Lost in Translation (or, All Aboard the Potty Train)

Calvin sporting his new hat from Auntie Ellen...

Scott accepting a cup of hot tea from Audrey, who got a new plastic tea set the other day and knows a lot about the importance of hot, caffeinated beverages for a tyke so small.


The vagaries of our language become much clearer when you live with someone who is just learning to put it all together. Every other utterance from Audrey this week is "What's this called?" And she'll listen with rapt attention while you repeat the new word, whatever it is-- thermometer, casserole, stop sign-- and you can just about see the new etchings on her little brain. And sometimes, what we say doesn't make sense. Or rather, it does make sense, but not the sense that we intended. I said to Scott this morning, with a heavy sigh, that it looked like Audrey would be closer to her third birthday than her second by the time she was fully potty trained. And down there at knee-level, Audrey snapped to attention. "Where's the potty train?" she asked, holding up a section of her wooden train tracks.

Yes, the potty train. That would be the one that's not leaving the station anytime soon at our house, even though we have all boarded, with a crate full of pull-ups and Tic-Tac rewards, and that maniacal conductor who is always exclaiming, "Good job! Let's go check for pee again! What a big girl you are! Hooray!" What a moron. Can someone just tell her to take a seat, please?

Gramma Jean cuddles Calvin, and dances with Audrey

Several people have noted that Calvin has very long fingers and toes. There are tall men on both his mother's and his father's side of the family, so we may soon find ourselves craning our necks at an uncomfortable angle to scold him. And he will look down at us with pity and bemusement.

Well wishes from Clinton in Kuala Lumpur

These are the prayer sticks that our friend Clinton placed for Calvin and our family at the Thean Hou Temple, his favorite place in Kuala Lumpur, at the shrine of the gods and goddesses of health and prosperity. Thank you, Clinton! These are beautiful.

Now isn't that more interesting than another photo of an exhausted parent draped in a spitty burp cloth?

8:52 pm and we're ready for bed around here...

But before we begin our nightly charade of "sleeping" while Calvin eats, hangs out awake in his crib, or makes a nice nesty place between us in our bed for chatting and singing campfire songs all night, I thought I'd post a couple of pictures of his older sister. Above, Audrey nurses her baby, Purple Charlotte (her other doll is just called Charlotte). Below, she applies a refreshing cream cheese facial with the sandwich Scott made her for lunch.

We have told Calvin if he continues his nocturnal behavior we are going to send him out to be raised by the family of skunks that live under our neighbor's porch. They are awake all night, but in this house we like to get some rest, young man.

Calvin's first week

A contemplative moment after the bath

His face is so small the pacifier looks like a dinner plate glued to his mouth.


Newborn fashions from Mimi.

Sleeping in on Sunday morning with Dad.

And Audrey? Some of you have asked how she's doing.... Well, kind of a mix. She's fragile, and often bossy and demanding and sometimes she pitches monumental tantrums. In between these episodes she kisses and hugs the baby as much as we'll permit her to, and congratulates him on how well he's nursing. " Good job, honey!" We try to include her in the photos too, but she moves a lot faster than Calvin-- but don't worry, she's here and she's still running the show.

At home with both our little legumes

Leaving Mt. Auburn on Tuesday morning. The last time we left this place, the nurses said, "See you in two years!" and we muttered, "Oh, you are quite mistaken, my friends! We'd never do that to ourselves. Two years, indeed..." And we walked our new baby to the parking garage, shaking our heads and chuckling. Oh, these nurses think they know it all! Ha!

It was two years, one month and five days exactly that we staggered in those big, automatic doors again.



Calvin's rigorous schedule: eat, nap, fill diaper, repeat.

Scott says he doesn't see it, but I think there is a reddish quality to Calvin's hair. Nothing pronounced, but it's there, I can tell.

Today, Calvin got a name, and a new sock monkey.

His name is Calvin Scott.

He is not named for:
Cal Ripkin
Calvin and Hobbes
Calvin Coolidge
Calvin Klein
John Calvin
or any other Calvin, famous or not.

We just like it. That's all!