One Month

Ten days ago was little Duke's first luniversary.

I take issue with using the word anniversary for frames of time other than the year since the word is born of Latin's "annum" (year) and "versarius" (returning)

Could it be (more than) a month ago that I was noting the hour that marked his first full day? (horaversary?) And say, shouldn't I make a record of those first hours and weeks before they slip into the obscurity of memory?

That I should.

Meanwhile, here he is on that day, the one month day. I'll be using this truck as a size comparison prop for monthly photos and he increases in mass (He's so much fatter already. My fingers are crossed for a nice tub of a babe to snuggle into boyhood)

The other kids were off doing what it is they do but Moo was by my side, wanting her picture taken as always happens when I lay hand on the camera.

She is a fan of this little boyo we've got.

In the future I think I'll rig up some kind of back drop to disguise that clutter of table and chair legs.

Popsicle day week 2

This week we made instant pudding and went for a fancy layered effect as we spooned it into our molds.

We also used the square popsicle molds which make for a more attractively shaped, yet harder to consume pop.

The pudding pops turned out to be delightful (why wouldn't they?) but we did find a hole in my back yard+bib=minimal mess equation.

If you fling your bib over one shoulder and then lounge in a reclining chair while you lick and slurp, you can run into messy trouble even in spite of precautions taken by your mother.

To add to the fun, maybe your sister could comb your hair that day, wrangling it into the semblance of a ponytail without coming through the curly tangles first. Then, as the melty pudding slips down the side of your face and into the crease of your neck on it's way to pool in your armpit, it can have the pleasure of saturating your failling, matted ponytail along the way.

Good times.

Toity-pape

Tonight while I was fixing dinner Moo needed to go potty. I went in, lifted her on and then went back to my kitchen business while she attended to hers. When I went back to check on her I found her distressed over the toilets failure to flush. The culprit? Copious amounts of toilet paper.

A memory I had while plunging kept me from excessive frustration over the matter.

I was somewhere in the neighborhood of four years old when I reached for the paper and found the perfect number of squares for my needs were all that remained on the roll. I was enchanted with this serendipity. I decided it was an experience I wished to repeat so I committed to memory the look of a toilet paper roll holding the perfect amount of paper and no more.

I contemplated the paper supply at each subsequent trip to the loo until finally, one day the conditions were right. Well, at least I decided they were close enough to right and I vowed as I sat that I'd dispose of every tissued speck before I left the room.

The toilet paper dispenser in that bathroom was positioned rather unconventionally, set high on the wall behind the toilet. This meant that I had to hop my tiny self off the pot, walk a few steps and then reach a-way up to access it. (My pre-school wiping routine started at my ankle, to account for drippage on the journey to the paper.) (TMI?)

On the happy day when I was to recreate the awesomeness, I went through my normal ritual: hop down, scurry over, reach the paper, wipe the drips off my leg, and onward. When it was all done I realized the disappointing truth. I had misjudged. There was still paper left. It didn't look like all that much paper though, and there was the matter of the vow I had made not to leave the room until it was gone so I soldiered on, carrying wads of paper from the wall to the toilet. It all got rather tiring. I wished I could give it up but I had vowed so really, how could I?

Eventually the toilet was full, and I do mean full. I started to worry about flushing. Why hadn't I noticed the problem sooner? I closed the lid, mashing down the top of the heap and with that mess taken care of (out of sight being as it is: out of mind) I turned my attention to that naughty toilet paper roll. The one who had misrepresented it's self as being so near empty. There was paper there still, and now the toilet had ceased to be an option for it's disposal.

I considered giving up at that point, but if I couldn't even keep a vow I'd made with myself what kind of person would I be? The waste basket came to mind and I set to work filling it. When that was full I reflected on my vow again and, deciding that I really had done all that I could do, released myself from the bond and scampered off to play with my integrity intact.

In light of that tale, Moo's experiment looses it's sting. Wouldn't you say?

My mother was surprised to hear the story a few years ago. Why? Because she had no knowledge of such a thing ever taking place. My father must have been the lucky one to come upon the scene.

It's a few days late, but thanks Dad and happy Father's Day.

Maybe I should write a screenplay?

I had a dream this morning. It was one of those times when I'm watching the dream like a movie rather than actively taking part. This dream starred Tina Fey.

It was a classic Tina set up. She is a career woman looking for love/deeper human meaning in her life with ill success. Finally she gives up hope and delves deeper into her corporate sphere.

Then, in a surprise turn of events she finds herself in a burgeoning relationship with a man as close to perfect as legally possible. The only problem is; the deeper delve into the corporate sphere I mentioned earlier is kind of a big deal. We're talking moving to space to take a job as a space food critic, BIG DEAL.

Now, you'd think that with such a job taking this critical role in the plot that the movie would be set in some future time when a healthy percentage of the human population has moved off planet thus creating a demand for food critics in space. You'd be wrong. The film was set in the now.

I tried to remember after I woke up, exactly where in space she was moving but it was one of those details that the conscious brain is just not capable of holding on to. She was headed either on the Moon, or a nearby space station. Sadly, in one of those dreamland twists of logic, the trip required faster than light travel such that the decision to take the job would mean an end to all her relationships on earth. I know I know, that doesn't sync with the time period I stated, but this was a dream remember? and dreams aren't supposed to make sense.

Like any Tina Fey character, this woman had a great relationship with food. Apparently this space food she was going to review was mind blowing, life altering, ground shakingly delicious and not available anywhere on Earth. As I woke up she was telling her handsome verging on perfect prospective boyfriend that he was the personification of her dreams. Had she not met him, she never would have believed such a man could exist in the real world and she could see them making it through the long haul. However, this food waiting for her in space was purported to be really really good. Better even than a full and happy life, so she had decided to go to space, eat the food and live out her days in a pale grey room wearing a pale grey jumpsuit.

If this were a real movie I have to assume that at the last minute she would change her mind and tear out of the launch area even as the count down sounded and (clad in a space suit) rush into the waiting arms of the male lead. But this wasn't a movie. It was a wacko dream. So she went to space.

The End

Popsicle day

It all started with this post from Simple Analogy. "A different Popsicle for every week of summer?" I thought, "how delightful!" So I adopted the practice.

We make the pops on Thursdays and eat the sicles Fridays. Today is our second Popsicle day of the season.

Last week we filled the the molds half way with orange cream flavored yogurt. Once that froze, we topped them off with orange juice.

From what I hear, they were good. The Yogurt cup only half filled four molds which equals four popsicles (see, I can do math) so I forwent the pleasure of having a popsicle myself that time.

This week Strawberries were on sale so naturally, we made peach-pops.

Ok fine, you got me. We had strawberry-lime today.

Ziz and Enz both helped lob the tops off the berries. Moo wasn't much interested in that, she busied herself with the bowl of grapes she discovered on the kitchen table.

I don't have photos of the rest of the process because the lighting in my kitchen is equivalent to that of a cave, but here's how it went down.

After the kids cut the leaves off a pound of strawberries we piled them in the blender with 2 tablespoons of sugar and the zest and juice of one lime then we blended it all to smithereens, poured it in the molds and froze it. Then today...

Now, I have to mention that I have some house rules about Popsicle consumption. Namely, all who wish to partake must do so outside while wearing a bib.

NO exceptions!

Details

Did you know I birthed the Duke at home?

I did.

In my dining room.

Hippie, remember?

I'd been planning on a home birth since my last hospital experience. Actually since before my last hospital experience. I looked into it while I was brewing Enzo but I started too late. I was already 6-7 months along and finding a midwife and etc was too much to think about at that point. I promised myself then that I'd stay home for the next one. And I did.

I had a lot of good, solid, reasons for birthing at home. Most of them came as natural extensions of the birthing philosophies and practices I already believed and abided by. I'm not going to discuss any of them today.

Some of the things I most looked forward to in my birth experience turned out to be superficial things I had never thought of until I was in the middle of preparing for the event.

My midwife gave me a list of things to prepare, extra sheets, (plastic) towels, and a lot of other predictable type stuff. Then there were the two things I became happily fixated on. One-Something for the baby to wear and two- something good to eat once the baby comes. Food and clothes, some of my favorite things. Is it any wonder I became fixated?

The first time I read the list I was amazed. "I get to chose the first thing my baby ever wears?" How had I never thought of this before? Why had it never bothered me that I hadn't had say in the matter with my previous children? Thus I set to work planning.

I decided the hospital folks were on the right track with the kimono style shirts they provide for new babies. No pulling over the head+ free floating over the cord stump =good stuff.

After sifting through baby kimono patterns online for way too long, I found the shirt that was Enzo's first worn article. I based my pattern on that, then I moved along to pants. Again I referenced a pair I had on hand. The newborn pants I had were a bit squat in the leg and generous in the rise so I lengthened and shortened accordingly, scooping the front waist band to accommodate the needs of a brand new belly. Then I added a Tie Top Beanie and the ensemble was complete.

So, here you see it. On the baby:

and off the baby:

But what of my other fixation? After a bit of thought the food was easy. Something equal parts hearty and deliciously tempting? Well how about Tasty Kitchen's Breakfast Pizza? Yes, that'll do it.

Lucky for me The Mr is handy in the kitchen. His knowing how to cook together with my preparation (crust par-cooked and frozen, toppings prepped and waiting in the fridge) meant that my meal request was completely do-able and so-so-so much better than blucky hospital food.

Those my friends are the details of the superficial side of my latest childbirth experience.

I feel inclined to add that the list also mentioned having something ready for mama to wear after the baby arrived. I was able to skim over that part this time as I designed and made my ideal of a postpartum gown in preparation for Enzo's arrival. No way was I going to wear an awful hospital gown again, not my idea of comfy.

After Today

After Today I'll have 2 months free of sweeping the daily sand box off the floor when Ziz comes home and kicks off her shoes. Hurrah!

On the other hand, there will be a wealth of wet towels to deal with but I think I'm prepared for the switch

velvet

I passed the last hour in my rocking chair doing my best impression of a bassinet. It's always surprising how quickly things change.

This morning as we woke up I noticed that in spite of my not having taken the time yet to write my ode to the fuzz on the undersides of baby cheeks, newborn velvet has already given way to the satin of general infant-hood.

This all got me to thinking that it really was high time I took up my computer and wrote a little something. So this is it. It's a very little something, but it is something.