Pass the Pigs, Pass the Pigs!!!

Che loves Ben.

So you all know we love Ben Shipley. He's come again to pay us a visit - I mean, who can stay away from Olive for too long? B.S. is nobody's fool, that's for sure. Tonight we're taking a respite from his stay while he ventures out to see some of his other friends. His pal, Lacey, from his MICA days, lives here and was a doll to take the day off for him tomorrow, so we'll part with him for the night. He got here on Tuesday afternoon and introduced us to our latest vice: Pass the Pigs. Listen up, y'all: this is the stuff of which dreams are made. While no brain-bender like Quiddler or Trivial Pursuit, my longtime love, it's maddeningly addictive and fun, fun, fun. It has also taught me a valuable lesson: it's a good thing I'm not a gambler. Pass the Pigs is basically a dice game, but instead of dice are two bean-sized plastic pigs that can land in all sorts of nutty positions (my favorite? Double Leaning Jowler. I've already begun to devise a group Halloween costume - The Snouter, The Razorback, The Pig Out, etc., to commemorate my new favorite pastime). So what if a baby can play it?

This is either a Leaning Jowler or a Snouter. Tough to tell.

Speaking of babies, she's adopting an amended sleep schedule thanks to the sage teachings of Marc Weissbluth in his book Healthy Sleeping Habits, Healthy Child. For the record, I am totally in the cry-it-out camp. I know there are schools of thought that believe this causes long-term emotional damage, and believe me, this goes through my mind as I cringe, listening to her cries at night. Aside from the occasional teething pain, it's usually just her wanting to be entertained in the wee hours and not genuine hunger, pain, or any other need. We're standing firm and it's beginning to get better. Lately she's only woken in the early morning in the 5 o'clock hour. Pushing her bedtime up an hour to 7 o'clock has also been beneficial. Weissbluth explains that this is often a good remedy for a bad sleeper; waiting until your child is showing signs of fatigue is waiting too late, so as hard as it is to tuck in a pleasant goon, I've gotten no protests from her, so so far, so good.

Tooth number six is just poking through, making four on the top and two on the bottom. She just started wearing shoes for the first time; I broke down and bought her some Robeez boots - darling little cream-colored leather things with suede soles and furry lining. They look super warm and don't fall off her feet. I don't need another stranger telling me my baby's feet look frostbitten. She's standing more and more on her own, testing her balance and seeming proud of her accomplishment. And this morning I was I heard her say "Papa," our name for Rob. Almost as exciting, when I got home this evening from work, the handyman (whose name I do not know) was busying himself in our bedroom, drilling window-sized panels over our drafty windows. No lie - I saw a halo over the man's head. This means a toastier bedroom for us!

As for me, I'm trudging through some art projects, which I ought to be doing now, but can't seem to get more motivated. I still have a few weeks left. It's just that it's hard to get too excited about painting a Star Wars poster when I've never even seen one of those movies. I'll be sure to post the finished product, though, so be on the lookout!

Fenksday 2010

Yesterday we had the pleasure of spending Thanksgiving (Kellie and I dubbed it Fenksday, as we began using "fenks" to replace "thanks" after a 2002 game of Balderdash) with my favorite Pittsburgh family - Kellie, Mike, Jack, Gail, and Iris. Olive had a much better night than usual the night before and allowed us to sleep in way later than we'd hoped, so we got a late start on the day, not rising till nearly 11 (whoops. Any other day, Buggy!), but we still managed to get all the food prepared and were digging into our plates by 5:30. The day was customarily wet and Novembery, though a pre-dinner run would've been nice. It's been years since I've done it, but it was always one of my favorite family traditions on this day, heading out for a several-mile slog to make room for the barrage of food that would soon be crammed down our gullets. That, and we were all mostly regular runners anyway. Next year, Kellie, let's make a pact to fit it in, even if we have to leave everyone else behind (though I'll push for a full-on multi-family run, with the husbands and all the wee ones in jogging strollers).

Getting over the initial shock of stuffing Jimmy's body cavity. Poulty, dead or alive, has always given me the willies. Jack-as-T-Rex was there to oversee and help keep me in line.

Fenksday has to be a lot of work, you say? Not if Ocean Spray, Kellie, and a can opener have anything to do with it.

The kids gathered 'round to hear Rob's storytelling. Later, when Rob was reading Gail a Lion King book, we concluded that black-haired uncles are evil, had bad motives, and are not to be trusted. Hmm.

Kellie and Dollbear Iris. What a sweetiedoll. So happy, except when Rob and I made her cry. She'll get used to us soon.

Mike, Gail, and the spread.

Nuttigail. She's going to be an owl when she grows up, so look out.

Jimmy. A handsome devil, is he not? And Amish, to boot!

Here is a sample of the dinner menu (but for those curious, my lunch menu was Kellie's picked-out black Jujyfruits that she'd thoughtfully saved for me, a plate of plain Ronzoni rotini pasta, and a black plum):

*Kellie's arugula and pear salad with pomegranate and yum olive oil and lemon dressing

*crusty rolls that Mike picked up at Trader Joe's (Olive scavenged Jack's - that he may or may not have purposefully let fall to the floor - and munched on it for the latter half of the meal). Kellie and I opted out of baking bread, realizing that we had food aplenty and worrying ourselves with more food prep was unnecessary.

*Jimmy, our 16-lb Amish turkey. Somewhere during the course of his preparation, I got on the subject of the "jimmyleg", the leg spasms referred to by Kramer in a Seinfeld episode. Jack, intrigued, led me to concoct the unavoidable story about how the turkey's leg was called a jimmyleg, and he was pretty amused. I've always been a sucker for pulling kids' legs, or jimmylegs, as it were.

*A cranberry-apple-pecan stuffing that was every bit as wonderful as we hoped it'd be. The fennel that we used in lieu of celery was a good touch, I thought. I do love fennel.

*Rob's squashed potatoes. I laboriously peeled our enormous blue hubbard squash the night before while we watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I will never again peel a hubbard squash; the things leave a strange and unpleasant jaundice-like residue on your hands that make it look like you mainline carrot juice. It comes off in about 24 hours, though, so it's no big deal. The same goes for butternut squash. A small price to pay for squashed potatoes. These also featured a head of kale, and I could not partake in this side dish because of it. Kale and I are still on the outs.

*A curried pumpkin soup that we made the day before. A week or so ago we sampled some curried pumpkin soup at Whole Foods and decided to make some ourselves. We garnished the soup with roasted pecans and the delicious seeds from the ol' hubbard squash, and dag, were those good.

*Plain old jellied cranberry, courtesy of the good folks at Ocean Spray. Mike had requested it, but I'm a pretty big fan of the stuff, myself. I really love how it comes out of the can in perfectly-sliced discs, as easily as you could wish!

*Kellie's expertly-done cranberry apple pie and pumpkin pie (though I didn't have room to sample any of the latter, regrettably)

It was a great day. The kids were all dolls and goons (and T-Rexes and owls, to be precise), and it was very nice to be able to share such a wonderful feast with my most excellent sister and her lovely family. I hope we can reprise the occasion next year. Happy Fenksday to all!

I'm super thankful for these two. My best goons!

Cat at 9 Months

Not only has the Goon used the commode, but she has been known to utter the word, "cat", on more than one occasion. She'd been working on it for at least a week, her body tensing with excitement every time her eyes lit upon one of the cats or a cat in a storybook, and Rob and I would slowly enunciate the word as she'd intently listen. Soon she was making very distinct caasounds, then began to integrate the t. I've heard her say it twice now, and it's still an effort for her, but she's done it and she'll do it again. The Khorey kids were delighted when I told them this yesterday. I picked them up early from school to take them to the dentist, and on the way there Nina and Alex hovered around her saying "cat, cat, cat", while Noah searched his iPhone for images of cats to inspire her.

Yesterday was her 9th month and I marvel each day at how she grows. She's a very independent child, curious and content. Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I peeked into her crib where I found her sitting upright and very methodically fussing with her blankets and stuffed Grateful Dead bear (her bedtime buddy of choice this week). Her sleep still leaves so much to be desired. Oftentimes she'll nap only once a day, and will wake up three-four times in the night. Last night she played as nice as you please, but the moment the lights went out she became what is known around our house as a "Boo-hoo Buggy". So, rather than lay in bed and try to tune out her crying, I went to the living room to make the most of my awake time by working on one of the many painting projects I have going on.

Another noteworthy topic: hair. I fear that Olive's baldness is not long for this world, as little wisps have been sprouting rapidly in patches of her head. It's beginning to darken, too, so once it gets a little bit coarser she won't appear so blonde. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Practicing E.C. (finally)

Warning: This may contain more than you want to read, but it's about a baby, so it's okay.

A milestone was reached today, one day shy of Buggy's ninth month: she and I practiced Elimination Communication with great success. For those of you who are unfamiliar, EC is the term given to a parent or caregiver paying attention to a baby's signals that are given when they're about to soil their diaper and, before they do, helping the child to a toilet or other receptacle to do their business outside of the diaper. This is something I'd been wanting to do since Olive was brand new, but somehow it never caught on. The good thing about EC is that it can be done on a part-time basis and can be implemented at any time. Now that Olive is eating more solid foods, her dirty diapers have become increasingly unpleasant, and worse still to clean, what with the cloth diapers. I try to schedule my outings around the times I imagine she will erupt, making myself scarce and leaving Rob responsible for the fallout (not really, but occasionally this does cross my mind when I'm not home and I do derive some selfish pleasure in knowing that I might be off the hook that day).

But today, as I was applying a third coat of gesso to a canvas for a Christmas commission, my ears perked when I heard Buggy, amusing herself with the contents of a laundry basket, emitting a series of strained grunts. I set down my brush and laid her on the floor to inspect her diaper: very wet, and only a tiny bit yuck. It then it occurred to me that it was the perfect time to employ the practice that so interested me, so I snatched bare-from-the-waist-down Buggy and plopped her on our hideous plastic mother-of-pearlite toilet seat
where she finished what she started. It was wonderful, and I gushed and praised her all the while. I waited to flush as Rob was minutes from getting home from the zoo and I wanted him to see, though I did refrain from snapping a photograph to document the occasion.

So not only did this mean not having to pull on the yellow rubber gloves to scrub the soiled diaper, but it really awakened in me the EC believer. I mean, I knew that it could be done, I knew I had it in me, but sometimes it just takes doing it once to really set the wheels into motion. It's going to make me that much more intuitive when it comes to reading my gal's subtle signals, and I'm looking forward to learning more about her and us broadening our communication as we continue this.

Stairs and Standing

For the last few weeks Olive has been enjoying her newfound ability to stand upright. I'll often go into the bedroom to retrieve her from her nap and find her happily clinging to the side of her crib. She's just so happy to be well-rested, awake, and back to practicing. A few days ago Rob called me in to the living room where he sat with her, marveling at her standing on her own, completely unassisted. She is starting to master her balance, and is getting pretty good at correcting her wobbliness. On Tuesday while we were at the Khoreys', Nina called me over to the stairs: Buggy had begun climbing and was on the third step. I'm thankful that we don't have stairs of our own for her to get into mischief.

My Budding Aviarian

Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of my amazing husband? No? Well, after a phone interview with the National Aviary on Thursday, he was offered a husbandry internship in their veterinary department. This will give him even more experience that will be handy when looking for a zookeeper job in the spring. And this is particularly cool given Rob's fascination with winged creatures. While driving, we sometimes have to stop the car to give closer attention to a bird he's spied; he keeps a "life list" of all the birds he's seen in the wild since the list was started some years ago; some of the first times we spent together were with him as my student learning how to draw better birds. Suffice it to say that I think he'll be a great fit for this position.

I'm very impressed with all that he's accomplished this year. At noon today, Buggy and I are going to watch him give a presentation at the zoo detailing his internship. His stint at there will end soon, much to my dismay; I've so loved our days of visiting him and the gorillas, and Roseann, the head gorilla keeper, has been a wonderful mentor to him (and a pretty cool lady, to boot), but hopefully a door will open for him there again once he's completed this next internship at the Aviary. Not only this, but we'll get to continue calling Pittsburgh our home, which makes me really happy.

Yuck Cats

This morning, as is sometimes the case on Wednesdays, Rob got up with Olive and let me sleep in a bit longer. Yesterday she and I rose in the 5 o'clock hour to do a morning at the Khoreys'. When we got home around 10 am, I planned to take a nap myself once she'd gone to sleep; she was out like a trout after fifteen minutes of feeding and I laid down but before I could fall asleep there was a knock at the door. It was our house's handyman with a box of plastic to put over our windows for insulation. I explained to him that we had long since put plastic over our windows and the room was still an ice box. That said, we didn't get the apartment that we saw last week; that's what I get for not acting immediately. I should have known that that place wouldn't be available for long. So anyway, my much hoped-for nap was thwarted and I made up for it by retiring before 9 last night. Olive was up pretty often, and when she woke up at 7 I wasn't at all ready to begin my day. During my sporadic sleep I could glean that unusual happenings were afoot, as Rob was coming in and out of the bedroom for changes of clothes for Olive, a wash cloth, diaper-changing materials, and the like. Here's the story, and this is why our cats may or may not be going up for adoption later in the day:

Rob picked up on an unpleasant familiar litter box odor. He noticed that the bathroom door (where litter box is housed) was closed and the cats were seating on the windowsill. He noticed that Olive's face was dotted with brown, and her hands were, too. He checked her diaper (even though she was wearing footed pyjamas, making a diaper dig virtually impossible, then spotted the small pile near the bathroom door that Olive had beat him to discover. An Eric Carle book that my aunt Holly had given Olive this summer had to be thrown away, it's pages soiled with feline fecal matter. He put her in the tub (for the third time in under a week!) and scrubbed her down - even the inside of her mouth (undoubtedly some of the foul stuff found its way into her curious craw). I just hope she doesn't come down with a bacterial infection because of this. Cats and their waste are totally disgusting. I've always had cats, and always liked them until I had Olive. I've tolerated their presence, at best, these last 9 months, but when things like this happen I have to seriously consider the benefit of having them around. Yes, Olive is amused by them (I'm waiting for the day that Che's patience runs out and she hauls off and swipes Olive's grabby hands). And yes, we occasionally allow ourselves the warped amusement of tying a plastic bag to Wendell and watching him go tearing about like an animal possessed. But then I experience twinges of jealousy every time I enter the Khoreys' or my sister's pet-free homes; their cleanliness and lack of odor and littery crunch underfoot taunts me: See? This is what a house without cats is like... But they're my pets. I've had them both since they were babes (Che for seven years and Wendell for two and a half). Wendell is my miracle cat because he was at death's door for a while two years ago and somehow he rallied and is still here, and still a funny Gray...but they're gross. If we didn't live in the city I'd let them out like I did in Maine. I just can't handle another one of this morning's episodes. It was a good thing Rob was taking care of things because that might have been the first and last time for me.

Any takers?

Olive Oiling

The past few weeks I've been lucky enough to have the company of Rob and Olive during my lunch break at the Public Market. Saturdays tend to be long days for me there (8-5:30, plus an hour round-trip bicycle commute), so it's great to see them when they arrive. Olive, true to her namesake, is really into the oils, savoring the little bread chunks dipped in the Karoneiki (a yummy Greek variety that is my favorite), lemon, and lime-infused oils, and showing her pleasure with a greasy-lipped grin. We haven't ventured into balsamic territory with her yet; I fear that the vinegars may be too acidic for her little stomach. I do, however, look forward to the day when I can watch the expression on her face change when she tastes the peach or blueberry flavors. Her millions of taste buds are in for a real treat with these! Here are a few shots that my dear boss, Larry took this past Saturday - the first Cramer family shot since they day we left Homer in August. I think this needs to happen more often.

The Goon Hat (thanks, Kellie!) has been exceedingly popular with the general public. Our cashier at Trader Joe's this morning commented that it suited her personality. How right he was!