Baby Books!

Yay Mom and Dad! Much thanks to them for the load of baby books they bought for Tyoma! After reading Violet's House and every Priddy cloth book evah, ten thousand times over, I am so grateful to have something new to look at! Thanks a million!

1. Quiet/Loud What a sweet little book on opposites! It’s funny and very colorful.
2. Big/Little By the same folks as Quiet/Loud. Bright, playful images.
3. Little Rabbit Lost A board book with a story about getting lost and coming home again.
4. I Stink A story about a dump truck’s daily duties. Another colorful, funny book.
5. Goodnight Gorilla Probably my favorite book. Goodnight, Gorilla is an extended book of pictures that allows you to tell your own story. The illustrations are vivid and are absolutely precious!

French Open

Today was insane. It started out at six a.m. with a fussy baby. I put him down learly ast night since he skipped a nap and  because I wanted to race over to Ewbliette and Brotherkurt’s, A.S.A.P for game night. Of course, I raced back home less than two hours later, but that’s another entry. I promised to be up at the crack of dawn this morning to provide TF with annoyance-free French Open viewing.

Transfixed by the match, Tennisfiend rooted for the Swede, Roger Federer. This was a much anticipated match in our household. TF fretted with the rake out back during commercial breaks and coughed nervously during important points. Tension is contagious to me, so I stayed well away. Despite my best efforts to keep baby quiet, he fussed noisily and skipped his morning nap. At lunch I noticed that two more teeth were coming in. That is a total of SIX teeth in the past three weeks!!! Yikes!

Exhausted by the match and dissapointed by Federer's loss, TF took a long afternoon nap, while I coped with squirmy baby. It was too hot to read or play in the house, so we trekked outdoors and played near a sprinkler. After TF woke up, I plunked naked baby in the issy-pissy pool and patted papa on the head, saying, “He’s all yours.”

The swim distracted baby and relieved mama. I used the time to puree baby food and listen to music. Post swim activity included MORE fussing followed by a gargantuan poop; necessitating two for clean up (unless I hosed baby off by the roses). After I put baby down to sleep, I drove to the local specialty store and bought sushi and white wine. Ahhhh!

Zonked Out

I was a big ole party pooper tonight. After shamelessly inviting myself to Ewbliette’s Friday night, I showed up, drank a glass of wine, gabbed halfheartedly and whizzed home. Earlier, I was so psyched to get out! I pretty much tossed the baby in the crib with one hand while picking up the car keys with the other. 

But the hot drive over made me drowsy, despite the blasting AC and blaring radio. After I arrived, I flopped down on the couch next to an overworked and exhausted Rodeyo. We mindlessly watched a re-run of Shrek on TBS, feeling sleepier by the second. Chuck joined us a few minutes later, enviably chipper. He sat between Rodeyo and me, making pleasant conversation. I perked up when I recognized that his manner of speaking was oddly familiar. He spoke with an uncommon clipped precision. His words were distinctly enunciated (especially the t’s and s’s) and the cadence of his speech strongly resembled--Crispin Glover! Joy!

I’ve run into Chuck about a half dozen times, but this was the first time that I really noticed him. A quiet, bespectacled member of the high IQ crowd (150), Chuck has genuine amber eyes that coordinate unexpectedly with his orange hair, which he wears braided tightly to the nape of his neck. He is lanky, mustachioed and dresses conservatively in chinos and a worn button-down shirts. Upon realizing that I was scrutinizing him, he became embarrassed and flustered. I quickly noted that his ancestors could have been Vikings, and politely moved my focus to the lovely glass of wine Ewbliette brought me.

With wine bottle in hand, Ewbliette and I retired to the back porch. She discussed her work as an accountant at NMSU, including the impending close of the fiscal year, complete with associated deadlines and psychotic co-worker reactions. Naturally, her work has been outrageously draining, and included several hours of additional work earlier this morning and afternoon. Poor tired girl!

Me, well, I was sooo zonked. The baby is teething and I am coping with the psychological effects the dual loss of our television (broken!) and my computer (Tennisfiend decided to host his Russian DVD festival on my computer)! Usually the hub of great conviviality, the back porch turned into a scene from Shaun of the Dead.

So, Ewbliette looked at me and I looked at her and we simultaneously decided to get together later, when we had more energy. Sometimes you just need to breathe the same air as your best friend and then go home and sleep. Ironically, we both perked up as she walked me to my truck, chatting amiably for several minutes. The subject of Chuck came up. She said “You know what surprised me about him? He’s only 21 years old!” To which I replied, “Whaa?!” Maybe it’s the mustache or slightly receding hairline, but I would have sworn he was in his early thirties. Whoa.

Dogs Are Pragmatic

Since baby was born, Misty has spent time at my parent’s place. She has close to an acre of sloped grassy yard to roam and cats galore to chase, not to mention the extra attention Mom and Dad lavish on her.

Misty’s first post-baby stay was almost three months long, punctuated by brief visits home. Since then, we have worked out a “visitation” schedule. Weekdays, Misty stays home with us and on weekends she stays with my folks. When I brought out the leash Friday morning, Misty did her usual berserk dance, following me impatiently until I buckled her in the front seat of my SUV (yes, she wears a doggie seatbelt).

Today was different from the scheduled doggie drop-off.  I hauled both baby and his carriage along for a stroll in my folk’s shady green backyard.  When I arrived, Dad was perched under the colossal mulberry tree, playing guitar and singing Tennessee folk songs.

My experiment with the stroller failed. Baby was not interested in touring the expanse of grass and trees. Instead, he insisted on sitting in grandma’s lap. Wearing a look of intense concern, the little one watched grandpa strum the guitar and sing.

All the while Misty ran and ran and ran, until her black flecked tongue quadrupled in size, hanging out of her mouth sideways. She eventually flopped down between mom and me, looking contented. It seemed perfectly sensible that the highlight of her week is a visit with my parents.

I remembered growing up in this huge, green backyard. I cavorted and collapsed much like Misty. Life is so peaceful under the cool shade of the mulberry; I think we’ll visit more often. 

Finger Dream, ETA

The underlying tension from my dream probably stems from Tennisfiend’s work trouble. A few days ago, we discussed his disapproval of board members taking ridiculous risks.

Their strategy has already landed the company in serious trouble. Some workers have been going without proper pay checks for the past four months (us for example) and vital employees are looking for other jobs; their absence will bring the company down. 

We still wrangle with the decision to stay or go. TF has decided to do the hard thing and remain with the company indefinitely, but his resume is up to date just in case. I guess this is the amputation choice disguised. Will the future re-arrange itself to make our life more pleasing?

Finger Dream

Last night I dreamed that the top joint of my left index finger was cut off. The details were fuzzy—but I knew the amputation was unintentional. I found my finger standing upright on the kitchen table. Unperturbed, I sealed the finger in saran wrap and placed it in the refrigerator next to baby’s breast milk. The strangely bloodless stump on my hand I secured with a rubber band from the kitchen junk drawer.

Indistinct, unconnected and disturbing events unfolded.  A week passed. Then I mysteriously managed to severe the remainder of my finger.  

At last I became alarmed. Dialing my doctor, I removed the first segment from of the refrigerator to examine it. I was surprised by its freshness. It looked pink and living. I connected the two segments on the counter top as I waited for my doctor to answer my call. My previous unnatural calm returned as I explained my situation, questioning him in particular about being able to re-attach the finger that had spent a week in the cooler.

Brusquely, he advised me to chuck my finger parts. Although I could re-attach both segments successfully, the surgery would probably damage my lungs. I remember mulling over his advice and coming to the conclusion that my lungs were clearly more vital than my vanity.

Yet, as I examined my left hand (which had miraculously healed), I pictured all the people I knew with missing fingers and shuddered. Sinister unbalanced people lacked digits, like my deranged cousin who blew off two fingers playing with gunpowder. On the bright side, I thought, cartoon characters frequently had only four fingers, and no one seemed to notice, so perhaps no one would notice my missing index finger either.

The next several minutes of my dream were a montage of cartoon characters, fingers aesthetically relocating themselves on my hand, and my formerly intact hand. The internal debate between having an intact or amputated finger circled in my brain: guaranteed health and disfigurement or a lovely hand and lung trouble? Just as I decided to forgo the surgery, I woke up. 

Mmmwwah!

That was a big kiss I'm sending to brotherkurt and ewbliette! Thank you guys for the lovely bottle of red wine you picked up for us on your honeymoon! We opened it last night to celebrate the aggravation of parenthood.

It was exceptionally delicious and refreshingly relaxing! We want to also thank brotherkurt for helping E proofread his resume. Yay! Now if only ewbliette would hurry up and win the lottery she could hire him! We love you guys!

Baby Stuff

Return of the Mommy-Blog! Squirmer missed his morning nap and fussed until he conked out for an extended afternoon nap. Tooth pain was certainly the culprit. His second nap was an Elysian respite for mum and dad. I took this time to relocate his baby play arena in the sunroom by my computer, imagining that he would cry less if I was in full sight.

Anyway, this was a brief and annoying experiment. The acoustics of the sunroom are such that baby seems to be positioned two inches from my ear with a megaphone. I found that each minute in the playpen incrementally boosted by aggravation to an unprecedented level of pissiness. The playpen is back in the library.

The Mystery of Misty's Mishbehavior

Misty has been a bad dog. This past week, her old grass eating habits have reemerged and her barking has been almost unmanageable. In an unprecedented act of rudeness, she left a huge round wet spot in front of the bedroom door.

Usually, doggie transgressions stem from doggie angst. Why would her nerves be a wreck? Is the neighbor’s bloated tabby tomcat taunting her? Are the adolescent boys who peep at me throwing rocks again? Did the blue moon call forth an ancient and eldritch beast that exclusively menaces mongrel Border Collies?

Actually, the truth rather surprised me. Mid-afternoon, I tramped out back to reposition the sprinkler in our overgrown grassy area. A loud electric crackling startled me. It was the kind of loud, threatening noise you would encounter in a digitally re-mastered Frankenstein movie.

It repeated twice before I could pinpoint the source. A trio of roadrunners stalked the south wall. These were not the amiable cheeky sort of roadrunner that would permit an inept coyote to chase them for sport. These were the fierce avian successors of velociraptors, bold and territorial. The dominant male flared his crest and darted towards me audaciously, sizzling like a high voltage wire. Stupefied, I stepped back several paces.

The two smaller birds joined him expectantly, as if a major chase was about to commence. My heart skipped a beat. It was similar to the momentary terror you experience the instant a squirrel unexpectedly snatches a sandwich remnant off your plate at the park. When I recovered, I thought, “Damn! Where’s my camera?”

Of course, by the time I lugged it out, the show was over. The pursuer became the pursued. I captured a fleeting shot of the two smaller birds fleeing across the yard and a multitude of blurry photographs of the roadrunners treed in a mesquite bush. From the relative safety of the mesquite, the dominant male still flared his crest ominously and continued to sputter hostilely. No wonder Misty was freaked out.

Camera shy.

 
I swear he was more sinister in person! You can see a second R.R. blurred in the background.

 

Buttcracks and Bruises!

Back to posting pics. With the advent of hot weather, we've been wanting to introduce our wee one to the pool. So, compliments of Tanya, we are starting with baby steps, or rather a baby pool:




The plumber's butt is pretty obvious, but can you see the constellation of tiny bruises on baby? Much to my horror, the poor little devil has been knocking himself about the head and limbs trying to stand up.


 
Those stars look way too freakin' cheerful.