Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
Friday, February 13, 2009
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"
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"
Sunday, February 8, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
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!"
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.
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!"
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
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
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
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