My baby gave me a laugh first thing this morning. It was completely unintentional on her part - she certainly did not think it was in any way funny.
I had just got out of bed and wanted to check on my daughter to see if she was still sleeping. I put my ear to her door and thought I discerned a very soft sound. Careful not to wake her, should she still be sleeping, I very slowly and quietly opened her door, just wide enough to fit my head in. She was curled up on her bed, her back to me. I watched her for a minute. I still wasn't sure if she were awake or dreaming, when suddenly she sat up, and, two seconds later, turned around. When she saw me, her mouth opened in a short, silent shriek, her arms went flying into the air, and her eyes grew to twice their size. My first reaction was to laugh out loud at her reaction; that's when she knew it was me. She looked like she didn't know whether to cry or be angry with me. No wonder, and who can blame her? Poor kid's relaxing in her bed, when suddenly she turns around and sees a head peering at her from a crack in her door, which is in fact very reminiscent of the scene in The Tell-Tale Heart, where the creepy murderer very quietly opens the door to his master's chamber and just stands there in silence, watching the old man as he sleeps.
That was the first time I saw her frightened. It was real, genuine shock she experienced, poor girl. The look on her face was absolutely priceless. She forgave mommy pretty quickly though when she felt herself being picked up by a nice comfy pair of arms.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
She does everything but stand alone and walk
My daughter is now nearly 16 months old - and does not yet walk, nor does she even stand unsupported. But, strangely, she can do practically everything else.
That kid will climb upstairs in less than a minute. She will reach over the table and counters, her little hand coming dangerously close to the towel on which stand an unstable mountain of drying dishes (I wonder what would happen if I pulled on this? she must wonder, before mommy sprints towards her and prevents a disaster). An explosion of vocabulary erupts from her mouth, as she attempts to repeat every word I teach her. She can even point to her diaper and say caca. She can also pretend to be speaking on the phone: she puts her fist up to her ear (as though holding a receiver) and says hello? then mumbles something, says bye bye, and "hangs up." The other day, I was amazed at the fact that in reply to my question: what does a cow do? (incidentally, I had no pictures of cows handy, nor were there any in a nearby field, as we were, in fact, in the middle of the city) she replied, without hesitation, moooo! I had taught her that with the help of a book, only a few times before, but did not believe for one second that she would remember it, out of context!
But this is not all - she has also shown some inclination toward eating with a spoon (though she still generally insits that mommy feed her - it gets food to her mouth faster, after all). She will, once in a while, at the end of a meal, pick up her spoon and try to direct whatever food might happen to be on it towards her mouth. She is not always on target - sometimes she will get a cheek, chin, or nose-full of yogurt. She even understands that the napkin that is presented to her afterwards is for wiping her face. Sometimes she will grap it and pass it over her mouth - then insist on wiping the chin of the adult who has been feeding her.
So if she can climb stairs with perfect confidence, reach over tables and counters, learn new words each day, pretend to talk on the phone, make associations between animals and the sound they make, attempt to eat with a spoon, and wipe her own mouth, why cannot she walk, or at least stand on her own? I watch her, always thinking it's going to happen, but then at the last minute she always finds something to grab onto. She only once let go of a little table that was giving her support, and that only for a few seconds. She never attempted this feat again. There must be a reason for her being adventurous in so many other aspects of her life, but not this one.
Perhaps, because she is tall for her age, she thinks she is too far from the ground when she stands? I suppose it would be scary. Wow, that floor sure looks far away, she must be thinking. I think I'll just get closer to it before I attempt any sort of movement.
But then, how do you explain the stairs? Ooh, look, stairs, stretching up seemingly indefinitely. Wow, that sure looks high. I think I'll climb them! Hmmmm ...
That kid will climb upstairs in less than a minute. She will reach over the table and counters, her little hand coming dangerously close to the towel on which stand an unstable mountain of drying dishes (I wonder what would happen if I pulled on this? she must wonder, before mommy sprints towards her and prevents a disaster). An explosion of vocabulary erupts from her mouth, as she attempts to repeat every word I teach her. She can even point to her diaper and say caca. She can also pretend to be speaking on the phone: she puts her fist up to her ear (as though holding a receiver) and says hello? then mumbles something, says bye bye, and "hangs up." The other day, I was amazed at the fact that in reply to my question: what does a cow do? (incidentally, I had no pictures of cows handy, nor were there any in a nearby field, as we were, in fact, in the middle of the city) she replied, without hesitation, moooo! I had taught her that with the help of a book, only a few times before, but did not believe for one second that she would remember it, out of context!
But this is not all - she has also shown some inclination toward eating with a spoon (though she still generally insits that mommy feed her - it gets food to her mouth faster, after all). She will, once in a while, at the end of a meal, pick up her spoon and try to direct whatever food might happen to be on it towards her mouth. She is not always on target - sometimes she will get a cheek, chin, or nose-full of yogurt. She even understands that the napkin that is presented to her afterwards is for wiping her face. Sometimes she will grap it and pass it over her mouth - then insist on wiping the chin of the adult who has been feeding her.
So if she can climb stairs with perfect confidence, reach over tables and counters, learn new words each day, pretend to talk on the phone, make associations between animals and the sound they make, attempt to eat with a spoon, and wipe her own mouth, why cannot she walk, or at least stand on her own? I watch her, always thinking it's going to happen, but then at the last minute she always finds something to grab onto. She only once let go of a little table that was giving her support, and that only for a few seconds. She never attempted this feat again. There must be a reason for her being adventurous in so many other aspects of her life, but not this one.
Perhaps, because she is tall for her age, she thinks she is too far from the ground when she stands? I suppose it would be scary. Wow, that floor sure looks far away, she must be thinking. I think I'll just get closer to it before I attempt any sort of movement.
But then, how do you explain the stairs? Ooh, look, stairs, stretching up seemingly indefinitely. Wow, that sure looks high. I think I'll climb them! Hmmmm ...
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Playing with other kids
I can't wait for my little girl to start daycare - not because I'll be dancing around my living room with my hands in the air singing "Freedom! Freedom at last!" Not even one bit.
Ok, maybe a little freedom dance.
Actually, I can't wait for my daughter to have the opportunity to play with other kids her age. I cannot wait to see what skills she'll pick up. Though I'm hoping she'll at least be walking by the time she begins daycare. If not, I'm sure she will be soon after.
The point is, kids will learn from other kids. This weekend, we were at my aunt and uncle's house. My cousin was there, along with her husband and four-year-old daughter. My little girl played with their little girl the entire weekend, and by sunday, my baby stood on her own for the first time, for a full 4 seconds! She had been holding on to a small table, when she suddenly, and very much on purpose, let go! She teetered a bit, trying to find her balance, and just stood there, thinking nothing of it, while her mum watched, mouth agape and unable to move with shock. When my daughter put one hand back on the little table, I allowed the excitement I had withheld to burst out of me in the form of cheers and a profuse clapping of hands that got the little achiever rather confused. "Why is mommy so happy?" she must have been wondering as I picked her up in my arms and kissed her cheek several times.
I have not a doubt that this feat was accomplished simply because she had been watching a slightly taller child walk and dance around her.
Speaking of my little cousin, I would like to share a few of the stories I have picked up relating to her this weekend; some of these moments struck me as particularly surprising or amusing. As my only child is not yet four, I have no idea if some of the stories I have to tell will strike more experienced parents as typical of this particular age. I know that, to me, my little cousin appeared surprisingly old for her years.
First I must mention that I have a difficulty understanding most four-year-olds. I have had very short conversations even with six-year-olds that consisted of unintelligle babble followed by an awkward "I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying" (this comment is always received with an indigant look on the part of the child). But my little cousin's words are as clear as day (pardon the cliché - I usually hate these, and only use them in the case of an emergency). She spoke so well, that I actually offered to let her read a story to my daughter. "That is ... can you read?" I asked uncomfortably, realizing my mistake. Of course she can't read. She's four. Actually, her mum assured me, she has been starting to sound words out. "Oh, of course. Well, she can sit with us and I'll read to them."
On our first evening, I stepped out to the balcony to join my cousins outside. I found my little cousin in the middle of quoting Harry Potter, in a very Hermione-esque voice. And in her very best Brittish accent.
"Wow, that's very good," I said. Then added, very honestly, "I've always wanted to be able to do that." I tried to speak to her in my best Brittish accent which, honestly, couldn't hold a candle to her perfect imitation of Hermione, Harry and Ron.
Later, after she had watched me change my daughter's diaper, she pointed to a picture of elephants on the bathroom wall and said how much she loved it. "And what are those?" I asked, suddenly and stupidly thinking I was talking to someone younger. "They're elephants," she told me, eyebrows raised in a I-can't-believe-you-just-asked-me-that look. "I am four, you know."
Ok, maybe a little freedom dance.
Actually, I can't wait for my daughter to have the opportunity to play with other kids her age. I cannot wait to see what skills she'll pick up. Though I'm hoping she'll at least be walking by the time she begins daycare. If not, I'm sure she will be soon after.
The point is, kids will learn from other kids. This weekend, we were at my aunt and uncle's house. My cousin was there, along with her husband and four-year-old daughter. My little girl played with their little girl the entire weekend, and by sunday, my baby stood on her own for the first time, for a full 4 seconds! She had been holding on to a small table, when she suddenly, and very much on purpose, let go! She teetered a bit, trying to find her balance, and just stood there, thinking nothing of it, while her mum watched, mouth agape and unable to move with shock. When my daughter put one hand back on the little table, I allowed the excitement I had withheld to burst out of me in the form of cheers and a profuse clapping of hands that got the little achiever rather confused. "Why is mommy so happy?" she must have been wondering as I picked her up in my arms and kissed her cheek several times.
I have not a doubt that this feat was accomplished simply because she had been watching a slightly taller child walk and dance around her.
Speaking of my little cousin, I would like to share a few of the stories I have picked up relating to her this weekend; some of these moments struck me as particularly surprising or amusing. As my only child is not yet four, I have no idea if some of the stories I have to tell will strike more experienced parents as typical of this particular age. I know that, to me, my little cousin appeared surprisingly old for her years.
First I must mention that I have a difficulty understanding most four-year-olds. I have had very short conversations even with six-year-olds that consisted of unintelligle babble followed by an awkward "I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying" (this comment is always received with an indigant look on the part of the child). But my little cousin's words are as clear as day (pardon the cliché - I usually hate these, and only use them in the case of an emergency). She spoke so well, that I actually offered to let her read a story to my daughter. "That is ... can you read?" I asked uncomfortably, realizing my mistake. Of course she can't read. She's four. Actually, her mum assured me, she has been starting to sound words out. "Oh, of course. Well, she can sit with us and I'll read to them."
On our first evening, I stepped out to the balcony to join my cousins outside. I found my little cousin in the middle of quoting Harry Potter, in a very Hermione-esque voice. And in her very best Brittish accent.
"Wow, that's very good," I said. Then added, very honestly, "I've always wanted to be able to do that." I tried to speak to her in my best Brittish accent which, honestly, couldn't hold a candle to her perfect imitation of Hermione, Harry and Ron.
Later, after she had watched me change my daughter's diaper, she pointed to a picture of elephants on the bathroom wall and said how much she loved it. "And what are those?" I asked, suddenly and stupidly thinking I was talking to someone younger. "They're elephants," she told me, eyebrows raised in a I-can't-believe-you-just-asked-me-that look. "I am four, you know."
Monday, 20 June 2011
Muffled Bangings in the Closet and Other Instances of Lack of Foresight
As my husband and I prepare for a family trip to Prince Edward Island tomorrow, my father offers to lend us his cooler. I put my daughter to bed and my husband and Dad head out to the garage. A few minutes later, I hear muffled banging noises, as though something is hitting the side of the house. My mother and I share an expression of puzzlement.
"Actually, it sounds like it's coming from inside the wall," I say.
My daughter, whose bedroom is right by the wall in question, starts wailing. I go outside to check out the source of the racket. My father has a ladder leaning into the garret, and he is handing down the cooler, lawn chairs and a beach mat to my husband.
"The attic is right by Baby's room!" I hiss. "You're keeping her awake!"
I go upstairs and take my daughter in my arms. She gives me a grateful hug, then, with under lip curled in a pout, looks to the closet, where a muffled banging has just ceased.
"There are no monsters in the closet," I soothe.
My daughter is now sleeping, and I find myself thinking: parents usually make every effort to keep monsters out of the closet, and here we are putting them in. What other instances of lack of foresight are we guilty of?
There are of course the classic cases of putting the wine bottle not enough out of her reach, and taking it away just in time to avoid catastrophic consequences; or putting her in her first miniature toddler car ride and asking the fraught-with-dire-repurcussions question: "What's that button for?" and watching your child whimper in panic as the vehicle begins to make weird rocking motions.
But I would have to say that my crowning moment of lack of foresight was the time I took my two-month old baby on her first airplane ride to visit her new family in New Brunswick. I hadn't wanted to be "encumbered" with a stroller, so I left it with my husband just before crossing the security checkpoint. There I was, with my very small baby in my arms, attempting to take off my jacket, shoes, bag, etc., all the while making sure I didn't drop her. I passed the metal detector, and thought everything would be a breeze from then on. But have you ever tried putting on a jacket, bag and shoes while carrying a baby? Not possible. Finally I had to resort to asking one of the security guards to hold my child for me while I put my things on. From that time, I take my stroller with me every time I leave the house.
But then, there are instances where fate is dead set against you. When I came back from Rome, my stroller apparently decided to take a break in Paris after weeks of rattling over cobblestone streets. It was nowhere to be found as I exited the plane; I had to walk through a mile of Charles de Gaulle airport with my 25-lb daughter in my arms, and quickly, to make our connecting flight. The stroller was returned to me a few days later, well rested and in a state of perfect nonchalance.
"Actually, it sounds like it's coming from inside the wall," I say.
My daughter, whose bedroom is right by the wall in question, starts wailing. I go outside to check out the source of the racket. My father has a ladder leaning into the garret, and he is handing down the cooler, lawn chairs and a beach mat to my husband.
"The attic is right by Baby's room!" I hiss. "You're keeping her awake!"
I go upstairs and take my daughter in my arms. She gives me a grateful hug, then, with under lip curled in a pout, looks to the closet, where a muffled banging has just ceased.
"There are no monsters in the closet," I soothe.
My daughter is now sleeping, and I find myself thinking: parents usually make every effort to keep monsters out of the closet, and here we are putting them in. What other instances of lack of foresight are we guilty of?
There are of course the classic cases of putting the wine bottle not enough out of her reach, and taking it away just in time to avoid catastrophic consequences; or putting her in her first miniature toddler car ride and asking the fraught-with-dire-repurcussions question: "What's that button for?" and watching your child whimper in panic as the vehicle begins to make weird rocking motions.
But I would have to say that my crowning moment of lack of foresight was the time I took my two-month old baby on her first airplane ride to visit her new family in New Brunswick. I hadn't wanted to be "encumbered" with a stroller, so I left it with my husband just before crossing the security checkpoint. There I was, with my very small baby in my arms, attempting to take off my jacket, shoes, bag, etc., all the while making sure I didn't drop her. I passed the metal detector, and thought everything would be a breeze from then on. But have you ever tried putting on a jacket, bag and shoes while carrying a baby? Not possible. Finally I had to resort to asking one of the security guards to hold my child for me while I put my things on. From that time, I take my stroller with me every time I leave the house.
But then, there are instances where fate is dead set against you. When I came back from Rome, my stroller apparently decided to take a break in Paris after weeks of rattling over cobblestone streets. It was nowhere to be found as I exited the plane; I had to walk through a mile of Charles de Gaulle airport with my 25-lb daughter in my arms, and quickly, to make our connecting flight. The stroller was returned to me a few days later, well rested and in a state of perfect nonchalance.
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Hot Summer (or, The Day My House Began Falling To Pieces)
June 1st. I love June. At the start of June I look forward to the coming summer. There is a promise of warmer days whispered in the wind.
Or, on this particular June 1st, a veritable, 30 degrees plus humidex, full blazing sun, scorcher of a day, complete with a wind that could blow your house down, I am actually looking forward to cooler days.
But to begin at the beginning. Let's go back to the last week of May. The week I came home from Rome, looking forward to a small reprieve from the hot Italian sun. The week, incidentally, when summer officially came to Montreal. In full force.
The first thing my husband and I noticed upon our return home is that the upstairs air-conditioner doesn't work. "Oh well," I shrugged. "I'm not a big fan of air-conditioning anyway."
Ten days, fifteen degrees later and no company is willing to even come look at our air-conditioner, claiming it "does not work with the particular brand of our unit." Well, bugger. We open our windows (which in fact provides an interesting sequel to this story, if you will kindly read on), turn on the air-conditioner downstairs full blast, but to no avail; the thermostats upstairs stubbornly indicate such horrible temperatures as 28.5 celcius. Even during the night, the readings on the thermostats hardly budge.
What's wrong with this house?? I feel like yelling. How can it be hotter inside than it is outside? But I already know the answer to that. We have chosen to live in a tall, skinny house that is sitting atop a hill on what most likely used to be an open field, with nothing to offer shelter from the blazing sun but a tiny twig someone planted on the front lawn ten years ago and that has since grown about half-an-inch per year. We are completely exposed.
Last year, we discovered with not a small amount of horror that we had set up our baby room in what, it turns out, is the hottest room in the house. We did everything we could to cool down that room come summer, including putting a roll-down blind in addition to the aluminum blinds that were already there, and even duct-taping some sun-deflecting material to the pane. It helped, but only a little. Finally we realized we would have to leave the a/c on full-time. At least it worked then.
Sick of that system, however, we decided to switch the baby's room with the computer room last winter. It was a project that took a couple of days. But it did make a difference. About 1 or 2 degrees' difference.
Last night, finding it impossible to sleep upstairs, we moved the entire family to the basement. We slept on the futon, and our baby slept in her play-pen (converted into a bed).
So now we have indefinitely vacated the upstairs part of our home (which I have just now decided to dub: The Kalahari), using it only to shower and change clothes.
But, when faced with temporary abandonment of its upper floor, instead of graciously accepting its shortcomings and patiently awaiting our eventual return, the house opted for revenge.
It is a very hot, but also very windy day today. This morning, I decided it would be nice to open the windows a bit, and let in some fresh air. My baby was napping in the basement and I was reading downstairs when suddenly I heard a very loud Bang! I ran upstairs, and upon looking in the bathroom I noticed that the window had been blown open to its beyond-fullest potential, and had slammed into the wall. I climbed into the tub, removed the screen and tried to pull the window closed. But the house was putting up a good fight. The rusty hinges had bent and snapped, and the window looked like it was ready to fly off on its own and explore new lands and sights, possibly considering a close neighbor's lawn as its first stop, or worse, a neighbor's head.
If this window flies away and lands on someone's head, or crashes through someone else's window, I will surely be sued, or charged with murder, or something, I thought as I held onto the window, fighting against a wind that appeared to see the potential for entertainment in this situation and seemed determined to see the worst possible damage done.
Right then I saw my next-door neighbor arrive home and get out of his van. Firmly gripping my window, I leaned outside and called out his name. He looked straight in front of him, then up. "My window's going to fly away! Help!!" I yelled in panic.
A minute later he was upstairs in my bathroom, one foot out on the roof, the other in my bathtub, hanging on to the window for dear life, yelling to his son who had made his appearance outside to fetch his friend next door, quickly!
"What are you doing up there, Dad?" his son yelled.
"I'm having a bath! Now hurry up!"
About fifteen minutes later, my neighbour is still in my bathtub, and the other on the roof. The two of them finally manage to force the window to relent and close. Only partly, though. The top half is secured, but the bottom half has proven impossible to fit back into the frame. The wind whistles shrilly through that bottom crack now, and when I close my eyes, I imagine I'm sailing a small, creaky boat on a rough sea.
As soon as the window was sufficiently closed and all possibility of a disaster had been averted, I ran out back to fetch the ladder. Only, when I put it against the house, it would not reach all the way to the roof. The neighbour had to run to his house to get his ladder, while the other guy sat on my roof below my bathroom window, casually looking around as though he were admiring the view, his wife staring up at him from my driveway.
After he managed to climb off my room, I thanked my neighbours, promised them a case of beer, and went back inside. My baby was still sound asleep in her bed in the cool basement.
Or, on this particular June 1st, a veritable, 30 degrees plus humidex, full blazing sun, scorcher of a day, complete with a wind that could blow your house down, I am actually looking forward to cooler days.
But to begin at the beginning. Let's go back to the last week of May. The week I came home from Rome, looking forward to a small reprieve from the hot Italian sun. The week, incidentally, when summer officially came to Montreal. In full force.
The first thing my husband and I noticed upon our return home is that the upstairs air-conditioner doesn't work. "Oh well," I shrugged. "I'm not a big fan of air-conditioning anyway."
Ten days, fifteen degrees later and no company is willing to even come look at our air-conditioner, claiming it "does not work with the particular brand of our unit." Well, bugger. We open our windows (which in fact provides an interesting sequel to this story, if you will kindly read on), turn on the air-conditioner downstairs full blast, but to no avail; the thermostats upstairs stubbornly indicate such horrible temperatures as 28.5 celcius. Even during the night, the readings on the thermostats hardly budge.
What's wrong with this house?? I feel like yelling. How can it be hotter inside than it is outside? But I already know the answer to that. We have chosen to live in a tall, skinny house that is sitting atop a hill on what most likely used to be an open field, with nothing to offer shelter from the blazing sun but a tiny twig someone planted on the front lawn ten years ago and that has since grown about half-an-inch per year. We are completely exposed.
Last year, we discovered with not a small amount of horror that we had set up our baby room in what, it turns out, is the hottest room in the house. We did everything we could to cool down that room come summer, including putting a roll-down blind in addition to the aluminum blinds that were already there, and even duct-taping some sun-deflecting material to the pane. It helped, but only a little. Finally we realized we would have to leave the a/c on full-time. At least it worked then.
Sick of that system, however, we decided to switch the baby's room with the computer room last winter. It was a project that took a couple of days. But it did make a difference. About 1 or 2 degrees' difference.
Last night, finding it impossible to sleep upstairs, we moved the entire family to the basement. We slept on the futon, and our baby slept in her play-pen (converted into a bed).
So now we have indefinitely vacated the upstairs part of our home (which I have just now decided to dub: The Kalahari), using it only to shower and change clothes.
But, when faced with temporary abandonment of its upper floor, instead of graciously accepting its shortcomings and patiently awaiting our eventual return, the house opted for revenge.
It is a very hot, but also very windy day today. This morning, I decided it would be nice to open the windows a bit, and let in some fresh air. My baby was napping in the basement and I was reading downstairs when suddenly I heard a very loud Bang! I ran upstairs, and upon looking in the bathroom I noticed that the window had been blown open to its beyond-fullest potential, and had slammed into the wall. I climbed into the tub, removed the screen and tried to pull the window closed. But the house was putting up a good fight. The rusty hinges had bent and snapped, and the window looked like it was ready to fly off on its own and explore new lands and sights, possibly considering a close neighbor's lawn as its first stop, or worse, a neighbor's head.
If this window flies away and lands on someone's head, or crashes through someone else's window, I will surely be sued, or charged with murder, or something, I thought as I held onto the window, fighting against a wind that appeared to see the potential for entertainment in this situation and seemed determined to see the worst possible damage done.
Right then I saw my next-door neighbor arrive home and get out of his van. Firmly gripping my window, I leaned outside and called out his name. He looked straight in front of him, then up. "My window's going to fly away! Help!!" I yelled in panic.
A minute later he was upstairs in my bathroom, one foot out on the roof, the other in my bathtub, hanging on to the window for dear life, yelling to his son who had made his appearance outside to fetch his friend next door, quickly!
"What are you doing up there, Dad?" his son yelled.
"I'm having a bath! Now hurry up!"
About fifteen minutes later, my neighbour is still in my bathtub, and the other on the roof. The two of them finally manage to force the window to relent and close. Only partly, though. The top half is secured, but the bottom half has proven impossible to fit back into the frame. The wind whistles shrilly through that bottom crack now, and when I close my eyes, I imagine I'm sailing a small, creaky boat on a rough sea.
As soon as the window was sufficiently closed and all possibility of a disaster had been averted, I ran out back to fetch the ladder. Only, when I put it against the house, it would not reach all the way to the roof. The neighbour had to run to his house to get his ladder, while the other guy sat on my roof below my bathroom window, casually looking around as though he were admiring the view, his wife staring up at him from my driveway.
After he managed to climb off my room, I thanked my neighbours, promised them a case of beer, and went back inside. My baby was still sound asleep in her bed in the cool basement.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Is it ok to let your baby eat off the floor at Starbuck's?
Actually, it's not as bad as it sounds. Ok, maybe a little.
We did a family outing this morning at Starbuck's. I love their low-fat banana chocolate chip cake. Doesn't sound very low-fat, though, does it? I'm not even going to start on the whopper I had later at Burger King. Well ... maybe I will talk about our outing at BK in a bit. But first, Starbuck's.
My husband is having coffee, I am chowing down on my banana cake, and our baby is sitting on the floor, having given warning that if she wasn't taken out of her stroller soon, a fit might very well be eminent. On the floor she goes, and while she's down there, I give her little pieces of banana cake in her hand. I don't much like feeding her when she's on the floor, because I have the impression of giving scraps to a dog, or throwing crumbs at a pigeon, or whatever. But she doesn't seem to mind.
Of course I hadn't thought this through, as usual. A little piece of banana cake rolls to the floor, and way beyond the 5-second rule, my daughter decides to pick it up and, before I can say anything, pops it in her mouth. I know at this point some parents may be cringing. But I would like to share with you some words of wisdom that my grandmother used to share with her kids:
"You have to eat two buckets of shit before you die."
Well, if that's true, my daughter is well on her way.
I don't believe in the lysol-everything solution to germs that has become some sort of fad lately. In fact, I strongly believe that exposure to germs are good for you. I mean, how else do we develop immune systems?
But when I saw my daughter go for another piece of some thing or other on the floor that had been left there god knows how long and by whom, I let a loud "no!" burst forth so suddenly and with so much force she actually flinched. Needless to say, she didn't try to eat that particular morsel of food she had found so inviting.
Now for Burger King. By the way, I am aware of the fact that I am on a fast track to gaining back the 5 lbs. I have lost last month in Rome. But I will compensate by having hummus and a green salad for dinner. Yum.
One of the first things we noticed was the noise. The ceilings were very high, which was perfect for letting the 40-some kids' screams bounce around the vast space. This is a place with family-friendly convenience parents cannot resist. Get food fast, let the kids run around the play-park. By the way, when did those fast food restaurant play-gyms turn into a three story contraption the likes of which one would expect to find at the Family Robinson treehouse in Disneyland?
These places are never just filled with happy kids who run around in their socks. There was one little boy who, for a reason unknown to me, decided to have a crying fit. His mother, a heavy lady who, had she been in a movie, would have likely been wearing a mu-mu and curlers in her hair, was carrying him to the bathroom, holding him firm against her chest by his shoulder and left leg, while he kicked and screamed, gradually turning purple in the face.
Oh, the joys of parenting!
We did a family outing this morning at Starbuck's. I love their low-fat banana chocolate chip cake. Doesn't sound very low-fat, though, does it? I'm not even going to start on the whopper I had later at Burger King. Well ... maybe I will talk about our outing at BK in a bit. But first, Starbuck's.
My husband is having coffee, I am chowing down on my banana cake, and our baby is sitting on the floor, having given warning that if she wasn't taken out of her stroller soon, a fit might very well be eminent. On the floor she goes, and while she's down there, I give her little pieces of banana cake in her hand. I don't much like feeding her when she's on the floor, because I have the impression of giving scraps to a dog, or throwing crumbs at a pigeon, or whatever. But she doesn't seem to mind.
Of course I hadn't thought this through, as usual. A little piece of banana cake rolls to the floor, and way beyond the 5-second rule, my daughter decides to pick it up and, before I can say anything, pops it in her mouth. I know at this point some parents may be cringing. But I would like to share with you some words of wisdom that my grandmother used to share with her kids:
"You have to eat two buckets of shit before you die."
Well, if that's true, my daughter is well on her way.
I don't believe in the lysol-everything solution to germs that has become some sort of fad lately. In fact, I strongly believe that exposure to germs are good for you. I mean, how else do we develop immune systems?
But when I saw my daughter go for another piece of some thing or other on the floor that had been left there god knows how long and by whom, I let a loud "no!" burst forth so suddenly and with so much force she actually flinched. Needless to say, she didn't try to eat that particular morsel of food she had found so inviting.
Now for Burger King. By the way, I am aware of the fact that I am on a fast track to gaining back the 5 lbs. I have lost last month in Rome. But I will compensate by having hummus and a green salad for dinner. Yum.
One of the first things we noticed was the noise. The ceilings were very high, which was perfect for letting the 40-some kids' screams bounce around the vast space. This is a place with family-friendly convenience parents cannot resist. Get food fast, let the kids run around the play-park. By the way, when did those fast food restaurant play-gyms turn into a three story contraption the likes of which one would expect to find at the Family Robinson treehouse in Disneyland?
These places are never just filled with happy kids who run around in their socks. There was one little boy who, for a reason unknown to me, decided to have a crying fit. His mother, a heavy lady who, had she been in a movie, would have likely been wearing a mu-mu and curlers in her hair, was carrying him to the bathroom, holding him firm against her chest by his shoulder and left leg, while he kicked and screamed, gradually turning purple in the face.
Oh, the joys of parenting!
Friday, 27 May 2011
New Blog
I knew I was jinxing myself with that last post! Because, of course, the moment I wrote that my daughter was an absolute, perfect angel, marked the beginnings of screaming through breakfast, pulling of hair and scratching of face, refusing, positively refusing, to let mommy change her diaper, spinning this way and that and insisting on going around with her bum "au naturel."
Sigh.
Ok, so I'm sticking with this blog. I need it, after all. It serves as therapy.
But I did start a new one. A second blog. How did I get from one blog to two? Oh well, never mind. My second blog, which I will write with as much love and devotion as I have been writing this one, is on, well, writing. It is not a practical, step by step guide to how to get published. I would never presume to take such a liberty with my readers. No. This is a blog about me taking a first dip into the world of writing and publishing. And then seeing what happens.
If you would like to check it out, go to http://www.aspiringwriterdiary.blogspot.com/. Or follow the link at the end of my profile: Just Write. I think you have to go to "complete profile" to get to it.
Sigh.
Ok, so I'm sticking with this blog. I need it, after all. It serves as therapy.
But I did start a new one. A second blog. How did I get from one blog to two? Oh well, never mind. My second blog, which I will write with as much love and devotion as I have been writing this one, is on, well, writing. It is not a practical, step by step guide to how to get published. I would never presume to take such a liberty with my readers. No. This is a blog about me taking a first dip into the world of writing and publishing. And then seeing what happens.
If you would like to check it out, go to http://www.aspiringwriterdiary.blogspot.com/. Or follow the link at the end of my profile: Just Write. I think you have to go to "complete profile" to get to it.
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