Doing baby's hair

Wife:  'Jesus, don't style his hair like that, he looks like Hitler.'

Husband: 'Don't be ridiculous, he doesn't look like Hitler...Himmler, he looks like Himmler.'

Time

I’m at my mother’s house this week, our house, helping her pack up and move into an apartment.  It’s not a desperate situation.  She’s not old.  She’s not going into the home or anything.  The woman goes to aerobics three times a week and volunteers.  She swings her grandson out of his playpen on her way to the kitchen to cook for a crowd and entertain them at the same time.  The thing is, we would like to see more of her and the responsibilities of taking care of a house eat up a lot of her time.  Leaving here will give her so much freedom.

If only we didn’t have to abandon so much history.  The house is full things that spark fond memories.  The windowsill in the kitchen is still cluttered with Dad’s pens for the crossword.  The bedroom in the basement, a bastion for me and my siblings as teenagers, boasts a door covered with graffiti from all three former occupants and their friends.  There’s still a stool in the nook in the kitchen where we sat to talk on the phone.  I can remember mom sitting there every night to talk to my Nanny, her mother.  The Christmas tree was always in the front window in the living room…well, except for that one year that it fell down.

I will miss so much about this house.  The back porch window allows for an expansive view of the sunset shortly followed by the big dipper.  You can see the fireworks on Canada Day from the front yard.  The left side of the couch in the living room is the perfect place to sit and read.  To sit in the chair by the kitchen window with a glass of wine talking to mom is my idea of a perfect evening.

It will be strange to have someone else live in the house.  It will be sad to drive by and tell my son that Nana used to live there.  That’s where mommy grew up.  What won’t be sad is getting to Nana’s apartment and having her give him a hug.  That’s what really matters right?   sigh...

Brunch Baby

The baby brunching at Cora's with Grandma.

Απονομή παιδικές

My mother-in-law just came for a visit (we miss her), and gave me a bunch of older pictures of the babe.  Friends of hers bless us with us with baby ethno-fashions from their travels.  We are VERY appreciate of this.  

Behold, our baby as a Grecian sailor.

Spielberg Movie

Last night, a few hours after the nugget had gone to bed, I heard the distinct drone of his crib side mobile thing, Ocean Wonders.  Everything you assume about what soothes a baby is wrong.  This thing is LOUD and it’s BRIGHT.  We don’t have a baby monitor and it wakes us up most mornings before my husband’s alarm clock.  He’ll chill out with it on for a half an hour some mornings.  It’s like a baby snooze button.  

Anyway, I was concerned that he had woken up but didn’t want to go in his room as he might take that as an invitation to party.  I loitered outside his door until the thing turned off and decided it was a fluke and crawled into bed.  After five minutes we heard the sound of crashing waves and the swell of music started up again.  

At this point I didn’t care if he was up, I needed to go and check it out.  The husband and I snuck in his room.  Turns out, the nugget was turning on this contraption, which I can hear from another floor in the house, with his head.  He was completely passed out, never heard a thing, never blinked due to the bright blue glow and hadn’t noticed that he was sleeping with his head crunched up against a hard jutting button.

Despite his persistence in sleeping through this, we were reluctant to move him.  The husband reached behind the contraption and turned it off claiming that he would turn it back on before he went to sleep.  The likelihood of this happening is about the same as our electing a majority government this spring.  The man can fall asleep in the middle of telling a story…not listening to me tell a story, well, that too, but in the middle of HIS telling a story.  Before we could commence with an argument about this plan the cracked out harpsichord music drifted into our room again.

 

That wasn’t creepy at all.

Anyway, he slept through the rest of the night.  I hope that I don’t wake up with some pissed off teddy levitating above the bed tonight.  I’ll let cha know.

Tough enough

Sweet Jesus, look at what Stan has done to the bottom of the couch.

I mean really...

You wanna goer?

Pull the plug

It's becoming more and more difficult to bathe the nugget due to his fascination with emptying the tub.

Oh I'm sorry, did you want some?

Attention span

I once went to a museum exhibit with my friend MaryAnne and warned her that I had a three hour limit for the museum.  The first couple hours, I am like, cultured and shit and I LOVE the museum.  At about the two hour mark I start to feel the itch for the outside world, a drink and some fresh air.  Nine times out of ten this is when people want to visit the Modern section and pretend like they understand the sweaty box.  At this point, I have to leave the museum.

MaryAnne replied, ‘That sounds like my relationship with jazz.’

Baby Gaga

Jane Fonda

Bathhouse party

Boss

                I’ve been sick this past week.   I felt like lying in bed half watching Oprah and nibbling cold Kraft Dinner.  The kid needed to have bottles, eat bananas, be read to and otherwise entertained.  It’s like he doesn’t care that I’m sick at all. 

I mean, don’t get me wrong.  I knew what I was getting into. Whatever sir wishes, I provide.  Want out of the uterus?  You want to use what as an exit?  Squeeze on through.  Want to stay up for five months?  I’m your hallucinatory wing man.  You want to play peek-a-boo for another hour?  Peek-a-frickin’-boo to you.   

As he’s getting older, he’s starting to have equal parts needs and wants.  He picks up the wants from me and the husband.  I’m the one who introduced him to peek-a-boo, it’s not like he picked it up on the street.  

There is a line though.  I’m hoping I can shield him for a bit longer from some negative outside influences.  Specifically, I don’t want him to enjoy modern children’s music.  I don’t mean the itsy bitsy spider, that’s my jam.  I’m talking about the friggin’ Wiggles.  I. just. can’t. do. It. 

Kid likes Jay-Z, Kid likes the Otis and don’t get me started on his reaction to the Breeders.  I too enjoy these things.  I’m hoping that we can continue this soundtrack for quite some time.  If I win this small battle I'll be happy, until he wants to play hockey.

 

Good times in the Maritimes

He digs this chick

Drama Queen

If you don’t like the food, stop eating it. 

Slamming the food into your gourd until you barf is not the ideal way to tell me you think it’s gross.

Effective though.

I'll give you that.

Hates this toy

Windswept

This is our friend Ivan who visited with us recently.  He and Lloyd got along like a house on fire.  I wish we could see more of him.

Mine's cuter

     The husband is working like crazy right now.  When he gets home for a few hours he still has to be attentive to his electronic parasite, the blackberry.  Last night I saw him wake from a deep sleep and answer the thing as enthusiastically as a teenage girl would with ‘Justin’ on the phone id. It can buzz at any time and generally seems to do so when you really hope that it doesn’t.  

     Caring for a baby draws similar parallels.  When you want them to sleep…like, really want them to sleep, it’s not likely to happen.  A baby abides by the laws of only one sheriff, and that sheriff’s name is Murphy.

     How do they know?  How can they consistently howl at the worst possible time?  I think I have it figured out.  After completing a rigorous nine month unscientific study, I’m pretty sure that babies have sonar.  I suspect that their sonar capabilities are enhanced by certain conditions. I’ve determined that covering the mother with a blanket (prior to a nap), is second only to making the mother wet and naked in creating the optimal test environment.   Imma gonna try and get a grant or something.

      Anyway, due to my husband’s current work situation we are both on call 24/7.  I’m looking forward to having him around more, not only to help out but because I miss him.  You can’t really compare my work to his, it’s just different.  I will say this, as crazed as my husband is, there is no chance that his blackberry will poop on him.

The old man and the sea

Alphabet pasta

Note the snowstorm in the windows.