Blog a la Cart

Month: July, 2010

Warming her nerdy parents’ hearts

Sunny’s latest obsession is books.

Not just to tote around, or chew on, or offer as a savory snack to the dogs, but to saddle up and read. Like, cease motion and playing with wires and imbibing small plastic choking hazards, and read.

Okay, fine, be read to, but still, AMAZING.

She’ll carry them over, drop ’em in my lap, and then reach and strain and awkwardly throw her leg high in the air as the signal that she would like to be seated in that lap with those books. So in the lap she comes, and pages upon pages are flipped, and story upon story is read.

Over. And over. And over.

I dream of hungry caterpillars. And cartoon babies showing how big they are. And a bunny in a rocking chair whispering hush. And sometimes Tom Thumb and Baby Bunting, but she only tolerates like 3 pages of that story before she is bored and throwing her stomach outward in disgust and frustration.

My over-achieving high school self could not be more pleased.

The first-born attention whore in me can totally relate to her demand for our undivided reading attention.

And that nerdy book worm in me who had one friend throughout her elementary years because she preferred to be steeped in Greek mythology and the Babysitter’s Club is weeping with pride.

The college slacker? Well, she would rather be eating a calzone and playing Snood, but she was also like 15 lbs (okay 20!) heavier and depressed as shit.

It’s good that Addison is learning to entertain herself with books now, given that James and I will be raising her sans television.

I know, it’s like we’re practically homeschooling her.

Looks like you’ll suffer from One Friend Syndrome too, Sunny!

Wild Banshee

When I said that Sunny’s development changes by the hour, I meant it. I also meant it when I said that all I do is post videos. Look at me, being all dependable and true to my word.

This weekend it was twirling. Yesterday it was becoming Ursa’ bestie-4-life by developing a love of throwing the tennis ball. We’ve got to work on that arm, and maybe tone down the howler monkey like screams of delight that accompany each throw.

She spins right round

What did we do this weekend?

Let’s see… lots and lots and lots of twirling and spinning and stumbling and falling. God, I had forgotten how much I truly LOATH spinning. I spent the weekend suffering from Mal de Debarquement Syndrome, except without the sailboat, or the ocean, or really anything associated with it, except the nausea and sensation that I was perpetually walking on a trampoline.

Where’s some 80s music or Flo Rida when you need ’em?

He is so screwed when she’s a teenager

Him: While you were gone I made Addison cry. She shed her first parental induced tears that were completely independent of physical injury.

Me: Wow, well that sounds like we abuse our child.

Him: You know what I mean! Normally she cries because she falls down and bumps her head on something in that split second when we’re not shadowing her every move. Today, she cried because I’d, ya know, hurt her feelings.

Me: You asshat, what did you do?

Him: I was changing her diaper, and you know how she likes to throw her hands down in the vag area, ESPECIALLY when feces is involved, and it makes the whole event an epically shit-filled affair?

Me: Yeah, it’s called our life.

Him: Well, I kept moving her hands away complimented with saying No,  in hopes that she would get the anti-poop-in-hands memo.

Me: Let me guess, she did not.

Him: Correct. After the fourth attempt, I was fed up and pulled her hands away and said, NO! like ‘rul sternly.

Me: Complete with your wild crazy monkey eyes?

Him: Yes, complete with wild crazy monkey eyes. And she just looked at me, her entire mouth downturned, and she began to weep. Like, WEEP! The way you weep when I tell you that one day Ursa is in fact going to die despite your demands that she live forever and you interpret that to mean that I’m going to kill her, stuff her, and display her above the mantel and that I think you’re fat. So I was like, Fine! Fine! It’s okay! Put your hands in your poopy vagina!

Me: Dude, you are so toast when she’s sixteen and wants to know way she can’t “watch a movie” with her boyfriend under closed door circumstances and begins to dramatically sob, complete with mascara runs, while claiming that you’re ruining her life.

Him: Can we have a boy next?

14 Months.

Darling Sunny,

I am currently seated in an extra-long twin bed, and I have to admit I am revelling in its XL length for my 6 foot stature. I am surrounded by Ikea-style dorm furniture. An aggressive overhead light beams down on the desk, screaming for some ambient light to soften its blow. I am surrounded by a carpet I wouldn’t dare look at with a black light. Covered-in-lies acoustic music reminiscent of my collegiate days plays in the background.

In this space I am reminded of the hours and hours that I spent in a room such as this falling in love, dreaming, “watching” movies, and discovering the person who today is your daddy.

To think that such beauty could blossom under such generic circumstances is inspiring. And I am reminded of our humble roots, two college kids, two naive college kids, who thought that an afternoon spent tangled in flannel sheets was all that we needed in this world.

It is quiet. So eerily quiet. This room  is absent of the beings that have come to define me. Last night I kept the bathroom fan on because I could not sleep in such silence. (Yes, these are highly “refined” college dormitory accommodations given the private bathrooms). I awoke at 5am, completely disoriented by the lack of wet puppy nose nudging me awake. Where was James’ muffled snore? Hanna’s epic thuds and clunks as she shifted in her crate? Ursa’s dramatic sighs in response to the shifts? And your baby babbles? Your sweet, incoherent ramblings and orations that stir me to consciousness each morning.

I miss you.

I’ve been away from you all of twenty-four hours and I miss you with all of my person. I text and email and call Daddy constantly to demand pictures, and audio recordings, and updates on you (For proof, see photo below that was emailed to me today and almost caused premature death by cute). Quite frankly, if I didn’t demand such things, I’d come home tomorrow to discover that an impostor had moved into our home. Your development is so rapid that you literally change by the hour. Just today, Daddy sent me a picture of you seated in a dining room chair, a dining room chair that  you had scaled like Spider Man and ever-so-proudly perched atop.

Now that’s a trip to the hospital waiting to happen.

In just one month you have gone from an unsteady, tottering drunk, to a mischevious, hilarious, tasmanian devil. You tear around the house, carrying books, balloons, even a wire trash can in which you collect toys and other odds and ends you find lying around the house. You giggle with delight if we stomp our feet behind you and pretend to hunt you down. You throw yourself to the ground and tumble around like a baby steam roller. You proclaim “Awwwwwwwwww” as you bury your face into your puppies and then manically pat them before grabbing fistfuls of fur. Fortunately, we have two of the most accomodating canines on the planet who allow you to crawl all over them like jungle gyms. You have learned to throw the tennis ball for Ursa, although it goes all of 6 inches and she is quite confused by the lack of exercise. I believe that you must secretly be an aquatic creature as you would live in the bathtub or kiddie pool if we let you. We have a life jacket for when we swim in Lake Giles and you float and splash until you are literally blue in the lips, teeth chattering, and then protest when we pull you from that cool, liquidy embrace.

What I have loved most about this month is that you have become a total and complete wack-a-doodle-day. You TRULY take after your silly parents. You are a goof. A clown. You no longer passively entertain us with your play and developments, you now actively seek our attention and laughter. You dance, and clap, and show us that you’re “SOOOOOO BIG!” You know where your head is, and with some near blows to the eyeball, can point to your nose. You stick your sippy cup in your mouth, let go with your hands, shake your head like wet dog, and then look to us for response. The smile on your face as you do these things, the smile that grows when you see us return the joy and happiness, is nothing short of awesome. It is what I love the most. You are engaging us. You are now an active and conscious participant in our world, and it is the most fun, ever.

Also the most exhausting and nerve wracking, but I suppose that’s the trade off.

I guess, when it boils down to it, what Daddy and I love is the fact that you are a total nutball, and boy can we relate.

Happy 14 Months, Wack-a-Doodle-Day!

143 Mama

Apparently all I do is post videos.

Between my mum’s accident and my father’s new iPhone 4, posting videos is by far the simplest means of capturing Sunny’s latest developments. I will be away at a conference, and thus provided with hours of time to myself in the evening hours, starting tomorrow.

I may or may not freak out with so little to do. I don’t know how to function without 5 demanding beings constantly vying for my attention. I love and crave that stimulation and responsibility – but this time alone will allow me to do some much needed writing about Ms. Addison’s 14 month birthday, some pleasure reading (let’s just say that I am steeped in The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo series), oh and focus on my real job, ya know, the one that pays the bills, keeps a roof over our head, and covers our medical bills. Yeah, that little ol’thing.

For now, you will have to be satisfied with a shot of Sunny’s latest obsession – her Lady Bug rocking chair, the highlight of her 1st birthday and a recent love.

RAINBOWS ARE RED! RAINBOWS ARE YELLOW!

 

 

Giggle Monster

As I mentioned, things have been a little chaotic here. My mom had surgery this week, and is now holed up in the guest room, commanding the house from her “throne” otherwise known as the four-poster bed. We leave the door to the room open and her voice booms throughout the house demanding treats and conversation.

How long will this be the state of affairs chez Cart, you ask? SIX. MORE. WEEKS.

Whoopee!

In the meantime, Addison has turned into a mobile, cackle laughing little monster. James and my dad like to chase her around the house while she stumbles drunk off her own hysterics. Needless to say, she falls down. A lot. And giggles with delight. Like in this video.

I love that you can hear Allison’s ominous voice in the background disapproving of this nonsense.

She’s just jealous that you can walk, Addison. I mean, you DO rub it in her face, what with meandering into the guest room, pointing at her, laughing manically, and toddling out. Not very sensitive, missy.

We’ll work on that, along with how to hold a spoon and point to your nose. Important talents for a young babe.

She wears her sunglasses at night.

It’s official, James has the best job in the world. He gets to sit at home and make adorable videos with our daughter on our epic iMac while I putz around in an office.

(Okay, FINE, I actually enjoy my job immensely – but I enjoy this video even more)

Biting the dust. Literally.

So my mom broke her leg.

Seriously.

When the shit falls, it fucking dumps.

So that’s awesome. Particularly in three digit humidity with a mobile baby and three wacky dogs.

My parents are staying at our house, visiting with their grandchild, and enjoying a “relaxing summer in the Berkshires.”

Until Scarlet and Ursa went ape shit and knocked my mom off the ledge of our patio, causing her to pull a “Bambi on ice” and break two bones in her right leg.

My dad called me at work and is all, Um, are you busy? Can you come home? Don’t be alarmed by the ambulance outside the house – everyone’s fine. Mom just can’t move.

Excellent.

I arrived home (James was off at a doctor’s appointment, so my parents were babysitting until my mother became incapacitated) and thus I needed to take Addison so that my parents could head off to the hospital.

My favorite moment during the entire fiasco was when my mother started demanding to be “spritzed with perfume,” as she, in typical Weeks Woman Fashion, was wandering outside in a beach cover-up, not-yet-showered, sans culotte, watering the flowers when the dogs lost their shit and barreled her off a cliff (a 1 foot cliff, but a cliff nonetheless).

Obviously.

So the perfume was to diffuse her morning aroma.

Priorities, people.

Needless to say, she’s now on bed rest in our guest room until she can have surgery next week and then get put in a hard caste for 6 weeks+.

There goes the relaxing summer in the Berkshires.

Who knew that ‘capper-friendly bathroom in our home would come in handy, eh? (yes, by ‘capper I mean handicapped, and yes, our bathroom and guest “wing” (I use the term loosely) are complete with metal support bars and a showering seat.) My Ma is gonna live the dream of having an excuse to sit while showering.

Look at me, being positive, JAMES.

That explains the radio silence.

But, LOOK! Here’s a video of Sunny cruising around the house. Something my mother can no longer do. BAHAHAHAHA! It’s so awful, it’s funny. In that fucked-up, diabolical, slip-and-fall-in-a-pile-of-dog-crap kind of way. Ya know, FUNNY!

Maybe I can sneak some of my mom’s percs to take the edge off…