby; until he started cooing recently, he was eerily quiet. He does like to coo, though, and will sometimes interrupt a meal to gaze up at me and say, "Lah! Hai. Oooh," and other charming, vowel-heavy things.
His smile is like the dawn breaking, and I will do any number of silly things to see it spread across his face. He seems to enjoy watching his brother, as Boy Wonder dances around his bouncy chair waving a stuffed dinosaur at him; this morning he smiled hugely, and made a noise that was almost a laugh.
He is beautiful. He will always be, to me, and you can quote me on this. Even in twelve, or thirteen, or fourteen years, when he will no longer be a cuddly baby and might tell me that he hates me, or that the way I dress, or talk, or walk, or do anything is horribly humiliating to him. His sweet baby smile will always be with me.
Baby Boone is twelve weeks old today. Happy twelve-week birthday, kid. May you have many more.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
The peacock scared my popcorn
Another statistically improbable phrase! Here's how it came about.
We were at the zoo on Saturday. Boy Wonder was happily ensconced in the front portion of the double stroller, looking at a polar bear and munching on popcorn (we'd placed some in a plastic cup instead of giving him the whole giant bag). Then it happened. A peacock sauntered by, casually glancing at the stroller scene...and then it turned around, postured, and squawked in Boy Wonder's face. Loudly. Boy Wonder jumped about a foot, bursting into tears and tossing his cup of popcorn into the air. Popcorn scattered, tears flew, and passerby were highly amused. Boy Wonder was provided with more popcorn, tears stopped flying, and the peacock once again sauntered by casually, heading straight for the scattered popcorn. (I think that was her intention all along.)
We were at the zoo on Saturday. Boy Wonder was happily ensconced in the front portion of the double stroller, looking at a polar bear and munching on popcorn (we'd placed some in a plastic cup instead of giving him the whole giant bag). Then it happened. A peacock sauntered by, casually glancing at the stroller scene...and then it turned around, postured, and squawked in Boy Wonder's face. Loudly. Boy Wonder jumped about a foot, bursting into tears and tossing his cup of popcorn into the air. Popcorn scattered, tears flew, and passerby were highly amused. Boy Wonder was provided with more popcorn, tears stopped flying, and the peacock once again sauntered by casually, heading straight for the scattered popcorn. (I think that was her intention all along.)
Monday, June 26, 2006
This post brought to you by my spam filter
Messages with the following headers were quarantined as possible junk or virus-infected mail today.
Your cash, nose dive
Your cash, peach aphid
Your cash, nerve-shaken
Your cash, night-singing
Your health, moon taught
Your health, nit grass
Order status, noble metal
Order status, mouse-colored
Order status, passage boat
I can't imagine why those were all quarantined. I mean, those sound like they are the subjects of perfectly legitimate emails, don't they? DON'T THEY?
Your cash, nose dive
Your cash, peach aphid
Your cash, nerve-shaken
Your cash, night-singing
Your health, moon taught
Your health, nit grass
Order status, noble metal
Order status, mouse-colored
Order status, passage boat
I can't imagine why those were all quarantined. I mean, those sound like they are the subjects of perfectly legitimate emails, don't they? DON'T THEY?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Odds and ends
On the home front: Our upstairs neighbors appear to be moving out! I'll admit, I was very startled to see them carrying various pieces of furniture out the door this afternoon. I would have expected to see them leading out a herd of elephants, a road construction crew, six Clydesdales, and the entire cast of Lord of the Dance. I am not kidding. I have no idea how two normal-sized grownups can make that much noise, unless they eat a lot of canned goods and are the two clumsiest people ever. Now, we live on the second floor, and we have a child who is currently fascinated with hopping and jumping, so I can't imagine that living downstairs from us is a real treat either. We're working on that. In fact, the air fairly vibrates with all the cries of "Boy Wonder! STOP JUMPING NOW! There are people downstairs!" However, at least Dragon and I, the grownups, are trying to be courteous by not stomping around ourselves.
On the road again: I took the boys to visit my grandmother, aka Nanny, today. While she watched Baby Boone sleep in his carseat (he wasn't feeling social today, I guess), Boy Wonder and I went to go pick raspberries in her yard. (My late grandfather grew up on a farm and loved to garden. The raspberries nearly took over the whole yard a few years back, but were tamed slightly. Still, there are a lot of raspberry bushes.) Boy Wonder was wildly enthusiastic about raspberry-picking, and I had to supervise him closely (well, duh, he's three; of course I did). I was trying to explain which berries to pick, and finally settled on telling him to pick the ones that were "all the way red" before he stripped the bushes of the pale pink ones. Which led to many shouts of, "Is this one all the way red? Where are some berries for me to pick? It's my turn to pick one!" We didn't pick that many, which may have been a blessing in disguise, because once we got back inside he proceeded to scarf down every single one.
On the home front, redux: Soon, we hope to emulate our upstairs neighbors--not by making noise, but by moving out. Having a second child makes things a bit more crowded than I thought it would, and I think that fairly soon the closet doors will come flying off because they are all ridiculously full. It is Rummage Sale Season around here, and I keep seeing all the signs and saying, "Hey, we should go! Oh wait, no. Where would we put anything else?" So we are sort of in the beginning stages of looking for a house. With a basement.
On the road again: I took the boys to visit my grandmother, aka Nanny, today. While she watched Baby Boone sleep in his carseat (he wasn't feeling social today, I guess), Boy Wonder and I went to go pick raspberries in her yard. (My late grandfather grew up on a farm and loved to garden. The raspberries nearly took over the whole yard a few years back, but were tamed slightly. Still, there are a lot of raspberry bushes.) Boy Wonder was wildly enthusiastic about raspberry-picking, and I had to supervise him closely (well, duh, he's three; of course I did). I was trying to explain which berries to pick, and finally settled on telling him to pick the ones that were "all the way red" before he stripped the bushes of the pale pink ones. Which led to many shouts of, "Is this one all the way red? Where are some berries for me to pick? It's my turn to pick one!" We didn't pick that many, which may have been a blessing in disguise, because once we got back inside he proceeded to scarf down every single one.
On the home front, redux: Soon, we hope to emulate our upstairs neighbors--not by making noise, but by moving out. Having a second child makes things a bit more crowded than I thought it would, and I think that fairly soon the closet doors will come flying off because they are all ridiculously full. It is Rummage Sale Season around here, and I keep seeing all the signs and saying, "Hey, we should go! Oh wait, no. Where would we put anything else?" So we are sort of in the beginning stages of looking for a house. With a basement.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Early to bed
And later to rise, I guess? Boy Wonder went to bed at his usual time last night, and slept until 6:15 this morning. He woke up in a pretty good mood, too. Whew.
On the other hand, this evening he spent ten minutes (and harnessed a lot of screaming energy) telling me, "It's not bedtime! It's still LIGHT out!" Nothing like a kid who's about to fall asleep on his feet screaming that he's not TIRED, it's still LIGHT out, he doesn't WANT to go to bed. These statements are particularly amusing when accompanied by huge yawns, extensive eye-rubbing, and the special Tired Salute*. After several books and a bedtime story about an upcoming zoo trip, he finally went to sleep. I wonder what time he'll wake up tomorrow.
*He holds his hand in front of his mouth, almost like he's blowing on his wrist to cool it off. He has been doing this since he was about six months old.
On the other hand, this evening he spent ten minutes (and harnessed a lot of screaming energy) telling me, "It's not bedtime! It's still LIGHT out!" Nothing like a kid who's about to fall asleep on his feet screaming that he's not TIRED, it's still LIGHT out, he doesn't WANT to go to bed. These statements are particularly amusing when accompanied by huge yawns, extensive eye-rubbing, and the special Tired Salute*. After several books and a bedtime story about an upcoming zoo trip, he finally went to sleep. I wonder what time he'll wake up tomorrow.
*He holds his hand in front of his mouth, almost like he's blowing on his wrist to cool it off. He has been doing this since he was about six months old.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Mission accomplished! Well, sort of.
This morning's mission: get out of the house by 7:10, get children safely to daycare, get self safely to work. Status of this morning's mission: complete, with a few technical difficulties along the way.
I woke up at 2:00 this morning (Baby Boone was hungry) and couldn't help noticing that I had a roaring headache. Baby Boone ate and fell asleep again, and I went back to sleep as well, hoping that sleep would cause the headache to quit roaring. It didn't, as I discovered the next time I woke up, at 4:40 (Baby Boone was hungry again). As I was feeding Baby Boone, I heard another voice:
"Mommy? Mommy? Is it morning yet? I want a waffle and orange juice! Is it time to get up?"
(For some reason, Boy Wonder has been waking up ridiculously early lately. He used to sleep until about 6:15 or so, but the past few weeks have seen wake-up times between 5:13 and 5:47. Fortunately, if I turn on his bedroom light he'll play quietly for a while, until it actually IS morning.)
"No, not yet." I called back. "But as soon as I finish feeding your brother, I'll come turn your light on and you can play for a while."
"No! NO! It's morning! I want to get up! It's light out!" And then I heard the sound of a tantrum starting to be thrown. Well, usually he's fine with playing quietly for a while. (He was today, after a few minutes of blowing off steam, and the official getting-up time was 5:55.)
The morning proceeded fairly smoothly after that, with Boy Wonder being presented with orange juice, cartoons, and a waffle. Baby Boone was still sleeping, and I was able to shower, dress, quickly pack two diaper/extra clothes bags, one lunch, one breast pump and its assorted equipment, one general stuff-to-take-to-work bag, and a partridge in a freakin' pear tree.
Then, the time came to put on Boy Wonder's shoes. As he'd already been awake for two hours, he was becoming somewhat cranky and wanted to wear a pair of dirty socks that had been hanging out on the kitchen floor for a few days. (Note to self: clean kitchen floor more often.) I think I had just said something like, "Get over here and get these clean socks on NOW!" when thunder crashed, Boy Wonder looked very startled, and I jumped about a foot. Then I opened the door to reveal a full-blown summer thunderstorm, complete with torrential rains. Seriously, I started wondering if someone had received instructions to build an ark, and I'd just missed the memo.
Boy Wonder (who was eventually persuaded that clean socks were better than dirty) and I got soaked during our twenty-foot dash to the car, although he did get a kick out of running in the rain. The foot of Baby Boone's car seat got a bit damp, but he remained dry. And I pulled out of our parking spot at exactly 7:10!
Just in time to knock over my water bottle, which I'd carefully placed on the seat beside me after forgetting that I lost the cap about a week ago.
Tomorrow is anothah day.
I woke up at 2:00 this morning (Baby Boone was hungry) and couldn't help noticing that I had a roaring headache. Baby Boone ate and fell asleep again, and I went back to sleep as well, hoping that sleep would cause the headache to quit roaring. It didn't, as I discovered the next time I woke up, at 4:40 (Baby Boone was hungry again). As I was feeding Baby Boone, I heard another voice:
"Mommy? Mommy? Is it morning yet? I want a waffle and orange juice! Is it time to get up?"
(For some reason, Boy Wonder has been waking up ridiculously early lately. He used to sleep until about 6:15 or so, but the past few weeks have seen wake-up times between 5:13 and 5:47. Fortunately, if I turn on his bedroom light he'll play quietly for a while, until it actually IS morning.)
"No, not yet." I called back. "But as soon as I finish feeding your brother, I'll come turn your light on and you can play for a while."
"No! NO! It's morning! I want to get up! It's light out!" And then I heard the sound of a tantrum starting to be thrown. Well, usually he's fine with playing quietly for a while. (He was today, after a few minutes of blowing off steam, and the official getting-up time was 5:55.)
The morning proceeded fairly smoothly after that, with Boy Wonder being presented with orange juice, cartoons, and a waffle. Baby Boone was still sleeping, and I was able to shower, dress, quickly pack two diaper/extra clothes bags, one lunch, one breast pump and its assorted equipment, one general stuff-to-take-to-work bag, and a partridge in a freakin' pear tree.
Then, the time came to put on Boy Wonder's shoes. As he'd already been awake for two hours, he was becoming somewhat cranky and wanted to wear a pair of dirty socks that had been hanging out on the kitchen floor for a few days. (Note to self: clean kitchen floor more often.) I think I had just said something like, "Get over here and get these clean socks on NOW!" when thunder crashed, Boy Wonder looked very startled, and I jumped about a foot. Then I opened the door to reveal a full-blown summer thunderstorm, complete with torrential rains. Seriously, I started wondering if someone had received instructions to build an ark, and I'd just missed the memo.
Boy Wonder (who was eventually persuaded that clean socks were better than dirty) and I got soaked during our twenty-foot dash to the car, although he did get a kick out of running in the rain. The foot of Baby Boone's car seat got a bit damp, but he remained dry. And I pulled out of our parking spot at exactly 7:10!
Just in time to knock over my water bottle, which I'd carefully placed on the seat beside me after forgetting that I lost the cap about a week ago.
Tomorrow is anothah day.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Here's your fizzy water!
Disclaimer: No one has ever actually asked Boy Wonder to bring them a beverage of any sort. He's just started doing it on his own; last time we had dinner at my parents' house, I heard my mother getting me a can of sparkling water and Boy Wonder saying, "No, I want to bring Mommy her fizzy water!"
Today being Father's Day, the boys had some cards ready for Dragon. (I purchased the cards, of course, and then Boy Wonder customized them with some crayons.) So this morning, I sent Boy Wonder to perform the Wake Up Daddy ritual, and gave him the cards to take with him. Dragon was sleepily looking at the cards, and I suddenly heard Boy Wonder rummaging around in the refrigerator.
"Boy Wonder, what are you doing?" I called.
"I'm getting something for Daddy!" he replied.
I started to hear things falling over in the fridge, and went to investigate. Then I saw what Boy Wonder was carrying, and became too busy cracking up as I followed him back into the bedroom. Where Dragon was very surprised indeed when Boy Wonder said, "Here, Daddy! Here's your fizzy water that I brought for you!" and presented him with...a beer. At 8:00 on a Sunday morning, no less.
Today being Father's Day, the boys had some cards ready for Dragon. (I purchased the cards, of course, and then Boy Wonder customized them with some crayons.) So this morning, I sent Boy Wonder to perform the Wake Up Daddy ritual, and gave him the cards to take with him. Dragon was sleepily looking at the cards, and I suddenly heard Boy Wonder rummaging around in the refrigerator.
"Boy Wonder, what are you doing?" I called.
"I'm getting something for Daddy!" he replied.
I started to hear things falling over in the fridge, and went to investigate. Then I saw what Boy Wonder was carrying, and became too busy cracking up as I followed him back into the bedroom. Where Dragon was very surprised indeed when Boy Wonder said, "Here, Daddy! Here's your fizzy water that I brought for you!" and presented him with...a beer. At 8:00 on a Sunday morning, no less.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
La leche post
First of all, a big shout-out to the local convention center, the staff of which did not bat an eyelash when I arrived there for an all-day event and brandished my breast pump at them. A nice gentleman showed me into a room with tables, chairs, and a sink, and then got on his walkie-talkie to spread the news that the room would be in use.
And now: Oh, for the love of heaven
Now, I'm all for breastfeeding. I own a copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding. I nursed Boy Wonder for sixteen months. Except for, like, three, bottles of formula he had during the week we were both hospitalized and on IV antibiotics, he received no milk but mine until he was nearly ten months old, when I just wasn't able to pump as much during the workday. And by "not as much," I don't mean "less frequently;" I was actually pumping more frequently, but I think by that point he was drinking three 6-ounce bottles a day, and that is a LOT of milk to come up with on a daily basis! My supply was still fine when he was nursing (babies are much more effective than pumps), but I did need to supplement his daycare bottles with formula for the next couple of months, until he switched to drinking regular milk. Even after that, he still nursed at naptime and bedtime until we were through. And, obviously, since I have a two-month-old and was using a pump yesterday, I am nursing Baby Boone. He has not yet had any formula; my employer provides a secure and private space for nursing mothers, and I'm still in the heady days of having a rockin' milk supply. My freezer, it runneth over.
But I am sick, sick, sick of hearing it implied that mothers who don't breastfeed their babies for very long, or don't breastfeed them at all, are causing their children grave physical harm. Yes, breastfeeding is the best nutritional choice, and it would be very easy for me to say, "Why doesn't everyone just give it a try?" But I had a good supply, no big problems, and babies who latched on easily, decided breastfeeding was just fine with them, and proceeded to gain weight rapidly. (And, let's not forget, I also had/have employers who said, "You want to pump? No problem; we'll slap a lock on the empty office down the hall. Here's your key; use it as needed." Not everyone has that.) And, I am here to tell you that even if the nurse who teaches your breastfeeding class tells you that all of her breastfed children never, ever, ever got sick, and only visited the doctor for their well-child visits, not everyone has that experience. By the time he was ten months old, Boy Wonder had had three GI viruses, RSV, pneumonia, and four ear infections.
I have rather a lot to say about this, but very little time. So, in summary: Breastfeeding is good, but formula is not poison, yo. And, if you want to encourage women to breastfeed, provide every new mother with a free, high-quality breast pump, free in-home visits from lactation counselors, and free whatever else is needed to ensure that they'll breastfeed. Maybe with some of the money that's being spent on this ad campaign.
And now: Oh, for the love of heaven
Now, I'm all for breastfeeding. I own a copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding. I nursed Boy Wonder for sixteen months. Except for, like, three, bottles of formula he had during the week we were both hospitalized and on IV antibiotics, he received no milk but mine until he was nearly ten months old, when I just wasn't able to pump as much during the workday. And by "not as much," I don't mean "less frequently;" I was actually pumping more frequently, but I think by that point he was drinking three 6-ounce bottles a day, and that is a LOT of milk to come up with on a daily basis! My supply was still fine when he was nursing (babies are much more effective than pumps), but I did need to supplement his daycare bottles with formula for the next couple of months, until he switched to drinking regular milk. Even after that, he still nursed at naptime and bedtime until we were through. And, obviously, since I have a two-month-old and was using a pump yesterday, I am nursing Baby Boone. He has not yet had any formula; my employer provides a secure and private space for nursing mothers, and I'm still in the heady days of having a rockin' milk supply. My freezer, it runneth over.
But I am sick, sick, sick of hearing it implied that mothers who don't breastfeed their babies for very long, or don't breastfeed them at all, are causing their children grave physical harm. Yes, breastfeeding is the best nutritional choice, and it would be very easy for me to say, "Why doesn't everyone just give it a try?" But I had a good supply, no big problems, and babies who latched on easily, decided breastfeeding was just fine with them, and proceeded to gain weight rapidly. (And, let's not forget, I also had/have employers who said, "You want to pump? No problem; we'll slap a lock on the empty office down the hall. Here's your key; use it as needed." Not everyone has that.) And, I am here to tell you that even if the nurse who teaches your breastfeeding class tells you that all of her breastfed children never, ever, ever got sick, and only visited the doctor for their well-child visits, not everyone has that experience. By the time he was ten months old, Boy Wonder had had three GI viruses, RSV, pneumonia, and four ear infections.
I have rather a lot to say about this, but very little time. So, in summary: Breastfeeding is good, but formula is not poison, yo. And, if you want to encourage women to breastfeed, provide every new mother with a free, high-quality breast pump, free in-home visits from lactation counselors, and free whatever else is needed to ensure that they'll breastfeed. Maybe with some of the money that's being spent on this ad campaign.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
The mother monologue
Here's what I said on the drive home today. See if you can fill in the other end of the conversation.
So, you had a fun day at school? Oh, good.
I'm sure Grandma will take you to the flower garden. You'll have to ask her, though.
You can call Grandma when we get home.
NO. You can call Grandma when we get home.
Yes, I know I called Daddy on the way home yesterday. (Whoops.)
I'm sure Grandma will think that's fine.
YOU CAN CALL GRANDMA WHEN WE GET HOME.
You had what for lunch?
And did you like it?
Yes, Daddy likes meatloaf.
I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa do too.
No, your brother is too little to have meatloaf.
No, he can't even have little meatloaves.
I know he's getting bigger. But he's not big enough for meatloaf yet.
Yes, you're growing and growing!
Yes, the big sign with the dancing man is gone.
I don't know.
No, I'm pretty sure our neighbors didn't move it.
Yes, it was a silly sign.
ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP. QRSTUV, WXY and Z. Now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me.
Because the light is red.
No, green means go.
No, red means...never mind. You'll figure it out in a few years.
No, I don't have a lollipop for you.
I'm sure the doctor will have a lollipop for you next time.
That's right, your brother can't have a lollipop.
Not even a little one.
Yes, he just made a little noise.
No, it's not because I said he couldn't have a lollipop.
Oh look, we're home!
(This is why I don't listen to the radio in the car anymore. The live entertainment can't be beat.)
So, you had a fun day at school? Oh, good.
I'm sure Grandma will take you to the flower garden. You'll have to ask her, though.
You can call Grandma when we get home.
NO. You can call Grandma when we get home.
Yes, I know I called Daddy on the way home yesterday. (Whoops.)
I'm sure Grandma will think that's fine.
YOU CAN CALL GRANDMA WHEN WE GET HOME.
You had what for lunch?
And did you like it?
Yes, Daddy likes meatloaf.
I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa do too.
No, your brother is too little to have meatloaf.
No, he can't even have little meatloaves.
I know he's getting bigger. But he's not big enough for meatloaf yet.
Yes, you're growing and growing!
Yes, the big sign with the dancing man is gone.
I don't know.
No, I'm pretty sure our neighbors didn't move it.
Yes, it was a silly sign.
ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP. QRSTUV, WXY and Z. Now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me.
Because the light is red.
No, green means go.
No, red means...never mind. You'll figure it out in a few years.
No, I don't have a lollipop for you.
I'm sure the doctor will have a lollipop for you next time.
That's right, your brother can't have a lollipop.
Not even a little one.
Yes, he just made a little noise.
No, it's not because I said he couldn't have a lollipop.
Oh look, we're home!
(This is why I don't listen to the radio in the car anymore. The live entertainment can't be beat.)
Note to one of my neighbors: your son needs to wash his hands
The Monday Night Screamfest almost drove an utterly bizarre experience straight out of my mind, but fortunately I remembered it today.
So I was standing outside the car, planning my strategy for transporting a sleeping three-year-old, a sleeping infant, two diaper bags, and my purse from the car to the apartment (not as difficult as it sounds, trust me), when I heard a noise behind me. I jumped about two feet, and the voice continued...
"Look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I have a live birdieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
I turned around to face a young boy, perhaps seven years old. He was indeed holding a live birdie: a very uncomfortable-looking pigeon.
"I liiiiiiiiiiiiiike birds," he said.
"Oh. How nice. Bye now," I responded.
The boy and the live birdie moved on. I briefly wondered if I should be concerned about the pigeon's welfare, and decided against it. A moment later, I noticed that the live birdie had staged an escape, and was leading the boy on a merry chase.
Good times.
So I was standing outside the car, planning my strategy for transporting a sleeping three-year-old, a sleeping infant, two diaper bags, and my purse from the car to the apartment (not as difficult as it sounds, trust me), when I heard a noise behind me. I jumped about two feet, and the voice continued...
"Look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I have a live birdieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
I turned around to face a young boy, perhaps seven years old. He was indeed holding a live birdie: a very uncomfortable-looking pigeon.
"I liiiiiiiiiiiiiike birds," he said.
"Oh. How nice. Bye now," I responded.
The boy and the live birdie moved on. I briefly wondered if I should be concerned about the pigeon's welfare, and decided against it. A moment later, I noticed that the live birdie had staged an escape, and was leading the boy on a merry chase.
Good times.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Cue circus music
Three-year-olds are a trip.
Yesterday afternoon, Boy Wonder fell asleep on the way home from school. He's been doing that a lot lately, since he pretty much quit taking naps. Sometimes, he will fall asleep on the way home and sleep through until the next morning. While I am fine with him doing this once a week or so, I don't want it to become the status quo. The kid weighs 29 pounds; he doesn't need to be skipping meals. So we usually wake him up for dinner. Mostly, he is fine after a few cranky minutes. Sadly, last night was not one of those times. Waking him up resulted in more than an hour of screaming blue hysteria. First he agreed to calm down if he could talk to Grandpa on the phone, so I called my parents and explained his urgent need to speak to Grandpa. For whatever reason, though, my mother decided she'd try talking to him first. I am unclear as to why she thought that was a good idea. More screaming blue hysteria ensued, and by the time Grandpa got on the phone, Boy Wonder was absolutely incoherent and had to lie down on the floor. He finally calmed down enough to get in the bathtub (after half an hour of "I don't like a bath! No bath! I had a bath already! I don't LIKE a bath!"), where he mostly sulked for a while. Then I put some shampoo in his hair; this was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as he started in with the dramatic weeping again, and finally shouted, "I don't want to talk to you! Don't look at me!"
Then, thirty seconds later, he looked up at the ceiling, smiled, and said...
"Is it starting to rain in here?"
Huh?
Yesterday afternoon, Boy Wonder fell asleep on the way home from school. He's been doing that a lot lately, since he pretty much quit taking naps. Sometimes, he will fall asleep on the way home and sleep through until the next morning. While I am fine with him doing this once a week or so, I don't want it to become the status quo. The kid weighs 29 pounds; he doesn't need to be skipping meals. So we usually wake him up for dinner. Mostly, he is fine after a few cranky minutes. Sadly, last night was not one of those times. Waking him up resulted in more than an hour of screaming blue hysteria. First he agreed to calm down if he could talk to Grandpa on the phone, so I called my parents and explained his urgent need to speak to Grandpa. For whatever reason, though, my mother decided she'd try talking to him first. I am unclear as to why she thought that was a good idea. More screaming blue hysteria ensued, and by the time Grandpa got on the phone, Boy Wonder was absolutely incoherent and had to lie down on the floor. He finally calmed down enough to get in the bathtub (after half an hour of "I don't like a bath! No bath! I had a bath already! I don't LIKE a bath!"), where he mostly sulked for a while. Then I put some shampoo in his hair; this was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as he started in with the dramatic weeping again, and finally shouted, "I don't want to talk to you! Don't look at me!"
Then, thirty seconds later, he looked up at the ceiling, smiled, and said...
"Is it starting to rain in here?"
Huh?
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Wow
Baby Boone slept from 9:00 last night until 4:45 this morning. He is only two months old, so I wasn't expecting that for a while. I can't remember Boy Wonder doing that until he was nearly four months old!
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Statistically improbable phrases
No, not the ones that are part of Amazon's search feature; I'm talking about an entirely different sort of improbable phrase. Once you become a parent, you find yourself uttering phrases that you never in the world suspected would come out of your (or, really, anyone's) mouth. This is especially frequent once your child begins talking. Some of these phrases, such as "Is there corn in your nose?" and "Did you just hit your brother with a spatula?" and "No, you can't throw a pillow at your brother in his bouncy chair. Where did you get that idea?" are probably pretty common. However, some of them, such as "No, you were not born at the zoo," and "Not all airplanes are flying to Arizona," and (my current favorite) "Yes, your pink blanket is on vacation with the giraffes," are not so common. They're pretty darn entertaining, though.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Gonna wash that...oh, never mind
Ok, so. The washer? Broke. Again.
I thought that having it break three times while I was in various stages of pregnancy (the last time when I was officially nine months pregnant) was enough. Nope. Then, I thought that having it break the day before a holiday weekend, when only one maintenance person was working and therefore could not fix it unti the Tuesday after the holiday weekend, was enough. Nope, although we did get to use the washer in a vacant apartment, and I got to spend the holiday weekend merriliy trotting laundry between our apartment and the empty one.
And then, the washer was fixed! On the Thursday after the holiday weekend, not the Tuesday, because maintenance was just too busy. And then it broke again, four days after it got fixed. Ironically, it is Resident Appreciation Week at our apartment complex. We are feeling profoundly underappreciated.
But now, the washer is fixed! For the time being.
I thought that having it break three times while I was in various stages of pregnancy (the last time when I was officially nine months pregnant) was enough. Nope. Then, I thought that having it break the day before a holiday weekend, when only one maintenance person was working and therefore could not fix it unti the Tuesday after the holiday weekend, was enough. Nope, although we did get to use the washer in a vacant apartment, and I got to spend the holiday weekend merriliy trotting laundry between our apartment and the empty one.
And then, the washer was fixed! On the Thursday after the holiday weekend, not the Tuesday, because maintenance was just too busy. And then it broke again, four days after it got fixed. Ironically, it is Resident Appreciation Week at our apartment complex. We are feeling profoundly underappreciated.
But now, the washer is fixed! For the time being.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Brand recognition
Target is my favorite store. There are Targets everywhere, they are open most of the time, and they have great clearance sales; in fact, most of my wardrobe comes from their clearance racks. And, for the past few years, we've been lucky enough to live in apartments that are very close to a Target. This came in especially handy after Boy Wonder was born; once a baby joins the household, there is always something you need, and chances are you can find it at Target. (Which reminds me, I need to go buy wipes.) So I went there at least once a week. And then, we moved cross-country when Boy Wonder was eleven months old...and once you move, there is always something you need, and chances are...etc. So I spent a lot of time at Target then, too.
Therefore, I'm not surprised that Boy Wonder quickly learned to recognize the Target logo, and to request trips to Target in his chirpy little voice. We've visited several of the Targets in our fair city, and he's designated them as Mommy's Target (the one at the end of the block), Grandma's Target (the one near my parents' house), and The Big Target (a new, spacious Target about ten minutes away). All of these different Targets can lead to some confusion, sometimes.
So yesterday, Dragon and I were not satisfied with some of the produce options at the supermarket, and we decided to hit the local fruit market. Boy Wonder asked where we were going, and we told him...
Boy Wonder: We're going to the fruit Target? Where is that?
Me: No honey, the fruit market.
Boy Wonder: The fruit Target! Target is having a fruit sale!
Fortunately, he wasn't too disappointed when we pulled into the parking lot of the fruit market.
Therefore, I'm not surprised that Boy Wonder quickly learned to recognize the Target logo, and to request trips to Target in his chirpy little voice. We've visited several of the Targets in our fair city, and he's designated them as Mommy's Target (the one at the end of the block), Grandma's Target (the one near my parents' house), and The Big Target (a new, spacious Target about ten minutes away). All of these different Targets can lead to some confusion, sometimes.
So yesterday, Dragon and I were not satisfied with some of the produce options at the supermarket, and we decided to hit the local fruit market. Boy Wonder asked where we were going, and we told him...
Boy Wonder: We're going to the fruit Target? Where is that?
Me: No honey, the fruit market.
Boy Wonder: The fruit Target! Target is having a fruit sale!
Fortunately, he wasn't too disappointed when we pulled into the parking lot of the fruit market.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
The power, alrighty, of doing your own thing
(With apologies to The Harvard Lampoon and Bored of the Rings.)
Before the show Joan of Arcadia was cancelled, I watched it weekly. (Of course, that's why it was cancelled: too many people my age and not enough people Joan's age were watching. But I digress). I especially liked the first season, during which the main character was surrounded by people who were all very good at one thing or another. Her dad was a cop, and a good one. Her older brother had been a gifted athlete, and her younger brother was a gifted student. The guy she became interested in was a gifted artist, and so was the other girl who was interested in him (got that?). And her best friend was...well, a gifted rebel. Joan spent much of that season trying a variety of different activities: photography, band, cheerleading, working in a bookstore, babysitting, and I can't even remember what else. I could really relate to that. I did the same thing in high school, and I wasn't even talking to God; I just wanted to be good (really, really good) at something.
I am very good at reading, but that becomes obsolete once second grade is over. I'm good at writing papers, but lack the self-discipline and dedication to write anything longer. I can carry a tune (at least the kids haven't complained too much) and have recently learned an impressive collection of nursery songs, but I would be laughed off the stage of American Idol. I used to be a pretty fair actress (at least all of my acting teachers said so), but I got out of the theatrical habit in college while working two jobs. I was a decent student, managing to remain on the honor roll throughout high school while barely cracking a book. (Textbook, that is. I cracked plenty of novels.)
I've learned to knit, crochet, scrapbook, rubber stamp, and make beaded jewelry. I can do all of these things reasonably well, but I'm not passionate about any of them. I can skip stones, but only a couple of times. I'm very polite, can get along with just about anyone, and have had several employee reviews that feature the phrase "Everyone seems to want to work with you more often," but I don't think that doing my job without being a drama queen is above and beyond the call of duty, you know? I'm good at making people laugh, but my sense of humor is fairly dry and sarcastic, and not for everyone.
However, I think I've finally found something that I'm really, really good at. When my first son (Boy Wonder) was born, in April of 2003, I discovered that I could talk (and write) about him--what he was doing, what he was learning, how he was learning it, and how cute he looked while all of this was taking place--for hours. Watching a tiny human develop is endlessly fascinating. This has only intensified with the recent arrival of Baby Boone, now two months old.
So I'm damned good at talking about my kids. And, being a Leo, I'm not half bad at talking about myself, either. I may even talk about books sometimes.
Feel like listening?
Before the show Joan of Arcadia was cancelled, I watched it weekly. (Of course, that's why it was cancelled: too many people my age and not enough people Joan's age were watching. But I digress). I especially liked the first season, during which the main character was surrounded by people who were all very good at one thing or another. Her dad was a cop, and a good one. Her older brother had been a gifted athlete, and her younger brother was a gifted student. The guy she became interested in was a gifted artist, and so was the other girl who was interested in him (got that?). And her best friend was...well, a gifted rebel. Joan spent much of that season trying a variety of different activities: photography, band, cheerleading, working in a bookstore, babysitting, and I can't even remember what else. I could really relate to that. I did the same thing in high school, and I wasn't even talking to God; I just wanted to be good (really, really good) at something.
I am very good at reading, but that becomes obsolete once second grade is over. I'm good at writing papers, but lack the self-discipline and dedication to write anything longer. I can carry a tune (at least the kids haven't complained too much) and have recently learned an impressive collection of nursery songs, but I would be laughed off the stage of American Idol. I used to be a pretty fair actress (at least all of my acting teachers said so), but I got out of the theatrical habit in college while working two jobs. I was a decent student, managing to remain on the honor roll throughout high school while barely cracking a book. (Textbook, that is. I cracked plenty of novels.)
I've learned to knit, crochet, scrapbook, rubber stamp, and make beaded jewelry. I can do all of these things reasonably well, but I'm not passionate about any of them. I can skip stones, but only a couple of times. I'm very polite, can get along with just about anyone, and have had several employee reviews that feature the phrase "Everyone seems to want to work with you more often," but I don't think that doing my job without being a drama queen is above and beyond the call of duty, you know? I'm good at making people laugh, but my sense of humor is fairly dry and sarcastic, and not for everyone.
However, I think I've finally found something that I'm really, really good at. When my first son (Boy Wonder) was born, in April of 2003, I discovered that I could talk (and write) about him--what he was doing, what he was learning, how he was learning it, and how cute he looked while all of this was taking place--for hours. Watching a tiny human develop is endlessly fascinating. This has only intensified with the recent arrival of Baby Boone, now two months old.
So I'm damned good at talking about my kids. And, being a Leo, I'm not half bad at talking about myself, either. I may even talk about books sometimes.
Feel like listening?
