Archive for May, 2009

look

at my sweet darling baby’s hair. It slays me, seriously.

From May 8 2009

He is such a big boy these days.

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tank

That’s what Wesley is. A tank. If there’s something in his way–a book, a ball, a person, a pile of laundry–he just crawls right over it. He never, ever goes around.

Mary, on the other hand, used to crawl around everything, even crumbs.

my kitchen

My paternal grandmother made bread a lot; she saved the plastic sleeves from store-bought bread to put her own loaves in. I remember eating at her house–there was always bread and butter on the table. Always.

My kitchen is a whole different place to me now that I’m baking bread. I mean, I had made bread before–but I had never had great success with it and I had TERRIBLE luck with whole-grain bread. Since white bread is so bad for you, it was a once-in-a-while thing to eat, much less bake, and I never really got into it.

Since Conor brought me the Laurel’s Kitchen book, I have baked bread a handful of times and already I can see I’ll be doing it weekly. Probably forever. Today I made sourdough rolls.

Did you catch that? I made sourdough rolls.

That means that I have planned ahead to these rolls for a week (I had to make my starter, as I’ve never done sourdough before). I made the dough starter last night. And today I made the bread. It takes time–not that you’re DOING anything for most of that time, just that the bread is–and it takes a certain amount of concentration. It’s relaxing, interesting (who knew that dough went through so many stages?), and meditative. And it’s cool to think that people have been making bread just like this for years and years–the sourdough contains yeast, water, flour, and salt. That’s it. It’s like a time-out from modernity or something.

So tonight we had dinner and I put out some bread. Mary was eating hers (with butter on some, jam on some–she loves it). It was a sort of timeless thing.

And, to top it all off, these sourdough rolls? They are killer. I would not have believed that it was possible to make bread this good in my pathetic oven.

Memorial Day festivities

We didn’t go anywhere for Memorial Day–not that we would have anyway, but Conor had to work. However, Sean and Ginger brought Mackenzie over (she is a couple of weeks younger than Wesley: they are peers!).

When they arrived, Wesley decided he was terrified of them all, especially Mackenzie. He cried. I am not sure why. Does this look scary to you?

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

(Right now, Wesley is practicing his roar. I can understand THAT being scary to another baby.)

They played with some toys on the same blanket. For babies, that constitutes “playing together.”

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Mary (who completely refused to be dressed at any point yesterday) really likes Mackenzie.

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

She was fascinated.

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Mary and Mackenzie decided to examine the pool….

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie
From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

…and the rest was a foregone conclusion.

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie
From Memorial Day with Mackenzie
From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Wesley was not interested:

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

But he was amused.

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie
From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Wesley decided he would rather play with a stick.

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Waterlogged goldfish crackers–I believe the expression is “Yummo”?

From Memorial Day with Mackenzie

Friday rant: why it is good that I am not a single parent

So, Conor’s been out of town for a couple of days. He gets home late tonight (well, early tomorrow morning). Not a moment too soon, I say.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy spending time with my kids. I do. (Lucky thing, as I spend M-F alone with them.)

However.

I rely on having a little backup.

You know, someone who can watch them while I’m taking the trash out to the curb, or put Mary to bed (that is generally Conor’s job and I neeeeed him to do it).

Someone who can go wet down a baby wipe when I take off a diaper and discover a horrifying state of affairs inside that I somehow didn’t notice until the diaper was off.

Someone who can hold Wesley when he begins to howl because I am cooking a nutritious, tasty, easy-to-chew meal for him and his sister–since he insists that if someone does not pick him up That Very Second he will wilt from loneliness.

Someone who can entertain Mary so that I can go to the bathroom in peace–MY GOD, IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK!? Can’t you PLEASE find a toy to play with for the 20 seconds it takes me to pee instead of shoving all of our junk mail underneath the bathroom door and shouting, “Mommy go potty?” over and over and over and over while I’m trying to wash my hands, and stepping on Wesley in your attempt to get more junk mail so that he is whimpering pitifully and gearing up to let out the first big wail as soon as I open the door (which I am considering not doing until next Thursday)?

I need backup.

Bruiser

This is Bruiser–the bottle calf at my parents’ house (the hairier one. The other one is my dad):
bruiserbottle

Is he not adorable? Best of all, he is not an orphan. His mother just doesn’t have enough milk. Her name is Etta, and she is one of the three cows we bought to start our herd…oh, 15 years ago or so? She has had a lot of lovely babies and Bruiser has a great mama, PLUS he is sweet and friendly because he gets bottles. Check him out–too cute, eh?
bruiserface

the problem with parenting

There is one big problem with parenting.

Children who are young enough to need a lot of care are also, by the laws of nature, too young to appreciate it. Mary, for example, is two and a half. I cook her meals, fill her bottles (okay, sippy cups, but really), tuck her in for naps and go back in to refill her water every.stinking.time, carry her when she gets tired, clean her butt (!!!), do all of her laundry and dishes, play with her more or less on command, clean and refill her wading pool regularly, help her get dressed and undressed….the list goes on and on.

And all she thinks about this is “Why doesn’t that lazy slob get down my Play-Doh?”