Chickpea Central

Photos from Audrey's Camera

2012-01-29T15:26:00.000-08:00

This is only the best I could do with one evening's experiments with iMovie-- a collection of photos by Audrey taken with the camera she got for Christmas. It's interesting to see the house from her perspective and what she decides to photograph. Her own feet. A lot of adult legs. Ceiling fans. Calvin. And then there are the close ups of her own face, the big blue eyes.

I am frankly amazed that I was able to upload this without exploding my Macbook, but here it is. Enjoy! Perhaps I will actually go look through the iMovie tutorial section now...

Calvin and the posted speed

2012-01-23T19:49:00.001-08:00

I do hope this is the last time Calvin is photographed next to a speed limit sign... that has been knocked to the ground and is lying on its side.

Yes, Officer, it was definitely the sleepy one on the far left. Or maybe the cutie right next to him? Maybe it was the blond one right in the middle, with the big hair. No-- wait. It was the guy looking at his shoes. Yeah. He's the one that was selling the counterfeit watches.

We've taken the kids over to the new place and let them run around, there shrieks bouncing off the empty walls. Even with nothing THERE they found stuff to get into, things to climb, stuff to pocket. I feel like I live with feral cats who've developed opposable thumbs.

Bubbles in the Willow Classroom

2012-01-08T18:43:00.000-08:00

I'm so glad you've all come to the meeting today. Start the bubbles, Miss Honeybee.

Anyone mind if I offer some opening words?

Mine, mine, this one's mine. I got it. I got---

Bonus!

No, it wasn't Pajama Day in Calvin's classroom. It was "I refuse to get dressed and you can't make me take off my pajamas" day. Again!!

How's this for a superior start to the day?

2012-01-05T17:03:00.000-08:00

My day just got better and better after waking up this morning-- because that was truly the only direction for it to go, after starting off like this: I am awakened by a punch to the temple, followed by more pummeling from Calvin's fists as he shouts, "No! I don't like you! I want Daddy!"

And good morning to you, too, son. So glad I allowed you to sleep in our bed last night so that I could enjoy this sweet interlude with you at first light. Will you be taking breakfast in the dining room, or can I bring it to you on a tray here in the bedroom? (Not that you're going to eat anything. Let's not have any foolish optimism today! I'm already giddy.)

Oi what a long day it was. I should do a lot more work but I am thinking of packing it in right now. That would be the wisest choice of my day so far.

The Gingerbread Yurt tradition continues

2012-01-02T18:39:00.000-08:00

Blue candy? What blue candy? I don't know what you're talking about. Hey, are you gonna eat that roof?

A natural, easy grin on Bethiah, and on Audrey, the kind of brittle smile I thought could only be achieved through plastic surgery. But she did have an excellent time-- I saw the glee, first hand. She's just started responding to cameras as if she's being held up and told to make it look happy, or else. (Which I swear we are not doing.)

Great times had by all at Auntie Rebecca and Uncle Hank's gingerbread decorating fest. Thanks, guys! Love and frosting.

"Happy New Here!" from Calvin and all of us at Hacienda W.

2012-01-02T18:36:00.001-08:00

Nature walk near the house, New Year's Day.

Christmas morning with Chickpea and Bonzo

2011-12-25T17:22:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to add any text because in the ETERNITY it has taken to upload this thing, I forgot everything I wanted to say. Good night, Merry Christmas, I'm off to wash the dishes...

But wait! I did want to point out how completely the kids ignore the train table, while the cameraman and yours truly keep trying to draw their attention to it. How could an item that cost more than everything else combined and took all night to assemble possibly compete with dental floss?

And to all a glittering night...

2011-12-24T19:22:00.000-08:00

Nothing makes you feel more like a real grown-up, I'm told, than going to a parent-teacher conference. An earlier stop on that same path, for us, is staying up late on Christmas Eve to carefully nibble out plausibly Santa-sized bites out of gingerbread cookies and assembling/wrapping/displaying the Santa haul. These are certainly fortunate children, and we are lucky beyond measure too: warm house, healthy family, the luxury of things to give, and time to enjoy it together.

(And with those poignant words I have just earned myself a year of snark in 2012. I will be grim again before President's Day, count on it.)

Scott is putting together a train table in the dining room as I write this, and just announced triumphantly that he has completed all the instructions... on page one. He expressed his dismay that the inside of the instruction booklet was not instructions in Spanish but rather more instructions (or "destructions," as Audrey would say) in English. However, things are definitely looking up from the first few minutes of assembly when I heard him mutter "Attach to B? What B? There is no B!!" If this is what it takes for an MIT-trained engineer to assemble a toy, then I'm afraid there is no hope for the rest of us.

There are many things still left for Mrs. Claus (Mrs. Clause, more accurately?) to wrap and stuff into wads of tissue paper, but I wanted to write down tonight the very clear image of Audrey, turning up to search the sky for Santa and saying, "Shhhhhh! Listen for a ho-ho-ho...." The way her excitement brims right at the very surface of her seems especially dear to me these past few months because that quality is something she'll learn to mask from us much of the time.

Be that as it may, I hope to remember as long as I live the way her upturned face looked tonight: small and eager and full of genuine wonder. After this many weeks of waiting for Christmas she'd just about decided it would never come. When we tucked her into bed, she asked me to be sure that her sign for Santa, lettered carefully in pink glitter, was on the outside of the house, where he could see it.

"I want him to see my words in the glittering night," she said.

Audrey's sign sparkles at the back door, Calvin sleeps oblivious to it all, and we are hoping to head to bed before dawn. We wish you all a glittering good night.

A Christmas Miracle: Calvin Agrees to Visit Santa

2011-12-18T10:38:00.000-08:00

We were among the first in line to see Santa at the mall this morning so the old man was not yet feeling like a broken-down bean bag chair for fractious children. I completely expected that Calvin would tell Santa just where he could put his sleigh full of toys, but he was actually quite game. Audrey was curious as to how Santa managed to make an early morning appearance at the mall, while also showing up in Somerville last night on the Trolley Tour of Lights at not just one but several of the houses along the route and was also on hand to assist elderly tour-goers off the trolley back at Town Hall and pose for photos.

Later, over lunch, Audrey dictated her wish list for Santa which included the following entry: "A princess chair that is small enough for my behind."

(Yes, grandmothers, you will get wallet sizes of the above. )

A cuddly scene at story-time with Alexander, Audrey and... wasn't Calvin here a second ago?

2011-12-15T18:55:00.000-08:00

Boy if this isn't a thousand words worth of accuracy right there...

It all goes perfectly

2011-12-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

Audrey moves through the world lately like the owns the place. Several other parents at the preschool have commented on how confidently she carriers herself, and I have to say, she doesn't shrink from attention or from new things much anymore. It's gratifying, and at the same time weird, because I don't think she picked up that at-her-ease posture from frazzled, often-insecure me. What an interesting category this is: traits my child has mastered that I have not.

Audrey's confidence really isn't a question of "What did we do right?" but rather "What have we managed to not screw up yet because we didn't think to try to interfere with it and how can we continue to leave well enough alone without realizing that's what we're doing?"

We watched a movie last night that made me think late into the night about this, about the power that a parent has to make the foundation of the child's world seem safe and secure and comfortable, or to make it seem unstable, and threatening and mean. It's a frightening amount of power to wield over another person's life. How do we do it right, if we are so imperfect ourselves, and the world is, in so many ways and for so many people, unstable?

I can't take credit for it, but I am so glad-- so relieved-- to see those flashes in Audrey's personality that show that she trusts the world around her and will strut through it in striped tights and a black leotard and that pink Brett-Michaels bandana thing on her head. Instability-- whether introduced by me or not-- will enter in, but for now, she just wants to get her tap shoes on and dance.

Show them how it's done, my dear.

Lost it.

2011-12-10T20:51:00.000-08:00

I'm so distraught that I have lost a scrap of paper on which I had scribbled a whole bunch of entries for the Overhead column and now I can't find the paper, and my mind has totally erased whatever I'd written there, which makes me feel just awful. Not because anyone really needed to here these cute-isms, but because when I lose these things it's like I've lost a little piece of them. (please no one else tell me how important it is to write these things down as that is the entire point-- they WERE written down!)

Here's a couple I can remember: early morning, I am awakened by Calvin, who has just manually pried open my eyelid to ask, "Excuse me, Mommy? Are you there yet?"

And this one's a bit racier, so read on only if you do not blush at the word "bra."

Still there? All right.

Audrey saw me getting dressed and asked me what I was wearing. "A bra," I explained. "What's a bra?" she asked. "Well, it's something girls and women wear to be more comfortable." "Why?" she asked. "Well... it... uhm... it holds their breasts up."

A long and thoughtful pause, then: "What's a breastsup?"

I'm stuck full of pishons and time keeps draggin' on.

2011-12-10T20:39:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling, right?

A while back (since we only blog here about things that happened weeks ago now) I was listening to Calvin sing in the kitchen and I heard him croon, "I'm stuck full of pishons." A head scratcher even in a house of toddlers.

I gave it some careful thought and finally realized these were simply the lyrics to his all-time favorite song, "Fulsom Prison Blues." I'm stuck in Fulsom Prison...

Calvin is also a big fan of "Shake Your Booty," and boy, can he.

The picture above was taken in the same pumpkin patch as last year, only this year, the cute little pum'kin threw a temper tantrum right after this photo was taken that drew the attention of shocked on-lookers across a stadium-sized parking lot. And any one unlucky enough to be really close to us also caught a whiff of ... oh, never mind, never mind, never mind. Let's just enjoy the picture.

Topsfield Fair, and a Near-Miss Halloween Costume

2011-11-24T17:40:00.000-08:00

You all just go and look at the lambs and the giant turnips again-- I'm gonna test drive this baby.

I took my four year old to the face-painting booth and I got back... a teenager?

Doesn't this look like the sweetest little Halloween costume? So did we. But he refused to wear it on Halloween. He'll be the fire chief when he's good and ready. But lack of a costume didn't stop him from collecting candy.

Just in time for New Year's -- Halloween photos

2011-11-24T17:28:00.000-08:00

Audrey and Mom work on her sparkly tights, drawing comets and meteors with glitter paint.

The shooting star was Audrey's idea (inspired, we think, by TMBG's "What is a shooting star?") and Mom spent most of a day stitching the hat together. Compliments (and tooth-rotting treats) collected all around the neighborhood. I just have to say that I am lucky to live in an age where you can google the words "shooting star costume pattern" and bingo! there it is. (Thanks, Canadian Living magazine!) All I had to do was print the PDF, spend nearly $70 at the craft supply store, and then hand it all to my mother. (Thanks, Gramma Jean!)

Blogmania

2011-11-24T17:04:00.000-08:00

All right, Mom? Got my lunchbox for school, but I can't find my other cuff link. It's the first day of preschool, I just don't want to look like a tool. Audrey says no on the purse... is it the color? I can do the black if you think the pink is too over the top.

First morning of school, Fall 2011. No, the camera's not out of focus-- Kris looks like that all the time now.

Audrey's Fourth Birthday Pancake and Cupcake Breakfast. Because who doesn't want candy sprinkles at 9 o'clock in the morning?

No, honey, I'm fine: I just want to crouch here and hold onto the wall for a second.

Hi, customer service? There's a problem with my order. This box is full of children.

On Not Being Two

2011-11-08T13:27:00.000-08:00

Thought I wasn't keeping a blog anymore? Well, you're just about right. I started working (some) and found out just how difficult-- nay, impossible!-- it is to keep up with the laundry, shopping, personal grooming, sleeping, not to mention breathless mommy-blogging that is my suburban life. I've got a two month backlog of photos and irrelevant details with attendant whining to catch up on, but today I just wanted to say "Happy Birthday" to my sweet, ferocious little boy Calvin who is now two years old. That picture was taken today at nursery school and this Friday we'll do our family celebrations.

This morning when I told him how happy I was that he was turning two he said, "No! I NOT being two!" And that about sums it up for Calvin lately. He lives to refuse. But then he'll also have his moments of rapture, like when I first see him in the morning, when he just holds my face in his hands so that our noses are touching and says, "Oh, Mommy... I miss you."

It's really weird that I'm looking at a picture of other people celebrating with Calvin today when I was here working (mostly) and fretting (a lot). On balance, we're doing all right although the shifts have been bigger than any of us thought they would be. Home cooking around here often looks a lot like a delivery box of pizza. And the socks you're wearing today just might be the socks you wore yesterday... and the ones you'll wear tomorrow, I'm not making any promises on that.

A thousand more postings to come soon. If I can get some sleep tonight. But we haven't forgotten our loyal, our passionate, our few fans of ChickpeaCentral and how much we like being connected to you all through this quaint medium.... Stay tuned and please email and call us. We miss you!

First dance class

2011-09-14T18:20:00.000-07:00

You can't hear the music or the instructor over Calvin's howling, but you can see that Audrey took to the dance class. This was the first five minutes of the class, and if there is any hesitation in her exuberant scarf-waving dance, I don't see it... It certainly helped that Bethiah was there, and another friend from preschool.

Jazzing the rose.

2011-09-14T17:48:00.001-07:00

Love that first day of the year when it's time to pull out the fleece for a morning walk. And with the change of season, let's have an edition of our very popular (to all three of our readers!) Overheard column:

Tappy is a new word Audrey made up, shortly after she started her Saturday morning dance class. If you are feeling happy about having tap shoes, that's tappy. She told me this while she and Calvin engaged in their weekend morning ritual of climbing into our bed at dawn and sitting on our chests-- she on mine, he on his-- until we arise. It's a great way to wake up-- having a toddler use your rib cage like a fireplace billows and forceably pressing the air out. Do try it!

Audrey is very interested in "'spressions" and using "words of speech" to get her meaning across. The other day I asked her why she was placing some elaborate scribbles across a piece of paper and she said, "Well, sometimes I just like to jazz the rose."

If I understand her-- and I'm not at all sure I do, but I'm trying-- to jazz the rose is like gilding the lily, but with more fizz and pop.

Calvin's commentary remains largely inexplicable except to himself a lot of the time. For instance, he told his preschool teachers over and over again today that he likes to hold hands at the park. OK, you like to hold hands. At the park. And this is relevant to...? Then again, who cares? It's adorable. I'll hold hands with Calvin at the park anytime.

He's got a hold of the word "actually" now. Which you use in conversation to change course, or just mix things up a little, as in, I've been screaming for 15 minutes that Audrey took my train but actually-- hiccup, sniff-- I want a bottle. So forget that other stuff. What train?

And he's not about to take any crap from us, either. I tried to wrench a sharp utensil out of his grasp and was told fiercely, "Ab-so-wooty NOT!" (Have I used these words a few times in the past year? It would seem so.) But if you make him mad, it's easily fixed: just give him a "bomb-cracker." You know, the ones that you use to make a nice bomb-cracker crust?

The Statue of Levity...

2011-09-04T11:05:00.001-07:00

...is where Audrey told me she was headed today. Could that have anything to do with Bethiah's recent trip to NYC? Dunno. Calvin's game: he wants to go anywhere she goes, have anything she has, say anything she says. To just about any suggestion he will roar, "Yes! Dats my FAY-bit!" Excluding naps, diaper changes and being strapped into a carseat, of course. But he is not to blame for his exuberance; as Audrey helpfully explained, "It's not Calvin's fault if he acts like a crazy man. That's just how his body is."

Indeed.

Audrey and Mom at a concert, and a glimpse ahead.

2011-08-27T15:49:00.000-07:00

Suburban bliss: an outdoor concert on the grounds of the public library, on a summer evening, a picnic, just me and Audrey and some good friends, and friendly, gum-snapping teenagers doing face-painting. I had such a good, good time just being with Audrey who is, all by herself, a total delight 99% of the time. It's not simple to figure out, but it's worth the extra schedule juggling to do it. I still remember when my mom set aside afternoon to just hang out with me, and sent Janna off to the sitter for a few hours. What a luxury to give all my attention to one kid and let her lolligag as much as she wants, occupy me completely with charming, chattery nonesense, and dance with her in our upper-middle-class Eden with the rest of the 401(k)'d and batik-skirted volk. (That sounds snappish but I had a really, really lovely time.)

And here's a little news about Audrey's future plans that I found mildly upsetting at first. One of her preschool teachers is expecting a baby and so a lot of "imaginative play" in the classroom has included being pregnant. (You know, stuffing a pillow under your shirt and all that.) Audrey, I was informed one recent day at pick-up time, had announced her pregnancy that day. For a moment I felt a strange choking sensation and then I remembered: she's 3. This sweet, quiet little boy in her class said it was also his baby, and that he was going to marry Audrey. He kept his arm protectively around her for much of the afternoon, the teachers reported. A few days later his mother said she'd overheard her son saying he had to earn lots of money to take care of the baby. Later he asked her if she would mind taking care of the baby while he takes Audrey on a 100 day honeymoon.

Scott and I are still adjusting to it all, but we are pleased she has chosen such a thoughtful and pragmatic young man for a partner.

Animalia

2011-08-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

Calvin marches to the beat of his own drummer. And the drum beat sounds like this:

This morning, at the New England Aquarium, we went to their fantastic exhibit in which tiny, beautiful manta rays and sand sharks swim in a shallow pool and you can reach in to touch these -- completely safe, small and harmless!-- animals as they sail by. You do need to be gentle though, and that’s why I held Calvin back carefully so that his hands couldn’t get anywhere near the rays or the (again, for the grandmothers, totally harmless!) sharks. For their safety as much as his.

Finding his arms impeded, he simply did a legger over the side of the tank and started climbing in. We left the exhibit before any of us had to be escorted -- or fished --out.

I can already hear the lectures of his classmates’ parents’:

“And if Calvin decided to climb into a tank full of sharks, would you try it too?!”

“Yes, totally! He made it look like the most funnest thing ever!”

In addition to a college fund we are also setting aside money for legal fees. Feel free to kick in around the holidays, or his birthday.

There's no picture with this post and you will shortly be glad of it.

2011-08-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

As with my last post on this subject, I've decided to spare you the visuals. You are welcome.

You would think that in four years of parenting, I would learn to recognize patterns. That I would be quicker on the uptake. But there is a part of me so impervious to the effects of experience and time that it never adapts. It dwells in a timeless place where lessons are never learned, just endlessly repeated like episodes of Caillou. And that part of me asked this morning, “Say... am I crazy or does it smell awful in here?”

One of us-- I won’t say who but it wasn’t me, Scott or Audrey-- had just delivered a payload of doo-doo into a diaper that reeeeeeeeked something awful, but instead of diagnosing the problem like someone who has dealt with exactly the same thing every day for approximately... let’s see...1,460 days, I decided that a sewer main on our street must have broken.

With Calvin standing right there at my feet, a busted pipe was honestly the most likely scenario I could think of.

And I went about my business, assuming that the City of Arlington would be by shortly to deal with it, until the smell became dangerously foul and it finally dawned on me: poop. Of course. Poop! It’s always poop. And so much closer than I imagined. Next time I'll probably think it's some kind of stink-bomb weaponry system being tested on our neighborhood by a covert-ops team, or maybe an invasion of skunks.

DUH.

After the rain

2011-08-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

Joy! Mud! Joy! Mud! Joy! Break for traffic. Joy! Mud! Joy!

Calvin's still taller, but Nellie has taken the wheel.

2011-08-11T18:28:00.000-07:00

Friends Nellie and Calvin will be classmates this fall, just like their older sisters. We do hope they aren't expelled for putting each other in a lip-lock.

Janna and Calvin and the frightful prospect of the evening repast.

2011-08-10T18:44:00.000-07:00

I wanted to headline tonight with this absolutely lovely photo of Calvin and Janna, who was hear from Durham this weekend and whom we already miss very much. It was a wonderful weekend. Just look at all the beauty and joy in those faces!

Because now I have to tell you about dinner here tonight. Disasterville.

I don’t mean that the food was bad. The small amount that traveled from my fork to my mouth was a perfectly acceptable weeknight, not-going-to-win-prizes-but-decent rice and vegetables thing. It was the savages-- I mean children-- seated to my right and to my left that made the meal something to be endured.

Audrey whined and fretted and finally left the table having eaten exactly nothing. Calvin picked up his rice and chucked it at us in handfuls, so he was taken from the table, screaming. (No we will not act like that at the table, young man. And get your fork out of my eye socket this instant!) Scott and I looked across the table at each other with a combination of shock and resignation that is the flip side of the parenting coin, the other side being the “How can we be so lucky?!” side. Dinner tonight made us both wonder what on earth we had wrought. How did we get from our giddy first date when we ate barbeque and asked each other, oh-so-lighly, about future children, to this grim scene of pouting, threats and spat-out pieces of avocado?

Now that it’s all cleaned up, the dishes washed and the remains scraped off the floor, I must say I am feeling like the sit-down family dinners are-- for the time-being anyway-- not worth the trouble. Yes, it’s good to teach children about ritual and routine, about manners and healthy eating, but then I look at the facts on the ground and I think it might be better to just put some cold cereal into dog dishes and serve it on the floor. I’ll get down there and eat with them if that would make it more of a family ritual.

Not really.

Well, maybe.

I need some sleep before I consider the matter any further.

Rites of Summer: Their First Lemonade Stand

2011-08-01T18:09:00.000-07:00

Top of Audrey's to-do list, ever since she saw the neighbor kids pouring lemonade across the street, was to "sell stuff." At last, today I got some lemonade and cups, a bucket of change for the till, some markers, a little table and chairs and paper for a sign. I also secured Audrey a business partner, Alice, who came with her mom, providing the critical extra grown-up needed to make this venture viable. Calvin and Alice's younger sister Nellie played in the house while Audrey and Alice sought their fortunes in the cold beverage business.

Sales were brisk. We moved a lot of product with our unbeatable $0.25 price, inspiring some customers to pay as much as $3. Even the neighborhood kids usually ponied up $0.50 cents. One customer bought two cups and gave each girl a brand-new $1 coin. Our 82 year old neighbor Maggie stopped by on her way back up the hill from the grocery store-- that's right, this woman WALKS to the store, in August, at age 82-- and reminisced about her childhood lemonade stands in Cambridge when she had to press her own lemons. No concentrate back then! We poured her cup extra full.

A few things impressed me, not the least of which was that the girls stayed interested in the project for more than an hour and actually smiled at their customers, in between counting money. Second, the young teens on our street-- who have impressed me before with their good-naturedness- came over to buy and just behaved like such nice people it made me want to go congratulate their parents again. And third, I was startled by the speed with which we almost lost our table and chairs, before I'd even had time to post our sign or bring the kids out, to a passerby who thought they were left for the taking. My neighbor Mika saw this about to happen, intervened (with great diplomacy) and came right into the house to find me-- saving us an ocean of tears.

Our sign was a simple affair-- just product, and price. I decided not to take Audrey's suggestion for wording, which was this:

"IF YOU HAVE MONEY, THEN YOU WILL HAVE LEMONADE."

Overheard: What it sounds like when I'm thinking

2011-07-29T19:04:00.000-07:00

From Calvin:

“Ride the abigator!” Once he’s boarded the abigator he likes to press the buttons he can reach. Just the fun ones. With pictures of fireman’s hats!

“Hey! Guess what?” Not a question, just an all purpose greeting.

“We’re on da way!” Announcement while riding his toy car across the living room.

“Time out? Me, too! Me, too!” Like all younger siblings, Calvin is protective of resources: food, toys, love, even a “time out” is something your sister might try to hog all to herself just because she mouthed off before you developed a big enough vocabulary to do so yourself. Well, he’s not letting her get away with it. No-ho! He shoves her over on the time-out step to get his share of time out. Whatever that is.

And from Audrey, one for the ages:

“Mom, when you hear yourself think, what does it sound like?” She asked this as I pulled out of the driveway, when it was actually peaceful in the car for once. It’s reassuring to know that if you just repeat yourself enough, the blather will turn into a sort of Zen koan.

Our July 4th celebrations (complete by 2pm)

2011-07-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

Better make sure we take Audrey to the Ladies Room before we get in the car. That was five liters of Strawberry Lemonade.

Two french fries, one bite of fish, three kale garnishes.

Great day out: Children's Museum all morning, til we were tired and hungry, then down the wharf to the Barking Crab for an (overpriced) lunch. No tears, no barfing. Kids asleep by last click of car seat buckles for the ride home.

The secrets in my mind

2011-07-08T17:53:00.001-07:00

Chickpea

Audrey stopped me in the hall, wearing this get-up. She tapped on my arm and regarded me, quietly. All business. And she said, "Mom. It's me. This is a disguise."

Earlier in the day I caught her at the bathroom sink making a mess, water splashed all over the floor and the hand-towel soaked. "What happened here? What is going on??!!" I cried. (I should note that I said this in a very calm and nurturing way, with no accusatory note in my voice.) Audrey took a moment to collect her thoughts and then said, coyly, "I have a secret in my mind and I'm not telling you what it is."

For which there really is no answer. Checkmate.

Master Calvin.

Like all toddlers, he is the most interesting mix of manners and savagery. He says "no hank oo" and "peeese" but he also screams "no like it!" and "you top dat!" and "you go way!" He stands in the bathtub and daintily drinks the bathwater, one plastic blue teacup at a time. And I don't have to tell you what he did in that bathwater before he started sipping, do I?

His favorite book right now is "Snuggle Up, Sleepy Ones," or, "Nuggle up, leepy one." After he drank the bath last night and was freshly diapered and ready for bed, he toddled over to me holding this book and I got ready to "nuggle" down for story time with my darling boy. Just as he was about to climb into my lap he shouted "Cheers!" and clobbered me in the face with the book.

And now we turn our investigative reporting on... ourselves!

I have to report this little bit of jerkery that I heard myself spouting the other day. Background: we are moving from our suburban town of Arlington to the adjacent suburban town of Lexington, and I actually spoke to my friend about this "transitioning" process for our family.

First, I want to apologize to the noun/verb TRANSITION, a perfectly good and noble word, for turning into an obnoxious gerund. Totally uncalled for. And second, claiming that we must transition from Arlington to Lexington is a bit like saying that I will transition from the LL Bean style of Mom jeans to the Land's End kind. But with front pleats! The difference, in both cases, is but a few dollars in taxes.

I have since regained some perspective. We're just moving. Period. And we're lucky and happy. The end.

Happy Father's Day, Scott, Skip and Jim

2011-06-18T18:16:00.000-07:00

We paid them in cash for these poses, or, as Audrey calls all money, "allowance." To observe the day, how 'bout an installment of our "Overhead" column?

Calvin: [growing frustrated while trying to move a foot stool] Eeees STUCKING!

Calvin: [racing after Audrey at school drop-off ] Audie, wait ah me! Audie wait! Audie wait!

Audrey: [sitting in passenger seat of car while I put on her shoes] I can't sit up here, right, Mom? This is a seat for someone with a BIG bum. I have a very little bum.

And here's one that set me back, not because it was cute or impish but because it was so shockingly clear. She said this the day after we played a game called "Silver Polishing Workshop," in which we cleaned all of my tarnished jewelry. I cleaned and rinsed, she buffed with a dry cloth. Now, before anyone calls this exploitative or brings up child labor law, you should know that Audrey LOVES my jewelry and getting to handle it like this for real was a big deal to her. She did such a good job that I actually bedecked myself in some of that jewelry the next day-- which I almost never do-- and thanked her for making it all sparkle.

"You're welcome," she said. "Thank you for letting me polish your jewelry with you. I really like it when you let me help you with stuff like that."

Friends, it doesn't get any clearer than that. That was almost spooky. The door of her young soul stood open for just a moment and I could see right in. Or Terry Brazelton had taken possession of my child for a moment, I'm not sure which. Either way, I felt that I was being handed something of great importance-- something I did not want to fumble. She likes helping me. Sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of cheap silver-plated earrings and my company is her idea of a great time. It will not always be so. May I be smart enough to love this while it lasts.

The preschool fair (with digressions about taxes and dirt)

2011-06-18T17:57:00.000-07:00

Audrey loved the fair at her preschool so much she wanted to know if the fair would still be there when she came back on Monday morning. Sadly, no. The teachers would simply love to supervise a bouncy house of screaming four-year-olds every day, but it isn't possible.

And that's Calvin driving one of the fire engines that will NOT be taken out of service because we passed our property tax over-ride, thank you Arlington voters, and we still have an ambulance to drive you to the hospital, a library that's open and staffed and oh, decent schools! Thank you!! Did I just go on a tangent and use an entire year's allotment of exclamation points? Sorry!!!!!

Boy, but the kids were gritty by the end of today. When you mix dust and popsicle drips and sunscreen into the temporarily-tatooed, sweaty-sticky skin of a small child you get a resistant coating similar to that on a nylon tent. Swish them around in tepid bathwater all you want and they come out fresher, but the grime still clings, along with stubborn white streaks of SPF 50 behind the ears. Well, let them stay that way then. It's summer. They're not going to any job interviews.

Scott said it best when he compared the process of cleaning Audrey and Calvin to maintaining cast iron cookware. "They aren't clean so much as well seasoned."

The world's best baby-carrier is... another person.

2011-06-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

Just forget Calvin and backpacks. FOR. GET. IT. Unless you like to be bitten between the shoulder blades. What really made him furious was that Audrey (outside the frame of my video rant) was riding her bike. Calvin was incensed that we were going to give her the freedom of the road, the wind in her hair, the thrill that only a tricycle rider wearing a helmet and flanked on both sides by a fretful adult can know... and make him ride in the pack. Well I don't think so.

Tonight, we dine on pickles and olives!

2011-06-10T18:23:00.001-07:00

Things are a bit different at dinner time when Scott's away. Instead of the five course meal I normally serve, for which I always (but always!) change into a fresh frock, we dine informally when Scott's on a business trip. My spouse has never agreed with me that a meal can be made entirely out of items stored in the refrigerator door, but I disagree. I think that a can opener, a dollop of mustard and an open mind are all that are needed to assemble a week-night supper for your young family.

A couple of evenings last week were so broiling hot that I could not bear the idea of cooking, or schlepping us all to the grocery store. So when dinner time rolled around, we ate pickles, olives, cheese, crackers, fruit salad and various and sundry other items until we were more or less full. Everyone had some fruit, vegetable and protein to their meal. Everyone was pleased. And I don't feed the kids like that every night, so what's the harm?

Amen, and pass the ketchup.

The taste of love is sweet...

2011-06-01T19:34:00.000-07:00

Sand, sun, hotdogs, new underwear

2011-06-01T18:52:00.000-07:00

Four days on the Cape: that was my deal. A little family vacation, nothing fancy and nothing requiring plane travel. No long drives (insert story here of childhood suffering on 1,000 mile journeys in my parents' Volkswagon Dasher) and only kid-friendly activities. We did well, really. About as well as could be expected. We remembered the kids ibuprofin this time! But we forgot... all of Scott's underwear. Had to be something, didn't it?

Provincetown being Provincetown, there are many options if you find yourself shopping for men's underwear, but those options were... not exactly what Scott typically wears, if you see what I mean. We thought about our dilemna as we ate hot dogs at John's Foot Long on the pier, and then we decided to drive to TJ Max in Orleans. Yep: we drove all the way down the Cape and went to TJ Max. And it wasn't that bad. Audrey got new flip-flops.

We had some great time at the beach, some meals that we got to eat before Calvin had to be removed from the restaurant, and no one got sick. I'm calling it a success. And I discovered a certain strange new optimism in myself when it came to thinking up stuff to do with the kids. I found that I could summon up a wild, almost reckless enthusiasm for kid activities. Counting trees. Collecting bugs. Weaving scarves out of seaweed. Anything!! Just get us to bedtime. Wear them out. Give them what they want. We're not just killing time here, we are murdering it.

Oh, and here's another great "learn" from our trip as a friend of mine likes to say: humans can safely eat sand. You can absolutely eat sand; Calvin ate BUCKETS of it and he's fine. So just go ahead if you've ever wanted to try a spoonful.

Reading, chalking and looking for trucks with Gramma Jean

2011-05-26T18:24:00.000-07:00

We're all about Gramma, of course, but Dad coming home from his trip is also headlining tonight. And Gramma Jean is willing to stay outside and supervise chalking!

Is that the mail truck? Wait... I think it's Fed Ex. No! Call the papers! It's the men in brown! UPS! Gramma, if the street sweeper drives by after this I'll be so psyched I'm going to, like, need a diaper change. This is just incredible.

Gramma, I have to tell you that although the ninth and tenth readings today of The Big Orange Splot really had energy, this eleventh reading is taking it to a whole new level for me. You are totally making it your OWN! Love it, love it.

Audrey and Margaret create another garden together

2011-05-25T17:51:00.000-07:00

Just as they did last May, Audrey and her Aunt Margaret planted a garden out on our big rambling 10 x 10 foot estate complete with raised bed. Margaret, Larry and Ruth came through Boston during the time of Mom's visit. This year, they were on their way back from Ruth's college graduation which I also had the distinct pleasure to attend. (Marlboro College graduated 64 this year. At a ceremony that size, you can't help but feel you know everyone personally by the end.) Back in Arlington, Margaret helped Audrey put in a few lettuce starts, as well as some spinach, chard and herbs. Seeds have been planted in pots, and Audrey checks them carefully each time we're in the driveway for signs of progress.

They were at their gardening work for about two and a half hours, in steady, drizzling rain and there seemed to be no flagging of energy -- impressive for a three year old, and an adult spending that much time in the rain with said three year old. I watched appreciatively from the kitchen window, glad that they had this time together and happy to see that Scott's raised bed-- held together by over a 100 screws and buckets of engineer sweat, our very own piece of Shaker furniture left to "cure" in the yard-- is now full of edible plants.

I hereby solemnly swear that these plants will get the water and attention they need.

Oh, the conference swag!

2011-05-20T10:11:00.001-07:00

What do Kate Spade and Northrup Grumman have in common? Absolutely positively nothing except that both companies give away BAGS to attendees at events that you and I will never be invited to. But I’ve got a connection, and a whole lotta swanky Tyvek totes from defense contractors to carry my Whole Foods purchases (DON'T BLINK or you'll miss the locally-made goat cheeses!). Scott just came home with a suitcase full of conference swag and it’s all very glam, in a military-industrial-complex sort of way.

While you won’t find a bottle of Calvin Klein’s latest scent in your grey-black camouflaged tote from NG, you might get a cool little wind-up robot, or a rubber duck in snorkel-gear (Navy SEAL duck? No clue). Or a coy little camo cosmetics bag that will allow you to freshen up on the go without giving up your location (in the Stop ‘N Shop parking lot).

Leafing through the magazines that came with all this kit, I couldn’t help noticing how compelling-- how riveting-- the language is in advertisements for tanks and M-16 scope mounts and robotic arms. I think the makers of baby and kid gear could take some lessons. Seriously: throw down some vocab that will speak to the parents of small children. Make me believe that my very survival depends on your product. I give you just a few example from the spring issue of Defense Standard:

Mission Assurance Delivered. I don’t know where we’re going or why, but I will buy anything if you tell me that we’re on a Mission, and that Assurance is going to be Delivered. Just saying that makes me feel like things are under control.

They Don’t See Us. But We See Them. Protection Without Detection. This isn’t baby monitoring; this is full-on infant surveillance. Plug in this sucker and you will not only be able to see and hear your child, you will also be able to plot his next move.

Enhanced Situational Awareness. Now available in fingertip-sized brain implant. What every mother of a preschooler on the playground needs.

Power... Speed...Agility...Stability...Protection...Endurance... OMG, I would totally buy that diaper bag!!!!

A surprise nap for Audrey, and Calvin spent the day trying to self-destruct

2011-05-03T17:56:00.000-07:00

Today included the unexpected sweetness of sharing a nap on the couch with Audrey. She hasn't napped in almost two years but this afternoon, when Calvin was finally down for his nap, I felt a wave of fatigue hit me and I told Audrey I simply had to lie down on the couch for a few minutes and "rest my eyes." After trying to peel my eyelids back for a minute she asked if she could cuddle with me and-- surprise of all surprises!!-- promptly fell asleep. After a short snooze, nose to nose with Audrey, I was able to extricate myself and worked for about an hour while BOTH of my children slept. What peace! It'll never happen again!

And Calvin. He has no fear of falling, no respect for gravity, his actions are not informed by a sense of caution at all. I don't even know how to communicate with such a being-- my whole life is about managing anxiety. Today he fell on his face or the top of his head no fewer than four times, and attempted a jump from the top of a playground structure that prompted me to stuff him under my arm and say, "That's it! We're leaving! Everybody back to the stroller. I'm done."

Picture me at the top of the slide, smiling and cooing, waiting to assist Calvin on a safe trip down. He runs up the stairs. He runs toward the top of the slide. He runs-- still standing!! not slowing down at all!!-- down the twisty slide. His neck is not broken but if you think this is helping me put it all in perspective than you must not have met me. I'm not sure we're ever going to the playground again. I've cast myself forward to Calvin's first driving lesson and our explanation-- as no sense of self-preservation will lead him to this conclusion automatically-- that it is customary to slow down when taking a corner.

In the bathtub tonight I was still washing out bits of mulch that got pushed up into his nostrils when he ran out the backdoor, straight off the end of the porch and into the flower beds. Then a few seconds later smacked his face on the flagstone patio. This was after jumping off the couch and landing on the crown of his head while I tried to talk an RCN technician (the combination of screaming on my end and heavily-accented English on his made the conversation tense for everyone).

But we're doing all right. Bookending all these kamakaze maneuvers, the first thing Calvin did upon waking and the last thing he did before bed was to give Audrey a kiss.

Duh Boids: Calvin works on his English

2011-04-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

"More. Now. Again." (accompanied by sign of index finger jabbing into palm. to indicate food, music, books, anything)

"Cracker!" (Scott said this week that although man cannot live by bread alone, Calvin is giving it a try.)

"Ah-ME!" (mine, I want some, give me that, let me do it)

"Help me! Help me!" (whenever he's being pulled off or out of or away from something)

"Kitty" (any object of desire but especially his blanket. We trace this to Audrey's treasured "kitty." Calvin has made it an all-purpose term of endearment.)

"TWO!" (more than one. many. the desired quantity.)

Cat (dog or cat, skunk or squirrel)

Hati (elephant. Calvin speaks Hindi!)

"Boid." (self-explanatory)

And now for mother's self-congratulatory favorites:

"DANK-oo, Mama."

"Peeeesh."

And winner for all around Mommy-blogger, gosh-darned-if-it-didn't-make-you-gag adorable:

I said to him this morning, "Yes, exactly!" when he brought me his two shoes to put on, and he smiled and said, "Yeah! A-wacky!"

I promptly died of delight.

Back to work? We're on it.

2011-03-29T18:38:00.000-07:00

For the past several weeks I’ve been on a mission to “rebalance” as we say and add significantly more writing and paid work to my life, while remaining the primary care-giver in our household. Not surprisingly, I’ve found this a challenge and I’ve got a few things to say. Ready? Here we go:

I take issue with the idea, supported by a surprising number of people, that it’s possible to work and take care of small children simultaneously. My guess is that the people who say this have either a) never worked or b) never taken care of a small child. Yes, you can try to work while your children wail and do everything in their power to get your attention (Calvin finds that biting the inside of my thigh is particularly effective) but I challenge you to do anything worthwhile-- writing, for example-- under such conditions. Distracted does not begin to describe it.

And still some will argue that children can be taught to sit contentedly, reading or teaching themselves multiplication tables while the parent works. To be fair, these people are often the mothers of newborns so they have, technically, taken care of a small child. One who sleeps 90% of the day and can’t rise to a sitting position much less climb to the top of a bookcase. I find that these women tend to have a tenacious grip on their notions of work-life balance. They are like kayakers paddling down a placid river, afraid that the great roaring they hear around the bend might be a bit more of a drop than they expected.

It’s Niagra Falls, but don’t try to tell them that.

Soon, they too will understand why recordings of crying babies have been used as an interrogation tactic on political prisoners. There is a part of our brain whose biological function is to react to the sound of an unhappy child. Numbing that part of your psyche is possible but it comes at a price. As far as your state of mind, the overall quality of your thoughts, you are like a person who is trying to speak after receiving a shot of novocaine. You may be intelligible, but the drool and rubbery flapping of your lips will detract from your air of professionalism.

Which is all to say, I have come to the decision that we’re going to put both kids in part-time care, while I build up more work and that this is a good thing for them and for me. It ain’t cheap. But neither is the alternative, if you think about it in terms of the hourly cost of psychotherapy. I love love love LOVE my children and am prepared to lie down in front of enemy tanks or fist-fight with grizzly bears to protect them-- not to get histrionic on you-- but I have faith that this is the best plan for us all. I want them to have the best of me, when I'm with them and I can't stretch that kind of single focus over the whole week without getting a bit brittle.

Check back with me in a few weeks and I'll report on how UNBELIEVABLY successful I am at transforming the balance of work and mothering! Or whatever.

Calvin at table, and an innocent bystander

2011-03-29T18:31:00.001-07:00

Oh, Scott, Scott, Scott!! When will you learn not to stand next to Calvin's high chair when he's eating... You may as well make a smoothie in the blender without using the lid.

I'm trying to be cute here because actually I find the mess crazy-making. Food on the floor, the walls, the table, the counters. And don't even get me started about the food caked on Calvin himself. You can see for yourself.

Pak Skip and Nanu Joyce, back in town!

2011-03-29T18:29:00.000-07:00

I think Dad had been in the house for all of five minutes when this was taken. He was already festooned in children and spent pretty much the rest of his visit like that, as did Joyce. A good time was had by all!

One locally sourced rubber chicken

2011-03-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

For years now I have walked by the window display at our local Five-and-Dime store and said to myself, "One day, I'm going to buy one of those rubber chickens." I don't know, there's just something marvelous about this throw-back of a store keeping company out here with the yoga studios and tony restaurants and keeping the rubber chickens right in the front as if they were the very thing you might want. Yes the store is full of unnecessary plastic junk but they carry a couple of hard-to-find items that are actually useful like mitten clips-- ever try looking for those? Well, look no more! They have 'em at Balich 5 & 10! And they also have reporter notebooks which fit my purse exactly and help me preserve the illusion that I am actually going to jot down nuggets of genius at random moments during the day. And yarn. And sleds. And measuring spoons!

And they have, as I said, rubber chickens hanging upside down in a row in the front window like China Town, only plastic and they still have the heads on. So I finally went in this past week and said, "One rubber chicken, my good man!" or something to that effect, and the very nice owner got out his ladder and fetched me down one. I felt that self-congratulatory warmth that suburbanites get from supporting local, family-owned businesses, and now "Robbie" is part of our home. It's hard to remember a time when he wasn't here.

Fantastic Hair Day

2011-03-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

Calvin woke up from his nap the other day with this wonderfully bouffant hair-do. Later in the day he acquired a couple of red divets in his forehead when he landed face-down on the prongs of an electrical cord. Ouch. At least he didn't lose an eye.

A Hollywood kiss

2011-03-08T17:03:00.000-08:00

Nellie's parents are our good friends, so they know Calvin comes from a decent family and has only the most honorable intentions toward their daughter.

Overheard: Poor, friendless Oobleck...

2011-03-08T11:00:00.000-08:00

Here's a textbook example of how maddeningly slow I can be to catch on, and the incredible patience Audrey is developing to deal with that.

To understand this exchange you must know two things: 1) oobleck is a cornstarch and water mixture that makes a cool liquid-solid, and 2) some of the kids in Audrey’s preschool have really weird names.

Audrey [while riding in the car]: Mommy, I played with oobleck at school today!

Me [exuding enthusiasm]. That’s wonderful honey! Is Oobleck a boy or a girl?

Audrey: [short pause] Oobleck is not a friend, Mom.

Me [exuding feelings of deep sorrow and concern] Audrey, that’s not very nice. Everyone at school is a friend.

Audrey: No! Oobleck is NOT A FRIEND!

Me: But why? Why can’t Oobleck be your friend? Which one is Oobleck, anyway?

Audrey: [totally exasperated] Oobleck is WHITE, in a BOWL, Mom. You play with it.

Me: [contritely] Oh. I see. Sorry.

And the final word goes to...

2011-03-01T11:56:00.001-08:00

No surprises here: Audrey. For outstanding performance in the role of contrarian, nay-sayer and all-around Refusenik.

Here's the excerpt from the award ceremonies in case you missed them:

Scott: (tucking Audrey into bed after a particularly contentious bedtime): Good night, Audrey. I love you. Sleep well.

Audrey: I won't!

In a supporting role leading up to this star performance, Audrey responded to the gentle suggestion of our GPS to turn left by saying, "No! We will not!"

And then we came to the valley of the kale chips, and Lefties must needs go through it

2011-02-23T10:54:00.000-08:00

It's that time again. Every lefty in suburbia, your correspondent included, is signing up for a CSA share, and making self-congratulatory references to it on our blogs (check!). We are rededicating ourselves by the thousands to the purported deliciousness of kale, the alleged culinary uses of kohlrabi and the idea that we actually will carve all those spring radishes into interesting, edible table art.

But snark aside, I think CSA shares and urban farming are great, and those of us who can access and afford them should throw our support behind them. In addition to the good vitamins and minerals, all that righteousness gives our hair and skin a healthy shine!

My CSA comes from next door-- beat that, locavores. Our neighbor Charlie operates Rad Urban Farms, a farm composed of small, local growing areas mostly in backyards that are capably farmed by Charlie. The produce is shared by the owners of those plots and a few others who, like me, have no land but like to google for kale recipes and support sustainably, locally grown food.

But the thing about seasonal food-- and I know I'm not the first to observe this-- is that we aren't used to eating what grows where we live, when it's ready for eating. Everybody wants tomatoes and raspberries, but these don't grow in New England in the spring. What does have a long growing season in this part of the word is the dark and leafy green.

Which brings me to the kale chips.

Last summer, when the kale was abundant and I didn't want to make another pot of soup with it, I made kale chips by roasting it in the oven with salt. It's not that bad. Really. Salty and crunchy, and doesn't really taste like much. Even Audrey ate some. But at one point I spied Scott looking down into the bowl of kale chips, and his expression was that of a man with a long and tiring life ahead. A life of travails and hardships. A life where the women-folk would bake tough green leaves sprinkled with kosher sea salt in the oven and offer them as "chips."

At least I never tried to make kale muffins. (But this woman did: www.365daysofkale.com). So here's to a more productive search for new kale recipes this year, and possibly even some palatable solutions for collard greens that do not entail 19 hours of slow simmering with hammy boney things in the pot.

The children are already so much more attractive than me. I mean I.

2011-02-21T17:48:00.000-08:00

I want her haircut. How bad is it that I want my hair to look like my three year-old's hair?

Ladies, beware these dream-boat eyes.

Toddler Interrogation 101

2011-02-16T09:02:00.001-08:00

Overheard

Me: (entering kitchen to find puddles of water on the floor) What happened here?

Audrey: It happened by Calvin!

Whether she was scapegoating her brother or just reporting the facts, the question was dumb. My wiser friend Leah already told me that it’s pointless to walk into a room and ask, of the elder child, what has just happened or why someone else is crying or how these charges appeared on your Mastercard. As if she was simply going to confess! As if you could tell if her denials were true! As if preverbal Calvin even knows what’s going on!

Perhaps in these scenarios, as in business negotiating, my most powerful tool is silence. It’ll get me at least as much information as asking what happened and maybe, just out of curiosity, Audrey will reveal how that water got on the floor.

Or not. But I'm pretty sure I know how the apple core got into the drawer under the oven.

Longest video upload EVER, but Gramma Jean needed to see this.

2011-02-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

Morning, Kailua Kona

2011-02-16T07:28:00.000-08:00

Sending out our love to the old man, who is having less fun than you might think on the Big Island. I'm not saying this merely to make myself feel less oppressed by Boston winter; based on his generally sleepy-eyed look over Skype, I can see that he's working hard and battling jet lag and would rather be here, hearing the crunch of Cheerios instead of beach sands underfoot.

Come home soon, babe. We miss you.

And no, that's not a third nipple above Audrey's navel; its a temporary tat. One of about six she is sporting right now.

Me Talk Nerdy One Day

2011-02-07T09:36:00.000-08:00

Out and about this Sunday, listening to They Might Be Giants, “Science is Real,” I made some comment to Scott about the lyrics and had what I’ve come to think of as a Resident Nerd moment. Like Resident Alien, only pertaining to things like TMBG lyrics and puns off the names of famous mathematicians. I’m not a science nerd and I’d never pass for one, but in the years I’ve been with Scott, I’ve picked up some of the lingua franca and it makes me feel kind of pretend-cool. Nerd cool.

You may want examples, if you are yourself a nerd and like to situate all things with proofs. And if you are not, these are useful terms for everyone to know and bandy about. I accept your gracious thanks in advance.

Power-Cycle. Means to turn something off, then on again. You can use this expression when talking to Tech Support people, to establish credibility and reassure them you are not one of those dopes whose devise is not working due to its Turned-Off-ness. No-ho! You have already power-cycled that sucker, and it ISN’T working.

Pop the stack. This is not just technical jargon, it’s like speaking Nerd Jive. A stack is a programming term that refers to a stack of code or something that all goes in a certain order, kind of like a conversation goes in a logical order. To “pop the stack” means to jump back in conversation to something you were talking about previously. Which you have to do all the time, of course, and now you have a name for it! If you do this a lot but do not say (or recognize) that you are “popping the stack” it’s just called Asperger’s Syndrome.

Frob. This is such a useful verb that if you aren’t using it already, you must begin immediately. It means to twiddle or fiddle or jigger with something, and it’s an actual word derived from the more formal frobnosticate. Look it up, geeks-- I’m serious.

Slash.dot. I can’t claim that I’m a regular reader, but I know what it is, and I sometimes read it. If you tell a nerd that you came across some piece of information on slash.dot, it’s as good as flashing a police badge at a crime scene-- gets you right in. Same as “power cycle” with the help desk. Check it out.

These terms are not just my coquettish ways of getting Scott’s attention, although they do have that affect too. I actually find them helpful in real life. And once in a while I come up with my own nerdisms, like when I compared the heat of my annoyance with someone to that of “a collapsing sun” and Scott fell into a swoon.

“That’s nerd talk,” he said, all breathless and flushed.

I try.

Snow piles grow, sanity erodes for Arlington family

2011-02-01T09:01:00.000-08:00

We are socked in by snow. Again! And there's an even bigger storm coming tomorrow. I simply don't know where we, or any of our neighbors or anyone in this quadrant of the country for that matter, is going to pile more snow. I'd like it if everyone could be safe at home, but I'd also like it if the kids weren't so penned up and bored. I've relaxed pretty much all of my rules for indoor play. Go ahead, run up and down! Pull all the cushions off the couch and build Fort Knox with them! Watch a little more (wince) t.v. (Hey, it's PBS, okay?) Eat the crayons. Scatter the crackers on the floor. Stand on your head. Stand on MY head. It's a snow emergency.

Frequently Asked Snow-Day Questions:

Is Daddy coming home yet?

Will school be closed again tomorrow?

What's for dinner?

Answers:

Soon as he can, I hope.

Probably.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Dance, yeah-yeah

2011-01-22T16:11:00.000-08:00

As with the last post, we have Kristen, our babysitter to thank for this one. It's by far the best footage of Calvin's dancing that's been captured so far. We've watched it over and over. Calvin, too. He lights up and dances when he sees himself dancing. I don't think if I ever have the misfortune to see a video of myself dancing that my reaction will be the same.

We're plowing through some long days of winter, and it's been made more challenging by holidays and "snow days" when Audrey has no school and the roads are too hard (for me, super-chicken of the motorways) to navigate. Each day I start with a full pot of coffee and a new lease on life, and parenting. I power through, coming up with creative ways to kill--- spend! I meant to say spend!-- time with my children. And I'm pretty good at it, honestly; I've got to give myself credit. I don't spend all day yelling. We color and read and cook and play games and dance, lots of great stuff. But after so many days in a small house, you do scrape the bottom. You find yourself saying, as I did, "Uh, Simon Says... lie down under that blanket and close your eyes." And then you wait for that small voice to say, "Mommy? How long do I have to lie here?"

But then it's another day, and another pot of that good, good Kona that Scott always brings back from Hawaii. Brew, sip, consider: these are fleeting days. And just look at the pure joy of their dancing.

Here's a sampling of Calvin's new words:

Ba-Ba (bottle or sippy cup)

Moe (more)

CAH-bin (himself? we think?)

AH-puh (apple)

Yeah-Yeah! Yeah-Yeah! Yeah-Yeah! (well, if you insist...)

The doctor will see you now.

2011-01-09T17:56:00.001-08:00

Photo credit to Kristen, Audrey and Calvin's babysitter and one of Audrey's very favorite people.

A little bit of a lot: A new year's post in which I have a cow. Supposedly.

2011-01-05T06:33:00.000-08:00

"A little bit of a lot" is Audrey's latest turn-of-phrase and an apt title for my post-holiday entry-- perhaps this entire blog given that my entries have become so rushed and so few. We hereby resolve to do better in 2011.

Signs of a theme I hope will develop this year: as I write this, Calvin is in the living room looking at (I won't say "reading") board books. And by the time I finished typing that sentence he was in the kitchen shouting "Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!" and hitting me in the kneecaps with those books. But still. Progress? Yes!

Let's get to the photos. No matter what I do today I can't get these to upload in the order that I want, and I can't rotate the sideways photo of Audrey. I'm sorry. If it's technical ability you're looking for, you are on the wrong blog. One photo is the kids with their Santa haul, an easel for Audrey and a rocking moose for Calvin. Then Audrey in her princess dress ("Sleepy Beauty") from Aunt Janna, accessorized with Hello Kitty purse. And Audrey posing modestly with her Gingerbread House, constructed with a bit of help from Scott and his OCD, uhm, I mean, his engineering skills.

And last but not least, our Overheard column:

When Scott does the shopping he sometimes comes home with items like chocolate brownie mix, which don't fit my Homemade-Yogurt-and Granola-With-Wheat-Germ ethos, and Scott knows it. He may have said something to this effect at the store, within earshot of his short shopping companion. Back home, she showed me what they'd purchased. Bananas for Calvin. Tea for Daddy. "And this," she said holding up the brownie mix, "is to make YOU have a COW!"

First snow

2010-12-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

Snow mound with carrot

But don't eat the... oh never mind.

Calvin learns to draw, and hear sounds from deep space.

2010-12-19T18:50:00.000-08:00

Again-- again!-- we have Rebecca to thank for helping our children express themselves artistically, this time with special crayons for wee hands. Calvin drew for a bit, and then ate them. This was his first drawing. Which I have now lost, I'm sorry to say. I'm a lousy archivist.

Translucent ears. The better to hear you with.

Gingerbread Yurts

2010-12-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

Where would we be without Auntie Rebecca? Audrey took part in tree decorating and gingerbread house making (called yurts instead because it turns out it's really hard to get those suckers to hold together with just frosting) with her best buds, Ruth and Bethiah. Holiday decorations at our house are way, way up at the tippy top of the Fake Mantle where Calvin can't reach them. We've got greenery up there, all feathery and fine near the ceiling, and a nativity scene on the lower mantle by my grandmother, all quilted and stuffed pieces, and including a manger made from scraps of my grandfather's plaid polyester pants.

Overheard: When I told Audrey she needed to do some more serious brushing of her teeth, not just dangling the brush from her mouth: "Mom, you've been giving me a headache all the week." And when spotted taking chap stick out of my purse, "Now: don't be mad in the first place!" On the sweeter side, she often says, "I have a secret to tell you!!! I love you!!!!" She is often in spasms of excitement about matching colors, as in "Mommy!!!!!!!! I just noticed something!!!!!!!! Your blue socks and my blue t-shirt match each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Observed: Calvin, in an assortment of trouble.

Calvin and I have a lot of time here to ourselves when Audrey's at preschool, and for short periods of time I can let him play by himself. As I wash dishes, he unloads the pots and pans from the cabinets and wears them as hats, or pulls clean laundry out of the basket and tucks it into the recycling bins. A new favorite game is to take glass jars from those bins and push them through the cat door, sending the jars bouncing down the back stairs. (The noise and quick reactions are, apparently, worth the effort.) Other times, as I sip of a cup of lukewarm coffee, and page leisurely through a magazine, I'll feel a little tug at my shoe and realize that he is there under the table, my companionable little son, sharing the morning with me and quietly eating a paper bag.

His words are few. And we aren't 100% sure he's saying them, except in the first instance. They are:

Uh-Oh (all-purpose, and so useful in a house of small children)

Au-deeeeeee (center of the Universe)

Go! (proceeds car trips)

Reeeeeeeeeeee ("Read," spoken while tossing a board book into your lap)

This and that

2010-11-24T17:20:00.000-08:00

Calvin, looking a little bit sticky.

An afternoon snack at home.

From mom's last visit-- Audrey is schooled in being a bookworm by Gramma Jean.

I am thankful for the sweetly unexpected.

2010-11-24T17:15:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why I had the camera pointed at them when I filmed this, but I'm glad I did.

Just like his sister. Only more.

2010-11-22T07:05:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I complained here about my children's sleep habits, right? So I hope no one minds a bit of a rant on that subject today; I need it. Having just wrestled Calvin down for a late morning nap, I have jangling nerves. This kid will not go down for a nap peacefully, and every time I have to put him down screaming it's like having a little bit of my soul sandpapered off. I hate it. But he's exhausted, no question about that, and he's about twenty pounds too heavy and a year too old to be carried, or driven too and fro, even if I were willing to do those things. Descriptions of soothing sleep routines make me laugh. And schedules-- more bitter, hollow laughter. Soothe all you want to, and try to put him down before he's wired-tired but the moment you actually have to put him down, get ready to have your blood curdled.

I am frankly amazed that other people are able to simply put a tired child down into their bed without this epic struggle. How can it be so utterly different with my children? What on earth are we doing wrong? Rhetorical question, of course! I don't believe in "Sleep Solutions" anymore and have tossed the book by that title right into the trash. And if you were hoping to borrow my copy of "The Baby Whisperer," you'll have to look for it there as well. It's right underneath those coffee grounds, and Audrey's soggy bran flakes from this morning.

Wow, hey, Kris-- sounding a little bit off kilter today, aren't we? Get a grip, woman!

There's a tiny wedge of a bright side to all this sleep horror: Audrey sleeps soundly through the night, every night. She quit napping entirely well before she turned three (and no, it's not because she no longer needs the sleep), but at least we can put her to bed and count on not hearing from her again until Calvin wakes her up in the morning-- which he does by marching down the hall and banging her door open like he's entering the saloon in a Western.

And every morning that I see this I know again how much I love them both and their indomitable spirits. For the next 18 or so years I will be seeing, I'm sure, hundreds of variations on this same theme. As adults they will never have to work through their issues with trying to please their mother because they do not appear to have this impulse-- and I know, in the bigger picture, I should be glad for this. I wish they could both just wait a few years before exhibiting this helpful trait quite so strongly.

Morning, Pa Skip. Here's an excellent lichen specimen.

2010-11-15T05:05:00.000-08:00

I've made much (too much?) out of Audrey's interest in lichen because I hope she'll develop a passion for the sciences and soon begin gathering her own laboratory equipment like litmus testing papers and a magnifying glass and all that stuff-- oooh, I can't wait to foist all of my own interests on her! And won't she appreciate me for that!!

Anyway. She was genuinely excited to see this lichen. And we wanted to share our find with Pa Skip, geologist of the field. This rock is part of a big outcropping in a tiny patch of conservation land near our house. I have that mixture of delight-panic-dread about the on-coming cold; every walk or playtime outside feels like it may be the last for months. The inside of the house feels both cozy and confining. But the weekend was unseasonably warm and we were out collecting sunlight as much as we could, storing it up.

One year ago today I raked some leaves, and then...

2010-11-07T17:02:00.000-08:00

We finished raking at about 12:30, came in and had some lunch, and while I was eating my sandwich I said, "Hey, uhm, Scott, I think maybe..."

Quick call to midwife to confirm, and we were off! Called Rebecca and Hank, dropped Audrey off next door with Stephanie who would hand her off to Rebecca (and also, since Steph is an OB we had a quick driveway chat during which she suggested that we should get to Mt. Auburn oh, about, IMMEDIATELY) so we made the drive (eerily familiar except less of a feeling of wild unknown this time, more of a wild known), I walked right on past registration and headed to Labor and Delivery (I'll fill out paperwork later folks, I'm kind of busy here) and at 3:10, I was, as they say, delivered of my son.

The events of November 8, 2009 have, among other things, forever changed the way that I feel about yard work.

Calvin, we couldn't imagine things around here with another child. Couldn't believe that someone else would rewrite our lives the way that Audrey had. Now we can't imagine the world without you.

Happy 1st Birthday, Bonzo.

Scott's mad carving skills

2010-11-02T06:48:00.000-07:00

This last pumpkin attracted special notice; three different people told us we should go see Despicable Me.

Happy Halloween!

2010-11-02T06:39:00.000-07:00

Simian Calvin
Gramma Jean (witch) with princess and monkey on Westmoreland Ave.

Neighbor Lynda offers a choice: candy, or broccoli?

Sugar-fueled happiness!!!!!!

Companionable Cal

2010-10-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

Princess of the Pez

2010-10-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

The great Walt Disney has infiltrated our home, not in the form of classic cinema but via Pez candy and underpants.

Audrey got some new, bigger underwear this week and some of it features Elmo and Zoe just like the last even-tinier-than-these set of panties, but *some* of it now features princesses. Of the Disney sort. Sigh, moan, all the insidious marketing, blah, blah, blah. Well, why don't you try shopping with a three year old and see if you can do better?

And Audrey quickly recognized Cinderella of the underpants as being the same Cinderella whose head tips back to disgorge a pellet of candy from the new dispenser Daddy gave her. (I tried to tell Scott that he was setting a bad precedent by pulling gifts out of the suitcase all the time, but the guy likes to shop.) "It's the Princess of the Pez!" she cried, enraptured, and pulled on the Cinderella underwear over the two pairs she already had on.

Won't she be blown away when she realizes that the Pez & underwear princess is also in a MOVIE?!

Blog? What blog?

2010-10-27T09:15:00.000-07:00

Scott is threatening to start guest editing Chickpea Central if I don't post. This month I have been faced with some difficult choices like, "Should I upload that video of Scott and Calvin dancing, or take a shower while Calvin is napping so that I don't have to wait until midnight to wash my hair?" It's not anyone's fault. Scott is traveling a lot, Calvin takes only one nap a day for about two hours if I'm really lucky, and Audrey is... Audrey. Plus I don't multitask with much grace. I try to write, to post, to cook a little, to keep us all in clean clothes, and to take time to get outside with the kids and collect leaves and acorns which later have to be fished out of the washing machine. Isn't it supposed to be easier for me to get things done? Three years into being a stay-at-home, I still feel it ought to be, but I cannot figure out how. Honestly.

Meanwhile, Calvin can walk and almost run and Audrey is starting to listen to chapter books and to recognize letters. The "Overheard" column could go on for pages. Calvin adds the occasional "Uh-Oh!" and "Mama!" And so for you, dear readers, I will go unwashed another day in order to bring you this clip of Calvin and Scott dancing.

Get up and shake it like a polaroid pitcha, wont' you?

The racing grocery cart

2010-10-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

Friends, I give you the two-seater racing-car child-minding grocery cart. Trying to steer this sucker around the narrow aisles of a crowded supermarket is not easy, but it is now the only way I can take both kids shopping. Even with both of them strapped into these seats, I still find that the cart mysteriously fills up with boxes of cookies that I do not remember pulling off the shelves.

Scott says this is how he feels when I'm driving. Shall we install a passenger side steering wheel for the Matrix?

Calvin warms up his Grocery Store Grin for all those adoring women in the produce section who just can't wait to pinch his fat cheeks. Careful, ladies-- behind those cherubic lips are four very sharp teeth.

Calvin's first steps

2010-10-02T17:23:00.000-07:00

Audrey Turns Three

2010-10-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

Digging into some cake at Rebecca and Hank's house-- we brought the cake, they provided dinner, guests, and a place to party.

Birthday Cake hat from Gramma Jean

Decorating cake with star sprinkles that she swooned for at the supermarket...

And oh how she does love presents!

Our exchange when she woke on the morning of her birthday:

Me: "Do you know what today is?!"

Audrey: "My birthday? Is it coming up?"

Me: "It's right NOW!!"

Audrey: "Mommy, it was so long to wait and wait and wait but today I AM THE BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!!"

Calvin's new career in holiday modeling begins with this pumpkin photo shoot...

2010-09-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

Too. Cute. Too impossibly cute.

Swings

2010-09-18T17:48:00.000-07:00

So tired tonight my eyelids are twitching, so we'll just have to upload the pictures and skip the commentary. Someone needs to tell Calvin that although his sister did the same thing, it is very much NOT all right that he is still waking up two and even three times a night at 10.5 months old. I'm weary of serving as his personal snack bar, but when I try to ignore his calls for Room Service he just keeps dialing and dialing and dialing. Boy but I do have a couple of willful children. Much good may it do them in life, but in the meantime-- I badly need more sleep. This eyelid thing is creeping me out.

A classic, and just as hilarious the 1,000th time as the 1st.

2010-09-15T08:57:00.000-07:00

Just about anything you do or say around a baby of 10 months seems to build a new synaptic pathway into his little brain, even the things you'd think he'd grow sick and tired of. Peekaboo, for example. Sure the ending is happy, but it's so... predictable. He just doesn't care. And he'll play peekaboo with anyone: mother, father, sister, stranger on street corner. Smile at him and he gives you the benefit of the doubt, gives your comedy routine a chance.

No. It's the new Yes.

2010-09-09T19:09:00.000-07:00

Why does she say "no" to everything? 'Cause it's fun to say. It's spunkier than "yes." And the grown-ups know that you don't really mean it all the time. As a father of three once told me, back before I had kids, "No isn't a word. It's a way of life."

Textbook example-- this morning, 7:00 a.m., the kitchen. Audrey holds out her cup and says to me, "I don't want any orange juice... in this cup."

Yes'm.

Tats

2010-09-07T13:43:00.000-07:00

Note to self: perhaps Audrey could use some closer supervision when coloring with markers. But it's all washable, right?

Overheard of the week: "Mom, why are you so crazy?"

A fine question.

Baby's first drag ball!

2010-08-31T11:44:00.000-07:00

How's my hair? And from this side? Is it OK? But I'm still not sure about the overalls. I'm just not sure...

The merry trio

2010-08-31T11:40:00.000-07:00

Adorable photos by Rebecca of our girls in the backyard on a recent summer night in Medford. Scott had it absolutely right when he said that Bethiah looks just like a young Debbie Harry in that last picture.

Overheard: The New Mother Cous-Cous

2010-08-29T17:07:00.000-07:00

See if you can spot the contemporary twist in this recitation from Audrey:

"Fee, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his coffee to make my bread!"

And here, she takes the back-talk to a new level. Unfortunately, her logic is pretty sound:

Me: Audrey, I didn't want to take the sippy cup from you but you didn't give me a choice because you were using it to water the rug with milk.

Audrey: Yes I DID give you a choice! If you don't want to take it from me then DON'T!!!!

Did you hear that? That was me, heaving a big, deep sigh.

Calvin at table

2010-08-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

Don't try to feed this kid without giving him a spoon of his own, or he will take the spoon you're trying to use, and beat you about the head and shoulders with it. He will do it his way. Or. No. Way. At. All.

Doesn't he stun you with this darling look? He could be a very successful pick-pocket: zap them with the big blue eyes, then grab the wallet! Crawl away!

A day of birthday parties

2010-08-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

This Sunday we went to not one but TWO birthday parties-- a veritable feast of frosting. The evening found us celebrating around the bouncy house with our good friends in Medford. Happy 3rd Birthday, Bethiah! Audrey now reminds me daily that her birthday is "coming up soon."

The artist at work

2010-08-10T18:37:00.001-07:00

Isn't it a fine moment in everyone's life when we learn to give a really big, frozen smile to the camera? I won't say this smile is a fake-- no, it's real, but it's also a response to having her picture taken and it makes her look so much older to me.

The fading days of summer...

2010-08-10T18:35:00.000-07:00

The expression on Audrey's face has both the sweetness and the impishness of her at this very moment of summer, on the cusp of three.

Old Mother Couscous

2010-08-09T18:54:00.000-07:00

Last night Audrey asked me if I would read her the Old Mother Couscous poems. Her catch-phrases of the week are, "Well, surely we can!" (cheerful response to "no" in any form) and "Well, if you say so." (grudging acquiescence to parental authority).

We’ve been reading a book about the management of the strong-willed preschooler, and as so often happens with books like this, we are evangelists of The Method, because we haven’t actually applied it for more than a day. In this case, the method is all about making “attending statements” instead of badgering your child with questions and directions. I will say that when I really stopped to pay attention to this, it did seem that I was constantly hectoring Audrey with my directions and queries, even when we were trying to play together. Attending statements are just observations, to make your child feel that you are really paying attention, and to emphasize your interest in what she does. Scott offers this helpful example:

WRONG WAY: Audrey, where are you going with that gun in your hand?

RIGHT WAY: Wow! It looks like you are walking around the house with a firearm. I wonder what you’ll do. You sure do seem to know how to use it!

Cruisin'

2010-08-06T04:15:00.001-07:00

Calvin and I have our mother-son time first thing in the morning, which is all right with me especially on mornings like this one when he slept all the way through the night-- and by the way, "through the night" means 7-7, not this five hour nonsense that parenting books define. Who considers 5 hours a full night of sleep? Not I.

Calvin likes to get up around 5:30, about an hour and a half before his sister and his dad, so we come downstairs together and I sit on the living room floor attempting to read and drink lukewarm coffee while Calvin uses me for a climbing wall.

Last week we said he could crawl, and stand. Now, he will not remain seated. He's working on cruising now, the inching crab-walk supported by furniture, but he's still a little bit perplexed about the role that his feet are supposed to play. He holds on tight to the couch and looks down at his feet and you can see him thinking: Go. Go. GO!!!

More from Year of the Tadpole

2010-08-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

Photos taken at Audrey's nursery school, with apologies to the unidentified children who appear here without their parents' permission. Lucky for me this blog has a readership of about three, so I'm unlikely to be sued.

And a' kick and a' kick and step-ball-change, slide, slide!

None of the other kids liked the Mardi Gras beads-- at least, I hope not because Audrey hogged all of them, every day.

Tuition payments will be reduced if your child shovels off the outdoor play area before class.

Ah, this picture makes me long for the first day of fleece vests in the fall!

Hide the electronics! Again!

2010-08-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

How is that we baby-proofed our house once already but it seems to be full of the fragile and dangerous and delectably chewy, all over again?

And now watch this cool trick:

Listening to the iTubes

2010-07-28T06:26:00.001-07:00

Turn your back on Calvin for two seconds and he learns something new, climbs something he couldn't climb before, plants his drool-covered flag on some piece of furniture I was sure was out of reach. Last night he pulled himself up on the baby gate between the kitchen and dining room and rattled it as hard as he could. It is not at all hard to imagine him just throwing a leg right over that gate and laughing at our pathetic effort to corral him.

And Audrey is up and down the emotional scales everyday like she's rehearsing for the stage. Screaming rages, sweet nothings, imperious questions, stern finger wagging, expressions of shock: "Mommy, I can't believe my eyes!" The overheard column for this week:

Audrey, standing in front on my computer: "Mommy, let's listen to music on the iTubes."

Me: "What are you going to say to Dad when he gets home from his trip?"

Audrey: "Thank you for the lovely coming home!"

Audrey, as we get ready to leave the house for nursery school: "C'mon, Calvin. Let's get this show on the road."

I can't manage a solid piece of prose this week, just these snippets. It's too hot. And the house is rattling from being re-shingled and painted so I am scattered all around, too. Maybe this afternoon we will go for a nice air-conditioned ride in the car, just me and kids, listening to music on the iTubes and I will nap in the back because Calvin will have figured out how to drive by then.

Grit

2010-07-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Days ago Calvin couldn't crawl and now he is lurching around the living room on all fours, taking full advantage of Audrey's nap time to chew on her toys. Her toys are all the ones, you see, that she is interested in, and a baby toy by definition is some piece of junk that she doesn't care about but will do just fine for Calvin, thank you very much. Her idea of a fair trade is to rip the legos out of his fat and eager little hands and offer him an empty toilet paper roll in exchange. Not exactly negotiating in good faith, but for now the notion of trading keeps Audrey from being an absolute tyrant. And Calvin thinks, "Hey! A toilet paper roll! Cool!"

So he's locomoting all over the place here while I read my novel (The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, since you ask) with one ear tuned to the baby monitor for the sounds of even, slow breathing that means Audrey has gone to sleep. And while I am semi-ignoring Calvin, suddenly there he is, pulling himself up to a full stand. His efforts are furious and intent. He uses everything-- fingers, toes, torso, and finally he grips my pant-leg in his gums to haul himself the last few inches. Then beams-- simply beams at his achievement.

Overheard: When I the grown-up

2010-07-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

Audrey is keenly tuned in to the differences between babies, toddlers, preschoolers and grown-ups. We showed her a "Wallace and Gromit" movie during our recent vacation and she calls it "Wallace and Grown-Up." (Side note: Do not even think about boarding a cross-country flight with a small child unless you have a portable DVD player and are prepared to throw all your prohibitions against t.v. right out the emergency exit. Thank you for your attention. You may begin pre-boarding at any time.)

This week Audrey moved from the toddler room to the preschool room-- a transition which caused me more of that heavy-sighing, weepy-sniffly mommy blogger stuff... never mind. We won't get into that again.

At school pick-up time, as we walked through the parking lot together:

Audrey: Mom, are you a preschooler?

Me: Nope, only you are a preschooler.

Audrey: But when you were a kid you were a preschooler just like me?

Me: Yes!

Audrey: Mommy, when I a grown-up, I drop you off at preschool and then I walk away, with the baby.

Me: Sounds good.

The photo above is part of a montage I am making of photos from her first year at school, "Year of the Tadpole." I miss it. I miss everything lately. I am already nostalgic for this morning- that's how fast they're growing.

Giddy-up (before I fall asleep on my feet)

2010-07-11T19:09:00.000-07:00

We are jet-lagged, we are up to our armpits in dirty laundry and travel detritus, and Scott is already back on the road to California, but I cannot neglect you, dear readers, though the hour is late and I just barely got the kids to bed 30 minutes ago after an epic struggle with both of them. Here is one photo from our vacation, taken at a small canyon ranch near Cashmere, WA. Pa Skip and Nanu took us all out for some horseback riding. It's truly gorgeous country all around them out there. A breath of fresh-- and dry!-- air after the humidity of Boston in summer. Audrey was alternately gleeful and terrified while on the horse but we were please she gave it a try.

More photos to come, but this Buckaroo is going to bed now. Atop a small mountain of unwashed socks.

Terms of the Treaty

2010-07-02T12:46:00.000-07:00

I give up! I give up! I give up! I give up!

Three months since my last frustrated posting about potty training, and I am only now crawling out of the bunker, hands over my head where she can see them. I surrender. We put her back in diapers this morning because we are sick to death of cleaning up accidents, dragging her to the bathroom, and arguing about it. Audrey happily wears her underwear but has not once—not once—in three months actually volunteered that she needed to go to the bathroom. And forget about #2—you’d think we were asking her to jump out of a plane with no parachute. Even the incentive of a brand new guitar of her own, wrapped and waiting right there in front of her, has made no difference. This morning I asked her why she persistently refused to tell us that she needed to go to the bathroom even though it was making Mommy and Daddy very, very frustrated and she said, “Well, I’m not ready.”

I love clarity when I am right, but when it works to prove me dead wrong, I prefer the comforting muddle of uncertainty.

I know, I know, I know. It’s not like we weren’t warned from every possible source. I just thought that I might win this battle of wills with her. I was so, so wrong. Being as willful as my two year-old is simply not working out for me.

But I am not going to surrender quietly. For the record: if there was a way to force this I would do it. I would! Sue me, I would. I’m that sick of diapering. There is something deeply irking to me about a preschooler in diapers, even though I was a preschooler in diapers once. But there is no way. I’ve tried. Independence begins with the boundaries of your own body and Audrey has defiantly laid down the law on this one. You win, kiddo. But don’t think for a moment that the battle over green vegetables is over…

Overheard: Audrey? Is that you?

2010-06-22T19:38:00.001-07:00

So we were just sitting here in the living room about thirty minutes ago, both clickety-clicking away on our laptops, having long, long since dispensed with the children, when we heard a weird calling on the baby monitor. A child's voice, from a distance. It sounds... like Audrey... but it's not coming from her room. She's... somewhere else in the house? We went upstairs to find her quite happily sitting in the guest bedroom (in a seriously, hideously soiled diaper, it turns out) and just as pleased as punch to see us.

"Audrey, what are you doing in here?" I asked, genuinely interested to see if she could explain it. "I was hiding in here! Like a sleeping pig!" she reported. "How long have you been in here?" I asked, since it was past ten and almost two hours since we put her to bed. "Well," she said, turning her palms up and shrugging, "thirty-nine."

Calvin in stripey PJs, and an explanation about printers

2010-06-22T13:23:00.000-07:00

Calvin can now sit up completely on his own, for long stretches of time, and when he stops sitting it's not because he has toppled backwards (although in moments of extreme excitement this can still happen) but because he has gone into Almost Crawling mode, on all fours, in order to reach for something.

Slow down, my little son! You grow up too fast!

And I hope you will enjoy this Overheard, from Scott. I caught it while eavesdropping on Audrey and Scott cleaning up in the "library," which is the boneyard for our obsolete electronics and unwanted books.

Audrey: (pointing to defunct printer) Why does it not work anymore?

Scott: Well, see, it wasn't working and Daddy tried to fix it and make it work again and he.... broke it some more.

Well said, Mr. Eleven-years-of-MIT-education.

Scott and the kids on a rainy Saturday

2010-06-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

There's always room for one more in the glider rocker... except when there isn't and someone falls out.

Overheard: The give-ded

2010-06-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Me: I see you have one of Daddy's business cards there. Did he give that to you?

Audrey: No, I just give-ded it to myself.

This is how she constructs the past tense: not I fell but I fall-ded. Not I ate but I ate-ed. Not-- and I'm sorry to say this one still comes up fair amount-- I peed over there, but I peed-ed.