Dental work on Ah-Da

Well, I see you haven't been flossing as I told you to at your last cleaning. This simply will not do.



Audrey seems to say Ah-Da when Scott comes into the room. I'm not going to claim this is her first word. I'm just saying, you know, it could be, maybe, possibly.

Jagged Little Teeth

No mistake this time. Chickpea has two bumpy little teeth pushing through her lower gum, and she is wicked cranky today. Right now, she is in the car with Scott on the way to Home Depot where they are going to have some daddy-daughter quality time (so says Scott) and I am going to have some at-least-I-can-drink-this-cold-coffee-in-peace time. I've just stashed two damp washcloths in the freezer for her, so she can have them when they get back. Although that might be a while, since I told Scott to return home with a sleeping child or not at all. Okay, I didn't really say that. But we did have a talk in the car just now about revising our sleep plans (again.) Don't worry, I won't give details. I will only say that I deeply regret our recent back-slide into nursing-to-sleep. What a gigantic mistake.

Scott is probably in the lumber aisle right now letting her chomp on some press board or practice her fine motor skills on the trigger of a staple gun.

The photos above were taken after we gave her a corn cob to chew on last night. The stuff on her bib that looks like fountain pen ink is actually just blueberries

My lovey, my enemy

No photograph tonight, just a bedtime vignette. Another moment of I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this. As my friend Rebecca recently pointed out, she could make an entire banquet of the words I've already eaten since becoming a parent. I don't know why I'm still surprised to be surprised.

So you've heard about "comfort objects," right? No? Well, get with the program-- they are essential tools for helping small persons get to sleep at night, calm down during the tempests of tantrums, meet the new babysitter with confidence, etc.. They are known in the biz as "loveys." No longer just a word for when you are pretending to have a Cockney accent, a good lovey is small, cuddly and portable. Audrey's is a small foot-square blanket made of yellow fleece. She's become attached to it only after many months of handing it to her, trying to convince her that cuddling with it is a deeply soul satisfying experience. But when she finally fell for it, she fell hard-- the lovely is loved. It is an all consuming love, second only to her love for her stuffed dog and -- possibly-- me and Scott. And it's incredibly sweet to see her light up and coo when she sees the lovey, and snuggle with it at night. Except.

I just put her to bed a few minutes ago and handed her the lovey (she was barely awake) and she immediately rolled over and buried her face in it. How can I walk out of the room where my sleeping child has her mouth and nose possibly maybe a little bit obstructed by the stupid lovey?? So there I stood, trying ever so gently to take the lovey away from her without waking her up. She finally rolled away from it, which is why I am not still there now, holding my breath and trying to pull it out from under her one millimeter at a time.

I'm tagging this one "Careful what you wish for."

Library at Monhegan Island

I really wanted to see the library at Monhegan Island because I knew it had been put together by a Simmons alumna, someone who is now over 100 years old and, coincidentally, is also named Ruth just like my buddy here in the yellow t-shirt. The library was an absolutely beautiful, charming building with a card catalogue still in use.

Why is little Ruth wearing such a huge t-shirt, you ask? Well, I won't tell you the whole story but I will say that it's a good thing they sell shirts on the island because when it's rough water all the way over on the ferry, people can start to feel kind of seasick and, well... bad things may happen to the clothes you were wearing when you boarded the ferry. That's why it's always good to travel with a lot of baby wipes, zip lock bags and some extra cash.

Tiny Tourists Take a Tubby

At the end of a long day of recreating, there's a lot of sunscreen, bugspray, food and I-don't-know-what-the-heck-that-could-be to be scraped off the littlest vacationers.

Civil Engineering 101

Audrey and Bethiah work on the train tracks during a rare window of time in which Ruth (age 3) is napping, and will not be too annoyed at having the train set taken over by babies.


A blur of furious concentration.

Our first Great American Family Vacation

... in which I play the cheerful "Mom," full of zest and clever ideas for having fun, always remembering to pack along the sandwiches and the baby tylenol, only sometimes crabby and sunburned and short on patience. Scott's "Dad" was very convincing; both his jovial moments and his hot-under-the-collar scenes were realistic and lovable.

We went to a place called Ocean Point, near East Booth Bay, ME with our friends and their two girls. Lovely cottage with kid friendly details like a splinter free deck, and my personal favorite, a fully equipped kitchen including baby spoons left behind by previous renters. It was the kind of summer rental where you often heard conversations like this:

Kris: I smell poop. Is someone poopy?

Hank: (picking up baby nearest him and sniffing behind) Not mine. She's okay.

Scott: Must be ours. Let's have a look-see. (picks up baby nearest him and peers into back of diaper ) Yep. Honey, hand me the wipes. It's a doosey.

Three-year-old Ruth: (delivering a long rambling joke all of which is incomprehensible except for the last word, the punchline) Poopy!