So easy for thirty today.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday Dear Winston.
Happy birthday to you.
And may there be many more.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
thirty words: 1
So for the rest of the week, my posts are going to be 30 words or less. Go ahead, you try to describe your mood, day, week, refrigerator contents in thirty words or less. Before you give me credit for some kind of weird writing exercise, I'll tell you the truth of the matter: we got back to Seattle Saturday night and were thrust into some kind of cosmic Crossroads of Heinousness, giving rise to a truly epic work deadline for me, more teething hijinks for Alice (with added sleeplessness!), and a mixed work/life/whathaveyou bag for Chip. The household is not strolling along - though we will come out of this just fine, if perhaps a little bent on the edges.
Until then: you get thirty word summations from Whimsy. See you on the other side.
Until then: you get thirty word summations from Whimsy. See you on the other side.
Friday, September 26, 2008
dangerous
So that Target trip sure was fun. We have acquired a new stripey sleeper! And some tiny Alice-sized jeans! And some long-sleeve onesies that I haven't previously been able to find in Alice's size! After Target, with some more time to kill, Alice and I moseyed down to Borders where we perused books and hung out in the cafe where I tried to feed her a bottle that she wasn't so excited about. During this time, the skies chose to open and nothing short of a DELUGE of water fell from the heavens. Oh my. The guy next to us was all, "Wow, is that HAIL?" And I was all, "Um, no, I don't think so. Just very big rain drops." And then the guy was all, "Yes it was! I saw the big chunks! You want to keep your daughter safe, don't you?" At which point Chip arrived to whisk us to the car. As we were standing at the door, I asked about the hail (what the HAIL? - ha ha) and Chip said it wasn't hailing anymore, and the rain wouldn't be a problem. We are Seattle-ites! We LIVE in the rain! Some moisture won't hurt us! We are HARDY FOLK!
Which brings me to this: Chip gets really frustrated that Alice won't ever slide down a metal slide. She won't ever play on a merry-go-round. She probably won't be swinging from any monkey bars set atop some very picturesque ASPHALT either.
Chip grew up in a house across the street from a very nice park that had all of these things (okay - not the monkey bars, I had THOSE at my grade school). And he loved the danger, the chance, the very real feeling of responsibility to be allowed to play on these toys. So you can imagine just how irritated he was when they went and tore all the splintery wood and metal out and replaced them with the very familiar plastic "activity centers". You know, the ones with the colorful junk to climb on that aren't quite so dangerous, but aren't nearly as fun, either.
Chip misses things like the metal slide that can reach upwards of 450 DEGREES in the HOT SUN - just enough to give your thighs a nice smattering of blisters. He misses the merry-go-round, that steel discus of DEATH with the open sides, and the iron BARS, and all the SPINNING OH THE HUMANITY THE SPINNING.
This is a frequent topic around the Last Homely House: the fact that Alice is growing up in a world that will require her to be in a booster seat until she's nearly in college. A world that wants so desperately to keep her safe (THE HAIL! THE HAIL!). A world that might, in fact, be sheltering her so very much, she's likely to become (in Chip's words) a pansy. He worries about the pansifying to a great deal, and I definitely see his point.
I was no great dare devil as a kid, but I did my fair share of bike riding in the street (NO HELMET), of swimming in pools (NO WATER WINGS), of playing on the monkey bars with the risk - always the risk - of falling.
I've talked about it before, that I don't want Alice to think that pain and failure - FALLING - won't happen to her, that it isn't waiting just around the corner to remind her that there is an opposite to everything good in this world. We're not masochists around here, either, and I certainly don't want her thinking that this world is all about the pain, per se, (and you can be sure we'll be following all the rules about helmets and such) but isn't it an important lesson? To learn that sometimes things are hard? That sometimes things hurt? That sometimes what we want most in life will come with a price of bruises, scabs, and scars?
I remember those monkey bars and the bruises they caused, the bruises that I earned from wanting to make it across that metal expanse. I wore the callouses, the bruises, the scabs like badges. I'm not sure Alice is going to have this same chance. Chip has suggested that by the time Bean is 12 there will be a bubble-wrapping station in every entryway and we'll be required to envelope our child in a nice plastic coating before she leaves the house. Then again, maybe we're wrong, and maybe the tide will turn. The image on our rice cereal box sure has me thinking that someone out there wants the babies to toughen up.
Do you see that? Those there are some babies who are earning their keep, yo. With the hard work and the sharp metal tools and the farming! In the end, maybe this is the answer: if she starts to get soft, we'll be shipping Alice off to some organic rice field in Oregon where they know the value of a hard day's labor.
Which brings me to this: Chip gets really frustrated that Alice won't ever slide down a metal slide. She won't ever play on a merry-go-round. She probably won't be swinging from any monkey bars set atop some very picturesque ASPHALT either.
Chip grew up in a house across the street from a very nice park that had all of these things (okay - not the monkey bars, I had THOSE at my grade school). And he loved the danger, the chance, the very real feeling of responsibility to be allowed to play on these toys. So you can imagine just how irritated he was when they went and tore all the splintery wood and metal out and replaced them with the very familiar plastic "activity centers". You know, the ones with the colorful junk to climb on that aren't quite so dangerous, but aren't nearly as fun, either.
Chip misses things like the metal slide that can reach upwards of 450 DEGREES in the HOT SUN - just enough to give your thighs a nice smattering of blisters. He misses the merry-go-round, that steel discus of DEATH with the open sides, and the iron BARS, and all the SPINNING OH THE HUMANITY THE SPINNING.
This is a frequent topic around the Last Homely House: the fact that Alice is growing up in a world that will require her to be in a booster seat until she's nearly in college. A world that wants so desperately to keep her safe (THE HAIL! THE HAIL!). A world that might, in fact, be sheltering her so very much, she's likely to become (in Chip's words) a pansy. He worries about the pansifying to a great deal, and I definitely see his point.
I was no great dare devil as a kid, but I did my fair share of bike riding in the street (NO HELMET), of swimming in pools (NO WATER WINGS), of playing on the monkey bars with the risk - always the risk - of falling.
I've talked about it before, that I don't want Alice to think that pain and failure - FALLING - won't happen to her, that it isn't waiting just around the corner to remind her that there is an opposite to everything good in this world. We're not masochists around here, either, and I certainly don't want her thinking that this world is all about the pain, per se, (and you can be sure we'll be following all the rules about helmets and such) but isn't it an important lesson? To learn that sometimes things are hard? That sometimes things hurt? That sometimes what we want most in life will come with a price of bruises, scabs, and scars?
I remember those monkey bars and the bruises they caused, the bruises that I earned from wanting to make it across that metal expanse. I wore the callouses, the bruises, the scabs like badges. I'm not sure Alice is going to have this same chance. Chip has suggested that by the time Bean is 12 there will be a bubble-wrapping station in every entryway and we'll be required to envelope our child in a nice plastic coating before she leaves the house. Then again, maybe we're wrong, and maybe the tide will turn. The image on our rice cereal box sure has me thinking that someone out there wants the babies to toughen up.
Do you see that? Those there are some babies who are earning their keep, yo. With the hard work and the sharp metal tools and the farming! In the end, maybe this is the answer: if she starts to get soft, we'll be shipping Alice off to some organic rice field in Oregon where they know the value of a hard day's labor.Thursday, September 25, 2008
come all ye faithful
To: Avid Target Fans
From: Whimsy (another Avid Target Fan)
Re: In Case You Weren't Sure It Existed
I have visited the Perfect Target, and it is located in Kalispell, Montana. It is as fantastic and mesmerizing as you imagined. The aisles are wide, the selection is astounding, and the store is ginormous. There are virtually no other customers. The checkers are efficient and friendly. The shelves are fully stocked with every Target Wonder imaginable.
The kids and baby section, in particular, is quite impressive. Every size onesie and sleeper is in stock. Every cute blanket and toy is in spectacular order.
The Perfect Target, as can be expected from the Perfect Target, holds even your husband's attention and has him making remarks like, "Wow - this is really the best Target we've ever shopped." This coming from a man who simply doesn't notice things like this and isn't a Shopping Fan in general.
As befitting the Perfect Target, I will be going back today. Purely for all you Target Fans who can't be here, I'm taking one for the team.
From: Whimsy (another Avid Target Fan)
Re: In Case You Weren't Sure It Existed
I have visited the Perfect Target, and it is located in Kalispell, Montana. It is as fantastic and mesmerizing as you imagined. The aisles are wide, the selection is astounding, and the store is ginormous. There are virtually no other customers. The checkers are efficient and friendly. The shelves are fully stocked with every Target Wonder imaginable.
The kids and baby section, in particular, is quite impressive. Every size onesie and sleeper is in stock. Every cute blanket and toy is in spectacular order.
The Perfect Target, as can be expected from the Perfect Target, holds even your husband's attention and has him making remarks like, "Wow - this is really the best Target we've ever shopped." This coming from a man who simply doesn't notice things like this and isn't a Shopping Fan in general.
As befitting the Perfect Target, I will be going back today. Purely for all you Target Fans who can't be here, I'm taking one for the team.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
something random this way comes
So I really should get wise and just keep Monday's post up, but instead I'm going to burden you with this sad excuse for a post. Feeling random-y today.
Montana is far brighter than Seattle. As in, you seriously need some sunglasses brighter. As in, I didn't bring my sunglasses brighter. So I'm wandering around all squinty-eyed brighter.
Yesterday Alice and I found a grocery store down the way from our hotel and we went perusing. One of the items we acquired is a vibrating teething contraption. I bought it on the teeny tiny chance that it would help with the FRACTIOUSNESS. The best part was watching Alice's face the first time she put it in her mouth and it started vibrating. Sort of a cross between "what the HECK" and "mmmmmm vibrating".
I loved your thoughts about Autumn. Oh my, I really do love this time of year. One of the far stranger reasons for loving this time of year is that Red Robin carries a ginger snap milk shake round about this time. And it's far yummier than anything should be. Really. If you have a Red Robin in your neighborhood and you're a fan of spicy-gingery things, you've got to check it out. It's just.... so good.
I don't watch the show, REALLY, but I've seen a bit of it and I'm just so irritated about something. It's going to make me sound like a total grump, but here it is: have you seen America's Got Talent? They had this 4-year-old girl on it, singing "Somewhere Out There", all ragamuffin-y and cute. She really was adorable. But here's the thing: she's FOUR. And she sings like a 4-year-old. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just... not TALENT. It's 4-year-old singing, you know? So the judges fall in love with this girl and of course they put her through to the next round or whatever. And it just IRRITATED me. You're saying that she's more talented than some guy with a trained dog or whatever? Because she's FOUR and she's singing? It's not like she's an opera star. She's just a cute kid. Dude. I'm condemning myself here to at least one comment about how she was super duper talented and the next Judy Garland or something, but SERIOUSLY. It's a mark of the whole mediocre is GREAT mentality that we have going on in this country. I need to shut up now. I just wrote a paragraph about a cute kid who doesn't know any better. I probably should have written something about her parents instead, because you KNOW they're standing behind the stage curtains talking to an AGENT or something and plotting some kind of a RECORD DEAL and a TV show before she's 7.
Glad I got that off my chest. How about some more random? Like how Alice wasn't a fan of the pool? The water was warm, we were all alone, it was a great moment... but the look on her face was I AM NOT LOVING THIS MOTHER GET ME OUT OF HERE. There wasn't much crying, per se, but she was just not much of a fan. I'm going to try again in a day or so. I'm hoping it's like eating bananas. First try ICK, second try HMMMM MAYBE YOU'VE GOT SOMETHING HERE.
How is it that a housekeeping person can whisk into a hotel room, make the bed - put up some more towels and it feels like Buckingham Palace? In my book, there isn't much better than walking into a hotel room after a 45-minute walk and finding your room all clean and beautiful again.
Montana is far brighter than Seattle. As in, you seriously need some sunglasses brighter. As in, I didn't bring my sunglasses brighter. So I'm wandering around all squinty-eyed brighter.
Yesterday Alice and I found a grocery store down the way from our hotel and we went perusing. One of the items we acquired is a vibrating teething contraption. I bought it on the teeny tiny chance that it would help with the FRACTIOUSNESS. The best part was watching Alice's face the first time she put it in her mouth and it started vibrating. Sort of a cross between "what the HECK" and "mmmmmm vibrating".
I loved your thoughts about Autumn. Oh my, I really do love this time of year. One of the far stranger reasons for loving this time of year is that Red Robin carries a ginger snap milk shake round about this time. And it's far yummier than anything should be. Really. If you have a Red Robin in your neighborhood and you're a fan of spicy-gingery things, you've got to check it out. It's just.... so good.
I don't watch the show, REALLY, but I've seen a bit of it and I'm just so irritated about something. It's going to make me sound like a total grump, but here it is: have you seen America's Got Talent? They had this 4-year-old girl on it, singing "Somewhere Out There", all ragamuffin-y and cute. She really was adorable. But here's the thing: she's FOUR. And she sings like a 4-year-old. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just... not TALENT. It's 4-year-old singing, you know? So the judges fall in love with this girl and of course they put her through to the next round or whatever. And it just IRRITATED me. You're saying that she's more talented than some guy with a trained dog or whatever? Because she's FOUR and she's singing? It's not like she's an opera star. She's just a cute kid. Dude. I'm condemning myself here to at least one comment about how she was super duper talented and the next Judy Garland or something, but SERIOUSLY. It's a mark of the whole mediocre is GREAT mentality that we have going on in this country. I need to shut up now. I just wrote a paragraph about a cute kid who doesn't know any better. I probably should have written something about her parents instead, because you KNOW they're standing behind the stage curtains talking to an AGENT or something and plotting some kind of a RECORD DEAL and a TV show before she's 7.
Glad I got that off my chest. How about some more random? Like how Alice wasn't a fan of the pool? The water was warm, we were all alone, it was a great moment... but the look on her face was I AM NOT LOVING THIS MOTHER GET ME OUT OF HERE. There wasn't much crying, per se, but she was just not much of a fan. I'm going to try again in a day or so. I'm hoping it's like eating bananas. First try ICK, second try HMMMM MAYBE YOU'VE GOT SOMETHING HERE.
How is it that a housekeeping person can whisk into a hotel room, make the bed - put up some more towels and it feels like Buckingham Palace? In my book, there isn't much better than walking into a hotel room after a 45-minute walk and finding your room all clean and beautiful again.
Monday, September 22, 2008
to the 'bers
We are in Montana this week. Kalispell, to be exact. Chip is here for business and Alice and I tagged along, leaving the kitties to hold the fort at home. This is a beautiful place. We hope to have some time for sight seeing - including Glacier National Park. It would be a shame to come this far and only see the inside of our hotel room, but I'm actually looking forward to that, too. Alice and I will be inspecting the POOL, to be sure. The beauty of being here all alone during the day? We can make a pool run and be relatively sure that we will be ALONE for MY entrance into the pool. Oh the thought of that bathing suit sitting in my suitcase just gives me the shudders. Anyway. As I said, beautiful place... as we drove in from the airport Chip and I were remarking about the just-about-to-turn leaves and I remembered that today is the first day of FALL.
Have I told you that this is my favorite time of year? Fall, autumn, the 'bers in all their sweetest. The oranges and browns and warm golds that color everything from the trees and falling leaves to the sweaters I haul out of my closet. I love what this season does to my mood: it brings introspection, a warm toastiness to every nook and cranny of my heart. I think about Halloween and it's impending wonder (the just ever so slight creep to it) - I think about Alice and what her costume is going to be. Halloween is a Child's Holiday if ever there was one: with the tingly creep, the candy, the costumes, the chilly nights just MADE for cuddling. I think about Thanksgiving with pumpkin pie and turkey and family gatherings. I think about Christmas down the way and.... oh FALL HOW I LOVE YOU SO!!!
Whimsy's Favorite Fall Things
THE FOOD:
Pumpkin bread, fresh from the oven.
Pumpkin bread, a day old - toasted in the toaster oven with BUTTER.
Hot cocoa with vanilla (it's the Stephen's brand and it seriously rocks my WORLD).
THE MOVIE:
Something Wicked This Way Comes. (EVERY YEAR - you can ask Chip)
THE BOOK:
Lord of the Rings trilogy. I read it every year, beginning in the fall. Means I usually hit Return of the King around Christmas, which is just perfect.
Now I want to know - what is autumn to you? Do you listen to certain music? Make certain recipes? Watch certain movies? Come on, tell me all about your fall rituals.
Have I told you that this is my favorite time of year? Fall, autumn, the 'bers in all their sweetest. The oranges and browns and warm golds that color everything from the trees and falling leaves to the sweaters I haul out of my closet. I love what this season does to my mood: it brings introspection, a warm toastiness to every nook and cranny of my heart. I think about Halloween and it's impending wonder (the just ever so slight creep to it) - I think about Alice and what her costume is going to be. Halloween is a Child's Holiday if ever there was one: with the tingly creep, the candy, the costumes, the chilly nights just MADE for cuddling. I think about Thanksgiving with pumpkin pie and turkey and family gatherings. I think about Christmas down the way and.... oh FALL HOW I LOVE YOU SO!!!
Whimsy's Favorite Fall Things
THE FOOD:
Pumpkin bread, fresh from the oven.
Pumpkin bread, a day old - toasted in the toaster oven with BUTTER.
Hot cocoa with vanilla (it's the Stephen's brand and it seriously rocks my WORLD).
THE MOVIE:
Something Wicked This Way Comes. (EVERY YEAR - you can ask Chip)
THE BOOK:
Lord of the Rings trilogy. I read it every year, beginning in the fall. Means I usually hit Return of the King around Christmas, which is just perfect.
Now I want to know - what is autumn to you? Do you listen to certain music? Make certain recipes? Watch certain movies? Come on, tell me all about your fall rituals.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
special math
No one mentioned to me that motherhood would require all these special superpowers in MATH. I think I might need to enroll in a weekend course for the following because it takes me far too long to figure this stuff out (what follows is an example of the calculations and questions that run through my head All.The.Time):
Packing Spatial Geometry =
How many blankets need to be tucked into the diaper bag vs. how many will actually FIT? Is it better to tuck the burp cloths and change of clothes and THEN to pack the diapers & wipes - or do the burp cloths and change of clothes fit around the more square-ish items that have to go in the bag?
Nap Math =
If I put Alice down at 7:45 a.m. for her morning nap, what time will I be feeding her again? And if I can extend her nap time by 15 minutes, when will she have her next nap? Will the adjustment of 15 minutes to the morning nap require me to stretch out her feeding time tonight to keep the same bedtime? Alice woke up an hour and a half EARLIER than normal - quick! Figure out the new nap/feeding times. Don't let head explode.
Food Math =
Two ounces to one scoop of formula. Lather, rinse, repeat. Several times a day.
Clothing Math =
The Gerbers onesies run small - so if I buy the size Large in Gerber, would I buy the size medium in Carters (which run large)? Or should I buy the Large in Carters and wait for her to grow into them? She is currently 17 pounds, 27 inches. Why don't ALL baby clothes have a clear chart for weight and height? Why do I have to hunt for it?
It's really the nap math that blows my mind most. I am doing these little tricksy calculations all day long, no kidding. I've discovered that my kid can stay awake and pleasant for about 2 hours (really closer to 90 minutes if we're being honest here) before getting to a pretty inconsolable state. Yes, she takes the shortest little naps in the universe, but they are NEEDED little resets throughout the day. In addition, she eats approximately every three hours. So every time I put her down for a nap, I'm doing the mental gymnastics of "Okay... it's 9am now, that means she'll take her next nap at noon - and I'll be feeding her at 10:30 or so" etc. I've tried explaining the Nap Math to Chip, so he can be In the Know when he's watching her, but I realized that he hasn't even taken the beginner course in Mother Math, so it's all craziness to him.
I'll let you know about the weekend advanced course. I think I'm going to need it.
Packing Spatial Geometry =
How many blankets need to be tucked into the diaper bag vs. how many will actually FIT? Is it better to tuck the burp cloths and change of clothes and THEN to pack the diapers & wipes - or do the burp cloths and change of clothes fit around the more square-ish items that have to go in the bag?
Nap Math =
If I put Alice down at 7:45 a.m. for her morning nap, what time will I be feeding her again? And if I can extend her nap time by 15 minutes, when will she have her next nap? Will the adjustment of 15 minutes to the morning nap require me to stretch out her feeding time tonight to keep the same bedtime? Alice woke up an hour and a half EARLIER than normal - quick! Figure out the new nap/feeding times. Don't let head explode.
Food Math =
Two ounces to one scoop of formula. Lather, rinse, repeat. Several times a day.
Clothing Math =
The Gerbers onesies run small - so if I buy the size Large in Gerber, would I buy the size medium in Carters (which run large)? Or should I buy the Large in Carters and wait for her to grow into them? She is currently 17 pounds, 27 inches. Why don't ALL baby clothes have a clear chart for weight and height? Why do I have to hunt for it?
It's really the nap math that blows my mind most. I am doing these little tricksy calculations all day long, no kidding. I've discovered that my kid can stay awake and pleasant for about 2 hours (really closer to 90 minutes if we're being honest here) before getting to a pretty inconsolable state. Yes, she takes the shortest little naps in the universe, but they are NEEDED little resets throughout the day. In addition, she eats approximately every three hours. So every time I put her down for a nap, I'm doing the mental gymnastics of "Okay... it's 9am now, that means she'll take her next nap at noon - and I'll be feeding her at 10:30 or so" etc. I've tried explaining the Nap Math to Chip, so he can be In the Know when he's watching her, but I realized that he hasn't even taken the beginner course in Mother Math, so it's all craziness to him.
I'll let you know about the weekend advanced course. I think I'm going to need it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
i swear i can hear things in the static
An abrupt change of subject is in order here at The Creamery - both because I am BORED with the topic of the never-ending TEETHING FRACTIOUSNESS and because I am scaring off my readers. If that wasn't so true, it would be funny.
So you get this:
We are driving to Alice's 6-month check-up at the Pediatrician's. We are running about 10 minutes late when we notice that there is a lot of roadwork being done just ahead of us, and as we get closer, we spot a roadworker flagger dude standing on the side of the road. He is flipping his little STOP/SLOW road sign around and around, and quite frankly, I have no idea what he's doing. Are we supposed to stop? To go? To just point? As we get closer, the dude flips the sign to the STOP side and then (ever-so-slowly) approaches our car to talk to Chip, the driver. I am SO IRRITATED because now I know we are going to be late for Alice's appointment.
FLAGGER DUDE: Sir! When a certified Washington State DOT Flagger is wangling his sign at you, you are supposed to slow your car to an acceptable speed.
CHIP [first mutters something about how we don't have time for this under his breath and then asks the Flagger:] Really - so what speed should I have been going sir?
FLAGGER: You were clearly going too fast.
CHIP: I was going 15 miles an hour. There were cars ahead of me going faster than that.
FLAGGER: Much much too fast, sir.
CHIP: How fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: Slower than you were traveling.
CHIP: So how fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: I've seen cars travel 5 miles an hour too fast.
CHIP: So really - how fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: 5 miles an hour.
CHIP: Great. Thanks for your time here. You're doing a great job.
[Flagger walks away, leaving Chip even more irritated than before. Flagger proceeds to keep us sitting there for another 5 minutes.
Later, after some contemplation, I have this to add:
WHIMSY: Did he really say "wangling a sign"? I... don't know anything about sign wangling. Do they teach that in flagger school?
And I want to know if anyone else gets a little weirded-out by white noise. We play a considerable amount of it around here, especially in Alice's room when she's sleeping. But I swear I can hear things in the static. I am half-expecting to start receiving late night messages in Bean's room monitor. This can't be a good development.
So you get this:
We are driving to Alice's 6-month check-up at the Pediatrician's. We are running about 10 minutes late when we notice that there is a lot of roadwork being done just ahead of us, and as we get closer, we spot a roadworker flagger dude standing on the side of the road. He is flipping his little STOP/SLOW road sign around and around, and quite frankly, I have no idea what he's doing. Are we supposed to stop? To go? To just point? As we get closer, the dude flips the sign to the STOP side and then (ever-so-slowly) approaches our car to talk to Chip, the driver. I am SO IRRITATED because now I know we are going to be late for Alice's appointment.
FLAGGER DUDE: Sir! When a certified Washington State DOT Flagger is wangling his sign at you, you are supposed to slow your car to an acceptable speed.
CHIP [first mutters something about how we don't have time for this under his breath and then asks the Flagger:] Really - so what speed should I have been going sir?
FLAGGER: You were clearly going too fast.
CHIP: I was going 15 miles an hour. There were cars ahead of me going faster than that.
FLAGGER: Much much too fast, sir.
CHIP: How fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: Slower than you were traveling.
CHIP: So how fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: I've seen cars travel 5 miles an hour too fast.
CHIP: So really - how fast should I have been going?
FLAGGER: 5 miles an hour.
CHIP: Great. Thanks for your time here. You're doing a great job.
[Flagger walks away, leaving Chip even more irritated than before. Flagger proceeds to keep us sitting there for another 5 minutes.
Later, after some contemplation, I have this to add:
WHIMSY: Did he really say "wangling a sign"? I... don't know anything about sign wangling. Do they teach that in flagger school?
And I want to know if anyone else gets a little weirded-out by white noise. We play a considerable amount of it around here, especially in Alice's room when she's sleeping. But I swear I can hear things in the static. I am half-expecting to start receiving late night messages in Bean's room monitor. This can't be a good development.
Monday, September 15, 2008
the teething diaries: part 1
Yeah, so I'm really hoping that the first one is the WORST one. And we'll tackle molars once we cross that bridge... because if we're in for six+ months of THIS? Oh boy. That just makes me very nervous. Will be stocking up on copious amounts of fudge and roast beef sandwich material, because that's what got me through this day.
It seems that the little Bean is impervious to all known teething remedies:
- cold wash cloth to munch on? DENIED.
- refrigerated teething circle? REJECTED.
- icy cold water in a bottle? NOPE.
- mommy finger to gum? DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.
- big beefy daddy finger? NOT GOING THERE.
- frozen wash cloth? NADA.
- cloth diaper to gnaw? DON'T MESS WITH ME.
- Hyland's teething tablets? NO AND A THOUSAND TIMES NO.
- singing? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Last night Chip ended up sitting in our DRIVEWAY because it appeared that the outside air (or something? the moonlight? the position of the PLANETS? I don't even know!) helped. So he stayed out there with Bean for over an hour. I was hiding out in the living room, helplessly gathering strength in the form of a pleading phonecall to K. Her little S, who is a week older than Alice, isn't going through the TEETHING yet, so I did my best to scare her pants off. Because I'm just that kind of a friend. In exchange for my tearful warnings, K offered me the best advice possible: know that it's not going to last forever.
This bit of advice is one that I hold very dear, mostly due to the wonderful way Chip explained it to me once. Do you remember The Wonder Years? That 80's-ish TV show set in the 1960's, centering around the sweet story of KEVIN ARNOLD, the Everyman Little Kid - facing middle school with his wonderfully geeked-out best friend and his hopeless crush on his neighbor, Winnie. The main thing about the show was the fact that it was narrated by an adult Kevin - and adult looking back on his formative years with all the important hindsight and helpful lessons. So, one day Kevin somehow angers this bully kid. Maybe he was standing up for Winnie, I don't know, it doesn't matter. Kevin gets this kid really angry and they fight. Kevin does his best to put up a good defense but there's nothing for it: much sooner than you'd like, Kevin is on the ground getting beat up like mad. And as awful as it is, here's where Adult Kevin, Wise Sage Adult Kevin Narrator comes in. And he says something like this, "As terrible as it was, I realized something. Eventually the bully kid was going to get hungry and want to go home. Eventually he'd get tired and just stop. Eventually it would all be over. And I knew it."
Chip shared this insight with me a while back, and I cling to it in times like these. If anyone had told me that the initial pain of nursing would be over in 12 weeks (with the chest pain!!! and the bleeding nipples!!! and the frustration!!!) - if anyone had said, "You're going to be fine in exactly 90 days." I think I would have be totally okay with it. But seeing as how we don't have anyone with psychic abilities just floating around, waiting to tell me my future, I have to just know that nothing lasts forever.
Eventually Alice is going to cut that DARN tooth.
Eventually she is going to smile again.
Eventually she is going to laugh again.
Eventually she is going to allow me to come within 6 inches of her mouth (not wielding a feeding device).
Eventually, we're all going to get tired and want to go home. And I'll be waiting for that moment. It's going to be great.
It seems that the little Bean is impervious to all known teething remedies:
- cold wash cloth to munch on? DENIED.
- refrigerated teething circle? REJECTED.
- icy cold water in a bottle? NOPE.
- mommy finger to gum? DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.
- big beefy daddy finger? NOT GOING THERE.
- frozen wash cloth? NADA.
- cloth diaper to gnaw? DON'T MESS WITH ME.
- Hyland's teething tablets? NO AND A THOUSAND TIMES NO.
- singing? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Last night Chip ended up sitting in our DRIVEWAY because it appeared that the outside air (or something? the moonlight? the position of the PLANETS? I don't even know!) helped. So he stayed out there with Bean for over an hour. I was hiding out in the living room, helplessly gathering strength in the form of a pleading phonecall to K. Her little S, who is a week older than Alice, isn't going through the TEETHING yet, so I did my best to scare her pants off. Because I'm just that kind of a friend. In exchange for my tearful warnings, K offered me the best advice possible: know that it's not going to last forever.
This bit of advice is one that I hold very dear, mostly due to the wonderful way Chip explained it to me once. Do you remember The Wonder Years? That 80's-ish TV show set in the 1960's, centering around the sweet story of KEVIN ARNOLD, the Everyman Little Kid - facing middle school with his wonderfully geeked-out best friend and his hopeless crush on his neighbor, Winnie. The main thing about the show was the fact that it was narrated by an adult Kevin - and adult looking back on his formative years with all the important hindsight and helpful lessons. So, one day Kevin somehow angers this bully kid. Maybe he was standing up for Winnie, I don't know, it doesn't matter. Kevin gets this kid really angry and they fight. Kevin does his best to put up a good defense but there's nothing for it: much sooner than you'd like, Kevin is on the ground getting beat up like mad. And as awful as it is, here's where Adult Kevin, Wise Sage Adult Kevin Narrator comes in. And he says something like this, "As terrible as it was, I realized something. Eventually the bully kid was going to get hungry and want to go home. Eventually he'd get tired and just stop. Eventually it would all be over. And I knew it."
Chip shared this insight with me a while back, and I cling to it in times like these. If anyone had told me that the initial pain of nursing would be over in 12 weeks (with the chest pain!!! and the bleeding nipples!!! and the frustration!!!) - if anyone had said, "You're going to be fine in exactly 90 days." I think I would have be totally okay with it. But seeing as how we don't have anyone with psychic abilities just floating around, waiting to tell me my future, I have to just know that nothing lasts forever.
Eventually Alice is going to cut that DARN tooth.
Eventually she is going to smile again.
Eventually she is going to laugh again.
Eventually she is going to allow me to come within 6 inches of her mouth (not wielding a feeding device).
Eventually, we're all going to get tired and want to go home. And I'll be waiting for that moment. It's going to be great.
wish list
I would tell you of the new sounds Alice is making, the new AB-AB-BAB-BAB and the new UH-UH-UH-OHHHHH babbling.
I would tell you about watching Alice eat a rice rusk for the first time, and how fantastic it was to watch her feed herself (jamming fist in mouth, trying to get that last bit of mushy rice cracker goodness into her awaiting gummy smile).
I would tell you of the weird CAT conspiracy in our house - how both of them have decided that our lower kitchen cabinets contain the CAVE OF INEXPLICABLE AND UNEXPLORED WONDERS and they simply MUST get in there - resulting in the telltale thwap thwap thwap sound of cabinet door being swatted open with a furry paw at all hours of the day and night. I would also tell you about the further results of these explorations (namely: yours truly screeching in horror and fear when I later open a cabinet door and have a spelunking cat leap out at me, tiny lamp afixed to furry head).
I would tell you about a slice of fudge I am consuming piece by piece, much like a little mouse. If the mouse were a mid-30's mother wearing track pants.
I would tell you about the number of remedies I've tried with Alice: icy ice cold water, cold washcloth, chilled teething circle, frozen washcloth, teething tablets, mommy finger, daddy finger, baby fist.
I would tell you about the remedies that have worked: NONE.
I would tell you of walking the floor with an inconsolable baby - trying everything, nothing working, feeling hopeless.
I would tell you of the moments I've witnessed of incomparable tenderness, flashes of memory that are too sweet to detail: Chip padding the hallway in bare feet - Alice in his arms - he is whispering to her in the softest voice.
I would tell you of the desperate attempts we've made to give Alice peace. Attempts that have given fruit to a few smiles, a few brief glimpses into the Alice we know. She is trying so hard, I can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
I would tell you about finding Chip and Alice sitting on the driveway last night: he in a lawn chair, laptop firmly afixed to his knees; she in her car seat, industriously chewing her stuffed yellow star (creatively named "STARRY" by yours truly).
I would tell you about Chip's upcoming business trip to Montana, and how Alice and I are going to be tagging along.
I would tell you about all of this, every little bit of it. But I'm too tired. I've been up since 2am with a teething baby.
I would tell you about watching Alice eat a rice rusk for the first time, and how fantastic it was to watch her feed herself (jamming fist in mouth, trying to get that last bit of mushy rice cracker goodness into her awaiting gummy smile).
I would tell you of the weird CAT conspiracy in our house - how both of them have decided that our lower kitchen cabinets contain the CAVE OF INEXPLICABLE AND UNEXPLORED WONDERS and they simply MUST get in there - resulting in the telltale thwap thwap thwap sound of cabinet door being swatted open with a furry paw at all hours of the day and night. I would also tell you about the further results of these explorations (namely: yours truly screeching in horror and fear when I later open a cabinet door and have a spelunking cat leap out at me, tiny lamp afixed to furry head).
I would tell you about a slice of fudge I am consuming piece by piece, much like a little mouse. If the mouse were a mid-30's mother wearing track pants.
I would tell you about the number of remedies I've tried with Alice: icy ice cold water, cold washcloth, chilled teething circle, frozen washcloth, teething tablets, mommy finger, daddy finger, baby fist.
I would tell you about the remedies that have worked: NONE.
I would tell you of walking the floor with an inconsolable baby - trying everything, nothing working, feeling hopeless.
I would tell you of the moments I've witnessed of incomparable tenderness, flashes of memory that are too sweet to detail: Chip padding the hallway in bare feet - Alice in his arms - he is whispering to her in the softest voice.
I would tell you of the desperate attempts we've made to give Alice peace. Attempts that have given fruit to a few smiles, a few brief glimpses into the Alice we know. She is trying so hard, I can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
I would tell you about finding Chip and Alice sitting on the driveway last night: he in a lawn chair, laptop firmly afixed to his knees; she in her car seat, industriously chewing her stuffed yellow star (creatively named "STARRY" by yours truly).
I would tell you about Chip's upcoming business trip to Montana, and how Alice and I are going to be tagging along.
I would tell you about all of this, every little bit of it. But I'm too tired. I've been up since 2am with a teething baby.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
the first half
Dear Alice,
There is going to come a time when you will be measuring things in "halfs" - as in, please give me a half of your sandwich and I am 4 and a half years old. September third marked your first half, your first six months here with us. And while I don't expect you to be asking for half of my sandwich yet, I know its coming - and the way these first 6 months flew by, I suspect that the time for sandwich rationing will come far more swiftly than I anticipate.
In your first half you have traveled far more than even most adult people. We recently returned from a road trip to San Francisco to visit your great Uncle D and Aunt S. To say that they were smitten with you is an understatement. I believe the exact words were, "You're going to have to leave the baby." From San Francisco we traveled to Utah to see your Grammy and Grampy C. We had a great time, even with all the driving - and seriously, you are the BEST traveler of anyone I know.
Just one day into your sixth month, you began to do some kind of face-plant crawling maneuver. I don't know what else to call it, really, because you get from one end of the floor to the other by using your face to leverage the rest of your body. This is not something that I'd recommend as a great mode of transport, but so far its working for you. I may need to invest in some headbands or something to spare you the inevitable forehead callous.
You also started eating solid food this month. Your first taste of rice cereal was a little strange, I think, but after a few days you must have decided that it was okay because we haven't stopped since. So far you've eaten squash, carrots, sweet potatoes, and green beans. When you get to the point in life when you can actually condemn me for feeding you all those vegies first, and not starting with the far-more-palatable bananas and applesauce, know that your grammy C has been sticking up for you. I'm convinced if I didn't keep a wary eye out, she'd be feeding you dutch apple dessert and peach cobbler behind my back. She did give you a small taste of CHOCOLATE (in the form of a tiny bit of her chocolate shake) last week. Daddy says that its very appropriate, considering that this is the woman who will give you the best chocolate chip cookies you'll ever eat (though he says mine are a close second).
Alice, your smile lights up a room. This hasn't changed since the first time we saw that full-face grin months ago - but you're just such a smiley girl, it needs to be said. You smile when you make a new noise. You smile when you think we're being funny. You smile when you first wake up from a nap. You smile when you see our cats. You smile when you hear a familiar song. You smile when you're in the bath. In short, you are a very happy girl.
I wish I could adequately capture the true essence of these first six months - to let you see and smell and taste and hear and feel the joy you have brought us. To give you something to hold on to when the halfs in your life have built up around you - when you are lonely or tired or feeling especially unloved. I'd like to say that such moments will never happen to you, but to do so would be both unwise and dishonest. So know that you are going to feel, at times, only half full - only half understood - only half found. Maybe when your life is half over and your daddy and momma are gone, maybe you will feel like some part of you - some half - is also gone. In these moments, please remember: your daddy sang songs and played the guitar for you; your momma read you books about ducks and hippos; when you were in your car seat you inexplicably smelled like beef vegetable soup and sometimes both your momma and daddy could be found sticking their noses in there and breathing as deep as a person can breathe; there wasn't a moment when you were out in public when someone didn't come by to say hello to you (the ladies at the grocery store deli counter, the fabric ladies at Joann's, the cashier at the bookstore, the person walking her dog outside our house, the waiter at the restaurant - just to name a few). Little Alice, you are undoubtedly unabashedly unmeasurably loved - not by half, not by a quarter, not by any less than everything we hold dear. Happy first half, baby.
Love,
Momma
There is going to come a time when you will be measuring things in "halfs" - as in, please give me a half of your sandwich and I am 4 and a half years old. September third marked your first half, your first six months here with us. And while I don't expect you to be asking for half of my sandwich yet, I know its coming - and the way these first 6 months flew by, I suspect that the time for sandwich rationing will come far more swiftly than I anticipate.
In your first half you have traveled far more than even most adult people. We recently returned from a road trip to San Francisco to visit your great Uncle D and Aunt S. To say that they were smitten with you is an understatement. I believe the exact words were, "You're going to have to leave the baby." From San Francisco we traveled to Utah to see your Grammy and Grampy C. We had a great time, even with all the driving - and seriously, you are the BEST traveler of anyone I know.
Just one day into your sixth month, you began to do some kind of face-plant crawling maneuver. I don't know what else to call it, really, because you get from one end of the floor to the other by using your face to leverage the rest of your body. This is not something that I'd recommend as a great mode of transport, but so far its working for you. I may need to invest in some headbands or something to spare you the inevitable forehead callous.
You also started eating solid food this month. Your first taste of rice cereal was a little strange, I think, but after a few days you must have decided that it was okay because we haven't stopped since. So far you've eaten squash, carrots, sweet potatoes, and green beans. When you get to the point in life when you can actually condemn me for feeding you all those vegies first, and not starting with the far-more-palatable bananas and applesauce, know that your grammy C has been sticking up for you. I'm convinced if I didn't keep a wary eye out, she'd be feeding you dutch apple dessert and peach cobbler behind my back. She did give you a small taste of CHOCOLATE (in the form of a tiny bit of her chocolate shake) last week. Daddy says that its very appropriate, considering that this is the woman who will give you the best chocolate chip cookies you'll ever eat (though he says mine are a close second).
Alice, your smile lights up a room. This hasn't changed since the first time we saw that full-face grin months ago - but you're just such a smiley girl, it needs to be said. You smile when you make a new noise. You smile when you think we're being funny. You smile when you first wake up from a nap. You smile when you see our cats. You smile when you hear a familiar song. You smile when you're in the bath. In short, you are a very happy girl.
I wish I could adequately capture the true essence of these first six months - to let you see and smell and taste and hear and feel the joy you have brought us. To give you something to hold on to when the halfs in your life have built up around you - when you are lonely or tired or feeling especially unloved. I'd like to say that such moments will never happen to you, but to do so would be both unwise and dishonest. So know that you are going to feel, at times, only half full - only half understood - only half found. Maybe when your life is half over and your daddy and momma are gone, maybe you will feel like some part of you - some half - is also gone. In these moments, please remember: your daddy sang songs and played the guitar for you; your momma read you books about ducks and hippos; when you were in your car seat you inexplicably smelled like beef vegetable soup and sometimes both your momma and daddy could be found sticking their noses in there and breathing as deep as a person can breathe; there wasn't a moment when you were out in public when someone didn't come by to say hello to you (the ladies at the grocery store deli counter, the fabric ladies at Joann's, the cashier at the bookstore, the person walking her dog outside our house, the waiter at the restaurant - just to name a few). Little Alice, you are undoubtedly unabashedly unmeasurably loved - not by half, not by a quarter, not by any less than everything we hold dear. Happy first half, baby.
Love,
Momma
Monday, September 8, 2008
do you know where you're going to
Little bits from the EPIC JOURNEY:
Bean has this little set of toy car keys that are cute and stripey and brightly colored with the big big buttons and the beep beep of the horn and the funny simulated tinkley key noise when you shake them. The are adorable. And she loves them to death. Something that takes the cute away significantly is when the keys fall down between the cooler and the car door and you're driving 75 miles an hour on the highway and the keys TINKLE with every single darn bump on the road. The road that you will be driving on for at least another 45 minutes.
- - - - -
Nevada in a single word: BORING.
- - - - -
Why does Utah have the best hamburgers and shakes known to humankind?
- - - - -
Meg wrote about the PED EGG. I want to know what's up with the commercial of the talking wart.
- - - - -
How does the shake flavor of "cream pie" become universal shorthand for "nilla wafers"? I want to know.
- - - - -
Putting a Boppy pillow on your head and peeking around the corner into your parents' living room, announcing that you are doing an impression of the mushroom guys from Super Mario Brothers won't really make a great impression on your parents' friends that have stopped by to say hello. It won't even get you the $10 that The Little Brother bet, saying that you wouldn't pop into the living room with a boppy pillow on your head. It will only make your head sweaty.
- - - - -
Lady at the Pepperidge Farm "thrift store": Oh look, an out of state license! Are you going to school here, dear?
Me: (with a smile) No, not really.
Later...
The Sister-in-Law: Wow - she must be your favorite person. Mom: I'm sure she didn't really mean it. She was being nice.
Me: Hey! I could pass for 20. I'm a very young 35-year-old.
Mom: You're 34. And she probably thought you were a graduate student.
Me: Yes. A 35-year-old graduate student.
- - - - -
Why call it the Pepperidge Farm THRIFT STORE? I don't know. I think just calling it a "store" would engender better feelings about the place that sells cookies made directly from the factory. I half expected to find crackers stashed in bins on orange vinyl kitchen chairs, tiny price tags affixed to them.
- - - - -
At the Logan Joann fabric store...
The Sister-in-Law is the only one having fabric cut. There are no other customers in sight until I walk up.Sister-in-Law: Make sure you take a number.
Me: Really? A number?
Sister-in-Law (with sly smile): Yes. It's very important.
Me (shrugging, takes number)
Other Joann clerk girl who appears out of nowhere grabs OVERHEAD MICROPHONE: NOW SERVING... NUMBER EIGHTY-FIVE. NUMBER EIGHTY-FIVE? PLEASE COME FORWARD NUMBER EIGHTY-FIVE.
Me (trying to not laugh - and attempting to interrupt the mad call for customer EIGHTY FIVE): Um? Yes? I'm right here? (waving hands in the air)
Sister-in-Law (quietly under her breath): Yes, they wouldn't even help me until I'd taken a number. I was the only one here.
- - - - -
Yes, it is possible for your bum to fall asleep.
- - - - -
As we're pulling off into Twin Falls, Idaho - scoping out a place for us to feed Alice.
Me (looking at the windshield): Wow, is it raining?
Chip: No. Those are bugs.
- - - - -
At the Twin Falls IHOP, talking to our server Shaun.
Chip: Do you think there's an IHOP policy against having our baby, um, sort-of hang out on top of the table?
- - - - -
We're home. We're exhausted. We will post Real Content tomorrow.
Edited to add: sometimes I don't know how I even get myself dressed. I started this post in the car on Saturday and finished it last night (Monday). Did I bother to CHANGE the publish date? No. Sheesh. Now heading off to do dishes.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
when there is sort of something to say but you're too tired to say it
There's a very odd vacation-updatey weirdness about this post. I have virtually NOTHING interesting to say, but I feel like I should post because there's all this TIME that's passed and we're busy busy busy with traveling and visiting with family. And... I don't know, you guys had questions, you know?
So there's this:
- We're in Utah visiting my parents and The Little Brother (and TLB's wife, and her BELLY if you know what I mean and I think you do and this means that Bean will have another little cousin come next MARCH!)
- Why Utah via San Francisco? Because it just... sort of happened. We'd been planning the trip to San Fran to see Chip's uncle and aunt - and it just came up that maybe a road trip to Utah would be fun? Or something? I don't know. We were totally insane. And we still are. But the trip has been worth it. Any time you can get my mom's cooking on a regular basis is ALWAYS good in our book.
- The trip from Seattle to San Francisco takes approximately 12 hours. That's if you take the direct route via I-5. We did not take the direct route because we wanted to take a detour through an area in California where Chip used to live. It added about 4-6 hours to the trip. Once again: worth it. And I have some seriously good tips for making a long car trip with a little one. I wouldn't really RECOMMEND IT, of course, but if you have to do it, I've got TIPS!!!
- Um. What else? Oh! The Pif!!! Looks like Cherish has a winner: Dr. Maureen. I'll post a link once Cherish sends it off and then keep you posted from there... you guys, this is so AWESOME I can't stand it. If you want to win the box, you've just got to keep following it and entering those PiF's...
- I have NO PICTURES to post because I am stupid and forgot the cord for the camera upload-y thing. So I have the pictures... just no way to post them until we get home. Argh.
- Okay. It's late. I'm fried.
So there's this:
- We're in Utah visiting my parents and The Little Brother (and TLB's wife, and her BELLY if you know what I mean and I think you do and this means that Bean will have another little cousin come next MARCH!)
- Why Utah via San Francisco? Because it just... sort of happened. We'd been planning the trip to San Fran to see Chip's uncle and aunt - and it just came up that maybe a road trip to Utah would be fun? Or something? I don't know. We were totally insane. And we still are. But the trip has been worth it. Any time you can get my mom's cooking on a regular basis is ALWAYS good in our book.
- The trip from Seattle to San Francisco takes approximately 12 hours. That's if you take the direct route via I-5. We did not take the direct route because we wanted to take a detour through an area in California where Chip used to live. It added about 4-6 hours to the trip. Once again: worth it. And I have some seriously good tips for making a long car trip with a little one. I wouldn't really RECOMMEND IT, of course, but if you have to do it, I've got TIPS!!!
- Um. What else? Oh! The Pif!!! Looks like Cherish has a winner: Dr. Maureen. I'll post a link once Cherish sends it off and then keep you posted from there... you guys, this is so AWESOME I can't stand it. If you want to win the box, you've just got to keep following it and entering those PiF's...
- I have NO PICTURES to post because I am stupid and forgot the cord for the camera upload-y thing. So I have the pictures... just no way to post them until we get home. Argh.
- Okay. It's late. I'm fried.
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