Whooooooo!

E's newest passion has been learning to sing.  He spent most of the weekend surfing over YouTube, checking out performances of his favorite songs by other enthusiasts.  I had heard some weird sounds coming out of his room last night, but I assumed that is was random tennis ardor.

So, tonight, after he came home from work, tyoma and I were sitting at the table eating dinner when he let walked in the house and let out a whoop.

E: "Whooooooooo! "
(T & Me): Shocked silence and stares.
E: Puts down lunchbox. "Whooo- Oh, sorry!  I've been doing these voice exercises all day.  The folks at the desks next to me must think that I've lost my mind."
M: "Oh. Going 'Whooo' is a voice exercise?"
T: Shocked silence.
E:"Yes! I saw it on YouTube! I'm trying to build my range."
M: "I see."
E: "Whooooooooooo! "

I heard the whoops at random intervals for the rest of the evening.  Tyoma, playing is his room while papa whooped, would yell: "Stop that!  Stop that singing!!!"

It was odd, especially since Egor was so sincere about his practice.  He wasn't self-conscious or the least bit reserved, singing out lusty "Whoooooooos" all evening long.

Telephone Call

I spent the morning shopping at our local Walmart Superstore and have concluded that the majority of folks present were very sullen. No errand running husbands, feisty senior citizens, or soccer moms. Not even the obligatory lovey-dovey couple. Just grim cart-rolling, button-pushing zombies. I tried to make a few jokes, but they all fell flat. My cashier didn't even give me the "Bitch, please'" look I get when I'm trying to be funny. I wondered for the hundredth time if petulance is spread by a virus. Maybe that's why they have those shopping cart sanitizers everywhere.

While I perused the dairy section looking for gooey yogurt deliciousness, my cell phone rang. It was Egor calling. His voice sounded so odd that I was immediately alarmed. He asked me "Where are you?" without preamble--ratcheting up my anxiety further. "What's happening?!" I asked, hoping not to sound panicked. He took a long pause, during which my heart sank. I was certain that he was in terrible trouble, or that some unspeakable thing happened to Tyoma.

He started to speak again and stopped. Certain that he was summoning the courage to reveal something truly horrid, I grasped the cart and truly began to panic. Again, I asked as calmly as I could, "What's happening???"

He must have detected my alarm because he began to laugh. I was irritated and strangely, only moderately relieved. He laughed for a bit more and said, "I'm at home now and was wondering if you could bring me a donut." For a moment, I was too stunned to appreciate the humor of the situation. Then I was relieved. Heh.

Souska Video

We are finally going to do away with T's little sleep helper. We've been preparing him with little videos. I like the Russian cartoon above, odd that it was flagged as "adult." Can't a baby have a teeny weeny without folks getting outraged?

No Pooping in the Bathtub!

We've been having problems with poo. It seems like Tyoma is going through a phase where poop is the most fascinating thing ever. Since Fontessa left, he has been getting into his soiled diaper during naptime/bedtime and smearing poo all over his crib, toys and wall. He used to knock on the wall ("poop-knocking")when he poopy. He even learned to yell, "Come get the poo!" The next step, obviously, in toilet training. Unfortunately, my focus shifted during Fontessa's wonderful visit and the momentum was lost. Phooey! Well, actually, "Pooo-ey!"
Each poop adventure has been a total shock. I can't believe he's doing this! Poo migrates into the tiniest crevices on his little body, deep under his nails, into folds of skin, behind his ears and into the creases of his nose. And his hair? Yes, there too.

He hates shampooing. Struggling with his poop-besmirched torso and limbs as I scrub his hair is no picnic for either of us. So I turned to the trusted forums of babycenter.com. It helps to read other parent’s exasperated “Poop Picasso” stories and learn that the consensus is “just a phase.” Destroying that solace are the autism Nazis, demanding that everyone have their child evaluated for persistent poo-players. Everybody has an opinion, you just have to pick out what seems right to you and give it a try.

One theory is that the warm bath following a poop excursion is a reward sought out by a child—cold showers, or cold “spritzes” are supposed to be a surefire cure. I don’t know--he hates having his hair washed. Why go through that ordeal when he can just ask for a bath?

So what to do? I decided to start giving him baths right after nap, whether or not there’s poo (removing that unlikely motive). Plus, I suit him up in a poop-suit (aka onsie) before naps. The results? The poop suit works. But he saves his poops for the tub.

Today is the third time in two weeks that he’s pooped in the tub. I am at my wits end. Bored with his bath, I sat on a stool next to the bath and played Tetris. Two minutes later, I looked up to see little brown submarines floating around. "Ewwwww! Poo!" Tyoma gleefully exclaimed. I had a "This can't be happening again" moment of unreality. Worst. Poop. In. Tub. Ever.

Taking a deep breath, I scornfully stated, “No pooping in the bathtub! Bath is over if you poop in the bathtub!”  I snatched him out of the tub and Tennisfiend whisked him to his room for a cleanup.

Still stunned, I scooped out the soft  warm poo with paper towels. I was surprised with my own revulsion. I've been wiping up poop for almost two and a half years, and this squicks me out?!  Maybe in the context of diapers or fingerpainting it's just baby poop. But placidly bobbing in a warm bath, it's obscene. It's a bowel movement!

In the back ground, Tennisfiend echoed my "No pooping" quote. This obviously made an impression since Tyoma's been repeating the phrase to the Pink Panther over and over. He’s also been saying, “Poop artists get a cold shower. Poop knockers get candy” (another strategy). I’m hoping to get this behavior under control before mom comes. The last thing she needs is to get stuck with a poo painting session while I’m not around.

Valentinichka!

When the florist rang today to say he was bringing MORE flowers, I was aghast! Fontessa received three lovely vases of flowers in only a week, this would be four! What love! What devotion! What jealousy from me!

When I heard more flowers were on their way, I never thought that they could be for me. This gorgeous vase arrived and I was on the way up the stairs to bring them to her when I noticed my name on them. I thought, “Why would Fontessa’s friends from Philadelphia send me roses?”

D’Oh! They were from Tennisfiend!!! A family first! I was shocked to see “Valenteenichka!” on the note. I took a photo to commemorate the occasion! Thank you Sweetheart!!! These are the lovliest flowers I've ever gotten!

XXOO

DB

Today Issss Monday, It's 10:15...

I felt such a flood of relief when our SLP called to cancel today's session. Since it was a holiday, she wanted to spend some time with her daughter. Hooray! We rescheduled for the second of February. I was so glad to not have to worry about cleaning the house (more) or getting the monster to take his afternoon nap.

So anyway, during naptime, the monster jumped up and down in his crib, saying, "Today issss Mondayyy. It's 10:15."  This was followed by, "Today issss Mondayyy. It's 10:16."  And so on until "Today issss Mondayyy. It's 10:55," when he started all over again with, "Today issss Mondayyy. It's 10:15." The funniest thing is that when he talks, he sounds like a foreigner with an odd accent. Sometimes I'd swear he was a tiny little Japanese busninessman, others that he's a German tourist. How strange, he never sounds Russian.

Hole In The Floor

This morning Tyoma decided to play post office with the return air floor registers. He'd drop a letter through the grate, say “Uh oh!” and retrieve it by removing the register. As I chatted with Tennisfiend’s mom in the kitchen, I heard a startled "Wahhh!" Tyoma had fallen through the register hole and partially into the basement below!!!

Can you believe that the bottom of the register was supported only by a flimsy piece of tacked up insulation?! Gasp!! The only thing that prevented Tyoma from smashing into the concrete floor twelve feet below was his stout backside (yay me, he inherited my big butt!)  Anyway, I was astonished, since I assumed that floor registers should be either screwed in to the floorboards or firmly secured from underneath. What home would sport huge holes in the floor that a baby could fall through?!  Yikes!

In forty minutes I had a half assed solution--I screwed in wood panels beneath all the baby-sized registers on the first floor. Problem was, I only had a single piece of 2x4 to tie into at each register, leaving everything else supported by an odd assortment of screws, nails and wood slivers.  Despite my hard work, Tyoma was so stimulated by his first fall that the registers were the most exciting things in the house. I wound up moving heavy furniture over the registers until we could rig up something better. 

LL Bean

Today Tennisfiend bought himself a new down jacket from LL Bean, taking advantage of the price reductions associated with black Friday (I guess today is brown Saturday?). Anyway, our little one was quite captivated by the purchase. I noticed that he kept running into the closet where the jacket was hung. Tyoma rustled around noisily for a moment and ran off to the library, giggling. I couldn't figure out what was going on until I noticed that he was spelling "LL BEAN DOWN," as written on the tag of Tennisfiend's new jacket. Go figure!

"DIE MAMA!!!"

This is too odd and I swear to you that Tyoma spelled this all on his own!!!

Here's what happened: I washed Tyoma's hair today, first time in probably two months. He screams bloody murder when I shampoo him, so why make life miserable for both of us? Since the whole PDD-NOS thing has cropped up, I'm glad to find a slew of moms online with similarly wired children.

Anyway, he wailed and shook and clawed at me as I washed his hair. Afterward, I brought out his foamy alphabet letters and a piece of candy as a reward. He immediately spelled "DIE." I snapped this picture before he had a chance to spell out "VILE SHAMPOOING MAMA."

ETA:  This only gets funnier: my mom saw this picture and freaked.  She called me and told me I should just leave his hair alone.  She also asked in all earnestness, "Do you think he knew what it meant?"  I had to laugh and talk her out of the notion that my son wants to kill me for washing his hair. She was completely serious!

Pinkeye!!!

What better way to spend a Sunday, than with a toddler who has pinkeye? Oh wait! Make sure you get pinkeye, too!

Yep, the wee one woke up with a bloodshot, crusty left eye. It looked mild enough, that I debated about making a big fuss with the doctor, but worry (naturally!) prevailed. Back in New Mexico, you could call an answering service and some nurse would phone in a prescription for you. Out here, folks is par-tic-ular, you gots to be SEEN!

So Tyoma skipped his nap and we spent the afternoon waiting with the other unfortunates at Nashua Pediatrics. I managed to keep him on my lap with much effort, I didn't want him to single handedly infect greater Nashua by smearing his fingers on every inviting surface. The Doctor saw him and prescribed two bottles of eye drops. She asked be if I'd every given a toddler eye drops before. Soberly, I replied, "No." She laughed, gave me a wise sidelong glance and commenced to give me a few strategies to get the drops in. Heh.

Well, I dropped off the prescription and did tomorrow's shopping (can't bring the infectious one out for 24 hours) and braced myself for the eye dropping ceremony. Tennisfiend held Tyoma as he screamed bloody murder and I tried to get the drops in his eyes. It was like trying to tattoo a cat. Good Lord!!! Such straining, struggling and shrieking--and that was just Tennisfiend yelling at me to "Put the drops in, already!" After four frustrating minutes, we traded places. I held Tyoma down and cursed at Tennisfiend while he tried to get the drops in. Success! My curses were obviously much more effective than his.

After all the excitement, my eyes itched. And so did Tennisfiend's. Thank you Doctor for giving us two bottles of eyedrops!

ETA: Pardon me for adding some pictures of the boys doing yard work together! I took these in the morning before I completely convinced myself that he had pinkeye.

In the bottom picture, Tyoma is so serious about clearing the yard of debris that he's pulling up handfulls of grass to add to the trash!

Happy Halloween!!!

How's this for a jack' o lantern? I wondered what odd little child put this pumpkin picture together when I saw it posted across the hall at the preschool.

Spooky, ain't it?

In response to his jumbled creation, Tennisfiend commented that Tyoma would clearly have no idea how to put a pumpkin face together since he'd never seen one before. I reminded him that Tyoma has been playing with the plastic jack' o lantern on the kitchen table for most of this month. The truth is, our lil' prodigy has a plan. He was clearly inspired by Klee:

You might think that his pumpkin is an homage to Picasso, due to the distorted facial features, but Tyoma is a student of  Expressionism and he favors Klee's color tonalities. 

Coming soon: I justify Tyoma's restricted speech at daycare as "performance art!"

Hi 62!

For about a week now, Tyoma has been greeting his numbers with a small, friendly wave and a cheerful “Hi!” I sigh and grimace every time I hear it. I used to relish his odd little moments, finding his eccentricity charming--now I shudder. Every quirk makes me wonder if the Autism Spectrum Police are going to break down the door and haul my son off to a Neurotypical Re-education Camp.

As I cleaned up from breakfast today, I had the Weather Channel on in the background. The murmur of the forecasters is more comforting than CNN and I feel soothed by the mindless jazz that plays when the Local on the 8’s comes on. Tyoma likes the Local on the 8’s, too, since the numbers are big and bold.

He hustled over to the TV when the  8’s began their  broadcast. The announcer stated, “Sunny, today with some cloudy intervals. High 62…” Tyoma perked up. “Hi! Siz-ooo!!!” He tapped the 62 on the TV screen. I laughed. It’s still odd and the Autism Spectrum Police are probably around the corner nonetheless, but his little greeting seems less inexplicable and certainly very funny.

The Indignity

Of a clean face....

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Laundry Room…

Tennisfiend took off at four this morning for a trip to the Russian consulate in NYC. I awoke late to penetrating shrieks from Tyoma, who obviously intended to solicit anyone in the apartment complex to remove him from his crib, since I was taking so long. Gobbling breakfast and slurping a pint of coffee usually settles well with me but today, bleh, I felt swept away by nausea. Fortunately, I recovered quickly and was more or less okay for the rest of the day, although high winds caused the building to sway microscopically, making me feel a bit seasick.

In the evening I worked on my ever-evolving project of making learning cards for Tyoma (more on that another time). I liked my new Fiskars paper trimmer and enjoyed immersing myself into a project, which was timely since two hours of flight delays kept Tennisfiend away. When he finally got in at 10, he surprised me with a thoughtful present from the Metropolitan Art Museum. How sweet!!!

Tennisfiend loved the Metro and we made plans to visit sometime during the summer. Yay!

Oooo! I almost forgot, here’s my funny story:

While Tyoma played in the living room with his new books, I dashed to the laundry room to pick up a clean load of laundry (it’s 20 feet from our apartment). When I returned, I discovered that Tyoma had locked the deadbolt. We have safety knobs on the doors to keep him from escaping; nevertheless he fiddles with the deadbolt.

Anyway, I’m in my gym pants, stocking feet, with a light clingy tee. The wind outside is buffeting the building at 40 mph, its 30 degrees outside and the hike to the main office is about 400 yards (uphill). “Tyoma!” I call sweetly, “Unlock the door and let Mommy iii-nn!” “Tyoma, let Mommy iii-n. Unlock the dooo-oor!” I rattled the door know and crooned to him for another few minutes, all the while debating between the freezing walk to the main office or being murdered by the resident serial killer in 688 who will undoubtedly be the only one home in the entire building. After a total of four minutes, Tyoma unlocked the deadbolt and greeted me with a self-satisfied chortle.

Last Day of Winter

Today is the last day of winter and I’m sure that means no more snow, sleet, ice pellets, blizzards or snow squalls. I’d like to share my experiences with winter weather.


What you learn after 20 days of winter in New Hampshire...

1. You might notice that your car’s steering wheel is arctic freakin’ freezing first thing in the morning. Sure, you anticipated the snow and ice removal, but you never imagined that the steering wheel would be cold enough to make your hands ache and turn blue. Next time bring your awesome Pearl Izumi gel cycling gloves, your fingers will be super toasty! 
2. If you leave your Pearl Izumi gel cycling gloves it the car over night, they will freeze solid and be even colder than the steering wheel.
3. Defrosting your Pearl Izumi gel cycling gloves in the microwave is not recommended.
4. Always clean the snow off the top of your car. It becomes a projectile missile as you drive and will undoubtedly give a native New Mexico driver a heart attack when it hurtles towards her SUV at 30 mph.
5. On really cold days, salt and ice blend into grimy viscous slime. This slime will obscure your windshield entirely. Going through a “tank” of wiper fluid is a real possibility.
6. When the weather has mixed snow and rain, pop your windshield wipers up off the windshield to keep them from freezing in place. It takes forever to thaw them out, which really sucks after you’ve been slimed by that jerk in a red mustang.
7. When the Weather Channel states that it is a balmy 37 degrees outside, you should note the wind-chill factor before taking the trash out in your sweat pants and slippers.
8. You really should wear shoes when you take out the trash. The slime will eat your slippers.
9.  All the travel sanitizing wipes squirreled away in your car will freeze solid. Sitting on them to defrost them will give you a really cold bottom. BTW, your Purell hand sanitizer will get slushy and the teeny Lysol can you bought at Wal-Mart will loose its pressure.
10. You’ll love the snow anyway,  since big fluffy snowflakes are crazy beautiful.

Holy Mackerel!

Okay, has located a Russian Market. I'm catching the next flight back to New Mexico!!! Just joshing. This smoked beauty was Tennisfiend's lunch today along with Russian sauerkraut (they make it with cranberries!) and imported Russian sweets.

Juniper Hell

Heh. I had gin and tonic last night at the hot tub party. Not that I had much, since gin has a nastiness that I associate with Whitechapple and dead prostitutes.  Brrr. Anyway, before I fed Tyoma this morning, I did my usual thing, washing my hands and making formula. Blah. Gin smell.

An hour or two later, I worked in the back yard and came into the bathroom to another gin smell. Blah. I figured that I was either loosing my mind or that gin was truly the most foul drink ever--lingering around my person in an eternal noxious cloud. When Ewbliette came over to visit and I compulsively washed my hands for the tenth time this day--more stink. Heh.

My handsoap is juniper scented! What a relief! I can guarantee that I will not sip a bit of the odious stuff for at least another year!

In other news, Tyoma is walking very well! Ewbliette spent time with him prior to the big trip next week. She will help out mom next Sunday and Monday. I gave Ewbliette all my neurotic legal papers, instructions and  imperatives. With her usual good humour, she laughed heartily over my juniper story. :)

Air (Conditioner) Emergency!

You know those dramatic National Geographic Air Emergency programs--a shocking and tragic story about poor design, questionable maintenance and pilot error; all of which combine into a tragedy costing hundreds of lives? Well, here we have Air Conditioning Emergency.

The story begins--a cheap outdated swamp cooler, designed by goofballs, with parts supplied by unscrupulous internet-based companies. The technical crew responsible for adequate operation of the bleed-off valve (ehrr, me) neglects routine maintenance due to an industry culture rife with brain cramps. Leading up to the final crisis, the pilot (Egor) leaves the bleedoff valve on full throttle overnight. He believes that he is cleaning the system, when instead he is flushing calcium build-up into the water lines, leading to devastating and misleading water-line clogs.

The next morning the bleedoff valve is not working, leading the pilot to assume pump failure. The pilot replaces the pump with a speedier model, which only exacerbates the debris problem. Alerted by a seriously stinky house, the technician makes repeated trips to the roof, equipped with a pointy object to clear the line. The technician is sorta clumsy, tripping over additional support gear (garden hose) and handling the heavy, smelly pads causes additional heart palpitations and irritation.

The technician realizes that the pilot, should have replaced/cleaned the old filter basket when he replaced the pump, since unfiltered gunk jams the new filter and pipes. Her quest for an appropriate filter part finally lands her in the labyrinth that is the garage of Mom and Dad.

Armed with the pointy object and fresh filter basket, the technician heads to the roof for the fifth time. The house is smelling foul again, will she succeed? Will the house ever feel as fresh and clean as it did last night?! Can the technician cope with the conflicting suggestions of her well-meaning mother and the perplexed pilot?...... *commercial break*

Nah. The Technician did the best she could with the clogged lines, clearing them repeatedly. She had a half a glass of wine and attended to the fussy passenger squalling for yogurt and peaches in fussy-business class.

The house still smells bad. The pilot will need to disassemble the water distribution pipes and listen to the technician complain. Perhaps the outcome can still be inspirational and the crew can celebrate with a nice dinner. Stay tuned....

E.T.A. After receiving the above message in an email, the pilot not only left work early, but he also bought a new AC motor (so we don't have to hand-start the existing motor if the power fails like we did last week). The craft is working swell and the house smells like baking salmon and couscous...

The Contraption

To cope with the seasonal escalation of floods in the sunroom, Tennisfiend has devised The Contraption.

The contraption consists of an extra-large plastic trash can with a two-inch hole drilled on the bottommost side. Secured into the hole with silicone, a short length of pvc pipe is connected to a twenty foot length of remnant vinyl pool hose. The vinyl hose extends from the trash can and past the east and south sides of the house where it reconnects with a four foot length of pvc near the driveway. 

When it rains, The Contraption is swiftly positioned under the most problematic roof corner, to catch rainwater. Unfortunately, this position varies according to the intensity of the rain, often requiring numerous trips through one of the sunroom windows (the back door is taped shut during serious rainstorms) to place it correctly. The Contraption actually works just like it is supposed to, filling up with rain water which exits through the vinyl hose and is drained down the driveway. For the first several rainstorms, The Contraption worked quite well, but these were the insignificant storms of June, incomparable to the deluges of July and August.

The first big rainstorm revealed that to adequately transport the roof runoff to the driveway, we would need a Contraption about the size of a Ford Expedition. The Contraption was so swiftly overwhelmed by the flood that it floated away and had to be held in position with a broom stuck through a window until it filled with enough water to stay put. Tennisfiend and I were briefly at odds over how much of a difference it made, but frankly, when the water is two inches above the back door, the 39 gallons circulated by The Contraption is trivial.

Of course, the next day we considered gutters for the roof, even taking measurements with some optimism. Despite our sad financial situation, and possible move to another state, we will not leave the next owners of our house stuck with this problem, like the previous owners did to us. Unfortunately, we discovered that a downspout is required every thirty feet, which still doesn’t solve the flooding problem! We will keep you posted about our next genius plan.

Eleven Months

Whoa, almost a year old. To celebrate we took pics:



 Since Tyoma imitates my sniffing while I cope with a cold, I caught him mid sniff:   For some odd reason the abouve picture reminded me of this:

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