Two babies turn two today.
Bonus--I'm beginning to remember some songs today, too. Like the helicopter song, and of course, Happy Birthday.
Brain is still so addled. Some days worse than others. After realized I hadn't slept in, oh, two weeks, we decided to try a different medicine (Keppra from Dilantin, if you cared) to see if I could feel a little better. Not sure how well it will work, but I slept last night and most of today, too. We'll see how my body reacts after it's been in my system for a few days. But the rest of it, well, we'll just have to wait, wait, wait and give time to heal, heal, heal.
Tomorrow I see my general practitioner, and then Thursday Dr. Chen removes the sutures. Too bad. I'm beginning to like the Frankenstein look.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
A Week
A week ago I slept in an ICU bed at St. Luke's. It was a dreamless sleep.
But today I am at home, and this afternoon even dreamt of beaches and conches and O'Keefe.
But today I am at home, and this afternoon even dreamt of beaches and conches and O'Keefe.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Some Parents
Some parents a baby book. Some parents have a scrapbook. We have a blog.
And part of the purpose of this blog is to help us remember these first few years of parenthood and perhaps share some of these memories with C&D as they get old enough to understand. For example, if they ever ask "how tough is it really to raise twins", then we'll have some evidence to back up our answer.
And while most of this blog is about them, occasionally something important enough happens to mom or dad that is important enough that it might affect them as well. Like, for example, the last week.
Last week we learned that if you ever see all of these strange things happen to you at once, it's probably something kind of important:
1) Big headache
2) Bigger headache
3) Kinda dizzy
4) Can't see straight
5) Not quite sure if you can talk straight either.
Now, (1) and (2) have lots of explanations that make perfect sense. David's bucket of balls (his aim is getting better!), Carmen's cobbler's bench toy, where you hit some wooden balls, and then someone's head, with a hammer, and lots of other daily events that are of no long-term consequence. Similarly, (3) and (4) are natural results of either baby waking up at 4:00 AM and declaring "All done sleep. Upstairs. Crack eggs. Make Pancakes!" A few nights of that, and you won't see straight, either. And after dealing with babies for two years straight, (5) doesn't surprise anyone either.
But when all those things happen at once, and don't get better after lots of sleep and several days where David's balls and Carmen's hammer are put away, then it means that there is something more serious than that. Last week, it meant that a weak blood vessel (an "AVM") had burst in Joyce's head. It wasn't a big event as these things go, but it was in exactly the wrong place, affecting both language and vision.
Major surgery and five CAT scans later (and some angiograms and MRIs for good measure), Joyce is still with us and recovering well. She has some trouble focusing her vision and sometimes trouble finding the right words, but the doctors claim that even these relatively minor impacts will eventually pass. Importantly, her wit, wisdom, memory, and personality are still intact, and she is looking forward to getting back to her babies - and this blog.
We're still trying to make sense of this whole affair. The day that the AVM burst Joyce and her mother had a wonderful morning together with the babies. From that strange afternoon--during baby nap--to a few days later, Thursday in the ER, wondering if she would be able to talk again, to see again after this was all over. How one seemingly small thing can switch everything in your life - there must be some lesson and perspective to be learned from that, but we're not quite ready yet to think it all through.
And the kindness and humanity of everyone around us, from the family members taking care of our babies to the nurse who sat and cried with us as we understood the situation and our options to the medical student who held Joyce's hand as she fell asleep on the operating table, wondering if she would wake up the same person the next morning, or even at all. Thank you for the smiles, the hugs, the ice packs, laughing at Joyce's jokes (though a little slow on the delivery), and, most importantly, the prayers on wings that remind us that people love Joyce.
And part of the purpose of this blog is to help us remember these first few years of parenthood and perhaps share some of these memories with C&D as they get old enough to understand. For example, if they ever ask "how tough is it really to raise twins", then we'll have some evidence to back up our answer.
And while most of this blog is about them, occasionally something important enough happens to mom or dad that is important enough that it might affect them as well. Like, for example, the last week.
Last week we learned that if you ever see all of these strange things happen to you at once, it's probably something kind of important:
1) Big headache
2) Bigger headache
3) Kinda dizzy
4) Can't see straight
5) Not quite sure if you can talk straight either.
Now, (1) and (2) have lots of explanations that make perfect sense. David's bucket of balls (his aim is getting better!), Carmen's cobbler's bench toy, where you hit some wooden balls, and then someone's head, with a hammer, and lots of other daily events that are of no long-term consequence. Similarly, (3) and (4) are natural results of either baby waking up at 4:00 AM and declaring "All done sleep. Upstairs. Crack eggs. Make Pancakes!" A few nights of that, and you won't see straight, either. And after dealing with babies for two years straight, (5) doesn't surprise anyone either.
But when all those things happen at once, and don't get better after lots of sleep and several days where David's balls and Carmen's hammer are put away, then it means that there is something more serious than that. Last week, it meant that a weak blood vessel (an "AVM") had burst in Joyce's head. It wasn't a big event as these things go, but it was in exactly the wrong place, affecting both language and vision.
Major surgery and five CAT scans later (and some angiograms and MRIs for good measure), Joyce is still with us and recovering well. She has some trouble focusing her vision and sometimes trouble finding the right words, but the doctors claim that even these relatively minor impacts will eventually pass. Importantly, her wit, wisdom, memory, and personality are still intact, and she is looking forward to getting back to her babies - and this blog.
We're still trying to make sense of this whole affair. The day that the AVM burst Joyce and her mother had a wonderful morning together with the babies. From that strange afternoon--during baby nap--to a few days later, Thursday in the ER, wondering if she would be able to talk again, to see again after this was all over. How one seemingly small thing can switch everything in your life - there must be some lesson and perspective to be learned from that, but we're not quite ready yet to think it all through.
And the kindness and humanity of everyone around us, from the family members taking care of our babies to the nurse who sat and cried with us as we understood the situation and our options to the medical student who held Joyce's hand as she fell asleep on the operating table, wondering if she would wake up the same person the next morning, or even at all. Thank you for the smiles, the hugs, the ice packs, laughing at Joyce's jokes (though a little slow on the delivery), and, most importantly, the prayers on wings that remind us that people love Joyce.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Guest Blogger Returns
Well, not for too long. Almost lunchtime, and need to go see if the avocados I bought yesterday really are ready to eat, or if the Ripe Sticker is as false as it usually is.
But C&D finished their lunch, and what a lunch it was. They split a bag of tater tots (after grabbing the last one, David noted "Potatoes all gone!"), along with some salmon and peas. But that last potato was special - David figured out that if he smooshed it the right way, it could come out looking like a choo-choo train. I can't say that it had all that close of resemblance (it looked more like two blobs), but I'm not an expert. David's experienced opinion was that, yes, this really was a choo-choo train, and it could chug all around the table.
Your regular blog author has been busy finishing up some old blog posts, too, but even though they haven't been published before, they're hidden back in the archives because they were started a few months ago. Two from September (here and here), and one from October.
But C&D finished their lunch, and what a lunch it was. They split a bag of tater tots (after grabbing the last one, David noted "Potatoes all gone!"), along with some salmon and peas. But that last potato was special - David figured out that if he smooshed it the right way, it could come out looking like a choo-choo train. I can't say that it had all that close of resemblance (it looked more like two blobs), but I'm not an expert. David's experienced opinion was that, yes, this really was a choo-choo train, and it could chug all around the table.
Your regular blog author has been busy finishing up some old blog posts, too, but even though they haven't been published before, they're hidden back in the archives because they were started a few months ago. Two from September (here and here), and one from October.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Scratch That
He can count to 12. This afternoon he counted twelve steps down to the bottom of the stairs, but Matt says he counted to 12 last night.
I remember being small (maybe five?) and impatiently counting the seconds it would take for my mother to drive home. I distinctly remember being somewhere in the middle of the neighborhood, looking around and counting, "five hundred and three . . . five hundred and four . . . five hundred and five . . ."
Such pestering may come back to haunt me, perhaps starting now.
No matter, though. I'm too busy laughing.
Carmen is supposed to have been asleep for the past hour and a half. Instead she's playing on the bed and with my drawers, singing Humpty Dumpty ("dumpty dumpty wall. dumpty dumpty fall. again.") or Hickory Dickory Dock or something. At least she's making her own music. C&D think I'm a walking jukebox, and request their favorite hits often. For instance, if I'm singing something else and David wants to hear Itsy Bitsy Spider, he'll put his face directly into mine. "Piiiiiiiider. Piiiiiiiiiiider," he'll say until I sing the song about the spider that probably shouldn't have been climbing that water spout to begin with. Or if he's eating, and it's too quiet, he'll ask for his favorite, the Rainbow Song. "Rainbow Song," he say, looking at me as if I were a waitress and he was ordering coffee and a sandwich. In other words, I'm not supposed to say "no."
We close on the house today, so I might as well rescue her and get her ready to leave.
I remember being small (maybe five?) and impatiently counting the seconds it would take for my mother to drive home. I distinctly remember being somewhere in the middle of the neighborhood, looking around and counting, "five hundred and three . . . five hundred and four . . . five hundred and five . . ."
Such pestering may come back to haunt me, perhaps starting now.
No matter, though. I'm too busy laughing.
Carmen is supposed to have been asleep for the past hour and a half. Instead she's playing on the bed and with my drawers, singing Humpty Dumpty ("dumpty dumpty wall. dumpty dumpty fall. again.") or Hickory Dickory Dock or something. At least she's making her own music. C&D think I'm a walking jukebox, and request their favorite hits often. For instance, if I'm singing something else and David wants to hear Itsy Bitsy Spider, he'll put his face directly into mine. "Piiiiiiiider. Piiiiiiiiiiider," he'll say until I sing the song about the spider that probably shouldn't have been climbing that water spout to begin with. Or if he's eating, and it's too quiet, he'll ask for his favorite, the Rainbow Song. "Rainbow Song," he say, looking at me as if I were a waitress and he was ordering coffee and a sandwich. In other words, I'm not supposed to say "no."
We close on the house today, so I might as well rescue her and get her ready to leave.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Holy Moly
David can count to seven. Holy moly. Yesterday he could do to six. He just woke up that way, counting flowers on a tortilla warmer. The day before he was counting bits of cranberry sauce on his plate, up to four. Holy moly. Where did he learn that?
Monday, November 20, 2006
Another man in a wig? and other news
Did you hear? The U.S. Mint has given up on the golden Sacagawea dollars first released in 2000. They haven't given up on the concept of a dollar coin, however. Instead, they're hoping that in 2007 we'll happily use their new dollar coins, decorated with pictures of dead presidents on them.
Give me a break!
Nothing against the presidents, but every other piece of U.S. currency already has a picture of a dead old man on it. The Sacagawea dollar, on the other hand, was special. It had a picture of the ultimate American supermom, a goodwill ambassador who spoke multiple languages and helped guide a caravan of nervous and awestruck men through unfamiliar territory, all while raising a little boy. The coin is the most beautiful and elegant piece of American currency I've even jingled in my pocket. And the image of mother and child is a heckuva lot more inspiring than a picture of (yet another) man in a wig. (Image courtesy Wikipedia.)
And in other news . . . we've mostly, but only mostly, settled in at the new place. All of my books and papers are still in boxes, but the den, kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms are in order. In addition to finishing out the living room, we've still got a long list of repairs, tweaks, and tightenings, so we think we know how we'll be spending the upcoming holiday weekends. C&D don't allow a lot of time for that kind of thing, however, preferring long stroller rides to the playgahround and visiting with all of our friendly new neighbors. This new state of chaos allows even less time for posting than I had hoped, but I'm hoping that if we can all sit tight, we'll be back on track by the end of the year.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Why Why Why?
The hardest part about moving has been explaining to people that I am perfectly aware I am moving my little toddler-children into a two-bedroom house with no yard and smack dab in the jumbled-up zoning-free center of the fourth largest city in the U.S.
Yes, two bedrooms. By modern housing standards, they are small; the master bedroom is 14'x17' and the second bedroom is about 10'x12'. If we really need to find more space we could always convert the garage, but that's not likely. What small bedrooms mean is that we can't buy large furniture or hoard a decade's worth of clothing in our closets. When we tell each other good night we won't have to yell from one wing of the house to the other. Isn't all that a good thing? Anyway, is a master suite, children's suite, and gameroom/loft the size of Belgium actually necessary? In fact, should we even pretend that the spacious McMansion of American dreams is a mainstream expectation when a significant fraction of this city's population will go to bed hungry tonight, with siblings, parents, and grandparents crammed into a dark one- or two-bedroom apartment? And are Carmen and David better off if they grow up assuming that they must have those American essentials--bedroom, television, bathroom--of their very own when one of the most common complaints of the 21st-century modern society is the family that has grown distant despite living under the same roof?
The other benefits of the neighborhood outweigh the fact that we'll have to share bathrooms and not all have bedrooms to entertain friends. (Instead, there's the living room with 18' of floor-to-ceiling windows, a breezy balcony, or funky private patio screaming for strings of Christmas lights and a DJ.) We'll be able to walk places, like school, the library, the grocery store. We'll have a diversity of friends and learning resources at our fingertips.
And parks. Lots of parks. When they are through worrying about the bedrooms, people worry about the fact that I have no yard at the new place. But I can't hide my delight. A 1/4 acre plot of St. Augustine grass is one of the most boring, understimulating, all-around awful constructions of the 20th century. "But where," people ask, "will the babies play?" Let me put it in writing that the neighborhood kids on Carvel, where we are moving from, rarely play in their backyards. Instead, they play on the street, making my car the end zone. Or they beg their parents to take them to the park, where they don't have to worry about kicking balls over fences, or breaking windows with softballs that weren't, after all, so soft. So what's the big deal about all that fenced-in grass, anyway? So when C&D need to climb and holler like monkeys, or run and dance like colts, we can walk to a park and meet some new monkey-friends, or drive out to the country where we can run past the pastures and sink our hands in the loose dirt the chickens scratched for us.
Underneath these arguments is a deeper sense of reasoning that I don't discuss much because some things are just too hard to talk about in polite company. But it's this: We're really doing an experiement, I guess, trying to live city-style in a so-called city that's really one big suburb. Call, it, maybe, "city lite." By walking more and driving less, relying on public spaces like parks rather than our own private ones, and living closer to several sources for local, organic, and/or sustainably-grown food, we'll be better able to live more consciously, and show C&D that there is a better way than living in Houston's newest housing development, shopping according to the advertisements at the Super-Duper MegaMart and spending a significant part of their lifespan on the freeway while their buttocks mold to the seat of the minivan. The new place will rely 100% on wind power for a source of energy, and some minor modifications should easily make the new house more energy-efficient. We hope that C&D will learn that by buying an existing house with no yard, we are preserving, someplace, 1/4 acre of parkland or pasture or Big Thicket forest or rich loamy cropland above a Brazos river bottom. We hope that when C&D look back at growing up in the funky grey house they'll proudly consider themselves a kind of urban pioneer, settling in the city to avoid the exurban landscape of concrete and TruGreen Chemlawns, and doing our part in the day-to-day to ultimately create more of what we really want: cleaner air, greener spaces, wilder places.
Yes, two bedrooms. By modern housing standards, they are small; the master bedroom is 14'x17' and the second bedroom is about 10'x12'. If we really need to find more space we could always convert the garage, but that's not likely. What small bedrooms mean is that we can't buy large furniture or hoard a decade's worth of clothing in our closets. When we tell each other good night we won't have to yell from one wing of the house to the other. Isn't all that a good thing? Anyway, is a master suite, children's suite, and gameroom/loft the size of Belgium actually necessary? In fact, should we even pretend that the spacious McMansion of American dreams is a mainstream expectation when a significant fraction of this city's population will go to bed hungry tonight, with siblings, parents, and grandparents crammed into a dark one- or two-bedroom apartment? And are Carmen and David better off if they grow up assuming that they must have those American essentials--bedroom, television, bathroom--of their very own when one of the most common complaints of the 21st-century modern society is the family that has grown distant despite living under the same roof?
The other benefits of the neighborhood outweigh the fact that we'll have to share bathrooms and not all have bedrooms to entertain friends. (Instead, there's the living room with 18' of floor-to-ceiling windows, a breezy balcony, or funky private patio screaming for strings of Christmas lights and a DJ.) We'll be able to walk places, like school, the library, the grocery store. We'll have a diversity of friends and learning resources at our fingertips.
And parks. Lots of parks. When they are through worrying about the bedrooms, people worry about the fact that I have no yard at the new place. But I can't hide my delight. A 1/4 acre plot of St. Augustine grass is one of the most boring, understimulating, all-around awful constructions of the 20th century. "But where," people ask, "will the babies play?" Let me put it in writing that the neighborhood kids on Carvel, where we are moving from, rarely play in their backyards. Instead, they play on the street, making my car the end zone. Or they beg their parents to take them to the park, where they don't have to worry about kicking balls over fences, or breaking windows with softballs that weren't, after all, so soft. So what's the big deal about all that fenced-in grass, anyway? So when C&D need to climb and holler like monkeys, or run and dance like colts, we can walk to a park and meet some new monkey-friends, or drive out to the country where we can run past the pastures and sink our hands in the loose dirt the chickens scratched for us.
Underneath these arguments is a deeper sense of reasoning that I don't discuss much because some things are just too hard to talk about in polite company. But it's this: We're really doing an experiement, I guess, trying to live city-style in a so-called city that's really one big suburb. Call, it, maybe, "city lite." By walking more and driving less, relying on public spaces like parks rather than our own private ones, and living closer to several sources for local, organic, and/or sustainably-grown food, we'll be better able to live more consciously, and show C&D that there is a better way than living in Houston's newest housing development, shopping according to the advertisements at the Super-Duper MegaMart and spending a significant part of their lifespan on the freeway while their buttocks mold to the seat of the minivan. The new place will rely 100% on wind power for a source of energy, and some minor modifications should easily make the new house more energy-efficient. We hope that C&D will learn that by buying an existing house with no yard, we are preserving, someplace, 1/4 acre of parkland or pasture or Big Thicket forest or rich loamy cropland above a Brazos river bottom. We hope that when C&D look back at growing up in the funky grey house they'll proudly consider themselves a kind of urban pioneer, settling in the city to avoid the exurban landscape of concrete and TruGreen Chemlawns, and doing our part in the day-to-day to ultimately create more of what we really want: cleaner air, greener spaces, wilder places.
To David and Carmen
Good Morning!!! "precious babies!!" I was thinking
about you this morning in music class with Dad and
Mommy with the movers. I was thinking about the
"Hokey Pokey" dance we learned on Saturday with me.
You learned it so well, you could probably show your
music teacher how to do the "Hokey Pokey". It was so
much fun being with you over the weekend; the singing,
the dancing, the reading, and the lunch, and picking
up toys so "we can eat" and "nack time" were all fun.
And before Grandpa and I left, we did one last "Hokey
Pokey" dance and then as we were leaving, David, you
made us laugh when you said to Grandpa, "Bye Pokey".
In fact, we laughed and played all the time. Grandpa
worked so hard on painting the new house, we wanted it
to be pretty.
I was thinking about your nap time today in the "new
house". Hope it went well.
Keep dancing and laughing.
Love you mucho,
Grama
about you this morning in music class with Dad and
Mommy with the movers. I was thinking about the
"Hokey Pokey" dance we learned on Saturday with me.
You learned it so well, you could probably show your
music teacher how to do the "Hokey Pokey". It was so
much fun being with you over the weekend; the singing,
the dancing, the reading, and the lunch, and picking
up toys so "we can eat" and "nack time" were all fun.
And before Grandpa and I left, we did one last "Hokey
Pokey" dance and then as we were leaving, David, you
made us laugh when you said to Grandpa, "Bye Pokey".
In fact, we laughed and played all the time. Grandpa
worked so hard on painting the new house, we wanted it
to be pretty.
I was thinking about your nap time today in the "new
house". Hope it went well.
Keep dancing and laughing.
Love you mucho,
Grama
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Moving Day
Tomorrow we move to the new house, newly painted and cleaned by my parents, and then babyproofed and carpeted my Matt (the floors are mostly quarry tile, painted concrete, and pine). And I got to play general contractor while my mom took a turn at baby-wrangling.
I'm going to miss our little house, the house that we bought because it was cheaper than rent and halfway between Sugar Land and Rice. I'm going to miss our neighbors, our breezy screened porch, and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees in our shady backyard. I'm going to miss my happy little spots of ruellia and Gulf Coast muhly, now cotton-candy pink, and my azaleas, and the little bluestem that rustled when the wind blew. I'm going to miss my red maple, the one that dropped its leaves at all the wrong times, and the American Holly that we bought at Teas Nursery last Christmas. I'm going to miss the massive (does Matt do anything small?) bird feeder that Matt built and placed outside my window so I could watch the birds (but mostly squirrels) while I studied, and the blue dining room that grown-ups hated but kids loved. I'm going to miss the hardwood floors Matt and I refinished ourselves, although I won't miss the squeaks.
With a slide and a bouncy layer of rubber mulch in the patio, a fresh coat of pretty green paint (Aloe Essence, the card said), and some friendly new rugs, the new place is already feeling like ours.
But I'm still a little bit sad. That's okay, I think.
Even though we've been so busy, C&D have had plenty of time to make us all laugh, laugh, laugh. Maybe if I work hard I can get some pictures and videos posted soon. They are the Cutest Babies in the World. (Say what you want about toddlers or kids, but C&D are babies. In fact, they'll be my babies until forever, maybe longer.)
DSL will go down later tonight; we should be back online by Tuesday or Wednesday, when I've found a place to put the 'puter and keyboard.
I'm going to miss our little house, the house that we bought because it was cheaper than rent and halfway between Sugar Land and Rice. I'm going to miss our neighbors, our breezy screened porch, and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees in our shady backyard. I'm going to miss my happy little spots of ruellia and Gulf Coast muhly, now cotton-candy pink, and my azaleas, and the little bluestem that rustled when the wind blew. I'm going to miss my red maple, the one that dropped its leaves at all the wrong times, and the American Holly that we bought at Teas Nursery last Christmas. I'm going to miss the massive (does Matt do anything small?) bird feeder that Matt built and placed outside my window so I could watch the birds (but mostly squirrels) while I studied, and the blue dining room that grown-ups hated but kids loved. I'm going to miss the hardwood floors Matt and I refinished ourselves, although I won't miss the squeaks.
With a slide and a bouncy layer of rubber mulch in the patio, a fresh coat of pretty green paint (Aloe Essence, the card said), and some friendly new rugs, the new place is already feeling like ours.
But I'm still a little bit sad. That's okay, I think.
Even though we've been so busy, C&D have had plenty of time to make us all laugh, laugh, laugh. Maybe if I work hard I can get some pictures and videos posted soon. They are the Cutest Babies in the World. (Say what you want about toddlers or kids, but C&D are babies. In fact, they'll be my babies until forever, maybe longer.)
DSL will go down later tonight; we should be back online by Tuesday or Wednesday, when I've found a place to put the 'puter and keyboard.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Distracted?
Packing, Big Thicket annual meeting tomorrow (Cong. Brady showing up, and lots of other people, besides), C&D have both battled colds and the resultant sleepless nights, I strained my back, and this week visited every store in the Galleria area to find the Perfect Shirt to wear with my Perfect suit. Oh, and, right, I had to buy shoes. (I didn't want to visit every store in the Gallera area to do this. I hate buying shoes. So instead of dealing with the usual shoe-shoe foo-foo, I drove to one store off Post Oak, explained what I needed, and just handed over my credit card. At least that one thing was relatively easy.)
So, with so much to do, I am probably a little distracted. It maybe shouldn't be suprising, then, for you to find out that today after finally finding the Perfect Shirt (and Perfect Choker and Perfect Earrings) I inhaled dinner and for dessert ate an entire Chinese fortune cookie. Yes, the entire cookie. I ate my fortune. Sometime mid-chew I realized that there was something, ah, particular in my mouth, and extracted a piece of partially-dissolved, entirely masticated paper. I tried to retrieve my fortune, but, alas, it was long gone.
So now I have to go back to Shanghai Joe's and get another cookie. Fine by me. I like fortune cookies, and I like Shanghai Joe's. And, anyway, the sushi chef said she missed the babies and wanted to see them. I'll pick up another cookie when we swing by, maybe as soon as next week.
So tomorrow we present to the community the report that I edited, and I also get to do my quarterly treasurerly things. Since C&D don't know how to attend a day-long meeting, they are staying home with Matt (who does know how to attend a day-long meeting; don''t want to imply he doesn't). Tomorrow night we'll all kick our shoes off, collapse in a heap, and swap stories.
Great pictures lately. I'll post them when I can.
So, with so much to do, I am probably a little distracted. It maybe shouldn't be suprising, then, for you to find out that today after finally finding the Perfect Shirt (and Perfect Choker and Perfect Earrings) I inhaled dinner and for dessert ate an entire Chinese fortune cookie. Yes, the entire cookie. I ate my fortune. Sometime mid-chew I realized that there was something, ah, particular in my mouth, and extracted a piece of partially-dissolved, entirely masticated paper. I tried to retrieve my fortune, but, alas, it was long gone.
So now I have to go back to Shanghai Joe's and get another cookie. Fine by me. I like fortune cookies, and I like Shanghai Joe's. And, anyway, the sushi chef said she missed the babies and wanted to see them. I'll pick up another cookie when we swing by, maybe as soon as next week.
So tomorrow we present to the community the report that I edited, and I also get to do my quarterly treasurerly things. Since C&D don't know how to attend a day-long meeting, they are staying home with Matt (who does know how to attend a day-long meeting; don''t want to imply he doesn't). Tomorrow night we'll all kick our shoes off, collapse in a heap, and swap stories.
Great pictures lately. I'll post them when I can.
Monday, October 09, 2006
A Mess by Any Other Name . . .
is not the same. Today, right before bed, David opened the hall closet and pulled out an old tube of Christmas wrapping paper. He unrolled it and the house quickly filled with the loud crinkle of paper while I cleaned up the last remnants of dinner. Within a few minutes I found C&D walking over the paper, by this time unrolled like a red carpet through the entire length of the kitchen. Crackle, crackle, four feet marched up and down on the paper. Carmen was saying something as she marched . . . and I eventually made it out to be "oh-de-brish," or, in English, "over the bridge." She was marching on a paper bridge. I didn't have the heart, especially after hearing that, to put the paper away so I left it out a little while longer.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Can't Resist
I'm supposed to be busy. I'm supposed to be listing the rest of my things on eBay, and checking on my Craigslist responses for the things I have posted there to sell. But I had to post here, first.
Yesterday someone came to pick up our deep freeze. You don't need a deep freeze when you take your babies to Whole Foods two-plus times per week because they like going there as much as the park. And if somebody cooed and oohed and gave you free cookies and fruit and juice everytime you went to the grocery store, wouldn't you be there just as often?
Carmen and David watched as our new friend backed his truck up to the garage, loaded the freezer, and then waved goodbye. Except that David didn't just wave goodbye,
he did this:
and this:
and this:
That's my boy!
Matt says that he does this all the time. I guess I've never noticed, because I'm generally on the other side of the door. Now I know why I have to clean that glass so often. I thought I was just cleaning handprints. But maybe now instead of cleaning it twice a week, I should clean it twice per day?
I also wonder who else has received such a lovely adieu. Perhaps I should attach a sign to the door, along with the "Shhh, knock quietly" sign. It would read something like, "We do not assume liability for any mistakes, misstatements, falsehood, or squashed, drooly faces in the statements, opinions, representations, and anything else from the little people in this house. Anything they say or do, especially if it is embarrassing, but not necessarily if it is brilliant, is neither endorsed by this family nor does it necessarily reflect our beliefs. Especially the embarrassing parts."
Yesterday someone came to pick up our deep freeze. You don't need a deep freeze when you take your babies to Whole Foods two-plus times per week because they like going there as much as the park. And if somebody cooed and oohed and gave you free cookies and fruit and juice everytime you went to the grocery store, wouldn't you be there just as often?
Carmen and David watched as our new friend backed his truck up to the garage, loaded the freezer, and then waved goodbye. Except that David didn't just wave goodbye,
he did this:
and this:
and this:
That's my boy!
Matt says that he does this all the time. I guess I've never noticed, because I'm generally on the other side of the door. Now I know why I have to clean that glass so often. I thought I was just cleaning handprints. But maybe now instead of cleaning it twice a week, I should clean it twice per day?
I also wonder who else has received such a lovely adieu. Perhaps I should attach a sign to the door, along with the "Shhh, knock quietly" sign. It would read something like, "We do not assume liability for any mistakes, misstatements, falsehood, or squashed, drooly faces in the statements, opinions, representations, and anything else from the little people in this house. Anything they say or do, especially if it is embarrassing, but not necessarily if it is brilliant, is neither endorsed by this family nor does it necessarily reflect our beliefs. Especially the embarrassing parts."
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Power to the People (In Charge)
I really like how now the American public can rely on the good ol' television set to teach their children everything they need to know. Now, in addition to the squeaky CTW franchises and the sugar-coated cartoons on Nickelodeon, we have a channel specifically geared to babies called BabyFirstTV. With 24/7 programming that changes every five minutes (yes, I said five minutes) that addresses everything from baby signs to counting to art, we can just place our progeny in front of the television set and watch those little geniuses get smarter by the minute. With an automatic breastmilk machine (because, after all, breastfed babies are smarter babies), we'd have a real Boob Tube! Let the baby "soothe itself" (i.e., cry its lungs out) to sleep and we needn't worry about the baby at all!
C&D probably watch three hours of television every week, on average, usually while I am trying to prepare dinner. I think it is too much. There is a wall between the kitchen and living room, however, so it's hard to watch them from the kitchen, and it's hard for them to resist wanting to be where they can see me (or be underfoot). I'm hoping that after moving into a house with an open floor plan I'll be able to cook a little more without relying on the DVD player. (Rachel, I will be in debt to you forever.) Regardless, setting Baby in front of a television is now almost a necessity, born out of our social and cultural givens: Mommy at home (alone) with baby, cooking dinner (alone) in her kitchen, (alone) in her suburban house, on a quiet (and lonely) suburban street. There is no safe place for baby to toddle off to, and no one to watch the baby, so we look for the remote and turn the television on, if it isn't already.
With pressures on mother and baby to be smarter, sweeter, and more savvy than ever before, it's no wonder that DirecTV is offering BabyFirstTV. But an infant-centered television channel reminds me just a little bit of 1984 (the book, not the year). I'm sure any similarities are lost on BabyFirstTV's target audience, but let's think about this. We're taking our most vulnerable minds and exposing them to messaging designed by individuals more concerned with serving themselves than each other: business people (oh, right, and the "education specialists" paid by those business people). In other words, our children are learning precisely the messages that someone thought would ultimately yield the most profit . . . and power. Hmm. Funny circumstance that to turn on the television, you press the button labeled "Power"?
C&D probably watch three hours of television every week, on average, usually while I am trying to prepare dinner. I think it is too much. There is a wall between the kitchen and living room, however, so it's hard to watch them from the kitchen, and it's hard for them to resist wanting to be where they can see me (or be underfoot). I'm hoping that after moving into a house with an open floor plan I'll be able to cook a little more without relying on the DVD player. (Rachel, I will be in debt to you forever.) Regardless, setting Baby in front of a television is now almost a necessity, born out of our social and cultural givens: Mommy at home (alone) with baby, cooking dinner (alone) in her kitchen, (alone) in her suburban house, on a quiet (and lonely) suburban street. There is no safe place for baby to toddle off to, and no one to watch the baby, so we look for the remote and turn the television on, if it isn't already.
With pressures on mother and baby to be smarter, sweeter, and more savvy than ever before, it's no wonder that DirecTV is offering BabyFirstTV. But an infant-centered television channel reminds me just a little bit of 1984 (the book, not the year). I'm sure any similarities are lost on BabyFirstTV's target audience, but let's think about this. We're taking our most vulnerable minds and exposing them to messaging designed by individuals more concerned with serving themselves than each other: business people (oh, right, and the "education specialists" paid by those business people). In other words, our children are learning precisely the messages that someone thought would ultimately yield the most profit . . . and power. Hmm. Funny circumstance that to turn on the television, you press the button labeled "Power"?
Monday, September 18, 2006
I Hear
Fiona, this one's for you:
Tonight, as Carmen snuggled up next to me and tried to fall asleep, she told herself one of her favorite stories. It's called I Hear; it's a board book and not much of a story book, but she likes it very much anyway. The night went like this:
Snuggle, roll, flip, flop, kick.
"Iiiiiii heeeeaaaaar . . . birt. Twee, twee, twee."
Kick, kick.
"Iiiiiii heeeeaaaaar . . . gog. Ruff, ruff, ruff!"
Kick, kick, asleep.
I have been working on a post for several days, but keep running out of time to finish it. The usual story, I guess.
I MUST be sleeping (that's a usual story too, isn't it?), but here's a couple tidbits for the grandmas:
1) A couple of weeks ago, Carmen invented a game called "I'm Asleep." David started playing the game a few days later. It goes like this: Baby puts head down on couch, bed, or other soft, cushy space. Baby is often tired, and is using this opportunity to rest a bit, but doesn't want yet to succomb to sleep. Baby signs sleep and says, "I sleep. Shhhhhh." Baby puts finger over lips and then pretends to sleep (usually eyes stay open, though). And then I nod my head and quietly put my own finger to my lips. Shhhh. Then the baby sits up quickly, signs awake, and says, "I wake!" To play this game properly, repeat sequence at least 29 times, and always remember to think it's funny.
2) Today was the second day of music class, which C&D like very very very much. Carmen sits in my lap and says and signs "More sing!" whenever the group stops singing. David walks around and flirts with everyone sitting in the circle, smiling and nodding and running back to me when they get too close. Seeing all the other children, mostly aged two through four, is the absolute highlight of their week. Today, just before I loaded C&D into the car, I told them we were going to school. C&D know the signs for school and pay attention, and usually follow up saying and signing school with signing "paytenshun!" Anyway, after hearing "school" they ran to the front door, reaching to the handle to get out to the car. When I buckled Carmen into her seat, though, she started to cry. "Potty." Oh, oh. So I took her back in. "Gool," she said, and I pulled up her pants and took her back out. "Potty," she said as soon as she sat in her carseat. Oh, man. Pants down. "Nooooooo! Gooooool!" Okay. Pants up. Back in car. "Potty!" Breathe. David started to whimper. "Potty." Oh, no. So I brought them back inside. They cried, of course, because they wanted to go to school. So I made a mental note to bring some extra diaper wipes, just in case, and marched out. I began to wonder how many years I had before me of being late due to potty problems ("are you sure you don't have to go?"). Then I figured that once they understood their bladders, they'd be at the perfect age for losing things, like backpacks, glasses, shoes, homework, and permission slips for the day's field trip. I realize now how much fortitude my mother really did have, gathering me and my brother to drive across town in stop-and-go rush-hour traffic to the good schools, our eyes sleepy and our stomachs nervous because yes, once again, we were running late. I decided next week we would aim to leave at eight o'clock for our nine o'clock class, just in case. We did eventually make it there only 30 minutes late, just in time for a handful of songs and the opportunity to tell everyone not only hello, but goodbye. And C&D were very happy to see their potties when we got home.
Tonight, as Carmen snuggled up next to me and tried to fall asleep, she told herself one of her favorite stories. It's called I Hear; it's a board book and not much of a story book, but she likes it very much anyway. The night went like this:
Snuggle, roll, flip, flop, kick.
"Iiiiiii heeeeaaaaar . . . birt. Twee, twee, twee."
Kick, kick.
"Iiiiiii heeeeaaaaar . . . gog. Ruff, ruff, ruff!"
Kick, kick, asleep.
I have been working on a post for several days, but keep running out of time to finish it. The usual story, I guess.
I MUST be sleeping (that's a usual story too, isn't it?), but here's a couple tidbits for the grandmas:
1) A couple of weeks ago, Carmen invented a game called "I'm Asleep." David started playing the game a few days later. It goes like this: Baby puts head down on couch, bed, or other soft, cushy space. Baby is often tired, and is using this opportunity to rest a bit, but doesn't want yet to succomb to sleep. Baby signs sleep and says, "I sleep. Shhhhhh." Baby puts finger over lips and then pretends to sleep (usually eyes stay open, though). And then I nod my head and quietly put my own finger to my lips. Shhhh. Then the baby sits up quickly, signs awake, and says, "I wake!" To play this game properly, repeat sequence at least 29 times, and always remember to think it's funny.
2) Today was the second day of music class, which C&D like very very very much. Carmen sits in my lap and says and signs "More sing!" whenever the group stops singing. David walks around and flirts with everyone sitting in the circle, smiling and nodding and running back to me when they get too close. Seeing all the other children, mostly aged two through four, is the absolute highlight of their week. Today, just before I loaded C&D into the car, I told them we were going to school. C&D know the signs for school and pay attention, and usually follow up saying and signing school with signing "paytenshun!" Anyway, after hearing "school" they ran to the front door, reaching to the handle to get out to the car. When I buckled Carmen into her seat, though, she started to cry. "Potty." Oh, oh. So I took her back in. "Gool," she said, and I pulled up her pants and took her back out. "Potty," she said as soon as she sat in her carseat. Oh, man. Pants down. "Nooooooo! Gooooool!" Okay. Pants up. Back in car. "Potty!" Breathe. David started to whimper. "Potty." Oh, no. So I brought them back inside. They cried, of course, because they wanted to go to school. So I made a mental note to bring some extra diaper wipes, just in case, and marched out. I began to wonder how many years I had before me of being late due to potty problems ("are you sure you don't have to go?"). Then I figured that once they understood their bladders, they'd be at the perfect age for losing things, like backpacks, glasses, shoes, homework, and permission slips for the day's field trip. I realize now how much fortitude my mother really did have, gathering me and my brother to drive across town in stop-and-go rush-hour traffic to the good schools, our eyes sleepy and our stomachs nervous because yes, once again, we were running late. I decided next week we would aim to leave at eight o'clock for our nine o'clock class, just in case. We did eventually make it there only 30 minutes late, just in time for a handful of songs and the opportunity to tell everyone not only hello, but goodbye. And C&D were very happy to see their potties when we got home.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
What DO I say?
Life BB (Before Babies) was in a lot of ways very different.
For instance, we could leave the house on a moment's notice. We could stay up past bedtime on a school night (well, I could, Matt couldn't). We didn't need to plan our day around an afternoon nap. We didn't need to restrict eating out to outdoor restaurants with concrete floors.
Now, it takes us a little longer to get out the door. Sometimes we never even make it. The house is dark (except for the computer monitor) by eight o'clock. The house is quiet every afternoon for Baby Siesta. And right now I'm craving squid, saag paneer, and an assortment of other foods not available at the local kidproof eateries.
The hardest thing, however, is this: BB, I was recognized as an an expert in my professional field, and in my personal life. People assumed I knew what I was doing. Now, as I mosey around town with my two little people, I am suddenly in dire need of advice. C&D need cribs, spankings, and American cheese. I need to participate in lots of MNO's (Mothers' Night Out, for the uninitiated) and put on a little makeup for my husband. I listen politely, then smile and nod, and my acting skills improve daily.
The other part of the baby routine is Mommy Talk. You know, the kind of talk that strangers do when they are looking for polite conversation, and rather than ask about work, politics, or the weather, they ask about poop, sleep, and Gerber carrots. Sometimes the conversations go like this:
How are they sleeping?
David still wakes up at night.
Do they sleep in the same crib?
No, actually, one sleeps with me in one room and the other with my husband. Everybody gets more sleep that way.
Oh, well, at least they're not in your bed!
Heh, heh . . .
And then today, it wound up like this:
I put my baby's bedroom as far from my bedroom as possible. I don't want to have to hear her when she wakes up.
I looked at the baby, who was dangling bored and uncomfortable from a baby swing while her mother talked and gave the swing an occasional push. The woman hadn't given me advice, but her easy confidence suggested that she expected I would agree with and even appreciate her nifty nighttime trick. No way would Baby's cries and whimpers interfere with Mommy's busy schedule. I smiled and nodded in a neighborly way, then changed the subject. Thinking about the conversation later, I wondered why some people think it's right to demand convenience--and compliance--from a person who can't even yet talk in a full sentence. I also wondered why I didn't say anything in response. Somehow, it's okay for someone to proudly admit--to a stranger, no less--to ignoring their baby, but I could only just smile and nod, afraid of inviting any criticism if I dared to disagree.
Would I say anything next time? Probably not. Walking through big-box baby retailers and looking at the wide assortment of baby bouncers, cribs, playpens, baby monitors, sleep-through-the-night books, and Baby Einstein videos suggests that the Ideal Child is a convenient child, and the Ideal Mother makes sure her child is convenient. I already feel like I'm swimming upstream and against the current; why swim even harder? I'm too tired as it is.
At the same time, I don't self-sacrificially throw myself on the ground and let C&D walk all over me (and not just because Carmen likes to stand and bounce on my bladder). The other Mommy talk I hear too often is:
Don't forget to make time for yourself.
Yes, I want to say, and you are currently infringing on it. But really, since you haven't even bothered to ask me, what do you think I do all week? Play Pat-a-Cake and dolls? Why do people assume that I now include "parent" in the list of Things I Am, my life has become slow and in need of stimulation? Do I LOOK boring? Or do you think my life is brimful of nervewracking baby-induced chaos and I need to run out of my house screaming every Thursday for Happy Hour? If I wore the socialist feminist book that I read last week on my head, would you not tell me to make time for myself? Hey, look, it's 12am, I'm making time for myself! In fact, if you weren't so low on my list of priorities, I could provide you with a portfolio of all of the paid work, volunteer projects, and personal projects I've undertaken since January 2005. But it's going to take me a while because I'm busy with other, more important, things, so let me pencil it into my calendar and tell you to expect to see it, oh, gee, never? And, lastly, if you're confused because I have to adhere to the Baby Clock, won't on a whim go out to lunch at 2 o'clock, get my nails done on a Saturday (ew, sorry, that wasn't my thing even BB), or stay out late with you on a random weekday, well, I don't know what to say, really.
What DO I say?
For instance, we could leave the house on a moment's notice. We could stay up past bedtime on a school night (well, I could, Matt couldn't). We didn't need to plan our day around an afternoon nap. We didn't need to restrict eating out to outdoor restaurants with concrete floors.
Now, it takes us a little longer to get out the door. Sometimes we never even make it. The house is dark (except for the computer monitor) by eight o'clock. The house is quiet every afternoon for Baby Siesta. And right now I'm craving squid, saag paneer, and an assortment of other foods not available at the local kidproof eateries.
The hardest thing, however, is this: BB, I was recognized as an an expert in my professional field, and in my personal life. People assumed I knew what I was doing. Now, as I mosey around town with my two little people, I am suddenly in dire need of advice. C&D need cribs, spankings, and American cheese. I need to participate in lots of MNO's (Mothers' Night Out, for the uninitiated) and put on a little makeup for my husband. I listen politely, then smile and nod, and my acting skills improve daily.
The other part of the baby routine is Mommy Talk. You know, the kind of talk that strangers do when they are looking for polite conversation, and rather than ask about work, politics, or the weather, they ask about poop, sleep, and Gerber carrots. Sometimes the conversations go like this:
How are they sleeping?
David still wakes up at night.
Do they sleep in the same crib?
No, actually, one sleeps with me in one room and the other with my husband. Everybody gets more sleep that way.
Oh, well, at least they're not in your bed!
Heh, heh . . .
And then today, it wound up like this:
I put my baby's bedroom as far from my bedroom as possible. I don't want to have to hear her when she wakes up.
I looked at the baby, who was dangling bored and uncomfortable from a baby swing while her mother talked and gave the swing an occasional push. The woman hadn't given me advice, but her easy confidence suggested that she expected I would agree with and even appreciate her nifty nighttime trick. No way would Baby's cries and whimpers interfere with Mommy's busy schedule. I smiled and nodded in a neighborly way, then changed the subject. Thinking about the conversation later, I wondered why some people think it's right to demand convenience--and compliance--from a person who can't even yet talk in a full sentence. I also wondered why I didn't say anything in response. Somehow, it's okay for someone to proudly admit--to a stranger, no less--to ignoring their baby, but I could only just smile and nod, afraid of inviting any criticism if I dared to disagree.
Would I say anything next time? Probably not. Walking through big-box baby retailers and looking at the wide assortment of baby bouncers, cribs, playpens, baby monitors, sleep-through-the-night books, and Baby Einstein videos suggests that the Ideal Child is a convenient child, and the Ideal Mother makes sure her child is convenient. I already feel like I'm swimming upstream and against the current; why swim even harder? I'm too tired as it is.
At the same time, I don't self-sacrificially throw myself on the ground and let C&D walk all over me (and not just because Carmen likes to stand and bounce on my bladder). The other Mommy talk I hear too often is:
Don't forget to make time for yourself.
Yes, I want to say, and you are currently infringing on it. But really, since you haven't even bothered to ask me, what do you think I do all week? Play Pat-a-Cake and dolls? Why do people assume that I now include "parent" in the list of Things I Am, my life has become slow and in need of stimulation? Do I LOOK boring? Or do you think my life is brimful of nervewracking baby-induced chaos and I need to run out of my house screaming every Thursday for Happy Hour? If I wore the socialist feminist book that I read last week on my head, would you not tell me to make time for myself? Hey, look, it's 12am, I'm making time for myself! In fact, if you weren't so low on my list of priorities, I could provide you with a portfolio of all of the paid work, volunteer projects, and personal projects I've undertaken since January 2005. But it's going to take me a while because I'm busy with other, more important, things, so let me pencil it into my calendar and tell you to expect to see it, oh, gee, never? And, lastly, if you're confused because I have to adhere to the Baby Clock, won't on a whim go out to lunch at 2 o'clock, get my nails done on a Saturday (ew, sorry, that wasn't my thing even BB), or stay out late with you on a random weekday, well, I don't know what to say, really.
What DO I say?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I did have a camera for:
I did have a camera yesterday when two of the neighborhood kids dug through my recycle bins and fashioned themselves armor in order to battle with each other, and also fight against a younger sibling's 3-foot long plastic alligator. After I made peace with the fact that they were digging through my trash, my mom (here this week), Matt, and I all laughed and laughed as we watched them from our front windows. This was even funnier than the time they tried to plant an egg in my grass. David stood at the living room window, watching with what seemed to have been absolute adoration. "Hat," we would occassionally say and sign to us, and then go back to watching them swing at each other with sticks.
Then this morning, after a trip to the dry cleaner's, David fell asleep in the car. That's not a cigar, it's a pretzel rod. At least the pretzel rod was easier to extract than the slimy half-chewed mango slices he often falls asleep with.
Wish I Had a Camera
Had two back-to-back showings for the house this evening. The first was during dinner, when we took the babes to the Galleria. Carmen called it the "'ria." There isn't a word she doesn't try to say. Having her around is like having a pet parrot.
We had already been to the Galleria this morning, but they didn't mind going again. This morning the cosmetics counter staff at Neiman Marcus gave Carmen her own little NM bag with a sample of Guerlain's new fragrance, Insolence. "Girl!" Carmen said and signed when she looked at the folded card holding the eau de toilete, and then proceeded to play with the card and perfume for the next several minutes. The staff twirled Carmen's hair and wiped David's nose with a Bobbi Brown tissue when he cried (because Carmen cried, and she cried because she wanted to walk around and touch everything on the display shelves). I couldn't believe it. I have walked through Neiman Marcus (usually on the way to and from getting my hair cut) at least 300 times and I have never been presented with a sample of perfume, and I have maybe been spritzed only once. Ever.
We spent the first part of this evening playing and then eating dinner in the Macy's wing. No samples from Macy's, although we did have a delicious dinner, and Carmen got to show Matt that she knows how to say and sign octupus and fire truck (sign and say firefighter, say truck, and then most importantly, wail like a siren).
David has been feeling like a Velcro-baby lately, always wanting to be stuck to Mama unless we're out of the house and he's too distracted to miss me very much. He had no symptoms of Velcro-ness at all this evening during the second showing of the house, when he climbed the ten-foot big-kid swirly slide at the school playground and slid back down, fast and slippery like the Olympic luge. I wished I had a camera to capture that ear-to-ear, blissfully happy smile. I'll have to make sure he can slide again.
Carmen was partner-dancing with my mother this afternoon and David can do all the movements to Itsy Bitsy Spider. It's time to start pushing our Wee Folklorico project along. We talk to someone this month.
We had already been to the Galleria this morning, but they didn't mind going again. This morning the cosmetics counter staff at Neiman Marcus gave Carmen her own little NM bag with a sample of Guerlain's new fragrance, Insolence. "Girl!" Carmen said and signed when she looked at the folded card holding the eau de toilete, and then proceeded to play with the card and perfume for the next several minutes. The staff twirled Carmen's hair and wiped David's nose with a Bobbi Brown tissue when he cried (because Carmen cried, and she cried because she wanted to walk around and touch everything on the display shelves). I couldn't believe it. I have walked through Neiman Marcus (usually on the way to and from getting my hair cut) at least 300 times and I have never been presented with a sample of perfume, and I have maybe been spritzed only once. Ever.
We spent the first part of this evening playing and then eating dinner in the Macy's wing. No samples from Macy's, although we did have a delicious dinner, and Carmen got to show Matt that she knows how to say and sign octupus and fire truck (sign and say firefighter, say truck, and then most importantly, wail like a siren).
David has been feeling like a Velcro-baby lately, always wanting to be stuck to Mama unless we're out of the house and he's too distracted to miss me very much. He had no symptoms of Velcro-ness at all this evening during the second showing of the house, when he climbed the ten-foot big-kid swirly slide at the school playground and slid back down, fast and slippery like the Olympic luge. I wished I had a camera to capture that ear-to-ear, blissfully happy smile. I'll have to make sure he can slide again.
Carmen was partner-dancing with my mother this afternoon and David can do all the movements to Itsy Bitsy Spider. It's time to start pushing our Wee Folklorico project along. We talk to someone this month.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Memory Card is Full
The memory card is full. Time to post some pictures while I achive and store some of the more memorable moments lately. Today's memorable moment? David lifting his shirt and adhering bee stickers to his little tummy-tum-tum, fixing his shirt back down, and then lifting it again to apply more stickers. Funny little kid.
Sorry so many of these pictures are blurry. I either need a faster camera, or slower babies.
Playing at the school the day after a rain, a few weeks ago:
I forget that C&D can reach just about anything on the kitchen table or counter, now. I had cherry babies, cherry walls, and a cherry Learning Tower in the time it took to go to the car and bring in two bags of groceries. That would have been, what, 30 seconds, maybe?
David wearing some of his favorite bling. He wears it proudly whenever he comes across it in his toy basket.
Playing in the dirt at the George Ranch. The chickens keep it nice and loose.
Carmen at the George Ranch, wearing one of the few hats she'll wear without complaining.
Playing in my Dad's F-150:
Playing with the clown noses we got from the library for reading our books. The trick is to squeeze the nose and say, "Honk!"
One of the reasons why the glider is now in the bedroom:
The reason God invented daddies:
Just a little dizzy:
David's turn:
Keys!
Playing in my dad's truck:
Sorry so many of these pictures are blurry. I either need a faster camera, or slower babies.
Playing at the school the day after a rain, a few weeks ago:
I forget that C&D can reach just about anything on the kitchen table or counter, now. I had cherry babies, cherry walls, and a cherry Learning Tower in the time it took to go to the car and bring in two bags of groceries. That would have been, what, 30 seconds, maybe?
David wearing some of his favorite bling. He wears it proudly whenever he comes across it in his toy basket.
Playing in the dirt at the George Ranch. The chickens keep it nice and loose.
Carmen at the George Ranch, wearing one of the few hats she'll wear without complaining.
Playing in my Dad's F-150:
Playing with the clown noses we got from the library for reading our books. The trick is to squeeze the nose and say, "Honk!"
One of the reasons why the glider is now in the bedroom:
The reason God invented daddies:
Just a little dizzy:
David's turn:
Keys!
Playing in my dad's truck:
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
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