Blah Blah Babycakes

Happy Mother's Day

We are celebrting with the lobsters in Newport,
Rhode Island. It's a beautiful day and I wish all my mom friends peace and love on this most lovely of Hallmark's holidays.

Posted from my blackberry.

"Too Excited To Poop"

Writing about Henry's potty training isn't on my list of acceptable topics, but this trip fell directly in the middle of an aggressive potty training approach and I have to warn other mothers that should you find yourself in a similar situation maybe it's wise to abandon mission until you are in the safety of your own home and near a washer/dryer unit.
Along with several tubes of lipgloss, in my handbag there are rubber gloves,plastic bags, extra pants, extra underwear and pre-written notes of apology for anyone or anything that Henry might pee on. So far so good, apart from one incident at an italian restaurant that had us scurrying out the door, heads hung in shame, it's been pretty successful. By the time we get back to minneapolis Henry may be a full-time user of the toilet. That is, if he's not still too excited to poop.


On the Amtrak heading back to NYC. Posted from my blackberry.

Planes, Trains and Taxis

Henry and I are taking our act on the road.

We are waiting for a cab to take us to the airport to begin our east coast tour.  New York, Rhode Island and back to New York again. Henry is very excited even though he still thinks that New York City is just a fancy hotel...    Update: flight delayed. Having picnic on airport floor.  

Posted from my blackberry.

Weekend in Chicago

Arrivals, Thunderstorms, Chinese Medicine, Retail Therapy, Fusion, Dog, Walks, Charlie Trotter, Champagne, Photographs, Duvets, Allergies, Chocolate Sea Salt Cookies, El Train, Departures.

Happy May Day

We attended the 34th annual May Day Parade in Powderhorn Park on Sunday.  It's a hippie parade organized by, In The Heart of The Beast Theatre. The theme this year was "A New Bridge".  The puppets were impressive, brightly colored and huge.  The artistic and political expression was a little dark at first, but ended in hope and celebration.  My friend Masami took a bunch of great parade photos.

Henry just wanted to know what kind of a parade doesn't have candy??

Can you see the disappointment?

I Will Remember You.

I have a pretty lousy memory.  My friend from high school can recount conversations we had in the 9th grade, but I can barely remember who I went to the prom with.  Quite the opposite is Henry and his steel trap of memory and facts.  At times it frightens me.

I thought I was safe for several more years, as I certainly have very few memories before I was six.  I don't know a lot about children, so maybe crazy, good memory is just something kids have, but I'm continually shocked by the details Henry retains.  Give him your grocery list and he'll recite it for you as you're going down the aisles.

After school yesterday, the lady in the parking garage handed Henry a smartie.  Henry looked at it and said, "I ate one of these at the parade, last night".  (Everything in his life happened "Last Night".) He had, in fact, eaten one, almost a year ago at a 4th of July parade.  I'm like, "dude, you were two and a half?!" I asked him to tell me more about the parade and he listed the people that were there, what he ate and that he had to go to bed before the fireworks started.

He can point out every fast food restaurant he's ever been to and tell you the exact toy he received in the Happy Meal. And now that I think about it, he can tell you who gave him pretty much every toy and book that's in his playroom and the holiday on which it was given. 

We went to a Doodlebops concert a few weeks ago and Henry reminded me that he went 'last night" with his grandpa and daddy. This was a year ago, he could barely speak then, but he sure was paying attention to stuff.  Perhaps I should start locking the bathroom door.  I'd feel terrible if he had to remember what I look like naked.

Falling Down

Testing Flickr's new video capability.

My Week in Numb3rs

10- The number of times Henry fell off his new scooter.
9- The number of text messages I sent per day.
8- The number of iced green teas I ordered.
7- The number of chocolate cupcakes I inhaled.
6- The number of times I made my bed.
5- The highest number of times I sneezed in a row.
4- The number of times I put my snow boots away only to take them out again.
3- The number of times I went to yoga.
2- The number of times I forgot to bring my reusable grocery bags to the store.
1- The number of times Henry has slept in his own bed.

Fancy Pink Scooter!

Beware the Toxic Sippy Cup

As Canada prepares to declare bisphenol-a a toxic chemical, parents around the globe are emptying their cupboards of potentially harmful plastics. Major retailers are pulling Nalgene bottles, baby bottles and sippy cups made with BPA, after studies show it can cause horrible hormonal problems, third nipples, personality disorders, bad breath, bad jokes...

Henry is way beyond bottles, but after looking at the list of supposedly safe plastics, I think maybe we'll just use glass from now on.  Hoping, of course, that the broken shards of glass on the floor will be less dangerous than the poisonous chemicals.

For on the go, we use the kid Sigg bottle:

Sigg:  Will not cause brain damage.  Also, very cute.

Cut The Crap

I don't want to live in a museum, but it's pretty close to my current ideal.  For the past two weeks I've been on a mission to declutter. After a realization that I have too much stuff and was placing too much value on physical things I started a mad frenzy to clear the clutter.  By no means am I a hoarder, but there were some boxes in my basement that had not been opened in at least two moves. I held on to things for all the usual reasons:

"If I don't keep these glow sticks I'll never remember that time I went to a rave."

"This size 2 skirt will fit if I have my hip bones removed."

"Maybe I will take up soap making again."

All of it is now in the trash or on its way to someone who might really need it.  During my decluttering project I rid our house of nearly 1000 photographs, the majority of Henry's baby clothes and 20 boxes of stuff that I didn't need in my life anymore.   

The most difficult part was letting go of Henry's baby clothing.  I didn't want to part with them, but a friend urged me to open the boxes and just start going through them.  As she predicted, I discovered that I'd saved a bunch of nasty, stained, baby clothes that were not nearly as adorable as I'd remembered.  I decided to save a handful of things to pass on to dear friends and got rid of the rest with no problem. 

Cleaning out the basement has cleared my mind and opened up space--physically and emotionally--for new things.  It feels so good not to have storage and as a bonus I'm much more conscientious of the things I purchase now, as I don't want to add more clutter to my life.  And if for some crazy reason Nick were to be transferred back to New York and we had to sell our house and move into an apartment again, well...I'd be ready to go.

"Say Ahhhh"

"Hello, Ms. Andrea, what kind of cancer do we think you have today?", my doctor asked with a smile.  "Cancer of the voice box", I replied.  "Does, uh, that exist?"

It does, in fact, exist, but I don't have it.  About once every three months I find myself in my doctor's office asking him to check out various abnormalities to make sure I'm not dying.  Some day, he may give me the news that I have only a few months to live, but as of yet I've just been sent home with barely a prescription.

When I went to see him last week for the voice box cancer scare he was actually concerned enough about my symptoms (hoarse voice for three whole weeks) to send me to an Ear, Nose, Throat specialist.  And boy, do I love a specialist!  I did, anyway, until this one shoved a tiny camera up my nose and down my throat. 

"Nothing looks unusual, do you talk a lot?", the ENT asked me during my appointment this morning.

"Um, no, not really.  I mean, maybe sometimes.  Not on the phone very much.  In fact I don't like talking on the phone.  Usually, as soon as I'm on the phone I'm thinking of ways to get off of it, so yeah, no...I don't talk more than anyone else, I don't think..." 

I was then sent home with instruction to drink more water and rest my voice.  "Time will heal", or something was said.

After that assault on my nasal passage and let me tell you, that was NOT fun, I think I'll take a mini-break from the doctor's office.  That is, until my next brain tumor headache.

Rollergirl

It was as if time had stood still.  For a laugh, a friend of mine and I went to Roller Garden skating rink for adult skate night and barely a thing had changed about the place in the 17 years since I'd last been there. The only thing missing was my ability to skate backward and the butterflies I used to feel in my stomach waiting for Paul B. to ask me to hold hands during a slow song (he never did).  Even the Dr. Pepper clock on the wall was still the same.  I used to look at it constantly, noting how many minutes were left before the lights came on and Paul lost another chance to choose me.

For years my family would go roller skating every Saturday morning and I always felt so cool in my bright, white skates, cruising around the rink with my thumbs hooked in the back pockets of my jeans.  I never smiled as I breezed past the slow-pokes, instead I wore a serious stare and concentrated on my crossover--it's no wonder boys didn't want to skate with me.

Anyway, it was a great time and no one suffered a spinal injury so we may have to go back for some more rock n' roll.  I want to learn how to skate backward, again.

Bringing Sexy Back

 

Out Like A Lion

File under:  Things I've taught Henry, that I've not yet learned myself.

Me: God dammit, it's snowing again.

Henry:  Mom, why yer say that?  What's wrong?

Me: I'm very upset that it's snowing.  I'm ready for spring.

Henry:  Oh.  [long pause]  Sometimes, if you take a deep breath, it will make you feel better.

Henry catching bees at Chuck E. Cheese