I think I make this face, too

Morning Update

Iain fussed as Mom was leaving and for a short time thereafter. I moved him from his bed, to our bed, back to his bed. We both slept until about 10. Then, it was the stuff him like a tick plan. Boy momentarily sated, it was shower time. During my shower, Iain thought it would be a good idea to stealthily fill his diaper. He managed to get a small spot on his onesie, but no other major damage, other than to my psyche.

All those literature types need to do some more research into Joseph Conrad. Are they sure he wasn't trapped with an infant with no one else to change dirty diapers when he was writing Heart of Darkness? I mean, to look into that greyish brown-green abyss is truly to look into the Heart of Darkness.

Iain is trying to nap as I write, but seems to have 'nap' confused with 'exercise lungs.'

Professor M: This is for YOU

The Bobo is enjoying cooler weather these days. When it's crazy-hot, he finds being outside alluring and yet frustrating. After 5 minutes or so he's just too hot and must come inside again. Inside, barking is discouraged, there's no grass to lie on, and the water bowl is small (compared to the fish pond, otherwise known as Boris's Personal Watering Hole - with fish.).


Today, Iain and Bobo had a sit-down meeting. They discussed butt scratching, ear softness, what it's like to know you could be kissed at any time and be unable to do anything about it. The usual. Bobo tried to convince Iain to stop crying (because it bothers Bobo), while Iain tried to convince Bobo to let him gouge out his eyes. Both parties eventually compromised.

The Bobo misses his old buddy Professor M., though. She knew just where to scratch and she had a certain way of treating him that you just can't find anymore. It was she, for example, who taught him to "get dressed" when it's time for a walk. He knows she found love elsewhere, but he can't help feeling they were meant to be together. Little grey girl dogs can't possibly be as nice as a big brown boy dog. Can they?

Gracie Reaches New Heights

Check out Gracie! Her staff can't climb mountains (bad knees, doncha know), but Gracie has people. And her people include a hardy Icelander who sniffs at ten miles straight up. She can do that any day of the week.

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So Gracie and Professor A. set off for this little peak, and as you can see Gracie summited with aplomb. So noble. And see how she plays to the camera? I think Tyra should be calling any day now...

Bathtime Ritual

1. Prop Iain on the side of the bathtub to watch the bath as it fills. Be sure to hold on, because he will attempt to launch himself into the bathtub, diaper and all, when the water is about 2 inches deep.

2. Insert Iain into bath. Lay him on his back, submerge him in the water. Grab his ankles and dip his head back to wet the tuft of feathers.

3. Holding Iain under the arms, swish him backwards through the water on his back, then forward through the water on his tummy, repeat. Then take his hands and swish him back and forth while he holds on. Then bounce him up and down a little so he dips his neck ruffles in the water.

4. Place Iain on his back on the surface (Mommy is the surface most of the time). Insert hand into BumbleBee washcloth. Apply soap. Lather it up by making the bee face mouth itself, sort of like Cookie Monster. Dialogue: "Iain! I am soooo hungry for toes!! I muuuust haaaave TOOOEES!!" Proceed to eat toes with washcloth. Make munching noises. Sing:

Clean, clean toe-sickles,

Toe-sickles, toesickes!

Clean, clean toe-sickles,

For Iain! Iain! Iain!

5. Use BumbleBee to wash the rest, paying special attention to the hiney, which was lately covered in green poo. Must wash that off carefully, because - you know - poo on the baby is bad.

6. Rinse. Swoosh Iain toward the emergency drain, which is stainless steel. When he gets close enough to see his reflection, ask: "Who's that baby? Is he taking a bath? At the same time as you? Weird!" Return to wash position for hair washing.

7. Apply soap directly to feather tuft. Use hands to lather, then give Iain a gentle scalp massage. Try to ignore his expression of serene entitlement ("Ah, the spa treatment. I deserve it, of course.").

8. Lay Iain back in the water, dip head, swoosh water up to rinse off his hair. Do not use the cup or he will be pissed. Do not stop too soon or he will be greasy-headed all the next day. Do not let his twirling feet get too near your throat or you'll be sorry.

9. Holding Iain under the arms, move him to the side of the tub to visit with his puppy. He will reach out his arms to her, let her lick his hands, and gurgle with delight. Try to avoid urge to Eat Him Up!! and instead simply kiss his cheek about 2000 times.

10. Rinse hands.

11. Lift Iain out of tub, into Daddy's waiting grasp, then into his bouncy seat (lined with a fresh towel). Daddy will swaddle him in terrycloth warmth, then take him to be re-diapered, dressed, sock-ed, and his hair brushed.

Whew.

Interactivity

Nowadays, when I read I like to interact with the book. I put my mouth on it, I drool on it, I squeeze the pages to see if they will crinkle (like Mommy's catalogues), I bat the book to see if I can knock it down. It's like reading and wrestling all in one.

I like cars

Ramsey's

Iain has a cowlick. You can see it, and how his hair tufts like feathers, above. But that's not what this post is about.

We just had a transformative moment.

Ramsey's is a local restaurant that specializes in southern food. It's basically a meat-n-three. You choose a main item from one of two lists (things like chicken-fried steak or bbq chicken breast or pot roast) then choose 3 side items from a list. They serve stewed tomatoes, mac-n-cheese, green beans with delicious pork-y sauce, things like that.

We like Ramsey's a lot, not least because you can take a baby there and no one minds. In fact, there are always tons of kids there. They have a toy box in front and kids pretty much own that place. So in addition to the fact that Iain is welcome, there's the fact that any noise he makes is totally drowned out by the antics of a dozen 3 year olds.

But over the last 2 years, we've gotten a little bored with Ramsey's. We used to go there a lot, because it's cheap and fast and friendly and close. But then we started to feel like we'd had everything a million times.

And then...tonight...Charles asked, "You can't get breakfast at night, right?"

"No, we serve it all the time."

"I'm sorry. What? Can you say that again?"

"You can get breakfast now. We serve it all the time."

OMG Ponies. Double ponies.

Our entire table ordered breakfast. And breakfast at Ramsey's is no joke. You can have up to 5 eggs, any way but poached, plus bacon, sausage, toast, pancakes, and hashbrowns. The deal is that you can have all of it or any combination you want. So Charles said no to sausage, while I said no to pancakes, and we could each choose how many eggs and how they were prepared.

Given our love for diners, given the lack of diners in this area (proper diners: 24 hours, waitresses with blue eyeshadow, truckers and drunk students), this changes everything.

I Has Thumbs! - but what are they for?

Old Trick: rolling over.
New Trick: Rolling over, shoving arm down between the mattress/bumper and the crib bars, getting it stuck, then wailing until someone comes. Repeat.

Old Trick: pulling the pacifier out of your mouth.
New Trick: flinging the pacifier onto the ground.

Old Trick: pat the doggie.
New Trick: try to squeeze out the doggie's eyeball.

Old Trick: dip heel in poo.
New Trick: wait until the diaper has been loosened, then execute a sudden wiggle, resulting in poo up the legs to the back of the knees. Smear on parent as needed.

Old Trick: kick Mommy in the neck in the bed.
New Trick: kick Mommy in the neck in the bath.

Large Head Competition

This adorable pooch belongs to Professor K.M., who obviously takes her responsibilities as a dog owner more seriously than we do. Bobo would die to go on a hike like this:

K.M. asserts the primacy of her doggie's head over Iain's. You decide: Iain, Gaint-Headed Moose, or Waggy McCutie-Pants here? Quien es mas grande?

[I note that Professor M. hasn't tried to put her Bates History hat on McC-P. Chicken.]

[UPDATE: Professor M. replies: "Ms.Gracie does not have an oversized head, but a freakishly over-sizedtongue. It's like she was shopping for it in the Marden's bargain binand they only had Bobo-size."]

My Head is HUUUUGE! But Not That Huge.

Dad put Mom's Bates History hat on me, and check me out! It fits! Duuuude - my head is enormous.


Oh, wait. It doesn't fit that great. Kinda big in the back.

Technology

Years ago, when I was an undergraduate, my advisor had a baby. We did a fair amount of short-term babysitting in the office, while she went to meetings and whatnot.

Since this was back in the Dark Ages, we had a typewriter that we used for file labels and envelopes. Jack loved it. Loved it. At about 6 months, he understood that his hands whapping the keyboard caused the clicking noise, and he could do it for an hour if held in someone's lap.

I thought it was hilarious. My co-worked probably prayed for silence. But it kept him occupied.

Fast-forward to Iain. And laptops. And computers with nice, quiet keyboards. And no more fun with whapping. We hold Iain where he can see the computer, but there's no reward for hitting the keys. Instead, he keeps trying to put his mouth on the edge of the board.

But he can see the screen, and occasionally finds something interesting there. Such as himself. If you blow up the photograph above, you'll see that he's looking at his own website. Narcissist!

Toes

Who's got the toe fetish now? That's right: Grandmother.

Welcome Back, Daddy

OMG, I missed you so much I had to poop six times.

It Only Took 5 Years But I Did It

When we lived in Altadena, we enjoyed a garden that had no parallel. The fruits represented included: peach, orange, plum, nectarine, apricot, apple(s), pears, lemons, and figs. Next door, our neighbors had pomegranates, meyer lemons, grapefruits and persimmons, all of which ended up on our doorstep at some point.

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There were cucumbers and tomatoes, too, until I ripped them out and planted 30 roses (I made a map so I would know what was what.) (I planted them in alternating heights so it looked nice.) (I also planted them so that nothing with strong fragrance was near a door or the pool.). The fruit trees were under-planted with herbs. It was paradise.

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But I never managed to grow Charles a lime. I planted a lime tree and said "For your Corona!" and then we waited.

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Bupkus. Nada. Rien.

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When we moved here, we celebrated a wedding anniversary where the traditional gift was flowers or plants. So I bought him a lime tree. He was underwhelmed, probably because he was thinking, "Sure, you talk a big game. But where're my limes, woman??"

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So this summer, finally - FINALLY!- I harvested a lime. Two, in fact. And there are several more waiting to come off the tree. It's all very exciting. They're big, juicy, and extremely pungent.

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Here's to achieving the goal of home-grown limes. Isn't it ironic that I managed to do it, at last, in this climate? And to think that the gardening experts at the Farmer's Market sniffed at me when I asked about a scale infestation last year. Phhbbbt! So there.

Best Wedding Evar, Part 2

Megan and Ricky's wedding set new standards for gorgeous. The clothing, the food, the dancing (!), the atmosphere - it was lovely. And now, finally - photos to prove my point.

First, the Happy Couple. Note Megan's fabulous outfit, complete with wedding jewels.


This is us, escorting her into the actual wedding ceremony at the gurdwara. Tomoe is in yellow, Daisy in purple, I'm hiding in the back in green, and Megan's sister wears blue. This is one of only 3 or 4 photos, out of 200 or so, in which I appear, which is just the way I like it.

The women at this wedding were a real highlight. I'm sure the men were wonderful - they seemed so to me - but I spent all kinds of time with the ladies (especially getting our hair done), so I can attest to their quality. I couldn't find a good picture of Tomoe, but here's Daisy, with her husband Jasmeet. See that smile? She was like that all weekend.

And here is one of Daisy's sons. As you can see, he's The Cutest Human Being On Earth. In fact, I suspect the real purpose of the Hadron Collider is to repair the rip in the space-time continuum caused by this child. No joke. Also, Secretary Paulson is working to replenish the world-wide cheek supply, which he has cornered.

Not Just Beans

We bought tomatoes, too.

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I told the nice man: "I'm going to roast them in the oven!" But I don't know why I bother. I've been buying 3lbs of tomatoes every week for a month - roasting them, pretending I'll freeze them, then EATING THEM UP!

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So he knew.

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And he got all crazazy on me. "Try this one!" "Try that one!" "Purple Striated! Wizzle McBangbanger! Orkney Hell-bot!" who knows what these heirlooms are called. I've got about 6 varieties, one Czech (swear to God), and I'm supposed to tell him how they do. How? I can't tell one from another.

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On the subject of variety, Mother bought a bag of garlic from my favorite stand. Blue Moon Farm. They sell wonderful garlic. Wonderful. Garlic that's crunchy like an apple, lasts forever, slices into the thinnest slices imaginable, retains its form when roasted, etc. etc. I've been addicted to their "Music" variety for approximately 2 years (ever since my colleague Jenn introduced me to them) and am now cheating on Music with German White.

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Mother's bag included 8 of their 16 varieties. Ontario Purple Trillium, Oregon Blue, Russian Red Torch, and more. Some are tiny little purple-skinned heads, as small as a large marble but with each clove clearly differentiated.

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Lovely.

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Did I mention the purple bell peppers? The spicy musk-melons? The purple runner beans? We seem to be on a purple kick.

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For a small fee, I can send Mother to visit your house. Just think: lasagna, sauteed swiss chard, lamb chops with roasted tomato and olive sauce, and an appreciative audience for your creations. Hardly any fee, really. Just inquire via email.

Things that Happen When Grandmother Comes To Town

We bought lima beans in the shell at the Farmer's Market. Then we sat on the back porch and shelled them into a bowl while talking. It was all very Fried Green Tomatoes.

Impending yumminess:

Piles of deliciousness:

So we shelled them, then we soaked them in water (still doing that. They'll soak overnight). Tomorrow, I'll heat them up in a mixture of water, olive oil, salt, pepper, sage and garlic. Slow and low, they'll cook for a while (about 3 hours), then I'll EAT THEM UP!!!

P.S. To 899: Phhbbbt!! Butter beans are delish.

Higher Education

On Friday morning, Iain and Grandmother visited campus.

Normally, Iain gets up between 6 and 6:30, eats, then naps again until 9:30. Then he's up for the day, eating, smiling, eating, poo'ing (if it's Tuesday or Thursday), eating, drooling, eating...

But on Friday, instead, he decided to awaken at 5:45. I bet he thought, "I'll get an early brekkie, then go to sleep with Mommy till a decent hour!" Bad news, kid.

So we were up before 6, and rather than back to bed it was into the shower, dressed, and out the door. We arrived at the office at 7:45, with plenty of time to dump my grading, diaper bag, etc. before going over for coffee and donuts with the Moore Crew.

[Of course, what I thought was my grading - in my black and brown bag that I remembered at the last minute and had to turn off the car and go back inside to fetch - turned out to be a tart pan and an umbrella. The grading was on my desk at home the whole time. As they say on teh interwebs: FAIL.]

At 8:00 we bundled Iain into the Bjorn, walked over to Moore, and surprised Sefton, MacLaren and the rest. We should have had dinner with Sefton and His Immediate Supervisor last Wednesday, but because of my illness (shared by a colleague), dinner never happened. So Iain visited Sefton in his natural habitat instead.

The visit went well. No puking. No screaming. No pooping. And at 9am, we ambled back to Keith Hall, spent an hour not-grading, discussed the future with 2 undergraduates and a grad student, and finally departed for home.

Iain was bewildered. He kept looking at me like, "Isn't this the part where I nap?" "What about now?" But all that stimulation paid off later. He napped like a champ when we got home at 11, napped in the afternoon, and slept from 8-6 this morning.

Here he is, with Grandmother and about a million of his favorite rectangular object:

My Precious

What? I read. See, here it is a nice sunny morning and I'm reading. I look fabulous reading, by the way.


Sometimes, I prefer to hold my book close. It's a special time for us - me and the book. We bond. I cradle it in my arms and think about how it will make me strong, smart, and powerful. I love the book. My precious, precious book.

They want to take my precious. They covet it. See how they look at it. I must protect it from them, because it's mine. Mine! MINE!

Bouncing, Bubbly Brando!

Who's that baby? Beautiful Brando Coleman Taylor, a recent arrival in Louisville. He joins his big sister Chloe, who just finished celebrating her birthday in time to celebrate her brother.

And here's Grandfather Hauss with his first grandson.

Now, if only the folks over there could get their power back, all would be peachy keen...

It's not that I CAN'T close my mouth

But why would I?

And Here Comes the Cavalry!

Thank God for Grandmother. I'm sure that Charles thought, when he departed for California on Tuesday, that I was on death's door. No food, no water (no TANG!!!), no sleep, no nothin'.

But four hours later, the cavalry rode into town in the person of Her Excellency, Iain's Grandmother. Thirty hours later, we've got home-made dinners, folded laundry, and (in Iain's case) extensive cuddling. The day is, as they say, saved.

TMI

Here's some medical information for you, free of charge. (I'm not a doctor).

Tang plus vomiting plus aspirating through your nasal passages = bad.

put another way: ascorbic acid in the sinuses = bad.

Now you know.

At Last!

This afternoon, Iain conquered his Mom-Poopa-Phobia. With verve. Vigor. Energy. Vitality.

It was gross.

But that's not what the photograph is about. This photo is: check out those ears. Seriously.

Babies and Puppies, Continued

Charles and I are dog people. I used to go both ways (dogs and cats), but Charles is allergic to cats, so I've had to pick a team. Obviously, I picked the team with the least dignity.

Anyway, having had dogs for more than 10 years, we think of things in dog terms. When people used to talk about their children, we countered with tales of dog-training. I think we were both annoying and dull.

Having a baby has reinforced, though, the extent to which dogs can act as training wheels for a baby. In so many ways, figuring out Iain is like figuring out how to teach a smart animal to potty outside: takes some thinking, some ingenuity, and some dedication.

One big difference persists, though.

When you raise a puppy, you say things like, "And then she looked at me like: where have you been? Don't you love me?" and everyone laughs because the joke is that you've anthropomorphized the dog. It's not a person. It didn't really look at you and think those things. And it won't ever say those things.

With Iain? A whole different world. Tonight, we tried to get him to sleep at Casa Bizzle. He wasn't having it. And at one point, when I went in to try to calm him down, he looked at me like, "where am I? Why are you trying to make me sleep here? This is not my bed, or my room, or my house!"

But when I went back to the grownups, I didn't tell them how he looked, at first. Because in my head, I was thinking "oh, he didn't really look at you like that. I mean, he's just a puppy." And then I thought, "Uh...maybe he did. Because he's not a puppy. And one day, he'll actually say things like 'where are we? I want to go home!'."

That's just freaky. That's one part the dog can't prepare you for.

Experimentation

Wednesday, we took Iain out for a walk in his BOB. It was a nice day, about 75 degrees farenheit, and sunny. But the BOB is black, so Iain got a little toasty, as did we all.

Back at the house, Charles and I fixed up some ice water to rehydrate. Iain was fascinated by Charles's glass. He stared, he lunged at it, he reached for it.

Finally, Charles let him have a go. If you blow the picture up, what you want to ask is: "what's that pink thing I can see through the glass?"

Toes 5: Resistance is Futile

Diagnosis: Mom-Poopa-Phobia

On MWF, I stay home, work on my book revisions, write, grade, and otherwise try to be a productive scholar. Oh - and I take care of Iain.

On T/Th, I go to school and teach while Charles entertains, protects, teaches and otherwise works to make Iain a good person.

Here's a quiz about Iain's latest pooping schedule:

1. Iain poops on:
a. Tuesday
b. Thursday
c. Anytime Mom leaves the house
d. Whenever Dad's in charge

2. Iain never poops when:
a. It's Monday.
b. It's Wednesday.
c. It's Friday.
d. Mom is on duty.

Ok, tally your points. If you answered "a" to either question, give yourself a piece of chocolate. If you answered "a," "b" or "c" to either question, have a piece of chocolate cake. You deserve it.

And if you answered "d" to both questions: you should take an all-expense paid trip to San Francisco to tour the Sharffenberger factory and get a lifetime's supply of chocolate. You are a genius. How did you know?

Outside is Nicer When You Can Sit Up

Yum!

I read a blog about eating/cooking in China called All Appetite for China. I don't know much about the author, who lives in China, but I do know that s/he has good taste and an adventurous palate.

Check out today's entry, on milky tea in Hong Kong. I want it, bad.

Reading Is Fundamental

Whatever the Literacy Police may say ("My grandson is going to be illiterate!" "Don't worry, I'll read to you, Iain. I'll make sure you aren't illiterate." etc. No exaggeration, I swear.), I do read to Iain.

For example, about half an hour ago I was reading to him out of the Stark Brothers catalogue. He especially liked the description of the SnappyMac Apple, which is "perfect for eating fresh or baking." He agreed with me that it would be good if he mimicked its growth habit, which is "superior...more open for better air circulation and sunlight on the branches."

We agreed, too, that the Prairie Spy Apple looked nice in the photograph but that "a tangy taste that's great for fresh eating and baking" sounded suspiciously like Granny Smith. In other words, not "tangy" but tart! Iain joins the rest of us in our opposition to tart apples.

So, see? I read to him. He liked the LL Bean catalogue, too. We read that after the Stark Brothers. Iain singled out a nice wool sweater for Dad and echoed my appreciation for this fall's colors in the Freeport cardigan. Not only am I teaching Iain to be "literate," I'm making sure he has an eye for shopping!

I won't have to read to him for long, though. As you can see, he's very independent and prefers to read to himself:

Tomato Update

This is how they look when finished. As you can see, very, very roasted. And yet still moist and flexible, unlike sundried tomatoes.


Here's a closeup, in case you're not salivating yet.

Yes, they're tasty. In fact, it's possible that we have 50% less roasted tomatoes in the house now than we did at 6am today, but if so I don't know anything about it.

Neck Ruffles, Part 2

Iain had a rough week. Until yesterday.

For days, he was fussy all the time - no smiling, lots of crying, bad napping, and little pleasure in things he used to like. He even fussed on our walk in the Arboretum with the Bowes clan yesterday afternoon.

But Dad came to the rescue. Last night, trying to calm Iain, Charles decided to give him the rice cereal a bit ahead of schedule. He wouldn't take it, but seemed hungry. So Charles took the last bit of milk in the bottle and gave him that. Slurp! It was gone. More milk. Slurp! Gone, too. And rice cereal, and nursing half an hour later. Kid was hungry.

The effect on his mood was amazing. Within minutes he was smiling and cooing and generally back to his old self.

Tonight was Day Two of Project Stuffed-Like-A-Tick. After nursing, a bottle, and rice cereal, we gave Iain a bath. Toward the end, I lifted him up and started blowing bubbles on his belly. He smiled a little. Then Juno came over to check out the action. She started licking his toes while I blew bubbles on his tummy.

In response, he laughed. Well - it was more like a giggly hiccup, but it was laughter.

Hallelujah.

Things You Can Do While Baby Is Awake (and Fussy)

1. Roast tomatoes.

Buy some tomatoes. This time of year, I buy Farmer's Market tomatoes, which are lovely. This method allows you to keep gazillions of them in the freezer all winter. But at other times of year, if you're craving tomatoes, doing this to them will make even crappy supermarket tomatoes pretty good.

Preheat your oven to about 200 degrees Farenheit. 215, 220 is fine, too. Just low.

Slice the tomatoes with a serrated knife (I use our bread knife, because it has a nice long blade). Lay them out on a cookie sheet with a silpat (or spray PAM on it or otherwise make it non-stick). I cut mine about 1/4 inch thick, but really it's just about how long you have to cook them. The thinner you cut, the less time it takes.



Once they're all laid out, sprinkle them with salt (I use kosher because it's crunchy and I can see it and it's less salty) and grind some black pepper over them (optional). Drizzle with olive oil.

Now, stick them in the oven and walk away. Far away. Leave them cooking for 6-8 hours. Or start them at dinnertime, turn off the oven at 11, and go to bed with them still in there. The point is: cook them low and slow. They're basically dehydrating. After a long time, they'll look like soft, gooey sundried tomatoes. They will taste fabulous - sweet, salty, slightly chewy.

You can freeze them (the oil helps with that), or use them in pasta, on meat (instead of ketchup, for example), or with veg (I sauteed yellow squash and added these.). The trays above represent more than 3 lbs. of tomatoes, which will cook down to about one pint-sized container. So if you're awash in tomatoes or you have a small freezer, this way you can keep summer flavors for winter without taking up tons of space.

2. Make and Bake Empanadas:

OK, these aren't the proper empanadas that people like the Frumins recognize. I love those, too. They're particularly good when eaten *with* the Frumins. These are more like a quick snack that comes in empanada form. You could as easily call them a pasty, but that's not as fun to say.

I sautee a pound or so of ground meat (usually beef) with carrots, onion, garlic, and herbs (tons of parsley, some oregano, basil, sage, whatever's around. A couple of good handsful, for sure. Fresh and chopped). I add some chicken stock base (the paste stuff, by the spoonful, with a little water), some ketchup, some Worcestershire sauce, and salt/pepper. When it's all cooked to something that looks good and is tasty (taste it!), I cool it off. I did that the other night.

So today I finished them. When it comes to pastry, I'm not what you'd call skilled. I tried and tried, but whatever magic you need for good pastry - I don't have it. So I buy Pillsbury. If you get the box with 2 pie crusts in it, you'll need about 2 boxes for the filling. Cut each circle into quarters. Hold it in your hand and fill, using egg wash to seal the edges. Do not overfill! Your empanadas will split and you will have to eat them all up right away. Seal the edges with a fork if you want.

Put them on a cookie sheet/silpat combo, brush with the rest of that egg wash, and bake at 350 for 25 minutes or until they're golden and smell good. Don't move them too much for a few minutes, because they need to firm up. And don't try to eat one hot out of the oven. You'll burn yourself.

You can wrap them in clear wrap once cool, freeze them indefinitely, and heat them up by unwrapping and then microwaving for a minute or so. They make a good lunch because you can take them frozen, let them thaw a bit, then zap them at noon and voila! Hot lunch. Add a salad and an apple and you're done.

I am so old

So I'm listening to my iPod, and I hear this:

Your movie's showin', so you're goin'
Could care less about the five you're blowin'

And I think...$5?

Old, dude. O.L.D.

[in case you're dying to know, I was listening to this:]

Tomorrow's Ice Cream Flavors and a Little Math

Green Tea.

Honey.

Today we learned a little Baby Calculus. Observe:

As Decibel Level approaches infinity, Patience approaches zero. This is a fundamental law of Baby Calculus.

Wha?

I had some issues with my scalp.

So Mom put baby oil on it (at the recommendation of the pediatrician) and used a brush to gently massage my head.

Then she gave me a nice Mohawk.

You like?

Outings

Today we had two nice outings.

First, Iain finally got to try out his BOB. It's been hotter than the surface of the sun here, and blazingly sunny. So we waited and waited, sure that taking him out in a black stroller was a bad idea. Even the dogs, who are desperate for a walk, didn't want to run around the neighborhood in fur coats when the mercury reached 95.

Today, though, the temperature dropped. A storm brought heavy rains to us in the late morning, leaving behind humidity but only temps in the 80s. So when Iain was getting a little stir-crazy after lunch, I decided to take him out for a spin.

As promised, the BOB solved our sidewalk problems. Cracks and uneven pavement that made our little Click-n-Go have a breakdown proved no challenge to the BOB. I drove with one hand while wrangling the dogs with the other hand and talking on the phone with Miriam. Yes, I did. I couldn't find the headphones for my iPod and plus Miriam's charming. So eat it.

Iain seemed to like being outside. In some ways this was his first real walk. Unlike the Click-n-Go, in the BOB he can see ahead, and he's eye-level to flowers, mailboxes and shrubs. The unpredictable jerking motions caused by Boris or Juno freaking out only adds spice to the ride. By the time we returned, he was drowsy. So I popped him into his crib and ZZZZZZZZZZ.

Love.The.BOB.

Our second outing was more for the parents. The Bizzles called to see if we wanted to get dinner, and we leapt at the chance to Get Out of This House. So off Iain went to Callie's house, where he got to eat in her high-chair (padding! Fancy.), play with her mom, stare at her toys, and flirt. When we returned it was dark. Charles pointed out that we haven't really been out until after dark in a long time. Granted, it's summer. But still.

And just like the first outing, upon our return I changed Iain into his jammies, kissed him goodnight, and put him in the crib. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

I Got My High-Chair!

My new high-chair has arrived. It's a steely grey, to match my eyes. You can also wipe it clean, to match...uh...never mind.


As you can see, I tested it out immediately. Also, note that contrasting stripes is the hot new look for fall.

Plenty of room to stretch out. I have to talk to The Staff about the mess, though. Look how they left this filthy tissue on my desk! I hardly have room for my toy.

This guy's just jealous. Or hungry. Probably both.

Happy Birthday Nana

I'd sing you "Happy Birthday," but I can't talk and I don't have any money for royalties. Sorry.

I could drool on you. Sound good?

Thieves!!!

I like birds as much as the next person. In fact, a few weeks ago I pulled over, parked the car, and used a menu to lift a baby bird out of the street and onto the grassy verge. I know the most likely outcome is that Tweety died, but at least he didn't get run over.

The word clearly got around. Today, I counted seven birds on the porch, and when I went outside more than twenty flew up into the trees.

You're thinking: they don't know you saved that baby bird from a grisly death. Just because they come to the window and look in at you, that doesn't mean they see you as a friend.

Quite right. I'm not their friend. I'm their communal larder. Look what a cardinal did right in front of me this morning!!:



I managed to save some, though. These are the most delightfully bird-sized tomatoes. They taste great, but they're sooo teensy. I told Mother the birds stole my produce, and she said, "Just cut off the part the bird ate." Uh...Mother...that would leave approximately a gram of tomato. See them here, with the lemon verbena:



For a size reference, I tried to have Iain pose with them. Instead, I learned we've entered the Oral Fixation Stage. Evidence:




[No tomatoes, or babies, were harmed in the making of this post.]

[Except by that bird.]

[Of course, I plan to harm these tomatoes, ASAP.]

[No tomatoes for Baby, though. Not till next summer.]