Image: St. Nick was Jolly. Harrison, less so.

Three Point Discussion on Harrison and Rudolph

1. Harrison refuses to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer because "The snowman guy [The Abominable] is too scary!"

2. Harrison calls Rudolph either "Dolphin" or "Rudolphin."

3. Harrison rejects Doug's song Rudolphin the Red-Nosed Porpoise: "No, DADA! Reindeer!"

"A lifetime of sleepless nights"

I'm sure by now you have all read about the pregnancy of Dick Cheney's daughter Lesbian Mary.

My first comment is incredibly cerebral: HAHA, Bush and Cheney, you morons!

Here are my other, only slightly more compelling thoughts:

The fact that I even know about Mary Cheney's pregnancy and that it is considered "news" enough to warrant an entire article on CNN pisses me off. Mary Cheney's pregnancy is none of my business, and it's certainly not remotely within the realm of decency for conservative and fundamentalist pundits to publicly condemn her and her wife for starting a family.

I've been reading Barrack Obama's newest book, The Audacity of Hope, and in the first chapter he writes about exactly how politics came to be paralyzed by flash point issues such as, among other things, gay marriage (read: gay family rights). And with such inappropriate public scrutiny and inflammatory rhetoric given credence on a national website, is it any wonder that this paralysis is sustained? I read this article, and now I want to cause physical harm to those fundamentalist assholes.

Mary Cheney and her wife are not celebrities. And I didn't hear these pundits raising a battle cry when K-Fed kept popping out kids.

This whole event makes me ashamed of my heterosexual pregnancy privilege. I freak out when a stranger wants reassurance that I'm not carrying twins due tomorrow. I never have to worry that someone is going to call my pregnancy "unconscionable." UGH.

Debaser

Harrison has taken to calling out, "Oh FUCK!" whenever we are driving and come to an abrupt stop.

It's a charming habit, and honestly, I just have no idea where he might have picked that up.

We're of the opinion that it doesn't matter, since the only other people he ever drives with are my parents. (Surprise, Mom and Dad!)

What Harrison Said He is Thankful For

1. Grandma
2. Grandpa
3. Mama
4. Dada
5. Toys
6. Meow

Smiling

I've been periodically smiling since Saturday, when we went grocery shopping and the parking lot attendant came over to take away our cart.

"Thank you, Man." Harrison said.

Everybody Poops

"I don't want to poop on the potty. I want to poop in my pants."

Wouldn't you say something is seriously wrong when one is intelligent enough to utter these complete sentences but would honestly rather crap his pants?

I'm just speaking hypothetically, of course.

Quiverfull women

There is an article about a certain sect of Fundamentalist Christians in the latest Nation that scared the living bejesus out of me. I don't even know what else to say about it. Wow.

"Quiverfull women are more than mothers. They're domestic warriors in the battle against what they see as forty years of destruction wrought by women's liberation: contraception, women's careers, abortion, divorce, homosexuality and child abuse, in that order."

Warning

I am hereby stating that I am not responsible for my actions if I have one more conversation in which someone I don't know very well says to me, "WOW. You are HUGE! I can't believe you are not due until March!"

I may respond with an equally inappropriate comment on their bodily appearance. Such as:

"Holy Christ! Did you get in some kind of accident when you were little? Your nose is just entirely disproportionate to your face. "

or

"Whoa. Is everything okay? Why do you have all those zits?"

Waffling

Harrison is having another bout with cold-induced asthma, and we're indefinitely tied twice a day to the nebulizer again, spewing its steroid and broncodilating steamy goodness.

It was the first trip to the MDs since he's really understood what's going on and been able to voice his feelings (and disdain), so I was a little afraid that he'd resist the waiting and being poked and prodded, but he did great, even when we had to sit there through a 15-minute nebulizer treatment. He actually had a slight meltdown when we it was time to leave the office, with its hot pediatrician and assorted doting nurses, because "I want to see the Doctor AGAIN!!!"

Harrison reported back to Doug after we got back home (apparently ambivalent about his earlier proclamation): "I like the ladies. I like ALL THE LADIES."

Image: Tex

Image: Pumpkin Guts

Cleatus?

Doug and I went to our second trimester ultrasound on Monday and got a good look at baby #2's giant penis.

YEP!! It's another boy!!! (Or an extremely male-looking hermaphrodite.)

I am simulaneously thrilled ("okay. boys. yes, I know how to raise a boy. girls are scary and little girls' clothes are slutty") and terrified ("two? two boys? God help me, I am now totally outnumbered.")

Now we have begun in earnest the search for a name. Doug has been extremely helpful. Let me know if you are particularly drawn to any of his suggestions: Lucifer, Buzz, Cleatus, Dallas, Lemon, Rosco.

A BOY!

Coming out at age 2

In the bath yesterday:

H [out of the blue]: I like guys.

D & S: You like guys?

H: Yeah. I like guys.

Mr. Independent/Bully

Scene 1:

Picking Harrison up at daycare. Sarah walks in and Harrison is finishing up his snack.

H: Hi, Mama!
S: Hi, Buddy!
H: I clean up!

Harrison gets up, cleans up bowl/cup, goes to bathroom to wash hands. Sarah follows to help. Harrison pushes Sarah out of bathroom.

H: Do myself.

*****
Scene 2:

Sarah and Harrison sit in car listening to a Sesame Street CD.

S [singing]: Let's take a drive in an automobile. Let's take a ride in car! Listen to the engine go vroom vroom---
H: Nooooo! No sing, Mama.
S: I can't sing along?
H: NO.

Image: Walking in Northampton (taken by Aunt Val)

Changes

I think that pregnancy is 70% excitement/happiness and 30% fear/doubt. With the first one the doubts are: how is this going to change my relationship with my partner? how will I adapt to my role as a parent? do I have to give up my life? am i going to be a good parent? am I strong enough to do this?

I know the answers to all of these questions this time around, but there are a new set to replace them.

The first time I talked to my sister-in-law Lori after finding out I was pregnant, she said, "Just wait until you see Harrison the first time after giving birth to this new baby. He will look so big and grown up. When Ivy was born, I burst out in tears the first time Zoe walked into the room."

When she said that, I teared up a little bit, because I could already understand what she was talking about. Just being pregnant again makes me think often about carrying and birthing Harrison, sleeping at night with Doug's hand on my big belly while Harrison turned and stirred inside me, and then later bringing Harrison home from the hospital on that third day of his life, so tiny and pink, and us so completely clueless about what to do with this new little creature now squriming in our bed.

I know that Harrison was that little baby, but sometimes I don't believe it. Last Monday we converted his crib into a toddler bed. We had so many fears that he'd be out roaming, falling out in the night, playing with his toys and his books, not sleeping, but he has been fine. No falling. No problems. He's proud of his new bed and comforter and pillow, and couldn't wait to show Gramma and Papa H as soon as they came in the door for a visit on Thursday. Then last weekend while I was washing dishes and Doug and Harrison were doing some chores in the living room, our 10-year old neighbor Alex came over to ask if Harrison could come out to play, and I lost my shit at the sink. Doug looked at me like I was out of my mind, and I can blame some of it on hormones (right?) but I do need to come to terms with the inescapable fact that Harrison is growing up. That soon he's going to be the big brother.

I also need to deal with some guilt I have about Harrison having to share me with a new baby, and being a little sad for myself because I won't have much alone time with Harrison anymore.

Does every parent go through this the second time around?

I'm scared

Harrison has been on a Thomas kick lately, so last month on an exursion to Target, we picked out and brought home this book:

It's a charming story about how the steam engines on the island of Sodor are despised by the evil Diesel 10 and his thugs, who plot to destroy all the "steamies" with the aid of a giant mechanical claw that comes out of Diesel 10's engine. The Conductor, who is supposed to keep an eye on all the trains, is out of magic gold dust, so he can't do anything to protect the steamies. Luckily, Thomas and his friends find Lady, a magic golden engine who refills the Conductor's magic gold dust stash. Finally, there is a high speed chase during which Diesel 10 plunges to his death down a ravine and into a "barge filled with sludge."

What the fuck?

[Doug's theory is that it's a Chinese bootleg that was translated into English.]

Image: Baker

Doug, Harrison, and I baked, decorated, and ate chocolate cupcakes yesterday. Yum!

Happy Second Annual Harrison Day!

It's Harrison Day! Two years since Harrison's noggin was sliced open and then put back together with over 50 stitches!

Doug and I have been telling ourselves that the new baby just has to be healthy, because what are the chances that we'd end up with two f'd up kids?

Age Four Months (September 2004)

I've been terribly lax with photo-taking lately, what with Harrison never stopping with the moving and the jumping and the dancing and whatnot. Instead, here's a favorite picture from two years ago, taken by his Aunt Val.

Food Issues

Based on her 9/06 entry, it seems that I have been waiting in vain for the amazing mom/chef over at Vegan Lunch Box to start posting regularly again. If you've never read this popular blog, it's mostly a food and photo diary of the gorgeous vegan lunches that she prepares for her family--go back into the archives in the school year to see and drool.

Instead, what did I read today? This article over at Slate. It's all about a taste test and nutritional evaluation of Lunchables and other "lunch kits" for kids, and it made me puke into my mouth a little bit.

Then there was this feature on the potential for better school lunches over at NPR last week on Science Friday, and The Nation/Alice Waters series of articles from August.

There are so many scary and stressful issues raised by this collection of stories.

There are so many ways that Doug and I could do better--It's almost paralyzing!

Loviglio Worship Installment #3

"In the conservative universe, women just can't win. Either we're child-hating philanderers or vacuum-toting hausfrauen. I wouldn't fuck us."

Cliff Notes: Harrison's Summer

Okay, now that my pregnancy has officially been acknowledged on this blog, I expect forgiveness for being remiss in my blogging. It's been due to, you know, the incessant gagging and nausea and exhaustion and preoccupation and inability to type while stuffing my maw with food and whatnot.

If I had been able to persevere and were a truly dedicated blogger, oh, how I would have regaled you with detailed tales of our adventures with Harrison. Instead, you'll have to be satisfied with the Cliff's Notes version of our summer highlights:

-picking/gorging ourselves on peaches, blueberries, blackberries, and red raspberries at the lovely Hurd Orchard. [Can I live there, please?]

-Harrison attending and, yes, actually rocking out to his first show: Heavy Trash at the Bug Fest in Highland Park Bowl. [Doug was so proud.]

-Harrison's burgeoning fashion sense as evident in his newfound insistence on choosing his own outfits. [Thankfully his taste seems to be better than that of my coworker Tom's son, who insists on wearing a cat suit every day. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.]

-our summerlong affair with Durand-Eastman Beach on Lake Ontario, just 10 minutes from our house. [With a bizarre lifeguard to swimmer ratio of 1:2.]

-weekend trips to the Public Market for fresh corn, croissants, nectarines, and other yummies. [Which was closed for a day two weeks ago after an 89-year-old guy injured a bunch of people after he drove his Subaru Forester through one of the stands. Afterwards, he claimed that he had been planning to trade the car in because the accelerator and brake in the Forester are too close together, and that what had happened was that he had meant to brake when he accidentally accelerated. Now, Doug and I have a Forester and I have never had a problem figuring out which is the stop and which is the go. You're 89, DUDE! STOP DRIVING!]

-my ten year old cousin Austin looking at Harrison's Daily Sheet from daycare, asking, "What's a BM?", and proceeding to turn 4 deepening shades of red when I explained. [On the same visit, he told my neighbor's son Brad that he had met David Blaine, which is a total lie.]

-an overnight visit (and a beach trip) with Inga, Mike, and Kaiva. [Eating popsicles and watching our two naked children running around my backyard and playing in the kiddy pool=JOY.]

-hanging out (yep, another beach excursion) with my cousin Thong from Saigon who is in the States for 7 weeks. [No, it is not pronounced thong.]

-our as yet unproven candy-based potty-training bribery method. [Two M&Ms for a pee, four M&Ms for a poo.]

-Harrison's passionate love affair with the largest of the cantaloupes growing in our garden: "I want see big memon! OOOOOOOOOOH! BIIIIIIIIIG! BIG MEMON!" [Doug is proudly predicting a lifelong obsession with big melons.]

So, there it is!

Childing #2

Main Entry: pregnant
Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: having a child or other offspring developing in the body; with child or young, as a woman or female mammal.
Synonyms: expecting, abundant, anticipating, big, bumped, childing, enceinte, expectant, fecund, fertile, fragrant, fraught, fruitful, full, gestating, gone, gravid, heavy, hopeful, knocked up, parous, parturient, preggers, productive, prolific, replete, rich, teeming, with child

Due date: March 22, 2007

It's Only a Matter of Time Before He Embarasses Us Publicly

Scene: Doug arrives home from work and jumps in bed with Harrison and Sarah, who are reading/hiding under the covers. Harrison wiggles his way off the bed and points at the door.

H: Mama, get down! Dada, get down!
D: Hang on. I've got to change my pants.
H: Dada pooped?
D&S: HAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHHA!

Image: Rain, Rain Go Away

Mother's Little Helper*

Harrison loves helping out lately. Fajitas were on the dinner menu yesterday, and he was a great assistant: washing and seeding the sweet peppers, scooping out and smashing the avocado, stirring the guacamole, and putting the vegetable scraps in the compost pail. He even took the initiative to get a new sponge out from under the sink and started wiping off the table when we were all done!

I love the changing way in which he's participating in our family.

More pics on flickr.

_______________

*No, not that kind!

Image: Bathtime with Kaiva

Slurpeeeeew

Did you know that in addition to an entry on wikipedia listing every flavor of Slurpee ever created (Red Licorice! Honeycomb!) that Slurpee has it's very own website, which is currently featuring Slurpee's new & exciting taste sensation the "Purple S'creme." The slogan for the Purple S'creme is "Looks Purple. Taste Vanilla." Apparently, this is a selling point.

EW.

Anyhoo, I have a question for you.

Picture this:

• Sarah plays outside with garden hose, Harrison, and neighbor girl Alex.
• Neighbor mom joins group.
• While Sarah talks with Alex, neighbor mom proceeds to feed Harrison Pina Colada-flavored Slurpee. From own, used straw-spoon. (Straw-poon? Spoon-raw?)
• Sarah notices and flounders for a response, then is stunned into silence.

Now, I have no objections to Harrison eating Slurpees (even purple ones which "taste vanilla"). I have no objection to Harrison eating a Pina Colada Slurpee, even though, as you can see on Wikipedia, Pina Colada is the ONLY non kosher Slurpee flavor. (Who knew? And what makes it non kosher?)

What I do object to is the neighbor mom feeding Harrison from her own spoon and feeding him without asking me first.

Am I unduly annoyed? Does anyone else find this gross?

I asked Doug about this and he was even more repulsed. We discussed how kids share drinks and suckers and everything else and how that's okay, but, as Doug put it, the neighbor mom's mouth carried the stigma of "a lifetime of filth" and "possible coldsores."

Still, if it was Inga or Val sharing food, I wouldn't have batted an eye--and God knows they're both filthy freaks!

What should or could I have done? Nothing? Told her to stop because her mouth was contaminated with a "lifetime of filth"?

I'm thinking that wouldn't have been well received.

Image: Nephew and Aunt

Harrison loves his Aunt Tow-Wah (Tara).

Great Camp

We are back from a lovely week away in the Adirondacks with my parents, and Val & Tara.

It was a great trip! On the one hand we really got away from it all: no phone, no TV, and no potable water! On the other hand (since my mother is decidedly anti camping) we stayed in an amazing rented chalet with enough bedrooms for all, a very private lakefront with swimming beach and docks, and assorted watercraft (all of which Harrison refused to get into: "NO BOAT!"). Many fresh raspberries were picked and devoured, too many s'mores were eaten around the campfire, and a few too many giant spiders were flicked, smushed, and run away from.

One of the main highlights of the trip were these new tidbits of Vietnamese wisdom that my mom imparted:

1.

"There is a Vietnamese proverb that says 'Grandparents will make for a spoiled child.' " [GREAT.]

2.

Us: Ooh! A shooting star! Pretty!

Mom: Shooting stars mean that someone has died.

later

Us: Ooh! a shooting star! SOMEONE DIED!

3.

Us: Let's go down to the lake after the campfire so we can see the full moon.

Mom: Be careful of the lady in the boat. The lady in white!

Us: Huh? Is this a Vietnamese fairy tale?

Mom: Yes!

Us: Is she a ghost?

Mom: Uh huh.

Us: Is she a good ghost or a bad ghost?

Mom: She comes at the full moon. She sings. And she's lonely so be careful or she'll drag you down into the water. Especially MEN!

Us: Okay. A bad ghost, then.

This--this is the cultural legacy Harrison is inheriting.

A few more photos are on flickr.

Toddlerism

Harrison's latest favorite sentence is such a classic toddlerism:

"My this."

Translation:

"I may not know what this thing is or what it is called, but it is mine. ALL MINE! So get your stinkin' mitts off of it!"

SpongeBob SquarePants Macaroni and Cheese

An interesting piece on NPR about toddlers and advertising, as well as an excerpt from the book Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of Childhood:

"Children are bombarded from morning to night by messages designed not to make their lives better but to sell them something."

Curious about George

Harrison's new favorite book is Curious George. I hadn't read this one in a long time, probably since I was a kid, and while I couldn't care less about George smoking a pipe (book #1) or even passing out on an ether high (book #2), I found that I was slightly alarmed by the whole kidnapping of George from Africa by Slavemaster Whitey (The Man with the Big Yellow Hat).

After doing a few searches on the web, I found that this subtext is one that is hotly debated by both laypeople and academics. And, to this English major, the discussion of the ordinary Janes and Joes duking it out in the Amazon reviews is even better than the scholarly analysis.

Here are some choice comments from Amazon:

"This book is too scary for my whole family. My child is now traumatized and needs mental help."

"How could anyone write a bad review of these priceless books? Does anyone really believe these stories will lead children to think that it is a good idea to go off with someone who throws a sack over their head?"

"Just because it's old doesn't mean it's good."

"After a couple readings...it became very clear that Curious George has the same exact story line, less than thinly disguised, that White Southerners used to tell about African Southerners. A relic from a bygone era, its continuing popularity is no doubt related to its consistent use of our always popular traditional conservative American prejudice and ignorance."

"I...was shocked at the underlying negativity. How a cute little monkey is ripped from his family and homeland and tries to acclimate unsuccessfully to his new surroundings resonates uncomfortably with the accounts of African slave experiences. This is not entertaining by any means, and I think it would give a child nightmares."

"I'm not sure what happened to the sweet, funny story that I remembered reading as a child. Instead, George is stolen from where he belongs, with his mother (always a good topic at bedtime!), and then, faced with a strange new world in which he doesn't fit in, manages to get into a lot of trouble with people who don't understand why a monkey doesn't function well in western human society."

"Little Black Sambo was once considered a classic, but I'm glad my parents spared me."

For my part, I'll probably keep reading Curious George to Harrison. He thinks the picture of captured George with his head poking out of a bag is HILARIOUS.

Hopefully that doesn't mean he's going to join the Aryan youth movement.

***********

Links:

Des Moine Register

Wikipedia

Wall Street Journal

San Franciso Chronicle

Breasts are More than Sex Objects

This article, about the insanely Puritanical hubub created by a picture of an infant nursing on the cover of a mothering magazine, is so goddamned depressing.

In the words of one of the women interviewed,""It's not like women are whipping them out with tassels on them."

Budding Feminist

For those Muppet Show Season 1 DVD fans, please revisit episode 11 with host Candice Bergen. Because of this particular song, Harrison has renamed the entire series "The Mean Guy Show."

Good boy!

Put Another Log on the Fire

Put another log on the fire. Cook me up some bacon and some beans. Go out to the car and change the tire. Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.

Baby, fill my pipe and then go fetch my slippers. Boil me up another pot of tea. Put another log on the fire, girl. Come and tell me why youre leaving me.

Dont I let you wash the car on sunday? Dont I warn you when youre getting fat ? Aint I gonna take you fishing some day ? Well, a man cant love a woman more than that.

Aint I always nice to your kid sister? Dont I take her driving every night? So sit here at my feet because I like you when youre sweet, and you know that it ain't feminine to fight.

The Carpet Anniversary

Doug and I were married five years ago today.

We've decided to take it easy this year. No cards. No fancy dinner. Most notably, no gifts, since we just spent six bajillion dollars on our remodeling project. In light of that, we've decided to rewrite the list of traditional anniverary gifts:

First: paper
Second: cotton
Third: leather
Fourth: linen, silk
Fifth: wood, carpet

It also doesn't seem right to celebrate today, given New York's Court of Appeals disgraceful ruling yesterday upholding marriage discrimination.

What a shock and a disappointment.

Image: Weeee!

Image: "I want 'rive"

Uhm-ma Hooper's retirement party at Beaver Island State Park. Harrison "driving" Aunt Val's car with Pa-Pa Hooper riding shotgun.

Boys and Their Toys

Last Wednesday afternoon, Harrison and I were sitting on the front porch playing with some of the neighborhood kids when I looked over and saw that he had a gun. An orange plastic toy gun. He had discovered the trigger and was trying to figure out how to push it (why do they call it pull the trigger?). As far as I know, he'd never seen or played with a toy gun before. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with it or how to hold it, aim it, or shoot it.

Seeing him with that toy gun made me cringe, but I didn't take it away.

When I told Doug about it later, he said, "So what? I played with toy guns all the time as a kid."

I know this is true. And I know that I played with my share of cap and water guns too, and I'm not a violent, firearm-wielding lunatic. Still--are guns--even orange plastic toy guns---suitable playthings for children?

On the one hand, I think that a gun's singular purpose to hurt or kill an animal or another person makes it an unacceptable plaything for a young child, especially since we live in a city that has the unfortunate distinction of being the murder capital of New York State, with eight out of 54 homicide vicitims last year being children.

On the other hand, I know that Harrison is more likely to be killed in a car accident or in a pool than by a gun. I also know that generations of kids, especially boys, have grown up roleplaying Army guys and cowboys and indians, and not every one of them is a violent, firearm-wielding lunatic either.

But I am still troubled by this.

I can't help but think that part of Americans' aggression and generally complacent attitude toward violence both in our own personal lives and internationally is tied to this sense that real-life gunplay and war are mere games. (After all, they don't call Dubya the "cowboy president" for nothin'.)

When you're a kid, it's easy to make a distinction between the good guys and the bad guys, but the reality is that sometimes it is the Army guys that are the bad guys and it's the indians that are the good guys. And it's not cowboys on the range but grade schoolers going to school in my city's poor urban neighborhoods that are carrying guns for protection.

We live in a scary and violent world. Why does play have to be scary and violent too?

A Rambling Dad's Day Weekend Post

We had a low-key Father's Day weekend this year.

Doug got the best imaginable present: we finished the majority of work on the upstairs on Friday! And he actually got to see Harrison for more than two hours on a Saturday and Sunday! There are still odds and ends to do [make decisions about carpet, pick out lighting, take a trip to the salvage place for hardware, finish caulk work in the new bathroom], but there will be no more late nights and no more of Doug's entire weekends consumed.

Saturday morning we went to the Public Market. It's early in the growing season here in WNY, but there was fresh homegrown red romaine and big bunches of arugula and quart baskets of strawberries. Doug and I marvelled at the taste of warm, fresh-picked, vine-ripened strawberries, which we seem to forget about every year after eating green-picked, cold-storage California strawberries all winter and spring.

We're very late in starting our own garden, on account of, you know, not ever having been able to get outside to work all spring, but we also came home with some sweet italian and thai basils to plant. Those and the few volunteer tomato plants will be the extent of our veggie garden this year, I'm afraid. And that may be alright, because Harrison has appropriated the empty plot as his dirt pit. He's very busy there most afternoons with his shovel and pail: transporting, piling, digging, and watering.

On Father's Day Doug declined my invitation to go out for dinner and instead we stayed in, barbequed some yummy spice-rubbed steaks [a winning combination of slightly crushed dill seed, coriander seed, black peppercorns, sea salt], ate outside at our "new" patio set [thanks, Suzanne!], took a walk around the neighborhood, munched on Doug's present of fat Washington cherries, played in the sprinkler and kiddie pool, did a little bit of weeding, and ran around the yard.

The calendar said "Father's Day" but it was really a great weekend for me too. I'm so glad to get my husband and parenting partner back!

First Four Word Sentence

The Scene: Doug, wearing work clothes, exits upstairs construction zone and enters kitchen.

Harrison: Dada, you are yucky!

Doug and Sarah: HAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA!

Climber & Climber

Knock! Knock!

Remodeling, spackle, DIY, painting, tired, blah, blah, blah. That pretty much sums up the level of excitement going on in the Hellion household, so why don't you just read this fantastic editorial from our alternative newsweekly instead?

It uses the phrase "massive knockers"! TWICE! And isn't that really all the incentive you need?

"I can't nurse in public, where I'll be the target of dumbfuck mall managers and leering creeps. And that's another confusing message for girls: massive knockers are associated with beauty, but nursing itself --- which causes massive knockers, if temporarily --- is taboo."

Thomas Crapper

Let's start with the good news: After three weeks of encouragement, Child finally took a shit on the potty! There was much cheering and clapping!!!

Now the bad news: The cheering and clapping were followed by a discussion by Parents of what to do with said shit and potty, during which time Child signalled that such cheering and discussion were premature by crouching on bathroom floor and taking another crap.

GROSS!!!

And you came here and read about it of your own free will!

At least I didn't take a photo.

Soulmates, but Unfit to be Parents

Scene: Doug and Sarah watch last ten minutes of National Spelling Bee. Geeky eighth-grader accepts her trophy after correctly spelling the German word "ursprache".

S: Awesome. That girl is so getting laid tonight.
D: Wow. I was just about to say that exact same thing.

Image: Hands, Father, Son

Image: Your skin is something that I stir into my tea

Misbehaving

Yesterday I made Harrison cry.

Mind you, I make him cry several times a day when I take away something that we wants (e.g., markers), make him do something that he doesn't want to do (e.g., go inside), or ignore my ESP powers and unknowingly make a wrong choice (e.g., juice instead of milk).

This type of crying doesn't faze me.

But yesterday I made him cry because he I yelled at him, and I feel awful about it.

We had been playing cars in the living room for about 10 minutes when all of a sudden Harrison decided to bash his racecar into the back of my head. It hurt, so I said "Ow!" and then he did it again. I was angry. I briskly grabbed him up and yelled, "Do not hit people. That hurts!" and put him in one of the dining room chairs in the middle of the room for a time out. I kneeled down, took away his weapon/car, and said sternly (not yelling this time) "You cannot hit people. It is not nice. Now say that you're sorry."

Now, Harrison doesn't misbehave like this often. He's been in time-out maybe four times in his entire life, and usually he looks a little guilty, apologizes, and just sits quietly for the minute or two of his sentence.

But yesterday he looked terrified as I was chastising him, then his bottom lip started quivering, and he burst out in tears just as he was saying in his little Scooby Doo voice, "Raw-ry!" [Sorry!]

And oh, did my heart break. And oh, did I feel guilty. And I gave him the biggest hug and kissed his tears and calmed him down, and then two minutes later he was playing happily with a different toy and in his mind all was well.

I don't know whether he cried because he was scared by the yelling, because he felt bad for hurting me, or if it was a combination of the two.

And yes, logically I do realize that he did misbehave and that his time-out punishment was appropriate, and that him feeling bad for hurting me would be the correct response.

But next time I'm going try and count to ten before reacting with such anger.

I didn't like that this incident hurt my heart more than Harrison hurt my head.

Image: Handlebar

Kids are Weird

Exhibit A:

Harrison had a five-minute conversation with himself at lunch yesterday about strawberries. It went like this:

Yeah...mmm rawbrys...mm. yum yum. yep. rawbrys. mmm. rawbrys. yum yum yum rawbrys rawbrys rawbrys. yepf. yah. mm. yum. rawbrys rawbrys. yah...

Ashley said he sounds like Billy Bob in Slingblade. Doug and I think he sounds like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Main. Neither comparison is particularly complimentary.

Exhibit B:

He has become an OCD food sorter. No one food can touch any other food on his plate. He will also not eat any food that consists of mixed foods (e..g, fried rice, stew, chili). All mixed foods must be unmixed into their basic components before serving. Yesterday he found a piece of ground beef in his rice. Not even a piece. A spec, really. And he picked up the grain of rice and attempted to remove the spec of meat. After about two minutes of this he gave up and wiped the be-meated rice on the table instead.

I'm not sure what to do about this last thing. Do I keep sorting everything out so that he eats and wait for the day when he outgrows this? Or do I just give him the food as is and hope that he'll start eating it when he realizes it's that or nothing?

Ai-yah!

Babel fish

Yepf!
=
Yep!

Image: Harrison's Second Birthday Party

What a lovely day! More pictures here (all taken by Auntie Val or Tara).

Two Years Old

Happy Second Birthday, my beautiful little Boo!

I can't believe that at 10:34 tonight it will have been two whole years since you were born. I've spent a lot of time this week looking through all the pictures your daddy and I have taken of you since then, and it's amazing to see how much you are transformed.

Still, some days it's hard to see how much you've changed in the last year. Physically, there's such a difference between the ages of zero and one, that comparatively it seems that you haven't grown much between 1 and 2. Then last week at your "cousin" Kaiva's first birthday party, Daddy and I both said, "She's so little! Harrison was much bigger than that on his first birthday, wasn't he?" But then we looked at the pictures from your first birthday party, and guess what? You were a little shrimp! You still have chubby thighs that I want to douse with Dinosaur BBQ Sauce and eat for lunch, but your face has changed. There is less baby and more little boy in you every day.

Monday I took you to the neighborhood playground, which is your favorite place in the whole world. (You call it the "Wee!" because that is what slides are called, of course. AND THEY HAVE SEVEN SLIDES!) You are very independent when we go there these days. You like to ride down all but the very tallest slide by yourself. You've memorized how to weave your way through the maze of stairs and ladders and climbers to get to the tops of all the slides. Monday you commandeered a six year old's bottle of bubbles and a second grader's basketball. (I hope this doesn't mean that you're going to be turn into a playground bully.) You also befriended a little boy who looked to be about Quinn's age: 6 or 7. Once you found him, you wanted to follow him everywhere and didn't want Mama to hold your hand when we ran across the bouncy bridge or ride next to you on the double slide. I gave you as much space as I safely could and watched you run and chase and laugh with this little boy and tell him to "Go!" when you were both sitting at the top of the slide.

Watching, I felt so proud of you, but also a little sad. I thought about how two years ago at that moment, you were still a part of my body, but that with every passing moment since you had been moving in a path away from me.

That is both wonderful and terrifying.

Sometimes I want to tell you and the universe "Slow down!" but then I see you becoming ever more intelligent and sensitive and perceptive and independent and adventurous. And I imagine all the things that you will be and become, and I almost can't wait to find out what will come next.

I love you, Harrison. Happy Birthday!

Mama

[Click here for Aunt Val's sweet birthday blog.]

Image: Three Day Old Caterpillar

Read

The Motherhood Manifesto, from The Nation.

Contains an interesting discussion of how the US stacks up against other industrialized countries in providing families with health care, flex work options, and paid leave.

Guess what?

The answer is: not good.

Peed

Rejoice! Rejoice! Harrison peed on the potty!

And because we are the laziest parents ever, we didn't have to do anything!

I was peeing, and he was in the bathroom with me, and he said "Peeee???" and grabbed his diaper and pointed at his potty. So I de-diapered him and plopped him down. I've done this dozens of times before and didn't pay any attention to him, but then he got up and there was PEE IN THE BOWL!

And I think I freaked him out a bit with all my hooting and hollering and kisses and rejoicing that maybe the end of diapers is in sight now, praise bejesus!

Then I calmed down and rewarded him with a marshmallow easter peep.

Now I've got to do some research on how you are actually supposed to potty train toddlers. I already fear it's not going to be as easy as litter training cats.

Image: The Wicked Witch of the East

Image: Wax Beans

'side!

Florida and the beautiful spring weather seem to have broken Harrison of his TV addiction. Now instead of whimpering "Ernie....", hurling himself at the television, and blindly pushing every button on the DVD player, he gets out his shoes, plasters himself to the screen door glass like a pup, and demands, "Side!" [outside]. And regardless of the state of dinner preparation, I am usually more than happy to oblige because the alternative is boredom, and you should know that boredom transforms Harrison from a darling into a tantrum-ridden monster with fangs and stompy feet, and results in me wanting to check myself into a mental institution.

His usual outdoor itinerary:

• roll trike and wagon to top of porch stairs
• say "Mama! Bike!" to demand that Mama set them on pavement
• put sidewalk chalk container in wagon
• push wagon to end of driveway
• kick wagon down incline at end of driveway
• giggle
• point at wagon and yell "Mama!" to demand that Mama bring wagon back up incline
• repeat
• retrieve trike from backyard
• wheel trike to end of driveway
• kick trike down incline at end of driveway
• giggle
• point at trike and yell "Mama!" to demand that Mama bring wagon back up incline
• repeat
• sit on walk
• pat walk and yell "Mama sit!"
• scribble with sidewalk chalk
• hand Mama chalk, point at ground, and yell "Mama!" to demand that Mama draw for amusement
• scour sky for "erbines" [airplanes] and cry "erbine! erbine!" if successful
• scour sky for moon and shout "moon! moon!" if successful
• stomp around front porch, terrorizing resident brooding morning dove
• make move to pick Mama's flowers
• say to self under breath "No. Flow-woos. No!"
• back away
• succumb to Dark Side
• pick flowers
• get threatened with time out if more flowers are picked

There are also many, many trips to the neighborhood playground, much playing with the next-door neighbor kids, and much running away from another neighbor's two-year old girl, who always seems to be either trying to kiss him, steal his milk, or eat his chalk.

Hooray for spring!

One year and three hundred sixty one

Harrison turns one year and three hundred sixty one days old today. I will save you from all the trite and cliqued nostaligic musings and leave it at this:

I can't believe that he will be two on Friday.

I can't believe that I am the mother of a two year old.

Holy fucking shit.

CHS Shout Out!

My beloved alma mater, City Honors School, was just named the fourth best public high school in the country. In the country! I am beyond impressed, not suprised, and forever grateful.

I have written about CHS before, while ranting about the sad state of public education in Rochester and dreaming about the perfect public school for my boy.

The latest school that we fantasize about (yes, this is what we fantasize about these days. this and $1600 swingsets. pathetic.) is the Genesee Community Charter School at the Rochester Science Museum.

How amazing does it sound? "As an Expeditionary Learning school, our students spend most of each day embarking on purposeful, rigorous learning expeditions that involve intellectual, service, and kinesthetic dimensions."

Hell, I want to go there, and I don't even know what "kinesthetic dimensions" means.

Hellion Home

Lovely trip. Wonderful weather. Nothing exciting to report, just: eating, sleeping, sunning, swimming, repeat seven days. More photos here.

Hellion on Hiatus

Off to Florida tomorrow. Will post again on our return. Hopefully the post will be photos of us on a beach, smiling in the sunshine, rather than a mug shot following Harrison's arrest by air marshals.

Babies and TV continued...

TV and kids is a hot topic in the blogsphere this week.

Here's a take on portable DVD players.
And Suburban Bliss's response.

I'm staying out of it for now.

(If you link out to the original author's blog, you'll also find an hour's worth of music with handclaps, which is way more fun than the TV 'n' kids debate. Doug knows: I'm a sucker for handclaps.)

Image: Easter Basket

Image: Cousins

Easter Morning. Clockwise from top: Zoe, Ivy, Harrison, and Quinn

Baby Couch Potatoes

"Talk of the Nation" did a segment last week about the new Sesame Street Beginnings DVD. The lowdown is that unlike regular SS, aimed at preschoolers 3 and up, Beginnings is being marketed toward children 6 months to three years of age. As you can imagine, this has lots of people's panties in a bundle, especially since the American Association of Pediatrics recommends no TV for kids under the age of two, citing studies linking increases in TV watching to rises in ADD. In that vein a crapload of educational and child-advocacy institutions which sponsor and support SS's regular preschool programming are also pissed. Click here if you want to listen to the TotN experts arguing. This was also covered in online/print media here and here, among other places.

It does seem that SS is trying to jump on the Baby Einstein and Brainy Baby DVD bandwagon, and that their new DVDs add legitmacy to the phenonmenon of infant TV. If you're not familiar with these soul-destroyers, Julie, over at A Little Pregnant has a fantastic blog about them and their affect on her baby Charlie (over here). Even if you are familiar with them, you at least need to watch her video parody included at the bottom of the post. Without giving too much away, let's just say that one of the segments stars a tampon suspended from a wire. And it gets wet! And expands! HAHAHHA!

But I digress...as you will see from Julie's description, babies love these videos. Their bright colors and constant motion prey on babies' natural craving for changing visual stimulation. And even though it is pretty well documented that the Baby DVD products hold absolutely no educational value for babies whatsover, there simply haven't yet been studies specifically on infant TV-watching to prove that baby TV is harmful.

Oh, and did I mention that these videos made an estimated $100 million dollars in 2004? Obviously, SS sees a lucrative market there and wants a piece of the action.

SS's defense is that parents are still plopping their tykes in front of the boob tube despite the AAP recommendation, so why not at least make the programming educational? The statistic cited on NPR was that the average American kid under 2 watches 2.5 hours (holy crap!) per day, including 'ambient" TV, which is part of the AAP prohibition.

The bottom line is that parents (including Doug and I) do allow their sub-two year olds to watch TV. I've blogged about this before. We do this for a variety of reasons. We do it because Harrison asks for it ('Ernie! Ernie!). We do it because we are sometimes tired and need a break from his constant motion. We do it so that we can buy 10 or 15 minutes to get dinner made or throw in a load of laundry. We do it in order to keep him still while getting him dressed after his bath. We do it because we want to sing or dance along with a favorite song.

After rethinking this debate on TV for the young toddler set, I still think that we use TV responsibly. We're not going to get a "Kill Your Television" bumpersticker, but we're also not going to let Harrison watch DVDs when its a beautiful day outside and dinner's made and the laundry is done and we could just as easily be in the yard or the playground chasing squirrels.

DVDs for six month olds, though? I think that's way too young.

For a much better response to the ToTn debate, read this editorial here. "We try to justify video opium by only showing our daughter "classic" old Sesame Street (like somehow TV was less harmful when we were kids)." HA!

I'm dying up here!

Today is "Parents Read-Aloud Day" at Harrison's daycare, and I am signed-up in the 3 o'clock spot. I've chosen one of Harrison's favorite books, Chip Wants a Dog, by William Wegman (you know, the guy with the Weimaraners). Harrison loves this book because: 1. it has dogs in it and he's obsessed with dogs; 2. one of the dogs is brushing his teeth and Harrison likes toothbrushes and toothbrushing; 3. the text starts out "Dogs! Dogs! Dogs!" and Harrison likes to shout out "Dogs! Dogs! Dogs!" and 4. there is a picture of a stuffed dog posed upside down, which is the funniest f#^ing thing Harrison has every seen in his life. Even though he's seen it 3,398 times. He points and then says "Ha! Ha! Ha!" Sometimes the "Ha! Ha! Ha!" sounds rather forced, like he's thinking, "I've laughed at it for so long, I don't know how to stop."

Anhoo, my confession: I am nervous about reading to this horde of toddlers! Eight shrimpy, snotty, babbling one-year-olds. How stupid is that?!

But what if they are a tough crowd? What if they don't like the book? What if they don't think the upside-down dog is funny at all? What if they are not bemused by a picture of a dog-human brushing his teeth? What if they all walk away in disinterest after the second page?

I brought along Animal Sounds too, just in case.

That's a guaranteed crowd pleaser.

Image: Strong Toddlers

From our trip this weekend to Strong Museum with Emma and Ashley. Not a great photo, but the only one that I managed to get of Harrison and Emma together.

Those toddlers are fast!

Neko Case, American Idol, and babies

There is a connection!

Click the teaser quote to read the full Neko Case interview on Pitchfork:

"[I]f Celine Dion is supposedly the great singer that she says she is why is there auto tune on every fucking word in her songs? Can't you just hit it, Celine? Do you have another baby book to shoot? You gotta paint your baby to look like a pot of peas? What are you doing that you can't be singing in the studio? It's your fucking job!"

Brilliant.

Thanks, Doug, for the link.

NPR Driveway Moment

This is hellion-related only in that I had to wait for it to finish before I could get out of the car to get Harrison from daycare.

I wanted to be that guy.

Wow.

The Algernon Effect

Our wonderful friends Danika and Gordon (of the Seattle machaggis household) graced us with a lovely visit on Saturday.

Aside from being great friends, good company, and all-around upstanding folk, they are also part of our slowly dimishing group of friends that do not yet have children.

Am I the only neophyte parent that has a fresh fear of their childless friends? More specifically, does anyone else worry that parenting has rendered them dreadfully dull? Unable to talk about anything but one's child/ren? With an inability to communicate in words not found in a preschool picture dictionary?

No matter. Doug and I had a grand time and even managed showers for both of us before they arrived. (Small victories!) I think we may have even held our own in the adult conversation. (And I don't care what Wikipedia says, Gordon, it's tightie-whities NEVER whitie-tighties!)

Image: Mango Lassi

There is an ongoing, unsettled cherries vs. mangoes debate in our household, but Doug and I both agree that mangoes are up there among the best fruits in the known universe. The first time Harrison had a mango, he gobbled it up, asked for more, and Doug said in his best Godfather voice, "Ah....welcome to the family."

Two weeks ago when my Dad came over on one of his bathroom construction slave labor visits, my mom sent with him two lovely champagne mangos, which Doug, Harrison, and I promptly devoured. The next day my mom called, and Doug told her how much Harrison had enjoyed the mango. When he hung up he said, "I bet you next time she comes she's going to bring us a bunch of mangoes." Lo and behold, on my Dad's next trip less than a week later, he brought with him an entire case of champage mangoes. That's 16 mangoes.

That was one week ago today and there are only 3 left.

Add this to the list of upsides to having a kid: pimping him out for expensive tropical fruit.

Image: Honky

For the hundredth time:

Yes, he's ours.

Yes, he's 1/4 Vietnamese.

No, I don't know why he's blonde.

and

No, our mailman is 60 years old, and I do not find him remotely attractive.

Daylight Savings Time Bi-Annual Franklin Curse Update

Harrison doesn't seem to be having any trouble falling asleep in the daylight this time around and as an added bonus he's actually sleeping in past 6:30 AM, so, in the interest of energy conservation, I am considering lifting my curse* on Ben Franklin.

Just considering. I'm going to give it another year before I make a final determination.

* The technical details of my curse do not prohibit acceptance of hundred dollar bills.

Use Your Words

Doug just related this conversation he had with Harrison this morning:

Doug dresses Harrison.

H [pointing at shirt]: Oooooooh!
D: It's an orange shirt!
H [pointing in direction of kitchen/fruit basket]: Ainge? [Orange?]
D: No, orange is a color too.
H: Two? Two! Two...three!

Image: Mama's Big Bed

Image: Dropout

I have real excuses for not posting a new photo:

First, my camera is out of batteries. Second, I can't find my USB cable. Third, this is a tie-in to the breast feeding post:

Sure, he seems cute, but this innocent look belies the incredible reservoir of stubborness within.

Kompewtur

Derrrrrrrr. How do you work this here thing?

Okay, I'm an idiot. I turned on comment approval many months ago because I was getting comment spammed. The thing is, though, if a blogger turns on this rather nifty feature, they actually have to remember to go in and read and approve their comments. Imagine that.

So today I clicked on this little link on my blogger page called, guess what?, "Moderate comments" thinking, "Hmmm..what's that?" and lo and behold: COMMENTS! From you! My three readers!

And here I thought you didn't like me.

Needless to say, I'm turning comment moderation off. Bring on the spam!!!!

Booby School Dropout

Slate has a great article (with slides!) this week about breastfeeding mothers' rather ambivalent relationships with their breast pumps, a contraption which I happen to know all too intimately.

Like the author, I charged into motherhood with a certain bullheadedness about breastfeeding. Sure, I talked the talk about my lack of expectations. I knew the possible complications. I knew that breastfeeding sometimes took a while to get established, but deep down in my heart, I knew that I could do it. I was a feminist! I was strong! I would persevere and get through any of the normal difficulties. I would birth my baby and he would immediately be put to my breast and know what to do. I wouldn't mind being the one that had to get up for nighttime feedings, and I would take advantage of my workplace's nursing mother's room and put to good use the little manual Avent breastpump that I had received at my baby shower. I was woman and hear me fucking roar. And nurse!

Things didn't quite go as I had planned. Because Harrison was in distress at the moment of his birth, the neonatal team whisked him away to the warming table to stabilize his heart and breath. [Hadn't they read my plan? "I would like to have my son placed on my stomach/chest immediately after delivery."]

Harrison didn't cry for the first minute and all thoughts of bringing him to my breast immediately were gone from my mind as he was suctioned rather vigorously. I trusted that everything was fine: I saw him wiggling. And then, finally, crying. But I was still contracting and being stitched up in my unmentionables and reeling from the rather traumatic ending to what had otherwise been a pretty good labor. I don't know how long it was before Harrison was brought over. Fifteen minutes maybe? Twenty? Nevertheless, I didn't put him to my breast until maybe forty five minutes after his birth.

And when he finally got there, he wanted nothing to do with it.

It was from that very shaky beginning that Harrison was a failed nurser. During the two days at the hospital, he didn't eat a drop. He would either cry or fall asleep. He couldn't latch. He couldn't get comfortable. He squirmed and flailed. He zonked out. He peered. His eyes crossed. He farted. He yawned. He did everything but eat.

The nurses did everything they could to help. The lactation consultant visited twice and stated that she had never seen such a lazy nurser. After 36 hours of not eating, I started worrying that my baby was going to starve to death.

The hospital forgot (?) to circumcise Harrison as they normally would have done on the first full day of our stay. When we asked them about it the morning of our departure on day 2, they had it done immediately, but then informed us that Harrison had to pee before they would let him go. Now we had a dilemma because he hadn't eaten anything since he was in utero and his diapers had been dry all day. We kept trying to get him to nurse, but he continued to refuse. His diaper stayed dry.

Finally, we decided to let him drink a half ounce of sugar water from a bottle, just so we'd be able to take him home. He drank the water immediately and peed an hour or so later. We were free!

Harrison was starving and screamed bloody murder that first night home. He continued to refuse to nurse. Meanwhile, I needed to pump to stimulate my milk production. We, of course, hadn't gotten anything ready at home for bottle feeding. We didn't have any bottles sterilized or the pump out of the package. Valerie saved my life by getting the bottles and pump ready for me and giving me a Cliff's notes version of the directions on how to use it. We decided to give Harrison the little bit of colostrum that I was able to pump and supplement that with formula. Once he got something to eat, he calmed down and went to sleep.

Over the next few weeks, this pattern continued: Harrison refused to nurse, I was forced to pump or explode. We embarked on an intensive breastfeeding training regimen we called "Boob School". We talked to the lactation consultatant. We tried using a nipple shield. We tried using a breastmilk-filled medicine dropper positioned near my nipple so that he'd associate my boobs with milk. I pumped and then popped my nipple in his mouth with milk squirting out.

He didn't get it.

In the meantime, we started feeding him the pumped milk out of a bottle.

Aside from Harrison's surgery, this was the hardest time I have ever had as a parent. I cried every two hours, every time Harrison tried and failed to nurse. I cried while I pumped. I cried when I fed Harrison from the bottle. I cried while Doug fed Harrison from the bottle. I felt like I spent all my time either expressing milk or feeding Harrison, but I couldn't do those two things at the same time. I felt like a huge failure and a terrible mother. I felt totally rejected.

Doug researched our problem on the internet and found lots of women who had had the same exact experience. Some of their flunkie babies had "Ah-ha!" moments at 4 or 5 weeks where they finally "got" it, but most of the mothers had given up. A very small percentage of them had found full-time pumping as a solution.

After three weeks of Boob School, I finally made the decision to give up on direct breastfeeding and give myself over to full-time pumping. For the most part, I felt that a huge weight was lifted because we weren't going to have to fight with Harrison every few hours, which meant I wouldn't have to cry every few hours.

Full-time pumping was quite successful. I had a great supply and pumping after I went back to work was easy and fast. At my most productive I could express 5 ounces from each breast in about 15 minutes. In some ways, pumping was easier on me because Doug was able to participate in Harrison's feedings.

I stuck with full time pumping for about 5 and a half months, and with my freezer stocks, Harrison had breastmilk through 6 months. I made the decision to stop when I developed a repetitive motion injury in my hand from using the pump and when I basically just got too lazy to keep doing it.

Still, deciding to quit breastfeeding was hard. Again I felt overcome with guilt. Ashley said, "He will be fine and he will not care" and she was right. When Harrison went to daycare in mid November 2004, we switched over to formula.

So that's my breastfeeding story. I am still trying to get to the point where I am at peace with the way things turned out. It's hard to move past it because Doug and I do plan to have another child and I live in a bit of fear over what will happen with the next baby. I'm not sure if there's any one party or factor to blame: the hospital? Me? Harrison? The birth? The intensive suctioning after he was born?

Getting back to the Slate article about pumps, I can say that pumping was very easy for me. Maybe it was too easy. Maybe if pumping had not been so easy, I would have tried harder with the direct breastfeeding. But maybe without the ease of the pump, I still would have given up on breastfeeding altogether and given him formula from the beginning.

And the bottom line is that no matter what, Harrison would have been fine. He would have been healthy and well-fed and happy. And I'm learning to accept that.

Woodrow*

yogurt = "doo doo"

as in

"Mmmmm....doo doo!"

*

Sarah for President

I'm running for office in 2008 on a pro-visible pantyline platform.

Who's with me?

Winter. Again!

Okay, I was a little hasty with that ode to spring in my last post.

Since last writing the temperature plummeted 30+ degrees and stuck somewhere around 25F; Harrison contracted pneumonia; I've become infected with flu; two out of the last five work days were actually spent at work; and my use of TV as a babysitter and my hatred of the upstairs remodeling project have both risen exponentially.

I'm still suffering, but Harrison is on the mend, thanks to antibiotics which in addition to healing his respiratory system have also given him "the trots" (as my Dad called it), which in turn has led to a terrible diaper rash, which in turn has led Harrison to lie about having pooped in order to avoid having his arse wiped.

Me: "Did you poop?"
Harrison: [whimperingly] "Noooo?"

This is rarely convincing, since it is usually accompanied by him grabbing at the back of his diaper and saying, "Owwwww."

When he's 16, remind me how I used to joke about his inability to lie well to his parents.

Sprung

While my Dad and Doug worked on the upstairs bathroom project Saturday morning, Harrison and I went to the Public Market--the first time we've ventured there since the local harvest offerings died down in early December. It's much too early for local fruits and veggies, but as it was the first warm spring Saturday, it was bustling, and it was energizing to be back there. Fruit is meant to be squeezed and sniffed and selected outdoors--even if the avocado or mango you're molesting had to come all the way from Mexico or Guatemala for the privilege.

There are buds on the backyard lilacs and the crocus, daffodils, and miniature iris are popping their little green heads up through the mulch toward the sun. Yesterday was a dramatic day weather-wise. (Though not as dramatic as it was for my cousin Laura in Arkansas who reported baseball-sized hail!) There were dark rolling storm clouds and crash-boom thunder for the greater part of the day, then a warm evening with sunshowers and, later, blue skies.

Harrison is fascinated by everything he'd forgotten about outside and all the new things that he hadn't yet discovered. He points at our license plates and says his letters "B! K! O! W! V!" and points to and counts out the characters: "Two. Two. Two." [He's still working on that.] He shouts "Eye-s" [Eggs] and "Ucky!" at the winter's worth of scattered eggshells and rotting vegetables composting in the various flowerbeds. He closely examines sticks from the maple in the side yard. He tromps up to the neighborhood kids and shouts his demands "Bike!" Ball!" and they comply.

Yesterday after dinner Harrison scooted around on his tricycle and jumped gleefully in the mudpuddles at the foot of the driveway.

He spent 10 minutes pointing and smiling at a soggy leaf stuck to the side of the house.

Doug pointed out a V of geese flying toward the lake and Harrison honked back in greeting and continued honking at the morning doves, finches, pigeons, and various other urban backyard birds we encountered.

There's no question that spring is in the process of springing.

Vo-do-dee-o

Scene: Harrison in bath. Doug piles rubber duckies in boat.

S: Those rubber duckies are refugees escaping to freedom.

D: Yeah, from Cuba

S: Or Vietnam. What persecution would rubber duckies need to escape? Their livers are going to be harvested for pate?

D: Or Cheney's around with his gun? I don't think those reasons for amnesty would fly.

S: [Groan.]

H: Ernie!

Biters Anonymous

Harrison's daycare has a confidentiality policy when it comes to their accident reports. Last week, for example, I got a report that said, "Another child bit Harrison on the hand while they were playing at the water table. Harrison did not cry and there was no mark."

In the car, I said, "Someone bit you, huh? Are you okay?" and he pointed at his hand, made a worried face and said, "Anna...Not nice!"

So much for anonymity.

Da Bomb

2:45 PM. Sarah enters daycare and sees that it is in chaos. 7,204 toys litter the floor.

Sarah: Wow! What happened in here? It looks like a bomb went off.

Miss Meredith: No, there wasn't any bomb. Actually, it was all Harrison.

Not Lost In Translation

1. ROW! ROW! MOMMY! ROW! ROW!
=
Mother, would you please sing Row Row Row Your Boat for me, please?

2. HAM!
=
Mother, I would like it very much if you would read to me Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham, if you have a spare moment?

3. ANNIE? ANNIE?
=
The cats are very cute, Mother, and I would like to give them cat treats, or as you call them, "kitty candies". Can you please get the "kitty candies" down for me, so that I may feed them?

4. UP!
=
I require some assistance getting up on this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?

5. UPP!
=
I require some assistance getting down from this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?

Image: Boog Pillow II

Fuss

This is one of the funniest blog posts I have ever, ever read.

And one of the most horrifying.

God help me if that is what I have to look forward to in two years.

Image: Chimps

Harrison has lots of girlfriends, but only Kaiva picks his nits.

In our stereo

We just picked up Songs from the Street from the library on Friday and are still working our way through its 3 discs and 63 songs. What we've heard so far is fantastic. The excellent 70-page booklet contains song lyrics and a whole lotta history too.

Go here for the tracklist and to listen to snippets. "Captain Vegetable" may be the funniest song Henson ever sung, and if you aren't touched when you hear Aaron Neville and Ernie sing "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon" then you have a cold, black heart indeed.

Call to Action

Every single teacher that I know (and I know many, including my mother) believes that Bush's 2001 No Child Left Behind policy, with its emphasis on rote learning, standardized testing, and unbelievable funding problems, is taking education in the wrong direction and ultimately hurting American children. Putting aside the failings of NCLB itself, it's pretty transparent that the idea behind this high profile campaign, that of leaving no children behind, is at odds with the Bush administration's ongoing dismantling of social programs whose primary beneficiaries are poor families with historically "left behind" children, in favor of unprecedented funding for the war/defense coupled with tax cuts for the wealthy.

Where's the outrage? Coverage of Bush's 2007 budget, which was released on the 7th, was dwarfed in comparison to the sensational news of Cheney's hunting snafu a week later. Thank god for NPR. You can read a succinct and revealing analysis of the budget here.

Of course, this didn't start with Bush. In the last few chapters of her 2001 book Misconceptions, Naomi Wolf does a much better job than I could ever do of detailing the ways in which American society, for all its showboating, is fundamentally unfriendly toward children, parents, and families.

And with our exorbitant defense spending and economic downturn, things since 2001 have gotten much worse for American children. This is palpable and observable locally. Buffalo has instituted a stunning number of library closings and cutbacks. This affects all children, but is an absolute crisis for poor children who depend on neighborhood libraries for computer access and a quiet and safe place to meet or study.

This morning's local paper has an article (here) about the sad state of subsidies in Monroe County for working parents who need assistance paying the childcare bill.

This situation is desperate, and things need to change. You can't complain if you don't do something. An easy way to find out how to make a difference is by visiting MoveOn's Campaigns page (here). Sign some petitions. Write a letter to the editor of your local paper. Find out about local activist groups and gatherings.

I'll get off my soapbox now.

60 Days and Counting

Doug and I had pretty much written off the possibility of ever going on vacation during the tenure of daycare and possible private school and college tuition payments, which if you do the math assuming we have another kid in the next year or two meant WE WOULD NEVER GO ON VACATION AGAIN.

Sorry. I exaggerate. Assuming Kid 2 is born in 2007 or 2008, we could hope for a vacation when he/she finished college in 2030. I just said "NEVER" in all caps for the dramatic effect.

Thank god for my generous parents with no mortgage or car payment, and money to burn. As you may recall, they took pity on us last year and rented a wonderful beach house outside Tampa for us all. Harrison had a great time, though he didn't really like the ocean or the sand and spent most of our time at the beach furrowing his non existent eyebrows like this:

Well, praise the sweet baby Jesus, my parents are rescuing us from poverty and snow again. Tickets to Tampa are booked and we are counting down the days. It's all thanks to Harrison and the ease with which we can pimp him out to my mom. How else would she get to spend a whole week with him?

(Please let the upstairs renovation be done by then. Please. It's only day three and this project is already hanging over me like a life sentence.)

Weekend Highs and Lows

Lowlights:

--A 15-minute breakdown because of the 10 bazillion pens in the pen can, none of them are the pen that he wants!!!!

--Leaving on the light in Harrison's room when I put him to bed at 7:30 last night, which Doug didn't discover until he went to cover him up and put his socks back on at about 9:45.

--A new house project to work on every night after Harrison goes to sleep: stripping painted wallpaper off the walls in the upstairs guest room.

--Getting teary that my baby somehow turned into a 21 month old boy on Sunday.

Highlights:

--Finally getting enough snow to use the sled that we bought Harrison at Christmas time.

--Spending time Saturday with Doug's parents, though Harrison is somewhat perplexed about having two sets of people that he calls Uhmma [Grandma] and Poppa [Grandpa].

--Watching Oscar singing "I Love Trash" over and over. And over. And Harrison saying "Yuuuccckk!" everytime.

--All three of us dancing to Weezer in the living room after Sunday dinner.

--"Skit skat skoodle doot! Flip flop flee!" Reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, which Harrison calls "Boom! Boooom!"

--Watching Harrison teach himself his ABCs, by pushing the letters on his electronic phonics toy and repeating the letters.

Image: Muppet Trance

Warm and Fuzzy

This morning after getting his goodbye hug, without me saying it first, Harrison said

"Wuv woo"

[Love you].

My heart is still atwitter.

Daycare Daily Report

"Harrison put snap beads together for awhile this morning. He liked painting and driving cars too. He was very helpful at clean up time today. He also took advantage of me changing a diaper by getting up on a table and dancing."

My name is Sarah and I'm obsessed with robots.

I've been trying to think of a clever way to tie this post into something Harrison related, since this is a "mommy" [cringe] blog after all, but I can't and, frankly, who cares? Because you must listen to this story, over here at NPR . It's about an off (off)-broadway production of Ibsen's play Hedda Gabler. Only it's called Heddatron! And some of the parts are played by real, "live" robots!!!

No fucking kidding.

I almost peed my pants with glee listening to the robot-speak.

This is almost as good as dictionaryoke. Almost.

Image: Twins with a Thomas train set

Val's desire for me to add to my brood is not helped by her love of freaking me out with the prospect of human cloning.

Skater-dater true love and pork futures

kbt's is by far the best feedback I've received on my riduculous little film.

"i am computer challenged, and i am being taunted by the little movie-to-be just sitting on my desktop, refusing to open, refusing to play with me, refusing to divulge the secret training regime in which you are immersing Harrison so that he will become a killer spy dolphin, roaming the post-apocalyptic world, armed with teeth, webbed fingers and the art of the drunken master kung-fu style, wreaking havoc on the uninitiated and oil-dependent, traipsing through the halls of power on little dolphin fins, implanted with spy cameras that report his every victory to you insane, manipulative parents, bent on freeing the world from GW, using your offspring for your own agendas, when really, all harrison wanted was to play with dolls, find his skater-dater true love, and become an inside trader of pork futures. that is just sad, sarah. "

I have three comments:

1. Man, is she going to be disappointed when she finally gets it to work.
2. The Flipper Spy plot made me recall a dream I once had that I later entitled "The Talking Shark Obstacle Course."
3. I had to look in IMDB to get this Austin Powers quote just right: "You know, I have one simple request. And that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! Now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that cannot be done. Ah, would you remind me what I pay you people for, honestly? Throw me a bone here! What do we have? "
3a. Wait...does that make me Dr. Evil in your scenario, Karen?!?! (I ask that with my pinky raised to my lips while stroking a white persian cat.)

Goth Elmo

Now this is funny shit.

(No pun intended.)

The Boob Tube

Harrison has suddenly become character/brand conscious, and I am scared. It is totally our fault, because we did, as you know, encourage him to watch and dance to the Muppet Season 1 DVDs for a few minutes every day for the past three months. (On a side note, he has started calling the Muppets "BowBow" for reasons Doug and I aren't privy to.) We've branched out a bit with the Sesame Street 25th anniversary DVD, which contains all the classic songs and a few other vintage gems and (thankfully) very little Elmo.

As far as live TV goes: he gets about 5 minutes of local news/weather with his dad every morning and a little bit of Sesame Street on Saturday and Sunday, if we get out of bed in time. He sometimes has the patience to glance at some of the other PBS shows on the weekend, in the midst of his play: Bob the Builder, Thomas the Tank Engine, and Between the Lions. We also watch our only adult weekend TV together: The Sunday Morning show on CBS. It is the best show ever made in the history of mankind (and if you don't watch it, you are LAME because Charles Osgood is awesome, especially when he sings bizarre little rhyming songs about current events). Harrison disagrees and thinks it is the most boring show in the history of mankind and usually finds some other way to amuse himself when it's on.

Anyway, as I was saying, Harrison is now aware of the Muppets (both of the Sesame and Show variety) as a brand. This awareness is sometimes bad. Already I've experienced a couple of supermarket and toy store breakdowns when Elmo or Ernie has been spotted from afar. I see on the horizon tantrums over the latest Elmo toy and begging to be taken to some evil ice shows.

I'm still working out my feelings about the role of TV in our household. What I have come up with so far:

I do not think that TV is a purely evil presence that needs to be banned from our household completely.

I recognize and resent that most kids TV shows exist to sell products, both the products that are advertised during the show and merchandise related to the show itself. Everything these days is cross promoted. You can get sponge bob cereal, underwear, blow-ups, and party hats. You can probably get sponge bob vacuum cleaner bags. It truly scary how much junk is marketed at children and the parents of children Harrison's age.

PBS shows are less evil. Maybe. We don't have cable, so Harrison's live TV viewing is limited to the kids programming on PBS. Yes, PBS is not for profit and their shows are mostly praised for being educational. But their kids shows are still a brand. I have read that Sesame Street is what first brought PBS national attention and I don't doubt that it is their biggest cash cow, what with all the Elmo vacuum cleaner bags and whatnot.

I see absolutely nothing wrong with us using the TV as a babysitter for 10 minutes or so at a time.

I see absolutely nothing wrong with us using the TV as entertainment to watch and talk about and dance and sing to together for 30 minutes or so at a time.

Like it or not, TV-watching is a cultural norm for kids and I don't want Harrison to be a complete social misfit just because he's never seen Spongebob. I grew up with a strict, small diet of TV (no cable and it was off after 5 o'clock every school day) and I have a very vivid memory of all the kids in 5th grade talking about Inspector Gadget and being embarrassed that I had no idea what they were talking about.

Obviously, I don't have a plan worked out and this is something that Doug and I need to discuss. I know the answer will ultimately have something to do with this magic word: moderation. I'm just not sure yet of the specifics. I do think that the absence of cable in our house will help mitigate the problem of TV addiction and marketing overload. I do know that I want Harrison to spend a lot of time at the library and to play outside and work on art projects like I did growing up. I'm just not sure how TV fits into that equation.

And I haven't even yet begun to think about video games…

Destructo!

My friend Gordon over at machaggis has kindly put up my first feeble attempt at digital movie making: Destructo. You can see it by clicking here.

I also showed it at Sundance last weekend and the reviews are in:

"No stars. Did Ms. Hooper tape this on beta from a broadcast of America's Funniest Home Videos?"

"What's next, footage of Harrison trying to hit a baseball and accidentally whacking his Dad's crotch?"

Stay tuned for "Destructo II: The Reckoning" where you can see our hero get put in time out as punishment, set to Mozart's Requiem.

Image: Lazy Blog

Speaking of Cookie Monster

Yesterday after dinner (during which Harrison actually repeatedly said "mmmmmmmmm" while eating steamed broccoli and proceeded to ask for "muh" [more] of said broccoli. twice.) we gave him half of a rocky road cookie. He nibbled at the cookie for a few minutes and then noticed we were clearing the table. Then he shoved about 5 bites worth of cookie into his mouth at once, threw his hands up, then garbled through a mouthful of chocolate, nut, and marshmallow mush, "Ah nah!" [All done!]

Then he pointed at the pack of cookies.

"Muh?"

The kid is getting smart.

Image: One year ago

I haven't been taking many photos, so here's one of my favorites from about a year ago.

I vant to suck your blood

When I was a kid, I had the Sesame Street Brownstone playset that came with all the Sesame Street character Little People. I loved that thing, and I want to play with it again now that I have Harrison, but my parents gave it away, and yes, I'm bitter, and yes, I looked on ebay and there's one there with a starting bid of $8.99, which is a great deal, but it doesn't come with the people. If you want the people another seller has them starting at $35. That lot includes 1 Oscar, 1 Susan, 1 Ernie, and 1 Gordon "All are in very good condition!!", which is great, but also includes 2 Mr Hoopers and 2 Big Birds, which is disturbing, because who wants two Mr. Hoopers and two Big Birds but no Grover, Bert, Cookie Monster, or Count? Especially for $35. And even though I've been obsessing about the loss of my brownstone and little people, I just can't justify spending that much money to satisfy my nostalgia. Grrr.....

Harrison is starting to get into Sesame Street. He says "Eh-nee!" whenever he sees Ernie (and Big Bird-?) and "Meh-mo!" whenever he sees Elmo. He likes to sing and dance when we sing the Elmo theme and the Journey to Ernie song and then says "MUH!" [I demand MORE singing, slaves!] when we're done.

When I was a kid I was terrified of the Count von Count. I made my Dad hang on to him and keep him in his dresser so that I wouldn't have to play with him unsupervised. Sometimes I would ask my Dad to take The Count out for me to look at, but we were never alone. I was also afraid of Cookie Monster. The Cookie Monster Little Person was okay, but I had a stuffed Cookie Monster that had this gaping open mouth, presumably with which to gobble up mass amounts of cookies and small children. I had my Gram sew Cookie's mouth closed. Then he was alright.

Harrison's not such a wuss. He's obsessed with Count von Count. This week he learned how to laugh like the Count--- "Ah ah ah ah!" with a Transylvanian accent. We can't read the Sesame Street book because we must go directly to the picture of the Count and laugh "Ah ah ah ah!"

Monday, right after this Count obsession started, I left Harrison's room after putting him down for the night and was telling Doug about his Count-laughing shenanigans and as I was talking, turning on the baby monitor and we hear "AH AH AH AH!"

He was laying in the dark, by himself. Laughing. like. The. Count.

Bathtime with Little Harrison

Tuesday we're giving Harrison his bath and, as usual, he's standing up and spending a bit of time playing with Little Harrison and giggling. After about a minute or so of this, he decides he's going to try and take a look at Little Harrison, so he peers down, but he can't see past The Belly, because The Belly is so large it looks like its gestating an eight-month old human fetus. So he decides he's going to bend over and get a better view, only he's standing in about 6 inches of bathwater, so his head goes underwater and when he stands back up he's drenched down to the top of his eyebrows, which is probably as far as he was willing to stick his head underwater in order to investigate.

Oh, how Doug and I laughed.