Monday, February 27, 2006

smell the domesticity

Aaron is upstairs cooking pulgoki...
(deep inhale)

life, she is good!

Evil! and then not so evil...

Things I hate:
programs what install themselves on your computer and then refuse to be moved to the recycle bin.

Whoever is responsible for the abomination known as the search engine Zango should be drawn and quartered. Or at least made to stand in tapioca pudding on a hot day near a nest of quizzical bees.

Things I love:
Adrian's laugh. It comes all the way up from his toes.
The smell of peonies. (heaven)
New tubes of paint!
Lists. (see?)
Eating pappadums. (crunch-crunch-crunch)
Iced tea the way my mom makes it.
The smell of kittens...puppies, too.
Goofing up song lyrics by replacing one word for another (Example: Lords of Acid's Pussy. Replace pussy with puppy. Much funnier! )
Muppets. (even sell-out Pizza Hut Muppets)

Things what make me nervous:
Squealing tires
Running with pointy things (sticks, forks, knives, scissors)
packing for trips

things you should do at least once before you die:
visit a foreign country
fly first class
climb a tree
watch the sun come up
hold the door for a stranger
bring your mom flowers
have cake for breakfast
cuddle a puppy

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Faster than the speed of light

Adrian has begun to defy the laws of gravity and physics in one go.

How can someone so tiny be so fast, especially when it comes to scaling furniture or creating steps out of boxes to reach forbidden items?

I've come to recognize the deadly silence: the quiet that indicates that he is up to something and that what he is up to is no good. How he manages to flip a box over, climb into the rocking chair and proceed to lean waaay over the edge in hope of reaching the curtains in the time it takes me to fold a blanket in thirds and drape over his crib rail is beyond me. How he manages to do it silently while he is 3 feet away is even more baffling.

Clearly, I am raising a the next generation's Superman.

Monday, February 20, 2006

I don't wanna...

I don't wanna (fill in the blank).
I am experiencing another wave of apathy.
I don't want to get dressed. I don't want to cook dinner. I don't want to go online and buy those VERY NECESSARY plane tickets. I don't want finish my sewing projects, crochet projects, or any number of other projects staring me in the face. I don't even feel like sitting on the couch eating chocolate until my blood sugar skyrockets and leaves me in a jittery trance.
It's entirely possible that I'm experiencing that seasonal-affective-disorder or cabin-fever or whatever.
It's too cold to play outside and I don't even feel like getting into the car and driving the baby somewhere warm to play*.
So what am I doing instead? Piddling on the internet.

*He's napping right now. I may have the blahs but I'm no baby abandoner.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

The rash that would not die

Adrian has been suffering, off and on, from a rash in his diaper area since...July? And every time we'd point it out to a doctor they'd shrug and give us a prescription for some topical ointment. But after much sleuthing and close observation of the stubborn evil rash we came to the cause: milk. And milk products.
My son's body is vehemently opposed to any foodstuffs that originated from a cow's teat.
Do you know how much crap (that is to say food) contains milk these days? Forget the big, obvious, easy things like biscuits (butter), pancakes (milk and butter), cake (milk). I'm talking about things like...Original flavor Goldfish crackers. Ramen Noodles. Golden Grahams cereal.
I am now a box-reader. I have found myself sneaking off to the pantry in anticipation of meal times, furtively reading the ingredient listings on the side of boxes, trying to puzzle out what is safe and what is going to give Adrian 3 days of painful diaper-bum, which may or may not turn into open sores.
I have discovered that you can make pancakes with rice milk, and that fakey-butter-in-a-tub stuff is actually useful (although the idea of butter-by-science still grosses me out). I'm still looking for good tasting not-cheese, and I'm wondering if I could substitute kefir (made from camel's milk) for yogurt.

It's like having to do a grade-school science project with real-life implications. With more stress and no fancy blue ribbon at the end of it all.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Five days later

Adrian has been Captain Cranky Pants for the past 4 out of 5 days and I gotta tell you I'm not loving it.
I think it's no small coincidence that he's started saying Mama as well. See how I can't sell him to the gypsies now that he can tell authorities that I belong to him?
It also seems as though he's ready to give this whole talking thing a go. He's now repeating about 50% of what he hears, and whatever he doesn't get/can't say is replaced by babbling in the same cadence. You should hear him narrate A Close Shave (one of the Wallace and Gromit shorts):
Adrian: tuck (translation: truck)
A: wuuf (dog)
A: baa (sheep)
A: tuck (truck)
A: wuuf (dog)
A: (sign language for sleeping) (Wallace asleep)
A: tuck bye-bye (truck bye-bye)

The whole freaking movie gets commentary, interspersed with "'at?" (What's that?). It's pretty entertaining. His new favorite movie is now Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...up until the kids actually get to Hogwarts, and then he wants to watch something else. He also enjoys the trailers that precede the movie Shark's Tale, but has no interest in the actual film.

He has grasped the concept of 'please' as well. After every request we get the sign language for 'please', and if we say no he gives us 'please' more adamantly. And occasionally, he'll tell us please while standing in the middle of the kitchen and then we have to figure out what he wants. Cheerios? Mighty Bites? Grahams? Flashlight? To look out the window?
It's like charades with a circus monkey.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Adrian's stats

We went to the doctor on Thursday, where Adrian received two vaccinations and a bucketful of terror.

We walk into the waiting room, sign in. There are 4 other children in the room, all boys, all older than Adrian. He's alternately fascinated and clinging to my leg for dear life. He seems fine, but unsure of himself around children.

Then we go into the exam room.

He looks around and his bottom lip starts to quiver a little bit. As soon as I begin to take off his clothes, he starts to cry. Real honest-to-god tears. He cries every time the nurse or the doctor look at him, let alone touch him. He was clinging so tightly to me that had he been able to hide under my clothing I have no doubt he would have.
But it was all over in 30 minutes, and this is what we have to report:
Height: 29 5/8"
Weight: 23 pounds.
Which puts him in the 25% for his age group.
I'm not too worried about the fact that he's "below average" for his size because he's right where he should be as far as his cognitive & motor skills are concerned.
To quote his Grandpa: he's small, but mighty!

Friday, February 03, 2006

(photo) Fresh from the runways of Paris--I give you: Adrian! Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Is this thing on?

Okay. Alright and fine.
After months of denial I'm admitting it.
I'm lonely.
Soooooooo lonely.
That's was the big benefit of a multi-generational household: there's always someone there to talk, or watch tv, or cook, or just sit quietly with you. Which isn't to say that Adrian hanging off of my body 2/3 of the time he's awake isn't companionship, it's just...
I came very late to the idea of girls-as-friends. Up until college I had three close girlfriends. All the rest of the people I spent my extra time with happened to be guys. And it's not 'cause I'm all into sports, or whatever--I happen to be a very specific kind of dork: the art-slash-theater variety of dork. And when I say theater, I don't mean acting--I'm a set-building, light-hanging, costumes-and-makeup kind of theater person. Because, let's be honest, I am a terrible actress. Seriously--I can't get past the fact that people are looking at me and it makes me self-conscious. By that token, most all of the back-stage crew in high school were boys, and I fit in well playing with power tools and hauling around heavy crap. But then I got to college and, first of all, the dorms are divided by sex, so that puts you in routine, close contact with other girls; and second of all I met a great number of like-minded really amazing women. And I miss them. Sure we talk on the phone and email, but that's nothing like the face-to-face, share a hunk of cake kind of companionship that you find when you see each other regularly.
Aaron's great, he's my best friend, I tell him everything and he makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt. But he's not a girl. He can't do girl-things with me, he won't go see girly movies (but I won't go see horror films so we're square), he can't help me color my hair or go shopping or talk about how sexy Heath Ledger is. (Those cheekbones, my god!)
So, yes. I'm lonely for some estrogen-related bonding time.
I have a spare bedroom and I'll cook you breakfast!