a couple of weeks ago it dawned on me that though i had seen the september issue of vogue on the newsstand, i hadn't received my copy in the mail yet. hmm. a couple of days after that realization, i got a bill in the mail and remembered that i had re-upped my subscription with a postcard but hadn't actually paid for it yet.... so i called up the 800 number on the invoice and took care of it.
not two hours later, wile and i went out to walk to the playground...and there, sitting on the steps next the mailbox which it wouldn't fit into because it's like 6 inches thick, was my september vogue.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
a cute story about the baby, interrupted by a short rant
it all started with the monkey (speaking of starting with monkeys, the whole case going on in pennsylvania is making me alternately furious and terrified. there are already so many ways that the separation of church and state is breached—don't get me started on the pledge of allegiance—but this is batshit insane. science class is not the place to be teaching a creation myth! okay, yeah, whatever, they're not specifically teaching the biblical created-in-6-days myth, but they are putting out there that an "intelligent designer" exists. which is, to put it politely, purely speculation. i realize that as an atheist i'm in the minority in this country, but i was pretty sure that the constitution protected me from having my kid proselytized to at school).
so, yeah, anyway....where was i? right: the monkey.
aunt sarah gave wile an awesome stuffed monkey, who we like to cuddle with. so i started having the monkey give wile kisses, and when that seemed to be going well, started asking wile to give the monkey a kiss. and i think because he was trying to get his jaws around the monkey's muzzle, as it is his constant quest to put everything he comes in contact with into his mouth, he would open his mouth wide when he went in for the kiss. so when we then moved on to "now give mommy a kiss", i got a pretty good view of his tonsils.
i love the open-mouth kiss—the trick is to pick one lip, upper or lower—but i think it confuses some people when i say "give _____ a kiss" and all of the sudden mr. baby man is bearing down on them like a 7th-grader hell bent on learning how to french.
so, yeah, anyway....where was i? right: the monkey.
aunt sarah gave wile an awesome stuffed monkey, who we like to cuddle with. so i started having the monkey give wile kisses, and when that seemed to be going well, started asking wile to give the monkey a kiss. and i think because he was trying to get his jaws around the monkey's muzzle, as it is his constant quest to put everything he comes in contact with into his mouth, he would open his mouth wide when he went in for the kiss. so when we then moved on to "now give mommy a kiss", i got a pretty good view of his tonsils.
i love the open-mouth kiss—the trick is to pick one lip, upper or lower—but i think it confuses some people when i say "give _____ a kiss" and all of the sudden mr. baby man is bearing down on them like a 7th-grader hell bent on learning how to french.
btietw
though i'm very happy that summer seems to be packing up and leaving and taking the humidity and heat rash with it, it does make me sad when i think about what the farmer's market is going to look like in a month or so: squash squash and more squash. so i'm savoring the last days of the summer harvest, especially the heirloom tomatoes. i like all the varieties: the firm, savory, virtually seedless italian hearts; the tangy green zebras; the meaty brandywines.... but my favorites are the ridiculously sweet yellow ones, the hawaiian pineapples and orange strawberries. i'm not sure which one it was that we had this week, but stephen and i ate it sliced and sprinkled with fleur de sel that susie brought us from paris and it was not only the best thing i've eaten this week but one of the best things i've eaten ever. i didn't want to eat the last slice becasue i didn't want it to be over. if you can get to a farmer's market and get your hands on one of these babies before they disappear, do it. yes, they cost like 4 times as much as regular tomatoes. and they are absolutely worth it.
Monday, September 26, 2005
i'm so jealous i'm surprised my skin hasn't turned green.
stephen got to see this gentleman in the flesh (and fur) the other day, around the block from his office.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
get behind me you freaking moron
i haven't been to a big stadium rawk concert in....jeez. a long time. and granted, keyspan park is no meadowlands, but still, the crowd is different at a big stadium show than it is at the places that i more frequently see music (knitting factory, bowery ballroom, roseland, et al.)
specifically: there are a ton more assholes.
stephen, syd, little brother ben and i went down to coney island to keyspan park last night to see the white stripes with brendan benson and the shins. and it was 99% awesome: it was a gorgeous night, the music was fantastic, jack white looked a lot less like michael jackson than he did on the cover of rolling stone, and we were in a good spot—close but not too close—and surrounded by people who knew how to be at a show: dance but don't flail, don't come in my square foot and i won't come in yours, don't let people by unless they promise they're going to keep it moving and not horn in on our nice little patch of ground, don't screech like a banshee or sing all the words to the song so loud that i can't hear the actual singer just to prove that you're like such a huge fan you know all the words to all the songs hell yeah!
then like a couple of songs into the white stripes' set this tall guy in a red t-shirt fell into me from behind. at first i figured that he was just waaaay too fucked up, because he was half-limp and had this kinda unfocused look on his face. but regardless of what his deal was, he had just almost taken me out and then bounced off me and knocked into syd, so i did what seemed to be the right thing to do in this situation: i shoved him off us on to the ground. he managed to not go down totally, but the stephen grabbed him and asked him what the fuck his problem was, and he asked stephen what his problem was, and asked him if he'd ever been to a rock concert before, and told him that he'd been to "over 100" rock concerts. stephen was like "you just almost decapitated my wife and my friend, jerkoff", but the guy just shook him off, turned around, and stepped over and stood in front of us! which is when i realized that he wasn't fucked up at all, but that flailing and thrashing and crashing into people was his way of making his way through the crowd to where he wanted to be! un. be. liev. a. ble. cause you know it's funny but i think i've been to "over 100" concerts, and i've never encountered anyone who thought that making yourself into a one-man mosh pit was an acceptable way to get through the crowd....
a little while later, i hear some commotion over to my right, so i look over and see some other ass clown falling into people, and hear people yelling "what the fuck?" and "take it easy, buddy!" while they push the guy off them, and then watch as this new guy rights himself and....comes over and stands next to douchebag number one! it's his friend! of course!
soon after douchebag number two arrived, syd, who had been keeping up a steady campaign of kicking number one in the heels, decided to tell number one that he was truly obnoxious, and he gave her the same speech about having been to "over 100" rock concerts.
of course, after the show, after the shithead twins had left (before the lights even came up to avoid the wrath of everyone they had pissed off), we thought of a couple of proper responses to the "over 100 concerts" speech:
option 1
"i've been to over 100 rock concerts!"
"can you suck your own dick? cause then i'd be impressed."
option 2
"i've been to over 100 rock concerts!"
"yeah, so have i. and there's an asshole at every one of them."
and of course me and my subtle, peaceful nature just fantasized about grabbing their heads and knocking them together like a couple of coconuts.
specifically: there are a ton more assholes.
stephen, syd, little brother ben and i went down to coney island to keyspan park last night to see the white stripes with brendan benson and the shins. and it was 99% awesome: it was a gorgeous night, the music was fantastic, jack white looked a lot less like michael jackson than he did on the cover of rolling stone, and we were in a good spot—close but not too close—and surrounded by people who knew how to be at a show: dance but don't flail, don't come in my square foot and i won't come in yours, don't let people by unless they promise they're going to keep it moving and not horn in on our nice little patch of ground, don't screech like a banshee or sing all the words to the song so loud that i can't hear the actual singer just to prove that you're like such a huge fan you know all the words to all the songs hell yeah!
then like a couple of songs into the white stripes' set this tall guy in a red t-shirt fell into me from behind. at first i figured that he was just waaaay too fucked up, because he was half-limp and had this kinda unfocused look on his face. but regardless of what his deal was, he had just almost taken me out and then bounced off me and knocked into syd, so i did what seemed to be the right thing to do in this situation: i shoved him off us on to the ground. he managed to not go down totally, but the stephen grabbed him and asked him what the fuck his problem was, and he asked stephen what his problem was, and asked him if he'd ever been to a rock concert before, and told him that he'd been to "over 100" rock concerts. stephen was like "you just almost decapitated my wife and my friend, jerkoff", but the guy just shook him off, turned around, and stepped over and stood in front of us! which is when i realized that he wasn't fucked up at all, but that flailing and thrashing and crashing into people was his way of making his way through the crowd to where he wanted to be! un. be. liev. a. ble. cause you know it's funny but i think i've been to "over 100" concerts, and i've never encountered anyone who thought that making yourself into a one-man mosh pit was an acceptable way to get through the crowd....
a little while later, i hear some commotion over to my right, so i look over and see some other ass clown falling into people, and hear people yelling "what the fuck?" and "take it easy, buddy!" while they push the guy off them, and then watch as this new guy rights himself and....comes over and stands next to douchebag number one! it's his friend! of course!
soon after douchebag number two arrived, syd, who had been keeping up a steady campaign of kicking number one in the heels, decided to tell number one that he was truly obnoxious, and he gave her the same speech about having been to "over 100" rock concerts.
of course, after the show, after the shithead twins had left (before the lights even came up to avoid the wrath of everyone they had pissed off), we thought of a couple of proper responses to the "over 100 concerts" speech:
option 1
"i've been to over 100 rock concerts!"
"can you suck your own dick? cause then i'd be impressed."
option 2
"i've been to over 100 rock concerts!"
"yeah, so have i. and there's an asshole at every one of them."
and of course me and my subtle, peaceful nature just fantasized about grabbing their heads and knocking them together like a couple of coconuts.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
o-dee-da, shmo-dee-da
auntie meg used to nanny for a little girl named stella (i know, could you just die? and her downstairs neighbor, a little boy around her age, used to stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell stel-la! up to her...) who lived in brooklyn heights. one of the first times that meg sat for her, there was a little bit of drama because stella kept asking to go to "the o-dee-da", and meg was all "the what now?" finally stella's mom was consulted, who apologized profusely and told meg that, for reasons unbenownst to her or stella's dad, "o-dee-da" was what stella called their neighborhood playground.
mr. baby man and i have recently visited the o-dee-da on a couple of occasions when we've been downtown running errands, and though i love saying "o-dee-da", i don't love the actual o-dee-da.
the first time we went with aiko (who is due to give birth to a little mets fan in november) and there were bad signs from the get-go: first we couldn't find the gate. then when we found the gate (waaaay over to the side!), it appeared to be padlocked. we stood there feeling kinda dumb, looking around for another gate, until some people walking by took pity on us and told us it's actually not locked, that the lock is actually just hanging there (waiting to make the uninitiated feel stupid, i guess) and you can slide the latch open no problem. ah-ha. so we go in and i let the little man loose, and five seconds later his legs look like he's been working the mines (i got the black lung, pop!). seriously, it was dirt like i've never seen before: thick, sticky, and black. it took me till i was talking to sarah later that night to realize what was going on: the o-dee-da is right above the b-q-freakin-e! my childs' legs were covered in highway dirt! exhaust soot! eeccchh! then a few minutes later the (stupid) gate opens and a group of elementary school kids comes barrelling in, apparently having been brought to the o-dee-da for recess, and all of the sudden it's like the antelope stampede scene in the lion king, and wile is mufassa (ooo-oo-oooo-oo! say it again, say it again!). i have to swoop in among the herd of 10-year-olds and scoop him up—he, of course, is totally nonplussed, just sitting there looking up at the galloping beasts like they're only slightly more interesting than the stick in his hand. as i'm getting my heart to drop backdown into my chest, a nanny points us in the direction of the fenced off section of the o-dee-da that is specifically for the wee ones. ah-ha number two. we manage to play there without incident (except, of course, for an even thicker buildup of black muck). but there's just something, i don't know, kind of unfriendly about the place.
so, all in all, not a top ten playground experience. but i chalk most of my dissatisfaction up to being a clueless newcomer, and decide to go back today....
we handle the gate like a pro and go straight for the fenced off area. so far so good. but then the unfriendly vibe comes back... i smile at all the moms and nannies who i pass on the benches and don't get one smile back. wile starts playing with his ball and a little girl comes over and tries to take it away, and instead of responding to my "wile, can you play catch with the little girl?", the mom just tells the little girl not to grab and leads her away. even the pigeons are unfriendly! the little man and i sit on the bench and have lunch and throw them our crumbs and instead of creating a nice tuppence-a-bag scenario, we incite a pigeon riot! the big fat pigeons hog all the crumbs and peck the ever-loving crap out of the skinnier, meeker pigeons. so i decide that's enough communing with nature for the day and we start playing climb the slide, one of wile's favorite games. it's a double slide, and a little girl about his size comes over and stars climbing the other side. i try to make conversation: i ask how old she is, the mom tells me but doesn't ask how old wile is; i say how cute she is, i get no response; i finally try talking to her when i realize i'm getting nothing from her mom ("wow, you're a good climber!"), this still gets nothing. oy. then they go and a bigger girl (5-ish?) comes and climbs the other side of the slide, and we have a nice conversation...until her mom calls her away and yells at her for talking to strangers. dude. i'm another mom on the playground. we're talking about climbing the slide. ease. up. so then this blond little boy (4?) all of the sudden comes barrelling down the slide while mr. baby man is still at the bottom of it. i whisk wile away and say something (very friendly-ly!) like "you should check to make sure no one's at the bottom of the slide before you come down!" but the little heathen just runs away and i'm talking to air. okay, fine, whatever, he's 4. but then he comes back around to the top of the slide, sits down at the top of the side that wile is halfway up (even though the other side is empty!), looks right at me, and starts to slide down! oh no he di'in't! i throw my arm out over the slide and say "can you please go down the other side, we're on this side!" he mumbles something, looks away, and slides down, so that i have to again airlift wile out of danger! then he comes back around to the top of the slide again and sits down on the side that we're on again! i look at him. he looks at me. another kid comes to the top of the other side, so i can't ask him to move over, so i ask him to please wait to slide until wile gets to the top and i can slide him (wile) down since he can't do it by himself because he's a baby. you can guess what happens, right? the little fuckwad slides, almost taking wile out. and because i'm 4 years old too, when he gets to the bottom of the slide i call him a brat. "brat!", i say. and you know what? it felt good.
but i think that's it for me and the o-dee-da. any place that drives me to calling small children names—whether they deserve it or not—should probably be avoided.
mr. baby man and i have recently visited the o-dee-da on a couple of occasions when we've been downtown running errands, and though i love saying "o-dee-da", i don't love the actual o-dee-da.
the first time we went with aiko (who is due to give birth to a little mets fan in november) and there were bad signs from the get-go: first we couldn't find the gate. then when we found the gate (waaaay over to the side!), it appeared to be padlocked. we stood there feeling kinda dumb, looking around for another gate, until some people walking by took pity on us and told us it's actually not locked, that the lock is actually just hanging there (waiting to make the uninitiated feel stupid, i guess) and you can slide the latch open no problem. ah-ha. so we go in and i let the little man loose, and five seconds later his legs look like he's been working the mines (i got the black lung, pop!). seriously, it was dirt like i've never seen before: thick, sticky, and black. it took me till i was talking to sarah later that night to realize what was going on: the o-dee-da is right above the b-q-freakin-e! my childs' legs were covered in highway dirt! exhaust soot! eeccchh! then a few minutes later the (stupid) gate opens and a group of elementary school kids comes barrelling in, apparently having been brought to the o-dee-da for recess, and all of the sudden it's like the antelope stampede scene in the lion king, and wile is mufassa (ooo-oo-oooo-oo! say it again, say it again!). i have to swoop in among the herd of 10-year-olds and scoop him up—he, of course, is totally nonplussed, just sitting there looking up at the galloping beasts like they're only slightly more interesting than the stick in his hand. as i'm getting my heart to drop backdown into my chest, a nanny points us in the direction of the fenced off section of the o-dee-da that is specifically for the wee ones. ah-ha number two. we manage to play there without incident (except, of course, for an even thicker buildup of black muck). but there's just something, i don't know, kind of unfriendly about the place.
so, all in all, not a top ten playground experience. but i chalk most of my dissatisfaction up to being a clueless newcomer, and decide to go back today....
we handle the gate like a pro and go straight for the fenced off area. so far so good. but then the unfriendly vibe comes back... i smile at all the moms and nannies who i pass on the benches and don't get one smile back. wile starts playing with his ball and a little girl comes over and tries to take it away, and instead of responding to my "wile, can you play catch with the little girl?", the mom just tells the little girl not to grab and leads her away. even the pigeons are unfriendly! the little man and i sit on the bench and have lunch and throw them our crumbs and instead of creating a nice tuppence-a-bag scenario, we incite a pigeon riot! the big fat pigeons hog all the crumbs and peck the ever-loving crap out of the skinnier, meeker pigeons. so i decide that's enough communing with nature for the day and we start playing climb the slide, one of wile's favorite games. it's a double slide, and a little girl about his size comes over and stars climbing the other side. i try to make conversation: i ask how old she is, the mom tells me but doesn't ask how old wile is; i say how cute she is, i get no response; i finally try talking to her when i realize i'm getting nothing from her mom ("wow, you're a good climber!"), this still gets nothing. oy. then they go and a bigger girl (5-ish?) comes and climbs the other side of the slide, and we have a nice conversation...until her mom calls her away and yells at her for talking to strangers. dude. i'm another mom on the playground. we're talking about climbing the slide. ease. up. so then this blond little boy (4?) all of the sudden comes barrelling down the slide while mr. baby man is still at the bottom of it. i whisk wile away and say something (very friendly-ly!) like "you should check to make sure no one's at the bottom of the slide before you come down!" but the little heathen just runs away and i'm talking to air. okay, fine, whatever, he's 4. but then he comes back around to the top of the slide, sits down at the top of the side that wile is halfway up (even though the other side is empty!), looks right at me, and starts to slide down! oh no he di'in't! i throw my arm out over the slide and say "can you please go down the other side, we're on this side!" he mumbles something, looks away, and slides down, so that i have to again airlift wile out of danger! then he comes back around to the top of the slide again and sits down on the side that we're on again! i look at him. he looks at me. another kid comes to the top of the other side, so i can't ask him to move over, so i ask him to please wait to slide until wile gets to the top and i can slide him (wile) down since he can't do it by himself because he's a baby. you can guess what happens, right? the little fuckwad slides, almost taking wile out. and because i'm 4 years old too, when he gets to the bottom of the slide i call him a brat. "brat!", i say. and you know what? it felt good.
but i think that's it for me and the o-dee-da. any place that drives me to calling small children names—whether they deserve it or not—should probably be avoided.
i haven't been hiding it on purpose, i'm just a flake
so some of you already know this, but i have another blog.
it's just a photo blog, of pictures of you-know-who, that i started so that i could share photos with people (read: family members) who don't need to read my ramblings.
many times the photos that go there also go here, but sometimes there are ones there that don't make it here. so you can check it out if you'd like double the fat baby goodness.
it's just a photo blog, of pictures of you-know-who, that i started so that i could share photos with people (read: family members) who don't need to read my ramblings.
many times the photos that go there also go here, but sometimes there are ones there that don't make it here. so you can check it out if you'd like double the fat baby goodness.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
believe me, if there were more your father would have already found them
while the nursing is getting less painful, it is continuing to be interesting....
for a couple of weeks now, the little man has felt the need to see both boobs when he feeds. just to make sure they're there? for easy access if he all of the sudden decides he needs a little bit from the left? i don't know. thankfully he somehow instinctually knows that this is only appropriate behavior at home, and doesn't expose me in public. but in the past few days a new wrinkle has developed: in the middle of nursing he'll all of the sudden pull off and reach up and grab my shirt, which is invariably hiked up around my collarbone, and yank it up, peering under it like he's looking for some auxillary boobs that he might have, up until this point, been unaware of.
for a couple of weeks now, the little man has felt the need to see both boobs when he feeds. just to make sure they're there? for easy access if he all of the sudden decides he needs a little bit from the left? i don't know. thankfully he somehow instinctually knows that this is only appropriate behavior at home, and doesn't expose me in public. but in the past few days a new wrinkle has developed: in the middle of nursing he'll all of the sudden pull off and reach up and grab my shirt, which is invariably hiked up around my collarbone, and yank it up, peering under it like he's looking for some auxillary boobs that he might have, up until this point, been unaware of.
Monday, September 19, 2005
btietw: in + out
before the cali readership gets too excited, let me tell you that the title is not referring to in + out burgers. though they are right at the top of my list of things to eat when i finally do get out to the other coast, just below chez panisse and the french laundry....
no, i mean "in + out" as in "of my house".
the best thing i ate in my house was a batch of the much-requested muhamarra. remember when i said that the hearts of palm dip is the most crowd-pleasing thing that i make? i may have to amend that statement. when i served the muhamarra at my birthday party, it inspired such a feeding frenzy that susan and i had to whip up another batch during the party. as stephen says, it's the perfect combination of flavors: sweet (pomegranate syrup), tangy (lemon juice), bitter (walnuts), earthy (olive oil), spicy (hot pepper), garlicy (garlic).... i can only make a double batch at this point, a single one goes too quickly and makes us sad. so without further ado, the muhammara:
2/3 c breadcrumbs (i think it works best when i use slightly stale slices of bread)
1 T garlic
2/3 c walnuts
2 lg. red peppers, roasted (or the equivilent thereof from a jar/can)
2 t cumin (i use less, but i'm not a huge cumin fan)
1/2 t red pepper flakes
2 T lemon juice
2 T pomegranate syrup
1 T water
1/4 c olive oil
whip up all of the ingredients in the food processor, in the order i listed them, drizzling in the liquids through the hole in the lid with the motor running. serve with pita chips, blue tortilla chips, ak-mak, or a spoon.
the best thing i ate out of my house was my meal at la lunchonette (18th + 10th) with the f.i.t. ladies. i was going to pick one dish to write about, but the meal as a whole really was wonderful, there was no standout, everything just worked together perfectly and seamlessly. we did my favorite thing and got lots of small plates: artichoke vinaigrette; beet salad; goat cheese is puff pastry; seared scallops with a chunky tomato-y sauce; sweetbreads (okay, i was the only one eating those...); escargot in a cognac and garlic sauce; a cheese plate with a smoky cow's milk cheese, a cheddar-y cow's milk cheese, a boucheron-esque goat cheese (crumbly in the middle, brie-like on the edges, one of wile's favorite foods, of course, at $13/lb....), a triple creme, and a bleu (gay will be posting the names of the best ones on savortooth soon. ahem.); and a creme caramel to finish things off. it was all very simple and french, perfectly executed. nothing fancy, nothing surprising, just great french comfort food. and the place itself is so utterly charming—brick walls, low ceilings, wide-plank wood floors, a worn-in feeling—that you just can't help but love it and feel at home. that all said...the hostess/perhaps owner woman was a leetle intense/insane. the whole time we were there she was scurrying around like a ferret, leaving a trail of tension in her wake. but besides that, it was just lovely.
no, i mean "in + out" as in "of my house".
the best thing i ate in my house was a batch of the much-requested muhamarra. remember when i said that the hearts of palm dip is the most crowd-pleasing thing that i make? i may have to amend that statement. when i served the muhamarra at my birthday party, it inspired such a feeding frenzy that susan and i had to whip up another batch during the party. as stephen says, it's the perfect combination of flavors: sweet (pomegranate syrup), tangy (lemon juice), bitter (walnuts), earthy (olive oil), spicy (hot pepper), garlicy (garlic).... i can only make a double batch at this point, a single one goes too quickly and makes us sad. so without further ado, the muhammara:
2/3 c breadcrumbs (i think it works best when i use slightly stale slices of bread)
1 T garlic
2/3 c walnuts
2 lg. red peppers, roasted (or the equivilent thereof from a jar/can)
2 t cumin (i use less, but i'm not a huge cumin fan)
1/2 t red pepper flakes
2 T lemon juice
2 T pomegranate syrup
1 T water
1/4 c olive oil
whip up all of the ingredients in the food processor, in the order i listed them, drizzling in the liquids through the hole in the lid with the motor running. serve with pita chips, blue tortilla chips, ak-mak, or a spoon.
the best thing i ate out of my house was my meal at la lunchonette (18th + 10th) with the f.i.t. ladies. i was going to pick one dish to write about, but the meal as a whole really was wonderful, there was no standout, everything just worked together perfectly and seamlessly. we did my favorite thing and got lots of small plates: artichoke vinaigrette; beet salad; goat cheese is puff pastry; seared scallops with a chunky tomato-y sauce; sweetbreads (okay, i was the only one eating those...); escargot in a cognac and garlic sauce; a cheese plate with a smoky cow's milk cheese, a cheddar-y cow's milk cheese, a boucheron-esque goat cheese (crumbly in the middle, brie-like on the edges, one of wile's favorite foods, of course, at $13/lb....), a triple creme, and a bleu (gay will be posting the names of the best ones on savortooth soon. ahem.); and a creme caramel to finish things off. it was all very simple and french, perfectly executed. nothing fancy, nothing surprising, just great french comfort food. and the place itself is so utterly charming—brick walls, low ceilings, wide-plank wood floors, a worn-in feeling—that you just can't help but love it and feel at home. that all said...the hostess/perhaps owner woman was a leetle intense/insane. the whole time we were there she was scurrying around like a ferret, leaving a trail of tension in her wake. but besides that, it was just lovely.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
the best moment of every day
is when i pick wile up out of the bath and wrap him up in his towel and he latches on to my torso and wraps his arms around my neck and rests his head on my shoulder and he's all warm and smells good.
is this moment made even more enjoyable by the fact that i know he'll be asleep within the next 30-40 minutes? perhaps.
is this moment made even more enjoyable by the fact that i know he'll be asleep within the next 30-40 minutes? perhaps.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
or "duffel skank", if you'd prefer
lulu has a thing for sleeping on luggage, bags, purses, etc. she prefers, of course, to burrow into the bag. but if she can't, she's just as content to lie on top of it. she's even been known to drape her stripey little body over my clutches, which cannot be comfortable... this all has earned her the nickname "tote ho".
so if i saw lulu like this:
and stephen asked me where she was, i'd say "oh, she's ho'in' it up in the dining room". heh.
then last week, when i asked him why he didn't get me a free bag from some event he had been to, and he asked me if i relly needed another canvas bag, stephen observed that i'm something of a tote ho myself....
so, fine. i'll wear the ho badge with pride. but i want to make it clear that though i do have a rather large collection of totes, i don't feel the need to curl up on them.
at least not when anyone's looking....
so if i saw lulu like this:
and stephen asked me where she was, i'd say "oh, she's ho'in' it up in the dining room". heh.
then last week, when i asked him why he didn't get me a free bag from some event he had been to, and he asked me if i relly needed another canvas bag, stephen observed that i'm something of a tote ho myself....
so, fine. i'll wear the ho badge with pride. but i want to make it clear that though i do have a rather large collection of totes, i don't feel the need to curl up on them.
at least not when anyone's looking....
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
siegfried and wile
i think i've found the most entertaining thing on earth: letting wile "play" with trucky with the kitty teaser. oh. my. god. i don't know who laughs harder, me or wile. sadly, trucky doesn't seem to be laughing at all....
first i showed wile how to do it, and he started laughing so hard that he was snorting and hiccuping. then i handed it over to him. after a few tentative swipes...
...he started wielding it like a bullwhip, whipping it back and forth like a fly fisherman on crystal meth. observe:
trucky tried to hang in there, he really did...
i wish i had been able to get a better angle on trucky's face, which was so clearly saying "ow! no! that's not how the game is ow! played! ow! why??"
eventually he decided to just observe from a safe distance:
so trucky had a rough afternoon, but wile has learned an important life lesson: nothing is funnier than a cat spazzing out.
first i showed wile how to do it, and he started laughing so hard that he was snorting and hiccuping. then i handed it over to him. after a few tentative swipes...
...he started wielding it like a bullwhip, whipping it back and forth like a fly fisherman on crystal meth. observe:
trucky tried to hang in there, he really did...
i wish i had been able to get a better angle on trucky's face, which was so clearly saying "ow! no! that's not how the game is ow! played! ow! why??"
eventually he decided to just observe from a safe distance:
so trucky had a rough afternoon, but wile has learned an important life lesson: nothing is funnier than a cat spazzing out.
proof that there should really be "nursing stations" alongside public bathrooms....
the first thought that popped into my head when wile and i were in the elevator in barnes + noble and there was a little lurch and some odd beeping was "if we get stuck in here i'll have a quiet, private place to nurse him."
Monday, September 12, 2005
game, set, aaand match
for the past week or so, the little man and i have been engaging in a battle of wills. it goes like this:
he sees something across the room/lawn/playground that he wants. okay, 99% of the time it's a ball.
he stretches out his little hand to it and "eeeeeeehhhhh!"s.
i say "go on, go get it!"
he says "eeeeeeehhhhhh"
i say "no, wile go get it!"
he says "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
i say "crawl over there and get it, boo!"
he gives one last feeble "eeehhh......", then hoists his butt up and crawls toward it.
(now it looks at this point as if i've won, right? yeah. keep reading.)
he gets about a foot away from it, sits down, and recommences with the outstretched arm and the "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
i encourage him to just go the distance and get it.
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"no, wile get it!"
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"it's right there, just a little further!"
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"just reach out and get it, honey!"
"eeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh!!!!!!!"
....and on and on like this until he's close to tears, and i get up and nudge it over to him.
i know, i know. i shouldn't. but....well, it's kind of like the men's final at the u.s. open yesterday. you knew federer was going to win (i was going to get wile the ball). but then agassi won the second set, and was up 4-2 and 30-love in the middle of the thrid set! (wile crawled to within a foot of the ball!) but then federer came back, forced a tiebreak, won the tiebreak (wile began the barrage of "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"s). they might as well have not bothered playing the fourth set (i might as well have not bothered trying to coax wile on those last twelve inches)—agassi had given it all he had, but federer just broke him. there's only so many perfect forehand winners that a man can take. just as there are only so many "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"s that a mama can take.
he sees something across the room/lawn/playground that he wants. okay, 99% of the time it's a ball.
he stretches out his little hand to it and "eeeeeeehhhhh!"s.
i say "go on, go get it!"
he says "eeeeeeehhhhhh"
i say "no, wile go get it!"
he says "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
i say "crawl over there and get it, boo!"
he gives one last feeble "eeehhh......", then hoists his butt up and crawls toward it.
(now it looks at this point as if i've won, right? yeah. keep reading.)
he gets about a foot away from it, sits down, and recommences with the outstretched arm and the "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
i encourage him to just go the distance and get it.
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"no, wile get it!"
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"it's right there, just a little further!"
"eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"
"just reach out and get it, honey!"
"eeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh!!!!!!!"
....and on and on like this until he's close to tears, and i get up and nudge it over to him.
i know, i know. i shouldn't. but....well, it's kind of like the men's final at the u.s. open yesterday. you knew federer was going to win (i was going to get wile the ball). but then agassi won the second set, and was up 4-2 and 30-love in the middle of the thrid set! (wile crawled to within a foot of the ball!) but then federer came back, forced a tiebreak, won the tiebreak (wile began the barrage of "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"s). they might as well have not bothered playing the fourth set (i might as well have not bothered trying to coax wile on those last twelve inches)—agassi had given it all he had, but federer just broke him. there's only so many perfect forehand winners that a man can take. just as there are only so many "eeeeeeehhhhhh!!"s that a mama can take.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
jon fishman, the toddler years
if wile ends up in a phish cover band, we can say we saw where it all began:
ps - yes, of course it's sanitary for the baby to suck on the vaccuum hose....
ps - yes, of course it's sanitary for the baby to suck on the vaccuum hose....
fuzzy wuzzy wuz a block of wood not so long ago
at both our hotel and the cafe that we went to on two out of three of our days in steamboat, there were these carved wooden bears. maybe they were in other places in town too, i don't know. all i know is, the boo loved them.
so much so, in fact, that this one got a kiss:
so much so, in fact, that this one got a kiss:
Thursday, September 08, 2005
would you like some ointment for those emotional scars?
in my pre-baby life, i was not a napper. naps generally left me groggy and grumpy and feeling more tired than i had been in the first place, so even if i was out-till-7am-the-night-before exhausted, it was a rare thing for me to take a nap. (which makes sense for me—unlike my mom, husband, and best friend, i actually function better on less sleep than an overabundance of sleep.) but of course when i was thrust into the wonderful world of night wakings, sleeping during the day became a way of life. as mr. baby man has gotten older and his night wakings slightly less frequent and definitely less obtrusive (i barely come out of my rem cycle for some of them), and as he is now able to nap without a boob in his mouth the whole time (i said able to, not prefers to...), my napping has decreased. but sometimes, if i lie down with him to put him down for his nap, i'll nap with him, whether i meant to or not. warm little baby body, comfy futon, nice breeze from the window, zzzzzz..... sometimes this is fine, other times i wake up in a post-nap bad mood, just like i always used to—only now compounded with being annoyed that i slept through his nap and missed my opportunity to be productive and/or alone.
this afternoon i fell asleep with him, and woke up in such a bad state i don't think i'll ever nap again.
we got up and went downstairs to get a snack. in my mentally weakened state, i decided that this was a good time to introduce him to yogurt. yes, brilliant mother, introduce the child who hasn't taken a morsel of food from a spoon since he was 6 months old to yogurt when your fuse is at it's shortest.... i plunk him in the highchair, get the yogurt and plastic spoon, and try to get a little bit in his mouth. he wants the spoon. i give him the spoon, go get another spoon. try again. he wants that spoon too. i give him the second spoon, go get a third. try again, smudging some yogurt on his lips hoping he'll lick it off and like it. he licks it, makes a face, and goes back to whacking the spoons together, then throws the first two spoons to the ground. i let him put a spoon into the yogurt, thinking maybe he'll eat some if he can do it himself. no, he just wants to use the spoon to take the yogurt out of the container and plop it on to his tray. i take the (third) spoon out of his hand to stop the process, he screams and cries. i can't fight through my bad mood to comfort him. i go get him a smaller spoon, thinking maybe he'll do better with that, plus he won't be able to get as much yogurt out of the container at a time. he tries to feed me, and stabs me in the gums, so i take away the smaller spoon. more crying. more absolutely no sympathy from me. i go into the kitchen to get a wet towel to wipe the both of us down, and when i come back he's taken the container, which i stupidly left within his reach, and dumped out the remaining yogurt. you know how people win america's funniest home video with scenes of adorable toddlers dumping food onto themselves while the family laughs? apparently the mothers of those toddlers are a tad bit more emotionally stable than me.... i yell "stop!", grab him out of the high chair, knock over the highchair in the process, plop him on the ground, clean off his hands while he cries, right the highchair, and then finally am able to pick him up and hug and comfort him. so now i feel cranky, annoyed, and horribly guilty.
we go into the living room and everything's okay for a little while, then i decide we should go hang in the backyard till bathtime, maybe the fresh air will do me good....
we go, and, inevitably, end up playing his latest favorite game, "rock". as in, throwing them. and, of course, he hits me in the head with one. i have to get up and walk away from him a little bit so he doesn't become alarmed by the sound of my teeth grinding together and the sight of the smoke exiting my ears. as i walk toward the house i see that trucky is peeing in the bucket of potting soil that i left out, so i take my frustrations out on him, poor thing. (although, honestly, don't pee in my potting soil! ew!)
bathtime is fittingly traumatic: he tries to turn on the water. i stop him. he cries. i pull him away from the knobs and he slips and falls backwards into the water—not underwater, and not paifully (he's in his little inflatable tub), but enough to totally freak him out and make him cry. i finish soaping and rinsing him while he cries, i'm not able to meet his eyes. finally i pick him up and wrap him in his towel. i feel like a monster.
then i hit bottom. i sit him on the changing table and try to find the balmex that i think is in the bag that i took to my parents' house last weekend and haven't unpacked. i can't find it, and while i'm rooting around getting more and more frustrated wile is trying to pull things out of the bag, which i have up on the table with him. so i snatch the bag away from him, dump the contents out onto the ground, and start crying. he's dead silent for a minute, then starts crying along with me, stretching out his arms to me. i pick him up and rock him and we cry together for a few minutes.
not surprisingly, he takes a long time to go to sleep, but that's fine. it comforts and calms me to lie in bed with him, holding and nursing him, smelling his head.
if i saw anyone else treating him the way i treated him today, i would cheerfully break their arm in three places. but if i broke my own arm, how could i pick him up when he said "eeeeeehhhhh!"? so instead i try to tell myself that it's alright, that even though newsweek has me all kinds of freaked out with their article about how babies comprehend and remember much more from their first years than we originally thought, he will be okay. and i'll be okay.
this afternoon i fell asleep with him, and woke up in such a bad state i don't think i'll ever nap again.
we got up and went downstairs to get a snack. in my mentally weakened state, i decided that this was a good time to introduce him to yogurt. yes, brilliant mother, introduce the child who hasn't taken a morsel of food from a spoon since he was 6 months old to yogurt when your fuse is at it's shortest.... i plunk him in the highchair, get the yogurt and plastic spoon, and try to get a little bit in his mouth. he wants the spoon. i give him the spoon, go get another spoon. try again. he wants that spoon too. i give him the second spoon, go get a third. try again, smudging some yogurt on his lips hoping he'll lick it off and like it. he licks it, makes a face, and goes back to whacking the spoons together, then throws the first two spoons to the ground. i let him put a spoon into the yogurt, thinking maybe he'll eat some if he can do it himself. no, he just wants to use the spoon to take the yogurt out of the container and plop it on to his tray. i take the (third) spoon out of his hand to stop the process, he screams and cries. i can't fight through my bad mood to comfort him. i go get him a smaller spoon, thinking maybe he'll do better with that, plus he won't be able to get as much yogurt out of the container at a time. he tries to feed me, and stabs me in the gums, so i take away the smaller spoon. more crying. more absolutely no sympathy from me. i go into the kitchen to get a wet towel to wipe the both of us down, and when i come back he's taken the container, which i stupidly left within his reach, and dumped out the remaining yogurt. you know how people win america's funniest home video with scenes of adorable toddlers dumping food onto themselves while the family laughs? apparently the mothers of those toddlers are a tad bit more emotionally stable than me.... i yell "stop!", grab him out of the high chair, knock over the highchair in the process, plop him on the ground, clean off his hands while he cries, right the highchair, and then finally am able to pick him up and hug and comfort him. so now i feel cranky, annoyed, and horribly guilty.
we go into the living room and everything's okay for a little while, then i decide we should go hang in the backyard till bathtime, maybe the fresh air will do me good....
we go, and, inevitably, end up playing his latest favorite game, "rock". as in, throwing them. and, of course, he hits me in the head with one. i have to get up and walk away from him a little bit so he doesn't become alarmed by the sound of my teeth grinding together and the sight of the smoke exiting my ears. as i walk toward the house i see that trucky is peeing in the bucket of potting soil that i left out, so i take my frustrations out on him, poor thing. (although, honestly, don't pee in my potting soil! ew!)
bathtime is fittingly traumatic: he tries to turn on the water. i stop him. he cries. i pull him away from the knobs and he slips and falls backwards into the water—not underwater, and not paifully (he's in his little inflatable tub), but enough to totally freak him out and make him cry. i finish soaping and rinsing him while he cries, i'm not able to meet his eyes. finally i pick him up and wrap him in his towel. i feel like a monster.
then i hit bottom. i sit him on the changing table and try to find the balmex that i think is in the bag that i took to my parents' house last weekend and haven't unpacked. i can't find it, and while i'm rooting around getting more and more frustrated wile is trying to pull things out of the bag, which i have up on the table with him. so i snatch the bag away from him, dump the contents out onto the ground, and start crying. he's dead silent for a minute, then starts crying along with me, stretching out his arms to me. i pick him up and rock him and we cry together for a few minutes.
not surprisingly, he takes a long time to go to sleep, but that's fine. it comforts and calms me to lie in bed with him, holding and nursing him, smelling his head.
if i saw anyone else treating him the way i treated him today, i would cheerfully break their arm in three places. but if i broke my own arm, how could i pick him up when he said "eeeeeehhhhh!"? so instead i try to tell myself that it's alright, that even though newsweek has me all kinds of freaked out with their article about how babies comprehend and remember much more from their first years than we originally thought, he will be okay. and i'll be okay.
it's not all pig and chicken
he will eat vegetables once in a while, especially if they come in the shape of a large stick
....however, note the sadness in his eyes in that last photo. that is clearly a look that says: "this is just the appetizer, right? the flesh is coming up next?"
....however, note the sadness in his eyes in that last photo. that is clearly a look that says: "this is just the appetizer, right? the flesh is coming up next?"
Sunday, September 04, 2005
friday was mine and stephen's fourth anniversary (wedding, that is). which means that four years ago today, we were in new orleans, on the second day of our honeymoon. we chose new orleans because that was where, two years before that, on the last day of jazz fest, while the neville brothers were playing, stephen proposed to me by way of a banner being pulled by a small airplane. it was my second jazz fest, stephen's fourth. we had the perfect honeymoon for us: we organized our schedule based on eating at as many different restaurants as possible. we ate roast beef po' boys at parasol's, fried chicken salad and mango iced tea at commander's palace, oyster po' boys at acme oyster house, eggs atchafalaya at cafe atchafalaya off magazine street, fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade at upperline, perfect poulet at peristyle, gumbo and bud bottles at rock 'n bowl, brisket with creole sauce at tujague's, and crawfish at sid-mar's, which was out of town on the pontchatrain and may not exist anymore.
sadly, we haven't been back to new orleans since our honeymoon. every year we talk about going back for another jazz fest, but we haven't been able to make it happen. next year, even if there isn't a jazz fest, which i assume there won't be, we're going. we're going to support the city that has been like a second home to us. and in the meantime, we're doing what we can to support them from here. we chose to donate through the red cross, but there are tons of ways to help. the fug girls have put together a great list of organizations that you can give your money or time to, from people helping save the kitties to brett fav-ree's own personal charity.
whatever you can do, do.
sadly, we haven't been back to new orleans since our honeymoon. every year we talk about going back for another jazz fest, but we haven't been able to make it happen. next year, even if there isn't a jazz fest, which i assume there won't be, we're going. we're going to support the city that has been like a second home to us. and in the meantime, we're doing what we can to support them from here. we chose to donate through the red cross, but there are tons of ways to help. the fug girls have put together a great list of organizations that you can give your money or time to, from people helping save the kitties to brett fav-ree's own personal charity.
whatever you can do, do.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
dog (not butt) of the week
this is peanut:
peanut is the best dog i know. she's all dressed up here because her people are getting married and, being the spectacular dog that she is, she's in the wedding. once we get our vacation pictures back, you will see photographic proof of her amazing leaping skills. but for now, all i can provide is proof of her looking pretty skills and being the best behaved dog ever skills.
peanut is the best dog i know. she's all dressed up here because her people are getting married and, being the spectacular dog that she is, she's in the wedding. once we get our vacation pictures back, you will see photographic proof of her amazing leaping skills. but for now, all i can provide is proof of her looking pretty skills and being the best behaved dog ever skills.
the first rule of playgroup is you do not talk about playgroup
perhaps you recall a few days ago when i posted about being adverse to group activities? well, call it hypocrisy (i prefer to call it "personal growth"), but i've started a playgroup. yes, not just joined, but instigated. but i promise there will be no baby nukem....
i had organized this baby roundup through a yahoo group for parents in my hood, and, once i had gotten some interested responses and a general consenus of nap times (the force that rules our lives: the nap!), had posted a message to the group that gave the time and place, and said that i'd be identifiable by my red-and-white striped shirt. (yes, the one that i'm wearing in the new photo that i just put up in the sidebar. purely coincidence. though i do love that shirt—esprit from like 5 seasons ago. anyway....) so i get there a little before the appointed time, the boo and i get settled, and then...we wait. the appointed time passes and...we wait some more. i start to feel totally conspicuous and like a total loser in my red-and-white striped shirt, like some dork who set up a blind date and is waiting there holding a red rose waiting for the girl, who came down the street, saw him and his rose, and kept on walking. fifteen minutes pass. we do some swinginating. finally, at around 20 after, a mom comes over by the swings and asks "are you guys from the yahoo group?" and though i want to say "yes, don't you see my stupid shirt and why are you so late my anxieties are all acting up??!!", i just smile and introduce myself and go meet her kids (twins!) and their babysitter...who had been there the whole time we'd been there, but how was i to know? i was the one wearing the striped shirt, they were suppose to be looking for me! so we chat for a bit, then another mom shows up with the most adorable little girl who is wile's age almost exactly but is walking like a pro, then deena and finn randomly show up, not knowing about the group, and even more randomly ask me if i know of any playgroups (of course i do! don't you see the shirt?!), so we pull them in, and then another mom with a little boy named lucas who i spoke to at the farmer's market once...and i don't feel like a dork anymore. in fact, i feel like a mover and a shaker. someone who gets things, um, moving and shaking.
oh, right, so how did wile like it? well, there was more mom interaction than baby interaction at this meeting, but i have high hopes for the future. i brought 4 balls with us, which minimized the "i don't have a ball in each of my hands oh my god!" freakouts. and wile and lucas did some slide-climbing and smacked each other on the head, which i take as a sign of a budding friendship.
i had organized this baby roundup through a yahoo group for parents in my hood, and, once i had gotten some interested responses and a general consenus of nap times (the force that rules our lives: the nap!), had posted a message to the group that gave the time and place, and said that i'd be identifiable by my red-and-white striped shirt. (yes, the one that i'm wearing in the new photo that i just put up in the sidebar. purely coincidence. though i do love that shirt—esprit from like 5 seasons ago. anyway....) so i get there a little before the appointed time, the boo and i get settled, and then...we wait. the appointed time passes and...we wait some more. i start to feel totally conspicuous and like a total loser in my red-and-white striped shirt, like some dork who set up a blind date and is waiting there holding a red rose waiting for the girl, who came down the street, saw him and his rose, and kept on walking. fifteen minutes pass. we do some swinginating. finally, at around 20 after, a mom comes over by the swings and asks "are you guys from the yahoo group?" and though i want to say "yes, don't you see my stupid shirt and why are you so late my anxieties are all acting up??!!", i just smile and introduce myself and go meet her kids (twins!) and their babysitter...who had been there the whole time we'd been there, but how was i to know? i was the one wearing the striped shirt, they were suppose to be looking for me! so we chat for a bit, then another mom shows up with the most adorable little girl who is wile's age almost exactly but is walking like a pro, then deena and finn randomly show up, not knowing about the group, and even more randomly ask me if i know of any playgroups (of course i do! don't you see the shirt?!), so we pull them in, and then another mom with a little boy named lucas who i spoke to at the farmer's market once...and i don't feel like a dork anymore. in fact, i feel like a mover and a shaker. someone who gets things, um, moving and shaking.
oh, right, so how did wile like it? well, there was more mom interaction than baby interaction at this meeting, but i have high hopes for the future. i brought 4 balls with us, which minimized the "i don't have a ball in each of my hands oh my god!" freakouts. and wile and lucas did some slide-climbing and smacked each other on the head, which i take as a sign of a budding friendship.
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