Junior

Look what Brad brought home from work! This is Jesus “Crackity” Jones Junior, but we call him Junior for short.

I must explain the story of his long and involved name. Brad called me last Tuesday and told me (sheepishly) that a stray dog had showed up on the farm 4 days prior to that and he didn’t know what to do (besides hope the dog would eventually find his way home). After a short discussion I told Brad to bring the stray home and we’d figure it out somehow.  

This is where Brad and my stories diverge. Brad says he told me the dog was following Jesus around the farm (thus Jesus Jr.) but I swear he said Jose’ (the name of another employee). Of course, one cannot hear the name Jose’ without bringing to mind the Pixies’ Crackity Jones off of their classic album, Doolittle. So, accordingly,  I had been humming Crackity Jones for approximately 45 minutes by the time Brad got home with the little German Shepherd/Labrador mix. The name stuck.

Junior’s lucky. He almost ended up with Santa’s Little Helper as his moniker. Maybe that’ll be the next dog. Anyway, here he is:

I know, I know, I said German Shepherd/Labrador mix and here I am posting what looks like the picture of a Pit Bull. Maybe he has some Pit Bull in him, who knows? But I SWEAR, without the head gear those ears go up and he's a Shepherd/Lab mix. And his build is ALL Shepherd.  

He is good with our other dogs (2) and our cats (4). (Have I mentioned it's a real Noah's ark around here lately?) Plus Harper is crazy about him. He is crazy about Harper, too. But who isn’t?    



Almost Famous

Well, I've hit the big time. My video debut can be viewed here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGR9bs5oBEs&feature=youtu.be

P.S. I have no idea who this musician is. He somehow found a photo of me on the web and included it in the video. My friend viewed it and sent me the link. 

  

Belated Update

I feel like I haven’t had one second to post a new entry in the past several weeks. I’ve been meaning to but something more urgent always seems to come up. Don’t ask me what, though. No big projects have been completed recently and nothing seems particularly organized, despite my best intentions. Mostly I’ve just been chasing Harper around, who is increasingly difficult to catch.

Anyway, it’s the 4^th of July and Brad decided, as a special treat, to take the day off. Right now he is enjoying some daddy/daughter time. So here I am, typing away. It’s his turn to chase Harper around for a change.

First off, let me start with the obligatory Harper update. Favorite recent developments include:

1.       Working on her manual dexterity by pinching and pointing at everything.

2.       Trying to pull herself up (she has not, as of yet, been successful).

3.       Growling back when you growl at her and show “tickle fingers.”

4.       Sitting up her own (photos to follow).

5.       Playing her alligator xylophone (photos to follow).

6.       A second tooth (I believe I neglected to report the emergence of the first one, about six weeks ago).

7.       … and as of 10 minutes ago, CRAWLING!  (Which Brad witnessed firsthand but I missed because I had left the room for one second- of course)

Naturally, the pinching and new teeth have inspired a song. I like to call it, “The Pinching and Biting Song”

The Pinching and Biting Song

Chorus

Don’t pinch your mother.

Don’t pinch your mother.

If you feel like pinching your mother,

Don’t pinch your mother.

Verse I

A pinch of salt will squash bad luck,

And pinch a penny to save a buck,

But,

(Repeat Chorus)

Verse II

The only time that it’s OK,

Is pinching on St. Patrick’s Day.

So,

(Repeat Chorus)

Verse III

Pinching mom is bad enough,

But biting her is much too rough.

Hence,

(Chorus Var.)

Don’t bite your mother.

Don’t bite your mother.

If you feel like biting your mother,

Don’t bite your mother.

Verse IV

You’re practicing with your new teeth,

But biting mom won’t bring relief.

Please,

(Repeat Chorus Var.)

Verse V

Biting things is fun to do,

But bite some steak or firm tofu,

Just,

(Repeat to the Tune of the Chorus)

Don’t bite your mother,

Also, don’t pinch your mother.

If you feel like biting and pinching,

Do it to anyone but your mother.

(Finale)

And always remember the gist of this song!

I like to do jazz hands when I sing the finale. I secretly hope jazz hands will help implant the message of the song deep in her psyche.  No luck, so far.

So back to new developments. Harper is finally able to sit up on her own. She’s been able to sit for a while but hadn’t figured out how to prop herself up until last week. Last Wednesday, to be exact. I was  starting to get worried she was falling behind somehow, even though babies typically learn to sit up somewhere between 7 and 9 months, and even though she is 8 ½ months old, and she was born 2 weeks early so really she’s only gestationally 8 months old (see how OCD I’m being about this?). Anyway, it was a relief and a thrill at the same time to see her do it. And I was able to snap a picture right when it happened! I apologize for the poor quality but they are the real deal taken at the actual moment it happened. Look how pleased she is.

What were you ever worried about, mom? 

   

The next day we received the alligator xylophone I ordered on E-Bay. Its purchase was inspired by my observation of Harper’s enjoyment of smacking things and making noise. (On a side not, Brad is not happy about the all alligators collecting in her room. He says they make him uncomfortable as they are the mascot of an inferior collegiate football team.) Anyway, I removed said juvenile crocodilian glockenspiel from the box, took a few minutes to clean it, then set it down in front of Harper and turned around to put the box it came in into the recycling. When I turned back around this is what I saw:

She was happily pounding away on it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud;  of myself for knowing she’d love it and of her for figuring it out on her own. What a little genius we have!

Also, here are some pictures of Harper sitting while chewing on her rubber giraffe. Everyone else in the world knows this as “Sophie Giraffe” but we call it “Jennifer Giraffe” after the Jennifer Giraffe in Don Freeman’s Dandelion, which was my favorite children’s book of all time.

Finally, here is Harper’s cousin, Maggie Jane, chewing on her own Sophie Giraffe at about the same age. Do you think they look alike? We go back and forth.  

New Developments and a Dog Bite

Harper has taken this huge leap in the past week and is doing all sorts of new things. Her repertoire now includes:

1. Saying "uh-oh" just after she has pooped.
2. Pointing to your nose if you ask her where it is (she will do mouth, too, about 50% of the time). 
3. Making the "milk" sign when she is hungry.
4. Waving bye-bye.
5. Maybe or maybe not saying "daddy," depending on who you ask.

Also, if you leave your child unattended around your dog someone will inevitably get bitten. See for yourself:

No crawling yet but she’s so close she can taste it. She is starting to get really frustrated army-crawling and rolling all over the place. I think it'll be in the next few days, for sure.

We’ll keep you posted!

Almost Perfect

My Husband is a liar. At least, I think that’s what it’s called. What is the word for when someone honestly believes they are telling the truth but they don’t have all the facts? That is what he is: unintentionally devoid of facts. An U.D.O.F.’er.

Let me explain. My husband has, on more than one occasion, been moved to tell me, with total sincerity, that I am so beautiful I, “Don’t even need to wear makeup.” The problem? He has never said this while I was actually makeup-less.

In fairness, he hasn’t said it while I was wearing a lot of makeup, either. It’s not like I walk around looking like a pageant contestant.  This leads me to believe he just thinks I have naturally dark, thick lashes, rosy cheeks and flawless, porcelain skin. Oh that that were true!

 This is what I like to look like when I do light housework.

What’s worse; when I really am without makeup, he becomes concerned and says things like, “Are you coming down with something?” or, “Did you get enough sleep last night. You look tired.” I haven’t the heart (or stomach) to tell him that’s how I look naturally.

Brad can be a little clueless about these things. One time I was watching Top Chef when Brad entered the room. After a couple of minutes of scrutiny he said, “She’s kind of pretty.”

Me: “Who? Padma Lakshmi? The Supermodel? Yeah, she’s 'kind of' pretty.”

Brad: “She’s a Supermodel?”

He did the same thing on Project Runway a few months later. I firmly instructed him not to comment about other women’s looks again. I mean, that’s the standard of beauty I have to meet? Really? There isn’t anything between Heidi Klum and Quasimodo?

Brad: “She’s not bad looking.”

The truth is, I wish I looked like that. Well, maybe not Heidi Klum. I love my brunetteness too much. Plus I haven’t got any of what Victoria is (or is not) keeping Secret.

I have a love/hate relationship with this woman.       

But I wish I were that girl. You know, the one who rolls out of bed, runs her fingers through her perfect, “dirty” hair before tying it into a chic, tussled knot, throws on a pair of eco-friendly espadrilles and a French peasant blouse and rides her charming, vintage bicycle to the Farmer’s Market before meeting a friend for a cafe’ ole’ and a baguette. I want to have an herb garden and fresh cut tulips in my super organized, casually elegant home every day. I was to enroll my children in summer art classes. I want to look good in hats. I want to “holiday” in Florence. I want everything I touch to be beautiful and pleasant and effortless. And then I wake up.

The thing is, that girl never rinses out soiled diapers. She never has to make dinner with only tortillas, frozen peas and raspberry preserves because she hasn't had time to go grocery shopping. She never gets split ends. She never has to plunge her kitchen sink because the disposal has stopped working… again. 

This is not reality. Mine, anyway.

And Brad didn’t marry that girl, either. He married me, split-ends and all. It was a good decision. I am a lot more fun than that girl. And we made a fantastically cute, probably genius baby. 

But I’d still like an herb garden.

Date Night

Well… we finally did it. Brad and I left the house of our own accord without Harper in tow. Why, do you ask? We had a DATE. That’s right, a planned evening of adult-related activities. No spit-up. No diapers. Just the two of us.

I have to back up here. This almost happened once before, on our anniversary. Actually, it technically did happen once before. We hired our wonderful neighbor, Karen, to watch Harper after we put her to bed for the night and then we left. But that evening was a comedy of errors that culminated with us driving around the greater Tampa area aimlessly. Almost certainly one day I’ll look back on it and laugh. But not yet.

Anyway, the disappointment of our lost anniversary inspired me to organize another evening for us. I started to hatch a plan to surprise Brad and called Karen to see if she’d be available to sit with Harper. She said she would be… in mid-July. Clearly that was not going to work. That was when I started calling everyone I knew to come up with a babysitter. As it turns out, finding a qualified, trustworthy sitter on short notice in these parts is about as easy as tracking down a live Skunk Ape (that’s a Florida reference for those of you who don’t get it).

Beware the Skunk Ape! They are non-aggressive but very, very smelly.

Eventually my neighbor gave me the number to her friend’s, friend’s nanny who was available. I was assured that she had been working for the same family for the past three years (so I could track her down if she stole my identity or ordered a bunch of Movies on Demand). I booked her immediately.

I was lucky. I knew her employers had run an extensive background check on her (they work in the DA’s office)and was reassured when she asked me to leave a copy of Harper’s full medical records in case there was an emergency (in retrospect, this may also have been interpreted to mean she was planning to abduct Harper, but all’s well that ends well). But I have glimpsed the dark side. I can now see why parents may be willing to settle for a less qualified sitter. A couple of more hours and I probably would have settled for Squeaky Fromme (“Well, Ms. Fromme, it says here you worked with children at a place called Spahn Ranch Daycare? And your former superior, Mr. Manson, had EXCELLENT things to say about you!”). A slippery slope calls for desperate measures, or something like that.

You successfully completed 7^th grade? Great! What time can you be here?

The evening was a success. The house was intact and the baby was asleep when we got home. We returned to find the sitter doing just that; sitting. She was too afraid to move, actually. It seems that only ten minutes after we left one of our cats had scurried under the recliner where she was seated and she was terrified the chair would inadvertently crush him if it collapsed as she stood up. So she lay there, frozen and in full recline, for the entire three hours we were gone. I would feel bad but not for the fact that she was paid $45 to sit in a chair for three hours. She never even saw Harper (who slept through the whole thing). This whole babysitting gig is sounding more like a racket to me. Next time we’ll probably just rock Harper to sleep, put her in her crib, leave the baby monitor on and hit the road.

Kidding! Kidding!    

P.S. Did you notice that this entry, a post entitled “Date Night,” reported no actual details about the date its self? How odd.      

Lazy Summer

When Brad first confirmed we would be relocating to Florida I believe the first words out of my mouth were something like, "Oh crap. I'm going to have to get used to weather again."

Since our move I have described the summers here as "oppressive" on more than one occasion. And I have likened the humidity to "breathing soup." Those of you who have spent any length of time in the deep south other than in an air-conditioned airport know of what I speak. I have noticed that we, too, are spending a lot of time indoors these days.      

The truth is, I am still a California girl, and I can’t stay indoors too long without starting to go a little stir crazy. On days like that I pack Harper up and we head outside, despite the weather.

One of the benefits of living in subtropical conditions is that you have to slow down a little (Truly. I literally cannot move as quickly in this weather without risking death by heatstroke.). Humans are amazingly adaptable creatures. Now I hardly bat an eye when the temperature outside is 85 with humidity of 98% (although you wouldn't know it to hear me complain). We just look for a big tree to sit under and enjoy nature a little. Here are some photos of us enjoying just such an outing.

I wish I’d gotten a picture of the robot diaper she was wearing that morning. It is so freakin’ cute. I’ll have to get one before she outgrows it.