Because I'm Sure What the Internet Needs is One More Picture of a Baby Eating Spaghetti

So here are six, instead.





Uh, he got a haircut the next day.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Oh, stick it up my nose? Okay."

To Whom it Concerns

Dear Unit 13,

While I'm fully aware that most would consider it unacceptable that I should be outside, dressed in my North Face fleece, and FREEZING on this, the 30th day of August, it is equally unacceptable for you to display your "Autumn" wreath and "Boo" decor on this, the 30th day of August. Please remove at your earliest convenience, lest you continue to confuse Mother Nature.

With Gratitude,
Unit 9

New Game: Head-Butting

Yes, it is official. My child has morphed from a Gender-Non-Specific baby to an Enjoys-Mild-Violence-BOY. His new game is head-butting me. It's actually quite cute. When I'm holding him facing me, he just slightly leans in and WHAPs me on the head. And then he does it again...and again...and, oh okay, so I'm playing along by this point, too. The giggle-fest it sparks is a little irresistible. The first time it happened was an accident, as Brad and I have been teaching him to give us kisses (which he does by opening his mouth like he's going to eat a grape, and moving it in the general direction of our chins). Evidently, the mistake was hilarious. That was four days ago.

I noticed today that I have a tiny sore spot on my forehead. Whoops.

Overheard...

...at the playground...in Chicago (that part is relevant).


10ish year-old boy to another 10ish-year old boy while playing tag:
"You know, Eric, it's okay if you don't catch anyone. Just keep trying! You know what they say: if you fail, try, try again!"


Good to know that Civil Behavior education is paying off somewhere.

Haha Happy 1st Day of School!

Birthday Preview!

Because I have "nothing better to do" (ha! but so I'm told on a regular basis by some haters), I'm having a shirt made for the Munchkin to wear to his Fiesta-themed 1st birthday party. If you haven't discovered Etsy, get on it, people! Heather of "Olive & Ollie" is creating it for him. Here's a little preview:

Always...

He always waves goodbye when I put him down for bed in his crib. It's definitely the sweetest thing I've ever seen him do, so far. In fact, he always transitions better from one activity to another when he can "wave bye bye" to it. When we were at the zoo a few days ago, we had to "wave bye bye" to each group of animals as we moved on, so as to prevent the tears and wild leg waving that currently accompanies a temper tantrum. Unfortunately for me, it took an hour before I discovered that grand trick.

He always dumps the contents of any container he runs across. One would think it was his mission in life to Ensure that All Things are Empty at All Times.

Anywhere we go, I can be assured that he will always point at any plant that we find. He always wants to touch it, and always appears to regret it.

He always, always, always tries to chase Oliver around the house and whack him on the head. (This is displeasing to Oliver.) (Hey! Possible eureka moment! Is whacking things on the head his way of showing affection??? Discuss.)

He always points to the picture of Brad in our room and says, "DaDA?" Now, the jury is still out on whether or not he actually knows it's a picture of his dad and is actually labeling that human as "DaDA?," or if he calls all pictures of humans, "DaDA?" (And always with a question mark. This kid hasn't met the period, yet.)

He always wants to play with "Carol" as soon as he is released from the prison we call a crib. Now, um, I have to tell you who Carol is. Carol is a doll. A very manly, hard-plastic, bobble-head, evidently female doll, modeled after the principle Wild Thing in the new "Where the Wild Things Are" movie (given to Brad by the fine folks at Warner Bros.)--but a doll, nonetheless. I'm secretly thrilled. Don't tell anyone, but I'd love for my kids to shoot giant holes through the gender rules surrounding toys. He wants a toy kitchen? He gets a toy kitchen. (Oh, and while we're on the subject, would someone please explain to me why the only current model of the Fisher-Price Little People castle is PINK? Now only girls can play with castles? What happened to the awesome gray castle I had as a kid that has a secret hiding place behind the stairs, and a trap door, and a dungeon. What's so GIRLIE about that?!?!)

I digress.

He always wants to play with the grown-up toys that have buttons. Cell phones, laptops, remotes, car key remotes, Wii controllers, shirts, pants. I hear this is particularly common in boys. Must be foreshadowing of activities to come. (Kidding about the shirts and pants part. Wanna make sure My Internet is paying attention.)

The End.


(Sorry...just ran out of words. That happens on Fridays. Have a great weekend, Internet!)

The American Dream?

Last night I dreamt that we had to move back in with my mom. Except she didn't live in her house, but in a tiny, two bedroom apartment. We spent most of the dream trying to find a place to store The Munch's Jumperoo (dream imitates life).

In the next segment, I was back in the classroom, except my music classes would be held in a 3rd grade classroom (while their classes were continuing), with some sort of reading/math support happening in the back of the room; AND my former DePaul professor (Dr. Smith, for those in the know)--who lost his office--would now have his desk in my room. And I received all this information 30 minutes before teaching my first class....of 3rd graders...the only grade I've never taught.

Incidentally, the school segment isn't too far removed from the current situation at the school from which I'm on my second year of "Parental Leave." They have an assistant principal for the first time, which requires a new office, which requires a new location for a conference room, which requires a new location for the desk of--you guessed it--the music teacher. An additional section of 2nd grade means converting a special ed classroom into a regular ed classroom, which requires knocking down walls and rewiring electricity, which ALMOST meant sending--you guessed it--the music teacher out of the classroom and onto a cart.

This stay-at-home mom thing is lookin' pretty good right about now. But I still miss the smell of brand new dry erase markers, and the fresh-faced look of terror excitement on the faces of the Kindergartners.

Welcome to another year, teachers. I miss you!

Funny Story

Instructions for reading Sandra Boynton's Blue Hat, Green Hat to The Munch:


Kid points to blue hat: "Chick-gah?"

Blue hat.

Points to green hat: "Chick-gah?"

Green hat.

Points to yellow hat: "Chick-gah?"

Yellow hat.

Points to turkey: "Chick-gah?"

Oooooooops.

(Kid doubles over, giggling.)


Rinse and repeat 842 times.
Put kid to bed with book.

"OMG" *

* "G" stands for "Golly"

Happy Blogiversary!

In honor of my second year of blogging here at the Rose Garden, we have a new look! Unfortunately for some of you that new look came with a new template which deleted some of my HTML code that provided you with expandable posts. (WHAT? Blogger for Dummies: Remember when you just saw the first couple of lines, followed by a "Read More!" link? Well, at the moment, the entire post will show followed by a "Read More" link that doesn't do anything.) As soon as it's not midnight, I'll figure out how to fix the code.

By request (and I won't say by whom...) our font is just slightly bigger. We also have some new colors (evidently, I'm anticipating autumn), and, of course, the new header, compliments of scrapblog.com and Colleen, who introduced the two of us. Scrapblog and I had a very close relationship today.

Thanks for indulging me...us...and for being such loyal readers. As always, feel free (but not obligated!) to comment. Don't worry: I'll still nag you from time to time to make sure you're still there! (Oh! That reminds me...I need to add my analytics code to the new template so I can keep track of you all. Sorry. More mumbo jumbo.)

Happy Reading!


Edit: Fixed! Sorry, Jess. It's easier for people to see how many new posts they have to read when they're expandable.

Under Construction...

Hey, thanks for your support, readers! We're under construction. Back up soon!

Helloooo (echo echo echo)

So my super nerdy Google Analytics page tells me that I average about 15 readers per day on this here blog. This isn't bad, considering I average much higher on days when I have new posts, and only slightly lower on days where there aren't new posts. BUT. What I wanna to know now, without being super whiny, is....WHERE are my PEEPS? How come y'all stopped commenting, with a few notable exceptions? 50 lashes to you all.

Whaddoeye hafta do? Giveaways? Bomb threats? More eloquent writing? New banner and/or layout?

So. Dudes. Get thee a log in name! Make haste! Believe it or not, I actually do care what you think. And I want to know who's listening. (And I promise to never ever turn off the comments again so help me god and to help people at all times and live by the Girl Scout law.)

Sometimes...

Sometimes he raises a single eyebrow at me. The left one--which is the same one I can raise. It only lasts a split second, but it's just such an adult thing to do, you know? Sometimes he does it before he smiles, as if his outside edge of his brow and the corner of his mouth are attached. Sometimes he does it when he's about to do something he knows he's been advised against. Sometimes he does it when I show him a new skill, like tapping two plastic balls together to make an annoying invigorating noise.

Sometimes he tries to stand alone. This is a new acrobatic endeavor. Sometimes it ends with a crash, occasionally on his head. It's miraculous that he a) hasn't had a concussion or b) (probably) won't end up with permanent brain damage. It does make me curious to know if their little toddler heads are just tougher than our giant melons.

Sometimes he throws 11 month sized hissy fits, otherwise known as temper tantrums. Sometimes he lashes out by hurling the nearest object. Sometimes the tantrums result in him whacking me on the face. Punk.

Sometimes he smiles at me with such charm that nothing else seems to matter. Sometimes.

Sympathy Pains

It's still that time in my life when half of everyone I know, and their mother, is pregnant.I constantly have friends ask me when I felt the first kick, did I know it was a boy, how long was I in labor...and most of the time I have to look up the answers. Every now and then, though, I get little flashbacks of pregnancy that are as clear as if it were yesterday. Today I was remembering sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn (what else?) on my belly, watching it balance precariously while The Munch rolled around inside. He spent so much time kicking (or was it punching? spinning? bicycling? somersaulting?) my right side that it felt like I had internal bruises. Life in utero imitating life, um, out utero--I'm just sayin'.

We are ominously nearing the one year mark. It's so very difficult for me to grasp that it will have been a YEAR since I was last pregnant. I wasn't one of those pregnant women that luuuuved being pregnant--but, man, I loved cooking that baby.

Friend Request

The Munch and I (well, okay, just "I") are exploring the idea of finally joining a play group. I have been reticent to find one because we are "actively trying to move" (a phrase that exhausts and depresses me), but since it appears that we'll be in this house until 2084, I guess I should find the poor kid some friends.

So, to all the Potential Play Group Friends out there, here are some things you should know about my child--in the interest of full disclosure:


He has PLANS. And woe to you if you try to screw them up. He has doors to CLOSE, drawers to OPEN, dog crates to MOVE, stools to PUSH (um, STEPstools, that is), things to take OUT of the box, things to put IN the box. And please don't help me, mommy!

Like his dad, he jumps up from a dead sleep. Not like his mom, who rolls around in a fog and tries to ignore consciousness for as long as possible.

He doesn't like food goop on his hands. He would much rather spread it in his hair. We frequently refer to this as "banana gel," for reasons I'm sure you can infer.

I'm certain he will be a linguist of some kind, and his primary language will include words containing many "L" and "K" sounds.

HE CAN DO IT HIS OWN SELF. (Did I mention that already?)

Anytime anyone anywhere is clapping, he must also clap. If he cannot clap (because he's laying butt-up on the floor and clapping would cause him to face-plant), he must pound the nearest surface. This may prove problematic in public places such as sporting events when the one person in the entire stadium who is rooting for the other team happens to be sitting in front of him. ("Yay! The White Sox scored!" [insert: clap clap clap] [insert: echo clap clap clap from The Munch] [insert: a panic induced, "STOP THAT," from any of the Munch's living relatives on his dad's side.] )

He is the ultimate multitasker. He can play with toys that mechanically roll, make sound, spew ribbons, clean the floors, and rock--ALL AT THE SAME TIME. He refuses to sit anywhere (car seat, high chair, crib, countertop (just kidding) ) without something occupying his little multitasking hands. Again, like his dad. Hey! I should get him a Crackberry!

He takes no issue with snot running down his face. He prefers it to Kleenex and CERTAINLY to the dreaded Booger Sucker. (Speaking of which, when/how do I teach him how to "blow?" What a totally odd concept for a human to learn.)

He best expresses his love and affection by ducking his head and playing a coy game of peek-a-boo...either that, or he swats you on the face. Depends on the day.


Who wants to play?!

...for the next ten minutes...

I'm having a "Ten Minute Morning."You know, one of those mornings that starts out in a hideous fashion, so you allow yourself "ten minutes" of the thing you NEED immediately. Maybe it's a ten minute coffee break, or ten minutes of watching the news, or ten minutes on Facebook (ahem), or a ten minute walk. Today's ten minutes were spent with electricboogaloo, who makes me giggle and--I swear--also makes me a better writer (no judgement from the peanut gallery, please).

Now, my ten minutes are up. I need to face the world by finishing today's cleaning list, wade through the new list of possible properties, care for the child, deal with the dog, etc. Then again, I'm also waiting for the window-repair guys to call me and tell me they're on their way here, and I can't afford to possibly miss that call because I'm--say--in the shower. I guess my only course of action is...ten minutes more.


What do you do with your ten minutes?

11 Months

Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens.

These are a few of my favorite 11 month things:

- Repeating "bye bye" to the girl's voice on the your rocking bike after she said it to you (wow, that sounds confusing, doesn't it)

- Taking steps while holding hands

- Trying to climb stairs


-Clapping! at everything!

- Saying, "thaT." Asking, "thaT?"

- Coming into your room to find you standing in your crib

- Pulling up on everything and starting to "cruise"


- We ask, "what does Oliver say?" You reply, "GRRRRRRR!"

- Keeping the beat (sorta) during music

- Playing the tone bell with the mallet held correctly and making contact

- Being utterly charming to everyone you meet--especially the old ladies in the stores

- Understanding, "no," even if you don't always obey

- Meticulously emptying the drawer full of baking sheets; and the drawer full of shirts; the drawers full of anything that isn't nailed down


- Opening the door, closing the door, opening the door, closing the door--like it's your full-time job


- Knowing which toys are yours and which are Oliver's, and throwing his for him when you run across them

- Speaking in your unique foreign language, with phrasing, storyline and everything


My Little Scientist is turning into Mr. Destruct-o. But I'll keep lovin' you, anyway.
Love,
Mom

(Top photo credit: Erielle Bakkum)