Aviarying and Lanterning

Yesterday, thanks to our extra vehicle (my boss, Lisa, graciously lends us her Toyota Highlander hybrid when she goes out of town), Olive and I went down to the National Aviary to visit Rob on his rare lunch break. Often he's too busy to stop to eat, plowing through nine straight hours of bird-tending, so we were fortunate to enjoy some of his spare time with him. I'll say it again: the aviary is way cool. I particularly enjoy the Wetlands exhibit - and this specimen especially:

Back on the home front I've been working on doctoring up things a bit. I finished painting the living room, though I ran out of paint and will eventually give some areas a second coat. A couple of eBay finds, some paper lanterns, arrived a few days ago, so I went last night to the Home Depot to pick up some wiring components so I could rig up the big boy over our dinging table. I'd nearly forgotten how much I love electrical wiring projects - the snipping and the splicing to create your desired lighting arrangement. This will be a pleasant alternative to the awful overheat light fixture in the room: a trio of energy-efficient bulbs encased in a brass cage circa 1977. I'm all for using those bulbs and saving dough when my Duquesne Light bills come 'round, but have no desire to ever lay eyes on them; they're uglier a dog with mange.

Next on the home improvement agenda: painting the kitchen Scotland Isle and the bedroom Japanese Maple (or green and plum in layman's terms).

Birthday Goon!

Last night as I stood high atop a wooden ladder painting our living room I kept reflecting back on one year ago, February 21st, when I'd waited anxiously for my labor - already two days in - to advance to the point where I could finally get into the birthing tub in our living room to deliver our little Olive. I can scarcely recollect the mind-numbing pain of the contractions, the frustration over never getting to dip so much as a pinkie toe into the tub, and the sleep deprivation that only added to my nuttiness during that Presidents' Day weekend. I remember that these things were happening, but in retrospect all I can really see is that darling Goon, all bright, wide eyes, infectious grin, soft voice and effervescent giggle. An entire year has passed and each day I've been nothing but thankful for the road - particularly at the end -that brought us together. I could not have hand-picked a sweeter child. Yesterday at the Home Depot picking up paint, the woman at the counter exclaimed that "She could be in commercials!" "Yes, I know," I said. "We're very lucky that she's ours." Her adorable looks are only half of it; it's her personality that makes her what she really is: a Little Sweet, as Rob always calls her.

Today we were treated to a special birthday outing with Kellie, Jack, Gail, and Iris. They came to fetch us just as Olive was getting out of her crib (not up from a nap - those didn't happen today) and then we headed out in the radiant and snow-melting sun for a long-awaited visit to Razzy Fresh. It was perfect, since I never got around to baking a beet cake for Olive, so she got to enjoy a bowl full of fresh fruit. Jack and Gail were pleased to present their cousin with a "surprise": a box of two lemon-themed yellow and blue summer suits and a Elizabeth Mitchell kids' songs cd, You Are My Little Bird. Very sweet stuff, and it gets extra points for track 11 being a cover of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings' "Winter's Come and Gone", a song I really adore. As always, it was terrific to see our wonderfully local family. Olive is fascinated by Kellie's kids, and I'm really looking forward to when they're (Olive and Iris, namely) old enough to really know what's going on and become good pals.

Happy first birthday, our precious Olive. We love you so, so, so much!

That sweetiedoll, Iris

And this is why I thought I wanted a boy. Isn't he dear?

Razzy Goon

The birthday feast!
Not loving something - either the kiwi or the coconut I put in her craw.

Tearing into a gift from Aunt Schelly: a super-rad Twilight Ladybug - a ladybug lantern that projects stars onto the ceiling. Really neat.

Yuck Goon

Last night Buggy was up a couple of times in the night crying. This happens from time to time and she always settles herself and goes back to sleep, so we thought nothing of it. However, when I woke this morning a sudden thought crossed my mind: bad food. A jar of carrots had been rolling about the living room and table area for several days, rendering it inedible. I roused Rob to ask him if he'd fed her that particular jar of carrots and he believed he had. Could this soured mash have caused Olive's nighttime distress? He said he'd smelled it and it smelled fine; I asked him to taste it in the future to test its fitness for consumption. We went in to her room shortly after when we heard her awake and sure enough, Goonie and the entire contents of the crib were caked in orange vomit. Yuck City. I felt pretty guilty for ignoring her cries in the night when she was going through what appeared to be a doozy of a time. I stripped her down, changed a frightfully messy diaper, nursed her, then we tossed her in the tub to rinse away evidence of the night before. Though she could've suffered a bout of the stomach bug that was circulating, plaguing both the Ryans (with whom we'd had no contact) and the Khoreys, who are much like siblings to her, I believe this was simply a case of carrots gone south. Lesson learned.

A Cuddlegoon was what we had to show for her night of sickness. Not too bad.

Smoking: No Apologies

All of my life I have been quite outspoken about one subject in particular: smoking. I've written numerous papers and persuasive speeches on the subject, and was always morbidly fascinated with my findings because I'm still unable to figure out the allure (except how daggone amazing it makes you look). Take a gander at my girl, Britney Spears. What a class act! If only I had a handful of snapshots (and killer fashion sense!) of my pregnant self like this to show Olive...

Having a daughter has only amplified my intolerance for it, as it is now my duty to protect no only myself but her. I recently offended an acquaintance with a rant directed at no one in particular; this was spurred by a walk that Olive and I took today where I witnessed countless people out enjoying the terrifically balmy weather in the upper 60s smoking cigarettes (which did sully my experience a little bit), many of whom were mothers with their tots in tow. Sure, people in this country are free to smoke in most outdoor spaces. People are free to smoke around their kids all they want, with the exception of their cars in the states of Arkansas, Louisiana, California, and - get this - Maine, with varying age limits. I'm looking forward to the day that this law is passed nationwide, but folks be gripin' that the state is interfering too much with their right to smoke in the privacy of their vehicles. Fortunately, the government feels like children's rights override this privilege. Crazy, huh?

So yes, I realize that I have a beyond-zero-tolerance policy when it comes to tobacco (and other similar substances, but back to the topic at hand), but I can't apologize for it. Perhaps I need to be briefed again on the benefits of smoking? I do not believe in being narrow-minded and intolerant of others for political or religious choices, or things that cannot be helped like race, background, or physical or mental afflictions, but smoking is a choice that people make. People choose to smoke around their children, just as former smokers make the choice to quit smoking because they are pregnant or have a child. It's the folks that opt to ignore the scientific facts that smoking is deadly. Smoking does have a very negative effect on children, and when smokers turn a deaf ear to the statistics in favor of nursing their additions, it totally gets my goat in the worst way. Cigarette smoke, believe it or not, is chock full o' toxic chemicals that envelop the smoker like the dust around Pig Pen from Peanuts. They continue to exhale these foul compounds minutes after the cigarette is crushed out on the sidewalk (I'm not going to get started on this major indiscretion), and the stuff clings to their hair and clothing fibers for who-knows-how-long. I've got serious beef with smoking 'round the wee ones for lots of reasons, but hear this one: newborns intake breath on an average of 60 times per minute (14-18 for adults), and the number of breaths gradually slow around five years of age, so our babes are getting a much higher concentration of this vile stuff in their still developing lungs! Double-whammy. So forgive me for wanting to give every new mother with a cigarette a severe talking-to (if not a good throttling). The little ones don't have a choice in the matter, and they're the ones who end up suffering. I'm sure most mothers would strongly object to allowing their kiddos to splash about in a bathtub filled with mercury or snack on lead paint chips. Of course - they're poisonous substances? So why on earth do they not take the same stance where smoking is concerned? Maybe if there were more mercury and lead addicts out there I'd have a good argument.

I thank the Lord that I didn't wind up a tobacco fiend, and maybe I should just leave it at that, but I can't help but wish that other mothers would clap it up and do something for the good of their kids and kick the habit. With children come some compromises, but I guess not everyone sees it that way or is willing to make them. Call me an overly-protective mother, (and this is easy for me to say) but my Goon is important enough to me to not gamble with her health if I can help it.

A Goon and her Bath

Look at the curls starting to form!

There are few things Olive enjoys more than an evening bath. Last night, however, she discovered she could put her fingers in the holes of the drain and remove the cover, and we responded to this with Nos. Fortunately this is all it takes because she immediately obeys, but she's very sensitive and crumples and dissolves into a pitiful fit of tears. It's a little bit heartbreaking, because we use firm but not sharp tones when we catch her with her hand in the dirt of a potted plant, but she knows she's doing something she oughtn't be doing and it upsets her that we're displeased. Poor little girl.

Discipline aside, we're getting excited for her first birthday next week. Can it really have been 53 weeks ago that she arrived?

3 Years Ago Today...

...I was introduced by Alice St. Clair to the most extraordinary man in the world. Finally, since he'd disappeared after I'd first seen him play George Bailey in a community theater production of It's a Wonderful Life and I'd had my I'm-going-to-marry-him-one-day psychic experience two months prior. Alice and I walked in to the Rose Garden where he was working and I thought, Of course! I don't know why I hadn't checked there before. Probably because I was living the life of a recluse at the time and usually didn't venture too far from my apartment if it wasn't necessary; I'd come in contact with some bona fide wierdos so I was playing it safe. Anyway, our first meeting was nothing short of magical. I ordered and he served me Red Rose black tea in a brown mug. I may or may not have gotten a refill. Nothing in the way of small talk - just our names, really, and those were delivered by Alice - but I knew that something monumental had been accomplished that evening, and it was easily the best Valentine's Day to date.

Spades!

Last night we did something new: We had over a couple - Sarah and Rich - to play Spades. I'd grown to really miss our evenings of card playing with Anne and Rafi when we lived in Eastport and decided to do something about it. I posted an ad on the Highland Park listserve looking for some game partners and I soon got several replies. Sarah and I made arrangements for her and her boyfriend, Rich, to come to our place last night for Spades. I was a little bit nervous having never met them before, and knew very little about them other than their mutual love of game-playing. It had the potential to be very awkward and uncomfortable, but I liked them the moment they came through the door. They have three children between the two of them - Rich's daughter is Zoe's age which means a potential playmate for her this summer. When Sarah had asked if she could bring anything with them, I told her to bring some music she likes. We were impressed with the selection: The Broken Bells (whom we love), a live Avett Bros. (some favorites of Rob's), Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris (great), and the Mountain Goats, new to us but good. We played a really fun round of Spades (Sarah and I lost to the guys, but not by much), then introduced them to Quiddler since they're Scrabble fanatics, and that went over really well. We then sat around and talked about music, movies, food, our backgrounds, and how much we all love Pittsburgh. It was really nice to spend time with other people in our neighborhood, and we're planning to do it again soon, next time at their house, just three blocks away from us.

Also of note: our raw, grain-free cat food operation is officially underway. Rob spent a good part of Friday night exerting himself at the manual meat grinder, sending chickens - bones and all - through the machine. The cats are not falling over themselves for it just yet, but they'll warm to it in time. Actually, Wendell wouldn't touch it, but Ché was more accepting, so when Wen saw her lapping at it he barreled in and pushed her out of the way so he could help himself to her serving. Typical. His blog will soon feature a detailed account of the procedure, complete with enticing visuals! Tune in to notesfromabiophile.blogspot.com soon!

Some shots of our upwardly-mobile goon!