love,love,drip

I love my kid - probably more than he loves water fountains, and that's saying something. This is my submission for this week's theme of "Drip."

Starts and stops, please

If there's one thing I like about blogger it's that you can start numerous posts and then stash them away like old movie stubs or your prom corsage - you know, just in case you need them later. That's what I've been doing lately. Stashing. I keep thinking I have an idea for a post but then when I sit down to write something about it, it fizzles out after a few sentences. In short: I don't have much to say.

I did want to make note of something for myself, however. Yesterday, my son became polite. That's right, he now says "please" without being begged and prodded and today I found myself in a bit of a honeymoon phase. I know where it all came from, too. We had a barbecue over the weekend and one of the desserts was a sort of "make your own sundae" deal. So, we are now up to our ears in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. I wouldn't have wanted Eli eating any sprinkles anyway, but one of the conversations we had at the barbecue was about the fact that sprinkles, like the eyes of Peeps, don't dissolve in acid. And you thought the french fry in Super Size Me was gross. So, yeah, even with his pickiness and the fact that I am thrilled when he eats almost anything with calories, I wasn't pushing for these.

But, he's two, and he knows they're in the house, and we told him "no" once, and that pretty much means he's going to keep asking for them. So last night he formed one of his longest sentences yet: Some. Rainbow. Sprinkles. Now. Please. (Periods there because forming sentences is still a bit of work for him so each word comes out completely independent of the others.) This request was followed by a very hopeful and - if I do say so myself - adorable look on his face. How could we say no?

So there it was. In that brief moment our son discovered the power of "please." All day today he's been adding the word onto every request. "Go up escalator, please?" "Eat french fries, please?" "Go home now, please?" And because it's new and adorable and sweet and exactly how I want him to ask, I say "Yes" to everything. He's getting everything he asks for and I'm busting at the seams with mother-pride.

It can't last, though. One of these days he'll ask for something that I can't possibly agree to and he'll realize that the word is not magic after all. And I suppose at that point we'll regress a bit and I'll have to start dragging it out of him again. But for now I'll just enjoy it. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hire a magician and learn how to juggle fire. (Hey, he asked!)

The HEAT is on!

It's time for this week's photo theme, courtesy of Tracey. With a theme like "heat," you'd think it would be easy to come up with a great kid photo, but somehow I've got nothin'. I had to dig into the archives and pull out this picture from almost exactly one year ago.



My family has a long history in the Adirondacks and we try to make it back, as a group, every couple of years. Last year my niece spent a lot of time escaping the heat just like this. (So did I, for that matter.)

It's all in the numbers

One: The number of children I think we might wind up with.
Even as I ruminate over all of our options (acupuncture, charting, OPKs, adoption, donor eggs, adopting Vicki the Robot, you get the picture) I still keep coming back to the fabulousness of having just Eli. I mean, think of it: I can devote scads of time to him AND still have some time left over for myself. Pre-school of our choice, regardless of cost? Done. The cool sneakers when he's in 8th grade? No problem. A car when he turns 16? Sure, let's get him a safe one with airbags everywhere. College education? Not cheap, but we can manage it. Wedding? Sure! We'll spring for half. I mean, it all just seems so manageable. It's not lost on me that most of the things I just mentioned are financial, and we happen to be operating with a rather squeezed budget at the moment. I would never want to make this kind of decision based solely on money, but finances aside, sticking to one is very tempting. I've said all along that I'm content with whatever course our family history takes. It's the uncertainty of it all that'll be the death of me. But the number one does keep creeping back in to my head, and there must be a reason for that. I'm sure there will be other posts on this at other times, but this is all there is to say about it for now.

40: My age and, apparently, the shelf life of eggs.
For years I'd heard the statistics about fertility in your 40s and I figured, "Not me." I mean, I haven't had a cavity in years. My blood pressure is awesome, if I do say so myself. And sometimes I'll be very still, in the midst of doing something, and I feel like it's very possible that I haven't even breathed in the last minute or so. Seriously, this happens to me. Given that I actually question whether my body needs oxygen to survive, why would I think those blasted statistics would ever apply to me? I mean, I might not even be mortal, for goodness sake. And yet here I am, wishing and hoping that my tired ovaries will crank out a decent egg this weekend. And while I'm pushing for that, my best friend from childhood just had her ovaries removed the other day. She tested positive for the breast cancer gene and lost her mother to ovarian cancer, so this was what she considered the logical choice (and personally - though I know it's controversial - I don't disagree). So I'm thinking there's a shelf life on these things. It's not hard and fast, but it's there, it appears to be 40(ish), and it's annoying me.

Seven: The day, the month, the year.
I know a lot of very pregnant couples are hoping for their children to be born on this date, what with the lucky symbolism of it. I'm asking the Vegas gods to spread a little luck this way, though. The way I look at it, those couples are already lucky. Those babies are coming out one of these days anyway and there are some of us that could really, really use that luck. Like me, for instance. I'll be ovulating today (is that TMI? My blog; my personal details - sorry!) and I think conceiving a kid on this, the luckiest day of the century, could be very nice. And think of the fetus nicknames! Jackpot. Jackie P. Little JP. Yes, it's the perfect day indeed. So come on, sevens. Mama needs a new pair of baby shoes.

Spectacle!

It's Theme Thursday over at Tracey's and after a several week hiatus (following a lonely, solitary week of participation), I finally have something to share! The theme this week is spectacle, and that, on the surface, was hard for me. My life is not about spectacle. My family - in particular, my boy - is not about spectacle. Trying to cajole my quiet, somewhat introverted, never-one-to-make-a-spectacle-of-himself little one into doing something spectacular is like trying to squeeze milk out of a juice box. You'll get something, but it's not what you were going for. But, scratch the surface of the word "spectacle" and you find an "s" you can tack on, and voila! Spectacles!

One of my favorite things about this shot is being able to look over his shoulder to see a fuzzy image of one of my favorite baby photos of Eli. Something about the past being off in the distance, still recognizable, but not the focus. Something about my two-and-a-half year old being right there, front and (slightly off) center. Just how it should be.

Not sure who's the bigger loser here...

Today while I was with Eli at the park I saw a man wearing a t-shirt. As he had a catch with his 12-year-old son, I took the opportunity to read his shirt. And what did it say, you ask? It said "An '11' is a '10' that swallows." Seeing as how my mind only occasionally visits the gutter and does not permanently reside there, I spend a good few minutes trying to figure out how the number ten could swallow something, and what it might swallow that would make the zero look like a one. I'm not lying. As Eli ate his bagel and slurped his juice box, this is what I was doing. And only after that few minutes of strenuous mental exercise had passed did I mentally slap myself on the forehead and think to myself, "DOH! .... eew."

So while I am still appalled that this man chose this particular item of clothing for his trip to the park with his kid, I am nevertheless forced to ask the question, Who really is the bigger loser here? (On second thought, don't answer that.)

I have real troubles.

I went to a birthday party with Eli this morning. The party was at an indoor playground and the group of us (about 10 families) had the run of the place. It gave me plenty of time to window shop off other people's bodies. Am I the only who does this? I don't have time to actually go to a store these days so I just look at what other people are wearing and if I like it enough, I ask them where they got it. Sometimes if I'm feeling shy I just memorize the details and - like some kind of ridiculous, expensive game - I google the heck out of some search terms and see if I can find it on its own. (Yeah, as I'm typing this, I think I probably am the only person who does this.)

In any case... this morning I wasn't feeling shy and one of the other moms had THE BAG I've been looking for. I didn't know that was the bag I was looking for until I saw it, but when I saw it, I knew it was it. The time has come, you see, for me to shed the diaper bag in favor of something a little more purse-like, a little less bulky. I can't go down to a cute little thing only big enough for a cell phone and a wallet (we haven't hit potty training yet, for goodness sake) but I can downsize from the cavernous Skip*Hop I've been carting around for the last two and a half years.

When I shop for something like a purse, I am picky. Very picky. I'm frugal (somewhat, anyway) so the thing has to be relatively timeless, or at least far enough from trendy that I won't look like a giant dork a year from now. It can't be flashy because I'm not changing bags every other day to coordinate with my outfits. And, for this particular purchase, it still has to be practical, with pockets and a strap I can use like a messenger bag. And, finally, above all else, it can't be frumpy because I get there pretty easily on my own, thankyouverymuch.

So there it was. The bag. I saw. I wanted. I hadn't chatted with this mom yet so I had to make a decision: to ask or not to ask. I sized her up. From what she was wearing I thought to myself, "I probably can't afford this bag." If she was going to tell me, "Oh, I got it at Neiman Marcus, on sale, only $380!" I just didn't want to know. But then I thought, "But I must have that bag. Must. Have." So I asked. The answer? The Gap! Score! I can do that! Even full price I could probably swing it. She said that her friend had it and she had to have it; they didn't have it in the stores anymore but she had ordered it on-line. My naptime plans were hatched.

With Eli snuggled cozy in his bed, I eagerly went to gap.com, credit card in hand. Click on "women." (Heart racing.) Click on "accessories." (Anticipation mounting.) Click on "handbags." (I can taste it!) Scroll, scroll.... DANGIT! No bag.

Head over to ebay. (Optimism waning.) Enter every possible combination of words like "Gap" "messenger" "canvas" "strap" "adjustable" "pockets." (Reality settling in.) DANGIT! Scroll, scroll, scroll some more, scroll again. No bag.

Head over to Old Navy, hoping they've done what they usually do and that some knock off exists there. (Enthusiasm fading.) And what we have at the top of this post is known as a "close but no cigar."

And with that, I have given up. Real troubles, I tell you. Real troubles, indeed.