Leaving On A Jet Plane

Back in March, my mom said to me, "Hey, wouldn't it be fun to take Luke to India?" And I said, "Yes, it would be AWESOME!" And from that short, two-lined conversation sprang months and months of plans. Here's the thing though: back in March? Luke was 10 months old and although he was crawling like a fiend, he was not walking...or climbing...or talking incessantly about trucks. So when I said, "Yes, it would be AWESOME," I wasn't necessarily thinking ahead to the walking, climbing, truck-talking toddler he'd be 9 months down the road.

Now, the trip is two days away and people, I'm nervous. 5 hours in a car, a night spent at my mom's house, another hour or two in a car, two hours in an airport, two hours on a plane, two more hours in an airport, 9 hours on a plane, three hours in an airport, and 10 hours on a plane. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

Here's what I was thinking: yummy food; people I love and haven't seen in two-and-a-half years and won't see again for who-knows-how-long; WARM WEATHER; a huge, family wedding; and oh, did I mention the food and the weather?

I'm looking forward to the destination, but man, I wish I could skip the journey.

Mischief Makers

We were supposed to go to a playdate today, but it got canceled, so we've been hanging out at home instead. By which I mean that...
-A pair of dress up wings has been broken.
-One book has been eaten and another one torn up.
-Two pairs of shoes have been shoved under the couch.
-A giant scuff has been put in the wall because a small human being decided it would be fun to take a toy hammer to it.
-I have heard an endless chorus of "Ouch, Other Baby! No, Other Baby! Stop, Other Baby," coming from Luke. Other Baby, for his part, thinks the reaction is great, so keeps on doing whatever elicited the protests in the first place.
-Snot has been wiped onto every available surface in our apartment. Every. Single. One. Including Yellow Cat.
-Half masticated bits of pineapple have been spit onto the carpet.
-A cup of water has been dumped out onto the floor and the resulting puddle was then splashed everywhere.
-The decision has been made that we will NEVER spend an entire day at home, EVER AGAIN.

Not What I Had In Mind

On Saturday, we were out shopping and decided to stop at a sandwich place for lunch and to our great surprise, Santa showed up and set up camp outside with Mrs. Claus and a whole passel of elves. And! They took a picture of us with Mr. and Mrs. Claus...for FREE. Sounds too good to be true, right?

Yeah. Here's the picture that was emailed to me later that day:

Is it just me or does Mrs. Claus look a little annoyed?

My Morning Work-Out

Before Luke was born, people kept telling me that after I had a kid, showers would become impossible, rare occurrences. I'll admit, I scoffed at them--after all, it's a 10-minute shower. How hard could it be? And at first, it really wasn't hard. Luke would chill on the floor or in his crib or in the bouncer and it was no problem. Then, he figured out how to crawl and flip over his bouncer, but still, I could put him in the play pen or the exersaucer with some toys (and later, a snack), and all was fine.

But now, half the time, I wait until Other Baby gets here to shower, which is a BAD idea, I KNOW it's a bad idea, but the lure of staying in bed for an extra 20 minutes always wins out over good sense. So there are two toddlers roaming the bedroom and bathroom while I try to take a super-quick, 5-minute shower. The problem, of course, is that there are 300 seconds in 5 minutes. Do you KNOW how much trouble two toddlers can get into in 300 seconds? My showers these days go something like this:

-Wait for the water to warm up while setting the toddlers up with some new and unusual toy--fabric scraps, blocks that are usually out of reach, a box full of hats--ANYTHING to buy myself some time.
-By the time the water is warm, the new and unusual toy has become old and boring.
-Hop in, praying that they'll find an appropriate way to entertain themselves for 300 seconds.
-Hear the sounds of drawers opening. Peek out, only to discover that they have opened all the drawers in the two dressers and are busily emptying all the folded, stacked clothes out onto the floor. Decide that's an appropriate form of entertainment, if only it'll get you another 250 seconds.
-Hear metallic sounds. Jump out of the shower, run across the bedroom dripping wet, and rescue a box of earrings from an eager, toddler hand. A box of earrings which, I might add, was OUT OF REACH yesterday, but apparently, one of them has gained an inch overnight. Put the box up even higher.
-Hop back in, try to stop shivering, reach for the soap. Hear the sound of a toilet being opened. Peek out. A toddler has thrown something into the toilet and is now poking at it with the (gross, disgusting) toilet brush. Hop out, still dripping wet and freezing, peer into the toilet, decide that since whatever it was is no longer visible, it's probably small enough to be flushed. Return toilet brush to holder, usher toddlers out of bathroom, suggest they look for trucks outside the window.
-Hop back in, shampoo hair. Hear...nothing. It's never this quiet. Peek out. Oh. They've closed the bathroom door. Hop out, open the bathroom door, find them in the process of climbing on an overturned laundry basket so they can get back into the box of earrings. SERIOUSLY? They closed the door and got themselves a basket to climb on, just so they could get to a forbidden object? Are one-year-olds SUPPOSED to be this diabolical already?
-Shampoo is now dripping into eyes. Decide that the easiest thing to do at this point is to take the laundry basket INTO THE SHOWER with you so they can't use it as a ladder again. (Yes, it would've been better to put it in the closet or the living room, but Dude, shampoo. In my eyes.)
-Wash out the shampoo, decide that's good enough for today, turn off water, and get out of the shower. Two runny-nosed toddlers are overcome with joy that you've returned to play with them, so they run up and give you big hugs (read: they wipe their snot on your legs) and kisses (read: drool on your arms.)

Seems to me, I was just as clean before the shower. Plus, I'm pretty sure I didn't get all the shampoo out. Showering with a baby was EASY. Showering with two toddlers should count as an Olympic event.

Dances with Toddlers

It has been an exhausting week, even though as weeks go around here, it was a pretty laid-back one. Other Baby was on vacation, then he was sick, so he's only been here for a couple of days and I still think that having one toddler is harder than having two because when there's only one? You have to actually ENTERTAIN that one. And they have the attention span of a hyperactive gnat. So we spent most of the week stepping out of our comfort zone and trying out new things.

I always scoffed at baby and toddler music classes (and art classes and whatever-else classes) because...really? A bunch of adults singing nursery rhymes and dancing around with scarves? And this is good for development how, exactly? But I finally bit the bullet and went to one this past week because (a) a bunch of my friends were going to be there with their toddlers and (b) it was cold and I didn't want to bundle us up, just so we could go freeze on the playground. And the apartment doesn't appreciate it when we stay home all day. Something about how we're raucous and messy and it needs a break every now and then.

As it turns out, Luke HATES toddler music classes. It was one, long, drawn-out tantrum. First, he didn't like the singing. Then, he didn't want the singing to stop. Then, he didn't want to dance. Then, he didn't want to stop dancing. Suffice it to say that I was plenty glad to leave. (Except I think we're going back next week because as much as Luke hated it, that's how much I expect Other Baby will LOVE it. He's all about dancing around with scarves, that one.)

Home, Sweet Home

We got back from our Thanksgiving trip on Saturday and it has taken me a full two days to recover. Why, you ask? Here's a quick recap of the driving portion of our trip: "Mama! Stuck! All done car. All DONE car! ALLLL DOOOONNNNNEEE CAAARRRR!!!! Stuck! Stuck! Stuck! Mama! Stuck! Mama! Stuck. ALL DONE STUCK. Ouchie. Ouchie, stuck! Mama, ouchie, stuck! ALL DONE OUCHIE!" Holy cow, why did we think teaching this kid to talk would be a good thing?

(In his defense, he was sitting on a pencil for a couple of hours, which could've explained some of the ouchies.)

So. I'm pretty sure we're never taking a long-distance trip anywhere, ever again. Or at least, not a long-distance DRIVING trip. (Because obviously, the trip to INDIA later this month is going to go great. Yes, it will. Yes, IT WILL.)

I think that other than all the whining and complaining about being stuck in his carseat, the hardest part of the trip was finding food he would eat. Now, Luke is not a particularly picky eater, but he's not a fan of "kid foods," either. You know. Hamburgers. Chicken Nuggets. French fries. Mac'n'cheese. He far prefers a nice, thin-crust pizza fired in a brick oven. Or, say, some slices of ginger and salmon eggs from someone's sushi platter. Or even some black beans and rice with veggie sausage. But kid's menus don't really have those as options. Kid's menus have burgers, nuggets, and fries.

Luckily for us, every restaurant in Mississippi apparently has fried shrimp and/or catfish on the menu, which is on the current list of Best Food Ever, because otherwise, I'm pretty sure the kid would've starved over the past week.

Parting Bullets

• We're leaving later today to spend Thanksgiving week with McMoose's family. Wait. Let me say that again. We're leaving later today TO DRIVE FOR 15 HOURS so we can spend Thanksgiving week with McMoose's family. With a Luke in the back seat. Whoo.
• Yesterday, we got to visit with McMoose's college roommate, which was fun. I know life is different now for all of us and that we're all grown-ups now, as opposed to the grown-ups-on-training-wheels that we were just a few short years ago, but the differences always amaze me when we get together with someone we haven't seen in a while.
• Baby related things from yesterday: (1) Other Baby rode Luke around like a horse. It was a fun game to watch, if only because I love to watch the two of them interact and play together more, rather than just wandering around and taking toys from each other. (2) Other Baby fits in a cabinet in our entertainment center. I know this because he very carefully folded himself into said cabinet, only to have Luke come by and shut the door. And hold it closed. And lick the outside of the glass door in a show of dominance and grossness. Other Baby promptly proceeded to freak out because after all that effort, he basically got to have a flashback of his time in the womb. I wonder if incidents like this is how claustrophobia gets its start.
• I hope everyone has a wonderful thanksgiving and we'll "see" you in a week!
  

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

As Luke and all his little friends get more verbal, I keep bumping into the issue of respect. Particularly respect in addressing adults. I was brought up addressing all adults as Uncle So-and-so and Aunt Such-and-such. That sounds normal to my ears. The Mr. or Mrs. paired with someone's last name also sounds normal, if somewhat formal, to my ears. You know what doesn't sound normal? Miss or Mr. FIRSTname. Actually, it drives me to distraction when someone refers to me as Miss Anisha. Literally--I stare blankly at them for a moment before realizing that they're referring to me.

Here's the thing. I was Miss Anisha at the daycare. I was fine with being Miss Anisha at the daycare. But now? I no longer work at a daycare. I'm not an authority figure for anyone else's kids (well...I guess with the exception of Other Baby, but he mostly tends to refer to me as "Mmgbrf.") And as a non-authority figure, I'd really prefer just being called Anisha. Or "Luke's mom." Or even, "Hey, you there." Seriously. THAT'S how much I dislike being "Miss Anisha."

I guess the most respectful way of introducing your kids to someone--child OR adult--would be to ask that person how they'd like to be addressed. In fact, I've done that a few times and everyone I asked preferred just their first names. So...why is this Miss FirstName thing so popular? And also, if other people get to dictate what THEIR kids call me, does that mean that I then should be dictating what MY kid calls them? Because if that's the case, I'd just introduce them by their first name. Or should I be asking them? Or should I just guess based on how they introduce me to their kids?

Maybe I'll just start teaching him to refer to people by a random color-number combination. Red-two, blue-fifteen, that kind of thing. At least then, I'll feel like I'm living in a spy movie.

True Colors

Four years of living in the mountains of Virginia ruined me because the mountains are BEAUTIFUL. All the time. And other places, through no fault of their own, really can't compare to all that natural beauty. At least MOST OF THE TIME, they can't. Today was one of those rare days when Raleigh was every bit as gorgeous as Blacksburg ever was.

For the past five years of living here, I haven't seen much in the way of fall foliage. Up until now, fall in Raleigh has gone something like this: green leaves on all the trees-->a big thunderstorm with lots of wind-->bare, dead-looking twig-trees. So I was very pleasantly surprised when I was driving home from story time this morning to discover that we have fall colors! FINALLY! In fact, I had to remind myself a couple of times that I had two very precious, small people in the car and that I should QUIT LOOKING AT THE TREES and pay attention to the road instead.

Here's hoping that the colors stick around for a few days. It's nice to get the reminder that a mountain view isn't the only one worth having.

Halloween

Around here, Halloween lasts for an entire week. First, there was the pumpkin carving:

And then, the pumpkin painting:

Then, Costume Trial #1, which ended in a tantrum:

Costume Trial #2, which ended in Luke testing whether the monkey would be allowed to touch things that are typically off limits. The answer, to his great disappointment, was no.

And finally, Trick-or-Treating! It was a great success, in part because we bribed him with strawberries. Who needs candy when you have FRUIT!

Apparently, Monkeys don't like having their pictures taken with their Daddies:

Or their Mamas:

Corn Maze

About a month ago, I decided it was about time to start some Autumn Family Traditions, so we took our first annual trip to the corn maze. Fun times were had by all. By which I mean that they had tons of tractors, so Luke had a great time and McMoose and I got to have some friendly, loving...um...discussion about the right way to go through a corn maze. I still hold that the RIGHT way to do it is to go down each and every path, even if you know it's not the one that'll lead you out. After all, you're paying to walk through corn. You might as well get the most out of it. (McMoose seems to believe that the point is to get out as quickly as possible. Poor, misled soul.)

Luke wasn't impressed by the slide.

Or the swing.

But the hay maze was new and interesting.

And so was the corn maze.

The next Magellan.

And then, there was the hayride. Also known as THE CROWNING GLORY. For the first five minutes, anyway:

Daredevil in the Brown Leather Shoes

It's picture time! Since I have three months worth of pictures, I'm breaking them up into multiple posts over the next few days. Here's Batch One: The Truly Random.

Imagine my surprise the first time I caught him on top of his play kitchen. Of course, like any good Mama, instead of freaking out and telling him to get down at once lest he break his neck, I ran for the camera.

Behold the mischievous grin:

The gratuitous what-color-are-his-eyes picture:

The kid has some growing to do before he can fill my shoes:

Eighteen!

Luke is now officially closer to his second birthday than his first. (I don't like this. At all.) In the past three months, we've done all kinds of traveling--Luke saw the beach for the first time, he went on his first camping trip--and at home, we can see more and more of the kid he's going to become.

He loves all things with wheels, especially trains and buses. This morning, we drove past the railroad tracks and he piped up from the backseat, saying "Choo-choo!" I'm not entirely sure how or when he started associating the railroad crossing with trains because he sits rear-facing in the car, so he's never actually seen a train go past in front of us. He loves to talk to us about trucks and cars and on our evening walk, he points out the "big truck, rum-bum-bum," and the "small car, vroom-vroom," and the "fast bike."

He's also a big fan of sticks and rocks and a sure way to get him down the two flights of stairs from our apartment to the parking lot is to entice him with the promise that he can play with a stick when we get to the ground floor. Works (almost) every time.

He has recently discovered the joys of dress-up, so I've been working on making and collecting some costume pieces for him--his favorites are hats and shoes, although he does also really enjoy the horse costume we got him. (Post-Halloween sales, by the way, are AWESOME!)

He gives hugs and kisses and yes, head-butts people, too. His vocabulary has increased beyond my ability to count it and he frequently surprises me by saying a word or phrase that I had no idea he knew. He "helps" us with the laundry and the clean-up and sometimes, even the cooking. (In fact, he's helping clear off the couch right now...by tossing the clean clothes I had piled up on top of it on The Dog.) He's slowly mastering the art of feeding himself with utensils and using open-top cups and now, when he's feeling picky about dinner, I can offer him a fork and he magically begins eating whatever is on his plate, just for a chance to practice his new skill. Unfortunately, he's also practicing some skills we don't want him to have, such as unplugging and re-plugging the electrical appliances and shutting himself into closets.

All in all, we're thoroughly enjoying life with a one-and-a-half-year-old!

(Pictures to follow. Soon.)

Baby Geniuses

Sometimes, I think one-year-olds understand way more than I expect. For instance:

• About a month ago, I was explaining to a woman that Other Baby wasn't my child. Other Baby chose that very moment to look up at me and say, "Mama?"
• Last week, a woman at storytime was saying something about how Other Baby wasn't walking yet and I was trying to explain to her that yes, Other Baby walks. Very well, in fact. It's just that he had chosen to crawl for the duration of that particular conversation and as soon as the woman walked away, he went back to walking like a pro. (Why, Other Baby? Why?)
• I handed Luke the car keys yesterday to keep him quiet while I was getting Other Baby out of the car. As I was doing it, I told him that Other Baby was asleep and we had to whisper. He responded by pushing the panic button on my car keys.
• They both know they're not supposed to touch certain things: the trash can, the Wii, the DVD player, etc. For the past 20 minutes, they've been poking said objects with their drumsticks. And then looking at me with evil grins. Because technically, I suppose they aren't touching them?
• I've told them time and again not to throw food off the table. So now, they try to sneak food into their laps instead. And I say "try" because they're about as subtle as a pair of Mack trucks.

If laughter is the key to a long life, I'm living to 110, easy.

Experiments In Cooking

I think I mentioned in a fairly recent post that I've been experimenting with some new recipes. Specifically, I got a vegetarian cookbook a couple of weeks ago and usually, when I get a new cookbook, I look through the recipes, find two or three that sound appealing, and only cook those two or three. Which is kind of a waste of the other 100 pages of the book. So this time, the goal is to go through the entire book, from start to finish, cooking one meal from it a week.

Which means, of course, that it's going to take me roughly three years to get through this experiment. It would make far more sense to cook two or three or hell, eleven meals from the book per week, but (a) the recipes are all pretty fancy and involve ingredients that are hard to find and expensive to buy and (b) did I mention it's vegetarian? And McMoose is an unrepentant carnivore? (Aside: I always mix up carnivore and cannibal. It makes for some awkward conversations.) So. One recipe per week.

This week's recipe (which was delicious, by the way...even my unrepentant carnivore of a husband has agreed to add this to our list of "Meals We Like") was haloumi cheese and fried tomatoes on wheat bread. Haloumi cheese, for those of you who, like me, have no knowledge of cheese beyond mozzarella and cheddar, is made of goat and sheep milk. And since I have the kind of toddler who turns up his nose at a french fry, I was skeptical about how well this whole haloumi thing would be received.

As it turns out, the same kid who gags at the very sight of a scrambled egg loves sheep cheese. Go figure. So he gobbled down his share and due to the delicious nature of the dish, McMoose and I gobbled down our shares, which is what led to the meltdown the next day. The meltdown that started like this:

Luke: Cheese?
Me: You want some cheese?
Luke: Yes.
Me: Okay. [Go get him some cheddar]
Luke: Noooooo!
Me: Um...I thought you wanted cheese.
Luke: More cheeeeese!!!
Me: Well, here! [Offer cheddar again]
Luke: NOOOOOOO!!!!!
Me: Dude, seriously? What? Do? You? Want?
Luke: MOOOORE CHEEEEEEEEESE!!!!
Me: This IS cheeeeeeeese!!!!
Luke: LU-LU CHEESE!

Ah. Well. Of COURSE his favorite cheese would be the expensive kind that's not sold at the regular supermarket.

Mamas Have Their Moments, Too

A perfect person would take criticism well. A perfect person would know how to say the right thing at the right time. A perfect person would always assume the best of others, always be tactful and wise, and always see through other people's snippiness to the message they're trying to communicate.

I'm not a perfect person. Not even close. Ideally, when the woman at the bookstore told me that Luke (or "this child," as she referred to him) was "repeatedly" pushing her child/grandchild (during the less-than-15 seconds that my eyes were off him, when he was standing about 18 inches away from me,) I would have apologized on his behalf, talked to him about the pushing, and said something to put us all at ease. I would have ignored the you're-not-keeping-an-eye-on-your-kid implication, I would have looked past the snotty tone of voice, and I would have addressed the heart of the matter.

In reality? I, uh, picked him up and hugged him and rolled my eyes at my friend. Graceless, I know. Setting a bad example. I know. All day long, I talk to Luke and Other Baby about pushing and hitting and biting and taking toys from each other. I tell them what they shouldn't do, I model what they should, and of course, of course, that's what I should have done in this situation. But the truth is, the old playground adage is true: nobody likes a tattletale.

(It helped me feel better that as we were leaving the area, the woman was taking another parent to task about something. I might not be perfect, but apparently, I'm in good company.)

Word Power

McMoose and I have been having great fun listening to Luke as he becomes more verbal, so I wanted to share some of the recent pearls:

• I've been experimenting with some new recipes lately, some of which have been successful and others that have been found lacking in some way. Last night, for instance, I made the most labor intensive omelet ever. Now, omelets aren't that unusual, right? So I thought that maybe Luke would like to try a piece. Ha! His comment when he saw what was on McMoose's plate was, "Eww, a bug!" Thanks, kid.
• We go to story time at the bookstore every week and of course, the highlight of the trip is not so much the books or the songs, but the trains. This morning, when I asked Luke if he wanted to go listen to stories, he perked up and said, "Yes! Choo-choo!"
• He now calls himself "Guk." Actually, he calls himself "Biiiig Guk."
• As parents go, we must be pretty lazy because there are many times when he asks for a particular toy or object and we reply with, "I don't know where the ____ is." As a result, his first quasi-sentence was "No-know ___ is." And oh, is he proud of this one because he says it all. day. long.
• But my very favorite? "Bye." That's right. That one, simple little word has made my life eight-hundred times easier, at least. Why, you ask? Because now, when it's time to leave the book store trains or the playground or the rocks and sticks outside our apartment, I can tell him it's time to say bye-bye to them, AND HE DOES. And then, he walks away. No screaming. No tantrums. Just a quick little "bye" and off we go. To steal a catch phrase from McDonald's, I'm lovin' it.
  

Ni-Hao, Kailan

A couple of weeks ago, I needed to make a quick trip to the mall (quick...ha!) and of course, OF COURSE we went through the entrance with the kiddie play area. Note to self: remember where that entrance is so you can avoid it for the next 18 years. After a little side trek to Sears, where they did not have what I needed, we went back to the play area. And when I say "play area," I mean "money trap" because almost all the attractions require a minimum of three quarters. (Luckily, Luke had not yet realized that the trucks and buses moved, so I was able to get away with just letting him sit in them, minus the quarters.)

So there we were, in the middle of this toddler wonderland, when I noticed a distinct lack of...toddlers. And I knew I heard their voices somewhere, so I decided to poke around a little bit. Guess where I found the toddlers. IN FRONT OF THE TV. I mean, there was a slide and a tunnel and a climbing structure and a ride-on bus and car and boat. For goodness sake, there was a CAROUSEL. And the three kids who were there were clustered around, learning how to speak Mandarin from Kailan.

Of course, this just meant the play stuff was all free for us to use, so hey, I'm not complaining!

Quick Catch-Up

Have you ever noticed that when you have a lot going on in your life, you have very little to talk or write about? I'm in that place right now. We've had a ridiculously busy month-or-so and even I, who cannot stand to sit still for longer than 3 minutes, feel the need for some time to just sit and breathe. There have been times during the past month when I've actually gotten light-headed because I forgot to take a breath. (You'd think that after 26 years of practice, that wouldn't be an issue anymore.)

So. We've been busy. And just the thought of sitting down to write about all the things that have kept us busy is...daunting. So here's a very stream-of-consciousness-like synopsis: beach, birthday, restaurants, de-cluttering, de-cluttering, de-cluttering, new hobbies, new possibilities, new activities, old friends (and some new ones, too), cooking, baking, oh-did-I-mention-de-cluttering, 4 plane rides to get to and from McMoose's dad's lovely beach wedding, and an exhausted but happy Us.

Toddler Crack

I'm not a big fan of most of the kid's TV characters. I really could live without my apartment being invaded by Elmo or Dora or Blue or whoever. And since Luke doesn't watch TV yet, he doesn't know about them, so I don't really HAVE to deal with these characters and life was good.

But then, I made a mistake. I introduced him to Thomas. At the time, my thinking was, "Oh, they're just little trains. At least they have a PURPOSE, other than just being annoying money and space traps." As it turns out, their purpose? Is to lure small children and turn them into crazy, jabbering little addicts.

We started with the gateway drug: the train table at the bookstore. And then, we listened for trains at railroad crossings. And then, he got really, really interested in his big, wooden trains. So a few weeks ago, we found a really good deal on the little Thomas & Friends trains, so we ordered a few and they got here a couple of days ago.

People, the atmosphere in this apartment recently has been TORTUROUS. All day long, Luke and Other Baby are talking about trains, yelling about trains, grabbing trains from each other, pushing, hitting, throwing, scratching, BITING over these damn trains! And? We have seven of them. They can each hold one in each hand. So 3rd grade math would tell you that each kid should hold two and there are only two kids, so there should be three trains left over. Right? WRONG. They each want to hold ALL SEVEN, which is a physical impossibility, so they hoard them. They sit on them. They lie down on them. They hide them in cracks and crevices. Or they leave six of them lying on the ground and then proceed to fight over THE SAME ONE.

I'm strongly considering selling the trains. Or maybe the toddlers.

New Developments

• The weather has apparently been paying close attention to the calendar recently because all through September, it was hot and hot and then hot some more. And then, October came around and it's positively Autumn-like. I'm liking it!
• Luke understands way more than I give him credit for sometimes. This morning, at the park, he wanted to swing a giant stick around, so I told him he'd have to take it away from where the people were. He responded by running out to a grassy patch, doing his ninja tricks for a few minutes, and then putting the stick down and saying "Bye-bye" to it before rejoining Other Baby in the sandbox. I was left scratching my head because how come he can understand all that, but he STILL doesn't understand not to throw food off the high chair?
• We've been attacked by a deluge of moths. Yes, a deluge. They. Are. Everywhere. And apparently, their favorite hiding place is between the wooden boards on our stairs, probably because they can fly up at you when you step near them and scare you to death. Luke has been loving this development and every time we go down the stairs, he stops every few steps, bends down, says "Hi, Moth!" and waits for them to attack his face. This game is not one of my favorites.
  

Baby Steps

We've been trying to be more conscious of how we live recently. We try to buy organic and/or locally grown produce whenever we can. We buy milk in re-usable, glass bottles (which, by the way, tastes a million times better, too--bonus!) We recycle whatever we can. We bought some re-usable, cloth grocery bags so that we don't waste plastic or paper bags.

The problem is that all of this consciousness? It requires you to actually be, you know, CONSCIOUS of what you're doing. In other words, you have to PLAN AHEAD. I'm very much a stop-by-the-store-on-the-way-home-from-wherever kind of person and between needing to return the milk bottles and remember the grocery bags, I've had to do all manner of planning just for a quick trip to the supermarket.

It's taken a lot of work, but we're finally at the point where I remember to take everything with me about 80% of the time. (I know. 80% sounds low, but two weeks ago, it was 0%. Progress is being made.) This evening, I went to the store by myself. I remembered the bags. I remembered the milk bottles. I remembered the shopping list and the car keys and the cell phone. I was feeling oh-so-proud of myself.

Until I got to the checkout counter and realized I had left my wallet at home.

Dinner Conversation

Luke: Doddle.

Me: Doddle-doddle-da.

McMoose: Don't make fun of his attempts at communication.

Me: Um...I'm not. I'm communicating WITH him.

McM: "Doddle-doddle" is not a real word.

Me: True. But when S (my friend's baby who is no longer a baby but whom I talk about frequently because until now, he was my frame of reference for this kind of thing) was his age, he said doddle-doddle-da in...in...

McM: Incessantly?

Me: Yes. He said it incessantly. He also said "Bird" incessantly. Which Luke doesn't say yet, by the way.

McM: Luke says "bird." Luke has said "bird" since before he was born.

Me: Um. No. Luke sees a bird and says "cheep-cheep-cheep," which is entirely different from saying "bird." He does not say "bird." He has never said "bird."

Luke: Bird! Bird, bird, bird!


They're conspiring against me, don't you think?

Waiting Game

Recently, I had reason to be in a room full of women who are pregnant with their first child. I gotta say, it didn't help the baby fever. At all.

Before having Luke, I was convinced that the second time around, it would be easy to be patient and wait for the right time because, after all, I'd have a small person around to distract me. And yes, he certainly does distract me. But now, I know.

I know the thrill of a positive pregnancy test, hearing the baby's heartbeat, feeling the first kicks, seeing the ultrasounds, meeting a brand new person, holding and rocking and feeding that new person for days and weeks and months. I know the craziness of waking up (multiple times) every night for sixteen months, the fear of holding a feverish baby at 3 in the morning, the frustration with a toddler who won't let you feed him his applesauce, but can't work the spoon well enough to feed himself yet. I know the absolute awesome-ness of watching this small person turn from a sleepy, blobby creature into an actual, you know, person. So, no. It is not easier to wait for the right time.

(Now is not the right time.)

Webster's For Mamas

Luke has a lot of words. About 150, in fact. You'd think this would make it easier to communicate with him. Below are some examples of why you'd be wrong.

• Deck-deck = necklace
• Wawa = flower
• Tar = car. And star. And, oddly enough, seashell.
  
• Tuck = truck. And duck.
• Tuck-tuck = Tick tock (his favorite book)
  
• Mama = Mama.
  
• Mamama = Vroom, vroom.
  
• Mamamama = Tumble Bumble (his other favorite book)
• Nya-nya = night-night. And Yannai (elephant in Tamil).
• Ah-dun = all done. And airplane.
• Shh = snake. And smoke. And anything with wavy lines on it.

On the other hand, his vocabulary does allow for things like this to happen:
Me: Luke, where are my keys?
L: No-noooo. (Translation: I don't know.)
Me: Did you take them from the counter?
L: Es. (Translation: Yes.)
Me: So where are they now?
L: No-nooooo. Tada. (Translation: Toto)
Me: Toto does not have my keys.
L: Buck. (Translation: bucket.)
Me: What? I really don't think they're in a bucket. Where are they?
L: No-nooo.

After 5 more minutes of searching, I found the keys sitting in a bucket in the Dog's cage. Next time, I'll just listen to the kid in the first place.

Things I've Learned Recently:

1. Beaches are fun. But not as much fun as camping. And also, slightly more stressful, what with all the giant waves and seagulls that try to conspire to steal your small child away from you.

2. My favorite word in Luke's vocabulary is "stuck." Because when he's playing in his room and randomly making noise, it helps to have a key word that I can listen for so I'll know the difference between when he's talking to his stuffed animals and when he has climbed up to the top of some piece of furniture and doesn't know how to get down. The downside is that "stuck" sounds a lot like "truck," which is a word he says approximately every 7.4 seconds, so we have a lot of false calls.

3. You know what's fun? Watching 2 toddlers chase each other around a piece of furniture.

4. You know what's not fun? When the "piece of furniture" is actually the (overdramatic) dog, who howls and whines because they're invading his personal bubble.

5. It is possible to get two sleeping toddlers out of their carseats and up to a third floor apartment at the same time (because obviously, leaving one in the car while taking the other up is not so much an option at an apartment complex) while keeping both asleep. However. One of them will invariably wake up while you're putting the other one in bed. In. Variably.

Life Lesson No. 1: Hands To Yourself!

Dear Woman At The Playground:

I think it's great that you bring your grandkids to the playground every morning. I can tell that they enjoy being with you and that you enjoy spending time with them, too. I appreciate that you're involved in their play, pushing the swings and watching them come down the slide. Some of your actions might seem a little bit intrusive--does your 8-year-old grandson really need you to catch him at the bottom of the slide?--but then, they're your grandkids, not mine, and you know them and their needs far better than I do.

I do ask, however, that you accept that even though the children you're with might need or want that level of help, the children that I am with do not. Yes, I let two one-year-olds climb the stairs on the play structure by themselves. You will notice that the play structure? It's 3 feet off the ground. The very soft, very rubbery ground. And also? It has rails. Which they hold onto when they're unsure of their footing. You will also notice that not once during our one-hour stay did either of them fall off the stairs (or the play structure in general). So while I appreciate the level of caution you display with the children you brought, the next time you touch one of mine in an effort to "help," I might be forced to bite you.

P.S. Yes, I knew Other Baby was eating mulch. He does that. He'll spit it out once he's done with it.

P.P.S. Yes, I knew Luke was standing at the top of a 3-foot tall slide. He does that. And if you had just QUIT TRYING TO TOUCH HIM, he wouldn't have freaked out and danced around and almost fallen off the damn thing.

P.P.P.S. Stop. Calling. Me. "Dear."

Running Wild

For as long as I've known McMoose, he has been talking about camping and hiking and kayaking and all manner of outdoorsy things that gave me hives just to think about. I did go hiking with him once or twice, but there were always snakes curled up near the trails that we chose and I don't care how much McMoose swears the snake isn't poisonous, the fact is that it's a snake. And it has a mouth. And probably teeth. So if it bit me, I might not die, but I WOULD STILL HAVE BEEN BITTEN. BY A SNAKE.

(Feel free to substitute the word "snake" in the prior paragraph with the words "bee," "wasp," "hornet," "yellowjacket," "spider," "bear," "cougar," or pretty much any other wild, toothed creature, and you'll get a general idea of how I feel about the wilderness.)

But of course, now there's a kid. And kids, they like camping. And especially since we don't have any kind of outdoor space (except our balcony, which is off limits to the kid because of the presence of wasps and a compost bucket), I've been forcing myself to go do outdoorsy things.

We started slow. We took short, paved trails. We went on picnics near lakes. We went to inland beaches where we actually got into the lake water, which totally icked me out. And then, we took the big leap. Last weekend, we went camping.

And, uh, it was kind of awesome. I mean, minus the yellowjackets and the spiders, which were not cool. (Luke disagrees with me on this point. He got to hold a GIANT spider, which made his day and made me age a few years, but whatever.) But the rest of it--the living in a tent, walking around the campgrounds, sitting by the fire, watching people kayak down a river--all that stuff kind of rocked. Who knew!

Peace

There is a drool spot at my knee. For the past couple of months, in fact, drool spots have appeared at my knees and my belly, my shoulder and my arms. No, I have not developed an alarming medical condition. What I have done is move my child out of his crib and into a toddler bed. And opportunistic little thing that he is, he's taken this to mean that instead of lying in his bed and being patted to sleep, he should be lying ON TOP OF ME to some degree or another.

Before I had this child, I wanted the kind of baby who would fall asleep at 7:30 every night in his bed by himself and stay asleep until 8 the next morning. Can I just say how glad I am that I didn't get that baby?

I love that he falls asleep on top of me. I love that I can think back to when he was small enough to fit in the crook of one arm. I love comparing that to how big he is now, sprawling over my entire torso with his head on my shoulders and his feet on the ground while I sit on a beanbag chair and read a book. I love that I can sniff his sweet, baby hair while he chatters to himself and then quiets, sighs, and drifts off into sleep. I love that I have at least an hour built into my day when I can sit and read and be quiet and still and not feel guilty that I'm neglecting the laundry or the vacuuming. And regardless of how anxious or agitated or impatient I might be going into this falling-asleep ritual, at the end of it, I'm relaxed and calm and at peace.

I know I didn't get what I wanted, but as it turns out, I got exactly what I needed.

Oh, Frabjous Day

I need to get my windshield replaced because there are two very large cracks in it as a result of cows, trucks, and rocks. Don't ask. So I spent a little while on the phone getting quotes. As a result, I have some pieces of advice for people in the windshield-fixing-business.

1. The proper way to answer a business phone is "[Name of Business], how may I help you?" Or even just "[Name of Business]," if you're feeling a bit fractious. Not "Hey." Not "Huh?" Not "Yup." Because when you say "Hey," "Huh," or "Yup," you then put the customer in the place of having to say "Is this such-and-such company?" and if the customer is feeling peevish, that might just be enough for them to take their business elsewhere. GUESS HOW I WAS FEELING TODAY.
2. If you own a business, get a separate business phone. Seriously. Because if I call the phone number that you have listed as your business phone and you answer it AND THEN TELL ME YOU CAN'T TALK TO ME because you're closed on weekends, it's not going to do a thing to help my peevish mood. And also, on the excel sheet listing all the nearby companies and their price quotes, I'm going to write "Incompetent Jackass" next to your name. (That part did help my mood a little bit.)
3. If you put me on hold when I call you, you'd better be damn sure your phone is working when you take me off hold. Because if I have to sit and wait for you while listening to an annoying jingle for 5 minutes and then, when you finally come back to talk to me, your phone cuts off and hangs up on me? Yeah. Not helping the mood. Or your business, for that matter.
4. If I call for a quote on a windshield replacement, I EXPECT THAT QUOTE TO INCLUDE THE COST OF INSTALLATION. What did you think I was going to do, superglue the thing to my car?
   

I think that certain people draw strange conversations to themselves. I am 100% convinced that I am one of those people. And I'm used to this. I no longer assume that any question is completely innocent. I pretty much expect conversations with strangers to go to weird places. But. I'm also not good at subtlety.

Last spring, people were pretty convinced that Luke and Other Baby were twins because they were clearly pretty close in age, but over the summer, Luke has gotten taller and lost most of his baby chub, so people tend to assume he's older than he actually is. Other Baby, however, still has his delicious baby rolls and his sweet, fuzzy, baby hair, so he can pass for younger than his 13 months.

So in the past week that he's been back with us, I've gotten a lot of curious looks and several people have asked me how far apart they are in age. Most of the time, I've been expecting the question, so I preface my answer with "They're not both mine." Because really, that's what they're asking. But this morning, Other Baby was having a fit about something and I was trying to gather up Luke and the diaper bag and the baby carrier and get everyone out of the playgroup we were attending, so I was a little bit pre-occupied:

Woman who was helping me get out the door: So how far apart are they?
Me: Two-and-a-half months.
Woman: [Stops in her tracks] What?
Me, frazzled and wondering why she was so surprised by this information: Two-and-a-half months.
Woman, looking thoroughly confused: So...was the little one a preemie?
Me: Huh? No...
Woman: But...Oh, you mean the older one was two-and-a-half months when you got pregnant again?
Me: HUH? OH! Yeah, this one isn't mine.

It wasn't until after I got everyone settled in the car that I realized that in order to explain how they could've been just two months apart, the woman had asked me if Other Baby was a preemie. Except even if he had been mine and he had been a preemie...HE WOULD'VE HAD TO BE BORN IN THE FIRST TRIMESTER in order for this scenario to work.

Pictures, Take Three

Luke, Other Baby, and I went to a farm last week, where we looked at several animals. The pig was the best:

The fake horses and wagon were a big hit, too:

As were the horse-on-a-stick things that later doubled as fencing swords:

He doesn't look altogether comfortable on this tractor, does he?

FYI: Peanut butter? Not the best thing to take on outings like this:

But my favorite was, by far, the goats. How could you not love animals that stand on top of their home?

Zoo!

We went to the zoo earlier in the summer, only this time, we couldn't quite figure out the logistics of baby and dog and hotel room so it became a day-trip.

The sea lions and seals were the best:
We drove 90 minutes each way so the McMoose and Luke could poke cacti:
And touch fake fish:

Think he was trying to imitate the puffin on his shirt?

Luke slept through the giraffes and elephants:

But woke up just in time to do some farming:

All that work could drive a baby to drink:

Dressed Up and Dressed Down

Now that I've spent an hour organizing three months worth of pictures on the computer, maybe I should actually post some here.

Luke's first encounter with paint:

And the second:

We went to a dress-up party, so Luke got to wear his "suit" one last time:

Think it's getting a bit snug?

Red jam + dress up clothes: awesome!

Nocturnal

Mornings come early nowadays as Luke is experimenting with being an early riser. There has been more than one morning this week when I've found myself staring into his bright, smiling eyes at 5 in the morning, thinking If this kid wasn't so darn cute, I'd be selling him to the circus RIGHT NOW.

Yesterday, I decided to experiment with changing this wake-up time around by keeping him in bed with us all night, reasoning that if I were able to get to him the moment he woke up, I might have better luck at getting him to go back to sleep. It worked, too--our day didn't start until 6:30 this morning, but I failed to take into consideration the fact that I'm so mesmerized by this kid that every time I woke up even a little bit, my mind went instantly into a litany of Oh, he's so cute, look at him lying there asleep, I should really take a few minutes to watch him sleep and appreciate this season of my life.

Plus, I learned that Luke talks in his sleep. Yes, he babbles intermittently, Thank you, yes. Mama. Mama? All done. With all this talking going on, I was awake again and thinking Aww! He talks in his sleep! Just like his Mama! How cute! So I spent another 20 minutes or so trying to engage him in a whispered conversation, until McMoose started grumbling in his sleep. And also? The kid laughs in his sleep. Maniacally. Like someone is tickling him and he can't quite catch his breath.

End result: The day might have started an hour and a half hour later than usual, but I spent at least 3 hours awake staring at, talking to, and being amused by the baby. Not a bad use of that time, by any means, but it didn't really accomplish the getting-more-sleep goal.

Things I Said Today...

• Luke, I don't need help changing Other Baby's diaper.
• Please don't eat the carpet fuzz, Other Baby.
• Please don't put the carpet fuzz in Other Baby's mouth, Luke.
• We do NOT climb the DVD tower. It's unstable and will fall on you and then, I'll have to find a way to explain to your mommy why her baby is now pate.
• Don't lick me. Don't lick me. Do. Not. LICK. Me.
• Luke, please don't try to feed him your boogies.
• Other Baby, if it bothers you that he's standing next to you, WALK AWAY!
• Luke, Other Baby is not a cat. He doesn't want to chase the toy mouse.
• Other Baby, if you put your finger in Luke's mouth again, he will bite you. Again.

(You might not be able to tell from the above statements, but I'm having great fun with these two guys. Except for the being licked. That, I could live without.)

So Far, So Great

After spending the summer at home with his mom, who is a teacher, Other Baby returned yesterday. I'll be honest: I expected it to be hard. I expected the boys to fight. I expected Other Baby to cry and want to be held and not want to nap during the transition and I expected Luke to be jealous that Other Baby was being held and so on. And I expected these things in part because last spring, that's what it was like. There was a lot of fussing and whining by both babies. There was a lot of jealousy and bickering. There was also a lot of good stuff and I loved watching the two of them playing together, but taking care of both of them was hard and even though I was only doing it part-time, it frequently left me exhausted.

As it turns out, two months make a WORLD of difference. I know I'm only two days into it and I'm sure we'll have our share of bad days, but so far, this is AWESOME. And this time, Other Baby is here full-time and it's STILL awesome. They're both mobile enough that we can get out of the house without too much trouble, but at the same time, neither one of them is fast enough to effectively run away from me. They have similar schedules. They eat similar foods. And best of all? They love, love, LOVE playing together.

I mean, there are still (many, many) times when Luke pushes Other Baby or when Other Baby sits on top of Luke and tries to stuff things into his mouth (Why, Other Baby? WHY?), but the fact remains that they follow each other from room to room and look for each other when they wake up from their naps and hug each other at random times during the day. (Okay, so the hugs usually result in tears because invariably, the huggee decides that he doesn't want to be hugged and then the hugger trips and they both fall down, but for the 2 seconds before any of this happens, it's just a sweet moment.)

Lives Mingled

McMoose is out playing poker. The baby is asleep and all three of the animals are lounging by the door, waiting for McMoose to return. They feel it, just as I do: something is not quite right. It's too quiet in here and the silence is oppressive.

I turn on the TV and the sudden din startles us all. It takes less than a minute to realize that it was the wrong sort of noise. What we're missing is the sound of another person breathing in this apartment. Another computer clicking. The gentle flow of intermittent conversation.

I tried living by myself after college for a year. The idea of it terrified and saddened me and I felt that I should face my discomfort sooner rather than later. In reality, my apartment became the staging area for my life and all the actual living happened at McMoose's apartment. So in all honesty: I've never lived alone.

The sound of footfalls on the stairs is comforting. If I have to be here alone-ish, at least there are others in close contact. We share walls with 2 other apartments. Our floor is someone else's ceiling. Our smells and our sounds and our lives drift lazily across the drywall and the wood frames and for once, I'm more comforted than annoyed by the smell of smoke wafting up from our neighbors downstairs.

If, Then

I am a big fan of trying to make deals with the Universe. If you let me get an A on this test, I'll study really hard for the next one. If you let my car have enough gas to get to the gas station, I'll donate a dollar to whatever charity that gas station supports. If you let me have enough cash in my purse for a cup of coffee at Starbucks, I'll go straight to the ATM after I leave and withdraw an extra $20 for the one-legged man who always stands on the corner of the road with his sad little cardboard sign that says "God Bless" on it.

Of course, when McMoose and I got married and wanted to have a baby, I tried making all kinds of deals. If you let me get pregnant right away, I'll never, ever ask you for anything, ever again. AND I'll raise my baby to be a good citizen of your Universe, I promise. And then, I did get pregnant right away, and of course, I reneged on at least part of that promise. If you let me not have a miscarriage and if you let this baby be healthy, I'll really, really never ask you for anything again. Oh, and I'll never complain about pregnancy, either. Didn't take long to go back on both parts of that promise. And then, when Luke was small and screamy and hungry all the time, I said If only you let me have enough milk to feed this baby and if only he'd stop screaming and be happy, I'd have EVERYTHING I wanted, ever. I will NEVER ask you for anything again. I will send out good thoughts to EVERY SINGLE LIVING THING in this Universe.

So I was granted those wishes, too. Luke is awesome and healthy and happy and I'm healthy and happy and McMoose is healthy and happy and our families are healthy and happy. So what this means is that I should no longer be trying to make deals with the Universe, right?

Yeah. Except that just last night, I caught myself thinking that If you just let me get 6 consecutive hours of sleep, I'll be the Best Mom Ever and I won't huff at McMoose and I won't kick Yellow Cat off the bed when he kneads my blanket and I will turn into the world's next Mother Theresa. Oh, and I won't ask you for anything else, ever again.

Navigating the Train Table

We were at a bookstore yesterday and while McMoose was picking out some books, Luke and I wandered over to the kid's section to play with the train table. Whoever invented the train table, by the way? Pure genius. Compared to that person, Einstein was a no-talent hack.

But as awesome as train tables are, the fact is this: Multiple toddlers/preschoolers + a finite number of trains + a limited amount of space around a table = chaos + stress + screeching + a pint-sized re-enactment of Lord of the Flies. It started out fine, but Luke was the youngest there by about three years and the other two kids were way savvier about train table etiquette, making trades and insider deals with each other while Luke clutched his one little train car and watched in awe.

Eventually, of course, he snapped out of his reverie and helped himself to one of the other kids' trains, which resulted in the aforementioned chaos, as the other kid made a bee-line for me to inform me with great disdain that my uncouth child had broken his train. So I got up, took the train back from Luke (insert aforementioned screeching) and handed it back to the other kid. See, I thought I was doing a good thing. I thought I was teaching my kid not to take things from other people. I thought I was being a good parent.

I was wrong. What I actually did was teach the other two kids that it was okay for them to take things out of my child's hands, even if it elicited loud protests. And thus commenced a 10-minute long saga of two older, bigger children taking away EVERY SINGLE TOY that Luke reached for.

The thing I had neglected to take into consideration, of course, is that being a parent is somewhat like being a politician in that SOMEONE IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU. Your kid, other kids, other parents, whatever. There's always someone looking and if that someone happens to be a person who's still learning the social graces of our world, that person then proceeds to imitate whatever undesirable behavior, whatever un-thought-out-action you just performed. And it's always the mistakes that are repeated. It takes them YEARS to pick up on the pleases and the thank-yous, the sharing, the being nice, the keeping their hands to themselves, the not screeching. But they see you take one toy from someone or yell at the cat or drop a piece of food for the dog and suddenly, they're perfect mirrors of that behavior.

Fifteen!

Luke is fifteen months old today. This time last year, he was busily falling off the bottom of the growth charts and McMoose and I were certain that we had ruined the baby forever. One year later, the same tiny baby has turned into a crazy, funny toddler who's big and tall and runs and talks and learns new things everyday, so I guess we didn't ruin him after all.

He is completely confident on his feet and spends his days running and climbing and dancing and just generally being in constant motion. He loves playing with the big kids at the playground and doesn't mind that he can't quite keep up with their games of tag or hide-and-seek just yet.

He's firmly entrenched in his routine and at precisely 10 am, he brings me his shoes, waits for me to put them on his feet, and then brings me my shoes. If I'm feeling particularly contrary and haven't taken the hint yet, he then points at the door and yells at me until I get the point.

He has also been talking a LOT recently--the last time I counted, he could say about 35 words, although you'd have to know him pretty well to understand many of those words--and is getting adept at making his intentions known. His favorites are "Yes," "No," "More," and "All done," but we also hear a lot about "Book," and "Arf!," and "Umm," which is his version of Meow. He can identify most barnyard animal noises and loves to read his farm book so he can show off his skills. Actually, he loves to read any book...or magazine...or catalog...or power bill.

I'll be posting pictures from the past three months next week, but in the meantime, this is what happens when you introduce a lime to a baby.

The Incredible Edible Egg

When I was a sophomore in college, my roommate's parents rented us a beach house on the Carolina coast for a few days during Spring Break and a group of friends and I hung out, played Taboo, and had a lot of margaritas. I car pooled with a friend on the drive down there and during the drive, a car cut my friend off and she made some, um, choice gestures at the driver of said car. And then belatedly realized that there were two little kids in the backseat of the car. We, of course, felt very bad about the whole thing, but figured it was over and done with.

About 20 miles down the road, though, we encountered the same car again and this time, all five passengers were holding up eggs and making menacing faces at us. Our best guess is that they were threatening to egg our car while driving down the highway at 70+ miles per hour. And then, a while later, we encountered them again when they got in the lane ahead of us, opened their windows and dumped liquid (water? soda? pee?) out of McDonald's cups so that it flew back and hit our car. Being 19, we thought the whole thing was hilarious and it only got funnier when, about 30 minutes later, we saw the same car chilling on the side of the road after having been pulled over by a cop (muahaha, take THAT, fools.)

I hadn't thought about this incident in years, but it all came screaming back to me today as Luke and I were driving home from the park because the car in front of me ACTUALLY EGGED THE CAR BESIDE THEM. While we were driving down the road. At about 50 miles per hour.

WHO. DOES. THAT?

Quick-post

• I have a serious case of writer's block, hence the dearth of recent posts.
  
• Somehow, writing in bullet form doesn't seem like "real" writing so maybe this will let me circumvent the block.
• I like big words lately.
• So does Luke. Case in point: his new words are touchdown, airplane, and congratulations. Have you ever heard the word "congratulations" as uttered by a 14-month-old? Yeah, it sounds nothing like it's supposed to. Then again, neither does "meow," so why am I surprised?
• We turned his crib into a toddler bed on Friday. BAD. IDEA. Bedtime went from 10-20 minutes of patting to AN HOUR AND A HALF of crawling, climbing, moaning, laughing, kicking the wall, singing, and asking for milk. Dude, what were we thinking?
• He has a fever, which is making it hard for him to walk. I don't know why, but every time he has a fever, he loses all semblance of balance, stumbles around like a tiny, little drunk man and falls over his own feet. Amusing for me, not so much for him.

In Need Of A Dictionary

I've always said that I like babies before they start talking and now that Luke is starting to be able to communicate more concretely with us, I am more convinced than ever that pre-talkers are just so much easier to deal with. A couple of months ago, for example, he'd cry and I'd feed him. Or change him. Or put him down for a nap. In fact, we had our routine down pat, so really, I'd do those things without him ever crying and it worked out very well. No fuss, no muss, no unnecessary frustration.

But now! All of a sudden, it's "Banana" this and "All done" that and holy cow, the kid has opinions. Lots of them. About EVERYTHING. No longer is he content to just eat a piece of cheese when he can instead point to my sandwich and authoritatively declare, "That!" No longer can I say "Luke, you don't want to play with the DVD's, do you?" without hearing him say "Yes!" When I point out a cat in a picture, he argues that it's an "Arf." When I point to a car, he's sure it must be a "Truck."

And woe betide you if you don't understand what he wants or you try to tell him that even though he wants to be "all done" with his diaper change, you still have to see the process through to completion. The good thing is that since I spend (almost) every waking moment with the kid, I'm pretty well versed in his version of most words and I can understand things on the first or second try, but the few times that I can't (because after all, who would guess that when he said "bird haaaaahhhh" for the first time, he was referring to a plane?), all hell breaks lose.

A while ago, McMoose showed me this product, which is supposed to tell you why your baby is crying. I thought it was the stupidest thing on the planet, but I gotta tell you: if they made a similar product that would decipher your toddler's new words, I'd totally try it out.

Cousins

McMoose's mother, aunt, nephew, brother, and brother's girlfriend all visited us this past weekend and brought some crazy hot weather with them, but we got through the heat and had a great time, mostly at the pool. Our nephew, R, is two-and-a-half and dude, two-and-a-half-year-olds are INTENSE. I mean, on some level, I knew that, but I was thinking that one-year-olds are intense. As it turns out, one-year-olds are the dictionary definition of mellow when compared with two-year-olds because holy. cow.

I know the conventional term is "terrible two," but our nephew was just too sweet and funny to be called terrible, even at the height of his two-ness. I got to experience a whole lot of the hilarity because McMoose's car doesn't have room for a carseat, so both babies were in my car. Luke was completely thrilled with this arrangement and got so excited that he actually shook every time he realized that his cousin was going to be riding next to him again. The two of them sat back there and chattered away to each other, and here are some snippets from those conversations:

Conversation 1.
Luke: Yayayayaya. Blah.
R: Yayayayaya. Blah. Shark.
Luke: Blah.
R: No, Luke, it's a shark.
Luke: Booboo.
R: NO, LUKE! It's a shaaaaarrrrrkkkk!
Luke: Haha.
R: IT'S A SSSSHHHHAAAAAARRRRRKKKKK!!! Anisha? Luke said it's a whale. It's a shark.

(Um...okay....)

Conversation 2.
R: Go, Anisha, go! Fast!
Me: I can't go yet. The light's red.
R: Go!
Me: I have to wait for it to turn green.
R: Just. Pretend!

Conversation 3.
Luke: Nana. [As an aside, for Luke, "Nana" means banana, which really just means that he's hungry and could we please hurry up and feed him already. For R, "Nana" refers to his beloved grandmother, McMoose's mother, and he was absolutely not open to any suggestion that HIS Nana was also LUKE'S Nana.]
R: No, she's my Nana.
Luke, thrilled that someone understood his word: Yes! Nana!
R: No, she's MY Nana!
Luke: Nana-nana-nana.
R: NO! SHE'S MYYYYYY NANA!!!!
Luke: Ah-hahahaha. Nana.
R: Is not FUNNY, Luke! She's MY Nana.

(Meanwhile, I could not stop cracking up in the front seat.)

Questions, But No Answers

I've been thinking about the concept of sharing recently because I can see Luke entering an anti-sharing phase. Ok, let me rephrase. I can see Luke entering an anti-sharing phase with Other Baby. He's fine with everyone else, in fact, he hands over toys as a way to woo other kids into playing with him. But with Other Baby? Forget about it. Part of it, I think, is that he and Other Baby have a very sibling-esque relationship, so they go from "Oh, it's my bestest buddy EVER," to "Ugh, whose idea was it to bring this kid into my life?" within an 8-second time frame. Add to that the fact that he has figured out EXACTLY how to push Other Baby's buttons (Step 1: Dangle toy in front of his face. Step 2: Snatch it away as he reaches for it. Step 3: Watch him fall apart.) and what we have is a recipe for sharing-related disaster.

Obviously, I put an end to the ridiculous button-pushing and make sure that Other Baby has lots of things to play with because he spends a lot of time here and really can't be expected to sit and twiddle his thumbs the entire time. But what about with others? Strangers? People we meet at the playground or the pool who want to play with Luke's sand shovel or ball or floaty toy?

I've heard that the consensus seems to be that if your kid brings a toy to a public place, they should be prepared to share it. Let's take this to its logical conclusions, shall we? I take my cell phone out in public ALL THE TIME. I don't hand it over to strangers on the street corner though. I don't leave my keys in my car so that other people can take it for a joyride around the block. I don't share my debit card with the other people in line at the grocery store. So...um...why teach our kids that once they take something they own out in public, the public somehow has shared ownership of this thing?

(And along slightly different lines, why am I spending so much time talking to him about what sounds animals make? Is it really integral that my one-year-old knows that cows moo? Wouldn't it be much more useful to teach him how to fill out his taxes instead?)

Thing 1 and Thing 2

• Thing 1: I've developed a new found appreciation for construction sites. Not because I like the dust or the noise, mind you, but because every time we pass by one, a little voice pipes up from the backseat: "Tuck! Tuck! Mama, Tuck!" (A "tuck," in case you're unfamiliar, is an excited toddler's version of the word truck.) This morning, we were on the way to the playground when we happened across a construction site, where we just HAD TO find a comfy spot across the street and sit and watch the trucks. For 30 minutes. We never did make it to that playground.

• Thing 2: Remember my Very Stupid Mistake? About two weeks ago, I got a postcard from the Maryland Metro Authority Lost And Found telling me that they had found an item that I had presumably lost and could I please come pick it up before they destroyed and/or donated it to charity. Since I didn't want my stuff burned, shredded, or donated, I promptly sent an emissary (aka: mom) to collect it and mail it back to me. Our guess is that the purse fell off the car near the bus stop and that someone gave it to the bus driver, who then passed it on to the lost and found. Of course, somewhere along the way, all the cash got taken out of it. Oddly, I'm okay with the $100-ish dollars being taken, but I'm a little bit annoyed they took my two dollar bill. Which I had saved for oh, about a decade. I mean, really, what are you going to do with two stinkin' dollars? (Then again, they also took the handful of nickels and pennies, so in that context, I guess two whole dollars is quite the windfall.)
  

Marching One By One

We have ants.

A seemingly innocuous statement--just three short, single-syllable words, and yet, if you've ever had ants, you know just how annoying this situation is for us. As an aside: I'm not fully convinced that anyone has ever HAD ants. I'm pretty sure that either (a) you HAVE ants or (b) you've never had ants. Because for the past week, we've tried everything, EVERYTHING to get rid of these stupid ants and yet, we find new lines of them every other day.

First, they were in the kitchen, so McMoose took some time out of the middle of his workday to spray them with bleach. (Luckily for McMoose, he was working from home at the time because I have zero desire to spray any living thing with bleach, ever, and if it had been up to me, we would have set a plate of crackers out for the ants and invited them to share in our bounty. McMoose flatly refused.)

The next day, there was another line of them in the guest bathroom, where they were gladly helping themselves to the cat food. The cats were not pleased. McMoose attacked those ones, too. Then, there was a line of them above the door. McMoose climbed on a half wall and nearly killed himself trying to get rid of those. Then, they were back in the pantry. McMoose emptied the entire pantry, threw away everything that had more than 5 ants in it (because 5 is apparently the critical mass of Ants Allowable In Food Items, as per McMoose), and sprayed not only clorox, but also wasp killer in the pantry. Because, ya know, THAT'S what you want in the place where you keep your OPEN BAGS AND BOXES OF FOOD. In fact, a full week later, the stink of Death Chemicals still wafts out every time I open the pantry door.

But still, the ants kept coming back. So we moved the pet food bags out to the deck. Then, we switched to new dog and cat food--food that's individually wrapped and costs, oh, a FORTUNE, so that there wouldn't be open bags of pet food sitting around. And then, we moved the cat food from the guest bathroom to the tub in our bathroom because the enamel is too slippery for the ants to climb. Yellow Cat, in particular, is Very Unhappy about this development because the tub usually has left over water droplets from baths and showers and such, so he now spends much of his time wiping his wet paws on my pillow to express his displeasure.

So I've been researching how to get rid of them once and for all and after learning way more about ants than I EVER wanted to know, I've come to the conclusion that really, we're just going to have to move.

Oh, Honestly

I recently read an article about why parents hate parenting. It said something about how people love their children, but hate the job of raising them. I've also been reading Mama-blogs and books that are hailed as being "honest about motherhood," and it appears that being honest equates to saying that they don't enjoy it. It equates to admitting that it's difficult work, that the hours are long, the pay is non-existent, there are no vacation days, no sick days, and you're constantly covered in someone else's slime.

All of this is, of course, true. The slime, in particular, is less than enjoyable. But after reading that article, I had to ask myself why my experience seems to be so, so different from the people surveyed. Because yes, I love my kid, but also? I really, really love the work of parenting. Even when I experience a moment of frustration, right below the frustration is the abiding knowledge that I am, possibly, the luckiest person on the planet for being able to do what I love AND spend most of my waking moments with a very small, very clownish person. A person who came up to me yesterday, hugged me, and said "Aww!" And then licked me and ran away.

I'll admit that the first 10 weeks or so of Luke's life were ridiculously difficult and that there were many moments when I felt like it would never end. But we made it out of that period and for the past year or so, it's been good. Great, even. All those things that I was worried about--loss of Self, loss of Sleep, increase in Stress? Those things haven't really panned out yet. I mean, the loss of sleep has, but even at my worst moments, I was nowhere near as tired as I was when I was working at the daycare full-time, going to school full-time, volunteering at the Psych lab, and then going out with my friends at night. Not. Even. Close.

So here I am with some honesty of my own: I love this job. When my kid is throwing a tantrum in CVS, I still love this job. When it's 4 in the morning and he wakes up screeching, I still love this job. (Although not during the actual screeching, you understand. I'm not a masochist. I do not enjoy being woken up from a sound sleep by loud, high-pitched noises. In fact, I have been known to yell at my kid to "Stop yelling!" when this occurs. But then, I wake up enough to realize that hey, all I have to do is nurse the kid and he'll shut up and then, we're all on the Happy Train again.) And you know, I'm even getting used to the slime.

Speaking of Speaking

This seems to be the beginning of the language explosion for Luke and since his baby book is woefully lacking in space to write down his "words," I figured I'd just record it here.

• His favorite word continues to be Dada. He uses it to refer to McMoose, as well as other men who talk to him, as well as to mean "That," or "Hey, that's interesting," or "I'm not sure what word I should be using here, so I'll just say Dada."
• And there's Mama, which means me, but also means "Help" and "More" and "I don't like whatever's going on here, so I'm just going to contort my body and yell Mama a lot."
• Uh-oh, used when something falls or when he intentionally throws something that he's not supposed to throw (ie-food from his high chair).
• Bye-bye, usually accompanied by frantic waving.
• Ball, which is used for every circular object he sees. (But if you ask him where the ball is, he finds his basketball and then dunks it in his basketball hoop.)
  
• There's Cat and Dog and Duck, as well as "Ummmmm," which is his current version of Meow (actually, Yellow Cat sounds very much like he says Ummmmm, so I can see where Luke is coming from on this one), and "Arf!" and "Quack, quack, quack!" He's not completely sure about the animal noises yet and although he can usually identify a dog as saying arf, a cat as saying ummmmm, and a duck as saying quack-quack-quack, he also assumes that bears and birds and frogs and lions make some combination of those noises. He understands enough Tamil (an Indian language) that when I ask him questions in Tamil about what noises dogs, cats, and ducks make, he can give me the right answer.
• Toto and Sasha (names of Dog and Yellow Cat). I was pretty surprised when he started attempting Sasha, but he's pretty clear when he says it.
• He's starting to say Truck and Car and kind of differentiate between the two.
• He's also starting to say Banana and baby.
• There's "Bop-bop-bop," which is said as he's advancing in a menacing manner towards Other Baby, usually holding some hard plastic or wooden toy which he intends to use to bop Other Baby on the head.
  
• He understands "water" in English and Tamil. He also understands "milk" in English.
• If you ask him whether he'd like to go out, he brings you his shoes.
  
• He's recently started holding his hands out, palms facing up, if you ask him a question (Where are your shoes? Where's the cat?) that he doesn't know the answer to.
• His "sign" for fan is to point up to the ceiling and then twirl his hand around in a circle.
• He spins if you tell him to spin and splashes if you tell him to splash during his bath.
• He puts things in the trash and has started saying "Ash" while taking things to the trashcan.
• He says Yes...kind of...he actually says "Ass" while nodding vigorously.
• He sometimes says no, but mostly just shakes his head.
• He has a numbers book that he loves, but at some point, I apparently read him the "Eight" page and inadvertently pointed to the picture of the baby on the page, so since then, he has been calling babies "Eight." Oops.
• And of course, the new favorite: Boom!