Kirk went poopy in the potty.
I was in class all day today and Mr. b and Kirk are in South Dakota, visiting my FIL who’s up for a friend’s funeral. So I called to wish them bon voyage this morning. And that’s when Mr. b told me the news. Kirk went poopy in the potty!!
Kirk's been very aware of his pees and poops for quite some time. We taught him sign language for poop and fart so he could let us know when he needed a diaper change and when he was just stinky. He would often announce that he was pooping or if his diaper was hugely soaked with pee. So we bought him a potty chair maybe about 2 months ago.
He’s been pretty good about sitting on his potty chair after pooping, before his diaper gets changed. So he’s at least been associating it correctly, even if he doesn’t quite have the order down. He always sits on his chair if one of us is using the bathroom, too.
A week ago we bought Elmo’s Potty Time. Kirk’s only watched it a handful of times (not like that Ernie addiction!) but we figured it would just be good for subliminal teaching. We noticed him miming washing his hands during that particular segment so that was nice proof that he was paying at least a little bit of attention. And both Mr. b and I have been asking Kirk if his body is telling him that he needs to go potty as soon as we’d see him start to make poo-face.
Another element that I think makes a difference is that all the kids at daycare are in various stages of potty training. So it must come up frequently, and be something very prominent in his life there. I always hear anecdotally that younger siblings tend to potty train themselves because they see their big sister or brother doing it and just follow suit.
I also always hear that boys are so much harder to potty train and that they take a vastly longer time. So even if this is a fluke, I feel really positive. And I need to think about investigating Pull-Ups. Just when we’ve finally figured out the pros and cons of regular Huggies vs. Pampers vs. Luvs…
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Intuition or Paranoia?
What do you do when you have nothing to base it on but you have a nagging gut feeling that your son is sick? He’s been warm the last two nights but not feverish during the day and sleeping through the night. He’s been sticking his fingers in his ears. Both of those things could be due to the new teeth pushing through. The ear thing was also during the long car rides to and from visiting Great-Grandma last weekend so it certainly could have been simple pressure changes. The kids at daycare have been rotating around having ear infections but ear infections themselves aren’t contagious. It’s just a virus that spread into the ears. Kirk certainly hasn’t been prone to that. But any kind of virus is contagious. My internal logic synopses are going ‘round and ‘round and ‘round like I’m a robot that’s been Captain James T’d. Mr. b says he’s going to investigate; his intuition about the boy’s health has been accurate to date. I’m happy to pass the buck if it means my head won’t blow up.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Elmopalooza
I had to take away Kirk’s access to his movies. I had filled the two drawers of the upstairs entertainment consol with all our DVDs and VHS cartoons and kids shows. And every day he would unload them, looking for the Elmo tape. And he would carry around the cases and rip off pieces of them and just generally destroy all the video tape slip covers. Every single day. It was a constant mess and I was done with it. So now they’re hidden in the ottoman and his books are in the drawers.
I thought that he would freak out not having immediate access to the Elmo tape. But I guess he’s still young enough that outright deception and distraction still works. Now he just pulls out his Elmo Get Up and Go Songs book and grooves out to that.
I have no idea how we ended up with so many damn Elmo items. It’s not like we tried. The video, stuffed doll, mini-see-n-say, and bath-toy yellow submarine are from Grandma. The song book and sound effect toy are from our neighbors. The sheets are from Auntie. The Big Bird adventure book is from Nana. Really, I think the sippy cups are the only things we’ve actually bought—and that’s only because he honestly needed new ones!
But it’s really easy to end up buying merch without even noticing. We don’t own the movie Cars. Sure, we’ve seen it. K has it at daycare and my mom has it. So Kirk knows it and likes it. But he didn’t beg and plead for Cars pajamas, they just happened to be the only ones on sale and in his size. He didn’t demand Cars boots, they just happened to be the only boots in his size.
Star Wars merch, however, we purposely seek out. Too bad there aren’t any more movies.
I thought that he would freak out not having immediate access to the Elmo tape. But I guess he’s still young enough that outright deception and distraction still works. Now he just pulls out his Elmo Get Up and Go Songs book and grooves out to that.
I have no idea how we ended up with so many damn Elmo items. It’s not like we tried. The video, stuffed doll, mini-see-n-say, and bath-toy yellow submarine are from Grandma. The song book and sound effect toy are from our neighbors. The sheets are from Auntie. The Big Bird adventure book is from Nana. Really, I think the sippy cups are the only things we’ve actually bought—and that’s only because he honestly needed new ones!
But it’s really easy to end up buying merch without even noticing. We don’t own the movie Cars. Sure, we’ve seen it. K has it at daycare and my mom has it. So Kirk knows it and likes it. But he didn’t beg and plead for Cars pajamas, they just happened to be the only ones on sale and in his size. He didn’t demand Cars boots, they just happened to be the only boots in his size.
Star Wars merch, however, we purposely seek out. Too bad there aren’t any more movies.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Play Time
Kirk tattles on his daddy. I don't really know what it is that Mr. b does (it can vary from not letting Kirk play in the toilet to strapping Kirk into his carseat) but it's stuff that he's not into.
Kirk: Mama?
Me: Yes honey?
Kirk: Dada!
It cracks us up so hard. It's such an accusation the way he says it. Sometimes he'll even point.
He's also started singing and telling jokes. Now, we have no idea why the jokes are funny. But you can say "bobo" to him and he'll die of laughter. He goes into full on laugh attack mode after repeating it and giggling a few times! His songs generally revolve around one word that he knows (like [ba]nana) and nonsense syllables. But Mr. b overheard him singing lyrics consisting of "Mama Dada hat hot" and was so amused that he had to start repeating it right away.
I'm glad that Kirk's already showing such love of music. We go downstairs and listen to one side of a record almost every night. His dance moves continue to be super fly. Although last night he spent the entire time cooking. I have some old Tupperware Toys down there and he was playing with the mini-pitcher and measuring cup and stirring and chattering away, saying "hot, hot, hot." He was totally hosting a cooking show!
He's also developed an Elmo addiction. This is relatively recent, the last week or two only. He's got the Kid's Favorite Songs video in which Elmo does his top ten countdown and various Sesame Street characters sing songs like Row, Row, Row Your Boat and John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Each song has a different genre arrangement. It's actually pretty good. And he frickin' loves it. As soon as he comes home he heads straight to the drawer with his movies and pulls it out. "Em-oh!" He cuddles his Elmo doll and dances and points and gets so excited.
It's actually gotten to the point where we're starting to wonder if he's watching too much TV. And just a couple of weeks ago we were complaining about his non-stop book demands!
Kirk: Mama?
Me: Yes honey?
Kirk: Dada!
It cracks us up so hard. It's such an accusation the way he says it. Sometimes he'll even point.
He's also started singing and telling jokes. Now, we have no idea why the jokes are funny. But you can say "bobo" to him and he'll die of laughter. He goes into full on laugh attack mode after repeating it and giggling a few times! His songs generally revolve around one word that he knows (like [ba]nana) and nonsense syllables. But Mr. b overheard him singing lyrics consisting of "Mama Dada hat hot" and was so amused that he had to start repeating it right away.
I'm glad that Kirk's already showing such love of music. We go downstairs and listen to one side of a record almost every night. His dance moves continue to be super fly. Although last night he spent the entire time cooking. I have some old Tupperware Toys down there and he was playing with the mini-pitcher and measuring cup and stirring and chattering away, saying "hot, hot, hot." He was totally hosting a cooking show!
He's also developed an Elmo addiction. This is relatively recent, the last week or two only. He's got the Kid's Favorite Songs video in which Elmo does his top ten countdown and various Sesame Street characters sing songs like Row, Row, Row Your Boat and John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Each song has a different genre arrangement. It's actually pretty good. And he frickin' loves it. As soon as he comes home he heads straight to the drawer with his movies and pulls it out. "Em-oh!" He cuddles his Elmo doll and dances and points and gets so excited.
It's actually gotten to the point where we're starting to wonder if he's watching too much TV. And just a couple of weeks ago we were complaining about his non-stop book demands!
Friday, February 23, 2007
Golem, Giants, and Gold
In 2004 I started reading the Hellboy comics. I had heard of them from my former co-worker, Sharyn, but it wasn't until I started seeing ads for the movie that I decided to pick them up. The movie was brilliant and I blasted through the entire series.
But I never caught up with the sister title, B.P.R.D. I'm not sure why. I read the first volume that same year but as Mr. b bought the following ones, I never got around to them. That's all changed now. I read the remaining 5 volumes and it was frickin' fabulous. Man I love that world. Even with Hellboy still retired, the cast is just fantastic. I love the backstory that's been given to Abe. Liz continues to amuse. The new guy, Captain Daimio, is a great fit. Who doesn't love Roger? Or Johann? Mr. b spoiled me for a major character's death but it was still very enjoyable to read the lastest adventures of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense.
The ads for the movie prompted me to read Bridge to Terabithia. I thought maybe I had read it in elementary school. Mr. b remembered it but I did not. It was so good. But tears are unavoidable. Both of us were bawling by the end. I am not sure how the movie can be reviewed as "heartwarming" without changing a major element of the story. Regardless, I think it's essential young adult literature and I definitely see why it won so many awards. It's a little dated (calling parents by their first names, 70s fashions and songs) but I thought it was fun and almost like a period piece in a way.
I did not enjoy Silas Marner, however. Now and again book club will assign a dud. My aunt thought maybe it was a potboiler. Not having read any other George Elliot, I can't reference her style, but I can see how it's possible. I didn't like the eponymous character. He was so passive and when he was about to be robbed yet again, I couldn't take it. I didn't want to be forced into feeling any sympathy for the guy. So I checked the plot synopsis on Wikipedia to see if it had a happy ending. It did so I finished the book. It took way too long to get to the adopted daughter's arrival after his gold was stolen. And then the golden-curls-as-replacement-for-lost-gold element was beaten over the reader's head pretty much constantly. Actually, I thought a lot of it seemed like it had been written by Mojo Jojo. I didn't hate it. I think you could probably do a decent film adaptation. But I don't know why it's considered a "classic".
But I never caught up with the sister title, B.P.R.D. I'm not sure why. I read the first volume that same year but as Mr. b bought the following ones, I never got around to them. That's all changed now. I read the remaining 5 volumes and it was frickin' fabulous. Man I love that world. Even with Hellboy still retired, the cast is just fantastic. I love the backstory that's been given to Abe. Liz continues to amuse. The new guy, Captain Daimio, is a great fit. Who doesn't love Roger? Or Johann? Mr. b spoiled me for a major character's death but it was still very enjoyable to read the lastest adventures of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense.
The ads for the movie prompted me to read Bridge to Terabithia. I thought maybe I had read it in elementary school. Mr. b remembered it but I did not. It was so good. But tears are unavoidable. Both of us were bawling by the end. I am not sure how the movie can be reviewed as "heartwarming" without changing a major element of the story. Regardless, I think it's essential young adult literature and I definitely see why it won so many awards. It's a little dated (calling parents by their first names, 70s fashions and songs) but I thought it was fun and almost like a period piece in a way.
I did not enjoy Silas Marner, however. Now and again book club will assign a dud. My aunt thought maybe it was a potboiler. Not having read any other George Elliot, I can't reference her style, but I can see how it's possible. I didn't like the eponymous character. He was so passive and when he was about to be robbed yet again, I couldn't take it. I didn't want to be forced into feeling any sympathy for the guy. So I checked the plot synopsis on Wikipedia to see if it had a happy ending. It did so I finished the book. It took way too long to get to the adopted daughter's arrival after his gold was stolen. And then the golden-curls-as-replacement-for-lost-gold element was beaten over the reader's head pretty much constantly. Actually, I thought a lot of it seemed like it had been written by Mojo Jojo. I didn't hate it. I think you could probably do a decent film adaptation. But I don't know why it's considered a "classic".
Monday, February 19, 2007
On Fertility
I can’t believe I forgot to pick up my prescription. I thought of it after the pharmacy had already closed. I got it this morning before going to work so I ended up taking my no-siblings-for-Kirk pill less than 12 hours late. But still. It only takes one fuck-up. Because if there is anything I know about my genetics, it’s that the women of my maternal line are extraordinarily fertile.
Fertility is a weird thing. I’ve spent more time thinking about it over the past year or so than I ever have before. Certainly more than when I was "not trying but no longer trying to prevent". I’m moving out of the phase of life when everyone’s getting hitched to the phase where everyone’s starting to make procreation decisions. And for several of my friends and relatives, the ability to make that decision is being denied to them due to flukes of biology.
What does it feel like—-emotionally, physically, psychologically—-to endure getting your period month after month after month when it’s no longer a relief? I got knocked up less than 3 months after going off the pill. I truly can’t relate, though I can certainly empathize. How long do you try before you start testing? We’re brought up as children of the women’s movement of the 70s to believe that we can Do It All, and that means we can take as long as we want, working on our careers and other personal interests, before we get down to the business of self-replication. But biologically, we can’t. There’s a cut-off date. And all the celebrities that have secret help aren’t doing anything to mitigate that myth.
I finally gave in to Mr. b’s longstanding desire for kids because I wanted to start trying before I had turned 30. If there was something amiss, I wanted to have plenty of time to investigate before the magic expiration date of 35. Most of my friends that are trying are already over 30. Do you take an entire year to let nature take its course? Or do you get checked out after only 6 months, so that there’s more time for next steps, should they be necessary?
And what about those next steps? Why is adoption always a last resort? My own grandmother was adopted, though she didn’t learn about the mother-auntie switcheroo until she had adult children of her own. Times have changed. I grew up with adopted cousins that knew they were adopted and it made no difference in their standing as members of the family. Before I met Mr. b I always considered that I would adopt at some point when I was older and ready to raise a child. Even after meeting him, I held off on the idea of having biological children and talked about adoption. I still keep the option open.
Yet for most, it seems like the next step is instead insemination. Not too invasive. You have the option of donor sperm if necessary. I guess I can see going that route. Particularly if carrying and delivering your child is of great importance. What about in vitro? There we’re getting into science fiction territory. I’m not sure I could go through that laborious process of tricking my body via multiple injections into not rejecting the foreign matter that’s been implanted in my womb. Surrogacy? How is that different from adoption, besides the genes?
It all comes down to choices of course. Like so many aspects of reproduction. Right now I choose not to get pregnant before I go to France in September for my 10th anniversary. While on the Riviera? All bets are off. And what of my friends and cousins that are struggling? Can they find it in their hearts to be happy for me if I do get knocked up again? Will there be inevitable secret jealousy? I don’t want to have to watch what I say and tiptoe around the issue. I can provide support and empathy despite not understanding that particular struggle.
And I can also provide a different sort of support and empathy to my sister, who is pregnant for the third time. Now I’ve been through it. Now I can truly understand what it’s like. And I’m excited to witness the development of my new niece or nephew with that deeper knowledge. And I hope I get to meet the little cutie before I jet off to Europe!
Fertility is a weird thing. I’ve spent more time thinking about it over the past year or so than I ever have before. Certainly more than when I was "not trying but no longer trying to prevent". I’m moving out of the phase of life when everyone’s getting hitched to the phase where everyone’s starting to make procreation decisions. And for several of my friends and relatives, the ability to make that decision is being denied to them due to flukes of biology.
What does it feel like—-emotionally, physically, psychologically—-to endure getting your period month after month after month when it’s no longer a relief? I got knocked up less than 3 months after going off the pill. I truly can’t relate, though I can certainly empathize. How long do you try before you start testing? We’re brought up as children of the women’s movement of the 70s to believe that we can Do It All, and that means we can take as long as we want, working on our careers and other personal interests, before we get down to the business of self-replication. But biologically, we can’t. There’s a cut-off date. And all the celebrities that have secret help aren’t doing anything to mitigate that myth.
I finally gave in to Mr. b’s longstanding desire for kids because I wanted to start trying before I had turned 30. If there was something amiss, I wanted to have plenty of time to investigate before the magic expiration date of 35. Most of my friends that are trying are already over 30. Do you take an entire year to let nature take its course? Or do you get checked out after only 6 months, so that there’s more time for next steps, should they be necessary?
And what about those next steps? Why is adoption always a last resort? My own grandmother was adopted, though she didn’t learn about the mother-auntie switcheroo until she had adult children of her own. Times have changed. I grew up with adopted cousins that knew they were adopted and it made no difference in their standing as members of the family. Before I met Mr. b I always considered that I would adopt at some point when I was older and ready to raise a child. Even after meeting him, I held off on the idea of having biological children and talked about adoption. I still keep the option open.
Yet for most, it seems like the next step is instead insemination. Not too invasive. You have the option of donor sperm if necessary. I guess I can see going that route. Particularly if carrying and delivering your child is of great importance. What about in vitro? There we’re getting into science fiction territory. I’m not sure I could go through that laborious process of tricking my body via multiple injections into not rejecting the foreign matter that’s been implanted in my womb. Surrogacy? How is that different from adoption, besides the genes?
It all comes down to choices of course. Like so many aspects of reproduction. Right now I choose not to get pregnant before I go to France in September for my 10th anniversary. While on the Riviera? All bets are off. And what of my friends and cousins that are struggling? Can they find it in their hearts to be happy for me if I do get knocked up again? Will there be inevitable secret jealousy? I don’t want to have to watch what I say and tiptoe around the issue. I can provide support and empathy despite not understanding that particular struggle.
And I can also provide a different sort of support and empathy to my sister, who is pregnant for the third time. Now I’ve been through it. Now I can truly understand what it’s like. And I’m excited to witness the development of my new niece or nephew with that deeper knowledge. And I hope I get to meet the little cutie before I jet off to Europe!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Evolution
In 9th or 10th grade my friend and I decided to throw a formal dinner party for ourselves. Morrigan and I collaborated on a dress (me) and hat (her) combo for our hostess involving lots of black velvet trim and cranberry beading. It was awesome. I decided to try my hand at a sari for myself. I found a bolt of fantastic gold lamé with a mauve flower print. Though I'd never been to India at that point, I thoroughly examined National Geographics to approximate how to wrap it. I wish I had a picture of the 7 of us in our finery, dancing to the Jackson 5.
Several years later Mr. b and I moved into our first official apartment together. We were on the second floor of a duplex (Johnny and Wife1 would later inhabit the first floor) and our bedroom had glass French doors. Clearly curtains were necessary. I dug out my old sari fabric, whacked it in two, and hemmed the ends for the top and bottom curtain rods. It looked really great against the wood trim and white walls.
Another few years passed and I was taking Hindi my senior year at the U of M. Some of my classmates and I started the Culture Club of India. Then we got it into our heads to do a fashion show. I took the lead on that of course. I supplemented my own formal sari and several batik shalwar kamis, purchased during my trip to India that winter, with loaned clothing from local stores. Then I also designed some updates of traditional outfits with a rave-girl's sensibility. My master piece was a pair of extra-wide pajama pants, a slim kurta with gold frogs, and reversible vest. One side matches the pants (a metallic rusty orange -- and I later modified them into a full length skirt for myself). The other side of the vest? Part of one of the old curtains, formerly my first sari. It was nicely full circle for the fabric to be used as Indian clothing again.
This Christmas I made a cute little pleated wrap skirt and pouch purse set for niece A2. I used the remnant I had bought to cut out a teddy bear for my Kaylee costume. I felt bad that I didn't have time to make something for A1 but told her I would for her upcoming birthday. I had decided I wanted to try my hand at the infamous bubble skirt. Going through my boxes of fabric, I rediscovered the old sari fabric. Perfect! I even had tons of muslin left from Kirk's curtains for the lining. So last week I made a bubble skirt with a matching round-bottom, draw-string purse. They turned out simply gorgeous. Coincedentally, my sister's Indian friend adored the fabric.
I still have an entire curtain left untouched. Eventually it'll get used for something new. It's anybody's guess what that will be. I think this fabric is the most recycled of anything in my vast collection of raw materials.
Several years later Mr. b and I moved into our first official apartment together. We were on the second floor of a duplex (Johnny and Wife1 would later inhabit the first floor) and our bedroom had glass French doors. Clearly curtains were necessary. I dug out my old sari fabric, whacked it in two, and hemmed the ends for the top and bottom curtain rods. It looked really great against the wood trim and white walls.
Another few years passed and I was taking Hindi my senior year at the U of M. Some of my classmates and I started the Culture Club of India. Then we got it into our heads to do a fashion show. I took the lead on that of course. I supplemented my own formal sari and several batik shalwar kamis, purchased during my trip to India that winter, with loaned clothing from local stores. Then I also designed some updates of traditional outfits with a rave-girl's sensibility. My master piece was a pair of extra-wide pajama pants, a slim kurta with gold frogs, and reversible vest. One side matches the pants (a metallic rusty orange -- and I later modified them into a full length skirt for myself). The other side of the vest? Part of one of the old curtains, formerly my first sari. It was nicely full circle for the fabric to be used as Indian clothing again.
This Christmas I made a cute little pleated wrap skirt and pouch purse set for niece A2. I used the remnant I had bought to cut out a teddy bear for my Kaylee costume. I felt bad that I didn't have time to make something for A1 but told her I would for her upcoming birthday. I had decided I wanted to try my hand at the infamous bubble skirt. Going through my boxes of fabric, I rediscovered the old sari fabric. Perfect! I even had tons of muslin left from Kirk's curtains for the lining. So last week I made a bubble skirt with a matching round-bottom, draw-string purse. They turned out simply gorgeous. Coincedentally, my sister's Indian friend adored the fabric.
I still have an entire curtain left untouched. Eventually it'll get used for something new. It's anybody's guess what that will be. I think this fabric is the most recycled of anything in my vast collection of raw materials.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Daycare Dossier
We found out earlier this week that K had to fire a family from daycare. It’s the first time she’s had to deal with that. I can’t say that I’m surprised, though I don’t have anything more than a general feeling to point to as explanation. And as tough a decision as it must’ve been for her to make, I do feel a lot better about Kirk’s behavior, comparatively. Especially since K asked us just the other week if we were trying any new discipline techniques at home. Because he had been so naughty, screaming and deliberately repeating actions that he had been told not to do. He’s actually much better now, just-a-phase and whatnot, but I had been doing nascent Time-Outs with him at that point.
Around the same time Kirk was also loosing footwear on a daily basis. Each afternoon we’d pick him up and he’d be missing a sock, or both socks, or a shoe. K always successfully found them—eventually. We took him home without socks a couple of times.
But it’s not all bad and/or weird at daycare. Kirk loves it there so much that as soon as we arrive in the morning he runs off, often before we can even remove his coat! If we pick him up early he’ll crab about missing time with his friends. I’m glad that he’s so well socialized and that he truly enjoys his time there.
Maybe he just enjoys his time there because he has a crush on one of the other Mommies? I got an email from Angelmamma the other day. Her niece goes to K for daycare, too, and her sister said that when she drops her daughter off, Kirk will run to her and stare at her and smile. And once he even brought over a toy that plays songs and started dancing for her! I teased her when I passed her this morning, saying that she’s Kirk’s girlfriend. Kirk’s always liked the ladies; he flirts shamelessly with waitresses and clerks. Hee!
Around the same time Kirk was also loosing footwear on a daily basis. Each afternoon we’d pick him up and he’d be missing a sock, or both socks, or a shoe. K always successfully found them—eventually. We took him home without socks a couple of times.
But it’s not all bad and/or weird at daycare. Kirk loves it there so much that as soon as we arrive in the morning he runs off, often before we can even remove his coat! If we pick him up early he’ll crab about missing time with his friends. I’m glad that he’s so well socialized and that he truly enjoys his time there.
Maybe he just enjoys his time there because he has a crush on one of the other Mommies? I got an email from Angelmamma the other day. Her niece goes to K for daycare, too, and her sister said that when she drops her daughter off, Kirk will run to her and stare at her and smile. And once he even brought over a toy that plays songs and started dancing for her! I teased her when I passed her this morning, saying that she’s Kirk’s girlfriend. Kirk’s always liked the ladies; he flirts shamelessly with waitresses and clerks. Hee!
Friday, February 02, 2007
Family Bed
Kirk’s been on a kick this week where he’ll only snuggle into Daddy’s lap for his bedtime juice-water. Previously he wouldn’t have anything to do with him and would only sit with me before bed. Which is great because Mr. b was feeling unloved. But coinciding with this trend is an increase in sleeping in Mommy and Daddy’s bed in the middle of the night. I’m not sure the connection.
At least it’s getting easier to sleep with Kirk in the bed. He’s able to lay independently. He doesn’t have to have Mommy’s arm under his head. So then I get a chance to roll over to my other side or lay on my stomach or whatever. I still worry about him getting smothered. Not necessarily because he’s in the middle but rather because Mr. b is a pillow clutcher and I’ve definitely busted him laying a pillow across Kirk’s legs before. But Kirk’s much bigger now and can fight back!
Kirk’s also developing bad morning breath. It’s not like gas-mask worthy or anything. But it’s definitely there. His cousin A1 has The Worst Morning Breath in the History of Time. Mr. b claims I am stinky in the morning but really, nothing can compare to that girl’s mouth. So as long as Kirk doesn’t get much smellier, I’m not worried.
His butt, of course, is another matter. Boys. Sheesh.
At least it’s getting easier to sleep with Kirk in the bed. He’s able to lay independently. He doesn’t have to have Mommy’s arm under his head. So then I get a chance to roll over to my other side or lay on my stomach or whatever. I still worry about him getting smothered. Not necessarily because he’s in the middle but rather because Mr. b is a pillow clutcher and I’ve definitely busted him laying a pillow across Kirk’s legs before. But Kirk’s much bigger now and can fight back!
Kirk’s also developing bad morning breath. It’s not like gas-mask worthy or anything. But it’s definitely there. His cousin A1 has The Worst Morning Breath in the History of Time. Mr. b claims I am stinky in the morning but really, nothing can compare to that girl’s mouth. So as long as Kirk doesn’t get much smellier, I’m not worried.
His butt, of course, is another matter. Boys. Sheesh.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Top Bully
I can’t believe that they gave it to fucking Ilan. This feels even shadier than when Ruben beat Clay. Sure, Marcel is a bit of a tool and a douche. But he’s mostly just a self-aware geek who’s been bullied his whole life and has adjusted and doesn’t let it phase him.
Because that’s what Ilan is. A bully. He took glee in tormenting Marcel. He set other people up against Marcel. He wasn’t playing to win for himself but rather to beat Marcel. Marcel may be cooler than Rimmer (though he’s certainly no Ace Rimmer!) but Lister still never bullied Rimmer. He hassled him and teased him but there was no bullying. Same with Gareth (who isn’t half as cool as Dwight). Tim may have played pranks but he never actively wished harm on him. And he didn’t want to frickin’ PEE on him.
I also can’t believe Elia. She was the only one that stood beside Marcel, her former co-worker, throughout the competition. Until the end when Ilan started mackin’ on her real hard. He moved in to her room? Yeah. That was selfless. I have to wonder how long before his girlfriend dumped him after viewing those episodes. Because Ilan and Elia were so sleeping together by the time they got to Hawaii. I started out rooting for Elia to win. By the end, after her whining and bitching and tattling and lying, I wished that Mia had never sacrificed herself.
And then there’s Sam and Mike. Sam is a passive-aggressive dick. He took credit where credit wasn’t due. But I don’t think he was actively trying to sabotage Marcel. That honor goes to Mikey. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would do something as awful as leave a fucking main ingredient behind. That was cold, dude. Cold.
I can’t wait to hear about Marcel’s rising star. Ilan will be forgotten. As well he should. What was with that fake gold chain and the thick red suspenders in the talking head at the end? Gross. Also? You do not bad-mouth Harold. Ever.
Because that’s what Ilan is. A bully. He took glee in tormenting Marcel. He set other people up against Marcel. He wasn’t playing to win for himself but rather to beat Marcel. Marcel may be cooler than Rimmer (though he’s certainly no Ace Rimmer!) but Lister still never bullied Rimmer. He hassled him and teased him but there was no bullying. Same with Gareth (who isn’t half as cool as Dwight). Tim may have played pranks but he never actively wished harm on him. And he didn’t want to frickin’ PEE on him.
I also can’t believe Elia. She was the only one that stood beside Marcel, her former co-worker, throughout the competition. Until the end when Ilan started mackin’ on her real hard. He moved in to her room? Yeah. That was selfless. I have to wonder how long before his girlfriend dumped him after viewing those episodes. Because Ilan and Elia were so sleeping together by the time they got to Hawaii. I started out rooting for Elia to win. By the end, after her whining and bitching and tattling and lying, I wished that Mia had never sacrificed herself.
And then there’s Sam and Mike. Sam is a passive-aggressive dick. He took credit where credit wasn’t due. But I don’t think he was actively trying to sabotage Marcel. That honor goes to Mikey. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would do something as awful as leave a fucking main ingredient behind. That was cold, dude. Cold.
I can’t wait to hear about Marcel’s rising star. Ilan will be forgotten. As well he should. What was with that fake gold chain and the thick red suspenders in the talking head at the end? Gross. Also? You do not bad-mouth Harold. Ever.
Giant Grasshoppers
Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn, was yet another book recommended to me by my aunt-in-law. It was amazing. In 1348 an alien spacecraft was stranded in the woods outside of a small village, as yet untouched by the Black Plague, in southern Germany. The village priest, local skank, and head of the lord’s soldiers discovered the survivors and, after initially thinking they were demons, realized they were hurt and succored them. The lord allowed them to stay as vassals while they worked on ship repair.
The main story was bracketed by occasional chapters set in the near future or an alternate present. In them a couple, he an historian and she a physicist, were poised on the edge of individual theoretical breakthroughs, that just happened to intersect. And the village of Eifelheim, neé Oberhochwald, was the key.
This book was completely engrossing. There were so many philosophical discussions, both natural and religious, between the aliens and the priest as they struggled to understand each others strange ways. And there were so many surprising revelations, such as the aliens completely misinterpreting Christianity and thinking that Jesus himself was an alien overlord who could possibly save them. It was a fun device to have the Paris-educated priest assign Greek terms like "mikrofon" and "atom" to the vastly superior alien technology and scientific knowledge. But also realistic that he would be able to grasp the ideas and see them as something real and not magic.
And the ending! I was reading the final chapters on the bus and just quaking with joy-infused excitement. The way that everything came together was so beautiful and perfect and right. Truly awe inspiring.
The main story was bracketed by occasional chapters set in the near future or an alternate present. In them a couple, he an historian and she a physicist, were poised on the edge of individual theoretical breakthroughs, that just happened to intersect. And the village of Eifelheim, neé Oberhochwald, was the key.
This book was completely engrossing. There were so many philosophical discussions, both natural and religious, between the aliens and the priest as they struggled to understand each others strange ways. And there were so many surprising revelations, such as the aliens completely misinterpreting Christianity and thinking that Jesus himself was an alien overlord who could possibly save them. It was a fun device to have the Paris-educated priest assign Greek terms like "mikrofon" and "atom" to the vastly superior alien technology and scientific knowledge. But also realistic that he would be able to grasp the ideas and see them as something real and not magic.
And the ending! I was reading the final chapters on the bus and just quaking with joy-infused excitement. The way that everything came together was so beautiful and perfect and right. Truly awe inspiring.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Kirk Who?
Having my sister do daycare for the first year of Kirk's life is great for when we need a babysitter; she's always super excited for a chance to spend time with him. And he has a blast spending the night at his Auntie's and playing with his cousins. So we try to use that option on occasions like last night. Mercurial Rage had a fancy cocktail party/photo shoot for their record cover and I wasn't about to miss that! We had a wonderful time and I danced til my feet couldn't dance no more. During the festivities Mr. b got a message saying that my sister didn't want us to pick Kirk up right away in the morning; she wanted more time with him. Aww. Happy to oblige!
But then this morning my sister called with a different plan. My mom was babysitting our nephew and so my sister wanted to take Kirk and her girls up there so all four cousins could play. Sounds reasonable except for a few small details: my sister is notoriously slow, my parents live an hour away, and we wouldn't have a clue when she'd be returning the boy to us. But who are we to begrudge Kirk a chance to play with his cousins and go on an Auntie adventure?
Mr. b and I had a great day. Lazed around, loud sex, driving and shopping without any regard to getting home in time for naps. But by 6:30pm I still hadn't heard from my sister to say that she was on her way back down. At that rate, Kirk wouldn't get home until bedtime. Ridiculous! Sure enough, when I called to investigate, she was doing laundry. And it's those little instances where she completely disregards other people's schedules that remind us why we no longer use her for daycare. I'm confident that Kirk had a wonderful time. But I would have liked to have seen him, oh, at all today.
But then this morning my sister called with a different plan. My mom was babysitting our nephew and so my sister wanted to take Kirk and her girls up there so all four cousins could play. Sounds reasonable except for a few small details: my sister is notoriously slow, my parents live an hour away, and we wouldn't have a clue when she'd be returning the boy to us. But who are we to begrudge Kirk a chance to play with his cousins and go on an Auntie adventure?
Mr. b and I had a great day. Lazed around, loud sex, driving and shopping without any regard to getting home in time for naps. But by 6:30pm I still hadn't heard from my sister to say that she was on her way back down. At that rate, Kirk wouldn't get home until bedtime. Ridiculous! Sure enough, when I called to investigate, she was doing laundry. And it's those little instances where she completely disregards other people's schedules that remind us why we no longer use her for daycare. I'm confident that Kirk had a wonderful time. But I would have liked to have seen him, oh, at all today.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Mommy & Daddy are Idiots
We fucked up. Mr. b and I fucked up big time.
Kirk started cough-puking again sometime after midnight on Friday. Of course he didn't have anything in his stomach by then so all that came out was phlegm. We brought him in to Urgent Care as soon as it opened Saturday morning. At that point he was at least keeping water down.
The Urgent Care doctor explained that it's extremely common for babies to vomit during intense coughing. Lord knows I've hacked hard enough to nearly trigger my gag reflex. She said this whatever-it-is has been going around and it's viral, so we just have to ride it out. She suggested we put Kirk on the BRAT diet (my new favorite acronym--Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast) and give him Pedialyte and popsicles to keep up his energy. He was obviously quite worn down by then since he hadn't been able to eat since lunch the day before. She said specifically to stay away from all dairy products and anything else that may irritate his stomach.
So he was fine the rest of the day Saturday. Couple of naps, lots of liquid, no relapse. He was fine Sunday, acting like his old self and genuinely hungry again. And that's where we fucked it all up.
We were lazy about dinner. Who wants to cook on a Sunday night? So we opened a couple of cans of beef ravioli. Kirk ate shitloads. Then before bed, I let him have some milk. He had had a small amount before his nap--but his stomach had still been fairly empty. This time? "Valley Forge, barf city!"
It was awful. The poor little guy threw up over and over and over. We changed his jammies three times before his stomach was emptied. By the end we were so inured to the gross that we were just catching little half-digested bits of ravioli in our bare hands. He finally was able to fall asleep about 10:00pm and had some Pedialyte a couple of times in the middle of the night.
I felt so bad. We both felt so bad. We totally jumped the gun and Kirk was the one that had to pay. I don't know how long we're supposed to keep him on BRAT, but clearly it wasn't long enough.
Since he doesn't have a fever and really isn't acting sick--apart from the puking--we sent him to daycare today. Apparently 4 out of the 6 kids there had vomit sessions over the weekend. All attributed to a different reason. So it was applesauce all around for the little ones today. And we'll just take it easy for the rest of the week. Lord know I'm sick and tired of doing sick-covered laundry.
Kirk started cough-puking again sometime after midnight on Friday. Of course he didn't have anything in his stomach by then so all that came out was phlegm. We brought him in to Urgent Care as soon as it opened Saturday morning. At that point he was at least keeping water down.
The Urgent Care doctor explained that it's extremely common for babies to vomit during intense coughing. Lord knows I've hacked hard enough to nearly trigger my gag reflex. She said this whatever-it-is has been going around and it's viral, so we just have to ride it out. She suggested we put Kirk on the BRAT diet (my new favorite acronym--Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast) and give him Pedialyte and popsicles to keep up his energy. He was obviously quite worn down by then since he hadn't been able to eat since lunch the day before. She said specifically to stay away from all dairy products and anything else that may irritate his stomach.
So he was fine the rest of the day Saturday. Couple of naps, lots of liquid, no relapse. He was fine Sunday, acting like his old self and genuinely hungry again. And that's where we fucked it all up.
We were lazy about dinner. Who wants to cook on a Sunday night? So we opened a couple of cans of beef ravioli. Kirk ate shitloads. Then before bed, I let him have some milk. He had had a small amount before his nap--but his stomach had still been fairly empty. This time? "Valley Forge, barf city!"
It was awful. The poor little guy threw up over and over and over. We changed his jammies three times before his stomach was emptied. By the end we were so inured to the gross that we were just catching little half-digested bits of ravioli in our bare hands. He finally was able to fall asleep about 10:00pm and had some Pedialyte a couple of times in the middle of the night.
I felt so bad. We both felt so bad. We totally jumped the gun and Kirk was the one that had to pay. I don't know how long we're supposed to keep him on BRAT, but clearly it wasn't long enough.
Since he doesn't have a fever and really isn't acting sick--apart from the puking--we sent him to daycare today. Apparently 4 out of the 6 kids there had vomit sessions over the weekend. All attributed to a different reason. So it was applesauce all around for the little ones today. And we'll just take it easy for the rest of the week. Lord know I'm sick and tired of doing sick-covered laundry.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Cough & Puke
Kirk's been puking today. It's really weird and I'm kind of concerned because I just don't know what's wrong. He's not feverish. He doesn't have a cold beyond the January sniffles that everyone has right now. But three times now he's coughed really hard and then thrown up. He did it last night while asleep; Mr. b discovered the mess at 4:30am when Kirk woke up and called for us. He was fine today though, until I was making dinner. Coughing fit, then puke, all over the kitchen floor. The nurse line advised us to not feed him, not give him milk, and only give him clear liquids like juice or water. But then shortly before bedtime the same thing happened and he threw up all the juice he'd drank! I'm paranoid about him now. He's sleeping peacefully but of course he's no longer propped up on his pillows. I'm afraid if I try to move him he'll wake up. I don't think we need to go to the emergency room when Mr. b gets home from closing the café tonight or anything. But I do think we should go to the urgent care in the morning. I just don't want it to be something in his lungs or something weird and old fashioned like the croup.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Blooming Dogs
Rose in Bloom Louisa May Alcott
Crack. This book was crack. I wish there were more Rose books because I would totally read more. It almost makes me want to read other Alcott stuff—and I was never really that into Little Women! I’m glad that Louisa May has a sibling death fixation; Rose totally would’ve gone for the bad boy Prince Charlie instead of Mac who she was obviously meant for.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time Mark Haddon
Another ridiculously fast read. The narrator of the book is a 15 year old autistic boy; he is investigating the murder of his neighbor’s dog. It was amazing. I loved the way his world-view was described and the way he over-explained things like using prime numbers for the chapters. It was a compelling story, too! And one of the best, most satisfying, last lines I’ve read in a long time.
Since I read Jane Eyre I have encountered references to it twice. Mr. Rochester is apparently a Romantic archetype; he was mentioned in both the Chet Arthur Conspiracy and in Rose in Bloom.
Crack. This book was crack. I wish there were more Rose books because I would totally read more. It almost makes me want to read other Alcott stuff—and I was never really that into Little Women! I’m glad that Louisa May has a sibling death fixation; Rose totally would’ve gone for the bad boy Prince Charlie instead of Mac who she was obviously meant for.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time Mark Haddon
Another ridiculously fast read. The narrator of the book is a 15 year old autistic boy; he is investigating the murder of his neighbor’s dog. It was amazing. I loved the way his world-view was described and the way he over-explained things like using prime numbers for the chapters. It was a compelling story, too! And one of the best, most satisfying, last lines I’ve read in a long time.
Since I read Jane Eyre I have encountered references to it twice. Mr. Rochester is apparently a Romantic archetype; he was mentioned in both the Chet Arthur Conspiracy and in Rose in Bloom.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Splish, Splash, I Refuse to Take a Bath
Kirk’s going through a weird phase. Everything is just so freakin’ hard. Bath-time is currently the worst. It’s like he’s scared of the water or something! He still continues to prefer standing (though he doesn’t like showers so that option is out) in the tub. But instead of banging on the wall and playing with his duckies and the shampoo bottles, he leans over the edge of the tub and wails. It’s virtually impossible to even dump a cup of water over his head to wet him down pre-shampoo. Forget about rinsing! He will not be forced into sitting. And if you physically restrain him on the other side of the tub so you can rinse him without pouring water all over the floor, it’s like you’re torturing him or something. I have no idea what his deal is. He’s mildly better if one of us is in the tub with him so we’ve started trading off taking baths. He’ll sit in my lap and let me rinse him but he won’t sit on the tub floor. Last night he bathed with his Daddy and wouldn’t even sit in his lap. Yet at the end of the bath, if you can distract him into finally playing with toys or at least the rinse-cup, he’ll eventually sit. Especially if the water is draining. I just don’t get it. For a while he was trying to actually swim in the tub; after being soaped and rinsed he’d get down on his belly and scoot backwards and forwards in the water. I have no clue why he’s reverted so far from that behavior.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The Year in (Book) Review
The Chester A. Arthur Conspiracy was very hard for me to get into. I was quite excited by the prospect of an alternate history surrounding Chet’s administration. Along with Polk, he’s Mr. b’s favorite president so I thought it would be fun to constantly check in and see where the subtle changes were happening. But it wasn’t really like that. SPOILER ALERT In fact, there were no changes to “known” history. John Wilkes Booth was secretly not dead and cuckolded Arthur. Nell still died, though it was a fake death to run off with her lover. When telling this to Chester, he died of a heart attack and Wilkes assumed his identity. He presided over the caucus that nominated Garfield, became the Vice President, assumed the presidency after Garfield’s assassination, and then died, though that was also a fake death. So it was just a very strange premise. I didn’t really start to enjoy it even a little bit until after Chet was dead. And by the end, I felt so little sympathy for Wilkes that I was rooting for his aide to get his revenge. It was thoroughly researched and very accurate, but also written in a stilted “period” present tense that was difficult to penetrate.
I read 19 books in 2006. Certainly not as good as my best year since I began keeping track (47 in 2004) but better than I thought. I started out the year barely keeping up with the one-book-a-month book club requirements. After switching daycare I was able to take the bus again and so that improved my average quite nicely. I hope to be able to read two books a month, though I’m not going to pressure myself. I do think I’m going to declare an official New Year’s Resolution to read more comic books. I miss them. I need to take the time to just read an issue of something every weekend.
I think my favorite books of the year were Eight Cousins and War for the Oaks. Though there were none that I outright despised. I’d recommend most of them and will possibly even reread a couple of them at some future time.
1. The Lady and the Unicorn Tracy Chevalier
2. Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper Diablo Cody
3. My Year of Meats Ruth Ozeki
4. The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath
5. The Cabinet of Curiosities Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
6. Serenity: Those Left Behind Joss Whedon
7. The Peshawar Lancers S.M. Stirling
8. White Fang Jack London
9. A Cook’s Tour: Global Adventures in Extreme Cuisine Anthony Bourdain
10. Bee Season Myla Goldberg
11. Eldest Christopher Paolini
12. Frankenstein Mary Shelley
13. Eight Cousins or the Aunt-Hill Louisa May Alcott
14. War for the Oaks Emma Bull
15. ReVISIONS Edited by Julie E. Czerneda & Isaac Szpindel
16. Mercy Jody Picoult
17. The Wizard, the Witch, & Two Girls from Jersey Lisa Papademetriou
18. The Secret Agent Joseph Conrad
19. Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë
20. The Chester A. Arthur Conspiracy William Wiegand
I read 19 books in 2006. Certainly not as good as my best year since I began keeping track (47 in 2004) but better than I thought. I started out the year barely keeping up with the one-book-a-month book club requirements. After switching daycare I was able to take the bus again and so that improved my average quite nicely. I hope to be able to read two books a month, though I’m not going to pressure myself. I do think I’m going to declare an official New Year’s Resolution to read more comic books. I miss them. I need to take the time to just read an issue of something every weekend.
I think my favorite books of the year were Eight Cousins and War for the Oaks. Though there were none that I outright despised. I’d recommend most of them and will possibly even reread a couple of them at some future time.
1. The Lady and the Unicorn Tracy Chevalier
2. Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper Diablo Cody
3. My Year of Meats Ruth Ozeki
4. The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath
5. The Cabinet of Curiosities Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
6. Serenity: Those Left Behind Joss Whedon
7. The Peshawar Lancers S.M. Stirling
8. White Fang Jack London
9. A Cook’s Tour: Global Adventures in Extreme Cuisine Anthony Bourdain
10. Bee Season Myla Goldberg
11. Eldest Christopher Paolini
12. Frankenstein Mary Shelley
13. Eight Cousins or the Aunt-Hill Louisa May Alcott
14. War for the Oaks Emma Bull
15. ReVISIONS Edited by Julie E. Czerneda & Isaac Szpindel
16. Mercy Jody Picoult
17. The Wizard, the Witch, & Two Girls from Jersey Lisa Papademetriou
18. The Secret Agent Joseph Conrad
19. Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë
20. The Chester A. Arthur Conspiracy William Wiegand
So Tired
I am starting to dread sleeping on my left side. Increasingly it means that Kirk is in bed with us. He freaks out if he is not resting his head on my arm, which then cuts off the circulation and severely limits my range of possible comfortable positions. Occasionally I can lift him over to my right side for a brief time, or he may allow complete cuddling with his daddy so I can turn over.
The sleep weirdness is at a breaking point for me. Last night, after 2 hours of the Kirkus Circus starting around 1am, I couldn’t take anymore and banished him back to his crib to cry. Mr. b managed to get him to fall asleep by holding him in the recliner but it was brutal. During the week or so we were gone over the Yuletide, Kirk was not in bed with me only 2 of those nights. And one of those he was in his Gramma’s bed. He traveled fantastically; rode really well and wasn’t too overwhelmed by the extended family (including my parents, his Godmother/Great Auntie’s in-laws, and assorted friends) gathered for the week in Texas. But he hasn’t returned to his normal routine since we’ve been back. I have to hope that daycare will help that transition.
On top of that, Kirk’s just been extra naughty. I honestly think he’s entering The Terrible Twos, despite this being only his 18 month birthday today. He’s so willful, saying “No, no, no, no” when something doesn’t go his way, hitting Mommy and the kitty and the windows, climbing up any chairs he’s tall enough to get into on his own, destroying his crib and pulling on his window shades when he doesn’t want to go to bed. He fought with his 3 year old cousin quite a lot while in Texas; I’m sure that was largely due to my nephew never previously having to really share his boy toys, his big sister is too girly to be interested, and certainly not having to share his Grandparents’ attention with another boy. During all the evenings that Gramma watched Kirk, she got him fully transitioned off the nigh-nigh bottle—that being the last hold out that Mr. b and I were just too lazy to switch over to a sippy cup. That’s fabulous! But he also learned how to open doors. Now we need to make sure everything’s locked so he doesn’t escape.
Kirk’s got his 18 month check up on Thursday so I’ll be able to run all this by Doc. He’s working on another molar so I’m sure that isn’t helping matters. I worry about his vocabulary sometimes, because he doesn’t pronounce words fully. But he uses the beginnings of words in their correct context, so it’s pretty easy for me to know what he means, even though “Mama” can be either Mommy or Daddy. Or “parents”. “Muh” can be more or mine, “bah” can be bottle or boat or butt or box or bath depending on how he uses it. That kind of thing. Of course, “Mama, wha’s that” needs no extra explanation. I just have to figure out what he wants me to name or look at.
In the meantime, I just need to figure out how to get some sleep.
The sleep weirdness is at a breaking point for me. Last night, after 2 hours of the Kirkus Circus starting around 1am, I couldn’t take anymore and banished him back to his crib to cry. Mr. b managed to get him to fall asleep by holding him in the recliner but it was brutal. During the week or so we were gone over the Yuletide, Kirk was not in bed with me only 2 of those nights. And one of those he was in his Gramma’s bed. He traveled fantastically; rode really well and wasn’t too overwhelmed by the extended family (including my parents, his Godmother/Great Auntie’s in-laws, and assorted friends) gathered for the week in Texas. But he hasn’t returned to his normal routine since we’ve been back. I have to hope that daycare will help that transition.
On top of that, Kirk’s just been extra naughty. I honestly think he’s entering The Terrible Twos, despite this being only his 18 month birthday today. He’s so willful, saying “No, no, no, no” when something doesn’t go his way, hitting Mommy and the kitty and the windows, climbing up any chairs he’s tall enough to get into on his own, destroying his crib and pulling on his window shades when he doesn’t want to go to bed. He fought with his 3 year old cousin quite a lot while in Texas; I’m sure that was largely due to my nephew never previously having to really share his boy toys, his big sister is too girly to be interested, and certainly not having to share his Grandparents’ attention with another boy. During all the evenings that Gramma watched Kirk, she got him fully transitioned off the nigh-nigh bottle—that being the last hold out that Mr. b and I were just too lazy to switch over to a sippy cup. That’s fabulous! But he also learned how to open doors. Now we need to make sure everything’s locked so he doesn’t escape.
Kirk’s got his 18 month check up on Thursday so I’ll be able to run all this by Doc. He’s working on another molar so I’m sure that isn’t helping matters. I worry about his vocabulary sometimes, because he doesn’t pronounce words fully. But he uses the beginnings of words in their correct context, so it’s pretty easy for me to know what he means, even though “Mama” can be either Mommy or Daddy. Or “parents”. “Muh” can be more or mine, “bah” can be bottle or boat or butt or box or bath depending on how he uses it. That kind of thing. Of course, “Mama, wha’s that” needs no extra explanation. I just have to figure out what he wants me to name or look at.
In the meantime, I just need to figure out how to get some sleep.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
You Spin Me Right Round Baby
Kirk loves bling. He'll carry around Mr. b's Halloween Barry Gibb chain and put it on and take it off. And put it on and take it off. Even better is a string of blue Mardi Gras style beads, probably from Pride. They're just a bit longer so easier to pull over his head on his own.
He's also gotten really into dancing. He's always been a very aurally aware baby. Now he's totally into "real" music, and not his little kid stuff. He'll hold his daddy's phone and jam out to whatever songs he manages to put on (oddly enough, it's usually Merc Rage's "Devil Girl"). If we're hanging out downstairs then Kirk wants a record on the turntable. We've been listening to a lot of 70s stuff, from Pink Floyd to Andy Gibb. Kirk's got some hilarious moves including turning around with one hand in the air and lifting his right leg and pointing it repeatedly. Awesome.
We think we need to get him some kind of mp3 player for Christmas but it's just ridiculous to even consider buying him an iPod or an iTunes phone. Not gonna happen! But so far I haven't discovered anything that exists that is handheld and doesn't come preloaded with nursery rhymes. We have one of those kitschy jukebox style mini plastic radios that I think will have to do for now. At least then he can have fun spinning the dial through the stations--until he breaks off the antenna. I wonder where I put it?
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