This Must be the Place

Our Lucky Fire Engine Kind of Day . . .

2011-01-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

And God knows we needed one. Maybe it was providence and not luck, but I'm so happy Reed got to have today and that I got some surprisingly good pictures of him and the fire engine -- love that he had his bright red T-shirt on as well.

Here are the pictures -- basically, we happened to be looking at it in the parking lot, taking pictures, and three firefighters came out at exactly the right moment. And we did a lot of driving around today to look for construction vehicles in particular, finding at least three front loaders, a crane, and two excavators -- there isn't anything he loves more, so driving around looking for and at trucks has become a somewhat regular enterprise. I never would have imagined I would know so much about trucks and machinery in general, much less that a three-year-old can retain so much about them. I find that I love that he's so passionate about this -- even to the point of obsession-- perhaps it reminds me of myself. And the bright smiles don't hurt, either.

More Halloweenies . . .

2010-10-31T23:47:00.000-07:00

Halloweenish (visits to pumpkin patch, etc.)

2010-10-31T20:36:00.000-07:00

Pumpkin Fun and Other News

2010-10-26T12:03:00.000-07:00

So I won't even say anything about how long it's been since I've posted . . . except that -- and I'll just post.

October has been event-filled, given black eyes and myriad trips to pumpkin patches. We're going to a new one today because, as Reed says, they have a car there, a ride-on car! (not sure what this means, but I suppose I'll find out shortly). Reed was there with my mom a few days ago.

There's only so much to do, multiple times, at a pumpkin patch, but I'm figuring that, since he isn't going trick-or-treating or eating heaps of candy, I may as well let him have as much fun as he wants with the pumpkins. This year, they're all named Bob -- Big Bob, Mama Bob, and Little Bob. Last year's Grandpa Goop didn't make it in the batch of names this year (and these come from a ridiculous Boynton book titled "15 Animals" -- while I love the Boynton's in general, this one is admittedly a little stupid).

A few pics of our month so far to follow . . . .

R's Observation of the Day

2010-02-11T00:50:00.001-08:00

In the rocking chair, er, rocking, and talking, like we always do before I make him quiet down, put his cheek next to mine (cheeky cheek, we call it), lean back, and fall out.

Tonight: "I screamed at Grandma and Grandpa."
Mama: "Yes, you did."
R: "I screamed at Mama and Dada."
Mama: "You did, yes. That isn't good manners, is it?"
R: "That was a poor choice."
Mama: "Yes, it was, but Mama and Dada and Grandma and Grandpa love you and we are very proud of you. It's alright to get mad -- but it isn't appropriate to scream. It hurts our ears and it's rude."
R: "I love Grandma and Grandpa. I love Dada and Mama."
Mama: "You're so sweet. Do you love anyone else?"
R: "I love EVERYONE!"

Now that's admirable. Everyone? Who doesn't love the innocence of a child? I hope he loves everyone for a good long time.

2010-02-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

These ridiculous words my dad makes up and shares with R: "wallakatoony", "gilly, gilly ossenpheffer" . . . and some strange verses he and I have made up along the way: "bazinga, bazonga, honky honky tonga" . . . where do we come up with this stuff? I really don't know, but I do know that Reed's more than amused -- yell out "gilly gilly ossenpheffer", and he's beside himself, sometimes literally rolling on the floor in hysterics. I wish I found such humor and joy in life. Sadly, this is not the case; a healthy dose of cynicism set in after I turned three.

Trucks -- still trucks. But less so. Because . . .

Puzzles, puzzles, and more puzzles. Some days, we do only a few. Others? Nine, ten. That might not seem like much, but we're not talking about eight-piece peg puzzles. Now that's he conquered 30 and 40 piecers and is thus bored with them, we moved on up to 60, 70, 100 pieces. He still needs help with the 100-piecers, but he also just really likes to sit down with one or both of us and do them. I loved them when I was young (my mom still rolls her eyes when she reminisces about just.how.much.amy.loved.puzzles and just.how.many.she.had.to.do.with.her. Whatevs, mom -- I still love them, and I rarely get bored unless we're doing the same puzzle . . . . for the fourth time . . . .that day. More are on the way from some internet supplier or another as we've exhausted other options (not so many 100-piece kids' puzzles out there). Next week? He's going to move up to our 1,500 piece ocean scene - -the one Ed and I pretty much gave up on because we suck so much. That, and Reed managed to dismantle the entire outside border, which we'd finally finished. Sigh. As you might imagine, the most popular puzzles are animal and truck-themed, the Noah's Ark and "ferrari" (safari, but I can't bear correcting him).

And his animals -- Schleich (sp?) makes these realistic animals -- not sure what they're made of, but they would work equally as well as nicknacks if not used as toys. We started with one rhino and pick up a new one occasionally; his aunt Sue got him some new ones (dinosaurs) for Christmas, and he's thrilled with them. Recently, he's decided they need to be named as soon as we get them. His newest acquisitions? Clara the cow, Gerry the giraffe, and Zeb the baby zebra, who was excited to join Opi the infant elephant and his mom, Elphie. And he still loves his stuffed Elphie, which Auntie Karen gave him for his birthday.

I finally broke down and got some new toys -- Tinkertoys, a Lite Brite (this is classic, and I adored mine). Some building blocks, some new play dough. Play-do? Anyway, the Tinker toys have been a hit, although R's much more invested in playing with the stuff Ed makes than making his own -- planes, cranes, trucks, you name it - -the guy should get a job as a Tinkertoy puppeteer, making children their favorite animals at birthday parties. Oh, and he likes to destroy them after he tires of playing with them. He's a bit young for the Lite Brite, but he did sit there for a good 20 or 25 minutes the first time we brought it out before giving in to his temptation to knock all the little light pegs all over the floor.

Let's see . . . Hates having his hair brushed -- a constant source of ire. Likes brushing his teeth -- doing "scrubby bubbles" (that one's courtesy of Grandma Carol, always and ever coming up with "doozies" like these, as my dad might say. "Dinger ringer" as a nickname? Oh, yes. She goes there. But then, since R has that penchant for made up, nutbag phrases, he likes it well enough. He's also extremely into turning lights off, especially right before bed; it's become part of the requisite bedtime routine, preceded by the reading of as many books as he can coerce us into reading.

"I can do it myself" and "I will do it myself" are common phrases around here. So are occasional ear-piercing screams, emitted to alert us to his distaste for a request we've made. Examples? Getting dressed. Getting into his car seat. Sitting there for seemingly no reason at all. The more we ignore it, the less he does it, but ...still. Good times. Reminding us that "that was good manners" when he uses versions of "please, may I have/do/say/scream/exert/emphasize, most often applied in requests for water and food. Loves bubble baths. Isn't overly anxious to use the big-boy potty yet. Likes the rain, Ike, G, and getting into mama's scrap supplies, and his favorite person is still Grandma.

He's getting slightly more picky about food but still has a huge appetite and will eat a lot of things toddlers supposedly don't like -- beets, for one (ew), quinoa, fish, cabbage. He has a good idea of what cake and cookies are even though he never gets them, but he rarely asks for anything unless he sees it, and applesauce covers all manner of cravings. That and his beloved blueberry goat milk yogurt. And bananas -- we wouldn't survive without these, I'm pretty convinced.

R loves going out on "dates" with Mama and sometimes with Mama and Dada -- if I've been working a lot on a particular day, he's more likely to want to spend some time with me one on one. Last night he was in the mood for a mama/dada date, and occasionally we let him choose the activity (something that will likely become more dangerous than it is now -- who knows what we'll get roped into). What did he dream up last night? "I want to go to a restaurant. Let's go eat at Mimi's and see the roosters." Verbatim. Mimi's is decorated in this French country/kitsch, and the lobby has all manner of roosters displayed -- pictures, rooster lamps, hens in a cage, you name it. He's fascinated, utterly fascinated. We do this only once in awhile as feeding him at restaurants gets expensive. He can't really have the crap on the kids' menu, and I wouldn't want him to eat it if he could, so it's almost always an adult entree. Last time, I ordered him the pistachio-crusted salmon, and I'm fairly sure the server was slightly weirded out when I confirmed that yes, it was indeed for the two-year-old. And he ate all of it. Last night, we had a lovely woman who made a bunch of substitutions to the kids' "turkey dinner" so he could have mashed potatoes and veggies -- 5$ instead of 14.99$? We'll take it. Nothing encrusted on this plate, but he had fun, ate a lot, and "gilly gilly ossenpheffered" his way out of the restaurant and straight to bed when we got home.

Sound Bite of the Day

2010-02-09T21:50:00.001-08:00

Ed: Reed, the window's cracked, so you can hear the rain.

Reed: Oh no -- we have to fix the crack!

Why wasn't I doing this before, these sporty shortys that require little time but preserve pricelessness? Who knows, but I'm going to continue. There's a veritable treasure trove of it, and I know I'll forget so much of it if I don't write it down. I can't imagine looking back and not remembering exactly where he was and what he was saying, especially when he's 17 and making me nuts. And old.

Song of the Year . . . So Far

2010-02-06T21:15:00.000-08:00

So Reed has begun singing here and there, and his favorite comes from one of his truck/construction vehicle videos. He wants to sing it whenever I ask him to and often times when I don't, following up a rendition or two with "Let's try it again!"

When I grow up, I'm gonna have some fun
Work real hard
Get my job done
Take a look around the world and see
Just what I want to be

And what does he want to be?

An excavator operator, of course. Some days, it's a bulldozer operator, but a construction worker nonetheless. :)

You belong in a zoo . . .

2009-10-11T16:07:00.001-07:00

Well, that's what Auntie Karen said, and so she sent us there (well, to the Wild Animal Park) for your and dada's birthdays (year passes for both of us? Thank you, thank you, my too generous friend). We didn't see the elephants or tigers, your own choices, but we will next time, little bean-dip. I promise. In terms of what we DID manage to see before you gave in to the sleepies . . .

Happy Birthday, Little and Big Ones

2009-09-24T09:11:00.000-07:00

I can't believe you're two, my little heart. Can't believe it. I wish SO badly I'd been able to see you this morning and wish you a very "happy birthday" -- I know you don't know the difference, but Mama does. This is one of those moments wherein it's very, very hard to work as I do, knowing I could be at home with you were things different. But they are not, so I will focus on the positive, knowing that one day I can explain to you why Mama was often gone as you grew up. And I hope you will be as proud of me as I am of you, knowing that everything I do, literally, is for the support and success of our family. Sleep is a small sacrifice for you. I did not go to bed last night as I slogged through dozens of papers so I could be with you this afternoon. It's been a long while since I did that, and I'm certainly feeling it now! But I've never had a better reason NOT to hit the hay. I hope you and Dada are having a wonderful dueling birthday, that he gave your bike this morning, and that he took pictures of you so I could share in the moment.

Ed, well, I know you don't really "care" about your birthday, especially since Reed "took" it over, but I DO know that you are excited because Reed is turning 2. You are a great father overall; you are so much closer to Reed than many fathers are to their children. He depends on you as much as he does me, and for that, you should be proud. These last two years have been probably been the biggest struggle of our lives, and we barely made it. I do love you, though I never say so, and I hope you have a memorable day with Reed today.

Trucks Are the New Mickey

2009-09-14T01:14:00.001-07:00

They're back . . . in a big way. Photos forthcoming. Poor Mickey.

When You're Far Too Tired To Think or Write Straight . . .

2009-09-14T00:57:00.002-07:00

...The photo blog! (Also
known as the lazy mama's
blog). Enjoy our recent
adventures.

2009-09-14T00:57:00.001-07:00

An Olympian in the Making

2009-09-04T11:52:00.000-07:00

We just got back from Reed's first ("trial") gymnastics class. He'll be going two mornings a week this month, and we'll see how it goes. It seems a fitting enterprise for someone who wants to hang on countertops (and appendages) and somersault off furniture. So far: R votes yes on walking on the balance beam, jumping into the foam pit, and hanging/swinging on the bars. Sitting on the rope swing? Not so much. I think we've just entered the next phase of "wow, raising kids is way more expensive than I thought" as we trade in former expenses for these sorts. Still, I think we'll find it worthwhile, and I'm excited that we can afford him various opportunities that might help him on a number of levels. If I can just find the kind of art class I want, we'll be all set. Good thing I just took on another class for October . . .

Want No!! (And Mama, You Can Check Yourself at the Door)

2009-09-04T00:27:00.001-07:00

Roughly translated: "I do not want to do that/eat that/listen to you/follow instructions.

Usage:

Mama: "Reed, do you want to read Hippos Go Berserk?

Reed: "You want no!" (Specific Translation: "No, I do not want to read Hippos Go Berserk nor anything else you dare to suggest. If you don't suggest it, I might want it. Peace out, lady.")

Dada: "Reed, do you want some toast?"

Reed: "You want no!" (Specific Translation: "No, I do NOT want toast. Not if you're making it, and probably not if Mama's making it. Yes, I realize I want toast all the time, everyday, but . . . since you asked . . . no. No I do not. In case you still don't understand me, I'm going to whine along to the tune of the Mickey Mouse Hot Dog song and perhaps punch Mama in the face, just for kicks.")

"You" might be curious about that odd use of second-person. For a child so wildly articulate in so many ways, this has been a curious but ultimately endearing habit/trend: using second-person in place of first. The obvious answer is that, continually hearing himself referred to as "you", he refers to himself as "you". Simple enough. Yet Reed also refers to himself using the appropriate pronoun, and I'm pretty sure he knows the difference. Perhaps he's just trying to screw with our addled brains; it's not so difficult a mission accomplished in this household. But consider the following exchanges:

Mama: "I pick the scraper! What do you pick, Reed?"

Reed: "I pick the combine harvester! The snowplow is for Dada!"

Mama: "Okay, if Mama has the scraper, you have the combine harvester, and Dada's rocking the snowplow . . . what's left?"

Reed: "The grader!"

Mama: "That's right! You're pretty good with the process of elimination! Let's turn the page (of the newly cool truck books so callously abandoned in the not so distant past). Can Mama have the pick-up truck?"

Reed: "No. That's for Dada! That's not for YOU!"

Ahem. Alright. Fine. Dada rocks; Mama . . . ??? Whatever. In any case, I fail to see how the child who says "No. That's for Dada! That's not for YOU!" also screeches "You want no!" rather than, say, the linguistically sophisticated "I don't want it."

The universe is indeed one of divine mystery.

I have a tractor TRAILER!!!!!!

2009-07-20T23:05:00.000-07:00

Long live the truck obsession. Though he's "over it" for the time being,
he did bring me a truck book when he woke up this morning despite
having refused them for weeks now. There's hope yet. Video shot March 11th, 2009 (1.5 years old).

The Dizzies With Grandma and Grandpa

2009-07-20T22:10:00.000-07:00

Moo Ba, La La La

2009-07-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

Taken some months ago. I always try to get footage of Reed "reading to self" as he calls it, which has become remarkably accurate over the months. I think this is one of the first I captured successfully. He loves those Boynton board books! Hippos Go Berserk, anyone?

Happy Birthday Grammie . . .

2009-07-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

First of all, Reed does not look at all like himself shot from this angle. However, I was mildly amused with this one, as I imagine my Grammie will be when she sees it in a year. Gma doesn't surf the net.

Good Times a la Dada

2009-07-17T11:20:00.000-07:00

So Many Moments, So Little (Unaccounted for, should be doing something else) Time

2009-07-11T16:19:00.000-07:00

Poor Reed. I hope if, you ever make me happy by feigning interest in your mama's blog later in life, that you'll forgive the major omissions and refrain from asking me questions like, "When did I first x? What was my favorite y? Although I've got answers for a few of these, and I'm keeping birthday moments recorded in a yearly "birthday book" (which OMG is about to be filled out again), most of the significant or detailed stories I have and hold are about things other than "firsts". For instance.

For months now, you've demanded we sing "Old McDonald" every.single.time.we.put.you.down. be it nap or for the night (ahem: for however many hours you're going to sleep before you wander into the office to pester me while I'm feverishly trying to work, which usually leads to us doing laundry and vacuuming at one in the morning). You don't like any standard version of this probably centuries-old lullaby (does this count as a lullaby or just a song someone made up while drunk?) Nope.

As we pose the question, over and again, "and on this farm he had a . . ." you've become increasingly creative. Sure, cats, dogs, cows, and pigs make it in here and there, but you're ever so much more likely to say starfish, dolphin, yapok, drill, fossa (if you're wondering, and you probably are, these are indeed real animals. To some extent), cougar, jaguar, uh, stegosaurus or T-rex, anteater, warthog (a perennial favorite), . . . mama, dada, or Reed. Good thinking -- the three of us do live on a farm of sorts, just not the kind of farm Old Mc-whoever-he is was singing about. (This kind of farm is prefaced with the word "funny" or ends with "asylum", whichever you choose. You'll understand when you're older and you meet Nurse Ratchet). Let me tell you, it's been difficult to come up with appropriate sounds for animals like starfish, who I'm pretty sure never make any noise, and those like fossas, who, for all I knew blow "Whistle While You Work" through their nostrils. (If they have nostrils. Hard to say -- ugly, funny, tiny little things).

Of course, now that I'm getting around to this post, you're just about over your Old McDonald obsession. And on to beating me in the chest with the palm of your hand. I'm pretty sure I prefer 15 rounds of singing.

You also seem to be pretty much over trucks . . . which is breaking my heart. I never, ever, thought I'd say that -- or feel it. I didn't want you to be all into so very typical "boy" stuff, you know? But seeing your extreme obsession, er, enthusiasm for them, and the mind-boggling amount of knowledge you amassed so young and so quickly ultimately had me sold. We bought a truck pillowcase, which you still like but no longer beg to drag to the rocking chair, truck decals for the playroom. ... I already bought you a dump truck card for your 2nd birthday, which, oh god, is coming up very soon. I'm so sad. I want you to be six months old forever. No matter how much I like each season that comes along (and believe me, this one is a toughie), I hate the thought of you growing older. Thinking about you past toddlerhood is inconceivable. I've never been a fan of little boys who aren't cute toddlers any longer, but I suppose, since you're mine, I won't mind. :) This morning you looked at me and said, "I love mama SO SO much" (which is what I usually say to you, minus the "mama" part), and that pretty much covers you for the next two years or so.

Ah. I can't end this post without documenting a few of your newest little sayings for posterity. Right now, I can't imagine how I would ever, EVER forget them, but since I forget absolutely everything else and usually in an impressively brief amount of time, I'd better put them here. Ahem.

"I have tears" -- I'm crying. "Mama (or Dada) fix it" -- I'm hurt. "Mama (or Dada) kiss it" -- I'm hurt. "You want some" -- "I want some" (I secretly love that you use second person in place of first person for nearly everything. And I have yet to figure out how to make you understand that you need to use first person even when I'm constantly using the word "you". How confusing. And endearing." "Want no!" Another personal fave -- and this one is fairly recent, bellowed any time you don't want something -- I'm guessing this is shorthand for "No! I don't want it!" And it's awesome. "S T O P stop" -- it is what it is -- you're spelling some things now (courtesy of Grandma's introduction of this skill) and can, when you're feeling like it, spell Mama, Dada, Reed (though for now, it's "Red" as you've yet to understand the concept of a double vowel), go, and no. I'm amazed and frightened at how much you soak up, and I wonder what on earth you're going to do in terms of kindergarten. First grade. Dada and I long ago decided you'd never, ever go to public school, and your little personality and intellect have made us nothing but more firm in that decision. Luckily, we aren't going to have to deal with that for awhile.

And we also love that you keep pointing to both of us multiple times a day and exclaiming, "Thaaaat's Mama!" or "Thaaaaat's Dada!" as if we were either on some really great game show or just so important to you that you have to point it out regularly. It doesn't really matter which. You've also started (usually when I'm rocking you to sleep at night), uttering some version of "Mama sleep. Reed sleep. Dada sleep. Mama and Dada BOTH sleep in bed." While this is cute, it ain't going to happen often, little one. Mama can't sleep through snoring, Dada can't always sleep with you rolling over and smacking him in the face or kicking him in the nose, so we wind up everywhere -- Mama's on the couch, or Dada. Ike's here or there. You, God willing, are in bed . . . but not always. You've been known to take refuge in the family room or office every once in awhile.

I thought I'd point out, to those of you who might be reading this and thinking, "he's STILL in your bed? You STILL rock him to sleep? You and your husband DON'T sleep in the same bed? Tsk, tsk. Self-congratulatory, smug chuckle. Yes, you -- stop making comments about it. We (as in his, um, parents) don't mind. In fact, we're quite happy with the arrangement. Yes, he might be in our bed for a long time. Yes, it does take a lot of time to put him to bed, and NO, he can't just "go to sleep" if we lay him down (especially as he can simply roll out of bed and cruise down the hall, since he's always equated his crib with anthrax). And no, we aren't going to get divorced because we rarely sleep together (that would be Ed and I; Reed and I have slept together pretty much every night since we brought him home to the hospital). In fact, I find it far less stifling -- I've never really like sleeping with other people, and I sleep so much better alone. Dada apologizes for his snoring, and we do sometimes go to sleep together . . . inevitably, I roll over and punch him in the shoulder, and he heads for the couch. You, Reed, can sleep through it, no problem, which makes us wonder why you can't seem to stay asleep for more than 45 minutes sometimes. (Today's nap? 23 minutes and 42 seconds). Those of you who know me well know I don't really sleep, period, so I take what I can get, in peace. So that's out of the way. Bravo to those of you with perfect sleeping arrangements. We like our quirkiness, though we'd really love it if Reed would sleep through the night more than once every two weeks.

I often think I should start yet another "Mommy" blog expressly to wax annoying about the loads of uninvited, sometimes (often) unwanted advice or chiding. I might do that rather than using this one for that purpose, but as I've got five blogs and another on the way, I might not, too. If you want to read some hysterical Mommy blogs, check out a few of the links.

In other news, we just got a library card as Mama's decided buying each book we read is getting expensive and unnecessary. Thank God Temecula saw fit to build a new library, since the original had four books in it. Today we went for the second time, looking for more of your beloved Sandra Boynton board books. Since you already have a lot of them, this is challenging, and we failed in that endeavor. We did, however, find quite a selection of chicken, rooster, moose, frog, and fish books, so those should tide you over for awhile. Dada just started his two-day a week work schedule. Mama's continuing her six to seven-day work schedule. We don't know if Ed can go to school this fall or if Amy will be moving her stuff into her new office at MSJC . . . but since Fall semester begins in a month, we're really hoping to know soon. Amy just turned 33 and has decided it's time to stop celebrating birthdays. I'm good here, thanks.

See you next time, which, if things go as usual, will be in about two months. Maybe three. In any case, if the blog bores you to tears (and really, such blogs are usually amusing only to other mothers of young children, and only mildly so at that), check out the video of our young cherub pulling his night-owl antics. Good times, good times. Or not, since it's apparently too long to load (which I discovered after leaving it to load overnight). So here.

Is it June Already?

2009-06-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

*** So I wrote this entry on Feb. 25th. Guess that means I need to chronicle/highlight something recent. Still . . . too long to trash, so here it is. Here's hoping Reed and someone in his future world finds these useful or interesting. Hmph.

Do I really have time to chronicle each letter of the alphabet, and each attending word that Reed dreams up? Not really. Since I had that epiphany, his vocabulary has exponentially grown in such a way that recording hundreds of words is impossible as a) I'm too disorganized to make notes about each of them and b) can't remember many of them because I'm too disorganized to write them down. But. Today, I did! (Write down some things.) In the spirit of recording (mostly for Reed, and my three blog readers, I suppose) the "best of", I think I'll let myself off the hook and occasionally post about words and phrases when the spirit moves me. I had grandiose plans for a pregnancy journal, too, and that went right out the window. I don't think I wrote a single thing, not even a vignette, while I was pregnant. I realize now I didn't need to as I can just do it here:

Pregnancy is long and uncomfortable. It pretty much sucks except for all the good parts -- like kicking (and even that's not always so hot.) Hard to look hip, and certainly hard to wear shoes ( I wore flip flops every single day, rain or shine, winter or summer.) Delivery's a real treat, too, and I hope to do this again sometime without the attending three day delivery nightmare and without needing an infection-section. Regardless, the end result is amazing. Hope I someday have enough spare cash for a tummy tuck. The end.

And now, to my proudly compiled list. Let's see . . . Reed and I have quite the conversations as I put him to bed every night (or five to six out of every seven). We call this our "special time" (gag. I know.) I used to try to get him to just go to sleep, but I realized that was a) not going to happen on this planet and b) that I was missing out on his glorious musings about his day. This week, the frogs showed up during s. time as we went outside at twilight to listen to the frogs.

"Mama! Frogs talkin'! Frogs TALKIN'!"

"What do they talk about, Reed?"

"Ribbit. Ribbit. Frogs go night-night."

And so. Now we open the window every night so he can go to sleep listening to the frogs and reminding me that they do, indeed, talk, and that they, too, are going to bed.

Having now watched "Milo and Otis" a few thousand times, he quotes some of the dialogue and is big on narration -- "Milo goin' DOWN the river!" "Otis bark!" etc. Currently, we're studying the sea turtle that gives a stranded Otis a ride. I'm sure we'll do it again tomorrow. And probably the next day. Does he watch anything else? Not really. A bit of Sesame Street here and there. I don't really want him to watch much TV, but for the love of all that is holy . . . TV makes the BEST babysitter. I'm not afraid to say it. If I really need to, say, make the "e-baba" without the accompanying tizzy fit, he's Milo and Otis bound. Besides, he's now acquainted with baby animals in their natural environments. So.

Reedisms of the week/month: "Watch out!" (usually bellowed when he runs into you, not the other way around.) "Turka-burger" (stock answer whenever he's asked what he ate for lunch or dinner). "Read books" (stock answer whenever he's asked what he did during the day). "Roll with it!" Adopted while Mama and Dada listened to Steve Winwood on the way to Henry's today. Now, if I could just get him to tack on the "baby", all would be well in the world.

Shapes: Want to know the names of obscure shapes you don't really remember because you haven't taken geometry in 20 years? Ask Reed. "Trapezoid", "oval", "rectangle", and "octagon" are current faves.

Letters: He's been interested for some time but is now deeply so. Current favorites? Q. Z. B. C. F. D. H. Ws rule.

Numbers: he mastered a few concepts awhile ago, as in five comes after four and the first three are, well, 1,2, and 3, but he's more into counting actual objects than reciting memorized lists. Imagine that. In our house? There's one baby, two towels (in Reed's world, and on the hook in his room), and three dogs (those would be in a book). And five fingers on his "right" hand. Hasn't figured out how many are on the "left" yet, but he does love to show us which is which. As it turns out, he's right-handed though I assumed, early on, that he'd be a lefty. No such luck.

Trucks and Assorted Other Vehicles: If a 17-month-old can have have an obsession, this would be it! Having discovered this early on, we caved and bought a number of truck and "things that go" books (indeed, B&N has a section titled "things that go", and it's clear we need only ever purchase books from this particular corner of the store. That is, when we buy brand-new books, as they seem like a waste of money, often times. These? Worth every penny. Reed, this section's especially for you. Do you want to know now (whenever that will be) what you knew then (now)?
Dump truck. Excavator. Front-end loader. Mini-loader. Mobile crane. Backhoe. Freight truck. Tanker. Logging truck. Tractor-trailer. Snowplow. Street sweeper. Grader, scraper, roller, forklift. Airport fire truck, uh, regular fire truck, "small" fire truck, and pumper truck. Monster truck, racing truck, pick-up truck, van, mail truck, amublance, car transporter, ATV, bulldozer . . . I can't remember any more. But YOU can. The video in the previous post shows you reading one of those books to us, pointing many of these out. Hearing you rattle off this names is both precious and astonishing, and I'll have you know that we go through these books (ALL of us) countless times per day. Guess it's paid off. But can you come up with a new obsession soon? Say, 19th century British literature?

And, finally. Assorted words of wisdom, courtesy of Reed:

"Weirdo!" "Goofball!" "Psycho!" "Dingbat!" (I'd be the one responsible for psycho, my mom for dingbat. Oh well). "Call grandpa!" "Hold on!" "Momma's here!" (this is new, a lovely, bellowing screech offered when I get home from work. I love it.) Finally, something normal on the phone as in, "Hi, Dalyn", offered up yesterday. As Reed would say, "There you go!" And there you do. Hope you've enjoyed the tour de Reed's broad and rather unique worldview.

2009-03-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

A month, huh? Who'd have thought? Now that we've finally figured out IDVD, movie-making has taken precedence over blogging; a few of you might be getting something in the mail soon. The dada's also put together a fairly complete slideshow, so now we'll have some memoriable that's a bit more polished, and, ahem, up-to-date, than my sorry excuse for a blog. Ah, well.

In other news, Reed's truck/Caterpillar obsessions continues toward its pinnacle (though to be honest, I don't see that in sight. I think he might never outgrow this). Today, as we speak, he's at Grandma and Grandpa's playing with his new remote control excavator (one of his favorites, if not THE machinery of the month). A remote-controlled piece of machinery for an 18-month-old. While a bit frustrated with it, he seemed to be handling it fairly competently when I escaped for a few precious hours of alone time. Last weekend, on the one drizzly day the parched, barren landscape we call home offered, I took Reed "hunting" for excavators -- not plastic remote-control-operated fascimiles, but real, live, heavy yellow machinery. Did we find it, you ask? Have you been out here, to French Valley? Land of unfinished stripmalls and half-graded landscapes?
There's a big one right up the street on Auld and a very small one a few more streets to the west, one parked so close to the road that, were it not for the rain, would have easily been accessed. Did I ever imagine I'd be devoting a good part of every day to something monster-truck or machinery related? And could I imagine not doing so at this point. Reed continues to inquire as to when we might go "eggagator huntin" again. I don't know, sweetheart, but soon. Soon.

In the meantime, a new monster truck shirt and "vehicle" sticker books are subbing for live experience with the backhoe and the bulldozer. Were our DVD player not shot, he'd probably be watching "truck movie" -- a performance-based ode to all of Caterpillar's different machines, in action. This beauty came with some truck book or another. Did I mention I'm glad the DVD player's broken? Not sure I'm going to get that fixed . . .

I'm off soon. Reed's beloved Shelly is coming over so we can watch Twilight. While he won't get to pal around with her, I will. It's good to have someone to indulge my vampiric nonsense with and even better to have such a good friend, one who's willing to spend time with and watch our son when his mama simply has to go to work in the afternoon rather than waiting for evening. Mama's about to get a whole lot busier with work, if that's even possible, so here's to blogging in, what, 2010? I'll leave you with this and Reed, with buckets full of love and . . . amusement. You're a real kick in the pants, as they say. . .

Night Night, Froggies, and Other Tales

2009-02-27T18:38:00.000-08:00

Do I really have time to chronicle each letter of the alphabet, and each attending word that Reed dreams up? Not really. Since I had that epiphany, his vocabulary has exponentially grown in such a way that recording hundreds of words is impossible as a) I'm too disorganized to make notes about each of them and b) can't remember many of them because I'm too disorganized to write them down. But. Today, I did! (Write down some things.) In the spirit of recording (mostly for Reed, and my three blog readers, I suppose) the "best of", I think I'll let myself off the hook and occasionally post about words and phrases when the spirit moves me. I had grandiose plans for a pregnancy journal, too, and that went right out the window. I don't think I wrote a single thing, not even a vignette, while I was pregnant. I realize now I didn't need to as I can just do it here:

Pregnancy is long and uncomfortable. It pretty much sucks given the bad parts -- diabetes, swelling, restricted diet, inability to bend over, get out of a chair, use toilet paper properly -- and rocks for all the good parts -- like . . . the baby kicking. And, uh, not having to suck my stomach in 24 hours a day. Great reason to avoid having to help anyone move, though I'll always come up with a good reason for that. Hard to look hip, and certainly hard to wear shoes ( I wore flip flops every single day, rain or shine, winter or summer.) Delivery's a real treat, too, and I hope to do this again sometime without the attending three day delivery nightmare and without needing an infection-section. Regardless, the end result is amazing. Hope I someday have enough spare cash for a tummy tuck. The end.

And now, to my proudly compiled list. Let's see . . . Reed and I have quite the conversations as I put him to bed every night (or five to six out of every seven). We call this our "special time" (gag. I know.) I used to try to get him to just go to sleep, but I realized that was a) not going to happen on this planet and b) that I was missing out on his glorious musings about his day. This week, the frogs showed up during s. time as we went outside at twilight to listen to the frogs.

"Mama! Frogs talkin'! Frogs TALKIN'!"

"What do they talk about, Reed?"

"Ribbit. Ribbit. Frogs go night-night."

And so. Now we open the window every night so he can go to sleep listening to the frogs and reminding me that they do, indeed, talk, and that they, too, are going to bed.

Having now watched "Milo and Otis" a few thousand times, he quotes some of the dialogue and is big on narration -- "Milo goin' DOWN the river!" "Otis bark!" etc. Currently, we're studying the sea turtle that gives a stranded Otis a ride. I'm sure we'll do it again tomorrow. And probably the next day. Does he watch anything else? Not really. A bit of Sesame Street here and there. I don't really want him to watch much TV, but for the love of all that is holy . . . TV makes the BEST babysitter. I'm not afraid to say it. If I really need to, say, make the "e-baba" without the accompanying tizzy fit, he's Milo and Otis bound. Besides, he's now acquainted with baby animals in their natural environments. So.

Reedisms of the week/month: "Watch out!" (usually bellowed when he runs into you, not the other way around.) "Turka-burger" (stock answer whenever he's asked what he ate for lunch or dinner). "Read books" (stock answer whenever he's asked what he did during the day). "Roll with it!" Adopted while Mama and Dada listened to Steve Winwood on the way to Henry's today. Now, if I could just get him to tack on the "baby", all would be well in the world.

Shapes: Want to know the names of obscure shapes you don't really remember because you haven't taken geometry in 20 years? Ask Reed. "Trapezoid", "oval", "rectangle", and "octagon" are current faves.

Letters: He's been interested for some time but is now deeply so. Current favorites? Q. Z. B. C. F. D. H. Ws rule.

Numbers: he mastered a few concepts awhile ago, as in five comes after four and the first three are, well, 1,2, and 3, but he's more into counting actual objects than reciting memorized lists. Imagine that. In our house? There's one baby, two towels (in Reed's world, and on the hook in his room), and three dogs (those would be in a book). And five fingers on his "right" hand. Hasn't figured out how many are on the "left" yet, but he does love to show us which is which. As it turns out, he's right-handed though I assumed, early on, that he'd be a lefty. No such luck.

Trucks and Assorted Other Vehicles: If a 17-month-old can have have an obsession, this would be it! Having discovered this early on, we caved and bought a number of truck and "things that go" books (indeed, B&N has a section titled "things that go", and it's clear we need only ever purchase books from this particular corner of the store. That is, when we buy brand-new books, as they seem like a waste of money, often times. These? Worth every penny. Reed, this section's especially for you. Do you want to know now (whenever that will be) what you knew then (now)?
Dump truck. Excavator. Front-end loader. Mini-loader. Mobile crane. Backhoe. Freight truck. Tanker. Logging truck. Tractor-trailer. Snowplow. Street sweeper. Grader, scraper, roller, forklift. Airport fire truck, uh, regular fire truck, "small" fire truck, and pumper truck. Monster truck, racing truck, pick-up truck, van, mail truck, amublance, car transporter, ATV, bulldozer . . . I can't remember any more. But YOU can. The video in the previous post shows you reading one of those books to us, pointing many of these out. Hearing you rattle off this names is both precious and astonishing, and I'll have you know that we go through these books (ALL of us) countless times per day. Guess it's paid off. But can you come up with a new obsession soon? Say, 19th century British literature?

And, finally. Assorted words of wisdom, courtesy of Reed:

"Weirdo!" "Goofball!" "Psycho!" "Dingbat!" (I'd be the one responsible for psycho, my mom for dingbat. Oh well). "Call grandpa!" "Hold on!" "Momma's here!" (this is new, a lovely, bellowing screech offered when I get home from work. I love it.) Finally, something normal on the phone as in, "Hi, Dalyn", offered up yesterday. As Reed would say, "There you go!" And there you do. Hope you've enjoyed the tour de Reed's broad and rather unique worldview. An accompanying video to further demonstrate

Reed, January 30th 2009

2009-02-24T13:37:00.000-08:00

Of Red Balloons and Childish Delight

2009-02-17T00:15:00.001-08:00

The balloon is, I'm fairly sure, made its way to the trash, its poor, limp, slightly wrinkled and very much deflated exterior belying its fleeting glory. Forgotten, it will find its way to some dump, in which it will likely decompose ever so slowly. I'll probably remember its heyday as long as it takes that balloon to finally disappear into the great abyss (or wherever such stuff goes) even though Reed very likely won't. And that's okay, because that's the very reason for this blog.

After a brief foray into that bastion of superstores, Babies R Us, Shelly, Jackson (Reed's new BFF) and I emerged, desperate to get out of there and trolling for some food. (For the record, I needed butt paste that's not sold anywhere else that I know of, and socks. Triple Paste -- it does a booty good, and at 30 bucks a container, it's a good thing it does). Reed had recently begun to sound his warning, his "Done!" translating roughly to I'm going to absolutely flip, or tiz out (as we call it round these parts) if you don't take me out of this shopping cart and let me run around and wreak havoc right. this. very. instance.

The alternative? Leaving quickly, and so we did. We headed to Ritchie's Diner a 50s joint that I'd briefly worked at when I was 19 (I was let go for rather vague reasons, one of which was that I hadn't "toned down" my makeup as the proprietor had wished me to do, and the harlot red lipstick of which I'm still terribly fond but usually without wasn't going to go anywhere). Still, they've got good, greasy eats, and a giant candy store in the front. I figured Reed and Jackson could amuse themselves with the old-fashioned candy sticks at some point, and that they'd be safe enough as neither of them have any idea what candy is. Or, as evidenced later, that it's for eating rather than whacking others with it. This is a good thing.

Having gotten settled, which is a slightly more daunting task, I've realized, with two babies, we set about figuring out what we wanted, which, it turned out, was everything fried and nothing healthy. Being that paragon of virtue I am, I order Reed some zucchini and plain chicken. Many of the servers came by to coo over the cuteness, and a busser came bustling out with several ballons for the boys, one of which promptly escaped its string as Jackson went to town. Fetched him another one, and watched as Jackson went for Reed's coveted model -- red, white hearts, which anybody knows is better than clear/multi-colored hearts. Guess the Valentine's theme was going strong. These balloons came at exactly the right time, interrupting Reed's approaching meltdown over not being able to eat Jackson's crackers, verboten delights containing wheat and gluten. Nothing else could compete for Reed's attention at the moment he zeroed in on his treasure, and if you know Reed, you know that nothing, but nothing distracts this one from food. Until now. Until a red balloon came his way, and he batted his new treasure, the "red bawoon," ignoring us as we split a shake and fried stuff, placidly, occasionally, eating his rather boring dinner as he considered his prize.

We finished, and as expected, the boys found the candy sticks and proceeded to fence, we paid, and mama bought a few (uh, for her unhealthy self, not the baby) and headed to the cars. We got home a bit late (meaning it was after 6, Reed's close to bedtime), and I rather naively assumed my peaceful, quite son, so content on the way home, red bawoon now tied to his sweatshirt zipper, would stay that way, and I would take his dreamy self to the rocker. He'd pass out in a few short minutes. Not so. The lion awoke with a roar as we pulled into the garage.

"Dada! Bawoon! Dada, dada! Red bawoooon!".

"You want to show dada your balloon ... ahem, before you go to BED?"

"Show dada bawoooon! Show dada socks!"

And so it was. After dada was "shown" the bawoon and socks (particularly the red ones) 30,000 times, I finally got him down. And though he didn't go to bed easily or quickly, the sight of him twirling around and around ("doing circle!" "do again!" "do over!") the living room, overtired and bursting with radiance, eyes upturned and balloon in hand, has etched itself in my memory in a way no tantrum or missed nap or late bedtime ever could.

I lied

2009-02-17T00:12:00.001-08:00

Well, I'm trying. As you four or five blog readers know, I've got precious little free time. Perhaps someday that will change (one can only hope!) and I'll actually get some scrapbooking as well as blogging in. Thanks to those of you who are keeping Reed in your thoughts and prayers; his surgery is Friday, consult tomorrow. I'm terrified but hoping it comes quickly to get it over with.

C is for Caterpillar (as in highly annoying toy, not cute bug)

2009-01-03T22:56:00.000-08:00

Ah, the ubiquitous CAT. Here it is in all its brain-rattling glory. He's got one here, one at Nama/Crappa, er, Grandpa's house -- and he plays with it all. the. time. I can't believe I have a kid who's super into trucks and cars -- he'll probably end up wanting to go to Nascar and riding dirt bikes, and I'll have to promptly poke my eyes out while those near and dear laugh at the irony. At least he likes it, I suppose. While this is a "c" post, let's not go on the assumption that he actually calls this thing a caterpillar; no, it's a "buh-dozer." Should have probably put that in the "Bs", along with "Bonnie", his other grandmother's, name -- like I said, my Swiss-cheese brain can't be counted on for a lot of details -- thus the blog.

So, in the grand tradition, the Cs:

cup
clap
car!!!
canny cane (as in Christmas ornament, not food group)
cat!!
climb/climber
cow!!
chicken/cluck
ke-oh (Clio the stuffed, slightly scary cat)
come on!
candle
compooter!! (stop touching it, for the love of God!!)
capilar (caterpillar, as in cute bug not brain-rattling toy)
cab (crab)
CD (yep, CD)
cross
cheese!!! (as in, are you actually going to give me this fabulous stuff you almost never let me have?)
camel
camera!! (see compooter!!)
Carol
color
chair
couch
cold
Compy (plastic compsognathus, as in dino immortalized by the Jurassic Park franchise)
Chris (cousin)

Ciao --
the mama

A is for All Gone!! B for Baba!!!

2009-01-01T18:54:00.000-08:00

In that time-honored tradition of beginning again and making a bunch of resolutions we won't keep, Ed and I have decided that we'll be better about recording Reed's life. I like to think I've done an okay job thus far, between the blog, scrapbooks, and a few notebooks with random jottings, but there's lots I haven't captured, and we have little video. I think it's a sheer waste not to preserve in this era that provides us with so many unique and interesting mechanisms to do so. A lot of laziness, too, probably, but I don't want to wind up in that category. I know that I wish fervently that more of my childhood was preserved. I'd love to have something to go back through (besides the obligatory baby book and scattered photos). I know my parents had far fewer options for preservation than I. Perhaps Reed won't really care about the record of his life for some time, but he will eventually. I'd like to think he'd share this blog with his loved ones, whomever they turn out to be. So here's to 2009 and to Reed's ever-growing vocabulary Since this is a such a huge part of his personality and one of his main interests, we thought we'd devote an entry to each letter, noting the words he's attained for each thus far and which have proved most important to him. He certainly has his favorites. It should be duly noted that he also has enunciation preferences -- generally, the first syllable in any word gets all the emphasis, with a few exceptions( like lasagna, in which the "za" is joyfully drawn out). Some, like "apple" get the same stress on all syllables, but really, almost all of them are marked by the first-syllable favoritism. We think it's cute, and now that we've got a video camera (highly recommended if you want something both cheap and easy), we hope to demonstrate as much on the blog.

So here's to you and to me, to a and to b. May you have a blessed New Year.

We know we've left out quite a few, but this is what we can come up with . . . Exclamation points = well, an exclamation -- these are favorites.

A:
apple!
all gone!
algator/algy (wooden alligator Dalyn and Josh gave him)
alright
airplane
air
always
almost
Amy
Amber
Again!

B
e-baba! (why e-baba, you ask? We have yet to figure this one out. Ed thinks it was originally "a baba" and it just morphed into the "e". Who knows. It's weird, but we here it many times per day despite the reduction of the e-babas. Little do you know, little Reed, that your days of the e-baba are slowly drawing to a close.)
boat
bear
beach
butter!
bread
bubble
blankie!
baby! (loves babies. All of them. I think he identifies. Odd, no?)
bed
barn
better
bee
bird(s)!
boom!
bonky! (his name for his purposeful falls, usually performed by laughing and throwing his head on the ground to fall down, then yelling bonky! or boom! It's charming, really. Brain-damage? On the way, probably.)
butterfly
beak (absolutely the most important part of the bird)
big
butt/bum/booty (depending on the moment, whether something's come out of it, and the like)
back
blue
ball! (this was an early and beloved one)
bottle (i.e., "e-baba")
burn
banana!!! (absolute favorite fruit, er, food, until its demise once mangy! (mango) reared its orange head)
bulb (associated with Christmas ornaments only, and usually muttered upon ripping one out of the tree)
belly
beads
Big Bird! (loves those Sesame Street characters)
bark! (as in "doggys bark!" and the bark that fills our front flowerbeds).

Ciao, blog. I'll post another entry from his highness's perspective soon.

Arty Tarty Christmas Party

2008-12-23T23:03:00.000-08:00

Christmas Blitz

2008-12-23T22:26:00.001-08:00

Christmas Blitz, Part Deux

2008-12-23T21:37:00.000-08:00

More .. .

2008-12-23T21:34:00.001-08:00

And a few more . . .

2008-12-23T21:13:00.000-08:00

Gushing -- Sometimes its a Must

2008-12-23T20:35:00.000-08:00

Warning: this entry is gushy. Really gushy. You may want to avoid if you're not particularly sentimental.

Okay, it's time. I've got to brag a bit, gush a bit, about the most amazing thing in my life. I remember my sister-in-law not too long ago telling me she was in love with her son, and its an apt description. That drive to be near, to hold onto, the never getting enough -- it's all there, in its purest, untainted form. I've been conscious for awhile that's Reed's become a person with unique attributes, moods, and certainly a big personality, but the more he talks, the more its undeniably present. He still looks baby, talks baby, but I'm acutely aware this period is soon gone and retrievable only via this blog, photos, video. And I've recorded really so very little of who he is that I've decided its time to write more, in my voice, in a futile but hopeful effort to render his babyhood permanently. What am I loving right now? Where do I start? Reading "Moo, Baa, LaLaLa" -- the first book he's got memorized -- nearly word for word. His penchant for identifying animals and his contagious excitement over this daily (sometimes hourly) activity. The newest? Giraffe, "elphie" (elephant), the finally identified AS penguins penguins (previously? Ducks), tigers, zebras, raptors, compys (yes, compsognathus, the little guys forever imprinted in the pop culture lexicon via multiple installments of Jurassic Park), the new fascination with dinos . . . the old fascination with doggies and kitties, perhaps his longtime and forever favorites. Bob the Christmas Reindeer. "Sleep" Bear. Elmo . .. and how so. Elmo was first spotted on Sesame Street, then later in the newly acquired Elmo books and tomorrow, his Christmas present from Grammie: Hokey Pokey Elmo. He's seen it already and is a bit terrified, but I guess a screeching, 3-D Elmo that actually does the Hokey Pokey is a bit more intimidating than his screen counterpart. We're a bit worried that this fear is going to translate to Kota the Triceratops, his one (over-the-top but fantastic Christmas present). What can I say? We just couldn't resist (and, at a buck thirty, I can't resist a deal). Here's hoping -- it will make a great video. And the stuff he SAYS -- I spend most days alternately amused and amazed. I'd hoped for a reader, and a talker, and I got my wish. Our favorite? Ask him who the president is, and you're rewarded with an adorably enunciated "Obama". Sometimes, you'll even get a "Barack" with that. "Pinecones, candy cane, fridgerdatter/fridgerbutter (I hope he never learns to pronounce this properly), reindeer, tree, "look, lights!" jewry, stripes . . ." it's difficult to remember and to remember to record. Ed and I wanted to keep a list of all the words he's said, and in what order, and we're pretty behind on that. Since the explosion of talking that began three months ago, we've pretty much managed to make meeting this goal an absolute impossibility. Still, I suppose a few installments as we move forward to preserve the most memorable will have to do. On that note, and a final one, then, I leave you with "love you!" and "kiss!" always proffered after a sweet, sloppy, open-mouthed smack on the cheek. Or head. Or cheek. Or teeth. It's hard to be irritated at all when these priceless gifts are offered throughout the day.

A Transformative Day

2008-11-04T21:59:00.000-08:00

My mama and dada are excited today. This is a special day, an historic day, even a transformative day. I am glad to be a part of it though I have no idea what is going on. Still, I will one day, and that is the most important thing. I am glad to live in a time during which an African-American has been elected, perhaps not by a landslide but by a significant margin, the president of the United States. And sometime soon I will realize this. What an awesome responsibility the mama and dada have -- to help me shape my impression of the world and from there develop a nuanced, thoughtful worldview. They hope I will look up to them, and I hope so, too.

In the meantime -- doggies and trucks rule!!!

2008-11-02T06:54:00.000-08:00

Mud sandwich, anyone?
The mama's just about given up on this one -- live and let live, she says. A little dirt never hurt anyone. On the other hand, the amount I try to consume is, perhaps, a bit extreme. Eventually, I get the finger sweep/mouth plow. Foulness, I say.

2008-11-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

I wore this for all of 12 seconds. Still, it looks the mama actually dressed me up, no? I won't lie -- I was in bed by 6:30. Fun times.

Random Shots, and Random Thoughts

2008-10-26T21:56:00.000-07:00

A By No Means Comprehensive List of What I'm Into These Days (Whiskers on kittens makes the list, but raindrops on roses we don't see here too often . . . )
Doggies. Still . . . doggies. The mama and dada consider getting me one on a daily basis so I'll shut up. They haven't, and I won't. Kitties, trucks, and cars are running a close second. Cars, though, because of the sound they make, are "uns" (as in ununUN . . . start your engine! as an unfortunate toy Namah purchased me says). I don't know why adults don't use more onamatopoeia. It just makes sense. I still like eating rocks and dirt, too, but not quite as much now that I've acquired my newer obsessions.

Word-wise, I've certainly discovered some new and improved choices. The mama and dada love mimicry, let me tell you, especially when it takes the form of "stop!" and "unh uh!". "Lock", "dance", "nut", "pick" (as in, yes, "pick me up!"), "pretty", "vac" (I do love that vacuum),
"heart", "moon", and "Amy" are right up there
with the perennial
favorites "hot", "eat me",
and "Ikey!" I'm also fond
of letters e and a and am working on b,c, and d. Hey, it takes time. In the meantime, I'm most certainly into apples and bananas ("aps" and "nanas" respectively. I've a new appreciation for nuts, thanks to Namah, and do my best to pull them out of other people's mouths. A charming habit, to be sure, but I think I'll get away with it for a bit longer. 2, maybe. I sure don't get it often, but I do love "chiz", especially of the string variety. And coffee. Oohhhhh, yeah! There's nothing better than eating, and I'm the champion in my household.
I'm most enjoying books while the 'rents, who previously hoped furiously that I'd be a reader, are ready for me to can it. They've actually hidden them from me. Whatevs. I know where they are. And if you got me one for my birthday . . . thanks! (Especially if they've got moons, kitties, or doggies in them).
Let's see. I'm a terrible napper, a great (as you may have imagined) eater, a fantastic hide-and-seeker, a newly enthusiastic dancer (tell me to "shake shake, shake shake a shake it!" and I most certainly will, and a cuddly hugger (that is, when I feel like distributing the highly coveted "huggies", not to be confused with my bottoms of choice). Oh, and I like to brush my teeth, too.

Birthday Redux (Yes, it was a month ago)

2008-10-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

dsf

Sometimes, words won't suffice. This is one of them.

Doggy Goats . . . Eat This!!

2008-10-17T23:50:00.000-07:00

Mama here. Pics of Reed eating dirt, as usual, for your enjoyment. I'm going to post Reed's b-day extravaganza (read very small family party) soon. Yes, it was nearly a month ago. Who can keep up? In any case, we thought it time to share some of Reed's most recent feats and fantasies as he's far too humble to boast himself.

As some of your nearest and dearest know, "doggies" are among Reed's favorites -- not favorite animals, per se, but simply favorites, period. Where comes this recent obsession? Who knows. we don't have a dog and don't really plan on getting one. Still, doggies it is. Doggy books, doggy walks (walks looking for doggies, listening for doggies, calling for doggies . . . geez. I'm not even a dog person), the "Dog Whisperer." Whatevs, Reed -- doggies it is. And Ike. Ike's still in the running, too. In fact, Reed woke up screeching last night for "Ikey my kitty" of all things - typically, the babes want the babas, no? Not the grump ass cat.

But I digress. We live right behind a big ranch. And on this ranch, they have some goats, ei ei oh (a refrain I sing quite regularly as Reed hits repeat on his Leapfrog radio version of Old MacDonald). I noticed that all three were standing at the fence the other day and promptly dragged Reed up the hill to see them and feed them (the same green stuff they had already demolished within the confines of their area). Our conversation went a little like this:

Mama: Reed! Look at the goats!

Reed: Doggies.

Mama: No, Reed, they're not dogs. They're goats. Look at their heads. Did you see that one just butt his budy right here? These aren't dogs.

Reed: Doggies.

Mama: Sweetheart, they are NOT doggies. NOT dogs. Goats. Say "goats" for mama.

Reed: Mama, doggies. Mmm. Hot.

Mama: Reed! Look at the goat-doggies! Do you want to feed the goat doggies?

Reed. Unh. Doggies.

That is to say, Reed thinks many animals (wolves, foxes, goats . . . are dogs), just as he thinks many are ducks, a word long ago revealed as a personal favorite. What is it with babies and the word "duck"? I mean, how many babies have enough personal interaction with ducks to merit the fascination? One of our favorite books is "I Love My Daddy Because" . . . he plays with me like animal dadas play with their baby counterparts. Or, "All MalePeople and Animals Bigger Than You Are . . . Are Daddies". Er, right. In any case, we've learned that horned puffins are ducks, that loons are ducks (and I must give Reed credit on this one -- seriously; how many adults know the difference between a duck and a loon? And, isn't it enough for babies to try to learn all the "basic" animal names? I mean, I know we've all got personal context for the, uh, puffin and all, but come ON. Geese, of course, are also ducks, as well as any species of bird.

And, if you ask Reed what the green bean says (or the carrot or beet, on a good day), you'll get the now classic "EEEAAT ME!""" That's right, folks -- "eat me". When I attempted to coax this out of him, Ed warned me that this might not be the, um, best phrase to instill. I disagree -- it's funny as hell.

These Feet Were Made For Fallin', er, Walking. Yeah.

2008-08-21T20:31:00.000-07:00

I started this little project around 10 months, and I'm flying high or crashing low, depending upon how you look at it. Me? I'm pretty stoked to be, as the dada calls me, a biped. Whether you should legitimately identify me as a member of this class is another story. Since I like to a) Walk on my toes, b) try to run, and c) look at other people to make sure they're checking me and my progress out rather than looking WHERE I'M GOING, I've got quite a few bonks to show for it. The old battle-ax lets me walk on tile and concrete, too, a decision that's got Uncle Tyler furious with her, but I'm navigating it. Because me? I'm one determined little bugger. Also, I like to say "hot", "stop", "enna" (food) "all gah", (gone) "cup", "Awk" (that would be my cat, Ike), and Namah (Grandma). These are among my favorites these days as they've lots of versatility: "Stop, hot Awk; enna all gah. Ciao, Namah." Word to your cup.

The Misadventures of Monkey Me

2008-08-16T22:42:00.000-07:00

The mama finally took me to see Theresa and Kanan, who's now 17 months old. Way to go mama -- you managed to visit your friend nearly two years after she gave birth. At least you took me before I turned 1. Good God, lady, get it together. Post my pics of our afternoon already, will you? (And don't tell everyone I barfed my weight in formula and food all over the car just as we arrived, alright? I wouldn't want anyone to think that you and Theresa spent half our visit cleaning puke and doing laundry). How bout we don't take the 76 into Oceanside next time, kay? Curvy roads aren't my gig.

***THE MAMA'S POSTSCRIPT -- It was lovely to see Theresa and meet Kanan, who might have the bluest eyes I've ever seen. I hope she'll forgive me for greeting her with a puke-covered baby. (No photos of that. Sorry.)

A Swingin Good Time (No, Not That Kind!)

2008-07-23T21:28:00.000-07:00

I'm at the park by Grandma and
Grandma's house. I started going
really recently to test out my mad
swinging skills. Now that I can hurl
myself right out of the baby swing,
it's been retired to the yard, where
it's awaiting boxing. My momma's
pretty broken up over it (she has
this neurotic thing about me growing
up that's pretty annoying), but this
is cheering her up. Sometimes.

Hot Hot Hot

2008-07-23T21:22:00.001-07:00

It's my new favorite word, and going after things that are is also a fun new pursuit.

When I can, I con Grandma out of coffee (and, weird as it is, the woman who won't give me anything but fish and vegetables actually GIVES it to me. Good stuff. )

I digress. Anyway. I like fire, and hot cups, and I go gangbusters for Starbucks cups. Who knew?

Rebirth of the Blog. Really.

2008-07-23T21:03:00.000-07:00

And to commemorate this momentous occasion, take a look at Yogurtfest 2008:

It was rather unsuccessful. No matter how much I like to eat, I can't get figure out how to do it. Pick up a cheerio and put it in my mouth? Nope. Get a spoon near my mouth? Nope. You'll learn about my other talents later, but . . . this isn't one of them.

Bathtime Revisited

2008-03-21T16:21:00.000-07:00

You don't say.

Preggopotamus Rex

2008-03-12T22:37:00.000-07:00

Today I thought I'd pay homage to the mama. She posts so many pictures of me. This is me in her belly, around seven and a half months. I was snuggled up under her ribs quite comfortably. I guess she wasn't so much; I certainly heard a lot of bitching about my positioning. Little did she know how much worse that was gonna get. Still, she looks kinda pretty here, and sometimes I sure miss it in there.

Valentine's Day Schmaltz

2008-03-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

My Great-Grammie
bought me my angel baby outfit although the 'rents seem to think the red devil ensemble may have been more appropriate. Well, only once in awhile. I'm generally a cheerful soul, and I sleep! I sleep for them all the time! Two naps a day, anyone? I throw them off sometimes and refuse the morning refresher. Nonetheless, I digress. My grandma bought me my fabulous
safari hat and camo
glasses. She got me new socks, too
- -even camo socks. Who knew she had it in her?

I'm still not sure what possessed the mama to outfit me in said items all together. Me? I think it looks pretty stupid together though I must say -- I love these glasses. They all thought this photo shoot was hilarious. Then again, they don't have much in the way of fun these days as they're busy busy working to secure my future. I guess making me bear the brunt of the fun paucity is their answer.

Next time you concoct a look like this, lady, you're going to get more than a grimace.

Oh, and a late happy Valentine's day to all, and to all a very smarmy and schmaltzy celebration next year. I'll get you on the downside.

Milestones, Shmilestones . . .

2008-03-11T21:31:00.000-07:00

Some people archive their baby's firsts -- rolling over, sitting up, crawling. Yada yada. Everyone does that stuff. Cataloging it is just so . . . expected. So mundane. Check out a few of my "firsts" here in all my profundity and one of me just being ridiculously adorable (er, myself).

Crib-glaring 101: When your lame parents wake you up with a flash, cultivate a withering sneer. I'm working on perfecting it.
Bottle-snatching 240: Hey there, Sir Stingy. I'm not finished with that. And if you don't give it back ASAP, you're going to find yourself drenched with it in its partially digested state. Tally ho!

Starfish eating 1o1: I've finally got a grip on this sucker, and I'm going to rip his fishy point right off.

2008-03-11T21:24:00.001-07:00

Wow. It's been so long since I posted. It's probably because I'm very busy. I know, I know -- that's what everyone says. But you all probably aren't learning how to sit up or cutting teeth, or preparing to crawl. So cut me some slack; here I am taking a break, stopping to smell the roses, as they say. Ha.

Merry, Cheesy Christmas

2008-01-03T23:38:00.000-08:00

Yep, mama and dada put me in the requisite Santa outfit, replete with hat.
On Christmas Eve, I donned a "first Christmas" onesie, but you might have to look hard to read it. Maybe --just don't. Cheesy? Yes. Priceless? Absolutely. Stay tuned for me in a giant stocking. Yeah, they're kinda lame (the parents, not the stocking, etc.)

Ho ho . . . HO, um, ho . . . geez.

My, er, family, minus dada.

There are no words.

Me and Uncle Tyler

Me and Grammie.

. . . and again.

My Cutest Milestone Yet . . . Check Me Out!

2007-12-28T23:23:00.000-08:00

Mama and I take a bath every morning, an

activity I thoroughly enjoy. I particularly like

scoping out mama's myriad potions and lotions,

especially my "California Baby" shampoo. That

said, bathtime become's much more interesting

now that I've discovered that yes, I can actually

fit my foot (well, part of it) in my mouth. Since I

found my feet, I've become obsessed. Nothing

else means anything -- my feet are where it's at.

Me and My Bebe Pod . . . an early Christmas present.

2007-12-28T23:13:00.000-08:00

Just Me and the Mama

2007-12-28T23:08:00.000-08:00

Aunties!!!

2007-12-28T22:39:00.000-08:00

Auntie Erica came down from Portland.
She's enthralled, of course.

Auntie Heather visits me all the way
from Arizona; this is the first time she
met me. Of course, she's enamored.

Auntie Alyssa (of the previous post's

pasta fame -- she made it for me).

Pasta a la Ten-Week-Old

2007-12-28T22:34:00.000-08:00

If it looks like I'm eating pasta . . . it's because I am (or trying to. The mama wouldn't let me actually eat it. Wench.) I've discovered big-people food but haven't yet ascertained why they won't give it to me. I gummed at least 10 penne noodles on this particular evening (after mama got rid of the garlic and wine sauce). Mmm mmm!

My First Tea Party

2007-12-27T23:11:00.000-08:00

So, a few of mama's MiraCosta friends and colleagues decided to throw me a tea party/shower as they wanted to meet me. And meet me they did -- check me out.

Brandi's trying to hold me, but I'm too busy
eyebballing the big-people food.

Denise kept me company (and calm)
most of the afternoon. (Don't let this
picture fool you.)

The Ubiquitous Baby BJORN . . .

2007-12-12T23:09:00.000-08:00

The mama here. Reed's cranky and taking time off from the blog. Anyone who's anyone in the household of Reed knows that the Bjorn's the thing . . . the sling, err, Hotsling, hasn't yet been retired, but it seems to be on it's way out. The struggle to shove Reed's butt and legs into the sling as if they he were bread dough that required kneading might be one of the contributing factor's to the sling's probable demise . . . and it's replacement with the Bjorn (which, incidentally, boasts a few neat hooks and snaps that require only that baby be smoothly inserted and lifted out, without threat of poked and prodded flesh). Mostly, we've carried him around the house, often pausing in front of the Christmas tree (a rather crack-like addiction for babies). The true test? The store (any store, really, though Walmart at Christmas might yield the truest results) -- we'll let you know if the Bjorn maintains in the brand-name baby-gear war (ughh).

Me, Myself, and Ike

2007-12-05T17:45:00.000-08:00

I wish my kitty liked me. As the proverbial saying goes, looks can be deceiving. The mama's shoving Ike's butt from behind to get this shot, AND I have red-eye that she's failed to correct before posting this. I guess she wanted everyone to see my sitting up like a big boy -- all by myself (well, and two pillows). Stay tuned; I just know she's going to put up a bunch of cheeseball X-mas shots with me in some stupid hat. Do all parents do this stuff?

Yay Cousins!!

2007-11-28T18:26:00.000-08:00

Reed met one of his cousins for the first time (or, this is the first cousin he's met?)

Anyway, my cousin Jessica brought 2 and 1/2 year-old Delaney over to meet her cousin Reed.

She loves babies and made sure he was alright, stroking his cheek when he cried and whispering, "it's okay, baby." There's not much cuter than that. Delaney's about to become a big sister, and we can't wait to meet the newest member of the family, another girl. I'm sure Reed's going to be a big fan of both as he grows older.

They say it's my birthday . . .

2007-11-19T16:51:00.001-08:00

And it is. Today I'm two months old, and boy, I am not happy about it. I decided to morph into Grump E. the Baby today to celebrate despite my previous week of being Excellent Baby, perhaps because the mama decided it would be a good day to force me into contortions on the Boppy so as to get her precious photographic evidence of my ability to hold my chest and head up. I cooperated for awhile. Until I didn't. Check out all the befores . . . then my after. :)

P.S. the mama doesn't yet know how to move photos around on this thing, so they're out of sequence.

Cute.

2007-11-17T09:25:00.000-08:00

New Kicks, New Digs (er, chair. Digs for a peanut are pretty small, so a chair counts)

2007-11-15T19:59:00.000-08:00

Grandma Part 2 brought me these frog shoes from Florida. I had a great time kicking them right off, but I let the 'rents get a few pictures of them first. Then, Grandma Part 1 bought me a vibrating chair. See illustration. I'm not quite sure what to think about the vibrator, but I figure I'll tolerate. The adults all seem amused enough.

Milestone update: I gripped a "Tide to Go" eraser pen in my clammy, flailing little hand for at least a minute yesterday, proving that I'm rapidly developing gross motor skills AND that I'm gaining the ability to poke said adults in the forehead when they bug me. Just wait until I manage to gain a bit more dexterity -- annoying adult = stabbed forehead (as long as my mama keeps putting blunt objects in my paws).

Me and My Sling . . . an Experiment in Progress

2007-11-10T11:15:00.000-08:00

Mama decided to throw me in this sling thing to cart me around. Personally, I find that's it a way for the 'rents to be a little lazy -- who needs to be "hands-free?" Why don't they just carry me in their arms like normal people? I threw a few fits as they introduced me to it even though I secretly like it, I think. See evidence to the right.

Me and Grandma

2007-11-10T11:05:00.000-08:00

Yep -- that's us. I'm busy giving her quite the run for her money with my stay-awake-athon.

Grandma Part 2

2007-11-08T23:30:00.000-08:00

Mama Bonnie arrived from Florida yesterday. . . she's my grandma, Part 2. Part 1 lives nearby (well, up the street, really), and she takes me off my mama's hands frequently, she says, to give mama a break. Really, she does it because I'm irresistible, ready to eat. But I digress. This is the first time I've met Mama Bonnie/Grandma Part 2 because she lives far away. I'm impressed -- she's very attentive to my swinging needs, pushing me religiously in my crappy, need-to-be-pushed-manually-because-my-parents-can't-figure-it-out-Fisher-Price-Aquarium-contraption, and she walks me, too. She also thinks I bear a striking resemblance to E.T. when I flip out (she says I'm spun out, actually) . . . a sentiment that my mama eerily voiced separately. If two of the people in my world think I look like E.T., am I doomed? I mean, my world's populated by about six people at this point, so the numbers don't look good. In any case, I'm going to continue enjoying the dueling grandmas and will post some pics of both soon -- I'm hoping to get pretty spoiled this week since I've got two to dote on me.

Lung Update

2007-11-06T11:09:00.000-08:00

Good news!

We saw Reed's pulmonologist (lung specialist) last night, and he tells us there isn't anything wrong with his lung. In fact, he feels that the doctors who examined/worked with Reed earlier on may have mistook the thymus gland for an unidentified lung mass (what's on the X-rays that we've been so worried about). This means that, potentially, nothing ever was wrong with his lung . . . and we/he went through all this, including the NICU stay for something that was, well, nothing. Still, he tells us that Reed could very well have had pneumonia and that it's simply cleared up at this point. I'm not sure if we'll ever really know what was wrong, etc. What's important is that it's now right. He did tell us that, based on some of Reed's behaviors and responses, he seems to have some reflux issues. Those, of course, are nothing but treatable. So we're all quite relieved -- the little guy got a 95% rating on his oxygenation test and is exercising his lungs with the best of them. See attached illustration.

Thanks for all your prayers.

Dada and me

2007-11-03T10:46:00.000-07:00

Dada requested that I post this particular pic . . . he thinks he looks pretty hot. But I eclipse everyone else in photos, and how could I not?

Ike tries to eat me . . . I guess the tuna wasn't enough

2007-11-02T12:31:00.000-07:00

Since I came home from the hospital, my kitty has expressed nothing but the utmost disdain for me. I can take him, though. I have flailing fists of steel. And look who dada's holding when it's over? My cuteness prevails (this time).

Frank and company

2007-11-02T12:11:00.000-07:00

It's Halloween . . . Where's my costume?

2007-11-02T09:08:00.000-07:00

Well, here's my pumpkin my dada carved for me. That's about all I have to show for my first holiday in this strange place. Did I get a costume? Nope. Did the mama/dada duo take any pictures of me with the other kids? Nope. They did take pictures of my godparents and their kids . . . and themselves . . . so here they are, if they're interested. I'm off being bitter, so you all enjoy.

Frog Butt, AKA Star Butt

2007-11-02T08:56:00.000-07:00

Here are a few pics of me doing my favorite thing (second to eating). When I turn into Grump E. the Baby, the mama and dada pick me up and squish me into form. They often try to put me down so I can do it on my own in my bed, but I'm just not into it. I like to sleep on humans, thanks. They're a lot warmer than those cold sheets you people keep trying to make me lay on.