First day of winter and it's 70 degrees here

In no particular order:

The Rainbow Loom is not the season's hottest gift; marketers at craft retailers are trying to trick you. [I stand corrected.] Children really like stickers and chap stick and glitter.

The motherboard in our desktop decided to retire for a long winter's nap. Sad face exclamation mark. As it was home to the downloaded music, the mix cds will all have to wait until we've moved the hard drive into a new host.

Robb was in the right place at the right time this morning. He found an extension ladder at a yard sale for $25. /Score! It looks like our gutters might get cleaned before the new year after all.

We've had a problem with aggressive teens using our side yard as a short cut into the neighborhood behind our house. They stole some things from Robb's truck. And dropped an f-bomb on him one day when he caught a dozen of them walking casually around our house. While he was holding Mo. Not cool. Robb said, "Excuse me? And the kid said, "You heard me, OLD MAN, f*ck you." Grr. That was a couple months ago. Today I saw two of them carrying skateboards cut around the truck, so I said, "What are you doing in my yard?" They looked at each other and laughed, so I shouted, "HEY A**HOLES!" out the front window. They continued on their merry way, a little faster but undeterred. I forgot to shake my fist. Next time...

I was feeling pretty festive and generous of spirit until then. Hmmpf.

Mo is a terrible eater right now. She demands processed meat (bacon, pepperoni, sausage) and uncooked noodles (spaghetti, ramen) all the time. How do you get through these phases of lousy toddler eating habits?

Robb's giant kidney stone will live to fight another day. It was so fearsome that the lithotripter broke on Thursday. We'll try it again in January.

I wore flip flops to walk the dog just now. Happy first day of winter!

A few things

1. Today I found out a friend is divorcing, divorced, and it made me cry for his sake, for her sake, and for their children.



2. These images are from around the web. Abstract expressionist painter Elaine de Kooning made a series of Bacchus paintings in the late 1970s and early 1980s. When I say "series" I mean more than 100 paintings. I am finding them very inspiring lately, especially the one in the top left corner. Elaine's inspiration for the paintings was Jules Dalou's sculpture "The Triumph of Silenus" created in 1885 and located in Paris. I don't care much for the statue with its leering nudist Santa.

3. Home ownership is throwing up some speed bumps for us lately: ants, plumbing, lawn mower, air conditioning. I am hauling 5 gallon buckets from the back yard to the front to keep the new shrubs watered in.

4. The 17 year cicadas should not be here since we saw them last in 2004. But here they are. Sukey was happily gobbling them up this morning, tail wagging and nose to the ground. Nature's buffet. One made me drop my camera in the driveway this morning.

5. Mo's still napping, so I'm going to go paint now.

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!

The move

O snail
Climb Mount Fuji,
But slowly, slowly!
(Kobayashi Issa) 

The unpacking and settling in is going. Slowly. Each day there are fewer piles of boxes, so that is tangible progress. The new house is shockingly bright compared to the Fig Point rental. I knew the old place was a little gloomy and cavernous, but it was a peripheral knowledge. The light here is astonishing and conspicuous, wonderful. It looks the way our family feels. Or it looks the way I want our family to feel. Cheerful, expansive, optimistic, open, neat. Tomorrow I finish cleaning at Fig Point and turn in the keys. Then our full attention can be here. Putting things in order. Editing. It feels really nice to finally be home.

Moving day!

We're moving into our new house today. I'll post some pics when I find the camera cable again. It's exciting and a little overwhelming all at the same time.

Please please please let me get what I want

Earlier this year I wrote about doing yard work at the rental house, that I wanted to leave it nicer than we found it, that I wanted us to be out by the end of the year but didn't have a concrete plan. Well, the wheels are now in motion, and, while we won't make it out by the end of the year, we will come pretty darn close.

Part one: We are selling the old abandoned apartment. That part feels like the snuffing of a dream. As long as we still had the old abandoned apartment there could exist a remote glimmer of hope of living in Ocean City again. It was a fantasy. An expensive fantasy. We've been living backwards owning a place we don't live in and renting the place we do live in. It could not go on forever. With my cousin and his wife as the buyers it's not as much like lemon juice in the eye as it could be. It's staying in the family--I think that makes it easier on my mom, too. It's just the end of a chapter, not the closing of a book. We can go back for a visit. We can stay there again sometime for a vacation. All mitigating circumstances considered I'll probably blubber at the settlement table anyway.

Part two: Our landlord is selling the rental house, the house I call Fig Point. Although it needs a lot, A LOT of work, Robb and I kept revisiting the idea of taking on the challenges and expense and making it officially our home. What's the worst she can say--no--right? We made our landlord an offer factoring in four years of rental and all the repairs. She liked our number. Yay! And said she would have to get her lender to approve the short sale. Boo! Our landlord has zero equity in the house. And no matter what sales price she likes, the decision to accept or reject an offer is out of her hands once her bank is involved. The bank won't be sentimental about our time here or consider all the rent money we've thrown away. The bank will lowball the cost of repairs to minimize their losses. Very disappointing. Our landlord's realtor comes this afternoon to take photographs and put a lock box on the front door just in time for Christmas. This part to me feels like the end of the world. So the Mayans were right after all.

Part three: We are buying a house nearby. We should be fully moved by the end of January. It has a detached two car garage for Robb's workshop. It has a fenced yard for Mo and Sukey to play in. It has a fourth bedroom for my studio. It has two closets in the master bedroom which will breed domestic tranquility. It has a terrible kitchen but not worse than the Fig Point kitchen, but we can fix it in a few years. It has several of Mo's tot friends right around the corner. And without the expenses of the old abandoned apartment, without our rent, and without a car payment, it has a lot less financial stress. It has vacations without me having panic attacks about money. This part feels like the sun breaking through clouds after a hurricane. Now we'll have to think of something to call our new home. We'll have to plant a fig tree. We'll have to paint the deck and hang curtains and gather our family and friends around the fireplace. I can't wait!

(*Post title refers to, of course, The Smiths.)

Pumpkins

Blogging with one hand. Baby thrashing in other. Momo decorated pumpkin with stickers at playdate on Tues. Mom helped. Frankenstein. Stickers for littles is brilliant.





I was inspired to come home and paint faces on the ones we got at Bowles Farm. Robb doesn't like happy jack-o-lanterns but admits these turned out cute. :)

Father's Day

Before Maureen was born, I gave Robb a strict set of marching instructions. Once the baby was out he was to stay with the baby. I said it like this: STAY WITH THE BABY. Under no circumstances was he to let the baby out of his sight. I would be fine. There would be medical professionals looking after me. So as the nurses whisked our newborn to the warming station to get her clean and dry, Robb followed and stood silently in awe watching the proceedings. The screen was still up in front of me, so I could not see the baby yet. But I could hear her crying. I pulled my oxygen mask aside and asked the anesthesiologist to tell Robb to talk to Maureen. She relayed the message for me.

"What should I say?"

"Tell her you love her," said Dr. Smith.

"Of course I love her!"

But from the moment Robb started speaking, Maureen stopped crying. She recognized her Dad's voice. He was the first person she recognized in this world.



Witnessing Robb becoming a father and watching him in action as a dad has really been a joy to me. This guy is completely smitten. Look at him. He is in deep smit with his little girl.











Happy First Father's Day, Robb!

Getting my land legs back

I've been cooking. Last week we had meatloaf and cornbread, then soy-citrus marinated chicken over spinach with banana bread for dessert. Tonight it's fajitas, and we have some lemon bread left from last night. Again and again I turn to the BH&G Cook Book. I may be only a passable cook, but I'm a damned good baker. And Robb is a damned good father, deserving of warm baked goods.



It's good to cook again. I haven't cooked much since last May when I found out I was pregnant. Between the nausea, my wackadoo thyroid levels, and slight anemia, I didn't feel like doing much of anything. For a year. And the less I did the worse I felt. I was coming off of 2009 which might have been the most creative, most productive year of my entire life. I spent that whole year canning and sewing and painting and knitting and researching like a maniac. Then boom: a fetus ate my homework. I tried to explain this to Mom. "I just didn't feel like cooking last year. Know what I mean?"

"No."



Explaining hormone-induced ennui to my mother is like explaining the purpose of speed bumps to a jackrabbit: it's simply not in her nature to have periods of inactivity or to become disinterested in her surroundings. But that's a good trait to have inherited. Aside from pregnancy, I could count on one hand the number of times I've ever been bored. Life is immensely entertaining. Especially now.

Happy quilts

The best thing about having crafty family and friends is receiving gorgeous handmade blankets. The worst thing about having crafty family and friends is the pressure of receiving gorgeous handmade blankets. Look at all of them lined up, waiting to be put into the game. Maureen has several more blankets, handmade and store bought, beyond those pictured here. At that moment I took the photo one was wrapped around baby, one was in the laundry, one was acting as a seat cushion in the rocking chair, and one was draped over the end of the crib.



My friend Julie made this quilt for Maureen. My first impulse was to sew loops on the back so we could hang it on the wall. I mean, there's a lot of white fabric there, and that girl is very likely to pee, poop, vomit, and/or spill juice on it. But upon reflection that is exactly what is supposed to happen. I can't imagine a sadder fate for a handmade quilt than being designated as a strictly decorative item. This quilt was made with love--for use.



Have you ever seen such a happy quilt?



The solution was this. Robb installed a decorative curtain rod high on the wall above the crib. This way we can display a quilt temporarily and add a splash of color to an otherwise empty wall. But we can easily change the display quilt to give Maureen something different to look at and give the quilt a chance to see some action. Oh, wait...



...that's better. Sorry bumpers, it's back into the closet for you. We debated whether removing them was strictly necessary. Then during tummy time we watched our little angel roll herself onto her back. Twice. Clearly an accident, but enough to convince us that the bumpers need to go away until she can roll over for reals. Safety first, kids.

A quick tour

I'm writing today from the Fortress of Solitude, otherwise known as Southern Maryland, where I am all alone. Except for Robb and Sukey and little baby-kicks-a-lot and our neighbors who had us over for Wii bowling and pizza last night and my coworkers and friends. Aside from that crowd, though, I'm completely alone. Truly most of our family and loved ones are somewhere else, and we consider ourselves lucky to get them down to our wilderness outpost once a year.

In addition I've hit this weird pregnancy travel barrier. Every time I'm cooped up in a car for over an hour, I get very twitchy and start making a low keening noise that grows and grows like a husky dog waking up from anesthesia, until ultimately I am howling and my left ankle has blown up to four times its normal size and the baby doggedly attempts to climb into my chest cavity. When I finally get out of the car, I feel achy and cranky.  (I almost typed "achy and breaky.") And let me tell you: I am a real joy to be around at that point. Just ask Robb.

Since I'm not traveling anywhere again until Christmas, and you're unlikely to visit our house until after the baby is on the outside of my body, and the baby's room will never been this clean and organized once that happens, it seems like a good time for a virtual tour. Welcome to the nursery. (Click on the panorama below for a closer look around.)



Actually I rarely use the word "nursery" in reference to the baby's room. I spent ten adolescent summers working at plant nurseries, and I can't quite bring myself to think of the baby's room as a place for wet sneakers and sweat and the fetid reek of decomposition. Perhaps a few dirty diapers will help me see how they are analogous.



For our impending offspring we chose the smallest of the bedrooms, which was previously the room in which I painted and sewed and got my craft on. All of that stuff has been relocated to the underused second living room, where it now looks at me with stern disapproval every time I walk by and pretend not to notice the mess. Robb has less luck pretending not to notice the mess. He even went so far as to trip over a painting and cut his shin open on the corner of the frame just to illustrate how patient and long-suffering he truly is. Photos of the new craft room in disarray will be included as attachments to his application for sainthood.



For the moment we have the Congratulations banner from my baby shower slung across the windows. We intend to replace it with honest to goodness curtains. In fact I ordered a cute set of green ones, but apparently 42" times two panels does not equal 100". I didn't happen to notice this until I was standing on a chair holding up a curtain panel thinking, "This looks a skosh narrow." Foiled by math once again!



No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is Billy Bass in the corner right next to baby's first fishing pole. We want to introduce the child to taxidermied animals as early as possible since their petrified bodies are hanging dustily all over our house. Unfortunately this is the only one that sings "Don't Worry Be Happy."



I have been playing dress up, making little unisex outfits to go with baby's growing collection of sweaters and knitted vests. I picked up Easy Baby Knits by Claire Montgomerie on Wednesday and am psyched about getting into it. Although word around Ravelry has it that the patterns run a little large and that it pays to check out the authors blog for errata. Makes me so appreciative of knit designers like Cosy who use real live test knitters for all their patterns and then proofread them like the dickens. Sounds like just plain common sense, right? But you'd be surprised how many knitting patterns hit the street with nary a test, written by people with poorer math skills than me.



All of the dresser drawers are filled to the gills with receiving blankets and diapers and 0-3 months clothing.



So I hung all of the larger sizes in the closet. Robb just shook his head, exclaiming that his unborn child has a larger wardrobe than him. In all the angst he somehow missed the fact that I have arranged the child's clothing by size and then by color. If I have already rainbowed our bookshelves and my own closet, why should the kid have it any other way?