The Fast Hath Ended

I have some reflections on being without internet access for a week:

I really don't need to know the answer to almost every question within 30 seconds. I do just fine even if I don't find the answer. In fact, not running to the computer every time I wonder about some oddity helps me differentiate what's really important from what's just brain fluff. It also improves my imagination as I focus on the possiblities, instead of looking for the facts. And I don't need the computer for entertainment. There's entertainment all around me, in the clouds, in my children, in conversation.

HAH! Just kidding. God, I'm glad to see my computer again.

Buon Viaggio!

So I'll be gone for about 10 days. Someone planned a "vacation" without internet access. I'll be spending 5 days at the Oregon coast with my in-laws recreating G's childhood vacations. This is the first time since G was little that his whole family has stayed in a house together for 5 days, so you know I'll have LOTS of material but no blog access. Sigh. G's very excited, though, and keeps telling A. how great it will be to stay at the beach and get crabs. (In a pail, to eat, you smart-asses). A. is afraid that his Thomas train is going to get all sandy. I've tried explaining that we're not actually going to be living on the sand with the crabs, but you know how 2-almost-3-year-olds are.

We're driving up, because Ben hates the car and we like to torture him, A. and ourselves.

G: "Hey, I think we're gonna rent bikes up there!"

Me: "Oh?" (thinking: there's a reason I haven't ridden a bike in 20 years - thank god I have a 4-month-old to get me out of this little adventure)

G: "Yeah, but my mom is afraid the kids are going to get hit, so we'll probably ride on the beach."

Me: "How is that going to work?"

G: "We'll ride down by the water, you know, where the sand is harder."

So if you're on the Oregon coast and see some people trying to ride bicycles on the sand and dodging waves, pulling kids in trailers, make sure to wave. I'll be the one sitting on the sand with a fussy baby, watching, taking pictures and wondering what e-mail I'm missing.

Oh, I wanted to relate this little conversation with the lady in the drive-thru box at KFC yesterday:

Me: "How big is the large size of macaroni and cheese?

KFC: "$2.79."

Me: "No, I mean how big is it? How much is in it? Like how many ounces?"

KFC: ::::pause::::: "It's twice as big as a small."

Me: "Oookaaay. How big is a small?"

KFC: ::::::longer pause:::::: "I don't know. It's smaller."

So I got a large, which is just about 2 cups. I'm guessing the small is about 1 cup. There was no one there that could've figured this out? ::::insert rant about what they're teaching today's youth here::::

So try not to be too funny while I'm gone, 'kay? I hate missing stuff.

Home Schooling

We were channel surfing this evening and we came across American Ballet Theater's "Swan Lake" on PBS. A. was entranced. He watched raptly, not even diverting his attention when the charismatically-challenged Caroline Kennedy came on to explain the plot. I saw this as a natural learning opportunity and told A:

"Did you know all those dancers poop and pee in the potty?"

And Another Thing...

Ben's taking an unusually long nap this morning, so I'm making the most of my two-handed freedom. You gotta read Corndog's riff on the headline "Scientists Use Computers to Simulate Terrorist Scenarios." I'm too inept to link to specific blog entries, so you're going to have to scroll down to Tuesday July 5th's entry. Or better yet, read your way down. Very funny stuff.

Giving People the Wrong Impression

A. is walking in a big circle around the family room with his right pointer finger up against his cheek, saying, "I not sure wass on. Seh-me Steet or Teletubbies or Payhouse di-ney? I not sure. I jus can't think."

Just so we're clear - I HAVE NEVER done this. I've answered "I'm not sure," when he asks me what's on TV before I try to distract him with another activity. And maybe I've said, "I can't think," to G. before, but I've NEVER walked around the family room in a circle with my finger against my cheek in bewilderment at the TV schedule, OK?

Pacifier Wars

We're having the pacifier wars here in the Lunasea household. It's Ben's mouth vs. Ben's hands. He's always been a super-sucker* and really, really likes his pacifier. However, he also has just enough coordination to pull his pacifier out of his mouth. What he hasn't gotten yet is the concept of cause and effect, or the skill of putting the pacifier back in his mouth. He gets really mad when the pacifier leaves his mouth and yells at me, his eyes saying, "Woman, why must you ruin my life so?"

I've told him, in my best wise voice, "If you want pacifier in mouth, it is most wise to not pull it out of mouth."

I replace the thing maybe 200 times a day. I tried putting spare pacifiers and various objects in his hands so they would be full, but he's able to loosen a finger, insert it into the pacifier handle, and pull. So then he's holding 2 pacifiers. Then he realizes that the pacifiers are close to his mouth but not inside, and does all kinds of head and neck contortions to get one of them back in. So far, he has been unsuccessful.

I've also tried taking the pacifier away and making him do with his fingers. Doesn't work - he knows the difference and is quite unsatisfied. When we're trying to go to sleep at night, I've tried putting him in a sort of headlock with my hand and wrist snugly over his chest and shoulder so he can't reach his mouth. Some people read Goodnight Moon as their bedtime ritual, we have a mother-son wrestling match.

I've tried nursing instead. He does the same thing by pushing my boob out of his mouth. I have one arm underneath his head, and my other arm alternates between keeping his legs on my lap (he likes to hurl himself off my lap in another fantastically self-sabotaging move), holding the enormous boob up (here come a bunch more Google hits), and holding his hands still so he doesn't push the boob out. I'm an avid breastfeeding advocate, but it's not exactly a relaxing, tranquil bonding experience with this little guy. It's more like lunch at a really chaotic cafeteria in a foreign country. Works for sustenance, but it's not exactly comforting.

G. points out that is a perfect metaphor for life - how many times do we blame our misfortunes on outside forces, when really we're the ones taking the pacifier out of our own mouths? Ah, more Life Lessons from Our Children. How touching.


*He can give me a good hickey in less than 3 seconds if he sucks on my arm. My rather limited experience tells me that's not normal even for a fully grown male.

Self-Portrait

Me and Ben. He does this very cute thing where he presses his cheek up against mine and grins into the mirror. Trying to get a picture of it isn't working too well.

According to A.:

• "No, thank you." - A. on potty training.

• A, about the animals gathered on the train table: "Dey having a con-ver-sa-tion."
  Me: "Oh, what are they talking about?"
  A: (pause) "Bout da con-ver-sa-tion."
  
  - A. being a proper child of therapists and making his animals process their communication styles.

• "I'll be just a sec, OK?" - A., mimicking me.

• "You say, 'Crap'?" - A. missing nothing after I've dumped half a box of cereal on the floor.

• "Wow, what a mess." - A. a few moments later.

• "SBS spider climbed up the water spout..."
  More Things that Make Me Cranky:

• I hate stuffed animals that say "I love you!" How long does it take us to learn that we may love things, but they don't love us back?

• Lady today at Quizno's, looking at Ben: "Wow, he's so beautiful he almost looks fake." Me: "Um, thanks." (Didn't really make me cranky but I don't know where else to put it).

• More horrible children's books: G. actually threw "Carl Goes Shopping" away. Slacker parents leave the baby alone in a department store with a rottweiller. Rottweiller puts baby on his back and goes gallivanting around the store. They steal food and dog biscuits and become a liability nightmare. Maybe I'm hyper-sensitive because we've had several incidents of dogs mauling kids around here, but the pictures are so realistically drawn that there's no reason a kid wouldn't think their friendly neighbor rottweiller is a perfect babysitter. Or maybe I'm just jealous that I can't leave my babies with Carl.

• I don't think I like the Doodlebops. I've given them a chance, and I'll watch them instead of Barney any day ('course, I'd watch pretty much anything short of a snuff movie over Barney). Still, I don't like the guys' manic energy. How long can they really keep it up? The male actors I knew in the theater world like Moe and Rooney ended up living fast, burning bright and going into rehab, if they were lucky. I find myself staring at them and thinking about them off-camera - wondering how long it takes to put on all that makeup, and if they light up when the cameras stop rolling. I never wonder those things about the Wiggles.

• Found this press release:"The ultimate goal will be for the DoodleBops to explode into selective rock concert venues in November, which is a key family entertainment time period," says someone. Exploding DoodleBops in November! Don't say I didn't warn you!

Happy Independence Day!

Happy 4th of July to y'all! I'm betting that I'm the only one who stayed home to see the Washinton D.C. celebration on PBS, but in case any of you saw it, how 'bout that Sharon Lawrence, huh? Is there anything she can't do? And what's up with Barry Bostwick's hair?

Two days ago, G and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. It's been a great 5 years, sweetie. From the girl who thought she'd never get married.

If you'd asked me back then where I wanted to be in 5 years, I'd have said just about here. Two lovely children, a house, a job (more or less). But if you ask me where I want to be in the next 5 years, it's a harder question to answer. Um, a happy 7-year-old and 5-year-old? OK. I guess that's good. A weird thing about this time of life is that we've made (or given up) most of the goals we set in our 20's. So, now what?

On a completely different note, I've never lived in a neighborhood that has quite as many (illegal) fireworks as this one. Some of them are professional grade, sending huge multi-colored chrysthanemums into the sky. They still scare me a little bit, since I grew up in the valley, where fireworks were a real fire hazard and no one had them. A. was really excited about the fireworks, saying, "Oh, GOOD JOB!" after our neighbor boy lit some. "I love red and blue and yellow fireworks! So many colors up in the sky!" he yelled. That's exactly the reaction one should have to fireworks, I think.