a kiss from heaven

It started as an innocent curiosity. What are those shiny colorful objects in that bowl? Then came the sorting. Five out of the bowl, five in the bowl. Eight out of the bowl. Eight back in the bowl. After that, was a detailed inspection punctuated with odd grunting noises. Roll it around the fingers, a little sniff, "enggggh" remove paper tag "enngggh" and gently push back pretty blue wrapping. Hey, what is this brown substance beneath the paper? Sniff again. "Mmmmmm." With slightly more aggression, remove foil wrapping. Hmmmm, more brown substance.

Finally, the words that forever changed his world: "Here, let me break the tiny tip off and let you have a taste."

Somebody just smack me upside the head.

florida 2006

I planned to post a detailed synopsis of our trip to Florida. But the more time that passes, the more trouble I have coming up with stuff to write about it.

We had a really great time. But, I mean really, sunshine, beach, grandma and grandpa. Them theres the making of a good time.

Except for the part where he chucked his Nuk three rows ahead of us, followed by his attempts to chuck everything else not fastened to him, several rows ahead of us, Raisin did an awesome job on the airplane. Maybe the entertainment provided by Ringling Brothers Mama and Papa Circus had something to do with it. I really expected some serious sleeping to go on during the flight since it was over his afternoon nap time, but it just didn't happen except on the flight home in the last 30-45 minutes. The perfect ending to our trip was having that tuckered little boy asleep in my lap.

Some of the highlights:
• Hearing Raisin say both grandma and grandpa in their presence and watching him interact with "dog" -- one who actually tolerated his antics unlike his brother Norman.
• Being seated by the train at the Bubble Room and watching Raisin's face every time the train came around -- and the delicious gianormous desserts.
• Raisin's fishlike tendencies in both ocean and pool. He loved the water and that made me happy. He did not, however, like saltwater in his eyes (surprise, surprise).
• The visit with the Cuban relatives -- a huge picnic featuring roast pig (Cuban style), black beans and rice, yucca (I'm drooling just thinking about it). The picnic was on a farm with horses, cows, little piggies, bunnies -- Raisin was in heaven with all of the animals and lots of people fawning over him in Spanish.

the re-gifter easter bunny

This Easter, little e scored quite the collection of fluffy spring-time critters. There was the little lamb from Grandma and Grandpa S. Plus, a duck, a chick and a bunny proudly presented to him by each of his three adoring cousins who visited over the weekend.

So what's an Easter Bunny to do? I couldn't bring myself to buy him even more stuffed animals -- those things multiply faster than the Easter bunny himself, you know. And he's only one. He has a few more stuffed-critter-accumulating Easter years ahead of him. So, with a little re-packaging, the Easter Bunny regifted all of the above, plus, a little bird I had given to him a few weeks ago. What!?!? It's probably the last year I'll be able to get away with such tackiness. I'm not so evil. He also got some new BALL! magnets, a new sparkly egg book and a frosted sugar Egg cookie from the bakery.

What's that? Is it the rubber duck/bunny you got from Grandma S. last year? How'd he get in there!?! Tacky, tacky Easter Bunny.

hair

The only thing that smells better than freshly shampooed baby hair is sweaty-boy-who's-been-playing-outside-alot hair.

we like sunny days

This week we're babysitterless so it's ALL MAMA, ALL THE TIME. Lucky for me, this week I'm also workless. And luckier yet, the weather's been perfect.

We've made many visits to the park just a few houses away. When you have a child and a brick backyard, a nearby park is a requirement. This one has everything too -- an elaborate jungle gym, swings, tennis courts, basketball courts, baseball diamonds -- everything a ball-obsessed boy could want. So we bring a ball and do some of that. Then there's the throwing of the sand, and the playing with the stick. This summer, we'll give the attached waterpark a whirl and if it's a hit, it's season pass for us, baby!

There are some great little-people swings too. You know, the kind that would have to be tipped completely upside-down for the baby to fall out? Raisin used to love the swings. He'd start crying when I stopped pushing him. But this time, there will be no swings. This time, the swing is the enemy and any move in its direction is met with much resistance. Same goes for the bouncy toys.

Did he get this from me? I have a vague recollection of being pretty much afraid to try everything when I was little. I know this is probably just a stage -- seems like pretty much everything is at this age. But I don't want him to be the boy who misses out on the fun because he's afraid. I used to hate the pressure that usually came with the fear of trying something -- even though once I tried it, I usually wanted to do it again and again. And when I see that look of fear in a child's face and the pressure that usually comes with it, it throws me into rescue mode where I want to whisk the child away from the situation so they don't have to feel bad.

So, how much should a child be pushed to try something they're afraid of trying? What if I had just put Raisin in the swing and start swinging him as he cried? Would he have eventually enjoyed himself or be forever terrorized by the sight of a swing? Call me a mollycoddler (just wanted to use that word), but I guess I prefer him to want to come to the conclusion that he wants to try it on his own. We have a playdate with his friend Maya next Tuesday. I'm hoping once he sees her on the swing, he'll change his tune.

Until then, we'll just play with sticks.

reason #8,417 why people like me shouldn't be allowed to garden

i...you!

We've been trying to teach Raisin the sign for "I love you." He's pretty much got it, but he usually only manages to get out the "I" and "you" part. This morning, as I shared my cereal with him, he repeatedly kissed his highchair tray. Then, unprompted, he signed "I...you" to it.

That's when I told him, that if certain people get their way, marriage will only be defined as such between a man and a woman -- not a man and highchair tray. He was crushed.

a man and his wound: a tale of courage

Last night (or, this morning) Ed worked until 4 a.m. Since I work in advertising, too, I know all too well how this happens. You see, advertising is a life or death business. Things happen, a client needs an ad rightthisverysecond or PEOPLE WILL DIE!!!!! However, now that I work for myself, my boss lets me go home whenever I want and so far no lives have been lost. (Side note: The other nightwe watched an old Cary Grant movie where he played a guy in advertising. He had 6 MONTHS to come up with a slogan. That made us giggle (or was it cry?))

Back to Ed working late. Apparently, in the process of putting the boards together, the poor man sliced his finger with an exacto knife. He cut himself pretty badly, and nearly bled to death as no one was insane enough to also be there until 4 a.m. to take him to the hospital. That's right, HE NEARLY DIED. I saw an entire reenactment of the harrowing event. What a brave, brave, husband I have. And let me just say, if I could hear about this cut on his finger 100 more times, it wouldn't be enough.

Actually, I can really sympathize with the working-until-4 a.m. part, but we both know where I received stitches a little more than a year ago. So sympathy for the tip of your pointer finger? Not so much.

happy haircut boy

the great ball of china

I'm not sure how it happened but somehow little e has managed to pick up Chinese. When he's particulary engrossed in what he's doing, you can hear him chit chatting: Meeeeee WhaOW tsuh Maaaaa neeee HaOWWWW BALL! Jennng shuu BALL leeee Waaa maaaAW BALL!

Maybe that's the stage that comes before actually stringing words together. Yes, I believe they call it "the Chinese stage."

walker texas ranger

When you have a child you get asked about milestones. Is he sleeping through the night? Is he eating solids? Is he crawling? How about walking, is he walking yet?

I'm pleased to report that yes, Raisin is walking. He actually has been for a while now. And it's not that it wasn't worthy of a post, it's just that it happened so darn gradually that it was difficult to discern when the actual "first step" happened. Does it count as a first step if he's hanging on to a couch? What if he falls right after the step? What if it's more like a half step -- does that count? He did all those things at the beginning.

But probably the best part was that very snowy Monday about a month ago. Ed was using the snow as an excuse to stay home from work, so we were both home. And that's when Raisin took the most steps we had seen. From Ed to me, he walked like a little drunken midget (sorry, little person) -- about seven steps. While it was really cool to see, I'm not sure it was the big tear-jerking emotional moment that it had been built up to be. It was more funny to see the excitement on his face, the hands held close to his shoulders and hear the "ah, ah, ah, ah, ah" (increasing in pitch) as he neared his destination in a kamikaze fashion.

Up until the last four or five days, he had been a bit of a reluctant walker -- reserving it for special ocassions. But now his confidence has increased ten-fold and the boy's all over the place albeit still like a drunken midget.

Pray for us.

fro no mo'

Today our little man got a haircut. With visions of every kid haircut gone bad, I was opposed to the idea at first. And truthfully, I was growing quite fond of his white-man's afro growing larger by the day. But time and again I found myself pushing hair out of the poor kid's eyes, so I finally caved.

We brought him to this Kid's Hair place. I was told it was like a three-ring circus entertaining kids as they sat happily in chairs receiving their new dos. But Raisin wasn't falling for their cheap entertainment tricks. Despite the Barney video playing inches from his face, he clutched on to Ed as soon as he was placed into the chair. The hairdresser didn't waste any time and immediately started spraying and snipping as he cried.



Ed and I switched places so he could capture the happy moment on video. That's when Barney, bless his little purple dinosaur heart, pulled out the big guns and began singing an obnoxious song about god knows what, but its choreography included beachballs -- and that's all that mattered to my little boy. The tears began to soften and as if on his last breath, he began to whisper, "ball...ball..."



Unfortunately (or fortunately), every Barney song must come to an end. So did the ball song. Luckily, at that point, the haircut was just about complete. And little e was back to his usual self playing with the germed up toys in the waiting area as we killed some time to let his hair dry (sparing him any further trauma by blowdrying).