In case you're the captain of a pirate ship

Moo did some investigating and found that there are certain risks involved when wearing chocolate covered pretzels as eye patches.

Just wanted to pass that along to any other would-be pirates out there.

Watermelon bowl

The bowl at the end of the melon is always a coveted summer time treat. I remember the first time my mama let me have one.  I asked if I could have it expecting to be refused,  and she said something along the lines of  "yeah, ok"

It was a very casual affirmative, as though what I was asking was in no way a big deal.  It was the kind of answer I'd expect to get if I'd asked for permission to read a book or play in the back yard: things I didn't generally need permission to do.

The real kicker was, when I asked for the watermelon bowl that time it was between meals.  

You heard me.

It was not lunch, breakfast or even dinner time.  Bold as brass I up and asked for a super cool treat right in the middle of the non-eating part of the day and my mother... agreed to it.
Just like that.
Without even batting an eye.
She didn't sigh and say "oh, I guess" signifying that she thought better of but would rather give in than deal with a tantrum. She just said yes.

That was a good day.

After that I figured out all I had to do if I wanted the bowl was keep my eyes open when the melon was being sliced.  Practice patience as the half and three-quarters marks were met, and wait.  Soon the end would get too tippy to cut anymore off  and it would most likely become available. If there was a melon-baller in the equation I would be out of luck, and of course the other kids wanted the bowl too so I wasn't without competition but just knowing the opportunity was available made a difference.  

You may have noted that I only speak of the bowl and the final end of a watermelon. Sure, there's a bowl and the beginning of the melon as well but with the whole massive fruit there to provide stability during the first cut, that one tends to be on the scrawny side. Mostly rind with only a bite or two of red juiciness.  The first bowl is for amateurs.

Of course it does have certain tactical merits.

You can do things like tell your little brother "Ok fine, you have the bowl. I'll just wait until the whole watermelon is gone and have the other side,"

Now, there are a couple different ways you can play this.  I'll outline two of them.  Both approaches have their merits.  You just have to decide which will serve best in the situation at hand. 

The first is to act very benevolent and possibly a little sad to be missing out.   Go with this if there's something you need from the brother in question. If he feels a little bit indebted things will be all the better going into future negotiations. The second is to act perturbed and impatient. This tactic works well because it leaves the boy feeling triumphant.  He'll be so blinded by his good fortune, he'll be less likely to notice when the time comes for you to claim your own true victory.  The little twerp  will think he's won and all you"ll have left to do is bide your time until the real prize becomes available. Mwahahahahahahahaaa!

Anyway...what was I saying?  Oh, right. watermelon is delicious.
Have a nice day.

One year ago today

My alarm went off this morning at 4:58 I got up, went straight to my camera and up the stairs to Duke's bed where I took his first birthday minute picture.

Then since I was up I thought I might as well make myself useful.
All morning I juxtaposed what I did against what I was doing a year earlier.

This year I was mixing a birthday cake. Last year I snuggled a warm, wet sugar lump of baby.
This year I licked a chocolatey whisk clean.  Last year, surrounded by support-women I made my way on wobbly legs from the birthing tub to my bedroom while waiting for a stubborn placenta.
This year I hopped in the shower, rushing to hop out again before the cake finished baking.  Last year I stepped in slow and careful.  My midwife waited on the opposite side of the curtain while I washed up in case I lacked the strength to hold myself upright long enough to get clean.
Last year Moo was the first to venture into my room wide eyed and curious to meet her baby brother.  This year she was first again, only this time she found me blow drying my hair rather than sitting in bed eating toast.
Last year Enzo crawled into my bed beside me for a snuggle and nearly sang with delight when I hugged him close "You don't have a puff!" This year he wandered in to my room after Moo and announced that he was up before she was he just came down an sat on the sofa rather than come in to find me.
This year my Duke spent the morning dragging his blanket around and demanding the attention of his father.  Last year he slept and snuggled delighted all with his soft fuzzy newborn-ness.

 A year is not long,

but then again, it is.

Enzo's Dental Milestone

Enzo was eating an apple. He said one of teeth hurt so I asked him to point out which and nudged it with my finger.  Sure enough, loose.

"I have a LOOOSE TOOOTH!?" he exclaimed and laughed with delight at the idea.

At this point Moo reported that she had a lost tooth as well.  She pointed to one near the back.  Then she left the room for a few minutes. When she came back she assured me that her loose tooth was gone now.  Apparently, while she was out of the room the tooth came out and was picked up by the tooth-fairy.

I walked her up to quiet time and came back down to sit with Enz while he finished his lunch.  Every time you think he's finished he asks for more.  He eats and eats until I refuse to supply any additional food. This makes his meal times considerably longer than Moo's.  While  he ate he discoursed on the exciting events taking place in his mouth.

"Just you and me know about my looose toooth.  Right mom?" (He likes to savor the o sounds in "loose" and "tooth") I reminded him that Moo was here when we discovered it so she knew as well.  "But Ziz doesn't know and Duke is too little to know." He smiled about his secret.

 We decided that he'd call and tell the Mr the good news as soon as he was finished eating.  "Then maybe he'll call Zizza's teacher and tell her so Zizza will know," Secrecy was apparently losing it's appeal. I told him that would probably not happen. He'd just have to wait and  tell Ziz when she came home from school.

There he sat at the table eating a piece of bread and jam with a fork.  Minuscule bite by minuscule bite he ate it.   All the while discussing his grown up-ness, loose toothery and etc.  It was the second time in as many weeks I've heard one of my children remark to themselves "I am getting SO big," with the same mixture of pride, dismay and bafflement I feel over the whole thing.  The first one was Ziz.  Sadly I didn't get her's written down quick enough to remember the catalyst of her wonder at her own maturity. (Note to self; write things)

When he eventually finished eating, Enzo did call the Mr to tell him of the wiggling tooth. He ended up leaving a voice mail.  That evening he told his father "I talked to your machine today." He supplied no other context.  The Mr got a sort of confused look on his face for a minute while he thought about what machine his young son could possibly have conversed with. Once explanations were made, we all enjoyed yet another loose tooth demonstration.

It's been days now and no more mention has been made of the escape artist struggling against my boy's gums. I expect quiet on that front for another few months until it reaches the really floppy stage when string and door knobs start to get involved.  I'll keep you posted.

In a bit more of a timely manner

Last week at a church function I saw a woman wearing a match to that awful awful maternity dress that a year ago was the only thing I could wear.

 At 36 weeks. Nothing fit any more and I spent the majority of my time wearing the Mr's t-shirts and gym shorts.  If I had to leave the house for any reason I would squeeze into a slightly more presentable maternity something or other and keep my self on high alert lest my top should betray me and pull a Gus Gus.

These were the circumstances that led me to buying the dress.  I didn't even like it all that much but it was the only thing I could find. So I wore that every time I left the house for what turned out to be six weeks.

Man I hate that dress.

Apparently the woman I saw last week had a better relationship with hers.  There she was wearing it, not even pregnant.  Her baby was a little younger than my Duke.  I'd guess he was about 8 months, but that's neither here nor there.
I saw that woman and her dress and felt an overwhelming relief that I haven't had need to wear mine in eleven months now.  Eleven glorious months of never wearing that dress again.  It's a beautiful thing.

Just look what I have to show for it! The boy is walking, though he still prefers a crawl for speed. He's become insistent on bringing his blankie with him when he gets out of bed and he's been experimenting here and there with thumb sucking. He did that in the womb, I'm pretty sure, and once soon after birth but not again until recent weeks. Odd.

He's also had a bit of a language explosion. He's been saying "mama" and "dada" for quite a while now along with "hi."  Then he started imitating syllabic patterns like crazy. He even tacked on the s sound at the end of his attempt as "There he is!" when we were playing peek-a-boo. Yesterday he said banana. Just to make sure I was really hearing what I though I was hearing I got him to say it three or four more times before I gave him one.

 Turns out, he was just practicing the word. He didn't actually want the banana.

 Today he said Moo's name. Called up the stairs to her all sweet and loving, then practiced it a bunch more times once she came down.

I keep telling him he's tiny but he just won't believe me.