Correction

J: "Anson, let's race and see who can give Mama a kiss first."
...
Anson: "mmmm-maw"
Mama: "Anson won!"
Anson: "Anson TWO!!!"

10/09/07 at 3:02am...

Happy Birthday, Anson!!!


And other news, Joe has taught Anson the words "snot" and "ewwww".

Dreary Monday, but Happy Photo!

My Brother Rocks

I had the privilege of talking to my brother, Sgt D, this afternoon. He was using Skype (free internet phone) to call me from Iraq.

One of the most exciting things he told me was that the weather was starting to cool down, and he was excited to be experiencing the cool temperatures. FYI, the daily highs are now in the low 100s. I should point out that there was only sincerity, no sarcasm, in his voice.

He is fortunate in that his duties keep him out of the line of fire. However, he is experiencing extreme boredom, which one could argue is a danger of a different kind. Because of his position, he really is not able to socialize with any of the other troops. He goes to work (which is currently not busy), and then goes home to his dorm-room sized room. That's it. There is nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. I know that I fantasize about being bored, but the prospect of facing an entire day of extreme nothing is frightening. You have four tiny walls and your computer for company. There is only so much time you can spend playing on your computer, and watching old tv shows on Hulu. You can only read for so long. And then you have another 6 hours until bedtime.

I am not the world's greatest phone conversationalist (I'm a listener, not a talker), and I'm afraid I did nothing to entertain my poor brother on the phone. I'm also horrible at correspondence, so again, he's not getting much in the way of witty emails from me. I'd like to publicly say that I'm sorry for that, Bro. I do think of you lots... however, I know that while knowledge of this may give you a warm fuzzy inside, it doesn't do much else.


Please, everyone, take this time to send a letter/email/care package to those you know serving our country away from home. I pray that they are all safe, and the worst enemy they are currently fighting is boredom. Because that is something we all can help them fight.

And, BIGGEST call-out to Sgt D. I am so proud of you, Bro! (PS. I hear stamp collecting is a really exciting hobby :)

Seattle

Anson: "Anson go Seattle. Airplane. Vrrrrrr. Go with Mama!"

I think he misses his Mama :)

Romancing the Mama

I just had an awfully cute, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy throw himself into my arms with the declaration, "Oh, Baby!"

This was after I was greeted at the door with "Hubba Hubba, Pretty Mama!"

Take THAT, Future 1st girlfriend!

Sometimes Projects Take Way, Way Longer Than They're Supposed To

Case in Point: Getting the living room rug professionally cleaned, then washing the wood floor beneath it.

2 Weeks Ago: Joe rolls up the rug, stuffs it into the car, and we take it to American Rug Laundry for a deep cleaning. I wash the rug mat in the washer (unsuccessfully), and then with a hose on the laundry line. I decide not to sweep and wash the floors, because, honestly, by the time the rug is ready, I'll just need to do it again.

1 Week Ago: We receive notice that our rug is ready to be picked up. That just doesn't happen.

Today:
10:00 - We decide to leave to go pick up the rug.
10:35 - We actually are driving away from the house.
11:10 - We return to the house, with our cleaned rug rolled up in paper. I start putting away Anson's toys, and then pull out the bucket and get down on my hands and knees. I remember that, when you have all wood floors and an open floor plan, it is pointless to wash just the floor in just one of the rooms. Plans change to include the rest of the floors. However, there is just time to wash the living room floor.
12:00 - Lunch Break.
1:45 - I decide the living room floor is dry enough. The rug mat, then the rug is laid down. The tv room is swept and washed. Nap / Computer Break (hey, it's Labor Day Weekend!). And then other things just are more important/fun.
6:15 - Joe moves all the appropriate furniture from the library into the living room. I sweep the library and entry way. We go for a bike ride.
7:45 - I start the final washing of the last two floors.
8:00 - I'm done. Kinda.

2 full weeks pass with 1 full day of work. Duration of actual labor, just a few hours.

Oh - and the library room furniture is still piled in the middle of the rug. I could just finish up the job now. But I would prefer the saga to continue at least another day.

Because it is a Monday, Again...

... and you've all asked for more...

Here is a vid of a hyper toddler playing with his balls. Note how he compliments himself on his throwing ability. If we all could be so self-congratulating.

Number Confusion

Anson has recently developed a love of numbers (except the number 7, which he likes to pretend just doesn't exist). "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10!" He loves to count to himself, as well as count the objects in front of him.

But numbers are confusing. The number "11" is not "1" "1", even though it really looks like "1" and "1". We had that discussion earlier this morning.

Words that sound like numbers are even more confusing. Take tonight, for instance, when Anson and J were coloring pictures for Mama. J wanted to write the typical 'To: Mama, From: Anson' on the paper. It didn't go so well.
J: "Ok, now I'm writing 'To: Mama'."
Anson: "Three!"
J: "No, 'To MAMA'."
Anson: "Three!"
J: Catching on... "Oh. Not 'To: Mama'. Let's do 'For: Mama' instead."
Anson: "Five!" "Six, Eight, Nine, Ten!"
J: "What do you think about 'Love Mama'?"

Tough Little Doo

Anson recovered from his surgery quite well, the little man. He was sent home with some liquid tylenol + codeine, but we surprisingly didn't need it! The only medications he took, after surgery, was one dose of tylenol (grape flavored). He spent the day after surgery running around, and even went to the Minnesota Zoo with Daddy. The biggest bummer is that he can't go swimming until the stitches have completely dissolved.

One completely amazing, jaw-dropping thing: Anson actually asked to go to bed the night of his surgery! "Daddy, nap? Bottle?" This has never happened before, and will likely never happen again!

We have removed the big bandage, but still can't see the incision due to the steri-strips, which should fall off in a few days.

"After" Picture:


(Anson was not happy about having the large bandage removed, as it had really adhered to his skin. You can see some of the residual redness in the picture)

AnsonLind.Com is Updated!

Yes, I am a *bit* late in updating Anson's website. I wish I could say that the wait was worth it, but pictures have unfortunately been a bit scarce lately.

Anson has learned that whenever the camera appears, there is a fun picture displayed on the back of it. There is no more sitting nicely for pictures, or ignoring of the camera. Instead, whenever Anson sees the camera, he shouts "PICTURE!" and charges towards the camera, intent on seeing the picture displayed on the back.

I have a couple of videos as evidence...

Just prior to this video, Anson was happily yelling "Ball Ball BALLS!" and throwing the balls across the room. But then, when I pulled out the camera to document the cuteness, he unforuntately saw it, and the balls were immediately forgotten:



In this video, Anson is hard to understand, but he is saying "Pictures" repeatedly. I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, slowly spinning around, trying to keep Anson in the camera's eye as he is doing his best to crawl over me to see the picture on the back of the camera:

Today = Surgery Day

And the little man did pretty well, even if they didn't bring us back until after he was fully awake and freaking out. We found him being carried around by a nurse trying to soothe him - of COURSE he's going to scream if he wakes up disoriented in a room full of funny looking strangers.

Here's the before picture:

Cursed Mama Genes

Way, way back in February, I posted this:
http://themamadoo.blogspot.com/2009/02/he-is-my-child.html
about how Anson is definitely Joe's child, and that the only thing linking him genetically to me is a little tag of skin on his left collarbone.

Fast forward to July, a few weeks ago, when a little lump appeared directly under that very skin tag. Over the next couple of weeks, the skin tag swelled and became infected. The little lump became gumball sized, causing strangers to ask me, "What IS that on his chest?"

Turns out that whenever you see a skin tag, it is attached to a tiny cyst. Anson's tiny cyst decided it needed to draw attention to itself, and now he is scheduled to have it surgically removed sometime next week. Have I mentioned that, not only do I have that same skin tag, but I also have had more than my share of cysts that have also had to be removed. Yes, this is directly a fault of my genes.

So, from his Daddy, Anson received a brilliant smile and absolute cuteness. From his Mama, he received a pus-filled oozing lump that will make him absolutely miserable next week when it is taken out.

* * *

Earlier today, I noticed something else of mine appearing in his little body... he was performing a morning stretch, and as he reached his arms above his head, I witnessed his elbows twisting into contortionist angles.

Anson has my double-jointed elbows. I don't know whether to be excited, or frightened.

New Favorite Game

*Note: must be initiated by Anson


Anson: "Guess What?"

Participant: "Guess What?" (Note: world may end should the Participant merely say, "What?")

Anson: "Yellow Raspber-berry!"

Recovering

NAUCC ended yesterday, with the Final Party. Today was a day of recovery.

Da-Doo relished having BOTH of his parents home with him, and was thrilled not to have to go off to watch unicycles ("No more noo-nees"). We spent the morning watching cartoons on the couch (television watching is a rarity at our house), and even ventured to the neighbor's to visit the lemonade stand. The afternoon saw all of us taking serious naps. At one point, I woke up, ate some mashed potatoes, then went back to napping.

We were intending to get the house cleaned up, cars cleaned out, and grocery shopping completed (as our best snack food currently is mashed potatoes). J made good headway in cleaning the kitchen, but we are still left with a seriously trashed house.

None of us is looking forward to going to work/daycare tomorrow, and being faced with the prospect of house/yard work upon returning home tomorrow night is depressing.

NAUCC was utterly crazy, and we were left bone-tired by Day 2 of 7. Our long distance events went off great, and we made it to two different pubs on our Unicycle Pub Crawl before we were rained out. Spent a little time with lots of friends we see only once a year, but weren't able to spend good chunks of time with the many people we were hoping to.

As I type this, I'm back to laying on the couch once again, still exhausted even after a day of sloth, faced with a house that is showing more than a week's worth of neglect. But, yes, it was more than worth it!

www.naucc09.com

Why the MamaDoo hasn't posted anything for the past few weeks, and will continue to be silent for at least another week.

2009 North American Unicycling Convention & Championships
Bloomington, MN
July 26th - Aug 1st

Check it out!

Someone Was Busy During the Night

This is how I found the Doo this morning... apparently, he had some crazy dreams!

First Skinned Knee!

And he took it like a man. He had a little "wipe-out" during a walk, but promptly got up and kept walking. It wasn't until two blocks later that I noticed there was blood involved. When this was pointed out to him, he showed some future-docter-like tendencies, fully investigating the injury, and having fun washing out the scrape. And, for documentation purposes, he even sat still long enough to have a picture taken of it!

Monday Laugh

Picture taken by J at the Farmer's Market this weekend.

When You're Bored, Part One

Anson has recently developed a few games that are a surefire way to combat boredom! Since he's a generous little guy, he has decided to share these games... because we all know how endlessly boring weekends can be.


Game #1: "Thermometer"
Anson had one of his random high fevers again this week (no other symptoms besides fever), and so had to have his temperature taken frequently. By the end of the week, thanks mostly to the magic of Daddy, Anson was actually looking forward to having his temperature taken... and the game of "Thermometer" was created!

This game involves finding your thermometer* (which can be a game in of itself), and pulling it out of the protective plastic sleeve. You turn the thermometer on, announcing your actions by saying "On!" Once you're satisfied that the thermometer is indeed on, you raise your arm, dramatically thrust the thermometer into your armpit, and then lower the arm.

Anson insists on holding the thermometer tightly, as, should it slip out of the armpit, the world may end. If the thermometer does indeed slip out of the armpit, he announces this calamity with a horridly high pitched whiny squeal. Producing this squeal may be one of the most difficult part of this game for those participants above the age of 5.

When you are satisfied that the thermometer is secure, you need to explain the last important rule of the game: "Wait, Beeps!" At this point, you do not move a muscle, and stoicly wait for the thermometer to finish taking the temperature, which is announced by a beeping sound. After hearing the beeps, whip the thermometer out of your armpit with a flourish, and carefully examine the display to see if you have a "Fever". If your parents are around, you should show the display of the thermometer to them: "See"

Repeat. As often as you'd like.


*Should your thermometer not be available (perhaps because your parents have hidden it), do not fear. This game is just as much fun using a small cylindrical block. In fact, using the block has the advantage of turning into "medicine" if the thermometer does say that you have a fever.



Anson apologizies for the poor quality of this video, as well as the sorry state of his hair. He tried to fire his cameralady and hair stylist, but they distracted him with Happy Cookies.

THIS Friday!

THIS Friday, as in the Friday that is three days away (or less, depending upon when you read this), there is an Event. An Event that could also be called a Class, a Date, an Experience, a Delight. This Event is THE place to be on Friday! This is one of those rare times when the MamaDoo can show that she is more hip than The City Pages, as surprisingly there was no mention of the Event amongst the Pages.

THIS Friday, June 26th, is your opportunity to become a student of the sensational and talented Virginia Corbett! Virginia has taken time out of her busy schedule to guide couples who are looking for ways to connect mentally and physically through dance. Not only is Virginia herself a delight, but she is a highly trained instructor and performer. This is not your Community Ed ballroom dance class - this is a rare opportunity, and space is limited. Now is not the time to procrastinate! You can register for the class through the darling Blooma studio in Edina: 952 848 1111


THIS Friday, June 26th, be with Virginia Corbett from 7 - 8:30. You'll live in the moment, revel in the company of your partner, enjoy some wine, learn some fancy footwork, and thoroughly enjoy yourself!

Happy Daddy's Day!

Da-Doo has worked very hard to get his Mama to write this post for him. He knows that his limit of 2-3 word sentences prohibits him from effectively conveying the great love and gratitude he has for his Daddy. When his Mama reminded him that Blog Posts don't write themselves, and that she is quite busy lately with different projects, Da-Doo promised to help out more around the house, therefore giving Mama the time needed to help him write this post. He furiously pulled weeds, moved mulch around the yard, picked strawberries, swept the kitchen floor, and dusted. So, here we are!



Anson: "Da-dee. Kiss Da-dee!"
Translation: I love my Daddy. My Daddy loves me. We give each other kisses. Sometimes, Daddy makes me kiss Mama, and I pretend not to like it, but I really do.



Anson: "Da-dee. Cra-zy Da-dee. Help!"
Translation: I have the BEST Daddy ever! He plays games with me, I get to tackle him, we build forts, and I like head-butting his tummy. We have the best times together. He helps me have so much fun!


Anson: "Ah-woof!"
Translation: Oops, I just got distracted by the neighbor walking his dog down the sidewalk. I like dogs.

Anson: "Eat! Da-juice! Ha-pee Coo-kee!"
Translation: I like it when Daddy makes me food. We have good things like juice, hot dogs, Happy Cookies, and he doesn't make me eat kale or veggies for breakfast.

Anson: "Bye, Da-Dee!"
Translation: I am okay with saying goodbye to you in the morning and when you go off without me. Sometimes I get sad, because it is more fun to have you stay and play with me, but I know that you will come back, and THEN we will have fun!

Anson: "LOVE DA-DEE!"
Translation: None needed.

A Logical Progression

Time of Day: Early morning, getting ready for daycare/work.
Scene: Daddy and Anson in bedroom getting dressed.
From the bathroom, the sound of a hairdryer enters the bedroom.

Anson: "Hair!"

Anson: "Cra-zy hair!"

Daddy: laughs

Anson: "Cra-zy Da-dee!"

Anson: "Cra-zy Mama! Hair!"
walks into the bathroom, and proclaims
"Cra-zy Mama! Cra-zy Mama!"

Mama: "Huh?"

Is It Called Advice If It Is A Blog Post?

When I was pregnant, I experienced the same thing that every other pregnant woman in the world experiences: Unsolicited Advice. There is something about the rounded belly that makes complete strangers feel it is okay to tell you exactly what you are doing wrong, or what you need to do to prevent birth defects, or horror birthing stories (which really should be made ILLEGAL to tell a pregnant woman!), or horror stories about how they never slept after the baby was born, etc etc.

I survived the unsolicited advice, and promised myself that I would NEVER give another pregnant lady advice that she hasn't asked for. I, unfortunately, have broken this promise -- so sorry! -- but with that broken promise came a fierce determination to not break it again.

Right now, though, I have a lot of pregnant friends. A LOT of pregnant friends (call-out to all of you, you Hot Mamas!). They're all due within a two month window.

And I'm having a really hard time keeping my mouth shut. A REALLY hard time. So, in order to purge this need to give out advice, I'm going to do it all now. Because, it isn't Unsolicited Advice if it is just another blog post, right? It's not like I'm speaking directly to one specific friend or stranger...

1. Prenatal yoga is empowering, rocks, and is oh-so amazing for you! I started it when I was 18-20 weeks along, and wished I started it sooner. It was the first time I had ever done yoga, and I totally sucked. But it was okay.
Women who were so much further along than I were just amazing. It was so empowering to see these woman with huge bellies gracefully moving through positions, balancing so easily, and having so much strength. It really showed me that pregnancy is not an illness.
Pre-natal yoga also teaches about trusting your own body, and listening to your intuition. It helped alleviate a lot of the fear of labor (fear causes adrenaline, which causes tension and the fight-or-flight response, which makes contractions feel worse!) It helped develop muscles that made labor easier. It showed me how to relax during contractions. Each yoga class felt so good, too. It was a wonderful workout that somehow left me feeling like I just had a massage.
I heart my teacher, Sarah Longacre, and her Blooma studio! (www.blooma.com) I still take classes at this wonderful studio (though no longer with Sarah, as she just teaches the pre-natal classes).
Child's Pose & Cat Pose did wonderful things for my back. Still do. I couldn't find good pictures on the internet, but if you would like me to show you these simple stretches, I am so happy to do so (then it's not UNsolicited advice!)

2. Treat yourself to a massage, even if you're not a massage person. Wow. Same thing with baths.

3. Hanes makes fabulous camis to wear under things. I bought myself white, nude, and black ones, in a size a couple of sizes larger than I would typically wear. Because, really, just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you want to display your cleavage. And every maternity shirt has a low neckline!

4. Paint your toes while you can still see them. If you're worried about the fumes, do it outdoors, or buy some of the special Nailpolish for Pregnant Ladies.

5. When in labor, put off going to the hospital as long as you can. You'll be more comfortable, more relaxed, and you'll be able to hang onto your dignity longer. They also won't let you eat or drink at the hospital, and you need sustenance! GU Energy Gels and Clif or Luna Gel Blocks are great at giving you energy when you don't feel like eating.

6. Bring your own clothes to the hospital to wear while "lounging" about. I bought a special outfit just for that purpose. They tell you that they have "nursing nightgowns". They don't tell you how much they suck, and how embarrassed you are to have other people see you in them.

7. Birth plans are often forgotten in the spur of the moment, but are still a good idea. They make the idea of "birth" more real.

8. Protein, protein, protein! Good excuse to buy Luna bars :)

9. Go for dates with your partner as much as you can. Things do change once the baby is born, and this is a special time you'll cherish later on.

10. Ina Mae Gaskin's "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth". Graphic. Shocking. But really eye-opening. Orgasmic birth does exist...

And there you have it. I could have continued on past these 10 points, but that may have labeled me as one of those Psycho Advice-Giving Ladies, and I would like to pretend that I'm not actually giving out advice here.

Making Puddles...

The Nature Valley Grand Prix bike race was in town this week, and we headed into downtown St. Paul to check out the criterium. Finding parking was a bit of a problem, as all of our usual parking spots were along the criterium course, but we were successful. There is a beautiful park in the new apartment/condo development in the northern part of downtown. We had a hard time pulling Anson away from the water fountains, but I think, had he the language skills, he would have told us "Thank you!" because the criterium was even more exciting than water squirting into a pool.

After watching the exciting women's race (and realizing our modest little NAUCC criterium is going to be NOTHING like the real thing, oh well), we headed off to do a little riding of our own.

The excessive amount of junk food Mama has been eating lately made this ride necessary, even though it was starting to get past Anson's bedtime. I wanted to try out a possible 10k route for NAUCC, but we weren't sure how long the Doo would make it in the Burley trailer. So, I was dropped off with my Coker at the start of the route, and then the boys drove off to the end where they started riding towards me.

Thanks to some shoes with some thicker soles, my new Coker finally isn't too tall for me, and I was able to ride with some speed. I made it nearly 5 miles before I met my boys on the trail. Just prior to that, I had some issues with a seriously stinky river (thankfully no body bags this time!), and have renewed my promise to NEVER Coker past a group of apartment buildings on a nice summer's evening.

Anson was pretty excited to see his Mama appear on the trail, as he had been quite upset about dropping her off in the middle of Shepard Road. It didn't take too long before he was asking, "Out. Out. Out." We ignored him as best as we could, as it was past his bedtime and the car was less than a mile away.

I arrived at the car nearly exactly 6.2 miles after the start, making this a good possible route for the 10k race.

Anson was not impressed with our discussion of the advantages/disadvantages of this route, and seriously wanted OUT of his Burley. As J started loading our cycles onto the car rack, I started the process of unclipping Anson from the Burley.

And noticed a puddle. Where no puddles should be.

After finally lifting Anson from the Burley, my suspicisions were confirmed. For the last mile, the poor little Doo had been sitting in a puddle of his own making. We all know how uncomfortable wet denim can be; no wonder he wanted "out"!

Of course, since we were going for a short trip on our cycles, we did not bring along any of the many bags containing a spare diaper. And, he was too wet to continue wearing his clothes in the car. So, we stripped him of his pants, said a little thanks that he was wearing a regular shirt (and not a onsie), and wrapped him in a blanket.

Anson was a little distressed about losing his bottoms in a public park, but when we talked about how he got to be a Naked Boy, he was quite happy! The entire way home, we were treated to songs about being naked ("Nakee nakee nakee BOY!") and there was also a dramatic 'Ode to the Toes' ("Oh piggies, piggies, piggies, oh!).

Moral to this story: Always carry a spare diaper in the car. You never know when you might need it. And, if you find yourself suddenly naked, you should sing about it!

First Fruit of the Summer

... with oh, so many more to soon follow!

Hell On Earth

Note: This Blog Post deviates from the typical happy, light posts of The MamaDoo. Anson is not in this post, so if that is all you're reading for, you might as well stop here. This topic is serious, painful, and ugly. It is not one that makes for good conversation. But I feel the need to give evidence to the plight of these women.



There is a preacher in Tulsa who believes that when people die and go to hell, they are reincarnated back into certain horrible places on Earth, Africa being one of them.

The Tulsa preacher has just a theory, but you can't argue that for millions of people in Africa, life is hellish. Especially for women. What is a part of daily existance for so many women all over the world only exists in our nightmares.

We are not justified in complaining that life is not fair.

We are the product of hard-fought struggles to provide us equal rights, rights that we now take for granted. Rights that the majority of women in the world do not have. Rights that the majority of women in the world don't even dream exist.

Painful reminders of how life is for far too many women in Africa:
~Tribal healers in Zimbabwe are spreading the myth that the only way to cure HIV is to rape a virgin. The younger the girl is, the more guarantee she is indeed a virgin. Not only are these girls victims of rape at a horrendously young age, but they become infected with HIV themselves.
http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/06/04/cnnheroes.betty.makoni/index.html
~An estimated 1/3 of women in the Darfurian refugee camps in Chad are rape victims. The number is estimated, as the women hide their rapes for fear of the reprocussions. Those unfortunate enough to become pregnant, unable to hide the evidence of the rape, are ostracized from their families. They are divorced, beaten severely by their family members, and stripped of all possessions, including their clothing. They are completely alone.
http://www.newser.com/article/d98h6ob00/doctors-group-finds-rape-common-against-darfur-women-urges-international-warrants.html
~Bi-sexual and homosexal women in South Africa live in fear that their "secret" will be revealed. Those whose sexuality is revealed are at great risk, as it is becoming more common for these women to be "fixed" through gang rape. If they survive.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/mar/12/eudy-simelane-corrective-rape-south-africa

I don't have an answer; no one does. No one will ever know if the Tulsa preacher is right, and these women are indeed reincarnated bad souls. It is easier to accept their fate if we believe that they are indeed deserving of it. But that is a dangerous, dangerous line of thought.


The first thing we can do is to become aware. We can't ameloriate what we do not see. What would the second thing be?

A Recent Compromise with Anson

Scene: Kitchen Table
Time of Day: Breakfast

Mama: Here's your juice, Anson!
Anson: A-pple juice!
Mama: No, it's orange juice.
Anson: A-pple juice! A-pple juice!
Mama: O-range juice.
Anson: [getting mad] A-PPLE JUICE!
Mama: [sigh] No, love, it's orange juice. From oranges.
Anson: A-PPLE JUICE!!!!!
Mama: Yellow juice?
Anson: Yel-low juice!
Mama: Yellow juice.
Anson: [Grins] Yel-low juice!

Bikes... those things are DANGEROUS!

This past weekend, I went mountain biking for the first time of the season. I have a great mountain bike, but I just don't find myself off road very often.

J took me to Battle Creek park, as it had been quite awhile since he had been there on two wheels. I've never been on these trails, on one wheel or two. While I have biked Lebanon Hills, I was already quite familiar with that course before hitting it with that pesky second wheel. I didn't have that going for me at Battle Creek. There were several times when I very seriously thought I would very seriously injure myself. At times, I saw my future flash before my eyes, a future complete with my arm in a sling, gashes across my face, and twigs in my hair.

It all comes down to the fact that those two-wheeled things are dangerous! And really scary!
Bikes go FAST! I'm talking so-fast-the-wind-tears-your-eyes-preventing-you-from-seeing-that-tree-you-just-hit-head-on fast.
Yeah, they have brakes, but those things can only do so much before you get catapoulted over the handlebars.
You not only have to control a wheel in front of you, but a wheel behind you, too. And, these two wheels often want to go two different places.
And, that wheel behind you will fishtail! Which, I'm told, is much better than the wheel in front of you fishtailing.
When you fall, you don't land on your feet. Your feet are too busy being tangled with the rest of the bike.
You can't bail. See above comment about feet tangling with the bike.
Walking a bike down a hill too steep to ride is just as dangerous as actually riding it. At least if you rode down the steep hill, you wouldn't see the tree up ahead that you know you're going to hit. There really is something nice about not knowing you're on an inevitable course towards a painful injury... in this case, ignorance really is bliss!

I started the ride full of confidence. If I can MUni*, how hard can mountain biking be? I ended the ride with my knees knocking together, teeth chattering, and fingernails bitten to the quick. Yes, I exaggerate, but not much.

The next time I find myself doing some off-road cycling, I'm choosing my MUni. When I inevitably encounter a mountain biker who questions my sanity, I'm going to laugh right in their face and call THEM crazy!

*For those in need of a most basic definition, refer to wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_unicycle

The Grass is Always Greener...

... follow-up to yesterday's post...

Thanks to an already-planned vacation day, the lucky Doo had both Mama & Daddy with him all day yesterday (Tuesday). J ended the day with a MUni ride at Battlecreek Park, which meant he left at 5:30 for a few hours.

I am not exaggerating to say that Da-Doo cried for hours, wanting his Daddy!

This was the first time he has ever played favorites. It broke my heart.

He refused to go to sleep, elevating his already-high level of crabbiness. There was nothing I could do to make him happy, and so carried him around, bouncing him like a tiny baby for what seemed like hours. I don't know how Mamas of chunky babies can do it!

By the time 9:00 rolled around, the two of us were both at our wit's ends. We saw Daddy's car roll up to the curb, and there were two huge smiles to greet him as he walked in the door. Da-Doo refused to walk to Daddy (see above note about carrying him for hours), so I carried him over and passed him off, so eager to finally eat dinner.

Then... ready for the very predictible punch-line??? ...

Da-Doo cried and cried and CRIED for Mama. He refused to go to bed, because Mama wasn't holding him. Sigh.

'The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence', or, in Da-Doo's world, 'the favored parent is the one not holding you'.

Welcome to Summer, Minnesota!

We approached this weekend with the goal of maximizing our fun as a way to 'Welcome to Summer, Minnesota!' J actually took Tuesday off of work as well, so that we could all have a four day weekend.

We did the best we could, given a really sick Doo.

Friday, we walked as a family to the neighborhood liquor store. The nice Chinese lady offered the Doo a Dum-Dum (what is it with liquor store and these tiny suckers??? I remember these from when I was little!), we kept the wrapper on, and he happily used it as a teething tool. I finally brought out my cobwebbed martini glasses, and made most delicious cosmopolitans. Enough said.

Saturday, J had Part One of his weekend hands-on motorcycling class. He was the class loser until the instructor discovered a problem with his bike's brake. Once fixed, he became the class star. The Doo and I took walks, talked about "neighbor's stairs", and played with said neighbors. 'Twas a pleasant day.

Sunday, J had Part Two of his class, and left the house earlier than a typical workday. Unfortunately, the Doo woke up on the crabby side of the crib. The seriously crabby side. In a big puddle of drool. Have I mentioned he's teething his Two-Year-Molars?
I really wanted to go to my yoga class, though, so I dosed him with teething medicine, and asked him if we should go to yoga. "Yoga! Yoga!" was his excited reply, so off we went. When we arrived, we discovered that this was the last weekend with yoga childcare, so we were glad we went!
Though happy at yoga, the crabbiness returned once we arrived home, which made for a seriously long day. Just about everything made the poor little guy cry, and he refused to eat even his beloved cranberries or Happy Cookies. He also somehow managed to get his entire fist in his mouth (apparently, the vast amounts of drool he was generating provided the proper amount of lubrication for this feat to happen). And... uh oh... after I realized that he was feeling really warm all day, we discovered that he had a small temp. His first! This was also the worst he has teethed, so I wasn't too surprised.
By nightfall, I felt victim to the Serious Crabbies. J shoved a martini glass in my hand, and pushed me out the door with my laptop and a book so I could enjoy the evening sitting on our patio. Away from crying babies. Another home-remedy cure for the Crabbies was Good Neighbor L, who hung out for awhile :)

However, the temp continued throughout Sunday night, no fun for any of us.

Monday, the temp continued, but the Doo was now enjoying great amounts of Tylenol and Motrin. We all needed to get out of the house, so we decided to go to the "Airplane Park" to watch the "big airplanes". Since I was completely burnt out of Doo Care from the previous day, I rode to the park to meet the Boys. It was the first longish ride since my knee issue, and everything felt great. In fact, better than great. We're talking first-rate, glorious, brilliant, exceptional, marvelous, delightful, and wonderful! I had forgotten how riding in the sun makes me giddy with happiness!
Later that evening, more riding (this time on a 20" wheel) was done as I had to sub at ShowGroup practice. The Boys came with, and the Doo had a fun time watching Mama and the "Noo-nees". Plus, Echo the Dog was there! And she wasn't scary!! And she allowed the Doo to pet her!!! However, the temp continued.

Monday night, the little guy learned how to say "HOT" in regards to his condition, as he was burning up. This is when we realized that this was not a teething fever.

Tuesday, we went to see his pediatrician, who discovered an ear infection in his right ear (or, in medical speak, OM AD). Then came another first for the Doo: his first antibiotic. He took that shot of amoxicillin like a young man doing his first shot of tequila -- with a look of disgust and a shudder. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had pounded his fist on the table!

Welcome, Minnesota, to Summer!

I'm no Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl, but... LA CHAYA!

Last night, I went out to dinner with my group of fabulous Mamas. Our monthly dinner dates are always packed full of good conversation, good food, and fabulous friendships. We make a point of trying out small and local restaurants, and visit a new one each month.


La Chaya was the chosen restaurant for the month of May. It is a restaurant in south Minneapolis, somewhat near Uptown, and looked intriguing enough from a drive-by to warrant a visit.


And, WOW, what a restaurant! The ambiance, the wait staff, the FOOD.


You may recall the weather this past week to be absolutely beautiful. Bright blue skies, a slight wind, warm temperatures. As our reservations were at 8:00, though, we reluctantly passed on a table on the back patio in fear of the evening becoming too cool once the sun set. However, we were delighted to see that the indoor seating area had two large doors that were flung open. Light muslin curtains hung over the open doorway, permitting us to experience all the delights of outdoor eating without feeling the nighttime chill.


La Chaya's menu is small, but exquisite. There were more than enough options for the carnivore and "snobby vegetarian" alike. The Mexian-Mediterranean fusions created fun twists on old favorites.


However, it was the Daily Specials that really generated excitement. With the first mention of the herb-infused crab cakes, all of our eyebrows raised, and by the time the host described the final item our jaws had dropped to our knees and our laps covered in drool.


I started with the spinach salad that was served with carmelized apples, magical walnuts, and a truly sensational balsalmic reduction vinegrette. It was even more phenomenal than it sounds. I ended with the artichoke soup that quite literally was HEAVENLY. I have never been more stunned at a first taste. And my delight grew with every bite, so much so that by the time I was scraping the bowl, I was nearly swooning. I could desribe the soup as liquid velvet seducing my every taste bud, but even that description would do the soup a disservice. My mouth is actually watering right now as I type this. And, while La Chaya is not the cheapest restaurant I have dined at, that bowl of soup was $4. FOUR dollars! It was, very literally, the best $4 I have ever spent.


I can't describe myself as a foodie, and I am a far cry from being a food critic. Additionally, the audience of this blog is quite limited. However, I feel I must do everything I possibly can to promote this restaurant and increase their business. If only because it is the best way I know how to ensure future bowls of artichoke soup and other delights will cross my palate.

Check out their website for more information: http://www.lachaya.com/

Boys with Sticks

This past weekend, we had a family good-bye / good-luck party for Sgt K (have to differentiate him from all the other millions of K's I'm related to, thank you Mom and Dad).

My favorite image from the evening is one that I feel will be a lasting memory.

Da-Doo asked Sgt K to go on a "walk!" and presented him with the big blue eyes and earnest expression that is so hard to deny. I glanced up to see Da-Doo and Sgt K heading down the sidewalk. The top of the Doo's head was barely above Sgt K's knee, Sgt K was moving his legs slower than a turtle, and Da-Doo was booking it so fast his bottom was waddling, but they somehow looked natural walking together.

They returned a few minutes later. Both carrying sticks. Da-Doo was waving his in time to his excited babbling. Sgt K was carrying his more demurely, with his head bent down to listen intently to the gibberish story.

It really was an "awww" moment.

Please, Please, Please

For those of you who live with a domestic partner of some sort:

Please, please, please...

when you place a sticky bug strip in the basement in hopes of trapping the little crawlers,

please, please, PLEASE

warn your parter that you did this!

This will save your partner a heart attack, a bump on the head where it contacted the ceiling, and injury to the vocal cords caused by the shrill shreak in response to viewing sticky bug strip covered with very hairy bugs literally LARGER than MARBLES.

Thank you.

Because it is Monday...

Thought you all could use a laugh!

Happy Mama's Day

It would have been more appropriate to make this post yesterday, but my Boys gave me permission to only do what I wanted to do yesterday. Not that I didn't want to post, but it just wasn't in the schedule. And, while I did do some things that I didn't want to do (SO sick of making baby food!), but I still had a day filled with good yoga, good food, played in good dirt, avoided getting attacked by the not-so-good ants again, and had a good Doo until he woke up crabby on the wrong side of the crib... but then it was time to go have dinner with MY mama!

Here's a call-out to all of the mamas out there, especially those who haven't seen their baby's face yet (you know who you are!).

Love,
K

What Kind of Nerd Am I?

This was a question asked of me this past weekend, at a friend's birthday party. It is one of those questions I should have had an answer prepared for (similar to the "What's Your Theme Song" question that was recently directed my way; the situation that followed that question is too embarrassing for me to share!).

My friend VC is married to someone quite famous, in the right circles. Also in attendance was their very good friend, someone else who also has the ability to make jaws drop. So many nerds would have willingly peed their pants to attend this party! However, I didn't know who these celebrities were, beyond their association to my friend.

J, of course, knew who they were, and enjoyed meeting them. He spent the better part of the evening sharing travel stories with them.

At one point, VC leaned over to me to whisper, "Isn't J totally nerding out that he's talking to KM right now???" The conversation then progressed to the point where I admitted that I really didn't recognize VC's husband's or KM's names. She was shocked. "I thought you were the type to watch Mystery Science Theatre 3000!"

"What kind of nerd are you, then?" VC and I then spent a few moments dredging up all the nerdy things in my past and all of my nerdy personality traits. I probably should have been quite embarrassed, but in that crowd it was as if I was pinning different shiny gold metals to my chest.

The conclusion was that I was indeed that kind of nerd, and it really was just an abberition that I was not intimately familiar with MST3k.

* * *

And now, to further publically document my own nerdy status, I have to share what I found when I looked into the word 'nerd' at http://www.thesaurus.com/ : "a geek is any smart person with an obsessive interest, a nerd is the same but also lacks social grace, and a dweeb is a mega-nerd."

Apparently, it's not bad to be a geek - being smart is a flattering personality trait, and who doesn't have at least one obsessive interest? The definition of nerd, though, isn't quite as appealing. Do I fit that definition? Unfortunately, the "What Is Your Theme Song?" situation cited above is demonstrative that I do lack social grace.

So, I am a nerd. What kind of nerd am I? The kind that should be watching Mystery Science 3000, but hasn't.

And, at least I'm not a dweeb!

Triplets!

Anson is proud to welcome our new additions, and is excited to introduce you to:


Redmond Linden



Miss Magnolia



Deborah Maple

Pictures Updated on Website!

How DID He Get So Smart?

Da-Doo is clearly working on developing that brain of his right now:

He reads his favorite books to himself. Hearing "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" and "Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?" are particularly amusing.

He knows a lot of his letters (by sound/name). He stunned me yesterday by telling me all the letters on my "St. Thomas" sweatshirt.

He somehow has learned numbers, too. I recently asked him, "Do you want 1 cranberry or 2?" He replied, "3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8!"

And here's my favorite piece of evidence: On Tuesday, he got more than his fill of Mama, and was quite excited to see J come home. Except J had to leave right away. Da-Doo was NOT happy about this, crying, clinging to J, and demanding: "Up! Up! Up!". Once in J's arms, he hugged him tight, and fiercely resisted being passed back to Mama. J told him that he was sorry, but he had to go. Da-Doo responded by hugging J even tighter, and yelled "Stuck!".

Thanks for Making Anson Laugh

Good Manners Will Only Get You So Far

I was playing with Anson a couple of days after he was hangin' with Pops (thanks, again, Pops!). We were sitting on the floor, playing with the shape sorter. Anson picked up the blue circle, and got quite excited.

Anson: "Da! Da!"
Mama: "Yes, that's a blue circle."

Apparently, Anson was well aware that he was holding onto a blue circle, and Mama was being rather dumb. He gave me a LOOK. He continued to get more excited, and I thought he wanted me to play with the shape sorter. I assisted (forced) his hand into putting the circle into the appropriate cut-out in the box. Was THAT a mistake! Anson very grumpily pulled the circle out of the shape sorter, and I could almost see him grumbling to himself about his stupid Mama. He physically opened the fingers of my hand, and thrust the blue circle into my palm.

Anson: "Da! Da!"

Hmm. Not sure what to do, I started to put the blue circle into the shape shorter myself. Again, not what he wanted. He made this clear by starting to cry.

Mama: "I'm sorry, Anson, I don't know what you want me to do!"

At this point, I realized that there was a particular game that Anson wanted to play. Most likely a game that he was playing with Pops, as neither Joe nor I knew the rules.

Anson continued to fuss, Mama continued to be sorry.

Finally, Anson pulled out the thing that, more often than not, gets him what he wants. "Peeese?" he asked quite pathetically.

Oh, Punkin'...

A Recent Argument with Anson

Time of Day: Breakfast
Scene: Kitchen Table

Mama: Anson, do you want some juice?
Anson: Juice! Da juice!
Mama: Ok, I'll get you some juice.
Pours a mixture of juice and water into the sippy cup.
Anson: Juice! A-pple juice!
Mama: No, its orange juice.
Anson: A-pple juice!
Mama: O-range juice.
Anson: A-pple juice! A-pple juice!
Mama: No apple juice. Orange juice.
Anson: Cries loudly
Mama: Anson, look, juice! We have juice!
Hands Anson the sippy cup
Anson: Grins. Da juice! Vigorously drinks. A-pple juice!
Mama: Sighs

I wonder what's going to happen when we start drinking the carrot juice I just bought?

My Heroes

I just had a major failure of technologies, in a most unpleasant way. And WOW, was I cold!

I went for a training ride to go up and down Ohio Hill a couple of times. The thermometer said "35" which in comparison to our recent temperatures, should have been like a warm spring day. It wasn't. The thermometer doesn't take a little something like freezing-blustering-windgusts-that-chill-you-to-the-very-core-of-your-being. I want to keep this blog PG rated, but I have to say: SHIT, was I cold. I refused to modify my route or give up completely because I (incorrectly) thought that the heat my body generated struggling up Ohio would be enough to keep me warm. Did I mention that this was an incorrect presumption? Anyway.

I did finally make it home without losing any fingers, toes, or the tip of my nose along the way. I entered the house, got a whiff of the chili cooking in the crockpot, and decided that it is IMPERATIVE that I run to the store to buy beans for the chili. I could ride the 3/4 mile to the store, by bike or uni, but did I mention how COLD I was? So, I drove.

I bought my beans, still freezing even with my super-amazing down jacket because my core temp was taking too long to recover. Did I mention that I decided not to wear a hat? I foolishly thought that it would be excessive during this trip... further evidence that being super cold does freeze your brain.

When I got out to my car, I threw the can of beans on the seat, put my key in the ignition... and couldn't turn it! It felt like I had the wrong key, or the right key in the wrong car. I actually looked around to make sure that I was in my car. Nope, it was mine. Sigh. I struggled with the key, trying in vain to get it to turn. I got out of the car. I got back in the car. I locked it. I unlocked it. I wiggled the steering wheel, put the car in/out of gear, played with the emergency brake, turned off all controls... nothing. So, I do what any married damsel-in-distress would do. I decided to call my husband.

But, oops, the cell didn't work! All calls failed. To everyone I tried to call. Great. In desperation, I texted Joe and asked him to call me. A couple minutes later I received a text ( :) ) saying that my phone was going straight to voicemail ( :( ). Feeling great empathy for those pioneer woman who needed to communicate with their husbands via telegraph to get the buggy out of the ditch, Joe and I texted back and forth to figure out a way to get my car started. I tried everything, including fiercely moving the steering wheel left then right, without success. Joe, bless his heart, packed up Anson, and they drove the store to help me out.

Did I mention that I was FREEZING? Without hat? I was actually shaking by the time they arrived. Why didn't I go into the store to get warm? Good question (insert 'hindsight 20/20 quote here'). I also had the painful realization that not only would biking to the store have been ultimately quicker, I would have also been much warmer!

Joe and Anson arrived, and parked behind my car. Joe exited his car, I exited mine, Joe entered my car, yanked the steering wheel in the exact manner I did and got the key to turn. Sigh. He has some karma about him that makes these complicated pieces of technology behave.

Before Joe allows me back into my car, he told me that I needed to hear what Anson had to say to me. I was expecting an "aye aye aye" or some other disparaging remark that Anson is so good at. Instead, when Joe opens the rear doors, I hear, "Vvvv Mama!"

"That's right," Joe replied. "You saved Mama!"

PS This also served as a lesson as to why I should NEVER let Anson play with my phone. That boy is GENIUS at surreptitiously making any gadget stop functioning in the way it was meant to work.

Free T-Shirt

We Have Mondo'ed. And It Was Good.

This past weekend was the Mondo festival. So much excitement! So much exhaustion!

On Friday, Anson must have thought he was in heaven. Balls! Everywhere! Other people throwing them! Hundreds of people throwing them! And the noo-nees, and then the noo-nees playing with balss... he spent most of the evening walking around and just taking it all in. Things were a little too much for him. The visual stimulation was astounding. Cousin K was hangin' with him, so I got a chance to do a little riding. After awhile, I found them watching unicycle hockey, and Anson had his head down on K's shoulder. When I got closer, I found Anson's little face was twisted into an expression of torment, and he had a single tear running down his face. I asked him if he was sad, and he burst into full-out tears. Even Mama had a hard time consoling him! This shocked K, as she thought he was just resting.

On Saturday, even more fun was had, mostly because Anson got to hang with Grandma & Grandpa while Mama played at Mondo. Even without the balls and noo-nees, Anson had a great time. Grandma got him new books to read (the key to the Doo's heart), and he had the undivided attention of two fun people. Back at Mondo, I managed to unicycle my little bottom off, riding my 20" more in one day than I had the last two years combined. I had forgotten how satisfying all the broken nails, bruises in strange places, and overall muscle soreness were. Another highlight was watching co-worker A learn how to juggle! And, thanks again, Grandma, for staying up so late!

Sunday, the Little Doo demanded more Mondo time, and woke four hours before the gym opened. This allowed us to get to the gym bright and early, long before the ball-throwers and noo-nee riders appeared. The open space was thrilling for Anson. He ran and ran and ran, then rode his little scooter, then ran and ran and ran some more. Eventually, jugglers appeared, prompting Anson to create covert operations to steal their balls. 'I'm so cute, they won't notice me digging through their stuff!' However, Mama foiled his plan every time. Anson was also a little bummed we didn't bring his noo-nee, but Mama was afraid some big strong boys would also try to ride it and break it in two. Cousin K was also there to play with, but Anson was quite insistent that Mama played with him all morning. No more riding for me! It was nice to be wanted, though, as he usually could care less who he played with. Anson was completely worn out by the time we left. He made it only two blocks in the car before passing out. I carried him through the frigid air into the house, removed his jacket, changed his diaper, and he didn't even stir.

We all passed out on Sunday night, exhausted by yet another successful Mondo.

Anson's Immortal Beloved

My dearest Valentine,

You are suffering, my dearest creature... you are suffering. No longer do you float as freely as you did when we were young. Ah, wherever I am, there you are also. I will arrange it with you and me that I can live with you. What a life!!! thus!!! without pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither. Which I as little want to deserve as I deserve it... and when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I and what is He - whom we call the greatest - and yet - herein lies the divine in man - I weep... Much as you love me, I love you more. But do not ever conceal yourself from me, you know I forget to look up. Good night. As I am taking the bath (a pity you cannot share this joy with me) I must go to bed. You are so near! so far! You aspire to make our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven, but as much as I try, I cannot fly away with you away from this earth.

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us. Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits. Yes, unhappily it must be so. You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you.

My heart is full of so many things to say to you, ah there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all! Cheer up, remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -

Your faithful Anson

As Anson is still learning the nuances of English, having just started to produce two word sentences, he profusely thanks Mr. Beethoven for assistance in composing this letter to his Valentine.

Innate Curiosity

Innate: "existing in, belonging to, or determined by factors present in an individual from birth"
Curiosity: "inquisitive interest in others' concerns" (Thank you, m-w.com)

Change the "from birth" to "by birth", and you have the subject of my posting. Innate curiosity = the intense desire in wanting to know another woman's plans for procreating.

I have questions:
~What makes people pressure a newliwed woman to reveal when she's having children?
~And, why is it that when a woman gets married, people start talking amongst themselves as to when she's going to get pregnant?
~What makes people ask a new mother, too exhausted by the rigors of sleepless nights to think straight, when she's having another? Or, even better, how many she's going to have?
~Why is it that people who have the answers to these questions are viewed as priviledged, and therefore better than everyone else?
~When someone complains of being tired and nauseous, why do people often assume the person is pregnant?

Even better, why are half of these aforementioned intrusive people complete strangers, people who are in no way connected to the assumed mother-to-be?

As you have determined by the tone of the post thus far, I have strong feelings that are a result of too often falling victom to these prying questions. I don't feel anyone should be privy to this very personal information except the two people most involved (Joe and I). This knowledge is not going to change lives, save the world, or affect how they interact with me (especially if we've never laid eyes on each other before, and never will again!).

Then, why is it I have to stop myself from becoming one of the prying, intrustive, pressuring people?

Dichotomy: "something with seemingly contradictory qualities"

He IS My Child!

Anson is definitely his daddy's boy. The oversized head (sorry, Joe), the smile, the lips, the thick feet leaves no question about who fathered this child. If I weren't the one who actually gave birth to him, I would wonder if I really was his mother!

I've asked Joe why his genes didn't do a better job sharing when our genes were fighting it out. He didn't have a good answer for me.

But, today we discovered irrefutable proof that Anson is also my child. He has a little tag of skin on the left collarbone that appeared a few days after he was born. We've obviously known about it for awhile, but didn't think much about it. Until now, when Joe found that same little tag of skin on my left collarbone!

He may have every other feature of Joe's, but he has my tag.

At Last, the Meaning Behind Da-Doo

So, Anson has been saying "Da-DOO!" for months.

I have awoken many times to him babbling "da-doo da-doo da-doo". Since he was into the "da da da da da da"s for a few months, and those "da da"s were often the word he uses for Joe, we assumed that "Da-doo" was yet another word for Joe. Perhaps a variation of my "Daddy-O!" Sometimes, when I'll say "Daddy-O", Anson will reply with an enthusiastic "Da-Doo!". Anson sure likes his Daddy!

But, Joe wasn't convinced that he was Da-Doo. Now that Anson has very effectively learned the word "No", Joe has been able to ask him if he (Daddy) was "Da-Doo". Anson's answer is always the same: "No".

Joe uses this as irrefutable proof that he was not Da-Doo. I wasn't convinced. And, if Joe wasn't Da-Doo, who or what was? The next logical step was a long game of trying to name different objects as Da-Doo: "Is Pooh Da-Doo?" "No". "Are your puppy shoes Da-Doo?" "No". "Is the banana Da-Doo?" "No. Nana!"

Finally, one day after an unsuccessful game of 'Who is Da-Doo?', Joe sighed in frustration and asked, "Anson, who is Da-Doo?" Anson's face lit up, his pale blonde eyebrows shooting up higher than one could think possible on such a tiny face. This is his expression of extreme wonder or joy. I love it!

With a slight smirk on his face, he gathered his fingertips together (as he points with all fingers, not just his "pointer finger")...... and pointed at himself. Anson is Da-Doo! During all those months of hearing babbling "Da-Doo" we were actually hearing Anson babble about himself.

If you want to make a little boy very happy, ask him who Da-Doo is. He'll enthusiastically point to himself and say, very proudly, "Da-DOO!"

Becoming a Foodie

Mark your calendars, we had an eventful food-related day:

Anson has finally accepted that raisins are tasty. I have accepted that from here on out I'll be doomed to always step on the one raisin that doesn't make it into his mouth, squishing it into a sticky glob on the floor. Good days will be the days that the raisin doesn't get stuck in the tread of my shoes, and I don't track stickiness all through the house.

Anson tasted grapes for the first time... and for the first time, he has not rejected a new food just because it's new!

Anson ate the same dinner as his parents, for the first time. I made a very Mommy meal of a roast with potatoes and carrots. Anson was served his mini roast and veggies on his Mickey Mouse plate (thanks, Auntie D!). He insisted upon using a fork as well, and was quite successful, the Little Man... Until he got to the pieces Mama cut too small, and then gave up completely. Dessert for Mama was carmel corn (Thanks, J!). Dessert for Anson was pear & kale yogurt. Which he decided made a most excellent lotion, and liberally applied it all over. He got a bath in the sink.

http://www.ansonlind.com/main.php?g2_itemId=1256

New Word: "Noo-nee"

Translation: "Uni"

http://www.ansonlind.com/main.php?g2_itemId=969

True Story. Believe What You Want

Anson was hanging out in the basement with Joe, doing manly work. After awhile, Anson stood by the basement steps, and started whining that he wanted to go up. Joe picked him up, and carried him up the small flight of stairs. He put him down on the landing and opened the sliding recessed door to the kitchen for Anson to walk through. Anson didn't move.

Joe walked through the doorway into the kitchen, then stopped to look back to see if Anson would follow him. He didn't.

Joe said to Anson, "I thought you wanted to come upstairs! Where did you want to go?"

Anson threw up his hands, and said "Fo-got".

Outnumbered

I'm starting to fully realize what it means to be the only member of the household missing the Y chromosome.

Anson now laughs when he "rips one" (thank you, Joe, for that lovely description).

And, Anson's latest new word? "Toots"

There's a lot of testosterone at my house. And I fear things will only get worse.

My Water Baby

Anson had his first session of Water Babies tonight. Tiny, extra-warm therapy pool. 8 other babies all around his age. Permissable, nee ENCOURAGED, splashing. We were fully expecting the little man to pee with delight.

It was so-so.

The first part of the 30 minute class was a bit hairy:
~Joe was in the pool with Anson, trying to help him remember that he actually did like water
~I was on the sidelines, trying (unsuccessfully) not to be the hovering obnoxious Mama striving for the perfect picture
~Anson was trying his best to get out of the water. There was a lot of "No no no no"s with frantic head shaking. There was also a lot of proclaiming that he 'wanted' (signed) "Mama" (spoken)... before you collectively sigh, 'awww', I should point out that he's not missing me. Remeber, Mama was safely on dry land. Where he wanted to be.

At one point, every other parent in the class was neck deep in the water, helping their baby float on their tummies. Except my boys. Joe was standing up, tummy-on-up out of the water. However, that wasn't far enough out of the water for Anson. The little doo had the most terrifed look on his face, and I really think he was trying to climb to the top of Joe's head.

The second part of the class went smoother, mostly because it involved splashing. There could have been kicking as well, but kicking involves laying on your back in the water. That just isn't done. The second part was also when the babies were supposed to 'blow out the birthday candle under the water'... i.e. blowing bubbles. Instead, Joe blew lots of bubbles, prompting giggles and exclaimations of "Bubbles!" Anson actually worked up the courage to put his face in the water - and decided to lick it.

By the last part of the class, Anson was sold on this water baby thing. He got to "jump" into the water (Joe's outstreched hands). He really got into it, and almost figured out the jumping thing! Joe would place him on the deck. Anson would start counting "Ga Ga Ga GA!" and then try to jump forward. A couple of times he actually moved forward a bit, but usually Joe had to help him jump.

So much fun was had! He's quite excited for next week; we could tell by the amount of chatting afterwards. He rehashed every detail about the amazing swimming class for the full 10 minute drive home.

Fingers crossed that swimming makes him sleep through the night!

Metro Doo

Things have been crazy these past couple of weeks, with preparing for the Holidays (though I don't really know what we prepared for), then experiencing the Holidays, re-experiencing the Holidays with the Linds, and re-re-experiencing the Holidays with the Donohoos.

So many memories, so many more memories of things that are (or soon will be) forgotten. But now to preserve those favorite Anson memories over the last few weeks, without further ado...

~Christmas Day we had our first family-only day. We went to church, enjoyed eggs and cinnamon rolls (minus the rolls for Anson), and started opening presents. We didn't get very far. Anson had 4 presents: Little People School Bus, Little People Barn, pretzels, Rollergirls onsie. Opening presents was lots of fun a couple months ago for his birthday, and so we expected the same degree of fun. Hence the wrapping of the pretzels.
Anson likes paper. Anson likes ripping paper. Anson likes carrying around presents. Anson likes playing "Musical Bows" with all the presents under the Christmas tree.
Anson does NOT like opening presents.
It could be that the first present he opened was the pretzels, and pretzels were still too new to be impressive. But then, he refused to open the fun toys. Was he exerting his newfound independence by not cooperating? Was he scared of the paper? Was he having more fun frustrating his parents? All I know is that there were a lot of "NO!"s, refusals to tear paper, and running away. SEVEN hours later (interrupted by bottles, lunch, naps, snacks, playtime, etc etc) we finally ended the ordeal by opening the last of his presents for him.

~Last week, after a good three hour nap, I heard Anson babbling on the baby monitor. He was happy talking to himself, but I decided to go get him before his baby chatter turned to baby screaming. Our stairs are quite noisy (we call them "burglar proof"), and so he heard me coming. He immediately hushed up. When I opened the door to his room, I found him laying on his back, pressed up against the side of the crib, totally covered by his blankie. As soon as I entered the room, he pushed the blanket off of his face, and shouted "BOO!"
CRACKED me up!

~Tonight, we were all watching a short video on youTube that Joe found. It's really a little disturbing - mostly kitties morphing into other kitties. But, it totally tickled Anson, and even make him laugh out loud!
We were watching the video, not really paying attention to what the little doo was doing with his hands. He had opened my desk drawer, and pulled out a tube of BRIGHT RED lipstick that I randomly had stashed in there. Anson has really enjoyed putting on chapstick lately, so we really didn't think anything of him rubbing a tube across his lips. At one point, I even had looked at him, seen red on his lip, and thought "Huh, his lip is bleeding again". Apparently, I'm one of those moms who doesn't get worked up until a limb is dangling by a thread. I should have payed more attention, but I was gaping at the disturbing morphing kitties. After Anson smeared lipstick all over his face, he worked it into his hands like a good hand cream. We then noticed what was going on.
Did I say BRIGHT RED lipstick?
I exclaimed, "Joe, do something!" which was his cue to read my mind and go run and grab a tissue. We lost precious seconds when Joe failed to do this and I had to explain verbally what he should do. Anson took full advantage of that miscommunication to rub his eyes, pat his tummy, and play with the sleeves of the white blouse I was still wearing.
Needless to say, after a few pictures to document Anson's experimentation as a Metro Doo, he went right into the tub. Where Joe discovered that lipstick doesn't wash off with plain ol' soap and water.

And now, I'm off to go try to scrub lipstick from my expensive Ann Taylor Loft blouse and Anson's "Future President of the United States" t-shirt. While drinking wine. Wine is oh, so needed right now.