Pick Up

The other day Brad and I were discussing the last time we were hit on. I can't remember what prompted the discussion but I do distinctly remember the last time someone tried to pick me up.

My friend, Kimberleigh, and I were running late for a class when a car with two twenty-somethings pulled up next to us at a red light and asked us where we were headed. "Prenatal yoga," we replied through peals of laughter, and sped off as the light turned green. I still remember the three thoughts that popped into my head at that moment:

1. Clearly, the only thing the Cruising Lothario Twins could see of us was the view from our busts up.

2. I couldn't remember the last time someone had asked me where I was headed.

3. Being eight and a half months pregnant, it was likely the last time anyone would ever hit on me again.* 

It was the end of an era.

Anyway, since our conversation Brad and I have been trying to flirt with each other more, which is no small feat when you have two little kids. Brad has been Googling pick-up lines and calling, texting and e-mailing me me throughout the day with his latest offering. It's silly and very sweet at the same time. It reminds me of when we were falling in love. I am so lucky to have a husband who still wants to flirt with me. 

So what about you? What do you do to keep the romance alive?

*And by "me" I am recognizing that they were mostly hitting on Kimberleigh, who is 4 inches taller than me, weighs 20 pounds less (even pregnant), is 10 years younger and has perfectly straight, long, platinum blonde hair to die for. I am not delusional enough to think that they would have flirted with me for one second had I been alone in that car. Jerks.

Spelling B

From last night:

Me: “I think tonight it will be early B-E-D for H.”
Brad: “Sounds good to me.”
Harper: “What is B-E-D?”...
Me: “Why don’t you sound it out?”
Harper: “Buh-Buh-Buh. EEE-EEE.”
Me: “Actually, this ‘e’ sounds like ‘eh’.”
Harper: “Eh-Eh-Eh. Duh-Duh-Duh. Buh-Eh-Duh.” (thinking) “But I don’t want to go to bed!”

I fear the jig is up.

Word Monkey

Harper's favorite place on Earth is the Florida Aquarium. We have been regulars there for years now, so much so that she said her first word there ("Duck!") and, to keep the family tradition of reaching milestones there, recently Will stood up for the first time in the changing room.

I turned around and caught him doing this.

"Look what I can do all by myself, mom!"

There is a new Madagascar exhibit on the third floor, the centerpiece of which being a lemur enclosure featuring three Ring-Tailed Lemurs; two males and a female. One of the males has a shaved tail due to a recent veterinary procedure, so he’s very easy to pick out.

These are NOT monkeys.

Today, about an hour into our sojourn, we went up to the third floor so I could nurse Will in relative peace while Harper enjoyed looking at the giant reef tank and the lemurs. As you have probably surmised by now, Harper is a bit of a Social Sally, so to kill time she befriended a little boy about her age who was there with his parents. She took the opportunity to explain the lemur exhibit to him (after his parents mistakenly referred to the lemurs as monkeys not once but twice).

   

Harper (pointing at the lemur with the shaved tail): “See! That’s a lemur!”

Boy: “Monkey.”

Harper: “Not a monkey. He’s a lemur. He’s a boy lemur.”

Boy’s Mother (incredulously): “How do you know he’s a boy?”

Harper (Matter-of-Factly): “He has a penis.”

She will really use any opportunity to show off her vocabulary.

Boob

To be blunt, Will has been a little constipated. Ever practical, I decided to give him apple juice in a bottle to "loosen him up" a little. 

What's important to understand here is that I nurse my babies (no pumping) so Will has literally never drank anything from a bottle before. (Harper only saw her first baby drink from a bottle a couple of weeks ago and she was completely fascinated with all the paraphernalia involved in that feeding process.) Accordingly, I had to dig our one-and-only bottle out of the back of the cabinet from whence it has sat since it was gifted to us back when I was pregnant with Harper.

So, without further ado, this is what a breastfed baby looks like the first time he "drinks" from a bottle:

Is it weird that I'm proud that he is completely clueless?  

P.S. Please note our well behaved, attentive dog in the background, hoping for stray blueberries.

The Tractor Birthday

Alderman's Ford Regional Park

Well, the birthdays keep coming around here and, unfortunately, neither Brad nor I are immune to them.

Brad's forty-something-th birthday was a few days ago. Harper, our little party planner, decided he needed a "Tractor Birthday," which I interpreted as a farm-inspired celebration. Brad was indifferent about the whole thing save two details: he wanted a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and he wanted to spend some time with the family. (He was also excited about the possibility of presents, but he'd never admit that part.)

Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting (detail). 

Clearly, frosting is not my medium.

I got it together at the last minute and baked a sheet cake and frosted and decorated it with a farm motif before making a country-style dinner, complete with mashed potatoes and gravy and Brad's favorite roasted root vegetables (that man is a sucker for parsnips and beets). 

After we blew out the candles, Brad opened his gifts from the kids: from Will, a brand new Nebraska Cornhuskers T-shirt to replace the threadbare one in his closet and from Harper, a copy of You Are Stardust, which is their favorite bedtime story to read together. Then, on Sunday, we went for a family (and dog) walk around the two mile loop at Alderman's Ford Regional Park. It was really nice.

Brad and Harper's bedtime book.

Will enjoyed his dinner thoroughly.

A Happy Birthday balloon for Daddy!

The Birthday Boy lighting the candles.

Happy birthday, Brad! You just keep getting better!

    

Chompers

Will is FINALLY getting his first tooth! Or, teeth, I should say. The two bottom ones are just poking out. We're thrilled that we won't have to outfit him with dentures after all.

Back when I was a poor college student I worked for a brief stint as a waitress at a greasy spoon breakfast place. On the same block was an historical hotel that had been reinvented as Section 8 housing for mostly mentally unfit seniors. The residents frequented the diner, but there was one woman who I really took a liking to. 

This may or may not be the aforementioned greasy spoon. (Spoiler alert: it is. )

Prospina was probably in her eighties (at least), about 4'9" and weighed about 80 pounds soaking wet. She wore a red, polyester pant-suit and her steel-colored hair in a greasy, chin-length  bob. As far as I could tell she spoke no English but that didn't matter because she never spoke to anyone (anyone we could see, anyway). She would, however, hold long and, sometimes, animated conversations in Italian with invisible dining companions. 

Every morning it was the same: Prospina would materialize at the counter at about 8:00 am and gesture to the coffee cups. She would then sit down with her cup of coffee at the corner table or, if that was occupied, the counter, and hold court with her phantom associate/s. After an hour or so of heated conversation she'd shuffle off for a lap around the block. Then, invariably, she'd reappear for her free refill in another hour's time. This pattern would be repeated until after lunch when we'd close and she'd shuffle back to the hotel. The only variation was that, every once in a while, and for no discernible reason, she'd give you the most beautiful, absolutely radiant, toothless smile (Prospina was forever forgetting to put her teeth in and would often leave them unattended on the table during her strolls).  

In a strange way, Will has that same smile. And I will miss it; his adorable, toothless Prospina grin. It's funny, the associations we make and the things we get attached to.

Oh well, on to better things!

We had celebratory pancakes for breakfast. 

Totalitarian State

This morning, as I was preparing breakfast, I heard Harper shout something from her bedroom, but it was muffled because her bedroom door was closed. “What?” I hollered back. I heard Harper open the door a crack and repeat, “I said, ‘it’s OK mommy, everything is just fine.’” Then she closed the door again. So of course, I dropped everything and went to see what our little minimizer was up to.

Inside her room I found Will locked in the closet (he was happy as a clam checking out all the shoes) and Hemlock, our cat, lying on the bed, wearing a pair of dolly bloomers and a surly attitude. (I can’t even begin to imagine how she got them on him. That is one patient cat.) Harper was giggling with glee.

Let’s hope Harper never gets the opportunity to execute her power on a larger scale.