Naptime

I was feeling kind of like this:

So Mom strapped me to her chest using this thing that's like a T-shirt except long enough to wrap around Jabba the Hut (twice).

That's me, in there.

For the last week, I've only been willing to nap after lunch if I get strapped in this way. I'm kind of high-maintenance, if you hadn't noticed. I also require classical music, gourmet milk, and a great deal of personal attention in the hygiene department. I don't pay too well, but so far I'm satisfied with the service I'm receiving.

I Like Rainbows

The people who make Haba toys know what they're doing. It rattles, and it's a rainbow, and it stretches, and I like it.

P.S. I also like 4:15am. A lot. I get up at that time every day. Just for a minute, to make sure Mom's still listening.

Cheryl, Be Well

Juno wishes you a good surgery, a speedy recovery, and years of happy walking in the future. If she were there, she'd lick you, which she is convinced makes everything better.


Boris wants you to know that if anything goes wrong, he can use his teeth in your defense. As you can see, this is an impressive threat.

If you don't need any bodyguarding, he says he can just help you nap. He's really, really good at napping. Also, at licking...things. But let's not talk about that.

And for the neo-Freudians among us (yes, Ann, that's you), here are Bobo toes. Freshly muddy from a summer rainstorm.

Be well, Cheryl. I know you'll be missed and that Some People are anxious to have you back ASAP.

Added Later: Honestly, it's amazing that Some People go on and on about how much they adore Cheryl when they refuse even the smallest request. For example, if someone was about to go into surgery, and she was feeling worried and needing reassurance...you'd sing a little opera, wouldn't you? Just a little? But Nooooooo, not Some People.

It's just sad. Friendship isn't what it used to be.

Heroes Webisode - third and final?

Sunshine

I has hands!

Check it out, dude: these are mine (I think).

I wonder how they taste?

Ooo! Tasty. Sort of like chicken.

New Socks!

We like black. For this, we've endured a certain amount of gentle ribbing about Iain. "Are you going to dress him in all black?" "What color are you getting - let me guess: black!" etc.

So when a package arrived from Hank in LA, how delighted were we to find a pair of black and grey socks? DELIGHTED. And I think they might be cashmere or some other extremely soft blendy-thing. In any event, whatever they're made of, they're soooooft, and they fit. And they're black. Oooo...lovely.


Iain likes them, too. He lifts up his feet and stares, and last night he kept touching them.

Two Things, One Gross

Isn't he cute? This photo shows him napping. In and of itself, this is nothing impressive. But today while napping, he was clutching his right foot. Sort of like dancers do when stretching. It was odd, so I took a picture. You can't really see how odd it was in the photograph, but it's my proof. Anyway, any 2.5 hour nap is good times.



When I was little, I had an orange stuffed animal that I loved. LOVED. I was kind of old for that, though (almost 8). Then my sister arrived. She puked on it. Little teeny baby puke, but still. I was so over that toy immediately.

Flash forward to tonight. Charles was holding Iain up, letting him look down on Boris and Juno, and getting in a little neck-strengthening time in the process. I watched, and thought "Wouldn't it be funny if he puked right on them?"

And then...

The good news, though, is that I totally still love Juno. We just wiped her off and it's all good. You can't really do that with a stuffed animal.

Heroes, Season Three is Coming

My go to blog for SciFi news, I09, revealed that NBC showed the entire first episode of season three of Heroes at Comic-Con. In typical fashion, I09 provides a complete description of what they saw. Super Spoilers! You've been warned.

A Good Day

Today, I leaned over and nibbled Iain's foot. He laughed. Before this, I'd only ever heard him laugh in his sleep.

Sometimes, he looks a little scary. See below. So fierce.

Nom Nom

Today Iain tried out three outfits in ten minutes. This one was the winner:


Why so many costume changes? Drool. Drool dripping from his mouth onto his fingers (which are shoved in there for flavor), down to his neckline and (eventually) everywhere.

As Charles so eloquently put it: "When you feel something cold and clammy touching you, you think, 'Oh, hello son.'"

How Does My Garden Grow...

The tomato plant I bought at Lowe's has produced about four tomatoes so far, and these two are the latest. They're about an inch across, and very sweet. Lots more to come, especially if I remember to fertilize.


Years ago, I planted a lime tree for Charles at our house in Altadena. It never made any limes. It hardly had a chance, since we moved away after only 2 years. So when we first moved here, Sarah Bowes and I visited Michler's nursery and bought a lemon tree (for me, a Meyer lemon) and a lime tree for Charles. My lemon tree is limping along, making it abundantly clear that I can Piss Right Off, ThankYouVeryMuch. The lime, on the other hand, is thriving. Eight limes on the tree and it's growing all the time. This is one of the smaller ones, only about the size of a large walnut. The largest is closer to full size, and now I'm trying to figure out when to pick it.

The larger of the two tomato plants we received as gifts is ripening its fruit, too. Turns out that the tomatoes are yellow, and very pretty. I had one of these in my salad tonight, along with the two red ones above.

And just to prove that those jades aren't really dead (yet), new growth is popping out. It just seems crazy that putting a succulent out IN THE SUN made it die, so perhaps it was just some kind of skin-shedding exercise.

P.S. In case you wondered, fresh tarragon with chicken really tastes a lot like licorice. Not good. Not horrible, but not great.

Old Tricks, New Tricks, Really New Tricks

New Trick: Iain will now look at you, make sure he's got your attention, and flick his eyebrows up and down fast. If you're having trouble imagining how this looks, go do it in the mirror. It's a come-on. He's totally, "How YOU doin'?" "Come here often?" "Can I buy you a drink? Perhaps some...milk?"

New Trick: First thing in the morning, and *only* first thing in the morning, Iain will greet his breakfast with gusto. I pick him up, put him on a pillow, and present the buffet (ahem) and his eyes light up. He smiles and says "Gah!" A year from now, I can imagine this behavior as the toddler version of Maggie Smith in Gosford Park - the breakfast tray arrives and she claps her hands together and says, "Yummy, yummy, yummy!"

Really New Trick: Not pooping. Yesterday, the prune juice helped Iain produce two enormous dirty diapers. 4-pounders, as Hank would have it. But today? Bupkus. According to Sarah Bowes, he may be transitioning into poo'ing only every couple of days. Her voice to God's ears, is all I can say.

Really New Trick: I like to sit down on the floor with Iain, on a quilt, and hold him between my legs so he can sort of stand up. He isn't bearing any weight on the legs, just practicing putting them down. Plus, this puts his head and thus his eyes at a new and interesting level. So his new trick, in this posture, is to notice the dogs. "Standing," he's at eye level with Juno, and he will stare at her if she comes over to say hello. Bobo has to bend down, but Iain is particularly enthralled with him - reaching out a little and willingly resting his hand on Bobo's flank when the big dog comes and sits next to us.

SO. To recap: Sonny McSonnersons is turning into a dog-loving lounge lizard who enjoys his vittles and rarely excretes them.

The end.

P.S. To the Reading Police: we tried to read to him last night and tonight but he Was Not Having It. Last night he screamed in protest at the first page and tonight he fell asleep in his carseat at 7:30 and stayed that way. You know what they say: never wake a sleeping baby. Not even for literacy.

More Heroes

WOW!

So, Little Man hasn't been doing so hot in the diaper department.

We've had two days of rain, but that's it. So Charles said, "maybe you should drink some prune juice." Ok. I'll try it

[This, despite my mother's warning that when she drank prune juice while I was a baby, the result was...volcanic.]

I drank the prunce juice at 1pm.

Iain ate at 1:30pm.

It is now 1:55pm.

Vesuvius. Etna. Kilauea. St. Helena.

Devin Comes To Visit

Charles's high school roommate and general good friend came to visit this weekend. On Saturday, they went to the Mammoth Caves to check out the largest cave system in the world. Iain and I stayed home because you can't take anything into the caves (not even a purse), so if there was a potty emergency...tough luck.

Here's a picture of Devin, walking through the cave:



Today, Iain and I, Sarah Bowes and Callie Bowes hiked the loop at Raven's Run. No pictures, because I forgot to get the camera from Charles. But, honestly, the pics would all be of nature, since Iain's perspective on the whole thing was....zzzzzz.

Devin had to return to his business, his home, his soccer, and his new graduate program. But he took a minute to coax a smile out of Mr. Not-So-Poopy Pants.

Iain was having some semi-naked time because the hike at Raven's Run was HOT, as in 88 degrees plus he was squished up against me while I sweated and he had on a hat (you know, to keep the heat in) and the Baby Bjorn is padded. So, like, hot. When we got home, I stripped him and we let the A/C chill him out a bit. Check out those thunder thighs peeking out of his diaper.

Shout out

This is just to say to Josh Bluestone - hope you're feeling better.

The first time Charles met Josh, Mr. Bluestone was only 4 years old. The C-B household had (has?) a sectional in the living room, and Josh amused himself by running at the sofa full-tilt, diving forward, and slamming headfirst into the intersection of the back and seat. He did this repeatedly. I think Charles was scarred for life, even though I explained that Josh was a particularly high energy sort of person.

So Josh, we'll be looking forward to hearing that you're back to your old ways. Only this time, I expect you'll be using your head to hit the ball, and running full tilt into other players. In the meantime, we're thinking of you (in between bouts of poo and spit-up, obviously).


Added Later: I forgot another detail of that first meeting: Josh liked to shout "Mooo!Cohs!!" which was his special version of "mucus," a topic in which he had an unusual interest.

I Took a Bath

A Lazy Day Today...

Just hanging out on the porch. Nothing much doing. Got my special preemie pink pacifier (a hand-me-down from a girl!), got my Caltech onesie, got my toes in the sun. It's all good.

What?

Toes 3: Rise of the Lint

Gardening

I put on my gardening boots, which were a gift from The Chan Tart Lady,


And I went outside to pull some weeds. My trusty hound came along to provide protection.

He's a handsome fella. Not too bright, mind you, but good looking. He has a friend at the back fence, so sometimes he gets a little distracted.

The other dog's no better. Here, she looks for bird droppings she can eat.

Weeding I'm ok at. Growing herbs is a snap. But just to show you my true skills, I offer this specimen. Yeah, it's doing great. Just great.

In other news, I got a few bug bites. But here in KY, you need not worry that you'll have to go looking for your bites when you get out the cortisone. No, no. Kentucky mosquitos have a special, super-hero skill for making your skin raise up about a quarter inch within minutes. Thus, by the time you get inside (fleeing for your life), you can easily identify the places that need ointment. Such helpful insects here. Charlestonian mosquitos would simply bite you, sneer at the taste of your (plebian) blood, and saunter off for a ball at the St. Cecilia Society. Or something.

Chan Tart vs. Callie

So let's just say, for the sake of argument, that Chan Tart is tastier than three kinds of homemade frozen treat.

Sure. Fine.

But can you beat this:

Or this???

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Eat Me

So last night we got a call from Miriam. She said, and I quote: "Hope you're well!" and some other stuff.

Fine.

Then she called back. All casual. All, "Oh, and I forgot to add that...

I'M HAVING SIAN TART* FOR DINNER. YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT, PEACH SIAN TART."

Nice. That's real nice, girlie.

For the record, and to show I'm not bitter, here's what we had for dinner last night:
1. Crackers with chevre noir, raw almonds and dried Turkish apricots, to start.
2. Grilled kebabs, beef marinated in pepper sauce (aka, A-1), chicken marinated with shawarma spices.
3. Insalata Caprese, made with basil from my garden.
4. Roasted yellow squash with vidalia onions and lemon thyme (from my garden).
5. Green salad, assorted add-ins (cucumber, carrot, orange bell pepper).
6. Sauteed snow peas with cracked black pepper (from my fabulous Penzey's pepper grinder).
7. Whole-wheat boule slices, with butter.
8. Frozen desserts, all home-made: wild blackberry sorbet (with limoncello and drambuie), watermelon sorbet (with a teensy bit of vodka), banana ice cream (with two whole vanilla bean pods in it).

Also, Pinot Grigio and Kentucky Ale.

So....I'm not bitter. So there.






*Sian Tart is Miriam's family name for a pavlova, which for those of you who have not yet truly lived is a meringue shell filled with whipped cream and fruit.

Toes, Part Deux