My Tractor at School

It's been nearly two months since I last posted and I figured an update is in order.

Ted. My sweet and funny 2 year old kid. He's still the intense little dude he's always been, but the last couple of months have brought many changes for him. Many of the people who read my blog commented to me via email or otherwise that they were really touched by my post "My Love, My Tractor." It was a dark set of circumstances that brought me to write that post. The result of my concerns was that I enrolled Ted in a "mom and me" class that met on Friday mornings. I got a sitter for Henry so that I could take Ted and have no distractions.

I wanted Ted to have interactions with peers and other adults. I wanted his communication skills to be prodded along. It had become clear to me that we'd gotten into some bad habits and I didn't want him to suffer from our close relationship.

There are parts to this parenting gig which I really don't enjoy, but I do them because I think I'm doing the best for my kids. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is. I am glad to have an interested partner in parenting, a husband who is sensitive and gentle and firm. So even while I fought the idea of getting Ted into a class at the tender age of 2, I did it. My husband and I had long discussions about whether he really needed it and whether my concerns were appropriate. In the end we decided that since it was unlikely to hurt anything, enrolling him in the class was an ok thing to do.

Ted has really enjoyed school. He has been tentative with the crafts. He's steadfastly refused to participate in anything that will get his hands dirty and he'd really rather watch the craft being done than participate in it himself. We have taken the craft home and he'll often do it at home without any problem. This was the only way in which Ted distinguished himself. That and the fact that he was the only kid who wouldn't eat a single marshmallow when they were a part of the snack. All of the other kids (ALL of them) ate the marshmallows first. Ted left all of his marshmallows and stole the pretzel sticks off of his neighbor's plate. I expect I was the only one who noticed this though.

He played very well with the other kids. He engaged them and initiated play. He invented new games and his language skills flourished.

He still memorizes and recites his books, but there's nothing about him that really makes him stand out as a peculiar kid anymore. School has been good for us both, it turns out. I hated it at first simply because I hated that we were there so that I could prove to myself and others that there was nothing wrong with my child. The first couple of classes I watched his every move. I analyzed everything and turned it all over and discussed it with my husband. But after a couple of classes, I was able to relax. Ted blended with the other kids and ended up having friends he was happy to play with week after week.

I ended up really liking the other moms too. They were a cooperative and friendly bunch and I probably wouldn't be uncomfortable giving any of them a phone call. I still haven't found a friend set among the moms of my town, but I'm feeling less and less that it's out of reach.

It's the holiday season and I have a billion more things on my plate than I should. 8 days from now it will all be over though and I'll wonder how it went by so quickly. At the moment, however, I ought to hit the hay so that I can power up for tomorrow.

I'm glad that we're going to end the year on a high note. :)

The Night of the Glow Stick

Henry wouldn't fall asleep the other night. He wailed in his crib like he was being stuck with pins and simply would not tire. For those who don't have children: this happens sometimes. You may discover the secret behind it or its cause may remain a mystery. It's always exhausting and it breaks your heart a little to see your baby, inconsolable, in his crib red-faced and hollering. It's also frustrating, especially when it's past your bedtime.

So the other night when wee Henry would not sleep, I eventually loaded him into the pram, wrapped in a blanket and pushed him around the neighborhood. It took a couple of laps, but he eventually fell asleep. I then pushed him home and very gingerly picked him up and relocated him to his crib.

When I placed him in his crib, he immediately flipped over onto his belly and I knew that my night was not yet over. Sure enough, for the next two hours he awoke every 15 minutes or so, complained and went back to sleep. This went on until 10:30 when he started to fuss louder. When I went into his room he had a complete meltdown. Nothing would console him. Back into the pram for Henry.

My neighborhood has no street lights. We live close to the end of a cul-de-sac and it's dark on our street. People often turn down our street thinking it is a shortcut to a popular destination and when they realize they are mistaken, they press down on the gas pedal, whip around the cul-de-sac and fly back up the street. Pushing the pram through the neighborhood after dark was not my first choice of how to get Henry back to sleep, but nothing was working.

I'd made most of my first lap when I saw an unearthly glow down the street. My husband was making his way towards me with a glow stick- one of those sticks you see kids carrying at Halloween or that you see parking lot attendants using after dark. They have a chemical inside them that is contained in a glass tube and you bend the tube, breaking the glass tube that creates a chemical reaction, producing a brightly glowing tube. It lasts for about 8 hours.

Nate has a lot of emergency equipment and he wanted us to be illuminated while we were walking. He fell in step next to me- our 2 year-old was sleeping soundly and we hoped we wouldn't be long. Besides as parents one has to do what one has to do.

Henry was not going back to sleep this time. His eyes were open and bright. He hadn't cried at all since being put in the pram- he was perfectly happy there, he just wasn't going to sleep.

The glow stick captured his attention. He reached for it and called to it. They're sturdy and unlikely to break, so Henry was given the glow stick. He burbled and cooed at it and held it above his head like the Grand Marshall of our peculiar parade. He put the end in his mouth and made his cheeks glow. We circled the block again.

We must have been quite a sight- the two of us pushing a pram down the street, emitting an unearthly glow. Maybe since it's close to Halloween no one thought anything of it. It was trash night, so we did run into a couple of neighbors.

Eventually we decided to give up and go home. Henry went into his crib.

With his glow stick.

He burbled at it and waved it around. He cooed at it and shook it. He admired it and loved it.

After about an hour, he finally fell asleep with it under his blanket, by his side. Nate went in and removed the glow stick from his crib. Henry slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

I don't expect our travails of that evening to make it into any parenting books as in "If your baby won't stop crying, try giving him/her a glow stick...." It worked for us for one night though. Who knows what will work the next time? I know I'll make sure we always have a supply of glow sticks in the house, just in case. Heck, maybe I'll even stash one in the diaper bag.

Rescue Me!

Ha! Fooled you. I don't want to be rescued. I don't need to be rescued.


I've had a couple of well-meaning people tell me that if I ever need a break from the kids- as in NEED a break from the kids- I should give them a call and they'll take them off my hands for a couple of hours. Um. No thanks. If I really get to that point, that's what my husband is for. Heck, that's what Baby Einstein videos are for.

What I'd really like is for someone to offer- without my having to reach some kind of breaking point- to take the kids for a couple of hours. That kind of offer would help relieve some of the stress and isolation that being a stay-at-home mom can create.

I think that it's good for kids to have relationships with others that are independent of their immediate family. I have always had a close relationship with my aunt, independent of my parents. I went to boarding school and my aunt and I wrote letters to each other then and the relationship continues strongly to this day. We've even taken vacations together. My relationship with her is one of the best things about my life.

I have tried to convince my well-meaning family and friends that if they are waiting for me to reach some kind of breaking point in order to give me some respite then it's never going to happen. As much as my kids drive me crazy sometimes, I've never come close to doing something bad to them, unless you count putting them in their room an hour early for their nap. I will confess that happens on occasion.

I am not one to simply call up and ask for a babysitter unless I have a tangible need, whether it's a dentist appointment or the hair dresser (which doesn't happen as often as it should.) In the meantime, my kids are not seeing as much of these folks as they would if someone simply offered.

I do have a couple of people who check up on me and make sure that my life is not being overwhelmed by my kids, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. One of them is, of course, that same aunt with whom I have the close relationship. She never tells me that if I ever need to be rescued, she'll be there. Instead, she is there. Every week we get together, rain or shine.

My kids adore her.

The ironic thing is that while she's never offered to rescue me, she's one of the reasons I'll never need to be rescued. While others wait for me to call in distress, she is building a solid relationship with my kids, independent of me. Funny how that works out, isn't it?

My Love, My Tractor

This last week, for the second time as a mother, I allowed someone to cast doubts on the rightness of my first born son. Ted is not a typical child. I know that he's different- I am not denying that- it's the degree of differentness that I deny. I ran through the on-line autism check lists (it's what was suggested) and it simply does not fit. There are a couple of "red flags" that I can check off- he does not point with his index finger and he plays well independently. He was late to hit all of his physical milestones. He uses speech to engage others but not to talk about the world around him so much- he mostly talks about his books.

When I look at these differences I simply see my kid, but others have raised questions. When others raise questions, I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I'm ignoring a problem that really is there. Everyone tells me that early intervention is the key to allowing your child to live a normal life. My God, I'm worrying about whether my child will live a normal life. As I said, I've been down this road twice now and it makes me want to lock the doors, draw the curtains, hold onto him and not let anyone tinker with him or touch him or ask him questions or try to change him. But I have been to the specialty sites about this that or the other and nothing fits. Ted is Ted. He doesn't have something. He isn't some diagnosable oddity. He's just Ted.
Ted is a different child. It's true. He's intense and inquisitive. He's generous and empathetic.

The neighbors' grandkids came over one afternoon and were playing in their back yard. Ted saw them and got excited and took them his ball. They took it without a backward glance and excluded him from the game. His response was to play with something else instead. I've seen him give his toys out in several different settings. This is not typical behavior for a 2 year old. He's not territorial or aggressive. He doesn't break things or flush things or unroll the paper towels. He's never emptied out the flour bin or turned over the waste paper baskets. He can play with one thing for 45 minutes without losing interest.


He has compartmentalized some of the things that he does. Someone worried to me that he didn't play peek-a-boo when he was younger. He did play peek-a-boo, just not with that person. He seems to understand that he has different relationships with different people. When my aunt comes over, he will immediately go to his toy piano. When I tell him that she's coming over, he'll play his toy piano because that's what they do together. He's always been this way.

He and I communicate well and with a minimum of words. When others are around, he generally does not modify this. Being as lazy as the next person, I have fallen into some patterns with him that probably do not help public perception. I generally don't make him articulate what he wants if I know what it is. I'm working on this- only recently did I realize I was doing it.

My husband never questions whether our child is "ok." Nate says that he looks at Ted and sees himself as a child. I can see some of these characteristics in Nate. Whenever Nate and I go somewhere where he's meeting new people in a group, I can count on Nate to not be the life of the party. He watches and takes it all in. Every nuanced gesture, every Freudian slip, every furtive glance, every laugh, snicker and comment is absorbed, catalogued and retained by Nate. When we get into the car, I can't wait to ask him about what he observed because it's all there. He has unraveled things about those around me that I never have been able to pick up on my own.

Nate walked late and talked late. Nate did things on his own schedule. In high school he was not motivated by what others were doing- he did things his own way. I, on the other hand, did things my own way but always wanted to fit in. I wanted things to be as easy as it seemed they were for others. I never could figure out what it was that made me unpopular, but I was. I would like for things to be easier for my children than they were for me. I adore my kids and don't like the fact that things might not be easier for them.

I suppose it was destiny that I ended up with Ted as my child. If he is as much like Nate as Nate believes, then I know that Ted will be as slow as a glacier, but also as persistent and as powerful. Nate describes himself as a tractor- not much to look at, but you can always count on your tractor. It's the tractor that will pull the 4X4 out of the mud when it gets stuck.

I need to get a thicker skin. I need to accept that Ted will be Ted. I have been criticized- when he wasn't using crayons, I was told that I needed to work with him more. Short of using duct tape to secure the crayon to his hand, how does one work with a child who wants nothing to do with the crayon? I was doing everything that the books and experts said to do, but he wanted no part of it. You just need to work with him more, I was told again. Well, he's coloring now. One day he decided that coloring was something he could do and he's been doing it since.

And it's been that way with everything.

Ted's never going to be the sports car that I seem to keep looking for. He'll never be style over substance. He'll never be flashy, he'll never be first. He has no interest in being first. He walked late but when he did start walking he never fell. Once he started climbing the stairs he learned it in 10 minutes and never had a problem with going down them. He did them when he was ready and when he already had the skills honed. There was very little "practice" involved.

Ted, like his father, is going to be a tractor. Steady, slow, durable and reliable. It's in his genes.

In the long run, I'll be glad that this is his nature. If I can temper my worrying in the meantime I'll be much happier. Every couple of months I have to remind myself that Ted will simply be Ted. My adorable little tractor.

My Definition of Family

I have an unusual family. In fact, my family is so unusual that I often find myself explaining it for other people. Others don't "get it" or even "feel sorry for me" because it must be "so hard."

I try to tell them that their sympathy is truly wasted on me- I really neither need nor deserve it. I love my family and find that it works for us in all of the ways that family should work, despite its unconventional makeup.

My husband was married when I first met him. Happily married. I was also married- less happily, but married nonetheless. 5 years later, when we began dating our fortunes had changed significantly. Like many women my age, I had gotten divorced- I won't go into the story of that here, but circumstances were such that I have not had contact with my ex's family since I moved out of the house and I had contact with my ex only to the extent that it would facilitate our divorce.

Nate's story was different. Nate had been widowed. It was something that had been a very real possibility- her illness had been grave and she'd long outlived her life expectancy when they met. She grew up in a tightly knit family that is marked by its friendliness, warmth and compassion.

When Nate became her husband, he was embraced as family and throughout their marriage he was never "that guy that she'd married" but was their brother, their son, their cousin.

So when I first started dating this man who would be my husband it was clear to me immediately that with him would come not only his mother, father, brother and brother's children but his first wife's sister, her brother, her parents and nieces and nephews as well. As he put it, "When do you stop being family?"

People are comfortable with divorce. Divorce usually marks a clean break- as I mentioned, I have had no contact with my ex's family. I think the issue is that widowhood is a lot less common until later in life and so these waters are less navigated. People truly do not understand where I am coming from.

Her family has embraced me from the start- literally. The first time I met her sister, she threw her arms around me and let me know that I was welcome. She and her husband are a loving addition to my life, as are their kids. Her parents are happy and warm. Her brother is the uncle who puts Ted on his shoulders and runs around while they both holler "AAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

And the questions still come. The comments:
That must be so hard for you.
How nice of you to still let him be close to them like that. (!?)
How do you deal with that?
Don't you worry that they're trying to replace her with you?

If he was divorced from her, I'd probably have an issue with his remaining close to her family, but that's not what happened. It's NOT the same. But that's what people are used to- it's the experience that they can relate to, so they think it's the same.

Some think that his remaining close to them is a sign of disloyalty to me. I think of it as a sign of his loyalty in general. Should something happen to me, I will not worry about whether my family will have a continuing relationship with my kids- when Nate becomes a member of a family, he stays a member of that family. His ties to my family will be no less strong than his ties to hers. He is their brother, their son, their cousin as well. It's now up to my family to embrace him just as his first wife's family did.

And some of my family has done that. Some of my family still treats Nate like he's an outsider who has yet to prove himself. I keep hoping that they'll put aside their feelings and be able to embrace him. I wonder if I have made it harder for him since he's not my first husband- maybe they think he's not going to be around in 5 years or 10 years from now. He is, I have no doubts about that. And 5 or 10 years from now, I'll be the great aunt to Nate's first wife's sister's kid's kids. How's that for a mouthful?

Yeah- I love my family.

Blog Sweet Blog

I've been MIA. I miss writing and I have a few entries brewing. There are a couple of reasons I haven't written in a while:
#1 is that the boys conspire against me. They nap on opposite schedules- napping at the same time is a rarity and Henry usually takes what I refer to as "micro-naps" anyway- 10 or 15 minutes and he's up and on the go.
#2 is simply that it's been a busy summer. With graduations and out-of-town friends and family visiting, a vacation and a funeral thrown in for variety I have been busy doing many things out of the house.

Everything's calming down now. There's a chill in the air and the leaves are starting to change and I expect that the boys will sleep more as the cold weather settles in.

So expect some new entries soon. I'm going to start to work on one now.

He's Growing Up

I ditched the baby monitor for good. It wasn't a good-quality piece of equipment anyway. I had to position it just right on the night stand or it would buzz a little bit and sometimes what started out as a perfect position somehow became imperfect as the night wore on and it would start to buzz and wake me up.

I turned it off two-and-a-half nights ago and I've slept better ever since. It needed to happen.

Henry's big enough now that he can summon me from my room if he really needs me and I don't need to hear every bit of movement he makes. Here's a current photo:



He'll be my last child- two is a good number for us and with me being 41, almost 42, the risks go up every year of complications with not only me but also the baby. Two is a logical number for us.

I had a strong urge to be pregnant again a couple of days ago. It came from out of nowhere. I didn't want to have another child- I just wanted to be pregnant again. There's something special about cradling life within- it's really the only chance you have to be completely protective. It's a secret club that only has two members. It's easy to overlook the heartburn and fatigue and constipation and every other pregnancy complaint when the product of that state is laughing at his rattle on a blanket next to my feet. The truth of it is that pregnancy is a chore, but the glory of it is unmistakable. If I was a younger woman I might not be able to resist its siren song, but I'm a practical woman. I've had 2 successful pregnancies despite being of Advanced Maternal Age and I'm not going to press my luck.

When I unplugged the monitor it struck me that this was a step towards independence for him. There are countless tiny steps you accompany your child through that lead eventually to his independence. The first one is birth. The others are less dramatic, certainly, and many of them are tiny, but each one is a little milestone. The first big one after birth in our family is moving the baby out of the bedroom and into his own room. That happened a few weeks ago.

The turning-off of the monitor is a tiny step. I'm sure it's what prompted my desire to be pregnant again. Since Henry will be our last child I know that every time one of those little steps is taken, I will sigh with the knowledge that I will not be experiencing it again. Some toys are starting to migrate to the attic where they will await the eventual garage sale and I've begun to sort and catalog the clothes for eBay sale.

I've tucked a couple of things into a keepsake box for him- both boys have one. The boxes contain their hospital bands and mine, the outfit they came home in, their ultrasound pictures and a couple of other items. Ted's has a lock of hair- Henry's will have one eventually too.

I'm glad the monitor is off. I needed to sleep better. I'm glad my boys are growing up. And I'm glad I'm not going to be pregnant again, truth be told. I will continue to be a little wistful I'm sure, but as I said before, I'm a practical woman at heart.

Anyone want to buy a baby bathtub? I've got one I'm not using anymore.

Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery

"Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery..." It's a warning I've seen on my prescriptions at times. It was on the prescription I got after having my wisdom teeth removed. It was on the prescription I got after having my C-section.

Today I have no drugs other than caffeine in my system. I went to bed at 10. Henry nursed at 10:50 and again at 11:30 (?!) Ted awoke at 12 and howled until I went to check on him. Nothing was wrong, so I changed his diaper and told him to go back to sleep. He woke up again at 2 and howled until I went in and told him that when it was dark it was sleeping time. I used my Angry Face and my Mean Voice. Henry woke up at 2:30 and nursed. He then awoke at 5 for the day. I got another 20 minutes of sleep when he took his first nap before Ted woke up for the day. So my longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep was from 3 until 5.

I have a headache that has taken over the right side of my head and it feels like I'm clenching my teeth even as I sit here, slack jawed, typing away. So far I have read 2 books 5 times each. The boys are watching their third video of the day. They're tired and crabby too. It's hard work to coordinate a waking schedule like that I suppose.

I've emptied a couple of trash cans and frankly feel good about how much I've accomplished considering how I feel. Last night was bad, but it wouldn't have this kind of effect on me except that I have only had two or three good nights of sleep since maybe November.

I tell myself every morning that it won't be this way forever, that any day now Henry will start sleeping through the night. And that Ted will stop waking up- it's a phase. And some nights I get 3 hours of sleep in a row twice. When I get more than that I wake up disoriented because it's so unusual.

Some people fantasize about winning the lottery. I fantasize about getting 8 hours of sleep. It sounds completely unattainable- even typing it seems ludicrous.

I am so out of it that I chant to myself "coffeecoffeecoffee" when I pad into the kitchen because if I don't then I will actually forget why I'm there. There's no way I am competent to work a power tool today- it would certainly end up with a visit to the emergency room. And thanks tons to all of the people who tell me "You should nap when they do." Great idea Einstein, I wouldn't have figured that one out on my own. I haven't gotten the boys to overlap their naps for more than 15 minutes in WEEKS. Sorry for being surly.

That warning? "Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery while under the influence of this medication" which they stamp on bottles of some medication? They should have stamped it on my kids.

The Nature of Happiness

It will never be my intent to call anyone out on this blog. However, my friends and family will see themselves all over this entry. So if you know me well, ask yourself where you fit in.

Recent events have left me contemplating the nature of happiness. Where does it come from? What guarantees it? Is it the same as joy? Or is it the same as peace or tranquility?

I've decided that happiness can't be the same as joy, but joy can be the sparkle of happiness. And if you are happy it is likely also that you have joy. I think that inner peace lays a foundation for happiness. Without that foundation, happiness can't take purchase.

I have a friend who comes from a disfunctional family. Her childhood was marked by horrible events. As an adult, I have watched her seek happiness. She truly wants to be happy and have peace in her life. She was not taught it at home because it didn't exist there, but she knows it exists somewhere and so she seeks it. I believe that one day she will find it because what she does have is an immense capacity for joy. I have laughed with no other person more than I have laughed with her. She has a profound sense of the absurd and loves to laugh. We have laughed until we ached and it hurt to breathe the next day. Is she happy? Not yet. Is she getting there? You betcha. She's working at it.

There are others in my life who have no real struggles in their lives. The drama in their lives comes not from without, like my friend I just mentioned, but from within. Life should be good. But there appears to be a short supply of joy and little happiness. Never sure of their footing, there seems to be an almost-constant catalog running- a continual comparison to determine one's place on the totem pole. These people are not looking for happiness, they are looking for victory, perhaps. I really think they don't have happiness as a goal. They don't seem to be seeking it. I'm not sure what they're seeking. Conquest?

There are others in my life too who have both happiness and joy. Life's struggles have been nothing beyond the ordinary and they have been free to simply be. They appreciate what they have and don't seem to be phased by what they don't. They are easy to be around because they give the benefit of the doubt- hurt feelings are hard to come by. Conversation is natural and uncalculated. I never have to worry about what I say around them because they don't take offense at things- they don't make things personal that were not meant to be.

I watch my 2-year-old and I see how passionate he is. My husband took him into the back yard to pick up sticks the other day after a wind storm. Ted got so excited helping out that he was actually shaking as he put a stick into the can. The capacity for joy that a 2-year-old has is immeasurable. What takes that away? How does it translate into future happiness? I don't know. My husband and I often talk about how we need to care for his childhood so that he can become a happy adult. We talk about how we need to lay a foundation so that he can achieve peace- so that it can be available to him when he's older.

I do know that the adults whom I see as being the happiest react to my 2-year-old in similar fashion. They want some of that joy. They get down on the floor and play with him. They pick him up and spin him around. They chase him and play and roll around in the grass.

The adults I see as being less happy appear to be too worried about what others would think. They don't roll around on the grass. They might engage the toddler, but they ask him questions and then turn back to the adult company.

What is the key to happiness? Does anyone really know? I can tell you this though:

The happy people I know are generally unconcerned about what other people are doing or acquiring as it relates to them.
They are inclusive of others rather than exclusive.
They let go of hurt feelings.
They give others the benefit of the doubt.
They expect others to give them the benefit of the doubt.
They don't have rigid preconceived notions about how life should be.
They give lots of hugs.

They also don't see everything in relation to them- by that I mean this: if I was to say "I'm so glad I don't drive a mini-van. If I drove one it would make me feel frumpy." The happy people I know would take that to mean exactly what I said. The unhappy people would take that to mean that I think they are frumpy if they drive a mini-van. (I drive a mini-van btw and I might even be a little frumpy.)

I think that one can have moments of joy without having happiness. I don't know that it's possible to have a life of happiness without moments of joy. I think the key to happiness is personal satisfaction- inner peace. I think that if you have acceptance of yourself and are able to forgive yourself and maybe even like yourself then you can be happy.

In a couple of weeks I am going to be meeting some friends for the first time. We are part of an internet chat group and while we've talked to each other for a couple of years, we've never actually met. This morning it occurred to me that my only real concern is whether my boys are going to sleep. (We're going to share a lodge and I'll sleep in a room with both boys and I snore like a freight train.) I'm not concerned at all about whether these women are going to like me. Before I found happiness, I would have worried about that a lot. I would have fretted and thought about it and thought about what I was going to talk about and how I should dress. It would have been like a first date.

I'm not worried about it. I guess it's because I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt and I expect I'll get it in return.

While I was thinking about all of this, one lucky family member kept coming into my mind when I was thinking about people I knew whom I considered to be happy. I called her up and told her that she kept popping into my mind as a person who was truly happy. You can guess what she said.

She said: Awww, that makes me happy!

My love of Engrish

For those who don't know, the broad definition of Engrish is English translations that have errors, often comical.

I love Engrish. It cracks me up. I look for it and sometimes go to sites like http://www.engrish.com/ to see if there's anything new posted. Sometimes it makes me laugh out loud. There are the emails that occasionally make the rounds that have lists of bad translations like this one http://ayersline.com/Jokes/badtrans.htm and I always read them with amusement.

One common place to find Engrish is in fortune cookies. I was dining with my mom when she got the fortune "A Happy Day! You better shirt all kind of overwork." I kept that inscrutable fortune cookie in my purse for three years. I stumbled upon someone who wanted to BUY it from me, so I gave it to him- I figured if he was willing to pay for it, he should have it.

Recently, while looking for a new electric razor for my husband for Father's Day, I stumbled across these gems on Amazon in the customer review section:

I used to have a simpler shaver, with 3 head but a lot simpler than this one. Now I have a really good one. My skin when I end shaving becomes really soft. My previous shaver (Philips also) used to leave a lot of hairs back in my face and almost all other I could fell with touch. NOW the felling at the end is awesome, my face becomes really nice in the touch. A nice product, I'm really happy with him.

I was looking for a cheap quick alternative to brades, this seems to meet my expectation. For around 30 bucks, you really can go wrong. Time saving, priceless. I usually finish my shaving with brades in about 10 to 15 minutes, now it's 10 seconds.

I'm not a hard user so all stuff is awesome!

There is a flip side to this though too. Tattoos that utilize Asian characters, Arabic or Sanscrit are currently popular. However, word on the street is that if you are going to get one of these tattoos, you need to be really careful because people are getting tattoos that don't say what they think they do.

So I wonder if there is some web site that some 40-year-old Asian woman likes to go to that makes her laugh. It has pictures of people who have things like "I wet my bed until I was 17" tattoed on their shoulder or "Only losers get tattoos on their necks" tattooed on their neck.

I hope so.

That would make me laugh.

I Know This Much is Also True

• The correct dosage for a 2-year-old is 1/2 of a Flinstone's vitamin. Even though it's only a vitamin, it's still a little creepy to have 4 or 5 Flinstone's heads roll out into your hand first thing in the morning.
• If you are an adult, running through the streets in a downpour and splashing water on your friend will cause police officers to conduct field sobriety tests.
• If your outdoor cat brings a rodent inside for your indoor cats to play with, it is not a good thing.
• If you have cats and think you smell something under your sofa, even if that sofa is a hide-a-way bed, it's best to investigate.
• Ant spray will not kill flies.
• An easy way to confuse drunks is to sit on a bar roof at closing time and blow bubbles over the edge.
• Snakes make bad pets.

I know other stuff too- these are just some things that popped into my head this evening.

Who Writes This Stuff?

My two-year-old Ted LOVES books. I think that's great- we're all readers in my family and I'm happy to read to him as often as he wants to be read to, provided I'm not in the middle of doing something else like cooking dinner.

I expect I read somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty books a day to him and his vocabulary is building itself by leaps and bounds. It's fun to hear him tackle new words and to be able to finally express some of his wishes verbally- it makes it a whole lot easier on me too.

One thing that I have found out is that the quality of children's literature varies greatly. Some of it is wonderful and some of it is simply crap. It's quality does not seem to make a difference to Ted- he is equally enchanted from the cream at the top and the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel.

The sign of a good book is much different to me. Since I am going to be the one reading it 15 times in a row, I have certain qualifications for a child's book to make it stand out.

1. It must be sturdy- if the book lasts two days because one episode of being folded all the way open has broken the book in two, it does not deserve to wear the badge of "Board Book." That title should only apply to those books hardy enough to endure and survive at least a month of love from a toddler.

2. It must have decent artwork. If the artwork is ugly or lacks perspective then it's not a good book. Bearing in mind that if a book is a favorite then it may be slept with, it may come to the dinner table and accompany the child in the grocery store or the car, it ought to be appealing to the eye.

3. It must be easy to read. If it is a rhyming book and the rhymes are forced and the cadence is off, it becomes a hated book by the reader. There are parts of Ted's books that I read the way I think they should have been written instead of the way they were written.

Examples of great books are "The Napping House" and "Good Night Moon." When I see parents listing their child's favorite books, "Good Night Moon" is on nearly ever list I've ever read. It's lyrical and easy to memorize. It almost sings itself. "In the great green room there was a telephone, a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon." The artwork is good too. "The Napping House" has the same qualities. The artwork is intricate and nuanced; the book almost sings: "There is a house, a napping house where everyone is sleeping. And in that house there is a bed, a cozy bed in a napping house where everyone is sleeping."

I love those books and reading them 15 times in a row is not a chore- it's a labor of love that is easy.

Then there are the other books. The books that make me wonder- whoever wrote the text to this book- how did they get that job? Did some book manufacturer walk out into his staff room and look around and say "You there- throwing up into the wastebasket- are you still drunk from last night? Never mind- I want you to write the text to this book. Here are some pictures. I don't care if it's not your department- in my office I demand flexibility!" Are there no editors? There are good writers out there looking for work- how can they all get overlooked when it comes to writing children's books?

There are two books in particular that I cringe when Ted brings them to me to read. They were bought by a relative who bought them because they were on clearance for $2 apiece and the original price on the back of the book was $25. ($25!!!!! For a 4 page board book.)

They are sturdy. They have lasted and lasted. The artwork is decent too- not inspired by any stretch, but the perspective is fine and they aren't ugly to look at.

The text is wretched. Just awful. One begins "Under the ocean live two little fish. The big one is Mommy and that's her son Tisch." In these two sentences I see these problems: Fish live IN the ocean, not under it. Under the ocean implies that the fish are buried in the sea bed. Little fish, one of which is big. Which is it? Are they big or little? "Tisch?" Are we getting clever by adding the "c" in there so that no one will notice that it's a name fabricated to rhyme with "fish?" Well, the gig is up- I noticed. The cadence is off- I stumble over the words of the text when the stanzas have a 4 syllable phrase in a 2 syllable spot. I HATE reading it. I never thought I'd hate reading a book, but I do.

I have it memorized. This book is currently the favorite. I haven't read it this morning because it's still in his crib- he slept with it last night. I did get to read "A Party in the Jungle," its companion book, written by the same imbecile. This one follows Eric the Elephant and it tells us that you have to be cute to have friends, bears live in the jungle with elephants, monkeys and deer and elephants are good dancers.

Throwing away a perfectly good book seems like blasphemy to me, but it just might happen soon and by my hand.

I have a recommendation to anyone who will be buying children's literature for the younger set. Read it. Read it out loud at least twice before buying it. Think about reading it 15 times in a row. Does that seem like a punishment? If it does, then pick up a copy of "Good Night Moon" or "The Napping House" or anything by Eric Carle instead. Someone will be glad you did.

The Nursery That Took Over My Life

So I've been MIA for three weeks. I've really been meaning to get here and jot a few things down. I've been really busy. I've had snowbird relatives come back in town. Ted had a birthday. My mother-in-law had a birthday. We've had two celebrations at our house. We had a new back yard put in. And I decorated the nursery.

Henry will be 4 months old in 5 days now, so I decided it was finally time to get his nursery decorated. He's been sleeping in a co-sleeper attached to our bed and both Henry and I will sleep better once he's no longer right next to me- when he is even a little restless at night I'm inclined to nurse him instead of allowing him to work his way back to sleep on his own. He is big enough that he ought to be sleeping through the night now, but I know that I'm working against it- time to put an end to that.

Those who know me know that I'm decorationally challenged. My house is painted in antique white with white trim in just about every room. My kitchen stands alone, but I didn't decorate it- my sister did. She's an architect. That room looks great. Everything else looks bland. Except for the nursery now.

I don't have the linens on the crib yet and the crib needs to be assembled- we received it yesterday- but here are the pictures:












Now that Henry will be moving into his own space, I'm hoping to start getting a little more sleep at night. I'm looking forward to that!

I have another random tangent halfway written. I'll post that after Father's Day. Hopefully I'll have a little more time to write now that my big renovation project is complete. :)

The Dreaded Question

The other day someone asked me what I did all day. I used to be a legal advisor for 9 police departments. I taught at police academy, did appeals work, reviewed evidence, wrote search warrants, trained new prosecutors, wrote a newsletter on changes in the laws and had other various duties. When I was working and someone asked me, "What did you do all day?" It was easy to answer that question with something tangible and important sounding. "I made fifteen bond arguments after reviewing all of the cases and then I worked on an appellate brief." That would be a fairly typical answer on a fairly typical day.

My days just don't translate into something that concrete anymore. Someone I used to work with recently asked me, "Are you doing anything anymore?" I knew what he meant- he wanted to know if I was still practicing- but my mind raced through everything that a typical day entails and I stammered for a response that was appropriate and didn't minimize what I do spend my time doing.

Someone else asked me recently, "What does Teddy do all day?" I answered, "In a broad sense, he spends all day learning." I know that it's true. I see him stacking cups and flipping through the pages of his book and I see him refining his eye-hand coordination and I see him taking in the images. He talks to his toys and the pictures in his books and each day his language becomes a little clearer and I can understand a word or two more. I sit with him on the floor and I help him with a task that's frustrating to him and I see him learning patience and perseverence. But how do you translate that into a sound bite? How do you explain why it's so draining, especially when the toddler is having a day filled more with frustrations than accomplishments?

Sometimes I think about what my goal for the day is going to be. I used to do it while driving to work. "I really want to finish that appellate brief this afternoon and get it filed" or "I need to finish that legislative update and get it sent out to the different departments." Now it's "I really need to get the floor mopped" or "I need to get my grocery list made out and go to the grocery store." It doesn't seem as important when I'm explaining it to someone who's never done it. It's even a little embarassing, actually.

I know that what I'm doing is crucial to my children. I know that my first responsibility is to them and I know that as surely as I know I'm going to draw my next breath. For me that means being here. Henry laughed for the first time a couple of days ago and his dad got to be there for it. So many of the milestones that they hit I get to see first and report on. To my recollection, I've been there for each of them. That's more important to me than any appellate brief I've ever written.

When people ask me "When are you going back to work?" I answer the question that they mean- when am I going to be a practicing lawyer again- but if they followed me for a day they'd realize that sometimes trying to get the kitchen floor mopped is a less realistic goal than finishing an appellate brief. My work is always interrupted and often superceded.

Speaking of, Teddy doesn't usually sleep this late- I need to go see if something's up. I've already fed Henry, changed his diaper and gotten him dressed. I coaxed him back into his first nap. Now I'll get Ted, change his diaper, get him dressed, feed him breakfast and clean the kitchen. My coffee's almost cold since I haven't been able to have an uninterrupted cup in months. I am a perpetual motion machine. So what will I do all day?

Everything.

My Favorite Sound

Someone once asked me what my favorite sound was. Today I realized what the answer to that question is.

Henry laughed for the first time.

I called my mom, aware that it was unlikely that I'd actually reach her; I still had to breathe in and out a couple of times fast so that I wouldn't start to cry when I left her the message on her phone. Yes- I am that much of a softie.

I spent the rest of the day trying to get him to laugh again and I got him going so hard that he got the hiccoughs.

Laughing is my favorite milestone with the first steps being my second favorite. So far, at least, that's true. So far nothing has given me as much joy as hearing my babies laugh for the first time.

It's a good day.

I Know This Much is Also True

Here are some other things I've learned:

• No matter how many recipes tell me that pearl onions' skins "slip right off" after they've been in boiling water for 10 minutes they are not to be believed. They all lie and it will always take like an hour to get the skins off of a bag of pearl onions.
• Frozen pearl onions are a poor substitute for fresh. They taste as though they've been frozen with the skins on.
• Tags inside clothing are made from a material closely related to steel wool. Almost any garment is made more comfortable by the removal of the tags.
• Do not remove the tags of any clothing labeled "Dry Clean Only." This advice is unnecessary if you have a boyfriend or husband who ever does the laundry. He will not read the tags, you may as well remove them.
• Counselling a husband or boyfriend to always read the tags inside any clothing that is shiny or fancy is a waste of time. He will simply stop doing the laundry out of fear. Or at least he will stop doing your laundry. Even socks.
• When you discover something in the back of your fridge and do not remember when you bought it, do not smell it to tell whether it has gone bad. Assume it has and throw it out. Your day will not improve by smelling the mysterious substance.
  
• Homemade beer is seldom as good as the beer you buy at the store. Usually it's worse. By a lot.
• Playing moonlighter frisbee at 3 AM will cause police officers to conduct field sobriety tests.
• Putting a piece of duct tape over the speaker of any toy will reduce its volume by a lot.
• Duct tape in a color that matches the color of a toy is often overlooked by a toddler.
• Duct tape comes in almost every color. If you don't believe me, go to www.tapebrothers.com
• It is possible to capture a flying squirrel in a laundry basket.
• If you spray a raccoon with pepper spray, it will leave your garage.

I know other things too. This is just a sampling.

The Devil in Disguise

We've been going out for a walk in the evening. Every walk starts the same way. I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who's wiggling and cooing and smiling. My husband is walking with the toddler. We turn right at the end of the driveway and the toddler turns left and makes a beeline for the manhole cover that's in the middle of the cul-de-sac, three doors down. He likes to sit on the manhole cover and feel the raised metal with his hand. He will sit down there for as long as we'll let him, but since we're going for a walk, we try to herd him along in the same direction we're going.

Herding a toddler who has a specific destination that is 180 degrees in the other direction is not easy. He has more moves than a gymnast and is more flexible than a yoga master. He will suddenly drop to the ground and twist away, at the same time emitting a shrill cry that has the effect of piercing your temple like an ice pick. He'll throw himself backwards against the ground. As parents, our first impulse is to protect him. We don't want him sitting in the middle of the street for obvious reasons. When he is throwing a temper tantrum in the road, we are trying to control and protect him from hurting himself and we are also trying to teach him to be a good citizen. Being a good citizen does not encompass temper tantrums in the middle of the street.

This is new behavior. He wasn't always like this and hopefully he'll return to his former behavior at some point. Better yet, hopefully he'll return to is former behavior sometime soon. In fact, the sooner the better. We know that it's important to remain firm. We know that a child who is unsure of who is in charge is unmoored. We sure as heck don't want him thinking he is.

Every walk ends the same way: I'm pushing the baby carriage with Henry, who has fallen asleep. Nate is carrying the toddler who has his back arched and he's trying to wriggle free- kicking and twisting and pinching and pushing. His face is red and his mouth is open and he's sobbing so hard that either no sound is coming out or else he's making so much noise that the neighbors have started to look in our direction. (They're all hobby gardeners, so they're always outside.)

He's awfully angelic when he's in a good mood. Long lashes and crystal blue eyes, light brown hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. He smiles easily and laughs heartily and flirts with every stranger he sees. We were at the grocery store the other day when someone asked him how old he was and he responded "terrible two." (I suppose he's been listening to me talking on the phone to the veteran moms I keep on auto dial.) The lady said, "Oh- I can't believe that." I said "Come by our house in time for our evening walk- he looks like an angel but he's a devil in disguise."

We've discussed not taking a walk in the evening simply to avoid the stress. Sometimes we forego it if we're not up to the task or we put him in the stroller where he remains contained. We've come to the conclusion that the lesson is worth the hassle- he'll eventually learn that he doesn't make the rules and that we're in charge and that crying doesn't get him what he wants. At least that's our motivation for continuing the walks. And those are lessons he'll learn one way or another. In the meantime, if anyone wants to watch two parents wrangling an angry toddler, we take our walk right after dinner every evening- just ask our neighbors.

The Eye of the Hurricane

I recently got one of those e-mails that asks about 20 questions such as "What's your favorite flower" and "When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up." It went around a group of us who all have toddlers the same age. One question had a striking number of the identical answers. The question was "What's your favorite time of day?" The answer: nap time.

I've been thinking about that for a couple of days now- about why nap time is so important for the children and for us too. Nap time has lots of purposes to the stay-at-home-mom.

It is a time to recharge the batteries.
Toddlers are learning so much and growing so quickly that they need a nap. If they don't get one, their behavior gets worse. They cry and hit and yell if they don't get a nap. They are already completely id motivated, but now it's an angry id-motivated being who is volatile and loud. A toddler who's had a nap is still id motivated, but he's not a volcano that is seconds away from spewing molten lava on all of the villagers. A toddler without a nap is like a wild badger.

It is a time to get things done.
Nap time is the only time to mop the floors without having to worry about the toddler getting into the mop water or something else while being kept away from the mop water. Nap time is a time to fold laundry without the toddler taking each item and tossing it out of the basket with a squeal. It is a time to pay the bills without interruption. A time to put away the groceries without "help."

It is a time for assessment.
Sometimes during nap time I feel like a general- I think about my morning battle plan. What worked? What didn't? What tactics am I going to use this afternoon? What do I need to accomplish this afternoon?

It is a time to rest and regroup.
We all have bad days. On occasion I will give the toddler lunch a half-hour early just because it means that I can put him down for his nap early. Some days he is extra clingy, needy, frustrated, angry and bored all at the same time. Some days this mood coincides with the infant going through a growth spurt during which I have to feed him every hour-and-a-half. Nap time is like the eye of the hurricane- that bit of calm during a raging storm when you can look out and see what damage has been done. On days like that when nap time comes, all I have energy for is plopping myself down on the couch and watching completely inane television. (The parents of the girls on MTV's "My Super Sweet 16" ought to be ashamed of themselves.)

It is a time for myself.
I own nap time. It is the one time of the day that no one else needs me. My husband is upstairs sleeping and if the stars have aligned, both boys are sleeping too. It is my time. I can use it how I want to. I can call a friend or write my emails. I can do chores if I want to, but in the end I am accountable to myself and myself only. This is the only time of day I have that is truly mine. The rest of the day is accounted for by one or the other of the children or by my husband.

Your life gets taken over when you decide to stay at home. When you are working you have responsibilities to your boss and the company you work for, but I never felt like my identity was taken over by the job. I feel that way now- that I am less "Betsy" and more "wife and mother." Except during nap time. Nap time is when I get to be just Betsy again.

"I Am Two"

It came from down the hall "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
So I went to see what it was. I knew who it was- it was Ted, my toddler. As a mom, you do these things in the middle of the night with a list in your mind. At first you hear it coming from down the hall and you have a conversation with yourself that goes something like this:

That's Ted. I must get up right now and see what the matter is!! Wait. He's almost 2. He could be manipulating me. Do I really want to encourage him to do this when he's bored? There's no real urgency in his voice. Maybe he'll settle back down. Besides, the covers are just where I like them....

And then you wait to see what will happen.

(My husband works nights, so I have this conversation with myself.)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.

Maybe his foot's caught? Maybe he's leaked out of his diaper? Maybe he threw up? Maybe he had a nightmare?

So my mom-guilt and I get up and walk down the hall, trying to avoid the squeaky part of the hallway in case I decide I don't need to go into his room. I step on it every time of course. I put my nose to the crack of the door and I smell. This will often answer the question of whether I need to go into the room or not. (I think that only other moms will understand why that's not either gross or a cop-out.)

So it was last night. I'm nursing the infant- voracious little guy nurses three to five times a night still. He's two-and-a-half months old and has already gained 7 pounds. So I don't want to get up and tend to a toddler who might just be bored- I really need to sleep when I can. But even if there's nothing wrong that can be tangibly addressed, my opinion is that if the toddler has a bad dream, it would be a scary world if mom didn't come down and see what the matter was. Finding the right line between compassion and spoiling is not always easy.

So I went into his room and turned on the light. He was lying on his back, holding onto his bear, his feet up on the crib rails. He appeared genuinely surprised to see me. Bear in mind that I had been sleeping with a white-noise machine in the room when he woke me up and I had enough time to run through all the pros and cons before getting up and going into his room. All the while, I could hear him at the other end of the hall:
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh.
He had no issue that needed to be addressed, he was just making noise. At least for last night, I figured out what
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh .
means. At least for last night, it means "I am two."

Did You Say "Blessed?" or "Pissed?"

I'm a stay-at-home-mom. I don't belong to a playgroup. When I quit work to become a sahm, all of my local friends (except one) were fully employed, mostly professionals. We'd have drinks after work and sometimes that'd evolve into dinner. I went to ballgames and conferences and seminars out of town.

When I quit work I stepped out of that world and my new world was dramatically smaller. It's >< this big now. That fact has had some impact. Every bit of adult interaction is now much more important to my sanity.

So when I go to the grocery store, I choose my line with some care. I have a favorite clerk. Her name is Theresa and I know about her kids and her grand-daughter and she was actually one of the first people I told when I got pregnant with Henry. Unfortunately, Theresa broke her foot and has been off work for a couple of months now. I miss her.

There's only one clerk I actively try to avoid.

I went to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago. I had a lot of items to get and it took some time. I went as I usually do, with the toddler in the cart seat and the 2 month-old in a mei tai, strapped to my chest. He was sleeping peacefully but I knew he'd wake up soon. In addition, we were approaching lunch and nap time for the toddler.

When I got to the check-out there were two lines open. One was clerked by Michelle who I like fine. The other was clerked by The Other Michelle. The first Michelle's line already had three people in it, each with a fair number if items. The second Michelle had no one in her line and the belt was empty. She was talking to her last customers about how they could file a complaint against the corporation that owns the grocery store. The store was re-organizing and these customers had a hard time finding what they needed, so Michelle was encouraging them to complain. This did not surprise me. It may be the only time she's ever been helpful.

I contemplated my options and then I made the wrong decision in an effort to be efficient with my time.

"I just won't ask today." I counselled myself. Michelle always asks how you are, not because she cares, but because she wants to answer the reciprocal question. I feel guilty when I don't ask it, but today I wouldn't ask. I was loading my groceries onto the belt when she said, "How are you today?" Her mouth was turned down and her eyes were full of malice. "Fine." I said, "And you?" dammit dammit dammit. I asked. Even after thinking about it, I asked. "I'm so blessed I can hardly stand it." She said in a monotone, her angry gaze locked with mine. I looked at my one son who was trying to add a magazine to my purchases and my other one, sleeping peacefully against my chest. I choked up a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean." And I felt blessed- I really did.

She glowered at me. Very clearly I could not know what she meant. She said something about Henry sleeping in the car and I said that actually he hated the infant car seat and would probably cry the whole way home. That gave her purchase. She had something to hold onto. Off she went on a tirade about infant car seats. The thrust of her tirade was that she never used them with her kids and they were just fine. I mentioned that people are worse drivers now. (They are too- NHTSA has the stats. The only reason there aren't a lot more fatals every year is because safety equipment has improved dramatically- yeah, like infant car seats. There are a LOT more cars and a lot more multiple car accidents now.) She locked eyes with me. "Oh no they aren't!" She said, shoving my bread into the bag with the canned goods. She stopped ringing up my items for a moment and glared. I don't know why she's so angry about car seats- they seem like a good idea to me.

I only had a couple of items left at this point, so I started digging in my purse for my bank card even though I knew right where it was. She's like that every time I go through her line- angry and looking for someone to vent it on.

At the beginning of the transaction she always makes sure that I know that she's "blessed." In fact, this time she said she was "so blessed she could hardly stand it." I would think that if you knew that you were "blessed," it would put you in a better mood. Maybe she meant "pissed."

The Differences Between the Boys

If you are expecting consistency from this blog, I'll refer you back to its title.

My oldest turns two in three weeks and my youngest is 2 1/2 months old. Everyone told me that the boys would be night and day. So far there are some marked differences and some similarities as well. I figured this might be a good place to chronicle the differences and similarities. This is for my own reference more than anything else- I doubt this entry will have much entertainment value.

So far the big difference is sleep. Ted was going 6 hours between feedings at 3 weeks old. By the time he was 6 weeks old we were contemplating moving him out of our bedroom and by 8 weeks he was in his own room.

Henry's gone 6 hours between feedings exactly once. I'm still nursing him 3 times a night regularly, sometimes more. He's still in our room with no prospect of moving out. (Some of that is my fault though- he's moving into my sewing room, Nate's ready room, and every time I go in there to start getting things organized, I end up sitting down at the sewing machine and making something new. Recently it was 17 fabric balls, each having 36 pieces. I have more fabric on the sewing table now than I did when I went in to get it organized.)

Ted was late with every physical milestone- for this first time mom it was a little unnerving, but I'm over it now. He:

• rolled over consistently at 9 months
• crawled at 11 months
• walked at 19 months
• started talking, really talking, last week- that will at some point be the subject of a future entry.
• got his first tooth at 6 mos but started teething at 3 (this was on time)
  

The lesser milestones I don't remember. I'll check his baby book and see if I have them written down.

Other differences between them: Ted had periods where he'd cry nonstop for no reason I could ascertain. It didn't happen often, but it did happen. It was frustrating because I kept looking for a cause and a cure. Henry's a generally happier baby. Ted was intense- always observing. Henry's a lot more interactive. He smiles and burbles and coos. Ted required more laundry- every time I fed him, he pooped. Henry's gone as long as 8 days between. Ai-yi-yi what a mess that can be. Ted loved being in the car seat- I would put him in it sometimes when he was fussy even if we weren't going anywhere. Henry loathes the car seat. Ted would only sleep in a couple of places, but when he slept, he'd sleep for a long time. Henry can catnap anywhere. He even fell asleep in his grandfather's lap yesterday afternoon.

One main similarity is in build. They are both long in the torso and both have quickly grown out of their clothes. Henry's already pushing the outer limits of clothes that are labeled as being 3-6 mo clothes. Ted did the same thing. Not quite as quickly, but Henry was a half pound bigger than Ted at birth.

I'm looking forward to getting to know this little guy. We're beyond the newborn stage and Henry's personality is coming through. Ted has a lot of my intensity. I wonder who Henry's going to be like.

I'll update this post as necessary when things become apparent.

It be an effectual

I always check my bulk mail folder in my email. Occasionally I'll have a piece of email in there that I actually want, but it got turfed to my bulk mail by mistake. By-and-large, however, it's usually something titled obscurely, like "It be an effectual" or "Now an merger." The sender is usually improbable, like "Pedro MacDaniel" or "Luigi Yoshiko." It always makes me wonder where they come from. Clearly there are lots of these emails that go out. Does anyone ever open them? If no one ever opens them then I'd expect that they'd stop after a while, and yet they march on. Almost every time I open my email, there are more.

I'm always tempted to actually open one. I have a Mac, so I'm not so concerned about viruses. Having heard the warnings enough times, however, I simply press delete, even though my curiosity makes me wonder what such a missive would contain. I got one titled "He tung my cylindric" What could that possibly be about? Or "Go vaccinate do sagebrush"? Or "I runge in eurasia"? or "Ride this stock rocket cameraman."? I'm genuinely curious.

Some of them at least harbor a clue as to the contents:
"Better taste sperm" was another one- I can kind of guess what that one's going to be about, but I'm not sure if that's an offer or a command. One other one got me thinking: "You ejacculatte within a few minutes of penetration!"

Ejacculatte- is that like a mocha-latte? "I'd like a skinny ejacculatte with extra foam."?

So here's my question: Are they all emails about penis size, or do they ever contain anything else? Maybe one of these days I'll open one. Then maybe I, too, can runge in eurasia.

First Entry

Welcome to my blog. I'm new at this so as of now I have a title and this post. I named my blog "The Random Tangent" because in thought or conversation I tend to go off on seemingly random tangents. It all makes sense to me, but to my long-suffering family and friends, I'm sure it can be both endearing and really annoying. The title is to let them know that I know that I do it. Sorry.