Friday, June 24, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Counting
As of today, Wolfie . . .
- stands 32 inches tall.
- weighs 26 pounds.
- has 7 pearly whites.
- says approximately 65 words.
- counts from 1-3 and 7-9, and lately enjoys counting, "eight . . . nine . . . PURPLE!"
- imitates 10 animal sounds, including cat, dog, elephant, wolf, bear, sheep, cow, duck, pig, and chicken. And if you ask, "What does the elevator say?" he'll reply, "Beep beep!"
- is 18 months old! 12:51pm marks it officially.
But I remind myself that it's the big boys--and not the babies--who beg for another song on the ukulele, who make the hand motions when you sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," who feed themselves spaghetti (and tofu!) with a spoon, who rummage through the kitchen cabinets and pretend to cook, who ask for their favorite books at bedtime, who want to walk to the car instead of being carried, who make spills and ask for the "'scoba . . . peeeeeeees?" so they can sweep up because they like to help, and who give countless hugs, kisses, and pats. I also relish that my boy is not SO big that he still asks for Mama as soon as he wakes and wants to climb in my lap so that we can read together. And I think I can forcibly require that he will continue to do those things until he's, like, forty-five. Moms wield that kind of power, right?Speaking of books, I thought it might be cool to make a list of Wolfie's favorites now that he's a big, fancy 18 month-old. These books are at the top of our good night reading list pretty much every night:
- You Are My I Love You by Maryann K. Cusimano
Some of my favorite lines:
"I am your parent; you are my child. I am your quiet place; you are my wild . . . I am your way home; you are my new path. I am your dry towel; you are my wet bath . . . I am your favorite book; you are my new lines. I am your nightlight; you are my starshine." If I don't get weepy every time I read it, it's a wonder. Seriously. "You are my first wish"--that one little line puts a major squeeze on my heart.
- Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes by Helen Oxenbury and Mem Fox
- Go, Dog, Go! by P.D. Eastman
- Mama Mama/Papa Papa by Jean Marzolo
- Put Me in the Zoo by Robert Lopshire
- Hush Little Baby by Sylvia Long
Jesse and I love this one. It's a variation on the original song so that, rather than singing about what we're gonna buy Baby, we sing about what we see and do at bedtime. But we mod it a little so that it's Mama one line and Daddy the next.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to show you a hummingbird
If that hummingbird should fly,
Mama's going to show you the evening sky . . ."
And that's usually how we wrap up the night together--with that song. Talk about idyllic, huh?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Parent Shaming
I know I can't be alone in this, so I wonder how frequently other "unconventional" mamas experience this . . . oh, I dunno what to call it . . . social gridlock. Yeah, let's go there. Let's use a traffic metaphor.
Okay, Mamas and Dads, say you're standing at a busy intersection, and traffic is passing from two directions. From one direction, the drivers are people you don't know, just a bunch of strangers whizzing past you for the first time. They see you and your baby, and they make vocal judgments. They crane their necks and poke their heads out of their windows to shout insults because maybe you don't look the part of the traditional parent, or because you have ideals that conflict with their notions of parenthood, or you work outside of the home, etc. They can tell just by looking at you that you're bad news.
The traffic coming from the other direction is made up of drivers who you do recognize--people who are part of your social scene--and they're craning just as far out their windows in order to make derogatory remarks about people who decide to become parents (read: YOU), to refer to parents as "breeders," to compare parenting to pet ownership, etc.
So, there you are, stranded at this intersection, experiencing all kinds of road rage, and what can you do? Refer to your driver's handbook? Give 'em the bird? (Bear with me. This is where my crappy metaphor falls apart, but you get what I'm getting at.) Lately, I'm on the verge of giving EVERYBODY the bird.
I mean, everbody *excluding Wolfie and Jesse and you guys,* of course.
I anticipated that I'd get unsolicited feedback from strangers. I did when I was pregnant, so why not now? Why not while I'm wheeling Wolfie around the grocery store in a shopping cart or when we're trying on carriers at a ritzy baby boutique? My influence on my child is more apparent and less hypothetical now that he's outside of my womb, right? While there is a liberal-ish majority in Salt Lake City, I'm well aware that--oh, yeah!--I live in a socially, politically, and religiously conservative state. Mamas (and sometimes Dads) who are tattooed or pierced or have unnatural hair colors or have careers outside the home or don't attend church are on the receiving end of the occasional raised eyebrow. And when it's raised, oh, how high it is raised. It's even pointed to by the eyebrow raiser, as in, "Do you SEE the contempt I'm sending your way? Because I just wanna make sure that you understand that this here eyebrow is raised at you." But, you know what? Big deal. Like I said, that's something I anticipate whenever we're out in public, and it doesn't usually get me down.
Total disclosure: Before Jesse and I found out that we had a Wolfie on the way, we were pleasantly child-free. Don't get me wrong--I've always liked kids. I have step-kids, for Pete's sake. I just didn't think I would have a child. (But very happily and with the help of faulty birth control, I was wrong.) Back in those pre-Wolfie days, my co-workers or my extended family members used to poke their noses into my private life and ask, "When are you going to have a baby? Soon, right? Please?" But that line of questioning was pretty infrequent, and, as presumptive and irritating as it was at the time, I also anticipated it. I was prepared to request very kindly that everyone mind their own uteruses.
What I didn't expect and naively continue not to expect is to have to defend my choice and my child against the judgment of people who I'm on friendly terms with, people I've known for years, who I've hung out with regularly at Jesse's shows or at the club or even way back in college--in a word, friends. Seriously, if I hear the terms "breeder" or "special little snowflake" or have to counter accusations of overpopulating the planet or explain why babies are different from dogs just ONE MORE TIME, you guys, I'm challenging somebody to fisticuffs (i.e. quietly un-friending him/her on Facebook . . . What? I'm a pacifist.). I don't expect everybody to fall head over heels in love with my kid, but come on. Can't we respect each other's lifestyles and loved ones?
Maybe I just need to make friends with more mamas and daddies, off-beat or otherwise.
Hello? *echo, echo*
Anybody out there who wants to make friendly?
Okay, Mamas and Dads, say you're standing at a busy intersection, and traffic is passing from two directions. From one direction, the drivers are people you don't know, just a bunch of strangers whizzing past you for the first time. They see you and your baby, and they make vocal judgments. They crane their necks and poke their heads out of their windows to shout insults because maybe you don't look the part of the traditional parent, or because you have ideals that conflict with their notions of parenthood, or you work outside of the home, etc. They can tell just by looking at you that you're bad news.
The traffic coming from the other direction is made up of drivers who you do recognize--people who are part of your social scene--and they're craning just as far out their windows in order to make derogatory remarks about people who decide to become parents (read: YOU), to refer to parents as "breeders," to compare parenting to pet ownership, etc.
So, there you are, stranded at this intersection, experiencing all kinds of road rage, and what can you do? Refer to your driver's handbook? Give 'em the bird? (Bear with me. This is where my crappy metaphor falls apart, but you get what I'm getting at.) Lately, I'm on the verge of giving EVERYBODY the bird.
I mean, everbody *excluding Wolfie and Jesse and you guys,* of course.
I anticipated that I'd get unsolicited feedback from strangers. I did when I was pregnant, so why not now? Why not while I'm wheeling Wolfie around the grocery store in a shopping cart or when we're trying on carriers at a ritzy baby boutique? My influence on my child is more apparent and less hypothetical now that he's outside of my womb, right? While there is a liberal-ish majority in Salt Lake City, I'm well aware that--oh, yeah!--I live in a socially, politically, and religiously conservative state. Mamas (and sometimes Dads) who are tattooed or pierced or have unnatural hair colors or have careers outside the home or don't attend church are on the receiving end of the occasional raised eyebrow. And when it's raised, oh, how high it is raised. It's even pointed to by the eyebrow raiser, as in, "Do you SEE the contempt I'm sending your way? Because I just wanna make sure that you understand that this here eyebrow is raised at you." But, you know what? Big deal. Like I said, that's something I anticipate whenever we're out in public, and it doesn't usually get me down.
Total disclosure: Before Jesse and I found out that we had a Wolfie on the way, we were pleasantly child-free. Don't get me wrong--I've always liked kids. I have step-kids, for Pete's sake. I just didn't think I would have a child. (But very happily and with the help of faulty birth control, I was wrong.) Back in those pre-Wolfie days, my co-workers or my extended family members used to poke their noses into my private life and ask, "When are you going to have a baby? Soon, right? Please?" But that line of questioning was pretty infrequent, and, as presumptive and irritating as it was at the time, I also anticipated it. I was prepared to request very kindly that everyone mind their own uteruses.
What I didn't expect and naively continue not to expect is to have to defend my choice and my child against the judgment of people who I'm on friendly terms with, people I've known for years, who I've hung out with regularly at Jesse's shows or at the club or even way back in college--in a word, friends. Seriously, if I hear the terms "breeder" or "special little snowflake" or have to counter accusations of overpopulating the planet or explain why babies are different from dogs just ONE MORE TIME, you guys, I'm challenging somebody to fisticuffs (i.e. quietly un-friending him/her on Facebook . . . What? I'm a pacifist.). I don't expect everybody to fall head over heels in love with my kid, but come on. Can't we respect each other's lifestyles and loved ones?
Maybe I just need to make friends with more mamas and daddies, off-beat or otherwise.
Hello? *echo, echo*
Anybody out there who wants to make friendly?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
A Day in the Life
Yesterday, I took advantage of my unexpected day at home with Wolfie to make a little "Day in the Life" project. I tried to take, at least, one photo an hour to capture what a typical day looks like for us. Depending on the hour and what Wolfie and I were up to, I sometimes took more than one photo; other times, I didn't take any, and the hour just slipped by us.
Monday, February 28, 2011
A Day With Mama
It's nice to be back at work. But I miss those silly, lazy, fun-filled days when Wolfie would stay home with me and we would play cars, toss balls, eat Cheerios, make milk paintings, play guitars, throw books around the house (er, I mean, read books), and when the weather was nice, go for little bike rides. Well, today Mama got the fortunate opportunity to hang with the Wolfman all day while I was out feeling my way around my new job. She took some pretty awesome photos chronicling the hours spent in the best of company. But I had an idea - an interview!
Jesse: Hi Sweets,
What did you like best about your day with Wolfie?
Adriana: I liked how I never felt lonely in the bathroom. I kid, I kid. What I really like best about Wolfie-and-Mama days is how we're so in sync. He wants to read books, I wanna read books. He wants to eat cheese, I wanna eat cheese. He wants to play guitar, I wanna play guitar. You get my drift. We have a lot of the same interests, despite the thirty-year age difference. I also really, really liked the hugging. We hugged a lot today.
Jesse:What is the silliest thing he did today?
Adriana: He does and says silly stuff all the live-long day. For example, this morning he was standing in between the ottoman and the sofa, watching Elmo, and he kicked one of his legs behind him so that he caught his foot in between the sofa frame and the cushion. He thought that was great, so he put the other foot in, too. Next thing I know, he's standing on the sofa and bracing himself with his hands on the ottoman. He looked like a little table top.
Then we were lying around together this afternoon, just reading (well, I was reading and he was enjoying a bottle), and he suddenly sat up and even more suddenly laid back down . . . on my face. It was kind of like a gentle head-butt. He did that a few times, and we got pretty giggly over it.
But the silliest was this evening, and you were there to witness it. We had just given Wolfie a bath and were getting him ready for bed. I crashed out on his bed and said, "Man, I'm pooped." And Wolfie pointed at me and said, "Poop?"
Jesse:Wolfie will get the name of an object in his head and will incessantly repeat that word until he somehow feels satisfied. In your best estimation, what is the number of times he will say (yell, frantically yell, stompandyell) that word until he gives up?
Adriana: Forty? Fifty? I dunno. I become mesmerized by it--like it's a chant or some sort of hypnotic litany--and I lose track. Today, he listened to this fifteen-second clip of a Cure song (my ring tone) possibly seventy times. And he would ask, "Song?" just before it looped again. Every. Single. Time. Here's the thing: I sang along all seventy times, and it was awesome. I mean it! We had such a good time. I imagine we're like Chinese water torture to other people.
Jesse:Who is your favorite Sesame Street character?
Adriana: I think you and I might have the same favorite: Rosita. She speaks Spanish, she plays guitar, she dances. And she's not weird or cloying, like the other girl muppets. (Sorry, Abby.) When I was a kid, though, I liked Telly a lot. I mean, I related to Telly. Yep, the most neurotic muppet was my favorite. So, there you go. I hope that means that I'm more psychologically healthy these days.
Jesse: If you were the baby, and Wolfie was the Mama, what activities would you want him to do with you?
Adriana: You know, we'd probably do many of the same things that we do now--reading, playing music, chasing, cuddling. I love the ways we spend time together.
Jesse: If Wolfie could sum up his day in ten words, what would he say?
Adriana: "Ball? Song? Dado? Stick? Bath? Queso? Book? Didda? Mmmah. Eeeeeeeeee!"
I'm happy to be working again and I'm glad you got to spend the day with him, tho the reasons for today are unfortunate. I love you both more than I know how to say.
jesse
Jesse: Hi Sweets,
What did you like best about your day with Wolfie?
Adriana: I liked how I never felt lonely in the bathroom. I kid, I kid. What I really like best about Wolfie-and-Mama days is how we're so in sync. He wants to read books, I wanna read books. He wants to eat cheese, I wanna eat cheese. He wants to play guitar, I wanna play guitar. You get my drift. We have a lot of the same interests, despite the thirty-year age difference. I also really, really liked the hugging. We hugged a lot today.
Jesse:What is the silliest thing he did today?
Adriana: He does and says silly stuff all the live-long day. For example, this morning he was standing in between the ottoman and the sofa, watching Elmo, and he kicked one of his legs behind him so that he caught his foot in between the sofa frame and the cushion. He thought that was great, so he put the other foot in, too. Next thing I know, he's standing on the sofa and bracing himself with his hands on the ottoman. He looked like a little table top.
Then we were lying around together this afternoon, just reading (well, I was reading and he was enjoying a bottle), and he suddenly sat up and even more suddenly laid back down . . . on my face. It was kind of like a gentle head-butt. He did that a few times, and we got pretty giggly over it.
But the silliest was this evening, and you were there to witness it. We had just given Wolfie a bath and were getting him ready for bed. I crashed out on his bed and said, "Man, I'm pooped." And Wolfie pointed at me and said, "Poop?"
Jesse:Wolfie will get the name of an object in his head and will incessantly repeat that word until he somehow feels satisfied. In your best estimation, what is the number of times he will say (yell, frantically yell, stompandyell) that word until he gives up?
Adriana: Forty? Fifty? I dunno. I become mesmerized by it--like it's a chant or some sort of hypnotic litany--and I lose track. Today, he listened to this fifteen-second clip of a Cure song (my ring tone) possibly seventy times. And he would ask, "Song?" just before it looped again. Every. Single. Time. Here's the thing: I sang along all seventy times, and it was awesome. I mean it! We had such a good time. I imagine we're like Chinese water torture to other people.
Jesse:Who is your favorite Sesame Street character?
Adriana: I think you and I might have the same favorite: Rosita. She speaks Spanish, she plays guitar, she dances. And she's not weird or cloying, like the other girl muppets. (Sorry, Abby.) When I was a kid, though, I liked Telly a lot. I mean, I related to Telly. Yep, the most neurotic muppet was my favorite. So, there you go. I hope that means that I'm more psychologically healthy these days.
Jesse: If you were the baby, and Wolfie was the Mama, what activities would you want him to do with you?
Adriana: You know, we'd probably do many of the same things that we do now--reading, playing music, chasing, cuddling. I love the ways we spend time together.
Jesse: If Wolfie could sum up his day in ten words, what would he say?
Adriana: "Ball? Song? Dado? Stick? Bath? Queso? Book? Didda? Mmmah. Eeeeeeeeee!"
I'm happy to be working again and I'm glad you got to spend the day with him, tho the reasons for today are unfortunate. I love you both more than I know how to say.
jesse
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Show and Tell
It's happened again.
Time got away from us, and we haven't posted anything in over a month.
I have no excuses, only this simple explanation: We are crappy bloggers.
Our blogging style (oh, I can't believe I just used that phrase . . . *puke*) is very feast-or-famine. Yep, just like a teenage boy's sex life. So, here I am, much like an awkward, pimply 17-year-old, asking for your forgiveness and hoping you guys don't hate me. (Go ahead and hate Jesse, though. Dude never posts on this thing.)
Anyway, the past month or so has been pretty typical with the exception of some long-awaited, very happy news: Jesse found a job--and not just any job, a great one! We're so excited! I honestly cried when he received the offer email. It was a harrowing five months there, but they're officially over. Hooray for a return to normalcy! Double hooray for having a two-income household again!
And now, without further ado, we can move onto the good stuff, the stuff you really come here for: cute baby videos. Well, I can't say I blame you. He *is* a preternaturally beautiful child and an exceptional dancer.
We celebrated Wolfie's 17-month birthday last week. And while there's no mention of it in the What To Expect series, 17 months is actually when children begin to ridicule their parents. It's a milestone on the long road to adolescence. Check out Wolfie's response to "What do Mommy and Daddy say?"
This is also the age at which toddlers begin to develop refined skills, such as pillow fighting and laughing like an evil villain:
I'm brimming with maternal pride.
Time got away from us, and we haven't posted anything in over a month.
I have no excuses, only this simple explanation: We are crappy bloggers.
Our blogging style (oh, I can't believe I just used that phrase . . . *puke*) is very feast-or-famine. Yep, just like a teenage boy's sex life. So, here I am, much like an awkward, pimply 17-year-old, asking for your forgiveness and hoping you guys don't hate me. (Go ahead and hate Jesse, though. Dude never posts on this thing.)
Anyway, the past month or so has been pretty typical with the exception of some long-awaited, very happy news: Jesse found a job--and not just any job, a great one! We're so excited! I honestly cried when he received the offer email. It was a harrowing five months there, but they're officially over. Hooray for a return to normalcy! Double hooray for having a two-income household again!
And now, without further ado, we can move onto the good stuff, the stuff you really come here for: cute baby videos. Well, I can't say I blame you. He *is* a preternaturally beautiful child and an exceptional dancer.
We celebrated Wolfie's 17-month birthday last week. And while there's no mention of it in the What To Expect series, 17 months is actually when children begin to ridicule their parents. It's a milestone on the long road to adolescence. Check out Wolfie's response to "What do Mommy and Daddy say?"
This is also the age at which toddlers begin to develop refined skills, such as pillow fighting and laughing like an evil villain:
I'm brimming with maternal pride.
Messy: A Brief Photographic Essay on Dinnertime
Note: This never happens when I feed Wolfie (which is, like, 95% of the time). Just sayin'
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