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Sunday, September 30, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Proof
Tuesday night while we were sitting on the couch, Shawn read my last blog entry. She laughed, and then we went back and forth trying to decide who it was that Reilly picked up “I a crazy kid,” from. I thought that it might be her, and Shawn claimed that she was pretty sure it was me.
Now, if it we were trying to determine who taught Reilly the word ‘shit’ I would have to claim responsibility. But the whole ‘crazy kid’ thing just didn’t sound like me.
We ended up in a stalemate.
The next morning Shawn came to me with something to confess. Apparently, when she picked up Reilly out of her crib, she said, “Good morning you crazy kid.”
She claimed that it was just because the phrase was fresh in her head from the night before.
Right, Shawn. Sure.
Now, if it we were trying to determine who taught Reilly the word ‘shit’ I would have to claim responsibility. But the whole ‘crazy kid’ thing just didn’t sound like me.
We ended up in a stalemate.
The next morning Shawn came to me with something to confess. Apparently, when she picked up Reilly out of her crib, she said, “Good morning you crazy kid.”
She claimed that it was just because the phrase was fresh in her head from the night before.
Right, Shawn. Sure.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"No"
This morning Reilly was being a two-year-old. By that, I mean that she was just dragging her feet through every morning process. On the potty, she wanted her treat and her hand stamp after she did her business. Make that two hand stamps. Then she got the ink on her fingers and had to wash it off. But the handwashing removed part of her handstamp, so she needed another one.
Then she didn't want to put any clothes on. Though I was tempted to send her to school in the buff, I knew this wouldn't bother her. The kid would go naked 24-7 if we let her. So, I asked her 100 different ways with as many bribes to please, for the love of God, put your underwear on. Her special Elmo underwear.
Her answer? "No."
(Imagine me pulling my hair out.)
I resorted to forcing her into her clothes, which was a terrible idea. Shawn heard the commotion and came in with a cool head and had a talk with Reilly and was able to coax her into her clothes.
At some point in this process, Shawn asked me to please stop pacing the room. It was making her anxious.
Finally, I got Reilly out the door, and after dragging her feet on the walk to the garage, we made it to the car. Of course, she wouldn't let me put her in the carseat. She had to climb in herself. And I wasn't allowed to buckle her in. She wanted to do it.
Once I was sure that she was properly buckled in, I got in the driver's seat, sighed, and started up the car.
Reilly piped up from the back:
"I a crazy kid."
Unsure if she just said what I thought she said, I didn't respond, so she repeated herself:
"Daddy, I a crazy kid."
I laughed.
"Yes you are, Reilly. Yes you are."
Then she didn't want to put any clothes on. Though I was tempted to send her to school in the buff, I knew this wouldn't bother her. The kid would go naked 24-7 if we let her. So, I asked her 100 different ways with as many bribes to please, for the love of God, put your underwear on. Her special Elmo underwear.
Her answer? "No."
(Imagine me pulling my hair out.)
I resorted to forcing her into her clothes, which was a terrible idea. Shawn heard the commotion and came in with a cool head and had a talk with Reilly and was able to coax her into her clothes.
At some point in this process, Shawn asked me to please stop pacing the room. It was making her anxious.
Finally, I got Reilly out the door, and after dragging her feet on the walk to the garage, we made it to the car. Of course, she wouldn't let me put her in the carseat. She had to climb in herself. And I wasn't allowed to buckle her in. She wanted to do it.
Once I was sure that she was properly buckled in, I got in the driver's seat, sighed, and started up the car.
Reilly piped up from the back:
"I a crazy kid."
Unsure if she just said what I thought she said, I didn't respond, so she repeated herself:
"Daddy, I a crazy kid."
I laughed.
"Yes you are, Reilly. Yes you are."
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Another list
Things I observed on my way to work today:
1) As I leave my neighborhood every morning, I drive through a school zone. There are the requisite flashing lights and orange safety cones plastered with 15 MPH signs. There is also a crossing guard, who acts a bit differently than most crossing guards. Instead of standing there and watching the traffic go by, she waves and says good morning to every car that passes. I know this sounds a bit sentimental, but it makes my day.
Every morning.
Until I get on the Interstate.
2) I once read on another blog that the writer decides whether to let someone into his lane based on what bumper sticker the car is sporting. I let in anyone that turns on their turn signal, since that is the law and I am for the most part an anal law-following man. However, just because I let someone in with a lame bumper sticker doesn’t mean that I won’t judge them and say snarky comments.
The driver I let in today I call the I call the “triple threat”: A pickup truck with a Gator license tag, a W bumper sticker and those plastic testicles hanging off the trailer hitch.
Classy.
3) On the drive over the bridge today, I approached a car that was weaving a bit in the lane. As I passed the car, I saw the reason for the erratic driving. The driver, a young girl of let’s say 24, was rocking out in her seat, bouncing and singing and thrashing her hair around her face. I couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone does this from time to time, right? What was killing me though, and what I wonder every time I come across this situation, is what not knowing what song has so excited the driver.
Or perhaps I should be wondering what drug has so excited the driver?
1) As I leave my neighborhood every morning, I drive through a school zone. There are the requisite flashing lights and orange safety cones plastered with 15 MPH signs. There is also a crossing guard, who acts a bit differently than most crossing guards. Instead of standing there and watching the traffic go by, she waves and says good morning to every car that passes. I know this sounds a bit sentimental, but it makes my day.
Every morning.
Until I get on the Interstate.
2) I once read on another blog that the writer decides whether to let someone into his lane based on what bumper sticker the car is sporting. I let in anyone that turns on their turn signal, since that is the law and I am for the most part an anal law-following man. However, just because I let someone in with a lame bumper sticker doesn’t mean that I won’t judge them and say snarky comments.
The driver I let in today I call the I call the “triple threat”: A pickup truck with a Gator license tag, a W bumper sticker and those plastic testicles hanging off the trailer hitch.
Classy.
3) On the drive over the bridge today, I approached a car that was weaving a bit in the lane. As I passed the car, I saw the reason for the erratic driving. The driver, a young girl of let’s say 24, was rocking out in her seat, bouncing and singing and thrashing her hair around her face. I couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone does this from time to time, right? What was killing me though, and what I wonder every time I come across this situation, is what not knowing what song has so excited the driver.
Or perhaps I should be wondering what drug has so excited the driver?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Five more things
Here are five more things you might not know about Reilly:
1) Reilly has learned how to count to 10. She sometimes gets stuck at 7 and reverts back to 4, but for the most part, can do 1-10 in short order.
2) Reilly has learned how to sing her ABC’s. Like the counting, she sometimes gets stuck in the L,M,N,O,P section, but for the most part can belt out the song pretty well. She can identify by sight about half of the letters, and understands that “R-E-I-L-L-Y” spells her name.
This morning, as Shawn dropped Reilly off at school, she drew a heart on a piece of paper and wrote Reilly’s name in the middle of it. Reilly look up at Shawn and said, “That’s my name!”
3) To keep Reilly calm while on the way to preschool, Shawn and I redirect her unhappiness by singing. Now when Reilly is in the car, she just sings to herself, mostly songs that we sing to her at bedtime or that she learns at school.
Lately, she has also started humming the songs, or the bits that she can’t remember. I don’t think I have to tell you how cute this is, but sometimes I like to really drive home the point, in case you’re not getting it: the humming is super cute, and makes me well up sometimes.
4) Trapped inside the house one rainy day, I built Reilly a fort out of pillows and a blanket on the couch. I called it her ‘cave.’ She instantly changed the word to ‘cage.’ The game went like this: she would hide in her fort and when she peeked her head out, I would growl, “Get back in your cage!” to which she would respond with a squeal and a dive back into the pillow fort. We repeated the game like 100 times that day. It was fun, but now she wants me to make her ‘cage’ every afternoon.
I’m just dreading the day that her teacher pulls me aside and says, “Reilly says you put her in a cage every night at home.”
5) In the morning, we like to take Reilly into bed with us for a little snuggle. Reilly likes to snuggle, but only for about 30 seconds or so. Then she slides out of bed, puts her face in my face, and says, “Get up daddy!” Then she walks to the other side of the bed and says, “Get up mommy! Feet on floor!” Then she walks back to me and says, “Daddy get up! Daddy make coffee!”
*Sigh* She’ll make a great drill sergeant some day.
1) Reilly has learned how to count to 10. She sometimes gets stuck at 7 and reverts back to 4, but for the most part, can do 1-10 in short order.
2) Reilly has learned how to sing her ABC’s. Like the counting, she sometimes gets stuck in the L,M,N,O,P section, but for the most part can belt out the song pretty well. She can identify by sight about half of the letters, and understands that “R-E-I-L-L-Y” spells her name.
This morning, as Shawn dropped Reilly off at school, she drew a heart on a piece of paper and wrote Reilly’s name in the middle of it. Reilly look up at Shawn and said, “That’s my name!”
3) To keep Reilly calm while on the way to preschool, Shawn and I redirect her unhappiness by singing. Now when Reilly is in the car, she just sings to herself, mostly songs that we sing to her at bedtime or that she learns at school.
Lately, she has also started humming the songs, or the bits that she can’t remember. I don’t think I have to tell you how cute this is, but sometimes I like to really drive home the point, in case you’re not getting it: the humming is super cute, and makes me well up sometimes.
4) Trapped inside the house one rainy day, I built Reilly a fort out of pillows and a blanket on the couch. I called it her ‘cave.’ She instantly changed the word to ‘cage.’ The game went like this: she would hide in her fort and when she peeked her head out, I would growl, “Get back in your cage!” to which she would respond with a squeal and a dive back into the pillow fort. We repeated the game like 100 times that day. It was fun, but now she wants me to make her ‘cage’ every afternoon.
I’m just dreading the day that her teacher pulls me aside and says, “Reilly says you put her in a cage every night at home.”
5) In the morning, we like to take Reilly into bed with us for a little snuggle. Reilly likes to snuggle, but only for about 30 seconds or so. Then she slides out of bed, puts her face in my face, and says, “Get up daddy!” Then she walks to the other side of the bed and says, “Get up mommy! Feet on floor!” Then she walks back to me and says, “Daddy get up! Daddy make coffee!”
*Sigh* She’ll make a great drill sergeant some day.
Monday, September 17, 2007
One if by day, two if by night
We returned from Salem last night. Having had a day to process our trip, here is my impression of that old city:
By day, Salem is a quaint, almost quintessential New England town, with a heavy dose of history. The streets and public spaces are immaculate and designed in such a way that tourists and locals alike might walk to their respective destinations. You will walk on brick sidewalks, cross cobblestone streets. You will see homes as old as the Declaration of Independence. Overall, you will enjoy a picturesque and historic city.
By night, Salem’s underbelly rolls to the forefront. Like New Orleans, there is a black magic counterculture that hides during the day, only seep from the cracks as the night falls. It is at this time that the history of Salem’s witch trials becomes personified in costumed, face-painted weirdo wannabe vampires and mystics. The strangeness is as funny as it is weird as it is downright creepy. In the same way that religious zealots scare me, so too do these witchy women.
My final recommendation would be to make Salem a daytrip only, unless you’re into sorcerers and the like. I’d also mention that you should avoid the week around Halloween, which one local called “the Mardi Gras of the Northeast.”
By day, Salem is a quaint, almost quintessential New England town, with a heavy dose of history. The streets and public spaces are immaculate and designed in such a way that tourists and locals alike might walk to their respective destinations. You will walk on brick sidewalks, cross cobblestone streets. You will see homes as old as the Declaration of Independence. Overall, you will enjoy a picturesque and historic city.
By night, Salem’s underbelly rolls to the forefront. Like New Orleans, there is a black magic counterculture that hides during the day, only seep from the cracks as the night falls. It is at this time that the history of Salem’s witch trials becomes personified in costumed, face-painted weirdo wannabe vampires and mystics. The strangeness is as funny as it is weird as it is downright creepy. In the same way that religious zealots scare me, so too do these witchy women.
My final recommendation would be to make Salem a daytrip only, unless you’re into sorcerers and the like. I’d also mention that you should avoid the week around Halloween, which one local called “the Mardi Gras of the Northeast.”
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Hold your applause
Every night, Shawn and I take Reilly through the same bedtime ritual: dinner, bath, milk, stories, nightlight, songs.
Here is the setlist from last night:
Set I: The Ants Go Marching (verses 1, 2 & 3)
Set II: Row, Row, Row Your Boat --> ABC’s
Encore: Happy Birthday
The audience seemed pleased with the one-man-band's song selection, and rewarded him not with applause, but with sound sleep.
Here is the setlist from last night:
Set I: The Ants Go Marching (verses 1, 2 & 3)
Set II: Row, Row, Row Your Boat --> ABC’s
Encore: Happy Birthday
The audience seemed pleased with the one-man-band's song selection, and rewarded him not with applause, but with sound sleep.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Another Tuesday
This morning was perfect. Reilly was up and out the door in record time. We sang “The ants go marching” all the way to preschool, and once there, she ran gleefully into her classroom, hung up her backpack, and then kissed me goodbye. As I backed out the door, the teachers told me how wonderful my daughter is. I was glad that they thought so too. I was back in the car and on my way to work, the clock reading 7:46. I smiled. I was going to be early.
When the phone rang and I saw it was Shawn, I recounted our seamless morning and spread the good cheer. As I approached the bridge, I told Shawn how beautiful the sky was today, how a cold front had brought in rain and scrubbed the air clean. It was then, at that moment, that I remembered what today is.
The guilt was immediate: How had I forgotten? At the same time, I felt some relief; the forgetting was progress for me.
In the past, I have anticipated this day for weeks, the storm in my head growing worse by the day. That I had not gone through this tedium was a relief, and also a testament to time, which slowly erases the edges around a memory until even the center begins to fade. At the same time, I feel the need to remember, to pay due respect to the thousands of civilians who lost their lives that day, and the thousands of soldiers who have lost their lives since.
This feeling of being caught in-between the need to forget and the need to remember lends a sort of miasma to my day, but underneath all that foggy mess are two steady feelings: one of anger, and one of sadness.
As I walked across campus this morning, I saw the flag was at half mast, and I thought, I can’t wait for this day to be over. Time, do your work, and quickly.
When the phone rang and I saw it was Shawn, I recounted our seamless morning and spread the good cheer. As I approached the bridge, I told Shawn how beautiful the sky was today, how a cold front had brought in rain and scrubbed the air clean. It was then, at that moment, that I remembered what today is.
The guilt was immediate: How had I forgotten? At the same time, I felt some relief; the forgetting was progress for me.
In the past, I have anticipated this day for weeks, the storm in my head growing worse by the day. That I had not gone through this tedium was a relief, and also a testament to time, which slowly erases the edges around a memory until even the center begins to fade. At the same time, I feel the need to remember, to pay due respect to the thousands of civilians who lost their lives that day, and the thousands of soldiers who have lost their lives since.
This feeling of being caught in-between the need to forget and the need to remember lends a sort of miasma to my day, but underneath all that foggy mess are two steady feelings: one of anger, and one of sadness.
As I walked across campus this morning, I saw the flag was at half mast, and I thought, I can’t wait for this day to be over. Time, do your work, and quickly.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Skipping Aisle 20
I was going to start this blog by typing, “On Saturday, the family went grocery shopping,” but I decided that I would first have to explain why the whole family has to go to the grocery store together.
There are two ways to grocery shop when you have a two-year-old in your family:
1) Both parents shop with said two-year-old, or
2) One parent shops alone.
For a time, I would take Reilly grocery shopping with me. However, I have come to understand (through a difficult trial and error period) that it is not an option for only one parent to take a pre-school age child to the local Publix.
Why, you ask? Reilly only rides in the cart for about two minutes before asking to get out. It is possible to keep her in the cart, but one has to bribe her with constant feeding. The last time the two of us shopped together, there were about 10 boxes of food open by the time we reached the checkout line.
If I were to refuse to open the box of goldfish or cheerios or gummy snacks, then she would whine to get out of the cart until my ears fell off. To let her out of the cart creates a bull in the china shop type situation, and I think everyone knows how hard it is to chase after a toddler when you’re pushing a shopping cart and at the same time trying to remember what sort of tofu your wife likes to eat.
So, on Saturday, the family went grocery shopping.
The best part of the shopping trip was when we passed aisle 20. The diaper aisle. Shawn and I were giddy.
That’s right, Reilly is potty trained. Now, she’s not 100% by any means. She still sleeps in a diaper, and has the occasional accident, but for the most part, she pee-pees in the potty with no problem. And, true to her independent nature, she has even started going to the bathroom by herself. In fact, just this morning she announced that she had to go and started walking back to the bathroom. I followed to see if she needed any assistance, and when I reached the door she put her hand out to stop me and said, “No, daddy! Go in the chicken, daddy!”
(For some reason, Reilly reverses the words ‘chicken’ and ‘kitchen.’ When she wants dinner, she asks to cook some ‘kitchen’. When she wants to get a juice out of the refrigerator, she leads me to the ‘chicken’.)
Back to the potty training. I suppose some people would like to know how we did it. No? Too bad, I’m too proud to stay silent. First, we modeled the behavior that we expected, which is to say, we brought her to the bathroom with us each and every time we had to go. Second, we bought “Potty Power,” a potty training DVD. Third, we rewarded any successful potty attempts with a “special treat” (an M&M) and a flower stamp on her hand (stamp it up!).We also gave her a lot of encouragement; clapping and woohooing and so forth. When Reilly had to go, we often had to sit for dozens of minutes at a stretch, so patience was a huge ingredient. We never pushed her, and never made a big deal about accidents, which seemed to happen mostly on our rugs and not on our hardwood floor, which made cleanup that much more frustrating.
In the end, all the work that we did—as parents—was all just a set-up for pre-school, where the potty training was finalized. There, it was gentle peer-pressure and a kind teacher that brought Reilly the rest of the way. The first week, she came home in a different outfit each day. Lately, when I pick her up, she’s wearing the same outfit we took her to school in.
The kid just makes me proud.
To end, I will quote a song from “Potty Power”:
No more diapers for me!
Say good bye to diapers:
Bye-bye!
There are two ways to grocery shop when you have a two-year-old in your family:
1) Both parents shop with said two-year-old, or
2) One parent shops alone.
For a time, I would take Reilly grocery shopping with me. However, I have come to understand (through a difficult trial and error period) that it is not an option for only one parent to take a pre-school age child to the local Publix.
Why, you ask? Reilly only rides in the cart for about two minutes before asking to get out. It is possible to keep her in the cart, but one has to bribe her with constant feeding. The last time the two of us shopped together, there were about 10 boxes of food open by the time we reached the checkout line.
If I were to refuse to open the box of goldfish or cheerios or gummy snacks, then she would whine to get out of the cart until my ears fell off. To let her out of the cart creates a bull in the china shop type situation, and I think everyone knows how hard it is to chase after a toddler when you’re pushing a shopping cart and at the same time trying to remember what sort of tofu your wife likes to eat.
So, on Saturday, the family went grocery shopping.
The best part of the shopping trip was when we passed aisle 20. The diaper aisle. Shawn and I were giddy.
That’s right, Reilly is potty trained. Now, she’s not 100% by any means. She still sleeps in a diaper, and has the occasional accident, but for the most part, she pee-pees in the potty with no problem. And, true to her independent nature, she has even started going to the bathroom by herself. In fact, just this morning she announced that she had to go and started walking back to the bathroom. I followed to see if she needed any assistance, and when I reached the door she put her hand out to stop me and said, “No, daddy! Go in the chicken, daddy!”
(For some reason, Reilly reverses the words ‘chicken’ and ‘kitchen.’ When she wants dinner, she asks to cook some ‘kitchen’. When she wants to get a juice out of the refrigerator, she leads me to the ‘chicken’.)
Back to the potty training. I suppose some people would like to know how we did it. No? Too bad, I’m too proud to stay silent. First, we modeled the behavior that we expected, which is to say, we brought her to the bathroom with us each and every time we had to go. Second, we bought “Potty Power,” a potty training DVD. Third, we rewarded any successful potty attempts with a “special treat” (an M&M) and a flower stamp on her hand (stamp it up!).We also gave her a lot of encouragement; clapping and woohooing and so forth. When Reilly had to go, we often had to sit for dozens of minutes at a stretch, so patience was a huge ingredient. We never pushed her, and never made a big deal about accidents, which seemed to happen mostly on our rugs and not on our hardwood floor, which made cleanup that much more frustrating.
In the end, all the work that we did—as parents—was all just a set-up for pre-school, where the potty training was finalized. There, it was gentle peer-pressure and a kind teacher that brought Reilly the rest of the way. The first week, she came home in a different outfit each day. Lately, when I pick her up, she’s wearing the same outfit we took her to school in.
The kid just makes me proud.
To end, I will quote a song from “Potty Power”:
No more diapers for me!
Say good bye to diapers:
Bye-bye!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Sometimes I do act like a six-year-old
As Reilly and I ate our cereal at the dining room table this morning, she suddenly paused and addressed me.
“Reilly is two.”
“That’s right, Reilly,” I answered.
She paused, still looking at me.
“Daddy is six,” she said.
I laughed a little, then said, “Okay, sure.”
“And mommy is seven,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, “and how old is Grandma?”
I could see Reilly searching her mind for the answer, but instead of replying, she turned back to her breakfast.
I guess she couldn’t count that high.
“Reilly is two.”
“That’s right, Reilly,” I answered.
She paused, still looking at me.
“Daddy is six,” she said.
I laughed a little, then said, “Okay, sure.”
“And mommy is seven,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, “and how old is Grandma?”
I could see Reilly searching her mind for the answer, but instead of replying, she turned back to her breakfast.
I guess she couldn’t count that high.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
She’s got it backwards
This morning I got Reilly’s milk ready and then handed the sippy cup off to her. Perhaps it was her early morning grogginess, but she dropped it and the cup landed squarely on her toe. She had a natural reaction to the pain, which included some crying and tears. What came next, though, was one of the sweet quirks I love about my daughter.
After I comforted her, Reilly turned to me and said, “Sorry, daddy.”
Since she first started talking, Reilly has always apologized to me (and Shawn) when she hurts herself. The apology is always difficult for me to process emotionally. On one hand, it is terribly endearing, but on the other hand, it makes me feel sad that she thinks she has to apologize for her pain.
If the injury is not too bad, then Reilly will often say, “It’s okay, daddy. Reilly’s okay.”
In a similar vein, when Reilly wants to be picked up, she will turn to us and demand, “Hold you!”
We always reply, “Do you want me to hold you?”
Reilly will then reach out her arms and say “yes,” like Duh. That is what I just said.
She’s still working on her pronouns.
After I comforted her, Reilly turned to me and said, “Sorry, daddy.”
Since she first started talking, Reilly has always apologized to me (and Shawn) when she hurts herself. The apology is always difficult for me to process emotionally. On one hand, it is terribly endearing, but on the other hand, it makes me feel sad that she thinks she has to apologize for her pain.
If the injury is not too bad, then Reilly will often say, “It’s okay, daddy. Reilly’s okay.”
In a similar vein, when Reilly wants to be picked up, she will turn to us and demand, “Hold you!”
We always reply, “Do you want me to hold you?”
Reilly will then reach out her arms and say “yes,” like Duh. That is what I just said.
She’s still working on her pronouns.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Sticks!
The other night, we had my mother over for dinner to belatedly celebrate her birthday. To start the evening, we had put out an appetizer of olive tapenade over crackers, and a little bowl of marinated white beans. The crackers you ate with your fingers. The beans you ate with a toothpick.
Reilly, being her usual curious self, was very interested in the toothpick-impaled beans. Already a bean lover, using the toothpick as a utensil elevated this food to the sublime.
Fast forward to the next night. Shawn and I are looking at Reilly, who is staring down at her usual dinner of chicken nuggets, peas, and zucchini, as if something is missing. She looks back at us and asks for “sticks.” When she realizes that we do not understand what she is asking for, she goes into lock-down mode and refuses to eat until we honor her demand. It takes us a minute to figure it out, but we finally realize that she is asking for toothpicks.
That night she ended up eating her whole meal with toothpicks, requesting a new toothpick for each piece of food on her plate. (It’s a good thing we had a whole box of them.) Aside from the two-dozen toothpicks she went through, all went well with dinner except for the peas. Toothpicks are not so good for peas.
Reilly, being her usual curious self, was very interested in the toothpick-impaled beans. Already a bean lover, using the toothpick as a utensil elevated this food to the sublime.
Fast forward to the next night. Shawn and I are looking at Reilly, who is staring down at her usual dinner of chicken nuggets, peas, and zucchini, as if something is missing. She looks back at us and asks for “sticks.” When she realizes that we do not understand what she is asking for, she goes into lock-down mode and refuses to eat until we honor her demand. It takes us a minute to figure it out, but we finally realize that she is asking for toothpicks.
That night she ended up eating her whole meal with toothpicks, requesting a new toothpick for each piece of food on her plate. (It’s a good thing we had a whole box of them.) Aside from the two-dozen toothpicks she went through, all went well with dinner except for the peas. Toothpicks are not so good for peas.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Carpooling
This morning, as I hurtled down the interstate toward work, I saw some movement out of my peripheral vision. To my right—riding shotgun in the passenger seat—was a little grey and brown lizard. He cocked his head, looked at me, and then faced forward again.
I thought this gesture seemed awfully nonchalant considering that the lizard was making his first trip out of Pinellas County.
I thought this gesture seemed awfully nonchalant considering that the lizard was making his first trip out of Pinellas County.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Bob Barker's newest venture
Today the family went to Weedon Island to do a little hiking amongst the palmettos and mangroves. Reilly held up like a champ, and though we carried her a bit of the way, she did much of the walking herself.
The only problem we ran into was the bugs. The "no-seeums" were having a bug buffet all over my body. To escape the microscopic biting flies, we decided to head into the nature center. As we came in the door, I realized my problem when I read this sign suggesting items one would need for a successful day on the trail:
The only problem we ran into was the bugs. The "no-seeums" were having a bug buffet all over my body. To escape the microscopic biting flies, we decided to head into the nature center. As we came in the door, I realized my problem when I read this sign suggesting items one would need for a successful day on the trail:
Silly me, I had put on bug spray instead of bug spay.
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