Best friends fall photo shoot

Last week. Even when they are driving each other crazy they refuse to be parted. Even when Mo insists that Sukey IS a pony. They are always always so in love.  That last picture cracks me up.

Making freezer waffles

One of our cooking projects with Mo was waffles. While I pre-measured the ingredients and lined everything up on the counter, Robb rounded up our little chef.



First, we all washed our hands and donned our aprons. I think the donning of aprons is Mo's favorite part of cooking. Robb wore a Valentine apron made by Great Aunt Sissy, Mo wore a green checked apron that was made for me as a child by Barbara Streaker (my namesake), and I wore a white and pink apron made by Theresa.



Sukey could feel the excitement buzzing in the kitchen and came to see what was going on.



Up on the step stool, Mo's first task was to mix the dry ingredients together in the big bowl. At first she was tentative, but then she gained confidence and enthusiasm.



Robb tried to deflect everything that was flying out of the bowl. But you know what they say: you can't make a dozen waffles without spilling a cup of flour...



Mo was really concentrating.



Then we added the wet ingredients. Robb assisted with the mixing.



The batter looked good. So just when Mo's attention was fading, Robb got her cleaned up, and I took over cooking the waffles.



Fast forward a bit, and we have a bag of Mo-made waffles ready for the freezer.



And the next morning I warmed them up in the toaster, and Mo enjoyed a breakfast that she made herself!

Lenten list

1. Only on days I wear khaki pants my black dog twines around my legs like a cat. This morning was a double dose as I also had a white shirt on. The shirt I managed to salvage with some masking tape. But the pants went into the hamper. It looked like I rolled around in the vacuum canister.

2. "Uppidah!" I don't want to forget this current Mo-ism. Although she knows and uses the words "up" and "down," uppidah is her aloha of directional instructions. It means "pick me up," "put me down," "lift me up and over," "move that obstacle out of my way," and "help me climb up and/or down."

3. I used the words el cheapo to describe something when I was talking to my artist friend Juan who is from Honduras. This was about five years ago, and it's still intermittently on my mind. He asked if I had some expensive piece of art equipment, and I replied no, that I use an el cheapo version. Then I paused and asked, "That's not real Spanish?" He laughed and shook his head. But upon reflection it strikes me as racist to imply that goods produced in Spanish-speaking countries are low quality or inferior. If I'm uncomfortable using a phrase in speaking to Juan, I probably shouldn't use it at all, right?

4. Two current projects are underway for the duration of Lent (and hopefully beyond). First, I am going to update my family history blog at least once a week. I have posted twice there so far. Second, I am going to have Mo assist me in the kitchen at least once a week. I think of this goal as "Cooking with Sasquatch." Although I'm not sure if she's the sasquatch or if I am. We made mini-pizzas this week. Hilarity ensued. I got pictures.

5. My friends are attending a workshop seminar thing about potty training in two weeks, and they are encouraging me to go with them. I'm not going. We've been working on it since October, and I feel comfortable with the progress and our methods. It's a war of attrition that I will win because I have greater resources and infinite patience. We introduced a bribe into the mix: when Mo successfully uses the potty, she gets an M&M as a reward. She will do just about anything for "emmy-emms." End of seminar. [Edited to add: after a grumpy day (on my part) and very little success on the pot (on Mo's part) I might be reconsidering my stance here. Not feeling like such a winner right now.]

Bleh

The past 12 months have been hard. Like really hard. There have been disappointments and illnesses and deaths and setbacks and financial messes and so much teething. It's been so crappy even the dog got cancer. And every time I sit down to write a blog update all I can think to write is: poop! This week I was advised that a whole new can of bleh is going to open up on me in the next month. Seriously? It's like getting surprised at milepost 23 with news that the rest of the marathon will be uphill. If banging my head on this desk would make things better, then I'd be golden. As it is I'm not sure what we're going to do next in life. But I do know what I'm going to do next in blog, and that is post some recent photos of Mo. I took these Monday night right before my old camera bit the dust. RIP Olympus FE-230. You served us well, old friend.

Just my luck

I've never been so happy to see Friday the 13th in all my life. Yesterday was my 34th birthday, and it started with a clingy feverish toddler, a reaction to Wednesday's vaccines. Then Sukey twisted her front left leg on the morning walk. We were really busy at work that evening, and I didn't get out until late. As I was driving home I decided to stop for a yellow light instead of gunning it. I applied pressure to the brake, began slowing, and suddenly the pedal dropped straight to the floorboards. I sailed through the intersection as yellow turned to red. Robb had to wake Mo up to put her in the car to come rescue me. Truly a birthday for the record books: sick kid, limping dog, long shift, brake failure. Seriously, far as brake failure is concerned I was REALLY lucky that it happened when and where it did. And not when the light was already red (and thus launching me into the path of cars crossing the intersection) or in heavy traffic or on the Bay Bridge... It could have been so much worse. It makes me anxious thinking about it, so I'm changing the subject. Who wants to see some recent baby pictures????








I have another busy day at the office tomorrow, while Robb takes Mo to her first swimming lesson. She's going to love it. I'm off to bed now. But I'll leave with a celebratory birthday poem in hopes that my lackluster birthday does not presage a year of doom and gloom.

"Proclamation at a Birth"
by Linda Pastan

Let every tree
burst into blossom
whatever the season.
Let the snow melt
mild as milk
and the new rain wash
the gutters clean
of last year's
prophecies.
Let the guns sweep out
their chambers
and the criminals doze
dreaming themselves
back to infancy.
Let the sailors throw
their crisp white caps
as high as they can
which like so many doves
will return to the ark
with lilacs.
Let the frogs turn
into princes,
the princes to frogs.
Let the madrigals,
let the musical croakings
begin.

Test fit gone wild

Maureen tried on the Simple Dress today. I wish I could tell you that these were the outtakes from the photo shoot. We don't usually interrupt play time with a fashion show, so the novelty factor was high. She pounced on the pile of discarded clothing. This was my favorite picture because of the little piggies peeking out --



But the test fit revealed that the dress is too long, and the neckline is kind of snug in the front.



So it's back to the drawing board cutting mat.

Like I was saying...

...Angie spent her precious vacation this year at our house.

(What on earth was she thinking??! We're so boring. I'm constantly rattling on about boobs and poop, while Robb is 24-7 obsessed with building his model skipjack. And then there's the screaming baby.)

But she did it. She braved the airline with the flip-top planes and made her way to our wilderness outpost in Southern Maryland for two whole weeks. And we are so glad that she did!



Sukey told me that Angie sleeps altogether too late in the morning. She wanted wake Angie up to tell her herself, but I told her that was rude. Instead Sukey decided to sit outside Angie's door and cry. So I had to put a gate across the hallway and make her sit a respectful distance from our sleeping guest. Every. Single. Morning.



Mo loves her Auntie and had lots of fun playing with her. The baby, as usual, limited our outings somewhat. But we still managed to go to Mom's house for a weekend, go walking around Solomons and Annmarie Garden, visit the Calvert Marine Museum, and explore St. Mary's City. Poor Ange, she thought St. Mary's City was going to be an actual city, maybe a shopping district, and not the place I went to on my fourth grade field trip. The look of confusion on her face as we drove up to the historic site... And we made her eat mayonnaise. At least once a day.



Much of Angie's visit looked like this: frantic knitting. What do you expect when two artsy crafty type girls get together? Spontaneous knitalong! We both got all amped up after spending a day at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival with Mom and Aunt Bunny. (I forgot to take my camera to both the festival AND Colin's 1st birthday party--still kicking myself about this.) Neither of us got too crazy with purchases at the festival. I bought yarn in one of the sheep barns from a farmer. He and his wife raise border leicester sheep. At first it was very exciting to be surrounding by so many delicious options, but after a while it's a tad overwhelming. Complete sensory overload! And I know that after the first few barns Mom--not a knitter--had seen enough yarn to last her a lifetime. We all took a break from shopping, ate lunch, and watched the herding demonstrations. I love to see border collies shoot out around the sheep like furry missiles. Aunt Bunny bought me the Elizabeth Zimmerman book I've been lusting after. Sweet! That was on Mother's Day. Robb graciously offered babysit so we could take our time at the festival. What a nice Mother's Day present!





Angie and I each made shortie versions of Das Monster. Hers is green and orange; mine is purple and gold. By the way, Ange, remember when the farmer told me the purple yarn said it gets way softer when you wash it? I think he fibbed. I hand washed both pairs of shorts. Yours came out buttery soft, as did the yellowish-orange stripes on mine. But the purple parts still feel like a burlap sack. Should I wash them again and perhaps again after that? I'm not thrilled with the prospect of Mo's tushie being clad in steel wool.



Angie brought Mo a bonnet and a doll from Pennsylvania Dutch country. I embroidered a face on the doll (the Amish make them faceless to ward off vanity). Mo was much happier wearing the bonnet than she was with the crown. Although her general ambivalence toward headwear remains.



Queen Maureen does not approve. Off with your head!



Mainly Angie's visit provided us all with an opportunity to get to know one another better. (This is probably an issue familiar to anyone in a blended family. Or anyone with large age gaps between the children in their family. We've got blending and age gaps going on. Which means that I get along well with my siblings and have a lot in common with them, but I did not share my childhood with them. So I grew up as an only child in one family AND I am the oldest of four in a completely different family. Make sense?) It was an excellent visit. After she flew home I looked around the suddenly too-quiet house and said to Robb, "I miss Angie." -- "Me, too."

Also, she taught me how to crochet and how to bind a quilt. Awesome! I finished the quilt and will be posting photos soon.

Oh and why didn't you tell me that your toothbrush was in that box you asked me to mail home for you? I went to slip a little note in before mailing (weeks after your trip in my usual prompt style) and saw your toothbrush inside. Tell me you bought another toothbrush by now!

The love affair begins

We knew that Sukey loves licking the baby. Especially right after Maureen has had a bath. Like Sukey feels duty bound to re-stinkify the clean child.





But now Sukey wants to snuggle with Mo, and Mo doesn't seem to mind. They slept like this for maybe an hour.



And the next morning Sukey headbutted Mo's door open so she could nap next to her crib. The budding of a beautiful puppers-and-her-little-girl relationship.

More things I did not know 2 weeks ago

5. Burping baby can give you a fat lip, if your baby, like ours, interprets burping as a cruel trick to cheat her out of more milk and insists upon doing pushups off of your chest during the burping while swinging her head straight at your face like a wrecking ball. I've taken to calling her The Fighting Forehead. (When was the last time you watched The Commitments?)

6. Our dog is the size of a Clydesdale. Comparatively speaking.

7. When Maureen was born we heard Dr. A say that the umbilical cord was wrapped loosely around her neck. So she had good reason to be--and stay--breech. What a smart baby!

8. For a while I was on the fence about breastfeeding, especially after I read that your boobs can get up to three times larger once your milk comes in. I was all, "Holy crap, if that happens I'll have to join the circus!" My friend Tina assured me that what I read was bologna, and that my boobs would be the same size they were at the time of delivery. What I did not know 2 weeks ago is that Tina is a liar.

Bringing home baby

It's been such a busy week, what with all the eating, sleeping, and pooping. But I finally found a moment to organize and post photos of our new little one. Enjoy!





It's a girl!



This picture was taken a week ago, and it's shocking to me how different Maureen looks already.



She still has this full head of strawberry-blondish hair, though. The grandmas assure us that Robb and I both had this hair color when we were small. Who knew?













Dear Jessie's parents,
Get ideas.
Love,
Barb



We found a responsible babysitter who will work for cookies. More baby photos are here.