Hi!!!
Good looks, brains, and talent. Impressive, isn't it? (Ignore the part at the beginning where he is fussy because I refused to let him gnaw on the video camera.)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
(Don't) Eat, (Don't) Drink, and Be Merry
Tonight for dinner Gabe consumed:
1. Thirty-seven sweet potato "puffs" (junk food version of otherwise healthy sweet potato, created by Gerber);
2. Astonishingly large volume of Pirate's Booty (mmmm...delicious Pirate's Booty);
3. Zero bites chicken;
4. Zero bites cheese;
5. Three molecules pureed carrots;
6. One sliver of dried apple fished out from crevice of highchair with pudgy fist (possibly left over from breakfast this morning?); and
7. One eighth of a teaspoon of water from bear-shaped sippy cup (approximate; this is the amount he appeared to drink before flinging the sippy cup at me with a surprising amount of force).
That is some quality parenting right there.
The good news is that we went and weighed him today, and he is just over nineteen pounds! That's a gain of about three quarters of a pound in two weeks. Hooray! (Perhaps he is absorbing calories through osmosis or similar? It's either that or Pirate's Booty has more calories than I remember, and I should stop eating it myself.) Just look at that round little face and the tummy protruding from the shirt. Excellent all around.
(That's my brother in the picture with him, in case you were curious. Gabe and Uncle Ross are big fans of each other.)
The other good news is that Gabe has a vocabulary of four whole words now. He says "dog" and "cat" and "duck" ("duck" sounds remarkably like "dog," if I'm being honest), and most of all, "hi." He's very good at saying hi and very offended when people do not say hi back to him. If ignored he becomes more insistent and determined, saying, "Hi! HI! HI!" while waiving his tiny little hand back and forth as fast as he can, determined to get the attention of occasionally unfriendly strangers. I'm talking to you, mean lady in the produce aisle at Whole Foods who looked down her nose at us and refused to say hi back to a charming and talented ten-month-old-baby when he said hi to you. I hope you're happy with yourself. Way to crush a kid's blossoming social skills.
Luckily Gabe was undeterred by the foregoing Rude Produce Incident and went on to say "hi" to the avocados and bananas while we continued wheeling towards the seafood counter. Not that he would eat avocados or bananas, mind you. But he'll waive and say hi to them in the produce aisle. He's friendly like that.
1. Thirty-seven sweet potato "puffs" (junk food version of otherwise healthy sweet potato, created by Gerber);
2. Astonishingly large volume of Pirate's Booty (mmmm...delicious Pirate's Booty);
3. Zero bites chicken;
4. Zero bites cheese;
5. Three molecules pureed carrots;
6. One sliver of dried apple fished out from crevice of highchair with pudgy fist (possibly left over from breakfast this morning?); and
7. One eighth of a teaspoon of water from bear-shaped sippy cup (approximate; this is the amount he appeared to drink before flinging the sippy cup at me with a surprising amount of force).
That is some quality parenting right there.
The good news is that we went and weighed him today, and he is just over nineteen pounds! That's a gain of about three quarters of a pound in two weeks. Hooray! (Perhaps he is absorbing calories through osmosis or similar? It's either that or Pirate's Booty has more calories than I remember, and I should stop eating it myself.) Just look at that round little face and the tummy protruding from the shirt. Excellent all around.
(That's my brother in the picture with him, in case you were curious. Gabe and Uncle Ross are big fans of each other.)The other good news is that Gabe has a vocabulary of four whole words now. He says "dog" and "cat" and "duck" ("duck" sounds remarkably like "dog," if I'm being honest), and most of all, "hi." He's very good at saying hi and very offended when people do not say hi back to him. If ignored he becomes more insistent and determined, saying, "Hi! HI! HI!" while waiving his tiny little hand back and forth as fast as he can, determined to get the attention of occasionally unfriendly strangers. I'm talking to you, mean lady in the produce aisle at Whole Foods who looked down her nose at us and refused to say hi back to a charming and talented ten-month-old-baby when he said hi to you. I hope you're happy with yourself. Way to crush a kid's blossoming social skills.
Luckily Gabe was undeterred by the foregoing Rude Produce Incident and went on to say "hi" to the avocados and bananas while we continued wheeling towards the seafood counter. Not that he would eat avocados or bananas, mind you. But he'll waive and say hi to them in the produce aisle. He's friendly like that.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Ten Months Old!
Gabe is ten months old! Double digits! Let's have some applause please!
Yes, that will do nicely, thank you.
Yes, that will do nicely, thank you.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Best Laid Plans
I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.
Then this happened:
For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Then this happened:
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Lazy.
I know, I know, I haven't posted in a hundred years. (This would perhaps matter more if I told anyone about this blog and had any actual readers beyond my husband and parents.) Anyhow, the reason I have not posted is because we are getting ready to put our place on the market. The market for sale. As in, we are hoping some other people want to buy our condo and live here, meaning we would go buy some other house and live there instead.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. PutErin ’s bed into storage
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink inErin ’s bathroom
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. Put
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink in
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
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