Dr. Maureen

I have about fifty billion post ideas bouncing around in my head, but every time I sit down to write them the ideas VANISH. INTO THIN AIR. I know, for example, that I wanted to tell you about nursing. I wanted to say that sometimes, when she is nursing, Nora’s hand wanders gently over my arm, giving me soft little baby strokes that feel – oh! So nice. But then she takes a big ol’ fistful of arm flesh and holds on really tightly with her tiny little dagger fingernails. Sort of ruins the moment. Seriously, HOW do her fingernails stay so sharp? Sometimes it feels like I do nothing but trim those fingernails, but to no avail. They are always, ALWAYS insanely sharp.

I wanted to tell you that I went to my first ever parent-teacher conference fully expecting to be disappointed, and I was. Not because I got a bad report, but because Miss Sara inexplicably failed to describe Jack as the most intelligent, most delightful, and most all-around extraordinary child she’s ever had the pleasure of working with. I know, right? All she said was that he’s very bright, plays well with others, and doesn’t run with scissors. Also, she said he seems to enjoy doing his work, and I couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the idea of calling what those kids do “work.” They’re basically coloring and tracing. But it’s having an effect, because, with guidance, the kid can now write letters that are recognizable to the general public. People say that the first year of a child’s life is the most fraught with changes, and I guess that’s true, but, boy, Jack sure is a changed man compared to this time last year. Heck, he’s changed enormously since September!

And I wanted to tell you how Nora is an easy, happy, smiley baby, but when she’s bored she makes the worst screechy screamy sound that you have ever heard. She’s not upset when she makes it, just entertaining herself. When I hear it, I want to say, “Nora! What a delightful SOUND you’ve discovered!” a la Han Solo commenting on the smell Princess Leia discovered in the Death Star’s garbage masher. When Jack hears it, he covers his ears and says, “Mommy, I don’t want her to make that sound.” You and me both, kid, you and me both.

Oh, and hey! I decided to quit my job. Well, one of my jobs, the one that I claim to work at two days a week in my shamefully out-of-date “About” tab. I used to work there two days a week, but then I cut back to an as-needed consultancy, and they haven’t needed me since April. So when I got an email asking me if I wanted to keep doing it I thought, “Um… no!” and I quit. Fortunately, my other job, the one I actually do stuff for (the one I’m supposed to be doing stuff for RIGHT THIS SECOND, in fact), is still going strong.

So speaking of that job thing…

It seems that most of the posts I’ve been writing here have been about Jack. This is easy to understand; there are just more stories about Jack because, frankly, babies are a bit… dull. Not to LIVE with, mind you, but to write about. At least, they SOUND boring if I write about them, especially when I have this wealth of preschooler stories from which to choose. Nora cannot, for example, have the following conversation with me:

Read more at The Bump!

Edited to add: I actually wrote this about two weeks ago. I'm telling you because I don't want you to think I am well-rested today because today I am SICK and Nora was up for HOURS and wah. So I want sympathy, not misplaced congratulations. :)

A few weeks ago, Liz posted some pictures of her baby in what is just about the cutest hat I’ve ever seen. I left her a comment stating as much and then do you know what happened?

This happened!





Yes! She sent me one of my very own! Or of Nora’s very own, anyway. It seems Liz had made a small hat as a prototype, and was happy to find a small baby to send it to. I think the hat may be a squidge too small for Nora, but I don’t care because I love it so much.

People who knit astound me. I am astounded. They take two sticks and some string and wave them around and make CLOTHES. It’s like a miracle. Or magic, even, what with the waving around of sticks and all.

Liz! Are you a magician?

And now, to make up for the non-photogenic be-hatted baby up there, may I present you with our Christmas card outtakes? It's funniest if you flip through them fast so it looks like they're moving.

I know it's gauche to write about not writing, but tough. So I'm not writing because in four days, I have to teach a bunch of eighth-graders how to make circuits. Here's the thing: I don't know how to make circuits. So there's a bit of studying going on here. Because you don't want to look dumb in front of a bunch of eighth-graders. They'll eat you alive.

Last week, Emily posted about Asher’s “Thankful Tree,” and I had an afternoon to kill, so I stole her idea. Except that I did not use a pre-printed tree; instead, I drew my own and cut leaves out of construction paper. I did this because I am far more craftsy than Emily. (HAAAAAA. I wrote that to make myself laugh, because I have been fortunate enough to receive a handmade gift from Emily, and, tarust me on this, she wins the arts and crafts contest. Also, her handwriting is FREAKISHLY NEAT, whereas mine looks like a twelve-year-old boy’s.)

Here is where I’d post a picture of Jack standing proudly in front of his completed Thankful Tree, but I didn’t take one. So I can’t. And I just now took a picture of the Tree all on its own so you can see just how craftsy I am. I didn’t even hang it up straight, it’s over there on the wall all cock-eyed and mocking me. But I can’t post the picture because I can’t find the thingamabob that lets me transfer the photos to my computer. Secretly, I’m relieved, because it spares me the chore of transferring, resizing, and uploading the photo. How is it that the transferring, resizing, and uploading of photos is such an onerous task? It must be all the exhausting clicking.

I also blatantly stole Emily’s explanation of what “thankful” means, and told Jack that “We’re thankful for the things that make us happy that we are glad to have. Like, I’m thankful for you and Daddy and Nora.” I was trying to impress upon him the sort of high-class things we like to be thankful for in front of the whole world, but it didn’t quite work out that way.

I kept careful track of the order in which he listed the things he is thankful for, and here they are:

1. candy
2. cereal
3. Honey Bunnies (a specific kind of cereal)
4. shows
5. toys
6. lollipops (a specific kind of candy)
7. pictures
8. flowers
9. Nora (totally unprompted!)
10. the beach
11. snow


At this point, I started to try to get him to say he was thankful for me and Andrew and other family members, so I said, “What about people who are special to you? Are you thankful for anyone like that?” To which he replied, “Yes. Special people.” So. Number twelve.

12. special people
13. V (cousin on Andrew’s side)
14. Mommy
15. Daddy

At this point, he started casting about for ideas and sometimes listed things that he happened to see in the room. I am sure is IS actually thankful for cheese.

16. cheese
17. dolls
18. balloons
19. motorcycles
20. cars
21. swing sets
22. airplanes
23. bologna sandwiches
24. yellow trees
25. people’s houses

“Do you mean our house that we live in? Or just all people’s houses?” It was the latter. And at this point, I worried that his grandparents – whom he loves dearly – would have hurt feelings if they didn’t make the cut, so I suggested them, and the last five entries are:

26. Grampa
27. Gram
28. Grammy
29. Papa
30. Me

So there you have it. The most surprising entries are “the beach” and “V.” We didn’t even go to the beach this year, so I don’t know what made him think of it. As for his cousin V, it’s not that I am surprised he is thankful for her, it’s more that I am surprised his other beloved cousins were not mentioned.

Ah, kids. What goes on in their little heads?

You know what has struck me as I think about Christmas presents? Nora is going to be six months old exactly on Christmas, which is WAAAAAAY older than her current four-and-a-half months, but Jack is still going to be the same age. Crazy.

On a recent episode of Clifford, Jenna was hoping to go on a trip to Hawaii with Emily Elizabeth, something Jack mentioned as he was heading to the potty to check for pee. "Daddy and I went to Hawaii once," I told him. "Do you want to look at the pictures while you check for pee?"

I said this to avoid having to build him a marble run while he sat on the potty, because, Lord a'mighty, my life these days seems to consist solely of begging that child to sit down on the potty and then begging him to get off once he's through, and the marble run doesn't seem to be helping matters on fight number two. I think maybe he thinks that I'll only allow him to play with the marble run while pooping.

But anyway. Photos.

So we looked at the photo album I made of our honeymoon in Hawaii. "Who's that, Mommy?"

"That's Daddy!"

"And who's that?"

"That's Mommy!"

And so it went, until we got to two shots of us on top of Mt. Haleakala, one of Andrew and then one of me. Now, I feel I should preface this by telling you that it was REALLY COLD AND WINDY up there, and I had my hair tied back and a boxy sweater and sunglasses. The sweater! It was boxy!

"That's my Daddy," said Jack, pointing to the shot of Andrew. "And that's someone else's daddy," he said.

I'll let you figure out who he was pointing to that time.