We went for a run last Friday. We planned to stop at a pizza parlor afterward and then head to the park so Simon could play on the slides and we could enjoy the weather. But as we we ran down the street towards the pizza, Micah stopped me.
What a find he had found just sitting by the side of the road, all sad and neglected. It was a bookcase. The style was exactly the same as the lovely bookcase that we inherited from Micah’s grandparents. It was stained differently, and missing the glass doors, and only three sections tall, and slightly beat up. But it was just sitting on the curb waiting for someone to take it away. We were about two miles from home, so we started calling everyone we knew who has a car. And was in town. And was not at ward temple night. It was a very short list. No dice. But what did that matter? We had wheels of our own. Simon was happy to walk (and then be carried) while the bookcase took his place in the stroller.
So we walked the two miles home and I only wish I’d counted the number of funny looks we got. We stopped and picked up some pizza closer to home, and it rode on top of the bookcase in the stroller. It was only then that anybody actually said something about our predicament: “That’s a [heck]uva pizza wagon you have there,” he said. It sure was.
I was afraid that by letting Simon watch “Jack-Jack Attack” from The Incredibles I was giving him ideas. He always got so excited at the point Jack-Jack bursts into flames. “Baby on fire,” he laughed, “Baby on fire.” I hoped he wouldn’t get any ideas come October, but it turns out he took away a different message entirely.
The other night at Filene’s Basement while Micah looked for clothes, Simon and I watched the traffic out of the windows, one of which had a red drink of some sort spilled all over the sill. “Simon, who spilled that drink?” Micah asked when he was done scouting the place out.
His response: Jack-Jack.
Good one, we thought, good one.
Later that night, as we were both very tired and incapable of making decisions any more, we asked Simon if he’d rather go up the stairs or the elevator at the train station. Elevator, duh. Unfortunately it was broken. Who broke the elevator?
Jack-Jack, of course.
My heart nearly leapt for joy. I’ve been hoping for an imaginary friend to pop up at our house sometime, and this is almost as good. After all, why shouldn’t a baby who bursts into flames, can float through walls, and shoot laser beams from his eyes be blamed for everything?
I love my child.
Some of my siblings went to the midnight showing of Harry Potter at some theater in Utah. I didn’t get to go. I may not even see it in the theater because Micah and I are too lazy and miserly to find ourselves a sitter AND pony up the cash for such an endeavor. (Poor Lizzie. That Lizzie is poor.) Especially when we’ve heard that Mr. Radcliffe’s and Mr. Grint’s acting chops have not improved significantly over time. (Really that is just our excuse for being cheapskates.)
But I digress. My siblings. That’s where we were. And my clever sister who made iron-on t-shirts for all of them to wear to the big event. I think they are hilarious. I hope you can make out the text.Abby informs me that Jarom’s shirt (he’s the one there under the curse Imperius) says “Why so SIRIUS?” on the back and Jess’s, whose heart you can unlock with the Alohomora spell, says “I Lovegood like Luna does.” And all of them, on the sleeve or elsewhere, say, “If I fall asleep please RENNERVATE me.”
Perhaps if Abby got some copyright permissions and a silk-screening machine she could make a buck or two.
And thus concludes our Harry Potter related postings for the next two months.
Advertisements in New York’s subway stations are large vinyl stickers that are stuck onto special ad spots on the platform walls. Often vandals will cut out parts of these ads and stick them onto others. It is usually a big head put on a small body, a small head put onto a big body (though this doesn’t work as well), a mustache attached to a super model’s lip, or a key word cut out, therefore changing the meaning of the ad’s message. Sometimes crude, but usually fairly harmless stuff. Yesterday as I waited for the train I saw this:
I tried piecing all of the left over letters to see what message they wanted to tell me, but nothing really made sense. I gave up and kept walk, only to see this a few feet down:Brilliant.
I’m starting to prep myself mentally for giving birth again, so I’m in the market for some good books. Last time around I read a lot of birth stories online as well as Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin, Active Labor by Janet Balaskas, some of Birthing from Within by Pam England, The Birth Partner by Penny Simkin and Hypnobirthing: The Mongan Method by Marie Mongan.
I just ordered Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin from the library, and I’m looking at Calm Birth by Robert Newman, Preparing for Birth with Yoga by Janet Balaskas, A Good Birth A Safe Birth by Diane Korte and Adventures in Natural Childbirth edited by Janet Schwegel.
Does anybody have any thoughts/experience with any of those books? Would you recommend any others?
Simon and I went camping together last week. Me and him and our little tiny tent and a bunch of other ladies from our ward and their kids. There was a lake, a campfire, food, friends, and plenty of space to run around. Oh yeah, and rain. We were fortunate enough not to have a leaky tent or it could have been a very difficult situation. Micah’s Boy Scout tent did admirably, despite the fact that it looked like it might collapse at any moment. Of course I had to tie the boy inside the tent during nap time or he wouldn’t have slept a wink.
The highlight for Simon was this dog, Peanut. Every time he came into camp, Simon would attach himself to the dog’s back and run around with him as long as he could.Simon didn’t love the lake, and he didn’t love sleeping, and he didn’t love much of the food (the exception being the M&M portion of the trailmix, which proved to be the bane of my existence the rest of the week), but he did love water (there was a little spring he liked to dip his feet in — although I can’t imagine why, it was absolutely frigid) and taking pictures (especially ones of me and him). Somehow we still managed to have a great time.
This was our attempt to corral all the kids for a group shot. It was somewhat successful:
And, just for kicks, a little self-portrait I did. Can’t wait for next year’s excursion when he’ll be able to enjoy the good times as well.
it has been a week and a half since this kid had a pacifier. I don’t even know why we dragged our feet about weaning him from it. He cried the first naptime and the first night, but he hasn’t even mentioned it in more than a week. That’s one more thing to check off the “Get ready for the little brother” list.