Being the mother of boys means:
When you smell your baby’s head and it smells sweetly of oranges and lavender, you don’t think “Mmm, you smell good.”
No, you immediately yell at his older brother and ask him how much hand lotion he rubbed into his brother’s hair!
Friday, April 20, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Darwin Refuted
Yesterday was Katya’s tenth birthday. For those of you who have known Katya since she was a puppy, you know what a momentous occasion this is. The sock-eating, pillow- humping, cell phone-chewing, dog has lived to be ten years old. She hasn’t committed suicide by knife (long story about Mark, a grill, a steak knife and Katya), electrical shock, or car.
Katya’s antecedents aren’t just questionable- they are completely unknown. Because of that we have no idea how long she’s “supposed” to live or what possible health concerns could arise. But for all her personality quirks and odd genetic make-up, she’s the healthiest dog I’ve ever owned. She’s never had a serious medical problem. She didn’t contract Lyme disease when Quigley did. She doesn’t have hip or shoulder issues (though she is a bit stiff on very cold mornings), ear infections, mouth infections, glaucoma or any other serious problem. She’s just… crazy.
She has slowed down, a bit. Her level of crazy is approaching normal rambunctious puppy, now, instead of rabid ferret crossed with velociraptor.
Katya continues to be a veritable Eeyore with the boys. Ian tries to pull himself to a standing position using her ears. She just stands there, her big brown eyes gazing at me mournfully. I can almost hear her asking: “WHY did you have another one of these?” When Ethan tortures her beyond her limits (typically by chasing her with his toy lawn mower) she runs to me and whimpers. “Please let me inside before I have to show you why wild animals eat their young” is what I think she’s saying then.
To celebrate her tenth birthday I gave Katya a hair cut. When, IF, it ever decides to be Spring around here she’ll get a good close shave, but the trim needed to happen now. It’s funny how scrawny her legs look when not encased in 6 feet of tangles and curls.
In a moment of karma, Katya, as a puppy, chewed on the scissors that I used to trim her. The mangled plastic of the handle tore up my thumb and left an open, painful sore. That will teach me, eh?
While I was taking a picture of the hair pile, Katya helped herself to Ian’s Cheerios.
Katya’s antecedents aren’t just questionable- they are completely unknown. Because of that we have no idea how long she’s “supposed” to live or what possible health concerns could arise. But for all her personality quirks and odd genetic make-up, she’s the healthiest dog I’ve ever owned. She’s never had a serious medical problem. She didn’t contract Lyme disease when Quigley did. She doesn’t have hip or shoulder issues (though she is a bit stiff on very cold mornings), ear infections, mouth infections, glaucoma or any other serious problem. She’s just… crazy.
She has slowed down, a bit. Her level of crazy is approaching normal rambunctious puppy, now, instead of rabid ferret crossed with velociraptor.
Katya continues to be a veritable Eeyore with the boys. Ian tries to pull himself to a standing position using her ears. She just stands there, her big brown eyes gazing at me mournfully. I can almost hear her asking: “WHY did you have another one of these?” When Ethan tortures her beyond her limits (typically by chasing her with his toy lawn mower) she runs to me and whimpers. “Please let me inside before I have to show you why wild animals eat their young” is what I think she’s saying then.
To celebrate her tenth birthday I gave Katya a hair cut. When, IF, it ever decides to be Spring around here she’ll get a good close shave, but the trim needed to happen now. It’s funny how scrawny her legs look when not encased in 6 feet of tangles and curls.
In a moment of karma, Katya, as a puppy, chewed on the scissors that I used to trim her. The mangled plastic of the handle tore up my thumb and left an open, painful sore. That will teach me, eh?While I was taking a picture of the hair pile, Katya helped herself to Ian’s Cheerios.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
11 months
First, an apology to my darling son for completely skipping the 10 month update. Sorry, Ian, Mommy got distracted- by you!
Ian is 11 months old now. 11 months is a scary number. It reminds you that your little boy is about to turn one year old and that there are only a few blissful days of babyhood left.
At 11 months Ian can sit up unsupported, crawl on hands and knees, use the pincer grasp to pick up rice krispies (and everything else he finds to eat, including ladybugs - EEW), pull to a standing position, babble Da-Da and “og-og”, and drive his brother crazy.
Ian still doesn’t sleep through the night (or for more than 5 hours at a stretch, usually more like 3 or 4), wave bye-bye, say Ma-ma (traitor), or understand why he can’t gnaw on electrical cords.
This past month we’ve been to the zoo (he was supremely unimpressed), gone for a few long walks back when it was warm, played in the yard, and sustained any number of bonks to the head. It’s a good thing the gi-normous melon is so solid, because wow does the boy ever have a knack for getting walloped in the skull.
This past month was also Ian’s first Easter. He liked playing with the plastic eggs and the basket, but seemed uninterested in the stuffed animals.
He’s still on Zantac for his reflux. The reflux seemed to be all but gone last month but has come back with a vengeance, now. His tear duct in his left eye is still blocked. I keep putting off calling the eye surgeon, hoping that if I ignore the problem it will clear up on its own. I call it the “Scarlett O’Hara school of medicine”
That’s all for now, I have to keep him from pulling the DVD player down on his head. Did I mention that he’s abnormally prone to bonks on the head?
PS: click on the photo to see more Easter pictures.
Ian is 11 months old now. 11 months is a scary number. It reminds you that your little boy is about to turn one year old and that there are only a few blissful days of babyhood left.
At 11 months Ian can sit up unsupported, crawl on hands and knees, use the pincer grasp to pick up rice krispies (and everything else he finds to eat, including ladybugs - EEW), pull to a standing position, babble Da-Da and “og-og”, and drive his brother crazy.
Ian still doesn’t sleep through the night (or for more than 5 hours at a stretch, usually more like 3 or 4), wave bye-bye, say Ma-ma (traitor), or understand why he can’t gnaw on electrical cords.
This past month we’ve been to the zoo (he was supremely unimpressed), gone for a few long walks back when it was warm, played in the yard, and sustained any number of bonks to the head. It’s a good thing the gi-normous melon is so solid, because wow does the boy ever have a knack for getting walloped in the skull.
This past month was also Ian’s first Easter. He liked playing with the plastic eggs and the basket, but seemed uninterested in the stuffed animals.
He’s still on Zantac for his reflux. The reflux seemed to be all but gone last month but has come back with a vengeance, now. His tear duct in his left eye is still blocked. I keep putting off calling the eye surgeon, hoping that if I ignore the problem it will clear up on its own. I call it the “Scarlett O’Hara school of medicine”
That’s all for now, I have to keep him from pulling the DVD player down on his head. Did I mention that he’s abnormally prone to bonks on the head?
PS: click on the photo to see more Easter pictures.
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