Lucy, For Now

Barrettes fall out within minutes. She has this way of brushing her hair out of her face, with both hands, that kills me. She will sometimes hold still for a single ponytail on top of her head. Other times she squirms away, dashing out of reach as soon as I come close. I need to wrestle her down and hold her still with my legs.

She wakes up cranky now, if she's not really ready to be up. No more quiet babbling over the monitor. She sits up when she sees us, hands us her pink stuffed bear, her Elmo doll, then puts her hands on the mattress and lurches to a stand. She likes to bring her stuff with her when she gets up.

Or she hides her eyes from the light, tells us, "No." Not ready for the day just yet.

Lately she has been waking up at night. A little bug has her pooping at two in the morning. When it's not that, it's teething. I dress her in two piece pajamas with penguins on them, so I can check her diaper without undressing her. They are a little big. One morning last week, I went in to wake her up, and her pants were around her knees. She had scooched out of them during the night, but it didn't seem to bother her.

She still throws food off of her tray when she doesn't like it. She's gotten pickier with her eating. A wider variety of food ends up on the floor now. Her favorite is still fruit, any fruit. Followed closely by gummy vitamins, I think.

She watches TV with her brother, with more attention than I thought possible. She likes it all, she is easy to please.

She comes in the kitchen, repeatedly, while I cook dinner. She rummages through the pantry, looking for a snack. Asking for more snack, even when her bowl is still full. She says the word "snack" a lot. Then she plays with her play kitchen, pretending to wash dishes in the sink, eating "soup" with a spoon out of the fake salt shaker.

She loves to push around her shopping cart, placing all manner of toys and random things inside.

She loves Iron Man, and Batman, and Spiderman, because her brother does.

She loves her brother.

She insists on brushing her own teeth, asking again and again for more toothpaste. Her "brushing" consists of sucking the toothpaste off of the toothbrush. She pretends to spit, like her brother.

She tries walking up stairs holding on to the railing now. She still lets me help her walk down the stairs of our front stoop. As soon as she hits the walkway, she takes off running, unsteadily, toward the neighbors' houses and the frighteningly-close drainage hole, away from the car. Toward the playground. She loves the slide, hates the swing. Would much rather walk in the street than on the sidewalk.

She says more words than I can count. This weekend she learned to say "Morning" when I tried to teach her to tell her daddy "Good Morning." She acknowledges a dirty diaper with a cute little "Poopy?", like it's a question. As if one could be unsure of that smell.

She gives kisses and hugs when asked. She says "Hi!" to strangers at the store. They cannot resist saying it back. She loves to point out the moon, airplanes, balloons. She looks up a lot.

If you tell her she's hurt you, she'll say "wa-wry" (sorry), and leans her head forward for a hug. You can tell it's a hug, because she makes that squeezy noise, the one you make when you give someone a big bear hug. Or if you're constipated.

Her favorite color is yellow (yeh-yow), or maybe green (geen). But definitely not red or pink. If you ask her if she's OK, she'll say "Yeah." If you tell her to wait a moment, or explain something to her, she says "OH-kay", almost a three-syllable word the way she pronounces it. We all take turns getting her to say it, even Finn, because it's beyond cute, this way that she has.

She loves books. She holds her pointer finger in the air and asks for "one more?" through the pacifier, each time you finish one, even if it's the fourth bedtime book. She colors, and laughs a LOT, and lisps when she says "Bus," and dances, and won't let us sing AT ALL, and tells us "No" ALL THE TIME, but says "Yes" every now and then too.

She is so, so easy to love.






At the very end of this video, you can see how Lucy brushes her hair out of her face. You can see the penguin PJs, too :-).

T.G.I.M.?

Ways in which this past weekend was the opposite of fun, in rough order of occurrence:

1. I discovered what looked like large chunks of greyish meat in my Thai food Friday night. M. swore up and down that he specifically asked for the vegetarian suki stir fry when he placed the order. An angry phone call from M. and delivery of a freshly cooked dish directly to our house yielded... another container of food with large chunks of greyish meat. Turns out the dish had non-advertized "mock duck" as one of its ingredients, a food that is about as appetizing as it sounds. The experience left me with a distinct guilt that we made the restaurant folks come out to our house for no real reason, and validation of my aversion for "mock duck." Yuck.

2. Finn woke up at 5:45 am on Saturday. For the day. He insisted that it was, in fact, at least 6:30 already and clearly time to get up. I sent M. down, and huddled in bed until Lucy woke up at 7:15, convinced that if I went downstairs to deal with Finn, I would end up hurling his useless clock into the woods. Or setting it on fire. I don't deal well with unjustified sleep interruptions.

3. Lucy woke up crabby, crabby, crabby on Saturday. We were weaning her off of her reflux meds, and her crabbiness and refusal to eat breakfast flew us into panicky conversations of "Do you think it's reflux? Should we put her back on the meds? Good lord, WHY ISN'T SHE EATING HER MUFFIN!?!" Ugh. Then she fell asleep on the way to Target, and we realized she was just really tired. I actually carried her around Target (in and out of elevators, as it's a 2-story Target mecca) for over 20-minutes in my arms before she woke up. (BONUS: Bicep/tricep workout? Check.)

4. Post lunch, wandering around a small lake near Target, Lucy leaned over to pick up her precious sippy cup (by the way, precious does not begin to describe the serious feelings of love this girl now has for sippy cups - I'm thinking of throwing her a small wedding so she can marry them), and spit up all over herself. For the first time in about 7 months. M. and I determined that perhaps now is not the time to take Lucy off her reflux meds.

5. Also post lunch and wandering outside, Finn felt the urge to drop the kids off at the pool, if you know what I mean. And M. was forced to violate the typical "bathrooms are for patrons only" rule at a restaurant because when a 3-year-old needs to see a man about a horse, you don't wait. While in the midst of taking care of business, Finn leaned over to check out his progress, just as said progress was being expelled from his body, and... well maybe you can see where I am going with this. Basically, he managed to splash poop on his face. Total unchartered territory right there - public bathroom poop face. I have to hand it to M., he handled it with coolness and aplomb. He's a little more of a germaphobe than I am, so I really give him props on that one.

6. There was whining. And crying. And lots of time outs. To break up the monotony, I decided to turn on the sprinkler in the backyard for the kids to cool off. A pool trip was out of the question since Lucy's Target snooze pushed back her afternoon nap too far to make that practical. The sprinkler was my next best option. Finn enjoyed it, once M. freed the area of a rotting dead bird that had been soiling our patio for a few days (good times). Lucy was less than enthused. She mostly just teetered around, veering wildly for the steep drop off between our backyard and the woods, crying and clutching a soggy rice cake. She made quite the picture, as M. managed to put her swim suit on backwards. She sported a saggy swim diaper drooping out the back, and a baby boob peeking out from the front of her suit (by the way, what's the appropriate term for that? Baby boob sounds a bit lewd, but I didn't really want to throw around the "n" word that rhymes with tipple, you know?). Regardless, M. quickly rescued Lucy from the backyard hell I had arranged, and took her inside just in time to see the U.S. lose their soccer game.

7. M. and I managed to rescue the night once the kids went to bed with a movie, dessert, and some good old-fashioned drinking. But then the cycle began all over again Sunday morning. The day started a bit later (6:15 instead of 5:45), but with no less crabbiness from Lucy. Now officially back on full strength reflux meds, we could only assume that she was simply morphing from a pleasant baby into a dreaded toddler, the cruelest of all monsters. So awful was she, that I decided to throw caution to the wind and put her down for a morning nap. She slept, and we caught up on yard work (yay?). But alas, she woke up from the nap still crabby.

8. M. discovered a wasp nest under our deck.

9. We went grocery shopping, a task I loathe. We all went together, and Finn was waaaaay more than a handful. Lucy did fine once I gave her a snack to munch on (despite the fact that we had JUST eaten lunch).

10. Lucy woke up from her afternoon nap with a 102.5 degree fever. In our third diagnosis of the weekend, we decided that no, really, maybe she's just teething. We looked in her mouth, and lo! There were new teeth. She spent about an hour flopped over on her blankie, lying on the floor, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. Then she proceeded to toddle around the living room and whine a lot. Mostly at her brother, but a lot directed at her parents, too.

11. Finn apparently decided he no longer understands tricky things like being nice, or listening to his parents. He pushed his sister around, he raced around the house, he wreaked havoc wherever he went. In the process he scored several time outs. And then, his worst infraction ever - on his way to a time out, he peed in his pants on purpose. Oh, the seething red anger. I am more than OK with accidents - they happen, we clean them up, we move on. For Finn, they basically only happen at night now, and even those are rare. Wetting your pants on purpose - not cool. The little guy earned himself his longest time out yet, mostly because I didn't really want to look at him.

12. After 25 minutes of crying while we cooked dinner, Finn was let out of his room to eat. He fought us all through dinner, begging for a treat and refusing to eat the food in front of him. I decided folding laundry was more fun than dinner, and left the table to do some of THAT, leaving poor M. to police.

13. Long crying jag + dinner + play time on the swing outside = puke. In a last, parting volley of the day, Finn puked all over himself and the playground. Should have seen that one coming. I got to wash not just pee soaked clothes, but puke soaked clothes, too.

14. I hopped on the treadmill for a workout, and discovered that my legs did not work. Just would not run. Why, exactly, am I killing myself with these workouts, when it feels like I'm getting nowhere? I could blame the weeding (I'm still feeling what that did to my hamstrings today), but instead I'll just throw a pity party bemoaning how hard it is for me to workout and get better at something physical, to get in shape and lose weight. It's a constant struggle, and I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere with it.

15. As I tried to finish folding some laundry, Lucy woke up at 9:15, her fever newly spiked. As I fretted about whether she'd be school-worthy the next morning, I gave her some more medicine and rocked her back to sleep. That part, of course, wasn't sucky. A chance to rock my baby that did not include a wee hour of the morning is always inducing of warm fuzzy feelings. But the part where I didn't get to sit down until 9:45 pm, and then had to wait for the dryer to finish before going to bed (because our dryer has a broken switch and won't turn itself off and would just keep going and going and burn the house down and.... Yeah, I know, we should just get that fixed) - well, that part sucked. A sucky cap on a pretty sucky weekend.

On the one hand, I can't help but ask, is it time for vacation yet?

Then the other hand smacks me upside the head and reminds me that we're bringing the kids on this "vacation."

Who, these guys, "difficult"?









The things one finds oneself doing to entertain a child...

I can't explain this, but I swear it was all in good fun



New trick - standing on the couch, launching items up into the ceiling fan. My fear that this will end badly is at odds with his delight in the activity.

From the Mouths of Babes

Last week was the "Zoo Unit" at daycare. A resulting conversation:

A: Finn, you are a boy (not sure the genesis of this statement)
Finn: No, I a monkey!! (Monkey sounds ensue)
M: Is mommy a monkey, too?
Finn: No, elephant!

Ah, so true these days. I'll try to upload a pic later this week, taken of my ever expanding girth at 29 weeks. It ain't pretty.

M., by the way, is apparently an ostrich.

Conversations and Phrases Heard Oft Over the Last Week

1. Me: Finn, you are being very naughty.
Finn: No, Mommy, YOU naughty!

Oh, the sass, already. My mom would tell you that I have it coming after years of giving her lip.

2. As M. or I attempt to survive yet another playing of Frosty the Snowman by singing along:
Finn: No, Mommy (or Daddy), no!! No singing! (This kid is the polar opposite of normal little ones, that are supposed to love the sound of their parents singing no matter how awful their voices are. He WILL NOT let us sing!)
Me: OK, YOU sing then, Finn.
Finn: No, Mommy, YOU sing.
Me: OK. (Ha, ha, I won! Resume singing Frosty. Again. Did I really win?)

3. Mommy, I want to open more presents (said with the cutest emphasis on the "s's" in presents that you will ever hear).

But none of that clothing crap, toys only, got it? (OK, so I added that last sentence for dramatic effect and it is not an actual quote, but given the disdain Finn showed for any boxes that were unwrapped to reveal clothes, you can bet he was thinking it.) (Note to all family members that gave Finn said clothes, they were much appreciated by his mother and father. And fear not, Gentle Readers, Finn received plenty o' toys, too.)

4. Said this morning, by a child who was CLEARLY not fully awake yet, because otherwise he would have remembered the 9 and a half hours we JUST spent in the car YESTERDAY with a really crabby 2-year-old, leaving all of us suffering from some mild post traumatic stress disorder:
Mommy, I want go to Grammy's house now.

The last week has been consumed by planning and packing for a long car trip, one very easy car trip up north, lots of fun in the snow for Finn, plenty of relatives to create chaos and shower Finn with attention, lots of presents and cookies (for all three of us), not-so-great sleep (again, for all three of us), and a decidedly less easy going car ride back home. Much fun was had by all, and it's a bit of a let down to be back at work already today.

If I can motivate myself enough (see above re: still recovering from lack of sleep and long car rides), I will get some pictures on to my computer and share them with you. Much cuteness all around.

Boom!

That's the sound that echoes over the monitor at 5 am when your 2-year old falls out of his new big boy bed. Then hysterical crying follows. I haven't shot out of bed that fast since Finn was a newborn. M., of course, had no idea what was going on - his senses aren't very keen when he's extremely sleep addled.

I thought we would make it longer than 4 nights before Finn fell out of bed. Luckily, he barely remembers it. I asked him once we were up for the day if he bumped his head last night, and he talked about how he bumped his head on the car cart at the grocery store yesterday. When he was trying to escape and run around the store like a maniac, thwarted by the belt that strapped him in. Later on at breakfast, we asked again, and he said something about bumping his adorable nose, but he didn't seem too upset about it.

Needless to say, we will be placing some pillows around the perimeter of the bottom of his bed where the bed rail doesn't have coverage. And beyond that, we'll just cross our fingers and hope that one of these days he'll learn not to migrate around the bed quite so much while he's sleeping.

Other than that, the big boy bed has been a success. Finn still hasn't realized he can get off the bed by himself - he waits there for us to get him when he wakes up. We've had some excellent nights of sleep and naps over this holiday weekend. Me included - I've napped every day except Thanksgiving day. How will I handle a full, exhausting day of work tomorrow?!

Speaking of tomorrow, M. and I are headed first thing in the morning for our "big" ultrasound. It will be nice to see the baby again, and get some reassurance that all is OK. The list of ways that I have been an irresponsible pregnant woman has grown, along with my guilt. Things I have done this time around that I avoided with Finn are many. The "What to Expect When You're Expecting" authors would not be happy with me. Now added to the list - in decorating and hanging the garland that now adorns the front of our house, I apparently exposed myself to lead. Just when I receive a "Your Pregnancy, Week 19" newsletter that tells me that brain development is really ramping up this week. Yikes. So, yeah, looking forward to tomorrow, even though we won't be finding out the gender. Just hoping I can maintain my resolve to have a "delivery surprise" and that the ultrasound tech doesn't accidentally reveal the "he/she" mystery to us.

The next day, I have my regular prenatal visit. Which I am dreading a bit. Weigh-ins should be skipped during the holiday season, in my opinion. Blargh.

Big Boy Bed

Another big transition for Finn was implemented last night. To make lodging at my parents' house over the Christmas holiday easier, we decided to move Finn out of his crib now, even though the new baby won't be using it for a good 5 months or so. Two weeks ago, we bought a twin-sized mattress and box spring and had it delivered last week. Anticipating some sleepless nights, we decided to wait for this long weekend to make the leap so we wouldn't have to go to work incredibly sleep deprived.

Operation Big Boy Bed was initiated last night, at around 6 pm. We all marched upstairs to struggle with furniture rearrangement and bed-making. Finn's bedroom is tiny, so there was no way to have the bed and crib in there at the same time to ease the transition. The crib was moved out - in pieces (disassembling it was remarkably easy, but we will definitely need to dig out those instructions before reassembling it!). Also to go was Finn's "rocking chair" (the IKEA Poang chair that has been standing in as our all purpose bedtime story and middle of the night rocking-to-sleep venue), and the stereo system that has been hiding in his closet unused. Without the chair and the tall crib, the room definitely looks bigger and FAR less like a nursery. Which of course gives me lots of little "oh my god, my baby is growing up!" pangs.

We set up the bed (minus the frame to make it a little lower to the ground), and struggled with the necessary but evil bed rail. I put the sports themed sheets on the bed that Finn picked out himself, including his very first pillow. Macy (our cat) set up shop immediately, and made herself right at home.

After all the excitement, we gave Finn a bath to calm him down. Then it was time to attempt our bedtime routine in the new environment. Finn did OK until it was time to turn off his light and sing our bedtime song. Normally he drapes himself on one of us in the rocking chair for this part - not such an easy task in a bed where I was trying not to lie down myself. There was much moving around to get comfortable, and some tears from Finn. More tears, many more tears, came when it was time for me to say goodnight. I tried calming him down, but he kept crying and trying to stand up in the bed. Eventually, I just left and shut the door, hovering outside to monitor whether or not he got out of the bed. Luckily, he seemed to think that he could not get out of the bed himself, and after about 2 minutes of intense crying, all was quiet in his room. We peeked in about an hour later, and found him lying on his blankie near the foot of his bed (essentially outside the range of the bed rail and in serious "fall off the bed" territory). Not under the covers, not lying on the pillow. Oh well, one thing at a time, right?

We moved Finn a little more in range of the bed rail and put up a gate outside his bedroom door just to make sure he couldn't wake up and wander the house at midnight. He didn't stir until about 5:30 am! I went and laid down with him, got him back to sleep, and he managed to sleep until 7:00 am. Overall, a very good first night with the bed. I am not so hopeful that our first nap will go as well today, but I'm grateful that M. and I are not walking zombies as we prepare our Thanksgiving Feast today. Hopefully tonight will go as well, as we will need our strength to tackle Black Friday shopping.

We of course forgot to take "before" pictures, but here are a couple of shots of Finn's new big boy room:







Bonus pic - a Happy Thanksgiving picture of our adorable but not-so-politically-correct toddler:

Food Confessions, Etc

Ugh, you know it's not going to be a good eating day when you've already had 2 cookies by 9am. A little breakfast dessert, if you will, since perhaps, as I did, you also already had a deli-sized (read: not your run-of-the-mill, teeny-tiny Lender's) bagel with cream cheese. And the only thing keeping you from having a third cookie is that there's only one left in the bowl, and you don't want to be THAT person who takes the last cookie, and has to wash the cookie container.

I'm telling myself that the baby is getting ready for a growth spurt. Perhaps by next week it will have moved on from the size of an avocado (4.5 inches long, 3.5 oz, in case you were wondering) to roughly the size of a watermelon. THAT is the extent of my appetite this week, I kid you not. I also think it explains the lame 9:30pm bedtime I had to invoke Saturday night, and the almost 2-hr nap I managed to take yesterday. I, who have not had much napping success this pregnancy (just can't sleep, darn it), much to my dismay. Thank goodness Finn was also in the mood for sleeping, and allowed me such a long nap.

In other pregnancy grumblings, I've been having issues picking out clothes to wear each morning. Is it weird that I refuse to wear things that make me look "too pregnant?" It's no longer a secret at work that my oven is officially cooking a bun. So what gives? Who cares if my outfits now make it patently obvious that I'm on my way to looking a whole lot like one of the Tweedle twins (minus the red cap)? And yet it does matter. I'm only 16 weeks and a couple of days here. It's too early for those "are you sure there's only one baby in there?" or "still pregnant, eh?" comments. I know they will come, but damn it, they better not be trotted out until I'm at least 35 weeks!

The sad thing is that I can fill out those tent-like maternity tops more than I would like. Not because my uterus suddenly needs a new zip code. No, instead it's the dreaded upper abdominal tire. The one that unenlightened people might THINK is the baby, but if they truly knew where the baby was (below the belly button, folks, well below), they would realize that it's just all that extra flesh being pushed up and out of the way to make room for said uterus. Gah.

It's really not as bad as I make it out to be, but since I've been too lazy to take any "belly shots," I guess I can't really prove that to you. It's too bad, since M. and I were pretty faithful about documenting my growing belly (and weight) with Finn. Is this just the start of always giving the second kid "the shaft?" Starting the trend of giving him less attention and more neglect (freedom?) compared to his older brother?

Note, my use of the words "him" and "his" do not mean anything, we are still in the dark about gender here, and plan to stay that way. Just doing a little educated guessing, that's all.

I'd write more, but it's already 10:25, and I'm starting to count down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to eat lunch. I'm hoping to hold off until 11:30. I just can't fixate on the clock AND blog at the same time. Besides, the only other thing I could really find to write about is Finn, and how he is making such a liar out of me (I HAD to go and write about how wonderful he was being, didn't I?), what with all the whining and hitting (yes, hitting! My baby is hitting! Me!) and tantrum-throwing. And I just don't have it in me to write a behavioral post, where I detail all our strategies, mostly ineffectual, and beg for more from you experienced moms and dads out there. So, yes, that's all for now.

Happy Halloween, Me Mateys!

Our little guy was a pirate for Halloween this year (thanks for the loan of the costume, Donna!). I vividly remember my brother Andrew loving his own pirate costume (fashioned by my mom, not a mass retailer, props to you, Mom!) so much that he wore it two years in a row when he was a preschooler. I didn't have such high hopes for Finn - we did a test drive in the costume a few weeks ago, and it stayed on his body for about 2 minutes. But luckily, daycare had a parade and party at school during the day yesterday, so they got to struggle with convincing Finn to put it on, not me. And I'm sure, since ALL the other kids had costumes to wear, Finn was more than happy to oblige. So by the time dinner was over, the sky was getting dim, and it was time to suit up for Trick or Treating, it was a piece of cake for me to get Finn into the costume. See for yourself, he makes a pretty jolly pirate:



M. was en route from a business trip up in Maine, so I had to handle our first real experience trick or treating alone. I left two big bowls of candy out on the front steps with a note for everyone to help themselves, and we took off down the side walk: me, my little pirate, two fake swords, and a plastic pumpkin. Finn was a little overwhelmed at times by all the kids and costumes, some of which scared him. He is still talking about the robot and "bear" (really a werewolf) that he saw this morning. Every time we saw another group of kids, he wanted to follow them, regardless of whether we had already been to that house or not. It was a bit of a challenge directing him around, and a lot of the experience was more like a meandering walk down the street than a trick or treating effort. But I managed to get him to say "trick or treat" several times, as well as "happy halloween," and we came away with a full pumpkin of candy and lots of compliments. The general verdict around the neighborhood was that he made for a very cute pirate.



I also had a doctor's appointment yesterday - I am 15 weeks along in the pregnancy as of today. These appointments always seem kind of pointless to me - there's confirmation that yes, the baby is alive, which is always nice. But the rest of the time is spent peeing in a cup and stepping on the dreaded scale, with only about 5 minutes or less of face time with the doctor. The doctor I saw yesterday was new to me (not surprising since the whole practice is new to me), and I was not overly impressed. She seemed very expressionless and not warm at all. Luckily, I think she does not deliver babies at the hospital we will use, and I plan to see only those doctors in the practice that do from now on, so I don't have to have any more appointments with her.

I had some concerns, because I've been having heart palpitations lately. I had them occasionally with Finn, and I know they can be a normal side effect of pregnancy. But with Finn they started much later into the pregnancy and didn't happen very frequently. They've been kind of frequent this week, and I was a little worried that they started so early this time around (I've had them for a couple of weeks). When I told the doctor about them, she basically told me to find a primary care physician and get monitored. She was not very proactive at all about helping me - didn't offer a suggestion of a primary care doctor (I told her I don't have one), and she also didn't offer to run any tests under her purview that might be helpful, like checking my iron or thyroid levels. Frustrating, and part of the reason I was less than impressed with her. I think everything is fine, but I will follow through, and find myself a PCP to get checked out.

Well, I'm being paged to come to the breakfast table, so I guess that's it for now...

For the love of fruit flies and olives

Perhaps, at this late date, you are one of those people who has not managed to make up your mind about where to cast your support in next Tuesday's national election. A humorous commentary from David Sedaris on undecided voters can be found here. His assessment beside the point, I'm assured that such people, even after being hit over the head with constant messages from both parties for nearly a year now, do exist. Perhaps, if after all the arguments over the economy, the war, healthcare, energy resources, executive experience, and wardrobes you still have not made up your mind, I can sway you with an argument for fruit fly research and the fate of the olive industry.

Many of you know that I did my doctoral research on aspects of fruit fly development. A topic near and dear to my heart, fruit flies have provided the basis for a century of scientific discovery and breakthroughs. A complex organism that is easy to raise and genetically manipulate, it so kicks the butt of many other model systems (sorry, M., but my model system eats your model system for breakfast, literally - there's just no contest between yeast and drosophila). Fruit flies were used to show that genes are located on chromosomes, for crying out loud. How much more fundamental and basic can one get? And there's more. Just about every known human disease gene has a fruit fly counterpart. They are used to study even the most complex of human conditions, like alcoholism, autism, memory/learning, cancer... the list goes on and on.

So, clearly, we have established the validity of pursuing scientific research on the tiny fruit fly, right? Apparently, this opinion is not shared by the McCain campaign.

Sarah Palin, she who allowed pork barrel funding to build a road in Alaska to the Bridge to Nowhere, which was never itself built due to an uproar around the country (or something like that), hence making this road a true Road to Nowhere, took it upon herself to criticize earmarks, a pet reform project of McCain's. Now, I'm not going to try to argue whether earmarks have any value (some definitely do, though) or what improvements need to be made to our earmark system. I'm here to defend fruit flies. And olives.

You see, Sarah Palin, in providing an example of the worthlessness of earmark spending, highlighted one project in particular as an example of pork barrel funding that, to her, is not in the public's best interest. This project involves, you guessed it, fruit fly research. You can read an assessment of her comments here, which though not unbiased is hopefully at least factual and informative.

Sarah Palin ridiculed the research in question, which apparently involves investigation into the olive fruit fly, a pest that has been terrorizing the California olive crop. Yes, this is different than the ivory tower fruit fly I lauded above. The research here is seeking to understand the olive fruit fly so that we may kill it, not unlock genetic mysteries that will lead to advances in human medicine. But her statement didn't go into that kind of detail, it just ridiculed fruit fly research as a whole. Way to be dismissive of all those past and future scientific discoveries we owe to the fruit fly, hmm?

The salon.com link above includes a discussion of the olive and olive oil markets, both national and international. Apparently the olive fruit fly is quite a blight on olive crops, a serious problem. Now, who doesn't love a good tapenade, I ask you? Bruschetta? Spaghetti aglio e olio? Cocktail and intimate dinner parties would never recover from an olive extinction. If that doesn't sway you, just think of my poor, picky, nutrient-deficient toddler, whose list of edible fruits includes just 6 items (banana, pear, apple, pineapple, orange slices, and olives). If all the olives are gone, we're down to just 5! Then what will he have on his pizza?? The horrors are unthinkable.

I have been assured, by the way, by the ever-reliable Internet that the olive is most definitely a fruit. Which I guess is why it is being attacked by a fruit fly... huh, don't I feel dumb. My original plea was going to include the olive as one of the 5 vegetables that Finn will deign to eat, but it being a fruit and all... This means Finn's vegetable list is down to 4 items(peas, corn, carrots, and the occasional french fry, which is also of dubious but definitely arguable vegetable origin). None of which he will actually eat on a regular, predictable basis.

If you have any positive feelings toward fruit fly research, olives, or my son's limited picky toddler diet, please, vote Obama/Biden next week!

Pumpkin Love

It's finally Fall around here, and Finn couldn't be happier. He has a newfound love of all things pumpkin for some reason. Our weekend walks are characterized by exclamations of "Muh-min" about every 15 seconds or so, every time we pass another house with something the tiniest bit pumpkin related on display. Side note, to our toddler, the words pumpkin and muffin are pronounced the exact same way. Perhaps I need to take a cue from that and start baking him some pumpkin muffins for his pre-breakfast snack - yum!


Finn also gets a kick out of all Halloween decorations. Not even the scary ones phase him, and to my dismay he even gets excited about the super-large spiders we've seen on display. Ugh. But I love that he is enjoying it, since this is my favorite time of year. Colorful leaves, breaking out sweaters after way too many days of tank tops, pumpkin lattes at Starbucks, I love it all. Except the large spiders.


This past weekend was pretty quiet and low key, but still a ton of fun. The reason was Finn - he is definitely going through a wonderful phase right now, so much so that I'm not sure I want to talk about it lest I jinx it and the tantrums start up anew tomorrow. He is happy and talkative and mimicky and funny, so full of excitement for EVERYTHING, that even just going to the grocery store is fun with him. I have heard that the whole numbers can be just as great as the half numbers are awful, but as we roll into Finn's second birthday in a few days, I'll be wishing on his candles that 2 1/2 is just as kind to us as 2 has been so far.


Saturday we went on a "hike" in a nearby state park. I use the quotes because much of the way was paved, and we brought Finn's stroller along (not so easy to maneuver on the unpaved parts, though), though he refused to sit in it much of the time. It was a wonderful day, weatherwise - a long-sleeved shirt and jeans was the uniform for everyone, and I think you'll agree that Finn looked particularly cute in his:

The next morning we set up the fake pumpkins we purchased at Target a few weeks ago (on a whim, and at Finn's insistence, of course). They are perfect for the front of our house, which gets full sun during the afternoon that has been known to heat our storm door to a flesh-singe-ing degree and would no doubt make short work of any real carved pumpkins we might place out there. Finn is in love with his new buddies, and enjoys just sitting next to them on the steps every day, especially when M. and I are trying to load him into the car to take him to daycare. Every night, after dinner, we ceremoniously go outside and plug them in, so Finn can exclaim over and over again about "light!" "Muh-min!" "Mommy, light!" "Muh-min!"

Though not the best picture, I included the one above so that you can see Finn in his typical state of late - running somewhere, anywhere, with a devilish grin on his face. This kid does not slow down!

Apologies and a Quick Update

I've re-read my post from yesterday, and good lord I hope I didn't bore anyone. It's way too long, and I apologize! Can you tell that even though I am for the most part quite happy about working full time and having Finn in daycare, a small part of me feels guilty? And leads me to obsess about the care and education my son is receiving on a daily basis?

Finn is still having some issues adjusting to his new room, but nothing serious enough to chronicle (at least for now!). On to other topics. Today marks day 3 of my single mommy-hood. M. left for Vietnam on Sunday afternoon. He cannot call me from his cell phone (no service there), but he has e-mailed me several times, and let me know that he has safely arrived in Hanoi. Tonight, we talked over our computers using Skype - it was great to hear his voice (the connection was so clear!), and we arranged for the call to happen while Finn was still awake. He is definitely missing his daddy - he asks for him as soon as I walk in his room in the morning, and even though I tell him his daddy is on a trip, he insists that Daddy is downstairs waiting for him. However, he does know that Daddy left in his car to go on an airplane (though sometimes he insists that Daddy is on the choo-choo instead). I'm pretty sure he thinks M. is going to be on an airplane this whole week - we haven't mastered the concept of what a trip actually is yet.

Honestly, the time is flying by pretty quickly, and at this rate M. will be home in no time. My days and nights have been busy - as soon as I get Finn fed, bathed and in to bed, I spend my time each night doing the regular chores (cleaning the kitchen, packing my lunch) and the "extra" chores that need to get done before my visitors arrive on Thursday. Tonight, for example, I swept and mopped the front hall and the kitchen, and cleaned Finn's bathroom. Then I drag myself into the shower and blow dry my hair before hitting the hay - it's far easier to do that stuff at night than the early morning, where I'm either tiptoe-ing around, trying desperately not to wake up Finn while I hurry through a shower, or trying to juggle the need to get ready for work with Finn's demands for book reading and any number of other types of attention.

Thursday afternoon my mom, dad and sister Stacey are coming for a visit. They are coming to keep us company, help us get a couple of projects done around the house (install shelves in the new office closet, change the look of some light fixtures by painting them), and maybe do a little retail therapy. Should be fun! My mom has a nice camera, so hopefully I will be able to share some nice pictures of Finn next week.

Welcome to the 2-Year-Old Room

As I have alluded in a previous post or two, Finn has just been transitioned to the 2-year-old room at daycare. I have found transitions in general to be stressful. Our daycare center does not provide a "transition plan," and there is no effort made to introduce you to the teachers in the new room or tell you what goes on inside it.

When Finn was moved from the infant room to the toddler room, I knew it was coming, and part of me was looking forward to it. Never great at napping with the lights on and other babies awake around him, I was convinced that the "everyone naps at the same time with the lights out" philosophy of the toddler room would work wonders for Finn's napping abilities at school (it did). However, the transition was still not without stress. Finn was randomly moved over to his soon-to-be new toddler room without advance warning to "test it out." Instead of doing it gradually (an hour here or there), he was basically put there all day, a surprise to me when I picked him up at the end of the day. The director of the daycare assured me that Finn did great and was soooo happy. But the second I saw him, he started to cry. And. did. not. stop. Clearly, his day in this new environment was not without effect on him, and he had been saving up all his discomfort to express to me.

The transition to the toddler room happened pretty quickly. Eventually, I came to know the teachers (the main ones, anyway - there are still a few "floaters" that remain nameless, unfortunately), and I came to know the routine of the room. They came to know my preferences, too. I had only four "rules" at the time. 1) Finn was on reflux meds, which we were trying to give before dinner on an empty stomach, so no snacks after 4 pm. 2) No juice allowed (for some reason, the daycare gives juice at breakfast, but Finn gets milk instead because for god's sake, 1-year olds need their milk, not juice!). 3) The pacifier is for naps only. 4) No hotdogs allowed (come one, can't they find SOMETHING more nutritious to feed these kids? Plus, hello, choking hazard!). After a couple of days of rough naps, Finn settled in to the routine nicely, and quickly grew to love his classroom and friends. Similar to the infant room, the toddler room has a teacher:child ratio of 1:3, so I knew he was always getting lots of attention. The hardest part was giving up my daily lunchtime visits (as now Finn naps during my lunchtime), but we have both survived.

As Fall neared this year, and all the kids that were older than Finn gradually disappeared from the toddler room, moving across the hall to no man's land, I knew our time was coming to move again. Though legally our daycare center is required to keep Finn at a ratio of 1:3 until he turns 2, the center is always playing a "numbers game," and tends to jump the gun if it works well for their space issues. I was adamant that Finn not be moved too early, and I made a point to tell the director to ask me before Finn started "visiting" the 2-year-old room. I wanted to know before the transition was initiated, so I could determine if I felt comfortable with it.

You might be wondering, what's the big deal? But to a 22-month old, entering a room of 12 kids, some of whom are nearing 3 years old and can talk waaaayyyy better than he can, with only 2 teachers to keep an eye on everyone, it could be quite a big deal. I worried about Finn being bitten or hit. I worried about Finn LEARNING to bite and hit, because he can't communicate any other way with these comparative elocutionists. And of course, I worried about my baby growing up way too fast :-(. Which of course he isn't, so I tried not to let that worry influence my decisions.

As requested, the director did tell me ahead of time when they would like to start to transition Finn. She described a plan for me. Finn would "visit" for three days or so in the afternoon, for a couple of hours after nap time, the second to last week of August. He would continue to visit the next week, and then be officially moved on September 2nd. This sounded reasonable to me. Finn would be 6-weeks shy of his second birthday, so not too far off the 2-year-old mark. More comforting was the fact that two of Finn's friends, the twins who are 4 days older and have been with him in daycare since March 2007, were moving over just before Finn. He would have lots of friends, most of whom aren't too much older than him, that he still remembered from their time in the toddler room. And, we had an actual plan! So, I agreed, and made plans to meet with one of Finn's new teachers to find out the ins and outs of the new room.

Plan, schman! The day following my conversation with the director, I picked up Finn only to discover that he had been in the 2-year-old room, all day long. And again, I got the "he had soooo much fun, he loved it" speech. And again, the second Finn saw me, he started crying. And. would. not. stop. Needless to say, I was furious. I could go on and on about how this is no way to run a business, that they should be following my wishes and not what they "perceive" to be my son's wishes, that he shouldn't have been in the room in the first place since we weren't starting the switch until the next week, that any idiot knows that kids save their unhappy expressions for the people they are most comfortable with and just because they aren't crying around YOU doesn't mean they are HAPPY.... but this post is already too long.

To sum up, I spoke to the director (again), and reaffirmed that we would stick to "the plan." Said plan was executed, and Finn is now an official member of the 2-year-old room. I know his new teachers, and I am learning the routine of the room. I have fewer rules this time, as the menu has been changes (no more hotdogs on it) and Finn no longer takes reflux meds. I also apparently don't need to have the "pacifier is for naptime only" rule, since in the 2-year-old room they do not give the kids pacifiers at naptime unless the parents specifically ask for it. I bring one in every day just in case, but knock on wood, they haven't had to use it yet. Thus, "no juice" is our only rule. New things Finn will be working on in his big boy room include potty training (at this point they will not push, just offer, until he nears the transition to the 3-year-old room) and drinking from big boy cups. I'm sure there's a lot more he will learn, and as the year goes on I will find out all about it.

Last week, Finn spent 3 full days in his new room. Each day, he whined and cried in the car on the way home, but each day the whining and crying got less and less. Hopefully, today we will be back to happy car rides home. The morning drop off is still painful, however - the transition is apparently harshest in the morning, when Finn clings to me and cries as I try to leave him in these unfamiliar surroundings (he never used to do this, ever). From what some of the other moms have said, the "not crying in the morning" takes a little longer to achieve, but it does happen.

The reason I have a G&T in my hand right now

I believe M. (ahem, in his one and only post on this blog to date) called my commute "a quiet, peaceful meander toward the hills of western Maryland," one that helps me arrive "at work calm and ready to face the day." Apparently he neglected to tell Finn this, as evidenced by the loud screaming, crying, shouting, and general pain-in-the-butt-iness that issued forth from the back seat of my car during my entire 25 minute ride home today. I'd rather get groped on the Metro.

This has become way more common than I'm comfortable with. Tuesday the screams were because of the stick! The stick! The STICK!!! Why is the stick sitting on the back seat of the car, instead of trapped in my sweaty little hand??? I need THE STICK!! All said far less eloquently, of course. In fact, it was quite incomprehensible, and I was only able to decipher the meaning of the screams once I had pulled the car off the side of the road and pointed at every single object in the back seat, finally winning the coveted "yeah" after about twenty emphatic NOs. And let's not mention the fact that the stick was, indeed, out of reach because one of us (not me) threw it there in the first place.

Who me, cause trouble? Never!


To remind myself of how cute my pain-in-the-butt can be, and score some points with my grandmother, a few recent pictures:

Don't call me - I'll call you:


Ready for my close up:


Ready for a rodeo:


A new target group for The Week - toddlers??: