Curious Goons

Rob's sister, Schelly, got Olive a Curious George anthology and stuffed animal for Christmas. His chosen career path as a zookeeper brought with it another blessing: not only do we get to visit the zoo often and touch apes and mind-blowing things like that, but people seem to make different choices when shopping for gifts for our daughter; animal themes abound, and folks explain their selections with things like, Well, we thought of Rob because of the birds or the apes or what have you. Pretty great. Perhaps I do have him to thank for the lack of Polly Pocket/Betsy Wetsy-types of toys geared toward little girls, but maybe it's me. Most who know me know that I abhorred, from an early age, all things doll, and assume that I'm steering away from them with my own daughter. Well, rest assured, all of you who are horrified that I would deny my princess all things frilly, frothy, fluffy, and pink. I recognize that most girls do go through a babydoll or - heaven forbid - Barbie stage, so, while I'm not going to push this, I am willing to indulge her should she show the interest. In the meantime, however, she's perfectly content with a multi-faced Hansel and Gretel cloth book-doll sort of thing that was mine when I was a child. I like to be able to tell my grandmother that I do have a doll for her after she chided me for not letting her have one. Dotting my "i"s and crossing my "t"s, you know?

As I was saying, Schelly is awesome, and a superb gift-giver, to boot. Her Curious George set was met with much enthusiasm from the Goon, who has George confused with a cat, and she excitedly points to him in the pages of the book and utters her staccato "Caaah-t!"

Yinz Have a Happy New Year's Eve!

I spent this morning and early afternoon working at the bustling Pittsburgh Public Market, which is always a good time. People were scrambling to gather odds and ends for their festivities this evening, so business was booming. I even sold a bottle of California Novello, our limited edition first-press-of-the-season olive oil to Hall of Famer Franco Harris. Very big deal. We were tipped off about his appearance at the market (some of his former Steelers cohorts, JT Thomas and Robin Cole run a cheesecake business, Unforgettable Sweets, just 'round the corner from Cosi e Ferrari). Emily and I, unlike most other Pittsburgh residents, are not raving sports junkies, so this meant nothing to us, but I could safely assume that he'd played for the Steelers at some point or other, and called up my in-house football aficionado to get the straight dope. Turns out Harris was - and still is - hot stuff. Rookie of the Year in 1972, his first year with the Steelers. He came to our booth with a jonesing for olive oil (he's Italian, after all) and, after humoring the throngs of adoring devotees, all slack-jawed and goo-goo-eyed, with gracious handshakes, took my recommendation for what oil he should purchase. I didn't have my camera handy, though Emily snapped a few shots on her phone. I like to save my celebrity photo ops for Alaskan former political figures or bald-headed Athens, Georgia-based band frontmen, if you get my drift.

I emerged from all of the excitement to a balmy, sunny afternoon. I kid you not - it must've been 60 degrees outside - so I put in another call to Rob and told him to hold off on putting Olive down for her afternoon until we'd gone for a stroll. He hadn't yet been outside and was under the impression that it was freezing outside (he'd been holed up in the kitchen for much of the day cramming his brain chock full of George Washington factoids. Why, you ask? Our project for 2011 is to educate ourselves about each and every one of our forty-four presidents. Knowing only nominal bits about the leaders of our country is unacceptable to us, so we're committing ourselves to this course of study for the next few months, or however long it takes). So when I got home, I strapped Goonie to my back and the three of us set off on foot for the zoo with Rob regaling me with an earful of fascinating information about The Father of Our Country. Man, what a rad guy that GW was! He not only shares a birthday with Goonie (February 22nd), stood a towering 6'2", genteel as you please, spent some time in Barbados with his TB-stricken brother and caught the smallpox, and was just an all-'round classy guy. Way cool. Presidents today really ought to take a lesson from him; this country really could use a refresher course on etiquette, don't you think?

Oh, and the zoo! It'd been a few weeks since the Goon and I had been there, and though it was like a spring day, the gorillas weren't convinced and were still cooped up in their indoor enclosure. Too bad for them. We went downstairs to their off-exhibit enclosure where a few of them were laying low. Most of them were thrilled to see Rob and Zakula, who adores him, scooted her rear end up to the bars, offering herself to be scratched. Funny old lady, that one. Lead silverback, Mrithi, was excited to see us, but only because he was hoping to get treats. Rob treated him to his paper cup.

Aside from a grocery outing wherein we closed down Whole Foods, much to the chagrin of our visibly impatient cashier (I was hard up for ma steel-cut oats and popcorn; you do what you have to do), that was our action for the day. As much as we'd like to drop off Olive at my sister's house so I could don a sequined mini-dress, platform heels, and garish eye makeup to parade around Pittsburgh looking like a drag queen like everyone else on this holiday-turned-iniquitous boozefest, I think I'll pass the hat this year and raise a non-alcoholic toast to our first Commander-in-Chief and ask myself, What would George do? Upon further research, I've gleaned that he would drink whiskey - albeit in moderation - so I think I'll pass. Popcorn and organic blueberry tea for all!

Have a safe and happy New Year n'at!

Never Wake a Sleeping Goon

This has become my motto as of late. While I could've waited until Saturday to post this, as it will (fingers crossed!) mark the two-week milestone of Olive sleeping through the night, I'm choosing to share my joy today. Why not? I mean, it's a pretty significant triumph that we were able to shove off on a breakneck two-states-in-four-nights Christmas spree that left her healthy sleep progress blessedly unscathed. I was prepared to have to start back at Square One the night we returned...not so!

This was all the Christmas gift I could want. She is doing great, if not growing a mite too quickly. She once again managed to dodge the sickness that clung to cousin Iris like grim death. I've got to hand it to that one, though - with her already-tiny nostrils completely clogged, her breath so ragged it calls to mind the bleating of a young lamb, and her reddened face drenched with fluids from every facial orifice, she remains one of the most pleasant and sweet-faced babes I've ever seen. Just saying her name causes an enormous wide-mouthed grin to spread across her face. Sweetiedollll. Olive loves her younger cousin. Thank goodness we'll be in Pittsburgh for the foreseeable future and those two can become thick as thieves.

As much as I dislike flash photography, I'm having to resort to it for some shots, as I'm not able to get a clear enough image with the dim lighting in our apartment. Sometimes you have to pay the price for crisp edges. Folks, I give you the Goon modeling, quite fashionably, an Alaskan-made fleece-and-feathers number, a gift from Grandma Cramer.

Christmas Tour 2010

This week has been action-packed, to say the least. On Christmas Eve we were on the road by 7:45 and arrived at my parents' house in Mt. Airy a little after 11. We went to church earlier than usual to accommodate Olive's bedtime, though we did keep her up a little later than we had been lately, pushing it back to 8:30 so we could spend a little more time at the Garnands', the parents of my oldest friend, Natalie, like I do every Christmas Eve. Olive adored Jackson, Natalie's 2 1/2 year-old son, who endured her mauling, hair-pulling, and head-butting with admirable patience and good humor (Another potential son-in-law? I reckon so!)

Look at that dear, dear boy!

Natalie and the Goon

Christmas Day was relaxing as usual, spent breakfasting, opening and enjoying and watching others enjoy gifts, and dining some more. A fun addition to the normal activities this year was the henna kit that Kellie got for Zoe. We began preparing the mixture the evening before, blending the henna powder with brewed black tea, to let the dyes activate. The next morning I gave her this owl tattoo:

Goonie getting in for a better look

and when there was some left over I did one on myself just for kicks.

Never in a million years would I plaster myself with a real tattoo, but henna is fun stuff, and the traditional Indian designs are gorgeous. I think I had as much fun applying it as Zoe did getting the design on her arm. She's pretty pleased with it and it eager to show it off to her friends when she gets back to Maine tomorrow. Kellie wins the prize for sure for best gifts, what with Zoe's henna, some owl print pyjamas for the Goon, a super-soft fair isle sweater that I've been sporting for three days straight, and a set of four bowls from Anthropologie. Here are two of them (it's a set of two matching pairs). My sis really knows how to do it (and Rob's life has been threatened if he breaks one. Kidding).

After our mendhi frenzy, we caravanned down to North Carolina - our family, Kellie's, and my parents and brothers, Roma and Taylor. To avoid the mayhem that is 95 in a snowstorm, we took the scenic back route down to my grandmother's house. We had a bit of difficulty due to faulty Google directions, but made it in the seven hours expected. With so many people at my grandmother Honey's house (seventeen of us), my Aunt Weegie and Uncle Don graciously put up the Cramers in their lovely house so, though we had to depart from the rest of the family early each night to get Olive to bed, we had very comfortable accommodations. Yesterday morning, after a southern breakfast at Honey's favorite joint, the Western Steakhouse, the four of us turned around to head back to Pittsburgh, a hilly and windy sojourn through the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia. This allowed us one more day to spend in Pittsburgh before sending Zoe back to Maine, so we took a trip to the Carnegie Science Center. It was pretty fascinating, even for me, but Zoe was really impressed by the things that she saw there. She even got to be a volunteer in a liquid nitrogen demonstration and sampled a marshmallow that had been dunked in a bowl of the stuff. Pretty cool. I think it's safe to say that, while we're nawt heh belowvahd Mainahs (translation: not her beloved Mainers), she had a pretty good time while she was here, and even picked up a little Picksburghese in the process. Atta girl! We'll miss her for the next six months, but are already planning things to do while she's here for the summer.

AAAAAHHH!!!!!

Welp, we're not going to Maryland tonight, after all. I'm eating my 90 cent Family Dollar linguine, checking off items on my List of Things to Not Forget to Bring to Maryland, and Rob and Zoe have gone to Games N'At, a South Side arcade painted the most horrific shade of purple with a bizarro Bart Simpson mural on the facade. Cla-ssy. As soon as Ben took us by there when we moved here, we knew it would be right up Zoe's alley, and she's been itching like mad to get there since she arrived. It'd been closed all week and this evening was her one opportunity to get her Ski-Ball on, so I said Maryland could wait till the morn to see our shining faces.

There's something that I've been wanting to share, but have been a little afraid to do so, for fear that I will jinx myself and the positively splendid sleep schedule that my daughter has adopted. In my last post I talked about Grant and our sweet visit with the Fiddys. Well, something must've happened to the Goon, because each and every night since then she has slept through the night, or at least for a solid eight hours. BEAUTIFUL! I've been practically bouncing off the walls with my newfound energy. Since it's been six nights in a row, I felt like tooting my gal's horn just a wee bit. Lord knows she deserves it! And I don't expect her to maintain this while we're away, so I'm basking in it while I can before it all comes crashing down and we have to rebuild once we return. Now that I've seen the fruits of our efforts, I'm so encouraged!

Yesterday she turned 10 months old. Alex, the youngest of the Khoreys, alerted me last night at 6:26, the exact time of her birth, to give props, dear boy. Those kids are all so sweet with her. Noah, the oldest, had three friends over last night to rehearse for a Battle of the Bands competition, and he all but ignored the other 13 year-olds in favor of doting on Goonface. Hard to blame him, though. Her eighth tooth is beginning to spring forth next to her two middle bottom teeth, making four on each story. She's eating her weight in solids now, it seems. When I got home from work this evening Rob and Zoe informed me that she had eaten a full pound of pureed fruits and vegetables, and a bunch of Cheerios. Last night she polished off all but two bites of a banana. That she'll soon be turning a year old is a difficult idea for me to process. What happened to this year? She is delightful, but I wish I could keep her at each of her different stages, because they've all been wonderful.

Ahhh, what did I ever do before I fell in love with a goon?

The Meeting that Deserved It

Last night the Fiddys - Sam, Howard, and Grant - came for dinner, and more importantly, to introduce our children. I will say this: I have never in my life seen a cuter pair with their round, bald heads (well, Olive's moving father and farther away from that with her soft, wispy strands filling in) and darling faces. Also, I can rest assured that this kid will be bright (they'll probably tell him he's "wicked smaht"!), talented, and, best of all, funny. Granted, people can change, but he's got a real boost coming from parents who are well-educated, aren't drug-addicts, and don't burn their garbage. A perfect match for our goon. We sat around and had dinner on the living room floor while Olive carefully and curiously poked, prodded, and stroked Grant's face. He was a great sport. Our fingers are all crossed that the little seed that was planted can flourish in about twenty years. Fine by me!

I really love this family!  If Sam is half the mother-in-law that she was a roommate, Olive has it made.

Have I Mentioned...

...how big a fan I am of EC? Yes, our gal's been doing it, pooing in the toilet. There are few things in life I love more than not having to clean a very soiled cloth diapers. I also suspect that this early relationship with the commode may promote early toilet training, though I could be totally wrong.

Our week is winding down rapidly, and soon it will be Christmas. I'm really looking most forward to Christmas Eve, though - quite possibly my favorite day of the year. I love the busyness of that day. Nine years ago, and nearly every December 24th since, I've spent helping last-minute shoppers (mostly bewildered men) select baubles and pretties for their loved ones at Amaryllis, the best little jewelry store there is. And even though I haven't officially been employed by those dear and lovely ladies, Allie and AnnMarie, since I moved to Maine over three years ago, they still let me come back to help out for old times' sake. Then I go to my parents' house, we eat dinner (I miss the years back in the early '00s when we'd get takeout from Hunan Gourmet in Frederick), then go to church, usually the service where my dad sings in the choir. When we get home, I go up to see my oldest friend, Natalie, at her parents' house in our old neighborhood for their annual Christmas Eve party. This year will be our twentieth Christmas together. Cool, huh? I love her.

Our plans for this week: working at the Khoreys until late tonight - 10 or 11 or so - working at Cosimano e Ferrari tomorrow morning, followed by a visit that deserves it: my college roommate of four years, Sam, her husband Howard, and their 3 month-old doll of a son, Grant, who I'll be meeting for the first time. He's our first pick for Olive. Saturday is more olive oiling and lots and lots of painting, Sunday we're having Rob's gorilla supervisor, Roseann, over for dinner (she doesn't eat meat or white flour, so the meal promises to be deelish) as a thank you for taking on Rob as an intern, then Zoe comes. We'll spend the next four days here in Pittsburgh amusing ourselves and showing Zoe around "the big city", before heading to Maryland late on the 23rd. It's going to be a good time, if not completely exhausting.

Here are some shots from this morning's activities. The goon has been stuffing her craw full of Cheerios to beat the band. Who can blame her, as I'm an oat gal myself.

Her new favorite toy this week: the paint roller. She can't get enough.

Making Our Nest

Whether or not we'll be in Pittsburgh much longer is still very much up in the air, but I figured, for the time being, What the hey? Why not paint the living room after all? The perfect opportunity found me last night when I dropped a baby food jar of turpentine all over my keyboard (the old iBook, not my still shiny and new MacBook, Bruce!). I quickly shut 'er down, removed the battery, and turned it upside-down to let gravity and oxygen work their magic. You see, I'd been working on this Winslow Homer copy for someone to give to their father as a Christmas gift; my reference image was on my desktop so I was painting with my laptop open. When disaster struck I was out of luck and couldn't copy from an image I couldn't see, so I took it as a sign that I should do a little home improvement. Zoe will be here in less than a week and I'd hate for her to think that we live in an urban hovel (though I doubt her taste in interior decor is on the too sophisticated side). Kellie had given me a few partial cans of paint - one a peachy pink and one sage - and I tested out the green on a smaller wall. Perfect. I slapped paint up on all but one of the walls, which I will probably cover tonight (unless, of course, I stumble upon some really killer vintage wallpaper. How I love an accent wall!). Now the room feels much more homey, though it's in desperate need of a lamp or two.

Much better, right? I should've included a before shot, too. Note the glow of the iBook on the drafting table. Still good!

You're probably wondering how Buggy's sleep has been improving. It hasn't. Granted, she's been taking longer naps, but those are only to make up for the hours a night she spends lowing. Last night was particularly awful. My original plan was to train her to sleep through the night before Ben arrived. When that failed I didn't lose heart; at least we had another visitor to anticipate and work towards a good sleeping goal. I figured December 19th gave us plenty of time to nail down good sleeping habits, but I'm dubious. While Rob understands and is supportive of letting her cry at night, Zoe is quite the opposite. She shoots me looks that could ice over Hades that can only say, You are a terrible, horrible mother. No one has known guilt until they've seen a look like this. It is the height of ocular punishment, so I need Olive to buckle down lest I be paid a visit by Child Protective Services.

Overworked and Underrested

Don't misunderstand the title; I am not (yet) at my wits' end. I'm just feeling especially tired right now, though the fruits of our "Extinction" method (versus "Gradual Extinction" where parents slowly eliminate their tending to a fussy baby at night or naptimes)- of getting Olive to sleep through the night are finally starting to show themselves. Since I'll be out of work for over a week during the holidays, I'm picking up extra hours wherever I can (including babysitting my sweetlings, Jack and Gail, this evening while Kellie, Mike, and wee Iris went to a church meeting). Aside from the fact that I'm beginning to feel like an absentee mother, all of this working wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have six paintings to complete (some of which need to be started) before Christmas. Eek. I also have a tendency to want to take on other projects, like painting our living room and learning to knit a sweater...then I realize that Christmas is two weeks away and I'd better shelve these things of lesser importance and do what needs to be done, and it will. I'm just thankful every day that I can avoid daycare and babysitters by having such a wonderful husband who cares for Olive every bit as well as I can, and does so on a daily basis, and she loves him for it, too. She's one lucky goon to have a father like him.

Sleep? Whassat?

Well, our Olive is one tough nut for sure. I've lost track of the number of nights it's been since we started forgoing her midnight feeding in hopes of getting her to sleep through the night. I've logged nine hours of sleep (plus a blessedly rare one-hour nap I squeezed in today) this week and, like clockwork, Olive is wailing her brains out. She does this nightly for well over an hour. Last night I went to bed earlier than usual, but suffered a bout of insomnia that lasted two hours, taking me right up to Olive's midnight howl fest. She's fine during the day, but these night wakings are starting to get to me. A book that I read during her earlier months, 12 Hours of Sleep by 12 Weeks, assured me that three nights of crying it out would cure a fussy baby at night; the first would be the most difficult, the second trying, but not so bad, the third much better, and the fourth - sleeping babe. Was I a gullible fool to fall for such hogwash? Evidently so. Each night I go to bed thinking, This is it. This will be my night of sleep. And each night is the same. Rob's been lucky, getting to sleep in with her the past few mornings while I head off to work before 7 am. He has the enviable ability to lull her back to slumber after I've left the bed (I take her from her crib when I wake, feed her then leave her in our bed to sleep the rest of the morning with Rob. They're nearly always still there, fast asleep when I return hours later). When I have the opportunity to sleep in and keep her with me, all she wants to do is inspect my face and play - lovely things in and of themselves, but I always have to call it a night as far as my rest is concerned. Now I'm just waiting for her to cave, to break, to realize that her incessant braying when we're going to bed is not going to land her some late night bro-down sessions with us. I'm beginning to fear that this little goon is going to be as stubborn as I was, and I'd be a liar if I said that this thought didn't strike fear in my heart.

Though it will take me days - if not weeks - to catch up on my lost sleep, tomorrow morning I'm off, which means that my doll of a husband will rise and take Olive into the living room to play, leaving me in our pitch-black bedroom dreaming of ten thousand mute babies.

Lights, Apples, and Family Portraits

Alas, our great weekend has come to a close. Pittsburgh's slight snow has begun, little flurries that seem to happen at least once a day and dust over everything but don't make getting around difficult - not yet, at least. Ben left us this afternoon; he decided to head back to Maryland a day early to escape a supposed storm that's to hit sometime this evening. Before he left we took a quick trip down to the Pittsburgh Public Market so I could show him where I work. My co-workers, Emily and Natalie, were delighted to see Olive, as usual. We left the goon with Auntie Em while we meandered through the market, checking out other vendors. We got a few good family shots before we left. He'll be back in three more weeks, so we won't have to go nearly so long without seeing him as we did before. Maybe Buggy will be able to say his name by then.

Christmas card photo? I think so.

Also, the topic of a Christmas tree has come up several times. With our living room serving as Buggy's play area, there was just no way we were going to set up a tree in there, inviting her to clamber up into the prickly branches. That would be begging for a mess. Instead I opted to put in a more or less permanent installation that harkened back to my days of Display Coordinator at Anthropologie. Last night, Rob, Olive, and I took a walk through Highland Park in search of some good fallen branches. We selected two good ones, I biked to The Home Depot to pick up a string of white lights, a spool of jute, and a package of eye hooks, and returned home to make this little number. Now our living room is far more pleasant than it was before, and Buggy's eyes light up when she sees it.

I know it's hard, but do me a favor and try to ignore the hideous gridded paneled ceiling.

For the last month we've been swimming in apples since an apple vendor set up shop across from Cosimano e Farrari. Each week I've been coming home with bags upon bags of Braeburn and Pink Lady apples, but we were unable to make a pie since I seemed to be eating them at a rate that was incompatible with filling a pie. They are just too, too good. Tonight we buckled down, though, and Rob sliced eight apples while I biked to Whole Foods, Trader Joe's and the Family Dollar (through the wind and snow with bum brakes, no less. And in a dress!), and we turned out a handsome deep dish apple-cranberry pie, heavy on the cranberries. Mighty tasty.

I've always been a sucker for the apples that still have their leaves. They remind me of my dear pal, Rita, who loves them just as much. See the Trivial Pursuit box in the backgound? Rob and I played last night and he actually beat me. One of the million reasons why I love him so.