Blueberry pancakes

Beckett really loved the blueberry pancakes and he has the blueberry goodness all over his face to prove it.

BERRIES!

We went strawberry and blueberry picking recently. Blueberry picking is decidedly better than strawberry picking because the blueberries are on bushes--no bending. The strawberries came from Garwood Orchard and we were interviewed by an AM radio station on the way out--that was weird. We made strawberry pie and topping for ice cream. We also ate and gave away many strawberries. We were more creative with the blueberries which came from Billy Boy's Blueberry Barn. We made blueberry pie, blueberry pancakes, blueberry muffins, waffles with fresh blueberry topping, and ate a lot of blueberries.

Beckett's almost one

At eleven months, Beckett is doing so many things. I don't remember what I last updated about his abilities, but he has been crawling since the beginning of May, and as soon as he started crawling, he started climbing. He can climb just about anything--which makes life adventuresome and keeps me on my toes. These days, most things he climbs onto, he also figures out how to get down from. He stands without aid for minutes at a time, but when it is time to move on, he'll sit down and crawl away. He doesn't have a great interest in walking, yet. He chatters incessantly but isn't saying much of anything coherent. His favorite expression is "Yeah, yeah!" Which he repeats over and over when I begin preparing his food until it gets into his mouth. His favorite activity is eating--but you wouldn't know it by his size. He is still small compared to other babies his age, but besides his size, he is developing very well physically and cognitively. He is coordinated and determined. He is extremely loud when food isn't coming fast enough or when he is not getting something that he wants. He says Mama and Dada, but not often. All items still go directly into his mouth. If music is on, Beckett is dancing. He grabs on to anything nearby so that he can bounce and sway. He loves moving to the beat. He sleeps through the night and has for at least a month. He and Phoebe share a room, and they do great--especially at night. For a little while, Phoebe was waking up when Beckett did which was making for early mornings and long days, but now she sleeps through his wake up. They even take their afternoon nap together (as long as I stagger their time for going down by about a half an hour). If they both go in for their naps awake at the same time, they end up entertaining each other for an hour or more before they fall asleep. He still takes two naps a day--more than an hour at a time. But he also does ok if he misses one of his naps or gets a shortened one because of a family activity. Though his grin is still toothless, it's infectious and almost always on his face. Beckett has a wonderful sense of humor. Today, Brett saw a fixture on a wall outside the library that had two large caps that looked like eyes and a spout that looked like a nose, so he pretended to poke the fixture in the eyes and pull it's nose. Beckett found that laugh-out-loud funny. I say he's happy all the time, except, of course, when he isn't. He's a mama's boy--if someone else is holding him and I walk by, he gets very upset and begins reaching and yelling, unless that 'somebody else' is Brett. He love, love, loves his daddy!

More to do

We began "cleaning" Phoebe's room about twenty minutes ago (it's about 9 am). We have managed to pick up about three things as I listen to her justify why some messes need to stay where they are and as she applies lotion to her legs and arms so she can smell good and have soft skin. Then she says to me "well, I can't clean all day! I'll have to eat." Great! We are never going to accomplish anything in this house.

Here are a few more random images

Art # 5

This is Rainbow Clown

and the other things are boats.

Art #4

This one is called All Legs and All Dots

I love that it is all legs and all dots, not just legs and dots.

Art #3

Title: Shoe Bug Q Oval

Description: a shoe and a bug and a Q and an oval

Art #2

This one is called Tiger Throat

Description: This is my cat hand with stripes, and this is someone's throat with stuff inside.

Phoebe's artwork

This is for Phoebe so that she has a record of some of the things she drew and how she drew as a three year old. Most of these pictures were done several months ago, but this way, I can save the images without saving the actual pieces of paper. And she can see how her drawing changes over time.

I asked Phoebe to title her artwork because that is what most artists do

This first one is called "girl skipping to the park and the beach and the ducks."

And here is her description of the picture, which changed as she went along:

"She skips on her walk. She's going for a walk to the ducks at the park with her children.

"It's kind of like American Gothic because this is a big woman, but it's not American Gothic because it's a little girl named Gypsy.

"This is a girl with woooong hair walking on the sidewalk and there's the grass with flowers and some more just grass and she's just naked walking on the sidewalk. I'm putting some clothes on her."

What happens in preschool stays...

That cliche is one of my least favorites, but it is so apt in this situation. We were talking about today's class when Phoebe told me "you don't know everything that I do at my school, Mom! Only what I tell you!" She was getting mad at me for asking probing questions to get her to tell me more about an activity they did with caterpillars. She is apparently very aware that school is something that is hers and she only lets me into that world if she wants to. Obviously, that is an important area of control.

lullaby

Phoebe was far from angelic today--in fact, she spent a lot of time in her room and in my bad favor because she can be incredibly stubborn when she wants to be. She is one of those people who will tell you the sky is yellow and the sun is blue just because she knows that is the opposite of what you want to hear. A perfect example of this is when my sister asked her to find the number 9 on a placemat. Phoebe didn't just refuse to identify the number. nope. She proceeded to point deliberately at every single number on the placemat except the number nine. Today, she decided that she did not want to participate in her swim lesson. It took her about 25 minutes before she would even get in the pool, and once she got in, she hopped right back out, because she told me "I am going to blow one bubble and then I am going to get out!" so that is exactly what she did. But I told her beforehand that she was not allowed to get in and out of the pool--if she got in, great; but if she got out, she stayed out. So when she hopped back out, she wasn't allowed to go back in. She had to sit on the bench with me and watch everyone else take their lesson. This made her very sad--or as she would say "very sad, indeed." So upset, that she sat on the bench and yelled "everyone get out of the pool. The lesson is over for everyone!" And other lovely sentiments. I sat on the bench and empathized occasionally saying that it is sad not to be allowed to do what her friends could do. She told me I was the Wicked Witch of the East. Much to my chagrin, I noticed several other parents sheltering a smile at the spectacle that is my daughter. One man even apologized for his little chuckle. These swim lessons have been a nightmare all along and quite the lesson in humility as most of the other swim parents probably think that I have parenting issues. Anyway, the day got worse with arguments and lack of cooperation at home, but--and there is a but with a silver lining--she was wonderful after her nap. She was cooperative and happy and she helped me make dinner. Brett has a terrible cold/fever, and after being gone all day at a track meet, he just wanted to rest and lie in bed. Phoebe wanted to be right with him, so they sat in bed reading stories for a while, and when it was time to go to sleep, I put Beckett in the crib and Phoebe in her bed, gave them kisses, turned on the stars, and pulled Beckett's little lullaby flower. Well when the flower ran out, he began to fuss, and instead of yelling at him or getting upset, Phoebe continued the lullaby and sang Twinkle Twinkle to him until he was quiet. It didn't take long at all--he began listening to her immediately and silence ensued. (They are in the same room.) While I was beside myself with irritation today, I also realize that I am so lucky to have such a loving, independent, beautiful little girl, and Beckett is lucky to have a sister who is going to blaze trails for him. (overambitious? maybe.) She'll definitely hold his hand and guide him, maybe a little bossily but overall, lovingly.

Ode to our Former President

As promised, here is another of my amazing poems. This one had to follow the rules of a ballad and had to include the words flip-flop and endangered. The poem is a bit more harsh than I would normally be, but I had to choose words that I might not have if I weren't trying to meet a particular syllable count or meter :) You wouldn't think it from reading it, but it took hours and hours to write, and Brett collaborated with me on the ideas--we brainstormed all of the things that we related to George Bush and then I included as many of them as possible in a rhyming ballad. (A ballad, by the way is traditionally about the demise of someone or something, so I chose the demise of the Bush administration.) And as much as I tried, I think I broke the most rules when writing this poem because I had trouble keeping my lines iambic--ah, well. Anyway, here it is:

The Ballad of 43

43 had great potential;
his daddy led the way.
Ivy education. No less.
Money was just for play.

All play and little work led to
battles with drugs and booze.
Too much fun with skulls and bones, his
exploits made the news.

But cowboy charm and pulling strings
got him out of trouble.
His daddy knew a few tricks to set
him straight on the double.

He made two important changes
soon as he got the nod.
He roved his way to politics
and then he found God.

Oil made him rich and powerful.
Everything went his way.
He even ran for governor;
elections were his forté.

“Why stop there?” he thought with vision.
“I have a right to bid.
I am heading straight for the top
just like my daddy did.”

By the luck of a hanging chad
he won his first election.
He became Commander-in-Chief
despite public selection.

His term began with a bang
An attack on his soil.
Ignoring the real cause, he thought,
“We must protect our oil.”

He answered back with great thunder.
Hubris got in the way.
“Mission accomplished!” he proclaimed,
but we’re still there today.

His ratings soared to 84
(but) plummeted just as quick
when the public began to cry,
“We are in this too thick!”

The people allowed for his flaws.
Again, he rose to the top.
Elected again with one phrase:
“My opponent flip-flops.”

Since then, however, there has been
crisis after crisis.
Katrina opened the flood gates.
That was the end of bliss.

Bumbling through with malaprops
of nuc-u-lar proportions.
Military ops are failing;
No plans for abortion.

Theological hypocrite,
his views make one wonder.
International terrorist,
tearing the land asunder.

Fuel prices reached a record high;
ANWR is endangered;
misery index has increased;
economy is bemired.

43, the levee’s broken,
and, unless you are blind,
acknowledge that your legacy
has left this nation behind.

Beckett's vices

"A is for Angry Ack. [...] His favorite snack is stinky socks with jam packed in the toes." from G is for One Gzonk

Like father like...

Working and playing

Phoebe Faces

Yummy! Sweet Potatoes

Mama

The most wonderful thing happened today--Beckett began saying mamamamamama as he was crying--and now he has done it twice--and he keeps practicing making the noise by smacking his lips together. It's so exciting! For some reason, I have not taken pictures of him sitting up, so I guess I should do that because he is pretty stable there now--except he did get a bruise this weekend because he was sitting on the bathroom floor when he leaned too far forward and went all the way down on his head--it was so sad. He didn't cry long, but I felt bad. He's too big/too mobile for his swing, so we took that down, and now he is enjoying sitting in his play pen. I put several of his toys in there and set it up in the middle of the kitchen so that he can play while I do dishes or cook dinner. He enjoys it until he falls over or lays back--then he gets mad because he can't right himself and sit up again. He isn't crawling, yet, but he has the desire to move, so I just have to keep providing him motivation and he'll get going soon, I'm sure. We had a great weekend visiting the Garfield Park Conservatory for their 'sweet Saturdays' where they provide facts about the plants that they have that produce sweet food and provide samples of those sweets as well. It was almost as good as the chocolate fest last year :) And we went to the zoo yesterday--I have never seen a zoo that empty, but it was extremely cold. We enjoyed seeing the dolphins and the elephants and the cats. My friend Kathy was in from Virginia and Phoebe was enamored immediately. She did not want Kathy to leave. I have several pictures to post but not many that match this entry--I'll have to get those up soon.

Six Months

Beckett is six months today, but I don't have any vitals on him because we haven't done the measurements, yet. He is wonderful, though. Last night, I came across this poem that I had to write for a class I took this summer. It was one of the hardest classes I have taken because it required me to write poetry. I am not a poet--not even remotely close to a poet. I love language. I appreciate poetry (some of it), but I do not write poetry or pretend to be lyrical. My professor did not expect us to be poets, but she wanted us to appreciate the form and understand what it took to write it, so we had to actually interact with the forms as opposed to just reading and analyzing them. And I give her credit, because I would not have understood how much crafting a poem takes if I were not forced to write them--and each poem had to adhere to specific rules depending on the particular form. There were rules regarding rhyme schemes and numbers of lines and types of repetition and syllable counts and meters and all kinds of rigorous rules that I couldn't help but break often. So while I am not a poet, and could never dream of publishing something that I wrote, I can amuse myself and others by posting the things I had to write for class here. They would not pass by poets standards, but they are not entirely awful, either. I will begin by posting the one I wrote about Beckett--before he was Beckett and things were very busy around here:



This poem had to be written in heroic couplets (I won't explain the rules, but in case you know what it is, you can see if I complied :))

Waiting

The visit begins the same way each time:
check weight (don’t look), blood pressure, vital signs.

The stethoscope is cold without remorse.
The doctor’s bedside manner could be less coarse.

Anticipation overtakes her mind
when doctor plays the game of seek and find.

With fingers crossed, she waits to hear the beat.
Its steady rhythm makes her tap her feet.

Da dum da dum da dum da dum da dum
fills her with calm awaiting what may come.

His health assured she breathes a heavy sigh,
and wonders still, what can go awry.

No peace of mind until the day arrives
when baby boy shows up to change their lives.

The passing days are filled with nervousness:
expanding space, eliminating mess.

The child is coming sooner than she thinks.
She wonders what will happen when she blinks.

Her anxiousness will finally subside
as sounds of congratulations are cried.