Mommy?
Yes?
Where do ants go to the hospital?
(???!!) Um, I don't think they have hospitals.
But where do they go when they get hurt?
I don't know.
What about when we step on them?
Well, honey, when we step on them they usually die.
Oh....I don't want to step on them anymore.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Long Hiatus
Wow, it's been over 3 years. How embarrassing! I am sorry. I really have nothing to say for myself except this: I resolve to write more! That's it. And, just so you don't think this is an empty promise, here's my motivation: the kids. I HAVE to write this stuff down lest I forget it. I envy those disciplined bloggers who create wonderful chronicles of their family life and children's early years. When I ask my mother about my own baby days, she will often respond with "If it's not in your baby book, I don't remember." Rachel is now 4, the boys almost 2 and already I can't recall her first silly toddler phrases or the coos and sighs of my newborns (coos and sighs, ha! Now it is all yelling). So kids, for prosperity, for better or for worse, here is your baby book.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
The Scrupulous Inspector
They say that child's work is their play...but I think their play can also look a lot like work. What else do babies have to do, after all?
In Rachel's play I see the speed of a (crawling) track star, the accuracy of an accountant, the curiosity of a scientist. She inventories her books daily: pull out the box, pick up a book, hold it overhead, check the front and back covers, flip through the pages, feel any interesting textures, drop it. Proceed to the next book. The Fuzzy Bee; check. Each Peach Pear Plum; check. Hop on Pop; check. Once they are all scattered on the floor, she runs through them a second time in a quality control inspection. Grab, hold up, turn over, flip through, drop. Her brow furrows, her head tilts as she lifts up an object to see underneath. Suddenly there is a monkey-like noise and an excited face. Ah ha! For all I know she has just discovered the cure for cancer.
I am certain she will have the entire house catalogued and programmed by the time she is two.
In Rachel's play I see the speed of a (crawling) track star, the accuracy of an accountant, the curiosity of a scientist. She inventories her books daily: pull out the box, pick up a book, hold it overhead, check the front and back covers, flip through the pages, feel any interesting textures, drop it. Proceed to the next book. The Fuzzy Bee; check. Each Peach Pear Plum; check. Hop on Pop; check. Once they are all scattered on the floor, she runs through them a second time in a quality control inspection. Grab, hold up, turn over, flip through, drop. Her brow furrows, her head tilts as she lifts up an object to see underneath. Suddenly there is a monkey-like noise and an excited face. Ah ha! For all I know she has just discovered the cure for cancer.
I am certain she will have the entire house catalogued and programmed by the time she is two.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
It's everywhere but hitting the fan
A New Parent's Dialogue:
Two Weeks
Debbi (upstairs, changing the baby): "She pooooooped!!"
Cory (downstairs, now running up): "Alright! Finally."
"Be sure we mark it down."
"How long has it been?"
"Uh, that was a whole day. Hopefully she will start going more often."
"How many pees today?"
"Um,the tally says six."
"Ok."
Six Months
Cory: "She pooped."
Debbi: "Again? That's like five times today"
"Maybe we are feeding her too much."
"Maybe. It is orange."
"Like the sweet potatoes."
"Uh huh."
Eight Months
Debbi "She's pooping."
Cory: "Already? We're still in the driveway."
"I told you, the carseat has a laxative effect"
"Should we go back inside?"
"No, we'll just change her at my mom's. She's still working on it."
"Maybe we should put the seat more upright."
"Yeah."
Two Weeks
Debbi (upstairs, changing the baby): "She pooooooped!!"
Cory (downstairs, now running up): "Alright! Finally."
"Be sure we mark it down."
"How long has it been?"
"Uh, that was a whole day. Hopefully she will start going more often."
"How many pees today?"
"Um,the tally says six."
"Ok."
Six Months
Cory: "She pooped."
Debbi: "Again? That's like five times today"
"Maybe we are feeding her too much."
"Maybe. It is orange."
"Like the sweet potatoes."
"Uh huh."
Eight Months
Debbi "She's pooping."
Cory: "Already? We're still in the driveway."
"I told you, the carseat has a laxative effect"
"Should we go back inside?"
"No, we'll just change her at my mom's. She's still working on it."
"Maybe we should put the seat more upright."
"Yeah."
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
An Epilogue...
A few stops on the road out of my twenties:
Driving to work this morning the radio station was playing songs from 1996; I turned up the volume and sang along to the soundtrack of my youth. I was 18 that year. By age 29 I was supposed to be CEO or Professor of something. Wasn't I? Weren't we all? I most certainly was not to be married with children.
I received a shirt for my birthday which was way too hip for me; hysterically so. I tried it on and both Cory and I laughed. I ventured into Banana Republic to return it and immediately recoiled at my other choices on display: white and mint green polka-dot blouses, exact replicas of those my grandmother wore 20 years ago (I kid you not, I am sure I have pictures somewhere). I was hard-pressed to find a single item of clothing in that store that I would wear, and the salespeople knew it. They ignored me and my stroller. I admit I have never been cool, believing in sensible shoes, taking cues from friends so I can skirt the edges of acceptable fashion. But this was the beginning of the end. I have no hope whatsoever at following trends ever again. I don't know why I am surprised. I am 29, after all.
The Baristas at Starbucks were lamenting that their new Razr (spelling?) phones had buttons that were too small for texting effectively. I showed them my new (pink!) phone that I am very proud of. They asked me about the buttons. I said it didn't matter because I don't text-message. They stared, silent.
Ahh. I was 18 once.
Driving to work this morning the radio station was playing songs from 1996; I turned up the volume and sang along to the soundtrack of my youth. I was 18 that year. By age 29 I was supposed to be CEO or Professor of something. Wasn't I? Weren't we all? I most certainly was not to be married with children.
I received a shirt for my birthday which was way too hip for me; hysterically so. I tried it on and both Cory and I laughed. I ventured into Banana Republic to return it and immediately recoiled at my other choices on display: white and mint green polka-dot blouses, exact replicas of those my grandmother wore 20 years ago (I kid you not, I am sure I have pictures somewhere). I was hard-pressed to find a single item of clothing in that store that I would wear, and the salespeople knew it. They ignored me and my stroller. I admit I have never been cool, believing in sensible shoes, taking cues from friends so I can skirt the edges of acceptable fashion. But this was the beginning of the end. I have no hope whatsoever at following trends ever again. I don't know why I am surprised. I am 29, after all.
The Baristas at Starbucks were lamenting that their new Razr (spelling?) phones had buttons that were too small for texting effectively. I showed them my new (pink!) phone that I am very proud of. They asked me about the buttons. I said it didn't matter because I don't text-message. They stared, silent.
Ahh. I was 18 once.
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Birthday Post
I turned 29 yesterday. It will be the last year I can claim that number truthfully.
A coworker said he was glad we age gradually and not suddenly...that we don't just wake up one day to see we've grown a year's worth of wrinkles or gray hair. Birthdays would certainly be very depressing if that were the case! I think we age gradually but not evenly. It is our experience which ages us. Granted, the mere passage of time would eventually weaken our muscles and change our hair color even if we lived in a plastic bubble. But it is the dirt and worry of life that matures us. This last year has seen me through a truckload of that. The woman I was before I saw the blue line on the pregnancy test was different from the one two minutes (more like 45 seconds) later. I emerged from the newborn haze of illness/sleep deprivation a profoundly changed person from the one who entered labor two months earlier.
Babies change overnight; they go from gummy blobs to crawling and biting in seemingly a matter of minutes. Their development is rapid and new skills abrupt. By the time we have almost three decades under our belts, we miss the sublteties of our own daily maturing. But it is there. The wisdom and perspective I have gained in my 28th year will carry me forward for years to come. I can only look with anticipation to the lessons in store for me in my 29th. So, a virtual toast to all those who have been, who are, and ..most of all, who still claim to be -- 29: Happy Birthday!
A coworker said he was glad we age gradually and not suddenly...that we don't just wake up one day to see we've grown a year's worth of wrinkles or gray hair. Birthdays would certainly be very depressing if that were the case! I think we age gradually but not evenly. It is our experience which ages us. Granted, the mere passage of time would eventually weaken our muscles and change our hair color even if we lived in a plastic bubble. But it is the dirt and worry of life that matures us. This last year has seen me through a truckload of that. The woman I was before I saw the blue line on the pregnancy test was different from the one two minutes (more like 45 seconds) later. I emerged from the newborn haze of illness/sleep deprivation a profoundly changed person from the one who entered labor two months earlier.
Babies change overnight; they go from gummy blobs to crawling and biting in seemingly a matter of minutes. Their development is rapid and new skills abrupt. By the time we have almost three decades under our belts, we miss the sublteties of our own daily maturing. But it is there. The wisdom and perspective I have gained in my 28th year will carry me forward for years to come. I can only look with anticipation to the lessons in store for me in my 29th. So, a virtual toast to all those who have been, who are, and ..most of all, who still claim to be -- 29: Happy Birthday!
Friday, April 6, 2007
Overtired Baby: Exhibit A
Overtired Baby: Exhibit A
WARNING: Content of this video may not be suitable for those with sensitive ears
In a rash and selfish decision by her parents, Rachel was kept up past her bedtime in the interest of having dinner out with friends. Above is a sample of the retribution we received on the drive home (for 20 WHOLE minutes with the windows rolled up moving slowly through a construction zone , I might add).
Conversation in the front seat:
“Wow, that is impressive.”
“Yeah. It is piercing.”
“She sounds like a Ringwraith.”
“Right. If it had landed on your shoulder and was screaming down your neck.”
“Hmmm. Or like someone is poking her with thousands of tiny needles. “
“Uh Huhh.”
“She has been doing that to Smokey lately, only with shrieking laughter.”
“Hmmm. No wonder he doesn’t like her anymore.”
As you can see from the video, she was still screaming when we got home and started to undress her for bed. We skipped the bath.
For those who do not believe in the god of bedtime, I am here to say that he lives. And he hath no mercy.
We plan to loop the sound on this video several times and save it as a punishment technique when Rachel is 13. Talking back gets five minutes of scream-time, worse offenses longer. I cannot wait.
At least the company was good and my steak salad was delicious. Cory also thoroughly enjoyed his beer.
WARNING: Content of this video may not be suitable for those with sensitive ears
In a rash and selfish decision by her parents, Rachel was kept up past her bedtime in the interest of having dinner out with friends. Above is a sample of the retribution we received on the drive home (for 20 WHOLE minutes with the windows rolled up moving slowly through a construction zone , I might add).
Conversation in the front seat:
“Wow, that is impressive.”
“Yeah. It is piercing.”
“She sounds like a Ringwraith.”
“Right. If it had landed on your shoulder and was screaming down your neck.”
“Hmmm. Or like someone is poking her with thousands of tiny needles. “
“Uh Huhh.”
“She has been doing that to Smokey lately, only with shrieking laughter.”
“Hmmm. No wonder he doesn’t like her anymore.”
As you can see from the video, she was still screaming when we got home and started to undress her for bed. We skipped the bath.
For those who do not believe in the god of bedtime, I am here to say that he lives. And he hath no mercy.
We plan to loop the sound on this video several times and save it as a punishment technique when Rachel is 13. Talking back gets five minutes of scream-time, worse offenses longer. I cannot wait.
At least the company was good and my steak salad was delicious. Cory also thoroughly enjoyed his beer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)