Where the Grickle-grass Grows

Old Nana

2012-01-28T21:46:00.001-05:00

We are sad to announce that Tim’s grandmother (Nana) passed away this last week. I would post a picture, but Tim comes from a long line of people who hate posing for photos.

Today was the funeral – not just any funeral, but a real, Catholic (read: reverent) funeral. We got brave and brought the baby. She was very good for the most part, except that during the silence immediately preceding a somber musical number, she enthusiastically shouted “Yay!!!” Apparently she liked the song.

The funeral was nice, and it was fun to spend time with Tim’s extended family. Which is slightly smaller than my 2000+ (and growing) family.

I never got to know Old Nana in her prime, but I’ve heard dozens of stories that leave me in no doubt that I have missed out. She doted on Tim and supported, loved, and nurtured him through many difficult times in his life.

Go with angels, Old Nana.

Oh well.

2012-01-21T21:46:00.001-05:00

I’m 13-something weeks pregnant, a fact that I thought I had expertly hidden from everybody save my family (which admittedly includes a couple thousand people) and close friends.

My belly has certainly developed a growing roundness to it, but I’ve been wearing Tim’s sweatshirts, loose blouses, and ginormous earrings (to divert attention, and because I love them) to work.

I realized yesterday how silly this has been when I told one of our beloved administrative assistants yesterday my big news, and she said, “I know. I could see that you were pregnant when I looked at you a few minutes ago.”

As I left her office, I ran into Willy the Jamaican Janitor. He gave me an up-and-down look (he’s famous for it), got a huge grin on his face, and said, “Ahhhh.” When I saw him again a few minutes later, he pointed to my belly and said, “That one a boy, right?” Shocked that it was that obvious, I mumbled that it was too early to tell. He said, “Hmmm. You will see, he a boy, he up high in your belly.” He then laughed and carried on with his work.

Oh well. My sister Karen and I are very short. On top of being short, we have very short torsos, meaning there’s not much room for concealing things toward our core. Furthermore, my body just seems (in ONLY this one way) overjoyed with the prospect of making a baby… every time I so much as walk past a pregnancy test, my belly pops out six inches.

As my sister says, we make other pregnant women feel good about themselves.

You’re welcome.

A day in the life of Squiggles G.

2012-01-16T17:35:00.001-05:00

Our darling daughter has discovered the joy of stickers. I’m pretty sure that good mothers give their kids ONE sticker, OCASSIONALLY, as a REWARD for something awesome their child has accomplished. But because I am often in need of a few moments to send an e-mail to my boss, load the dishwasher, etc., I sometimes give her entire sheets, which occupy approximately ten seconds of her time. She usually emerges from these periods with stickers all over her person.

One morning, I dozed off after I showered, and awoke to a much-improved leg. (I’m not sure where my pants were… don’t worry about it.)

She has also discovered the animated tale of a somewhat whiny pig. But nevermind the pig. We usually only watch the first 15 minutes or so. As far as Squiggles is concerned, the story is about a lovely and awesome heroin named “Baba” (Fern) and a terrible, horrible woman named “Oh no!!!” (Mrs. Fussy) who tries to hit Fern’s baby pig with a broom. This is so, patently unacceptable to Squiggles, and if I don’t reach the remote in time, the scene ends in hysterical sobbing.

She is also a fan of “Ah ah ah” (Curious George), Ruby, and Max (no names for them… rabbits don’t make sounds). By the way, where the heck are Max and Ruby’s parents???

Aside from stickers and TV, Squiggles occupies her days either at daycare or at Iowa’s home (Ivy’s house). She enjoys daycare, and her teachers tell me she is the only one in the class who hangs up her jacket after a walk or helps clean up after an activity. But nothing can compare to Iowa’s house. She asks to go to Iowa’s house about a finity times per day.

She has inherited my (ha ha ha… not so much… I meant “her father’s”) obsession for routine and order. If there is a speck of dust on the tray of her high chair, she refuses to eat until it is clean. We must adhere to a strict routine (there will be no skipping of Charlotte’s Web upon waking, followed by toast with honey, etc.) or hysterics ensue. She has also inherited her father’s stubborness, which should result in some awesome daddy-daughter wars in the next couple years. I’m just going to pop some corn and enjoy the show. In the meantime, they love reading stories together (yes, we fed our daughter food from an unnamed establishment that gives out paper crowns).

Finally (this post has no organization whatsoever), she loves to “bye” (rock-a-bye). She’s a little obsessive about her blanket lying just so while she’s rocking, so she frequently stops to adjust it.

That’s all for now.

A little late

2012-01-04T20:43:00.001-05:00

I’m not really into this guy, Daddy.

NOT OKAY, DADDY!!!

2 years

2011-12-29T10:40:00.001-05:00

Did you hear us singing live on NPR? (Novemberings, ii)

2011-11-29T21:28:00.003-05:00

Yeah, Daniele and I were helping Abigail Washburn sing a couple tunes (along with the other hundred people in the audience, but nevermind them).

For my birthday, we went to see my favorite claw hammer banjoist. I love her about 50% for her music, and about 50% for her hair. I adore the way random curls jut out here and there, refusing to be tamed. It totally fits her personality, which I know because we got to hang out after the show, so we’re practically BFF.

Seriously, she was really cool. It was such a good show, and if you don’t know her, I suggest you start here (click the play button for “Last Train” or “Rockabye Dixie” or “Coffee’s Cold”).

The concert was at the Fall River Center for the Arts, where there was a surprisingly awesome Lego display. These are a couple of my favorites:

We had a blast – it was such a great night.

Novemberings

2011-11-28T22:41:00.001-05:00

Fall came late this year in New England.

It’s as though Mother Nature is struggling to catch up. I get that.

Many trees in my neighborhood turned brilliant colors.

But some dropped their leaves before changing hue, like they were just too exhausted to make the effort.

I get that, too.

From the morning

2011-11-24T21:18:00.001-05:00

My mom and I took a walk around the lake to watch the sun rise.

These pictures will probably not win any awards, but they will remind me of the gorgeous, crisp morning that I spent chatting with my mom about parenthood and family amid the backdrop of peaceful waters and an azure sky.

And then there were four

2011-11-11T08:54:00.001-05:00

Tim and I are delighted to have found each other and to have added Squiggles to our family; however, we have been feeling that our family isn’t complete yet. After much discussion and soul-searching, we are happy to announce that we will be adding a new member to our family…

… we are now accepting applications for Tim’s second wife!

We are fairly flexible on things like hair color, body weight, hobbies, etc. The only real requirements are:

You must be able to cook. Three meals a day. Maybe four. Preferably nutritious and delicious meals. Yeah… four. Also, Indian food is required at least once or twice a week.
You must be able to clean. We both work full time and Squiggles is not pulling her weight.
You must be able to iron. Aside from time constraints, we actually just don’t like ironing.
You must be able to do odds and ends like replacing the timing belts in the cars on schedule, fixing the broken electrical circuits in the laundry closet, fishing poop out of the tub after Squiggles starts screaming and pointing at said feces like it’s a fire-breathing dragon, building furniture from scratch, etc.
You must love musicals, especially the Sound of Music.
You must, above all, bake bread. Every. Single. Day.
You must bear us many more babies. I love me some babies, but I don’t love me some pregnancy, see.

We don’t actually have that much to offer in return, other than a warm house and hearts full of love… and a pretty nice toaster, really. We’ll take care of the finances if you can whip our domestic affairs into shape. If you feel you are a good match for our family, please drop a line. We hope to marry you as soon as humanly possible.

This is going to be soooooo great!

Giddyup

2011-11-07T19:32:00.001-05:00

Squiggles loves her cousins more than anything… except maybe their bovine rocking device. Aunt Cami made up a cheer to encourage the riders, because Aunt Cami is awesome like that.

We finally got some rides on video – after you notice the expression of pure joy on Squiggles’ face, make sure to notice my nephew Mason’s enthusiasm for the events at hand.

To see Mason riding, check out Lance and Dani’s blog. It’s worth the trip.

Halloween, Mormon Style

2011-10-29T07:11:00.001-04:00

Most of my readership is well acquainted with the concept of a trunk-or-treat, which is a safe way for kids to get a LOT of candy in a short period of time. Instead of going from house-to-house (which carries risks of razors, poison, and/or abduction), you go to a church parking lot and go from trunk-to-trunk where people you know hand out their year’s supply of sugar.

In the Arlington Ward, everybody meets inside first for halloween-themed games, a cakewalk, donuts on a string, and a costume parade. Even Tim had to admit it was fun.

Sting or spray? These gals came with serious candy bargaining power.

Lance and Mason came as a couple bums.

Ivy lived up to her “Little Stinker” costume by snitching a cupcake from the cakewalk table.

Don’t worry, she snitched one for Squiggles, too, because she’s darling like that.

Bryn taught Squiggles her infamous “Bee Dance.”

To see Bryn’s 2009 rendition, click here.

The time finally came to go outside and collect some cavities.

Squiggles loved the entire evening, but didn’t catch onto the candy overload concept. She was content with a couple pieces of candy. After that she just wanted to run around like a crazy head in the parking lot.

Ivy, on the other hand, was a pro at getting candy.

Squiggles is sometimes confused about who she loves most. She would not go near me if Aunt Cami was within a 50-foot radius.

Mason mostly hung out in his stroller and let people bring candy to him. Smart, smart boy.

And even though the neighbors will probably be handing out cyanide coated razors inside their candy, were going to go old-fashioned trick-or-treating on Monday.

To the lighthouse

2011-10-18T12:29:00.002-04:00

...there is a coherence in things, a stability; something… is immune from change, and shines out … in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby…
~Virginia Woolf

I’m not sure what was so nice about the day – it was not extraordinary in any obvious way.

We went for a drive to see the fall foliage, an endeavor that mocked us with every passing mile since the leaves along New England’s coastline have stubbornly refused to change their hue, as is – don’t you agree? - their autumnal obligation.

So we improvised and drove along York Beach, where surfers braved the cold, cold water:

And made our way to Nubble light:

I climbed down our rocky perch to watch the waves crash against the shoreline – a pastime of which I never tire. I spied some seagulls who may have been looking for food, but I like to think they were just enjoying the view.

I climbed back and watched Tim playing with the baby. He would scoop her up and blow on her belly or swing her around his shoulders, and she would giggle and wiggle her way out of his arms, running away while laughing and squealing until he caught her again and the sequence repeated.

They were moments that escaped transience – time ceased being linear as I watched my daughter running, giggling, playing, trying with all her might to reach a rain puddle to splash in before being caught by her daddy.

My heart hurt a little.

Once we were thoroughly chilled, we went to one of our favorite diners, replete with old-timer Mainers. We chatted with the locals and ate blueberry pie, made with tiny, fresh Maine blueberries. Really, the only blueberries worth eating – they are so sweet and flavorful it’s a little shocking when you take a bite.

While we were waiting for our clam chowder and pie, the baby wanted Tim to draw a picture of “Mama,” so he obliged with this flattering work of art – note my eyebrows (Tim thought he was soooo funny):

On the way home, I turned on a CD with baby songs. Tim really loves those CDs:

Family. Isn't it about... time?

Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures.
~Virginia Woolf

To apple.

2011-10-16T21:26:00.001-04:00

Have I mentioned that I hate the city?

On Columbus Day, we sought fresh air and fresh fruit in Harvard, MA at a small farm called Phil’s. We brought Squiggle’s best buddy Nana (aka Tim’s mom) and paid Phil a ridiculous fee in order to pick his apples for him (I just tell myself the fee is for the pleasure of breathing his non-smoggy orchard air).

Squiggles was beside herself with apple giddiness. She doesn’t actually eat apples at home, but seemed to take a “when in Rome” stance.

Tim helped her reach the fruit, which she was pretty pleased to be allowed to pick, since she’s not allowed to pick my flowers or herbs.

Did I mention Squiggles and Nana are BFFs?

I like apples as well as the next guy, but mostly I enjoy just walking around. IN THE FRESH AIR.

Hey look, Mom, another apple!

Anger Management

2011-10-10T09:24:00.001-04:00

In this video, Miss Squiggles demonstrates her strategy for dealing with life’s rainstorms. She goes through increasing stages of frustration until she starts to lose her temper; fortunately, she regains control and retreats to her happy place. Kind of.

Squatter.

2011-09-14T21:20:00.001-04:00

We finally figured out why Miss Squiggles isn’t gaining any weight.

In which I am named Alpha Mom of the Year

2011-09-04T14:17:00.001-04:00

I am pretty much the most on-top-of-my-life working mother that I know. For example,

I’m continually exceeding expectations at work (read: after five years, people still ask Erin who that “blonde girl” is)
I have a year’s worth of menus and recipes planned and organized in a fun, color-coordinated file system (read: we sometimes eat cheerios for dinner, right off the floor where they have been sitting since breakfast and/or lunch)
I have weeks worth of laundry washed, ironed, and folded (read: irons terrify me, and we have resorted at times to taking our laundry to the dry cleaners just to be washed… did you know they did that?)
My house is spotless – no clutter, dirt, fingerprints on glass, or sticky residues on furniture due to toddler activities (read: sigh….)
I am always on top of appointments, meetings, deadlines, and all manner of other responsibilities (read: is today Sunday or Monday or Tuesday? Crap! – am I supposed to be in a meeting???)
I’m on the board of several important community organizations (read: I sometimes wave to the neighbors, who wave back and then ask each other who that blonde girl is)
All this and never a tear or complaint.

One of my awesome alpha-mom attributes is my ability to get everything done that I want to, and way ahead of schedule. For example, here are the awesome family pictures that I wanted to post TODAY, RIGHT NOW. Nevermind that Cami took them a year ago and the baby has tripled in size since then. I wanted a year to pass before I shared them with the world. It’s all according to plan. Hmph.

Don’t worry – none of us has changed that much except that I’m much skinnier, much taller, and much younger looking.

Where the dear and the antelope play

2011-08-18T00:17:00.001-04:00

Since we were in the neighborhood, we spent a day in Yellowstone. My dad is somewhat notorious for telling us that we’re going to go on a short “walk” or “stroll” that’s “just a couple blocks,” when really he means, “a lengthy excursion that will make you regret every single peanut-butter-covered, fudge-dipped, chocolate chip granola bar that you’ve ever eaten, ever.” This particular hike was to Lone Star Geyser.

Luckily, the scenery was spectacular, so my mom and I forgave him (we always do) for underselling the exertion factor. “A stroll in the park,” he said.

Ha.

Miss Squiggles spent the first hour waving ecstatically to all the trees in sight, which (as you might imagine) became exhausting.

My dad carried the baby on the return trip, likely due to my inability to walk another step with thirty extra pounds peaking over my shoulder.

I begged my parents to drive past Hayden Valley to see these little fellas:

The valley is spectacular even without the thousands of bison grazing by the wayside.

We had a picnic by the river. Don’t let the picture fool you. Squiggles was mad that I picked her up for a picture… she was happily in the midst of returning every rock in Yellowstone to this river.

We timed our visit to West Thumb Geyser Basin to coincide with dusk… the prettiest time to visit this area, which is nestled right by Yellowstone Lake. I love how the steam from the geysers creates a mystical effect while the sun is setting (not captured on camera… you must go there yourself to understand). It is so beautiful and quiet and peaceful and other-world-ly.

Far away from trouble and worry

2011-08-11T01:55:00.001-04:00

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
~Tom Petty

Today I introduced Squiggles to my mountains. We took an eight-mile hike to White Pine Lake. If you haven’t been there, shame on you.

A very old, borrowed baby backpack (thank you Family Jones) transformed me into Squiggles’ personal transportation device.

And of course my parents wouldn’t dream of letting anybody have mountain fun without them…

The trail meanders through several meadows, replete with vibrant wildflowers during peak summer weeks.

Squiggles has always loved being outside, but today she reached new levels of exuberance. She laughed frequently and tried to point out every single flower and tree (quite a task, but she’s very tenacious). She spent almost the entire hike leaning to her far right so that she could see over my shoulder and didn’t seem to notice that this asymmetrical configuration became slightly uncomfortable for her beast of burden…

She also played peak-a-boo with grandma and grandpa, and danced while we sang songs along the trail.

The lake was stunning, as usual.

We had a picnic lunch by the lake, where I tried to get the baby to smile sweetly for the camera. No luck, as usual.

Grandma made the baby laugh by throwing rocks into the lake.

Grandpa refilled our water bottles with his new filter. Best water on earth.

Just as I was fondly remembering how I used to walk out on this log when I was young,

Grandpa snatched my baby and took her for a close-up of the lake.

So I found some flowers to amuse me.

It was a perfect day.

The hills are alive

2011-08-09T01:39:00.001-04:00

Today we rode through Franklin Basin, even though it’s not Sunday. The meadows were astonishing – wildflowers everywhere. I closed my eyes and imagined that this is where I actually married Tim, with bare feet and a bouquet of asters, bluebells, paintbrush, and sage.

The road through the basin goes on for miles and miles, connecting many other mountain paths.

Our chariot:

Squiggles may look like she was only interested in her donut, but she giggled and said, “Oh!” every five seconds. She loved it. I let her ride on my lap up front (shhhh… don’t tell) since we were the only vehicle on the road and traveling slowly so that I could savor the deliciousness of the scented summer air. I like to call this look, “Just stepped out of a jeep.”

The tour guides (today and on a thousand finity Sundays past):

We walked around, and pondered our smallness in the universe (or maybe she wanted another donut):

Grandpa and Squiggles found a raging river – luckily there was a bridge for safe crossing.

They crossed it approximately seventy to eighty times. Grandpa is good like that. He even let her dip her toes in, which is why her shoes are now drenched.

Then they threw rocks in the river.

She enjoyed the freedom.

Squiggles let out a joyous, “Oh! Baaaaaaa!” and giggled uncontrollably when we encountered this road block:

There were thousands of sheep in this particular meadow. My dad said the locals call them mountain maggots, but I enjoyed the pastoral-ness of it all.

Mostly I enjoyed the flowers. I like flowers.

The whole ride, I kept thinking, “I wish Tim could see this.” I miss you <sniff>.

Attention Span Deficit

2011-07-29T15:32:00.001-04:00

Thought 1: I really should probably lose a few pounds…

was interrupted by

Thought 2: Hmmm… I bet those fudge-dipped, chocolate-chip granola bars would taste even better if I spread peanut butter on them... yeah, definitely.

Bloody gumdrop brains

2011-07-23T22:41:00.001-04:00

I am not a vegan, I am not even a vegetarian. I am, in fact, a fully committed carnivore who welcomes my place in the food chain both as predator and as prey, meaning that I would consider it an honorable death to be eaten by a grizzly bear or a tiger.

But I do think food is important, and I hope to cultivate in myself and my family a healthy relationship with the the earth; with the soil, the flora, and the fauna that nourish us and give us life. For me that process begins, at least, with understanding where food comes from.

And ideal setting for this kind of education would be a farm where we could go about the daily business of reaping and sowing. As I’ve written about previously, I would love to live on one. It would be awesome to even have a garden – to plow the earth and plant seeds and eat fresh corn on the cob, cucumbers, and summer squash with dinner like my parents do. Sadly, we don’t. So we do the best we can given our busy schedules and small plot of rented land.

We shop at the local farmer’s market Saturday mornings:

We grow and eat our own herbs:

We stock our fridge and counters with “slow foods” and eat them whole when we have a chance.

We visit farms (thanks for the Audubon Society membership, Cami!) and talk about what happens there (even though our daughter doesn’t speak a lick of English).

And we go to a small, local zoo, where we watch other animals eating. Remember that song about the kookaburra? You know, the merry king of the bush that eats gumdrops and laughs all day? Well, apparently" “merry” is a euphemism for “violent” and “gumdrop” is a euphemism for “small rodent.”

Whilst visiting said zoo, Squiggles and I watched a kookaburra having lunch. He caught a mouse, but instead of eating it forthright, spent a good minute or two bashing its head against the branch on which he was perched – ensuring the mouse wouldn’t make any trouble once inside, perhaps. We were just a foot away, so close that we were splashed with …. ummm… mouse fluid.

I considered taking my daughter to the next exhibit, but (in a move that will likely cost me mother-of-the-year award) decided to stay and let her watch as the large bird beat the rodent senseless and then swallowed him whole. Squiggles watched carefully, absorbing every detail as in her way, and then ran off to see the pelicans with no immediate signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Maybe over time these experiences will give her a healthy perspective on food, biology, process, and consumption.

Or maybe, this day: Squiggles, in her early twenties, will be sitting in a cushioned chair in an air-conditioned office, and will say to some kind and nodding phychologist, “…And then there was the time she made me watch that bird beating the crap out of this cute little mouse…”

Parenting, really, is just gambling with the highest stakes imaginable.

I need to go wash some murine entrails from my person. Enjoy some Wendell Barry quotes:

"One of the most important resources that a garden makes available for use, is the gardener's own body. A garden gives the body the dignity of working in its own support. It is a way of rejoining the human race."
— Wendell Berry

"What I stand for is what I stand on."
— Wendell Berry

"The passive American consumer, sitting down to a meal of pre-prepared food, confronts inert, anonymous substances that have been processed, dyed, breaded, sauced, gravied, ground, pulped, strained, blended, prettified, and sanitized beyond resemblance to any part of any creature that ever lived. The products of nature and agriculture have been made, to all appearances, the products of industry. Both eater and eaten are thus in exile from biological reality."
— Wendell Berry

"Whether we and our politicians know it or not, Nature is party to all our deals and decisions, and she has more votes, a longer memory, and a sterner sense of justice than we do."
— Wendell Berry

"I dislike the thought that some animal has been made miserable to feed me. If I am going to eat meat, I want it to be from an animal that has lived a pleasant, uncrowded life outdoors, on bountiful pasture, with good water nearby and trees for shade."
— Wendell Berry (What Are People For?)

Saturday.

2011-07-10T20:55:00.001-04:00

Last month, we drove 4 hours to go to Long Beach. This month we drove a half hour to Devereux Beach in Marblehead.

Squiggles apparently overcame her fear of enormous bodies of water.

And even splashed around a bit by herself (with me hovering nearby… don’t worry).

She clearly is related to me – is rock collecting genetic?

The water was perfect.

I took Squiggles out and about, and then swam by myself for an hour or so while Tim played with the baby.

Swimming was grand – I’m getting braver, too.

But.

At one point I heard a sort of low grumbling sound, which I decided was probably a shark on his way to eat me. I swam hurriedly to shore and then realized the sound was coming from above.

It was a blimp.

Long About a Saturday Night

2011-07-10T08:18:00.001-04:00

Have I mentioned that Tim finished his PhD? He did, and is now back in medical school for the final two years. Among other things, this means that we have become very, very poor. So poor that I am considering darning Squiggles’ holey socks.*

We are so poor that we don’t have cable television, which in our poor-reception town means that we don’t have television. We are reduced to spending our evenings taking nature walks, skipping rocks on lakes at sunset, and birdwatching. Luckily there is a local venue (a couple blocks from our house) that offers these activities – free!

Someday, when we have real jobs, we will spend our evenings…

… doing the same sorts of things.

*Unfortunately, I missed that day of home-ec. Oh wait, I didn’t take home-ec… I took wood shop instead, which might explain a lot about the state of my house…

Buzzing in my bosom

2011-07-04T07:18:00.002-04:00

Tim asked for a bicycle GPS for his birthday; unfortunately, when we looked into it, we found that said devices are far more expensive than we can afford on our meager, double-student, seriously-are-we-ever-going-to-have-real-jobs salaries.

So we have continued to print out the directions for our bike routes on small pieces of paper, laminate them with packing tape, and fashion them to our cycles or bodies with various sophisticated mechanisms such as clothespins, hair elastics, safety pins, or pieces of string found on the side of the road. Sometimes I get lazy and just write the directions on my arm with a sharpie.

Today, however, we made a last-minute change and rode the Great Brook Ramble instead of what we had originally planned.
We didn’t have the directions, and hadn’t ridden the route for a couple years. We decided to wing it, and hoped that the turns would look familiar.

About half-way through the ride (coincident with a very familiar feeling that I didn’t actually know where I was in relation to the rest of the physical world), I recalled that my phone has navigation capabilities, so I punched in the cross streets of our endpoint. I tucked the phone away and as I rode with the wind on my back, my chest occasionally vibrated and piped up with helpful advice such as, “In 600 feet, turn left.”

Garmin, you’re so not needed.

The route took us past many small farms, Great Brook Farm State Forest, and some gorgeous houses I’ll never, even with a real job, be able to afford. I believe the following field becomes a cranberry bog in the fall.

“Smile!” I said.

“No,” he said.

Luckily his glare looks kind of like a smirk, which is kind of like a smile, which indicates that the subject of this photo is enjoying himself.

House Rules.

2011-07-02T22:00:00.001-04:00

Hear ye, hear ye…

I am a baby.
I can barely walk.
I only know a couple words.

But.

I know what I want, and the following rules WILL be followed.

1. Only Mommy is allowed to dress me after a bath.

2. ONLY Daddy is allowed to rock me to sleep at night.

3. You will offer me a piece of anything you are eating.

4. Unless you are eating cherries. I HATE THOSE SO BAD, why would you give me that crap?

5. You will let me out of this house at approximately 8:00 each morning. It doesn’t matter where we go, but we will go. We will. Or I will stand at the gate at the top of the stairs leading down to the door that goes outside and shout angry, unintelligible words. I would prefer that we go to Cami’s, Nana’s, or a walk around the lake, and don’t give me that stupid Dora sippy-cup, I want a real water bottle.

6. Upon arriving home, you will close the gate at the top of the stairs. It is unacceptable for that gate to be open. I could fall, people – close the d#%^ gate!

7. During the day, I will nap in my carseat; however,

8. At night I will sleep in my crib.

9. At the store, you will not humiliate me by making sit in the shopping cart. I will walk about the store by myself. You can’t take away my dignity.

10. You are permitted to kiss me, but only when I’m in a very good mood (cookies help). And don’t even think about cuddling with me.

11. Unless you’re Daddy and it’s bedtime.

Baby Daddy

2011-06-19T11:42:00.001-04:00

One summer Sunday, I told Tim he was going to be a daddy. When I managed to convince him it wasn’t a joke (which took some effort), he said, “Woo hoo!” and took me out to eat to celebrate. He was so happy.

He came to every single prenatal appointment, and smiled like it was Christmas every time we got to hear the baby’s heartbeat. When he found out we were having a girl, he bought a cute elephant blanket and matching toy.

Tim choked up a little at our wedding, but I never saw actual tears escape his eyes until he looked out our daughter for the first time. He said, “You made a beautiful baby,” and didn’t leave her side for hours after they whisked her from the birthing room into the NICU. He gave Squiggles her first bath, and from the day she was born, he has been heavily involved in her care – changing, bathing, cuddling, rocking, singing, feeding, dressing, educating, reading, playing, and laughing. It melts my heart every time I hear them laughing or find them asleep together.

I’ve read dozens of studies regarding the the importance of fathers in their childrens’ lives, and I’m so happy that I don’t have a worry in the world in this area – my daughter is absolutely adored by her father, and he would sooner forsake everything else in the world than neglect her for a second.

We have all been incredibly lucky because Tim’s boss let him take Fridays off for the last year, so Friday has been Daddy-Daughter Day.

A couple weeks ago, as Tim was dressing the baby after her bath, I overheard him singing to Squiggles a song that he was making up as he went along. He sweetly sang (to the tune of One Enchanted Evening), “One enchanted evening, when you find your true love, I will chase him away with a shotgun, and you will be my girl forever…”

We love you, Tim – happy Father’s Day!

Long Beach

2011-06-03T16:37:00.001-04:00

It turns out that Long Island is actually an island that is… well… long. Meaning, lots of shoreline. We skipped the touristy big beaches and opted for Long Beach, where we ran into very few other people.

I find the ocean beautiful and breathtaking and such, but unlike the Rocky Mountains, the red-rock desert, Tony Grove, and large portions of Japan, I feel no ownership of the ocean – I know I am visiting somebody else’s briar patch. I’m a bit nervous about riptides and sharks, and tend to stay close to the shore when swimming.

But… I love it. I love the sound of the water and the feeling of the sand shifting under my feet with each new wave. I scan the shore for treasures (pretty rocks or shells), and try to get to them before the next wave buries them again.

Tim enjoys the beach just well enough to humor me when I request a trip. He burns easily (being Irish and all) and stays covered up for the most part.

Squiggles had a mixed-emotion day at the beach; laughter, crying, exhilaration, and anger. We went to the shore last summer, but of course she doesn’t remember that.

She didn’t mind walking on the beach, but hated falling on it. She absolutely refused to use her hands to get herself back up.

So Tim took pity on her. She was excited about the water, but a little nervous about going near it.

She decided it was okay, and squealed with hysterical delight if when we swung her over the water or ran along the shore splashing and jumping over the waves.

We tried to help her build a sandcastle, but she was NOT on board with sitting in the sand. This photo is for Marsha, who has asked me if she ever cries:

Her attitude improved drastically when we sat her on her towel with some snacks.

Overall, a lovely day by the shore.

Petting

2011-05-30T22:58:00.001-04:00

The baby and I drove to Long Island this weekend to meet Tim after his conference at Cold Spring Harbor. Squiggles loves animals (at least in books), so we visited the local petting zoo.

There were lots of animals to visit, and we got a bucket full of food that proved extremely effective for drawing the animals near.

I have a metal jewelry stand on my dresser that has a couple birds on it. Every time we walk by, we have to stop and pet the metal birds or Squiggles has a fit. She loves seeing birds when we go for walks as well, so we were happy to see that there was an aviary at the petting zoo. They gave us a popsicle stick with birdseed on it to attract the birds.

I think Squiggles was astonished that this was really happening.

In the picture below, she is trying very hard to break the prominently posted “Please don’t touch or squeeze birds” rule.

Tim got the birds to perch right on his hands. When I was in charge of holding the seed stick, I remembered something that I knew as a child but had since forgotten: I like admiring birds, and I like the concept of birds, but I do NOT want them touching my person.

We fed many animals, washed our hands a finity times, and called the day a success.

Of cows and mansions

2011-05-21T23:52:00.001-04:00

We have an annual tradition of biking the coast of Newport, Rhode Island (though we didn’t go last year due to our condition of having an infant). Apparently I have been too busy gawking at the ocean to notice the beautiful countryside. This year we rode slowly, taking in the other beautiful scenes the city has to offer (mostly due to our condition of being (ahem) slightly out-of-shape).

These little guys were severely angered by my existence:

We also rode past some modest homes:

My mother fell in love with the following mansion when we took her on this ride a couple years ago. I don’t see how it is that much different than the house I grew up in (meaning that it is also white).

We just viewed the mansions from a distance since they have a “No bikes in mansions” policy. The Breakers:

And… well… we couldn’t help but gawk at Newport’s share of the Atlantic. It’s kind of pretty.

Yes, this is the best picture I got of us:

We ate at our favorite clam shack (meaning that they let us park our bikes there and eat outside).

At the time, it seemed like a great idea to order lots of fried food.

But we regretted it during the last 15 miles of the ride.

The desert: prologue

2011-05-15T10:54:00.002-04:00

A number of earthy elements lay claim on my heart: lush mountains and rolling hills; cool, freshwater lakes; softly falling snow; meadows of wildflowers; rich, loamy soil, forests of Aspen, rolling rivers.

But.

But, oh... the desert, the desert.

The desert is my refuge, my place of restoration.

...................

Five years ago, I moved to a city. A large and crowded and humid city, where the houses are so close that two neighbors can give each other high fives out their windows; where trains are so crowded that We the People come home wearing each other's perfume, each other's sweat, each other's heartaches; where even the air is teeming with too much water, too much yelling and shrieking, too many pollutants and cell-phone confessionals.

In the desert, there is space. Space to run and breathe. Space to be alone, to think, to watch, to hear the blood swirling around in your arteries.

In the city, you have to play games to get ahead - games whose rules are ever changing and ever elusive, in which sophistry and shape shifting are necessary survival skills. Games whose rules I have not managed to understand, let alone master.

But in the desert there are no games. In the desert, there is life and death and nothing in between. The unyielding Navajo sandstone doesn't give a damn about what school you went to, and neither the frigid night wind nor the scorching afternoon sun can be flattered into giving you an unfair advantage. There is no pretending, no networking, no benefit to having a large chest-to-waist ratio.

In a system comprised of rock, sand, sun, wind, and sparsely oxygenated air, only the fittest - really - will survive. Juniper and Ponderosa pines jut out of tiny crevices in the stone, bending with the winds and floods as they reach toward the sun. Claret cup and Prickly Pear succulents perch proudly atop immutable cliffs. Bighorn sheep scale seemingly sheer walls.

All compete for mere trickles of water that leisurely meander over the stone.

And when infrequent but deadly flash floods sweep the valley floor, only the strongest remain, and those that do flourish with simple and astonishing beauty.

The desert doesn't care. The desert is not kind, is not lenient. The desert kills - regularly.

And I love it here.

I love the scalding sun, the freezing wind. The hard, unforgiving stone. I love the vertigo-inducing heights, the smell of dust and sage, the silence, the stillness, the madness, the danger, the wildness of it all.

Exhale.

Frost

2011-05-02T14:49:00.001-04:00

Nature’s first green is gold

Her hardest hue to hold

Her early leaf’s a flower,

Photo by Sarah Dickey

But only so an hour.

Photo by Sarah Dickey

So leaf subsides to leaf

Photo by Sarah Dickey

So Eden sank to grief

Photo by Sarah Dickey

So dawn goes down to day

Nothing gold can stay.

I like the poem cited above, but I don’t love it – it’s too sad. Nevertheless, I think about it, even often.

What is gold, and why can’t it stay? A blossoming romance, a babbling baby, a bud on a tree after a long, bitter winter.

What if gold could stay? Would I, really, want it to?

Would I freeze spring? Freeze color? Freeze time?

Yes.

Smells like teen spirit

2011-04-17T12:22:00.001-04:00

I was not pleased about puberty. Not at all.

Not pleased about the hormones, not pleased to learn about the world of Kotex and Tampax, and NOT PLEASED about locking my girls in a claustrophobia-inducing device meant to “support” that the world had deemed a requirement for females wanting to keep polite company.

So for a year or so (perhaps my mom would offer a different numeric), I was an angry teenager.

I took my angst out on my family, naturally. I don’t remember too many details, but I think the gist was that I always wanted to hang out with my friends, and never wanted to hang out with my family. Sound about right, Mom?

One morning, my mother informed me that we would be getting a family picture taken – a bit of news I quickly classifed under “Things I’m not that interested in.” Instead, my friend Cami and I took off on our bikes with the intention of going swimming in the Blacksmith Fork River.

We were about half way to our destination when my family pulled up in the Isuzu Trooper. My mother calmly instructed me to get into the car. Everybody else was wearing their Sunday best. I was wearing my swimming suit with a flimsy t-shirt, denim shorts, and flip flops.

I was not pleased.

The photographer did everything in his power to get me to smile, but he was no match for this angst-ridden brat-head.

In the prints from the studio, you can see my turquoise and black swim suit shining through my shirt. Awesome.

Thankfully, I’ve rid myself of all traces of stubborness, and am now as pleasant as a warm, summer morning in the countryside.

D.A.D

2011-04-12T23:02:00.000-04:00

When I was young, my dad used to take us to our school’s playground. A typical fatherly thing to do; however, he was anything but typical. Sometimes he would take us on his motorcycle, sometimes on our sail-trike. Sometimes he would take us in his doorless jeep, sometimes on his skateboard. Yes, I said sail-trike. He built it himself, and we could fit 5-7 neighbor kids on it to go cruising down the streets of Millville.

When we got to the playground, he would entertain us by walking across the uneven bars on his hands, juggling while riding his skateboard, or maybe just riding the skateboard on his hands. He was an acrobat, and I was fairly convinced that he could do anything in the world.

My dad also built our house, as well as a ginormous multi-level playhut (replete with swings, rings, ropes, hanging bars, a tire swing, and an ultra awesome attic), and a basketball court.

We regularly slept out on our trampoline under the stars, where he would point out constellations and tell us stories until we fell asleep. He took us on so many camping trips, hikes, picnics, bikerides, and skiing escapades that it would be impossible to list them all. My dad loves having fun, and made every outing – even to the gas station – an adventure. He has had many hobbies over the years, including sailing and (eeeek) hang gliding off cliffs. (The following shot was taken when he was about to land.)

But he isn’t all play. My dad has worked hard his entire life. When I was little, he was a pilot in the Air Force.

When his service was over, he got a job working an hour away from our home. For almost as long as I can remember, my dad got up every morning at 5:00 to leave with his carpool. He returned in the evening, and rarely breathed a word about his job to anybody. He said so little about it that we joked that he was in the CIA. My dad was a talented designer for Thiokol, but one day when I was in my twenties he told me that he didn’t particularly love his job – it was rather dull compared to his days of being a pilot. But he dutifully went to work before the sun came up every morning for decades in order to support his family. He was recently forced to retire early due to lack of government funding for the space program. There was no party, no notice.

But his hard work was not unnoticed. He provided for our family - food, clothes, birthday parties, cars, car insurance, braces, piano lessons, school trips, vacations, sports fees, weddings, the American dream. More importantly, he taught us to be utterly responsible, to put in an honest day’s work, and to put family first in life. I couldn’t be prouder of him.

(Note: this picture will be the subject of my next blog post. I’m pretty fond of it.)

In addition to being ridiculously talented, my dad is the kindest person I have ever known. He is always involved in some kind of project, and often for a friend, neighbor, or family member. He helped build a house especially for a woman in our church who had recently become paralyzed in an accident. He built wheelchair ramps for my grandfather, neighbor, and brother when they no longer could walk. He built an adult-sized tricycle for my friend with cerebral palsy so that she could go on bike rides with us.

Of all my dad’s great qualities, the one that I love most is that he was born to be a father and grandfather. He is a notorious baby charmer who loves children and is incredibly patient – letting babies touching leaves, throw rocks in a river, feed ducks, run their fingers through sand, climb stairs, or steal his hat for hours.

I credit my dad for instilling a healthy sense of self-worth in me. He has told me from the time I was pint-sized that I’m beautiful (way more than the models and movie starts on TV), and there hasn’t ever been a day in my life that I questioned whether he loved me. He taught me how to fix a flat tire, change the oil in my car, lay sod, balance on wet rocks to cross a river, paint a room, shingle a roof, lay tile, ride down rocky terrain on a bike, do algebra, and play an F chord on my guitar.

He is perfect, and I adore him in case you can’t tell.

P.S. Happy birthday, DAD! I love you!

Then we went to Denver

2011-04-04T00:59:00.001-04:00

Where we met Little Lucy

And hung out with the wild things

Had girl time

And lots of baby time…

We basked in the warm desert sun,

Played with cousins…

And played with grandparents

Oh crap.

2011-04-01T16:41:00.002-04:00

When my husband read this, all the color drained from his face and he said, "Seriously?" with a look of sheer terror. Got him!

How Squiggles Got Her Groove Back

2011-03-27T21:57:00.001-04:00

As mentioned last week, Squiggles has been a very sick little girl. She has been sick many times this winter (9 times and counting), but this time was by far the worst. I had to take a week off work, and none of us slept in more than 30 minute increments.

I’ve never seen Squiggles so unhappy. When she wasn’t vomiting, she was either crying or whimpering. She wouldn’t let me put her down for as much as a nanosecond, and kept grabbing my face and giving me this pleading look that seemed to say, “Why aren’t you fixing me?” It was heartbreaking, and by far the most difficult week since becoming a mother.

After five days of vomiting and diarrhea, we took her to see the pediatrician (we had been in contact with her for a few days). She had lost a considerable amount of weight (and she didn’t really have any to spare), so the doctor recommended that we take her to the ER for rehydration. I wish I would have taken her in sooner, but I didn’t want to subject her to the pain of an IV (or expose her to other sickos).

Squiggles screamed bloody murder during the IV placement (of course), but then ran out of fight and fell asleep on a pillow on my lap. Thankfully, they put the IV in her right arm, so that her thumb-sucking arm was free.

She had a good night’s sleep,

and woke up a different baby. She has gotten better every day, and this afternoon we braved a trip to the park.

It was a success.

P.S. She loves her new shoes – thanks, Cami! She keeps bringing them to me and saying, “Ehhh?”

Rubbish

2011-03-22T23:58:00.001-04:00

We recently moved so that we could be near our awesome daycare center (AKA The Jones Family Entertainers). Because the awesome (read: not awesome) train network in Boston doesn't go near their home, we chose a nearby city that I shall pseudonyminously refer to as Canterbury. The city is very well kept, and the people here are, ummm, well... affluent, white, Obamaniacal, and averse to anything not organically made. We live on the seedy side of town - where people (ugh) rent apartments in two-family homes. I overheard the town's skateboarding teenage hooligans the other day complaining about school. They were using words like, "dang" and "shoot." I made Squiggles cover her ears, of course.

Canterbury has many charms (mostly in the form of walking paths and lovely ponds), but it has one quirk that I will never understand: the town does not collect your trash. Instead, you take it to a "transfer station" (apparently "dumps" are not classy enough) yourself. Apparently, the people of this city are far above setting their trash out near the road for everybody to see; however, they don't mind hauling rotting refuse around in the backs of their SUVs and congregating at the "transfer station," where the air is thick with the smell of rotting leftover nicoise salad from Trader Joe's.

Thankfully, Tim transfers our trash. I did, however, go with him recently, and there were the SUVs, the women wearing designer jeans and high heels, and the men wearing Polos and product in their hair. They were carrying bags, bins, sacks, and boxes while they chatted cheerfully and took turns at the various dumping sites. It made me like them more.

I really appreciate that the woman below was texting when I shot this photo:

Miss Joanne

2011-03-22T16:28:00.001-04:00

I was so proud of myself for remember Marsha’s birthday that I forgot Joanne’s was on the same day. Joanne is a frequent commenter on my blog, so my family members are often asking me, “Who is that Joanne girl?” Well. Here she is. (See photo above).

Joanne and I lived together when we first moved to Boston, and (as Cami says), we are kindred spirits and have been friends ever since. A bit about her:

She is so smart that I really, truly have no idea what she does for a living. I have a vague idea that it has to do with contracts, legal stuff, financial stuff, and maybe France and/or Switzerland. Which leads me to my next point:
Joanne speaks French fluently (due to her condition of being a returned missionary from the South of France), and has European tastes in general when it comes to decorating, food, etc.
Joanne is the most diligent person I have ever met. Well… maybe she could tie with my mom. If ever my (or my child’s) life depended on somebody, I would pick Joanne. The girl is organized, meticulous, exact, thorough, hard working, and efficient.
Joanne’s room is the cleanest room I have ever seen.
However, even though she is smart and efficient and all that, she is really a very sweet and generous person. I think it’s perfect that her birthday often lies on the first day of spring, because she embodies all things spring-ish: full of life, cheerful, rainy (okay, the analogy only goes so far, but you get the point).
Also, she walks really fast. Too fast for me to keep up.

Joanne has recently met a man who is good enough for her, and they will be wed next month. Couldn’t be happier for you, Joanne!

Happy birthday (ahem) yesterday.

Only one Marsha

2011-03-21T16:51:00.002-04:00

I have this really great friend who also happens to be my cousin. We have been best friend-cousins since childhood, when my parents would ship me off to be raised by her family during certain crises such as the births of Cami, Karen, Lance, and Stupid Cat.

We went to the same high school, and shared a blanket during AP chemistry when the heaters weren’t working properly. We also ran track together, but she was much (much) faster than I was – I didn’t care, I was just proud to be related to her.

In addition, we lived in the Tetons together for two summers, and went hiking, jogging by the Snake river, on adventures to K-mart, river rafting, and on trips to Yellowstone.

Marsha always had more friends than I did, and she let me hang out with them in college. We went to dances, backpacking to that one lake near Tony Grove (d’oh… memory shot due to infant), and on many, many hikes and double dates.

She’s awesome other than being my friend – she used to be a camp counselor in California during the summers, and lived in Namibia when she was in the Peace Corps. She lives a minimalist life, doesn’t take more than her share, leaves no trace, and is one of the wittiest people I know. She has an awesome sense of humor - I like her so much.

The greatest thing about her is that even though she remembers my birthday every single year, she always forgives me for knowing that her birthday is … umm… sometime in March. I’m not very good with birthdays. But.

maybe it’s today?

Happy birth month, Marsha! Love you tons!

I has a sad.

2011-03-20T20:15:00.001-04:00

A squiggle-less Squiggles is like a bounce-less Tigger. We’re in the throws of yet another stomach virus. I have a friend named Kathy at work (who has grown children) with whom I often discuss the woes and joys of motherhood. She told me once, “A mother is only as happy as her most miserable child.”

Yep.

Für meine Tochter

2011-03-16T00:06:00.002-04:00

Disclaimer: I need to tweak a few things with my other blog before I transfer this post to the Squiggles-only blog. If you're not comfortable with a cheesy letter from an overly sentimental mother, skip down to the pictures of Squiggles "reading.' :)

Dear Squiggles,

I can't believe this day has arrived - you are one year old! The day before your first birthday, you stood up by yourself. On March 13, you took your first successful step on your own! I am sad that you're growing up so quickly, but I love each new phase you enter. You are such a delightful baby, and you fill our lives with so much happiness and laughter.

You are a beautiful girl - you have auburn hair, big blue eyes, and porcelain skin. Everywhere we go, strangers approach us to tell you have pretty you are. But you're not just lovely on the outside - you are beautiful all the way through. You are loving and funny and adventurous and perfect! I'm so happy you're in our life, and can't imagine a world without you.

I had children a bit later in life, and had lots of opportunities. I lived in other countries, went to graduate school, learned to play instruments, and have a thousand hobbies. But nothing in my life makes me prouder or brings me more happiness than being your mother - you are my masterpiece.

Every time you smile at me, it brings me joy. I made a small list of some of the things I love about you:

· You can say, "Hi," "mamamama," "dadadadada," "Uuuuuuuuuuu OH," and "No," (though I don't think you know what this means yet). Also, Daddy and I will swear to our graves that you said "Strawberry Shortcake" one morning when we gave you the doll.

· You like it when lions come on TV (in the Baby Einstein World Animals video) and you practice growling quite often. Sometimes you growl shyly and softly - almost a whisper, while other times you growl very loudly - sometimes at strangers at the grocery store! It's quite amusing.

· You still smile and wave at everybody and LOVE attention.

· Recently you have been practicing blowing. We have started blowing bubbles with you outside and in the bathtub, and you seem to have decided that blowing is a valuable skill. Sometimes when we're driving and you have nothing else to do, you start blowing, over and over. It's adorable.

· Another hilarious thing you have started doing is playing "pretend." You love giving things to people, but sometimes there is nothing around to give people. That doesn't stop you! You carefully pick up tiny invisible objects with your thumb and index finger (often you pick up something from your other hand), and then smile sweetly as you "give" the objects to other people (usually Daddy).

· At your first birthday party, you got a new tricycle that has an attachment that can be pushed, and you love it! Whenever we push you around (either up and down the halls of the apartment and in and out of the rooms or outside on the sidewalk), you yell the whole time - it sounds like a war cry. You let out the same war cry when we help you walk by holding your hands while you take tiny dainty steps. It is as though you are saying, "Watch out, world - here I come!!!"

· You love looking at pictures, slideshows, and photo-books of yourself. You squeal when you see the pictures of you that we hung in your room, and want to watch your first-birthday slideshow dozens of times a day. You also often bring me your "Amelia" photo book, and pay close attention as I describe each picture to you.

· You are still very, very friendly. You love waving, smiling, and saying "Hiiiiiiii," to everybody you pass. You're also a little nosy... when we take you anywhere, you stare at other people, especially if they have kids. When you get on an airplane, we have to hold you back because you climb up the seats to see what is going on with the people in front of us, in back of us, to the side of us, etc. You just have to know what's going on everywhere!

· You love it when we get down on the floor with you and place chase while we're crawling. You love it even more when both Daddy and Mommy are playing chase with you. You love to crawl away from us, but you always stop and turn around and come back toward us so that we can "catch" you. When we catch you, we tickle you, throw you back and forth (gently) and into the air, and give you zerberts and kisses. It's a grand family activity and you giggle the whole time.

· You love to play with blocks, and you especially love to knock over towers of blocks that others build (usually Mommy) and say, "Uuuuuuuuuhhhhh OH!" and then cackle with delight.

· You love cheese puffs and Club crackers. You also love, love, LOVE ice cream, but we don't let you have very much. You also love cookies and feeding Daddy.

· You LOVE books - whenever you have play time, you go straight for your books. You used to just eat them, but now you turn the pages and study the pictures. Often you look at your books for 20 - 30 minute stretches. You love looking at pictures of other babies and children, as well as animals. Your favorite books are "Goodnight Gorilla" and "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." You have learned how to fake laugh, so you "laugh" every time the zookeeper's wife wakes up and finds a monkey in her bed. It's so adorable.

· You also fake-laugh when other people are laughing. Sometimes you start laughing by yourself in your carseat. I will laugh back at you, and then we take turns fake-laughing until you start really laughing - you seem to think fake laughing is funny.

· You enjoy taking baths. You love splashing, dumping water out of cups, and being squirted by your squirty toys. You think it's hilarious when you pass gas in the bathtub, and when we let you have bubble baths, you often bend down and examine the bubbles intently.

· We took you to a park in Virginia a couple weeks ago and let you swing. You squealed with delight and didn't stop smiling. It was so great to see you having so much fun.

· Aunt Cami watches you while we’re at work a three days a week (Daddy and I take turns watching you the other days - we love being able to spend time with you!). You love Aunt Cami, as well as Bryn, Calvin, and Ivy. You follow the kids around, wanting to play with them. They love you, too, and do silly dances to entertain you.

· You start to dance when we hear upbeat music. You bounce your head and smile gleefully. When you're really excited, you bounce with your whole body, but sometimes this makes you tip over sideways. You think that's funny, too. You're such a happy baby!

I'm so happy you're in our family - we would be so incomplete without you. I can't wait to see what shenanigans you have up your sleeve for the second year of life!

With more love that you can ever possibly imagine (until you have your own precious baby girl),

Mommy

Happy (sniff) birthday (sniff) Squiggles.

2011-03-07T20:01:00.001-05:00

Happy birthday, big girl! We kind of like you.

Friday in the park with Squiggles

2011-02-19T19:51:00.001-05:00

We’re in Virginia visiting Tim’s sister for a minivacation. Not to brag, but it was 75 degrees yesterday. We took a heavenly walk (without so much as a jacket!) to the park. Squiggles had her first solo ride in a swing:

Do you think she liked it?

I also made her swing with me, of course.

Tim and Gus took her down the slide several times.

And some friendly stranger let us play with her dog. Squiggles liked the dog until she experienced her first slobbery face lick, at which point she wanted to admire her from a distance.

Wanderin’ Blues

2011-02-12T16:30:00.001-05:00

You pass through places
And places pass through you
But you carry them with you on the
Souls of your traveling shoes.
~The Be Good Tanyas

The above photo is dedicated to Marsha, naturally.
We now return to our European vacation. Recall that we stayed high up in the Alps in a little town called Murren. There were several neighboring mountain villages, all connected by trails. We took advantage of this and hiked past Winteregg to Grutschalp. The scenery along the way was stunning, and our surroundings were almost silent – it was a lovely afternoon walk.

Part of the trail was parallel to the vintage railroad that connects the villages. Along the way, we had spectacular views of the Eiger, Monch, and Jungfrau peaks, as well Grindewald village, which was across the valley.

We passed this trail, which is actually going uphill. I will most certainly be biking it on my return to the Berner Oberland.

Feeling a little small:

Tim really liked the aqua effect the glaciers gave the snowy mountains.

During most of our stay in Europe, I felt very much like an awkward visitor, completely out of my element. But in Switzerland I felt completely at home, and was at times surprised to hear locals speaking German. Maybe this is why: The following picture is dedicated to Cami, who is the only person I know who might feel honored by the dedication.

I used to dream of having a family, and my dreams always seemed to be set in a mountain scene: hiking through forests and along rambling brooks with my best-friend husband with our kids in tow. I guess sometimes dreams come true.

We took the train back to Murren,

and walked around the town. Tim was delighted to see a curling rink:

And I was delighted to see watering troughs for horses. Did I mention there were no cars in Murren? Hurray!

We ended the trip by eating at an overpriced restaurant. Tim had pork,

And I had cheese. I like cheese.

Squiggles had plastic.

Sick day

2011-01-17T14:20:00.001-05:00

Even though my mom sucks and won’t just chill out and let me enjoy my snot facial, I can’t stand to be more than a millimeter away from her when I’m sick.

I couldn’t sleep so she let me watch Inception with her and The Dad.

I woke up with snot all over my face, but feeling a bit better.

I even had a bath and got dressed up.

I read my favorite book (thanks, Grandma).

And practiced crawling. I pretty much rock at crawling.

But it’s getting a little old, so I think I’m going to be exploring new modes of transport soon.

This is a new trick I’ve mastered… I’m pretty pleased with myself.

Unfortunately, The Dad never lets me eat his computer cord, which is really my only desire in life.

So I settle for looking at touch-and-feel books.

Hey, just as a side note, it’s kind of cool that my mom and I both have peace pajamas, right?

I WANT those boogers in my hair, OKAY?

2011-01-16T18:09:00.004-05:00

Dear Diary,

This week was sucktastic. First, I got some disgusting stomach virus from my mom. To repay her for the sucky gift, I puked all over and then filled the bathtub with diarrhea when the parentals tried to clean me. I have to admit I didn’t think that one through completely.

As though that weren’t enough,as soon as I got over several days of diaper drama, I got bronchitis and have turned into a mucous mass-production factory. I don't want to eat, and I can't sleep. The parentals are constantly trying to wipe snot off my nose, chin, eyes, and forehead and I HATE THAT SO BAD! Why can’t they just let me live my life?!?

Then this morning I woke up and found that three new teeth broke through my gums. In case you don’t remember, that hurts like crap. I can’t help trying to touch my new teeth all the time, but it sucks because then my snot flows straight into my open mouth. Sickest ever. And to top it all off, I seem to have the poops again.

Whatever.

2011 mayhem

2011-01-01T16:48:00.001-05:00

To bring in the new year with a bang, we took a walk around Castle Island. It was in the mid fifties, so we walked it twice. I know, totally wild.

And because I’m my father’s daughter, I’ll add a completely unrelated (but noteworthy) photo at the end:

Happy new year!

An evening walk

2010-12-30T18:49:00.001-05:00

Our new apartment is near a lovely pond with a trail surrounding the perimeter. Tonight we took a stroll at sunset.

After a crush

2010-12-28T23:09:00.009-05:00

A couple years ago, I had a crush on a boy. We had both recently gotten out of long-term relationships, and the wounds were still raw, even bleeding (Cami's metaphor). After months of torturing myself with reasons why I shouldn't, I rallied what very little courage I had in the romance-pursuing department, and confessed my crush. A few days later he confessed that "the feelings were mutual." What comes after a crush? We waited a few months before dating, and became close friends. And then one evening as we were talking, he reached for my hand, and I knew with perfect clarity that he was the one for me.

The rest is history, and now we share an apartment, some cheap furniture, and a baby girl.

It's been a year since I walked down the isle, said the words, "I do."

A long year.

My husband has since held my hand through approximately five hundred vomiting episodes, through both of my dearly loved grandmothers' funerals, through a scary premature birth during which he refused to leave my side even to get lunch, through a hundred scary episodes of Dexter, through my post-partum anxiety attacks, through a dozen gallstones, and through failed experiments. He has put my socks and shoes on my feet on for months when I couldn't reach my feet, has cleaned dog feces off my shoes because I couldn't handle the smell (and that was after I gave birth), has made me dinner a thousand times, has sacrificed much personal and work time to spend time with me and our daughter.

He has seen the very worst of me, and stayed by my side. And every time he reaches for my hand, I know with perfect clarity that he is the one for me.

Vertigo (My favorite day)

2010-12-27T20:39:00.001-05:00

I decided that we had better visit Switzerland, just in case I never make it back to Europe. And as long as we were going to Switzerland, we may as well see the Alps. And as long as we were going to see the Alps, we may as well sleep high up in them.

So we stayed here:

We took a cable car to the hotel late at night, so we couldn’t see much. We were delighted to wake up to this view off our balcony:

And as long as we were staying in the Alps, we may as well take a cable car to the top of the Schilthorn, right?

(Photo courtesy of Cody Duncan, whom I don’t know from Adam)

So we did. This is the shadow of our cable car ascending the steep face of the Schilthorn Mountain:

Tim was a very good sport, considering that he is “not a fan of heights” and we were hundreds of feet off the ground during our ride.

Our destination was the Piz Gloria – a rotating restaurant on the tippy top of the Schilthorn that offers panoramic views of the surrounding Alps – we had breathtaking views (as in, I cried a little) of Jungfrau, Eiger, and Monch peaks, among others.

Our views (pictures REALLY don’t do the scenery justice):

We were greatly amused to know that certain types of footwear are forbidden on Shilthorn mountain.

Here we are, on top of the world.

We ate at the Piz Gloria restaurant, which offers seats that rotate slowly in a carousel-like fashion. It was fantastic.

Tim got shnitzel.

I got cheese. I like cheese.

Squiggles browsed the beer list, but didn’t find anything to her liking.

Tim and Squiggles enjoyed some daddy-daughter time while I gawked at the mountains. I did manage to catch a couple shots I love.

There was a couple a the restaurant that kept taking silly pictures, including this one. We have no idea what it was supposed to be, but they seemed to think it was hi-lar-i-ous.

We finally took the cable car back down, and Squiggles decided to call it a day.

Our cable-car operator had a pretty awesome mullet.

At the hotel, we had more awesome food- some kind of sausage, and some kind of pork dish. Both were delicious.

Squiggles liked playing in her play pen, but not sleeping in it.

So she joined me in my half of this weird set-up.

Santa Baby

2010-12-23T08:06:00.001-05:00

We interrupt our European vacation to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!

In Bruges (Tim’s favorite day)

2010-12-19T17:02:00.001-05:00

Bruges is an adorably quaint city in the Flemish region of Belgium where businesses blare Whitney Houston and The Police. I was delighted to see horse-drawn buggies toting tourists to their destinations – there are very few cars in Bruges.

Like Venice and Amsterdam, Bruges is built around a canal system.

But we couldn’t do a canal cruise because much of the water was frozen.

Bruges has lovely medieval architechture.

This was sculpted above a residential doorway:

And I just really liked this building:

A view from on high:

And from down low:

Market Square hosts a fantastic belfry:

And a market (as the name would imply) and ice rink in the winter. Here, Squigglels and I are just taking in the very, very cold fresh air.

It turns out the Belgium is a good place to get Belgium chocolates. I paid 10 euros for a very small selection, and decided that I still don’t like chocolate, even if it’s very high quality. Chocolate-chip cookies excluded, of course.

I did enjoy my candied grapes, though they left me with a bit of a stomachache.

Tim and I are on a very vague diet (with very loose interpretations and almost no rules), but he decided that cupcakes were out.

I decided that Belgian Waffles with chocolate and bananas were definitely IN.

And so was a super-creamy, fattening seafood dish, naturally.

Tim was served fries with his beef stew. Of course. (There’s a big pot of said stew that you can’t see… they’re not this stingy). There was a “frites maiden” who was actually not a maiden but a dude, who came around dumping fries on everybody’s plates the moment they looked half eaten. Also, you’ll be happy to know that the Belgians eat fries the only True and Living way: with mayonnaise. Fries were definitely not excluded from our diet. We’re thinking of starting a stricter diet after Christmas.

We went to The Church of Our Lady,

and saw Michelangelo’s Madonna and Child:

I really like that in many cathedrals, there are raised lecture podiums where priests can give their sermons.

In the middle of busy Bruges, there is a quiet and beautiful (“silence, please”) monastery that people can stroll through.

To my delight, Market Square lights up at night and is even more fun than in daytime!

Going Dutch.

2010-12-16T06:22:00.003-05:00

This post is dedicated to Michelle and Peter
(in alphabetical order),

who are practically Dutch.

We spent two days hanging out in the weed capital of the universe. I was tempted to go into one of the ubiquitous “coffeeshops” for some hot cocoa, but Tim laughed and told me that “coffeeshops” in Amsterdam have little to nothing to do with warm beverages. We toured the Anne Frank museum and saw our favorite Dutch artists on display at the Rijksmuseum, but we mostly loved walking around the surprisingly beautiful city.

I particularly loved three things about Amsterdam: 1) Everybody bikes everywhere, even during blizzards at night (though this does make driving tricky), and the fact that the city has bike lanes down every major thoroughfare.

2) The city is built around a series of canals (dug centuries ago to reclaim land buried by the sea). We (mostly I) couldn’t resist going on a tourist-trap canal cruise to see the city from the water.

3) The architecture – we couldn’t get enough of the beautiful gables, sculptured facades, windows, and door frames.

Also, I really loved that in places in Europe, there is a “big flush” and “little flush” toilet option. It’s so practical.

We dined at an Eetcafe – Squiggles could not decide what to order.

Our trip coincided with Saint Nicholas Day – we saw Santa and Black Peter all around Holland and Belgium.

Edammer

2010-12-04T17:44:00.002-05:00

Instead of noisy, hash-laden Amsterdam, we stayed in a Dutch village called Edam, homeland of one of my favorite cheeses (of the same name). Edam is a quiet, absolutely adorable canal-side town replete with gardens, small shops, lovely architecture and other characteristics that allegedly represent all things quintessentially Dutch. Even Tim admitted on several occasions that the town and our accommodations were “delightful.”

Our home for the night:

We got an awesome off-season deal that included a four-star meal with our stay because we came in winter instead of summer. I love snow, so I found the winter scene in Edam quite enchanting.Our dinner was fantastic – we ate “something like a gazelle, but not a gazelle, and kind of like a deer, but not quite a deer” (our waiter was quite convinced there was no English equivalent word for our dish) that was possibly the best meat I’ve ever tasted. Too bad I’ve little to no idea what it was.

The next morning we had a HUGE breakfast with several types of homemade breads, jams, and yogurts, meats and cheeses (including Gouda and Edam, of course), and some heavenly hazelnut hot cocoa.

That morning, we were able to tour the entire town in a lazy half-hour stroll.

The innkeeper took this fantastic photo of our family:

French, ummm, food

2010-12-03T15:05:00.009-05:00

One of my favorite aspects of traveling is trying new food. When my friends travel, they recall names of dishes with perfect accents and use adjectives like "delicate," and "nostalgic" to describe flavors. I don't really have that talent, so I will tell you that a couple days ago, I was traveling in either France or Belgium (it's unclear), and I ate a pastry that can best be described as a puffy ball of sugary stuff.

Also, I had some brown-ish, sweet-ish bread, with some cheese that can best be described as, "not very soft, but not all that hard either."

I will try almost anything. Thinking myself quite adventurous, I ordered the plat du jour without checking to see what it was. I've never been so disappointed to see this:

On an unrelated note, whilst driving from Paris to Amsterdam, I found myself need in desperate need of a toilet. We got off the nearest exit, drove around for less than thirty seconds, and pulled into the parking lot of this building.

There was even somebody inside. He didn't speak English, and I don't speak a word of French, but I managed to convey to him that I was a fellow saint from Utah about to pee my pants. He was super sweet and showed me the restroom. When I was on my way out, he invited me (I think) to come to church on Sunday. I tried to tell him I would be in Belgium, but didn't seem to understand and said, "Go Jazz!"

Official Family Photo, 2010

2010-11-22T14:19:00.000-05:00

Hey, Remember That Time?

2010-11-18T00:00:00.005-05:00

Fact: Today I am 33.

Also a fact: 33 is my favorite number.

Since it’s my favorite-number birthday, I’m going to indulge in some memories, inspired by Regina Spektor’s song That Time. You might recognize yourself in some of these memories…

Hey, remember that time...

… we were too tired to find a real campsite in the Tetons, so we camped in a field and woke up with a herd of bison outside our tent?

… you did the Riverdance in the holy room while we waited for your wedding to begin?

… we flew to Salt Lake in your friend’s prop plane, rented a car, ate burgers at some dive, and flew back home in time to see a movie?

… we invited about a thousand people to go on a road trip and ended up camping on the lawn of the retirement home community in Saint George? Those old people loved us, mostly because Jacob Marble played BINGO with them.

… you got diarrhea every time we went mountain biking so we named a hill in your honor?

… I stayed home sick and we watched Return to Oz and ate Frosted Mini-Wheats all day? I loved that day, Mom.

… red-faced Glen stomped out of our class?

… Mom and Dad went on a day trip and left Michael in charge and he took us to McDonalds because he was generous like that and we got in a head-on collision, and Mom didn’t really get that mad, even though we left five-year-old Karen home to babysit Lance?

… you helped me find all my classes before my first day of college? That was so nice. I get lost a lot.

… I filled your sink with rocks? You didn’t like them.

… we went night-swimming at Walden Pond?

… we played Catch Phrase with Grandma Dickey?

… you and Amber put out your fire boy-scout style? That was a disaster.

… we met Aneesa’s uncle’s neighbor while we were trying to find Providence cave and he took us rock climbing instead? That guy was a lunatic.

… we took the train to New York, but somehow lost Darin and Sarah?

… we got caught in the rain and floods on the Crimson trail? Best night ever.

... we played capture the flag at Grandma's with all the cousins?

… I didn’t get married that one time?

… I didn’t get married that other time, either?

… or that other time?

… Horse-Cow-PIG!?

… Chadene and Julie were in their “sloths!” phase?

… we produced The Anky-Skay Airy-Fay?

… I broke off my engagement and you found out your boyfriend cheated on you in the same day? We got tired of crying so we went on a bike ride and had a blast.

… we kissed each other on a dare when we were, like, 12?

... you came to visit me while I was in labor, and every morning in the NICU? That meant the world to me.

… we got lost on every girls’ camp hike we went ever went on?

… I actually got married?

… you said something inappropriate at work?

… I was your flower girl and got to walk down the spiral staircase in a pretty dress? I felt like a princess.

… you gave the best valedictorian’s speech ever? I was so proud to be your sister.

… I yelled at the lady in the mall for smoking what turned out to be a fake cigarette?

… you started speaking Spanish to the Mexicans at Wal*mart? You don’t actually know Spanish.

… we accidentally had the baby in Utah?

… you “kind of” made out with Honeyman?

… a bear ate our oatmeal and our pillows?

… we got through our difficult pregnancies by e-mailing each other our sob stories?

… we sang Sound of Music songs while riding to Bridal Veil Falls?

… we slept on the trampoline and Dad told us “mean man” stories, in which he (and all the forest animals, of course) would inevitably rescue us from having to do endless chores for a grouchy old man?

… Nate took us for a ride in his plane, and let you fly solo for a while? I’ve never seen you that excited.

... We hiked Mt. Monadnock, went swimming, and ate giant ice cream cones? That was a good day.

… we all failed qualifying exams, but decided to go out and celebrate anyway?

… you let me ride your pretty green bike down Boylston Street? Everybody was yelling at us.

… we got into an argument about skiing technique, so you walked home from the D.I. in Logan?

… we got lost trying to find Bloomington Lake?

… you stayed up all night helping me study for qualifying exams, round two?

… we had a 45-minute conversation about our superpowers without cracking a smile?

… we went to Yellowstone every summer when we were kids? Those trips were the best.

... I was plotting to steal an adorable Navajo princess?

... you were there when I pushed a five-pound life form out of my uterus? I'm glad you were there.

… our dates decided they were more into each other than into us (or women in general) so we sang songs all the way home from Nevada while they made out in the backseat and thought they were being discreet?

… we ate rice and beans for dinner essentially every night for 18 months in the Hancock house?

… Trev ran up a tree?

… you got spaghetti sauce on my shirt, tried to clean it, burned a hole in it with a hair dryer (obviously) , and hid it under your bed?

… we were too tired to find a real campsite in La Sal so we slept under the stars and realized when we woke up that we were in somebody else’s site?

… we went on a Sunrise Surprise outing by the lake?

… we kissed each other on a dare when we were, like, 28?

… we tried to watch The Age of Innocence?

… we made banana boats and told stories in your room every night?

… we got lost trying to find the polygamy caves?

… we were too lazy to find a real campsite in the desert, so we slept on a big red rock without tents and woke up to an amazing sunrise?

… we got in a fight so I threw a hamburger at your head from my second-floor apartment? That was a good shot.

... we gave you fish sticks for your birthday?

… I was run over while trying to bum a ride off the trooper on the way to Tony Grove?

… we got lost trying to ski the backside of the Beav?

… I got 11 flat tires on one ride in Gooseberry Mesa and then your car got a flat on the way home?

… we were too lazy to find a real campsite in the middle of some canyon somewhere kind of by Moab, and woke up to a police officer of the law demanding that we leave immediately? Rude.

… there was a double complete rainbow ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE SKY?

Thanks for 33 years of memories.

Channeling her inner Whitney Houston

2010-11-10T17:00:00.000-05:00

Unlike her relatively antisocial parents, Squiggles loves everybody, and smiles and waves ecstatically at just about anybody within her visual radius; however, she reserves kisses for people she really, truly loves - me, Tim, Cami... and apparently herself. I put her in front of a full-length mirror the other day and thought she might explode with giddyness. She giggled and kissed the mirror for a good twenty minutes.

I was pleased because, as the great philosopher stated, "The greatest love of all is learning to love yourself."

Photos courtesy of Tim's antique cellular telephoning device.

Some important considerations for a Monday morning

2010-11-08T07:09:00.004-05:00

Tim continues to be disturbed by my (and my sisters') "insistence" on using our toes for "unnatural" purposes. The other day the baby rolled under our couch. I was sitting down, and since she was fairly close to my feet, I naturally used them to pull her out from under the couch. Tim then relayed a story about a dinner party we were at last week. My cardigan had apparently dropped from my lap to the floor. My four-year-old nephew Calvin was sitting close to it, so Tim asked him to hand it to him. Calvin said, "Sure!" He then carefully took off his shoe and corresponding sock, and picked up and handed Tim the cardigan with his toes. I'm so proud.
We went to a catholic wedding Saturday afternoon. I'm a little embarrassed that it's the first time I've been to a catholic mass. It is harder to sleep during mass because there is a lot of standing up, sitting down, kneeling down, waving of hands, and singing to and/or with the priest. Good time had by all, and the bride was stunning, of course. (Tim tells me that he's never been to such a mass, and he was raised catholic.)
I was impaled by a baby rattle this week, and have suffered moderate to severe bruising and humiliation. In the future, I'm going to watch where I sit.

Boo.

2010-11-02T21:11:00.005-04:00

We were going to be Little Bo Peep and her Little Lost Sheep, but the costume shops seem to be under the impression that Little Bo Peep was an exotic dancer or stripper. Then we were going to be Little Miss Muffet and the Spider Beside Her. Repeat Bo Peep experience. So we decided to be Samantha and Tabatha.

On an unrelated note, Tim and Squiggles have a new morning ritual.

Autumnal

2010-10-24T23:26:00.014-04:00

We went to the Berkshires. Tim was so delighted when we arrived at Old Orchard Hill.

We strolled through the apple trees,

Peaked at some leaves,

And drank fresh hot cider with donuts. Tim found his smile.

We stayed at a thousand-year old hotel. I'm going to marry this bathtub if Tim ever leaves me.

Tim enjoyed some very wet kisses from Squiggles.

Squiggles loves being naked. Yes, I let her suck on dirty socks.

Then we went to October Mountain.

Sadly, this is the best shot I could get of the three of us.

Tim and Squiggles helped me find pretty rocks for my collection.

Success!

Then we met friends at a bluegrass festival.

Crap. This picture is way out of order. Oh well... I'm pretty much a hippie so I don't care. Friday Tim made fennel-mustard pork for some friends from school. It was divine, as usual.

For Chadene

2010-10-17T21:17:00.001-04:00

Supernanny

2010-09-29T07:49:00.006-04:00

Tim's mom went back to teaching school earlier this month, so she hasn't been able to watch Squiggles while I'm at work. Thankfully, my sister Cami's family has generously opened their home to my daughter.

Everything is going pretty well with a couple exceptions. Lately, the instant I arrive to drop off or pick up the baby, I am bombarded unsolicited advice: instructions as to where to put the baby, whether to give her a binky, whether she should be put in a bouncy chair, whether she needs to take a nap, whether I need to read her a book, what toy she'd like to play with, whether she is hungry or wants more food, etc. I know she means well, and it's hard to complain about somebody who clearly adores my infant... but that's another thing.

I think she's starting to think the baby is her baby - not mine. She gets upset when I come to get her, and sometimes even cries when we leave. I don't know what to do. I mean, I have enough pressure as it is, Ivy!

Any advice?

My niece the supermodel...

2010-09-19T19:51:00.001-04:00

Happy birthday, Beautiful!

Your tax dollars at work.

2010-09-16T18:28:00.005-04:00

It was a slow day in the lab.

Tim's 15 minutes (seconds, really) of fame.

2010-08-16T21:25:00.000-04:00

http://www.thebostonchannel.com/video/24640087/index.html

Sigh...

2010-08-12T21:36:00.001-04:00

Today, Tim taught Squiggles how to make farting sounds with her mouth. For what it's worth, she's quite good at it.

The art of doing science

2010-08-07T22:14:00.010-04:00

Finally, the post everybody has been begging for, in which I explain my research! (Did I say "everybody"? Because that might be a stretch...) Anyway, I study a virus that kills babies. In order to find ways to stop or prevent viruses from being destructive, we usually have to start with the basics and find out exactly how it's working so that we can identify potential targets for drugs and vaccines.

I do this by sprinkling virus on top of cells and seeing what happens. The problem is that viruses and cells are far too small to see with the naked eye, so we have to get creative (and use microscopes, of course). We use special dyes and fluorescent molecules to label certain parts of the cell:

In the picture above, the nucleus (where DNA hangs out) is stained blue. The green staining is my virus. See the circular structures? We think those are virus hideouts, where the virus can go about replicating and making new baby viruses without cellular virus-killing molecules bugging them.

Now... get this. All three of the pictures below are of the same cell. The green circles are the virus hideouts we just talked about. The red blobs are virus-destroying molecules made by cells in people. Now look at the overlay image (far right) where the pictures are merged. My virus is hanging out with a potential virus killer! Now... why would it be doing that?

We believe the virus is recruiting the virus killer to either disable it, or to manipulate it into playing for Team Virus, and we're trying to figure out how and why. I'll keep you posted because I know you'll be wating with bated breath.

I have an art-director friend who calls me "Science" and often begins conversations with phrases like, "Hey Science, tell me about (insert obscure physics principle / medical condition / deep-sea creature about which I know absolutely nothing)..." He teasingly implies that I know everything about the physical world, and nothing about art, beauty, or abstract. That is partly true, but to us (me and my nerdy friends), the process of unraveling the complexities of molecules working in the human body can be as beautiful as Starry Night.

The very obscure secret of making an itsy-bitsy baby girl giggle

2010-08-01T23:16:00.002-04:00

We have tried many times to get Squiggles to laugh by tickling her, talking in funny voices, tossing her gently in the air, and making faces at her... but no laughs - talk about a tough crowd!

This afternoon we played "War" in Nana's backyard with Tim's nephews. Who knew all I had to do was pretend to explode a little boy with a hand grenade to make my baby girl giggle for the first time?

Should I be concerned?

Too sexy for my shirt

2010-07-30T17:44:00.002-04:00

Perspective, III

2010-07-11T23:17:00.006-04:00

This week has been a bit rough for me as I’ve entered a new phase of being a parent. The first phase (which we shall call “panic” for simplicity) started when we brought our baby daughter home from the NICU, and was characterized by a constant anxiousness over her well being. I scrutinized her feedings, monitored her breathing, took every SIDS-prevention precaution known to man, examined her for signs of overstimulation, and told her I loved her fifty to seventy times a day.

And now… I still do all those things.

But I’m much more relaxed about it.

As in, I feel myself letting go of some of the anxiety that something awful could happen at any moment. My girl eats voraciously and is deliciously chubby, lets me know she’s alive by sucking noisily at her binky all day and all night, smiles and coos almost constantly while she’s awake, and seems to think her life is at least bearable.

With this not-unwelcome relaxation, and perhaps coincident with my return to work, I have begun to vaguely recall my life before parenthood. I used to sleep – sometimes for nine or ten gluttonous hours; I used to go out – often several times a week; I used to exercise – get this – whenever I wanted to. I would bike along cliffs, hike through chest-deep rivers, skinnydip by moonlight, climb 200-foot-tall rocks, sleep in the desert, eat with two hands, go to concerts and shows, stay up late, eat extremely spicy food with garlic, and… sigh… you get the gist.

Now, I consider it an exciting day if I get a chance to go to Speedy’s and eat a ginormous hotdog (thanks, Erin). This week in particular I’ve felt overwhelmed by the daily rigamorales of reproductive labor (the never-shrinking piles of laundry, the never-prepared homemade meals, the never-ending diaper changing); I’ve felt discouraged by my altered social life (“Wow, it sounds like you had an awesome spur-of-the-moment weekend kite-surfing in Barbados… did I tell you that Amelia alternates among three different colors of Poop? It’s totally wild…”); I’ve felt tired and sleep-deprived like I never knew was possible; I’ve felt angry that my body is strange and asymmetrical and neither my maternity nor pre-pregnancy wardrobes fit.

This afternoon I packed up my baby and my angst and went to the grocery store with Tim. As I was comparing cost-per-ounce labels with Amelia strapped in a Baby Bjorn, several persons approached me to see the smiling baby. This is something I’ve become used to on the East Coast (“God love ya, she’s absolutely beautiful!”), where babies aren’t as common as they are back home (“Is this your fifth or sixth?”). I usually smile and chat with such people, but today I was packing some angst (as previously mentioned), so I nodded politely at passerbyes and baby coo-ers and kept shopping.

I was ready to go home and go to bed when I spotted yet another woman approaching me. But not just any woman; this one had clearly been walking this earth for nearly a century – maybe more. Her skin was leathery and brown with spots, her hair was thin and white, her nose was bejeweled with warts, and her eyes were glossy and turbid. She walked slowly and deliberately – one foot after another – and reached out for shelves and floor freezers for balance. When she arrived, she opened her mouth to speak. It took several moments for words to form, and her head shook with the effort of concentration. When she finally spoke, her voice shook as well. “H-h-h-ow old?” she asked.

I said, “Four months.”

She nodded repeatedly as she looked over the baby, taking in every ounce. One of her wobbly hands reached out to give Ameli'as foot the slightest wiggle. She finally looked back up at me and said, “You must be…” Her voice cracked and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. She regained composure and said, “You must be just… just dizzy… with delight.” I looked at the old lady, looked at my baby, and somehow time froze in the same way it did after my daughter was born. “Yes,” I said.

I did come home, but I didn’t go straight to bed. I held my daughter; rocked her for an hour after she fell asleep, and breathed in her baby perfume, which is a special combination of baby lotion, baby sweat, regurgitated breastmilk, and Desitin. Amelia sucked contentedly on her fingers, and threw in an occasional snort for good measure.

Who needs kite-surfing?

2010-07-05T21:01:00.007-04:00

A week ago today, I did what I've been dreading almost constantly for the past 11 months: I returned to work.

Before I had a baby, I thought it would be an easy transition. Ha ha ha. I adore my baby more than the moon (and that's saying a lot), and it has taken a huge amount of trust, anguish, and surrendering of control to get to the point where it has been possible to say goodbye to Miss Squiggles for even a few hours.

Thankfully, my boss has been really great and is letting me work from home a couple days a week for the next couple months. More importantly, my mother-in-law has volunteered to take care of the baby while I'm away. I deliberately use the term, "take care of," because she adores the child and looks after with the same amount of concern I do. She sings to her, reads her stories, takes her for walks, rocks her to sleep, and comforts her when she cries (which is pretty rare, thankfully). And happily, my baby adores both her grandmothers.* It is such a relief to know that I don't have to worry about my baby while I'm away - when I come home, I find her smiling with her Nana.

We took advantage of Nana's generosity today again for three hours and had some "Laura and Tim" time. We rode our bikes along the south shore past Cohassett's mansions. It was over 90 degrees outside, but we had a great time and it was so nice to get out.
(Tim loves posing for photos so much.)

After the ride, we stopped at a little lobster shack at Nantasket beach.

The place was a bit of a dive, but it was the best lobster roll I've ever had, with only lemon and dill as condiments.

Hopefully we'll be able to get out and ride more often this summer; my bicycle is my second-favorite baby.

*My own mother has baby-hypnotizing powers - I've never seen Squiggles smile and laugh as much as with my mom.

Happy birthday, Jilly-bean.

2010-06-13T21:53:00.003-04:00

Meet Jill (she's in red):

I like her a lot.

Today is her birthday. I'm not sure how old she is, but I'm pretty sure she's a couple years older than I am, so probably in her late twenties or so.

Jill, I wish I was there to go on a birthday Bridal Veil Falls ride (I know that would be your top pick for celebrational festivities)! I love you, and I'm glad that my romantic slideshow worked and that you and Michael got yourselves married to each other so you could be my sister-in-law.

Dirty nerdy gal turns thirty... at Kimball Farms.

2010-05-31T22:11:00.019-04:00

Dirty: Cami is not afraid to get her hands in the mud. She plays a mean (really, hurts people) game of soccer, and loves mountain biking, skiing, running, hiking, camping, and desert dwelling.

Nerdy: Cami's IQ is higher than mine, yours, or anybody any of us knows. She has an advanced degree in super-cali-fragi-nerdy theoretical mathematics, and puts Freedom Trail and Smithsonian tour guides to shame with her historical knowledge.

She chose to spend her memorial-day birthday at Kimball Farms, where you can get fresh ice cream and participate in myriad fun activies. First we hit the bumper boats. Cami and I pretended this was for the kids' sakes, but we had just as much fun as they did:

Calvin squealed with joy every time we ran into him or vice versa. Especially if we got wet.

Bryn was an excellent driver, and enjoyed going around and around and around and around in circles. She let out a loud, uninhibited war cry every time we charged another boat.

Next, we got our Jason Bay on at the batting cages.

Ivy hits a mean line drive.

Lazy Squiggles slept through most of the day,

But woke up to cheer me on when I was at bat. I can't make this picture rotate.

The children had as much fun playing with rocks (free) as they did riding the bumper boats (not-so-free).

Ivy smiled and squealed every time she saw the baby,

so we told her to watch her carefully while we hit the bar.

Just kidding.

After a lovely afternoon in the hot sun, we ate ice cream.

Peter shared with Ivy,

And Tim shared with... d'oh!!!

Tut tut.. and asymmetry

2010-05-30T20:35:00.007-04:00

Point: The computer machine said there was a 25% chance of rain, based on statistics.
Counterpoint: My husband said there was a 100% chance of rain, based on the cloud cover.

I talked him into a visit to the arboretum anyway, and ... it rained... sheets of water. We took shelter under a tree for a spell, but finally decided to embrace the rain. We were both soaked but had a nice time anyway even though our nature walk turned into a wet tee-shirt contest.

The arboretum was beautiful - it's a lovely getaway without actually leaving the city. Mom, I will take you here for your morning walk - there are hours of good, hilly walking paths.

Don't worry - the squishy little baby stayed dry under the stroller canopy.

Perspective

2010-05-24T03:53:00.005-04:00

During the past 12 weeks, I have found myself weeping occasionally as I've tried to adjust to post-pregnancy hormones, a shocking lack-of sleep, and a complete revamping of my life.

A couple days ago, I was having such a spell and Tim asked me what was the matter. I explained that I felt a little overwhelmed by the fact that I was responsible for keeping Baby Squiggles alive. Forget worrying about ways to create a loving and stimulating environment in which she will thrive and reach her full physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual potential - I must first and foremost keep the child alive.

I ended my tearful speech by exclaiming that I didn't know how I was going to care for the child when I couldn't even keep most of my plants alive. Tim nodded in concession. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and said, "But... look on the bright side - your fake plants look fantastic!"

I've decided to take comfort in this.