The Kitchen Table

A Failure to Screen

Bama reads a lot of books. A lot. She picks up a half dozen every trip to the library, and wants to read many of them at that moment. A more competent parent might screen all those books before getting them home. Me, I'm happy I've got all three of us, haven't inadvertently dropped extra (not checked out) books in the bag, and haven't fallen down the treacherous stairs from the children's room.

My wilding, or irresponsible, approach to reading has brought us Zathura (lots of brotherly fighting), Cosmo and the Robot (name calling), Earth to Clunk (more name calling), among others. Sometimes, as with Cosmo and the Robot, I edit out the name and carry on because there's more in the book that I like. Zathura, I put aside for when she is older.

We've also brought home The Widow's Broom (loved the dark brilliance of it), Gossie (and all the gosling books), the beautiful friendship of Toot & Puddle, the humanist All the World, When Carmen Learned English, and the list goes on. Many are way above her comprehension level (Two of a Kind, Sojourner Truth's Step-Stomp Stride), but she's curious and asks good questions and uses the pictures to sort out some of what she doesn't understand. A friend said, Oh, you didn't read the books ahead of time? Not always, no. I wish I did, but I don't. Sometimes, we sit and read and there you have it. Me, editing out "stupid" on the fly.

Today, after a night interrupted by wet beds, teething, sheet changes, and sobs we had a play-date and whirling trip to the library. I almost never say yes to television, but today I offered it. Something new, and sweet. I flipped through netflix screens hoping she wouldn't spot an image like Dora and ask to watch it. Babar! Yes! 

Babar, King of Elephants. How bad could it be? We already knew about Babar's mother murder and that the king dies from eating a poisonous mushroom. Yeah. Except in this drawn out version, Babar's mother is shot while he's on her back.

(image: cinemotions)

As she falls dead, he's hurtled from her shoulders to go bouncing through a jungle clearing. He goes back to her, calling to her, finds her dead. Birds chirp louder, the monkey screams, and the hunter returns with his double-barrel shotgun. Babar, in a panic, runs, as he does in the book. But in the book, he runs for a page and finds himself in the ciyt with the kindly old lady. In this movie, he runs across a desert, through mountains, in the night, into a cave (to be chased out be a leopard), into another cave (to be frightened off by a cobra), swept away by a flash flood. Each element sent Bama into new panic -- he's never going to stop running! What's going on with the water? Why can't he run? What's happening? 

Later, I explain that some snakes are poisonous and will bite things to hurt them -- this after the kindly old woman is bit by a cobra. Bama thinks snakes are nice. I do not, in fact, want to dispel her of this idea. Ditto spiders. I'd like her to be interested in creatures that generally freak me out in part because I think my own oogies are lame, in part because she's a girl and I'd like her to be of hte 1% that doesn't get creeped out by bugs and snakes.

Then comes the rhino battle. Doesn't bother her, we move ahead. Cornelius' house burns down, the old lady is bit, and Alexander --- one of Babar's children -- nearly drowns. Mired by worries, Babar has a nightmare. 

The second the video showed a glowing door I told Bama to close her eyes. Too late. 

See the scary thing on the far left, the white thing with the nose on the back of something? She saw that before I got it together and turned off the television. She's been asking about the ghost on the alligator all night. Would it come to our house, would it live here, why did it go to Babar. She didn't see the sequence, when the elephants chase the demons away, but I tried to tell her Babar chased it away.

Then she read Sylvester and the Magic Pebble. A book I chose, but wasn't 100 percent about and had set aside. She found it and gave it to Mister, who hadn't read it but thought it must be okay if I'd brought it home from the library and it was sitting around.

(Image from Sam and Boo Book Reviews as well as a good write-up and discussion on this as a banned book.)

Anyone read Sylvester? He is an only child, a collector of rocks. He finds a magic pebble that grants wishes. An encounter with a lion, he wishes to be a rock so the lion doesn't eat him. Bam. He's a rock. His parents don't know where he is, the police can't find him, he's vanished. (Sylvester needs to be touching the pebble to work its magic.) In the end, after a long while, the pebble rolls near enough and everything works out.

But when they read it, I was out of the house. It was enough for our girl and sent her over the edge. Dead mother? Scary ghost things? Babar running endlessly and nowhere? A goddamn rock?

There are growth moments here, somewhere. But now I need a new safety trick for her, because I'd relied on magic rocks as her security (under the pillow, in her pocket) and after tonight, I'm not sure she'll be so keen. The big takeaway? It may be as easy as no TV, but could be watch everything first.

Doesn't that idea just make you retch? 

Weekend Hats: Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!

Hi Knitters, Well, I see that lots and lots of people love to knit hats and would love to have a copy of Weekend Hats. Thanks for the enthusiastic entries to win a copy of the book. I have randomly selected a winner and have notified her. Congratulations to Gabby [Mama_G] of NYC! Gabby, you need to email me your mailing address. Thank you to everyone for entering. I'll have another giveaway very soon.

via susanbanderson.blogspot.com

I never win anything. Seriously. If it's a raffle or a drawing or a toss of small sticks, forget it. Lay odds on the others in the pool.
Until now, people!
Susan Anderson is a knit designer. I have her Itty Bitty Hats book, follow her on twitter, because I like her style.

I've been coveting the hat she wears in her avatar (yes, that clever chapeau) and guess what, it's in the book Weekend Hats, a book of hat projects that theoretically can be done in a weekend. For me, that is more like a week or so, but I'm quibbling. The important thing is that something nifty will be coming my way in the mail.
If you visit her blog, check out her milk cow pattern and her especially cute owl softie she has up.
Thanks, Susan!

 

Colors, Shapes, Hopscotch

Bama's officially dropped her afternoon nap. Up until today, we kept our routine. I'd put Rabbit down for his nap, then she and I would read stories, have a snuggle, and I'd leave her in my room for her "rest." She would nap, but more often over the last couple of months,  she'd get up and read to herself for an hour or so. Sometimes, I fell asleep during our cuddle and she would read, eventually coming over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Mama," she'd whisper, "It's time to get up." 

But nap is gone and quiet time is here, because she still needs down-time to chill out and reflect or be still or whatever. Today we did things a little differently. She asked if she could sit at the table and play with the playdough we made yesterday. I was cleaning our disaster of a kitchen and sorting clothes. Chores. Unfun for me, background for her. She made me diamond cookies and clovers and moons and padded back and forth between her playdough world and my slog, sharing her creations. 

When it was time to go outside, finally!, she decided to practice jumping from the rocks to the bricks and deck. We added chalk islands. I chose two colors and shapes for a game that she modified, but one I think we can come back to again and again and make more complicated. She could jump from blue to blue or orange to orange, or shape to shape, allowing her to zig zag across the wood and onto the bricks. She called it Run-Jump-Hopscotch, hopscotch being her new obsession even though she doesn't understand it. I'm excited to see how this will progress and how Rabbit will be able to join in.

 

 

What We Ate: brisket, couscous, chard, mushrooms

Update: This overly bright shot is mine. Thanks! backyard and iPhone.

 

Bama will eat most anything you give her, or at least try it. There are few absolutes: sausages, hot dogs are on her no list. I'm okay with that.

I must have memory block about her eating habits at one -year, or a steadfast refusal to be more accommodating to Rabbit. We all eat the same thing, but this means that he doesn't always get greens as he should because they aren't workable for someone who has five and a half teeth, none of which are molars.

I paired this couscous dish from The Kitchn (minus the chili pepper flakes) with a brisket we made the night before. I say we because Mister pulled out Suzanne Goin's Sunday Supper at Lucques for the brisket recipe. I did the browning and vegetables, leaving him to dump chicken stock (because I don't have beef stock on hand, shameful!) and stout over the meat and toss the whole thing in the oven. What should have been easy suddenly was not because he had to defrost the stock. Oops! Where was I? Playing D&D, people. Mama has a life! ;)

The grown-ups thought the dinner was delicious. The juice from the brisket worked well with the chard and couscous. I'd planned on adding mushrooms, but ran out of time before getting the smalls outside to eat in the garden. The brisket came from good ol' Tamarack out of Vermont. It was only a pound or so, which is really too small for a brisket. The meat was tender and delicious, but it's a silly size considering all the time you spend on it. Five or six pounds makes more sense because you have leftovers. Sandwiches, another dinner. This lot left me with a puddle of couscous and a sliver of meat and some dessicated carrots. Yum, but sad.

The smalls, on the other hand, were overjoyed with eating outside again and having spent the last 30 minutes mucking about in the dirt so they weren't as keen on the whole sitting and actually eating thing. Rabbit did his usual snack and spit (he rolls the food out of his mouth with his tongue. He thinks it's charming), while Bama ate the brisket and carrots, smearing dark brown tracks across her face. They played with the napkins for a while, I ate while enjoying them. It was nice even if it didn't turn out quite as I'd hoped. They both hated the chard. Who can blame them? It's tough and unfun. She loves kale, and once he has molars, I'm sure the whole leafy texture issue will evaporate.

Let's get back to the other matter at hand: What was I feeding Bama at 14 months? She had the same number of teeth, give or take, at this point. Didn't she? 

 

Note: Rabbit's not starving nor is he missing vitamins. His diet is fine, thanks. They both eat sardines, mac & cheese, peas, and mango, among other things. He likes bananas, she thinks she likes bananas. They love seaweed. We're good.

Almost a Month Ago

I know, a few of you have seen these photos already, and you'll recognize some of Mister's pithy captions, but I couldn't help but (finally) give Rabbit his birthday celebration its due.  A few photos to show his beautiful smile, the introduction of chocolate, because cake and ice cream aren't enough, it must be chocolate (from the World According to Mister). Vanilla, I asked? No, chocolate. REally? I asked, being a vanilla lover and not so much the chocolate ice cream aficionado. NOpe, chocolate. The world likes more than just chocolate ice cream, you know.

Incomprehension.

 

Suiting up. Belting in. Happy, so happy, doesn't even know what's coming. 

A crown! I am king? What, what?

The cake. One of my two favorites. It is chocolate AND vegan. Go figure.

Sister and baker. She did all the mixing.

Whoa. Whoa, what is that? Oh, my mouth is alive!

Can't get it in fast enough!

Um, what is this? It's cold. I don't like it. Stop, take it away!!

Hello. Today, I am a man.

 

The crown will take some growing into. Check out his ears in this shot!

A month later, and teeth numbers 3 and 4, his vampire teeth, are coming in, followed by 5, 6 and maybe a couple of molars. If he's lucky, he'll have Mister's mighty teeth and all of them except the wisdom teeth which I don't have (never did). But, holy cow, our kids have teeth that are as lazy about coming in as they were about being born. He's getting up the circular staircase, which, if you've seen it, know it's a death-trap. He says ball, papa, mama, dog, baby, car, and a few other things. He does some approximate signing for all done, more, change (diaper), water, banana, and milk. He understands several more including bath, potty, and milk. We're not as structured with the signing as we were with Bama, though she's a big help because she likes to sign, too.

on my mind

There's been a lot going on and a lot of not much going on Chez Kitchen the last few weeks. I'm spending less time on the social network world (less? how is it possible to do less?) because it's a time suck. But that time was sucked up by Words with Friends -- I play with two people, my mother, and Bird's mama. Really. Nine games on average going simultaneously. Houston, we have a problem.

Mister started his new job at etsy and WOW are we so happy he's there. He's happy, challenged, interested, surrounded by smart and creative people. His hours are longer, and we are suddenly in a new kind of papa-under-water time. When we had Wesabe, it was his company in his hands so lots of stress and he only had a week off when Bama arrived. With Daylife, more stress, but shorter days with longer nights, and a week off when Rabbit arrived. Now, he's out the door during breakfast and home during books, sometimes bath, always hungry and looking for five minutes of solitude which he can't have just yet.

We're adjusting. I can't say I handle it all as gracefully as I'd like, but days are long for everyone.

Our friend Megnut, who's a blogger and a writer and a mama and a lot of other things was here last weekend with her daughter for dinner (son and papa were hitting the slopes). She said that she was wondering what to do with her afternoon because she didn't want to be on the internet and she didn't want to do chores. That's me everyday the last couple of weeks. I want to knit and read and drink a hot cup of tea from beginning to end in a room that isn't covered with blocks and not feel guilty about dishes in the sink. 

I am somewhere in the middle.

I'm a clutterer. There, I said it. I can't have surfaces without photos and tchotchke on them, though I aspire to that aesthetic. I can't abide dirty. Clutter and dirty are different things, so while I can (sort of) handle six or seven winter scarves dumped on the stroller because I don't know where to put them, I can't handle the pile up of dishes in the kitchen. I admire, sort of, the mamas who do, who let the dishes wait so they can do projects with their children, make mounds of fresh pesto from their homegrown, hand-selected basil sewn with their unschooled children in the spring.

Or, I'm lying. It's a kitchen, clean that shit up.

Anyway, we are in the midst of terrible nap schedules with Rabbit sleeping two and a half hours in the morning AND afternoon (at least) if we let him. Poor guy doesn't always get such a good morning nap because Bama's drop-off and pick-up schedule conflicts with him napping in bed. I could take the 1950's route and just "run an errand" because "what could possibly go wrong?" I stay up too late so I often nod off with Bama when she lies down for her rest. (She refuses to call her afternoon nap a nap. It's a rest. Don't try to make it something nappish, she'll blow.)

We are settling in to Manhattan for the unknown long haul which means I am, finally, missing home in a new and deeper way. It's not lonely missing like it was the first fall we were here and knew no one and Bama played alone at every playground we went to, but it's the missing something you're not getting back to anytime soon and will not be the same when you do. The Captain is six weeks younger than Rabbit and we won't get to have them grow up together which had seemed a pretty great idea when Aunty Cake and I were pregnant at the same time. I miss Fairyland and the fog and pizza. (New York, your pizza is terrible. Accept this and move on.) I miss the beach and the ocean and the bridges. Which is bizarre since I'm on an island surround by water and touching the ocean and linked to the mainland by bridges. I miss having a car at my fingertips, which I resented at the time, but it can be a real pain in the ass to schlep one or especially two kids around New York.

If I sound glum, I'm not. We are in flux. Because on the other hand, I'm in a book club, no, two! Mister takes Go lessons once a week with an honest-to-golly Go master. I've got friends I knit with and a knitting group I enjoy and I play D&D once a week and I've been invited to a cook book club. And, yet, I cast about during the day for a solution, a plan, a system that allows my children to be nurtured, get some fresh air (poor Rabbit), learn, grow, all those things that are part of their job.

I avoid many of the mommy-blogs for exactly this. I am not one of those people who are in awe of the woman who can homeschool, sew, knit, blog, make money, dress stylishly, and have it all. I resent the hell out of those, mmmm jealous?, who churn out post after post of sunshine. Who cleans your kitchen? I’ve swept chunks of banana and crusty waffle out from under the table for the third time today, what? I should leave it there? This last week I checked in with Dooce, whose blog I also do not follow regularly, but enough to know she’s gone paleo, was in SF wearing a sparkly dress, and is also having challenges with her daily life. A two-year-old steeped in two-ness predlicitions, stuff to shuttle to and fro, nothing that on it's own is the end of the world, but tossed together like dominos in a sack, suck. I don’t revel in the agony of others, but I appreciate, holy hell do I, that someone says, wow, I’m knee deep in shitty, y’all.

PS: Meg's also kicked off a personal quest to not acquire anything new for herself, but to make do with what she's got. It's tough, because we are in a consumer-driven society, and we live in NYC, which is full of preening, hot-boot wearing women with Brazilian blow-outs (I hadn't heard the term until we moved here and had to check it wasn't a) something about sex or b) a wax job). We're on our own makeit.do simply because we've been budgeting for a while. Lots of consignment, lots of reselling. It changes how you look at objects, and in SoHo, we're surrounded by objects, but you are forced to really think about what you need vs. what you want. Wanting something is not bad, per se, but if all you are is want want want, watch out.

Next on my agenda: the new york scene.

B's, Baking, Blueberries

Mister's college (high school?) friend, Nora, came to visit last year, leaving behind a Mr. Potato Head who's since been joined by the Missus (thanks, Uncle Nellie!). She blogs over at Nonlinear Girl but is, of late, on an instagr.am kick. 

Nora started a #365 #alphabet project at the beginning of the year. A photo a day following hte alphabet. Which means 14 photos of A, B, C items until the year is over. I jumped on the train immediately. Some photos have been better received than others, which isn't surprising.

Some are better planned, like the blue whale at the American Museum of Natural History. 

And while I've been talking about baking scones for a week or so, because I'm baking more regularly overall, this was more of a happy accident. 

B/4: baking (she helped mix the flours and pat the dough out into shape, then cut the scones from the dough)

 

B/5: blueberry scones

[The recipe is from Breakfast, Lunch, Tea: The Many Little Meals of the Rose Bakery. The bakery is in Paris. I like the sipmlicity of many of the recipes, including the scones. I modified this one, which asks for 3 1/2 cups of all purpose flour plus a handful of another flour -- whole wheat or cornmeal. I used 1/2 cup of buckwheat, 1/2 cup of barley flours, 2 1/2 cup AP, and handfuls (really, about 1/2 cup) of oat flour. We don't have any fresh blueberries on hand, so I used frozen. We bathed them in flour to help with sticking. The scones are fabulous.]

Blink

This time last year, my mom and stepfather were in town to help with Juniper while Mister and I set off for NYU to have number two. A baby about which I knew little except that it liked to kick a lot, wiggle like mad, stretch obscenely given the small space. 

I had in my head it might be a girl because we had a girl and two would be cute, right?

Out popped Rabbit. Light-haired like his sister, and like his sister, I had to adjust to something I wasn't sure of. 

I thought he might bring frankincense. 

Family portrait, the C-section way. 

Sweet. He had a good cry (I verified with Mister), big hands, a funny nose. I worried his belly button would be weird (it isn't) because drying umbilical cords are like shriveled alien connectors.

Already perfect. Health check with Papa in the next room. I could see them through the glass.

So big. 8 lbs., 13 oz.

We inked him twice. 

It's hard work, being a baby.

Bama holding Rabbit, a very important role for her: Chief Rabbit-holder.

This will be easy!
A visit with Grandmother.
Sister protector.

Clean. He is hilarious in the bath. He tries to climb in. He leaps around. He splashes. He is amphibian, I'm sure.

Cool kid on the swing.
Same kid eating dirt.
Look at the size of those hands. Seriously. Where did they come from? Mister and I have the same size hand (my palm is larger, his fingers are longer; perhaps Rabbit inherited the biggest from each of us.)

Cuddles at music in the park.

Music Together last summer. The music box is one of his favorite places to explore. He even cracks the rhythm sticks with rhythm. They also taste good.
One of his favorite places to be is on Papa's shoulders. Usually, he gives Mister a lick of appreciation.

Oh yes, pears are good. Two teeth is all you need!

Drumming!

Rocking horse fantasy at the library. He's quite good. 

Hi!

We were working on stairs. And then the ball just seemed more fun.

Cheeky bugger.

Rabbit's an incredible light in my life. He has a fast smile for people, a lovely sweet snuggle for us. He pats me on the back the way I do him when he needs comforting. Somehow, he knows when Mama needs a little love of her own. He is insatiably curious in a very different way from Bama. For one thing, this child needs to lick everything in his path. Ladders at the park, tables, sand, whatever. It's horrifying and funny. Mostly horrifying. I keep saying it's all about the anti-bodies.

Where Bama would study people, he will lick them. He is open in a way that is foreign to Mister but I recognize. I think he's a bit like my dad, the guy who will talk to anyone, anywhere. Bama does it now, and I think he'll be even chattier. Oh my.

I love watching him explore the boxes and cubbies of toys. He's deliberate. He'll take out a block, lick it, carry it around, take out some more, put the first one back. Maybe he's like a kid you know, but this kind of search, seek, wonder is new to me. 

He's not saying much beyond Mama and sometimes Papa, but he can sign for milks, water, more, and all done. He understands change (for diaper) and potty, stars, moon, cow, and a bunch of other animals. He, like Bama, loves books. He helps choose what we read (we offer two, he deliberates, then selects), and picks up books when he's playing, too. New fun, blowing kisses, touching noses, and waving.

He is a sweet and funny monkey, Rabbit is. I cannot claim any ownership to his generosity of spirit, his curiousity, his love, but I hope to nurture all the bits of him that will help him continue to be the lovely person he is.

Pumpkin 101

This year was the 32nd annual pumpkin carving hosted by my stepmother. For years, she and my father had people over to show off their Halloween costumes and carve up pumpkins into some pretty amazing jack-o-lanterns. My dad did a UPC bar code once, my grandfather used a salad bowl of veggies to embellish his. Grandpa Hans' were almost always the most amazing. He had an incredible gift for creating with his hands.

Because we're in New York, we last year and now this year's party. To keep us in the loop, Nana sent us a care package of Halloween awesomeness that included carving tools, a pumpkin candle, and some embarrassingly funny Halloween visors that Bama resolutely wants to keep forever. I've been doling out glow sticks, but I put the chocolate foil ghosts and ghouls into our fall window. (She didn't know they were candy but the neighbor's daughter did.)

We needed to get crack-a-lacking on our pumpkin, so after Cici and I met for coffee, she came back to visit and chronicle our pumpkin carving extravaganza. 

Bama's class had cut open pumpkins, lemons, avocados, and some other foods to see what colors and seeds were inside. Once is not enough. We pulled the top off our first, and immediate oohs and aahs!

What kind of eyes do we want? I asked. I drew samples on the paper and she chose.

The visors! 

Seeds, pumpkins, silly jack-o-lantern.

We also cut open a pie pumpkin. The inside isn't really scoopable. After a few minutes tug of war with the top, we got inside and looked ...

Hmmm. Mama, what could you be doing?  

Cici and Bama took some photos of me lounging ...

 ... and coming in for a smooch.

Ha! I see you!

Lining Them Up, Knocking Them Down

 

Today, we met up with friends at the park. They live in Westchester and have toddlers and a newborn, so their lives are wonderfully nutty, too.

I got us dressed, well, three of us anyway, and a snack pack for Rabbit. Sliced tomatoes, pulled together the bag of clothes for our friend's new girl, out the door, kabaam.

After a lovely morning during which Rabbit fell asleep in my arms while at the park, the first time this has ever happened, all because I could and was sitting with him, we went home. Rabbit woke up, Bama went to sleep, I took the boy for a walk. Mister nodded off for a much-needed snooze, as well.

Then home.

And dinner.

People, I killed it. Granted, it's 1:39am and I'm officially crazy for being up this late, but here's what I accomplished between 4pm and 1:35am.

• Dinner: sauteed brussel sprouts, sauteed eggplant, steaks (medium to medium rare), salad with mustard vinaigrette (thank you, Canal House, for making me like mustard vinaigrette).
• Put Rabbit to bed.
• Finished a chapter of my book while puttering.
• Braised the bone-in pork butt. YEP. It's beautiful and it's Sunday supper. Sweet.
• Made a treasure bag for our friend's daughter's birthday.
• Joked with my husband.
• Read a bit of the newspaper.
• Ate a bowl of cereal. 

Good night. Photos later.