Artificially Sweetened

From my local parenting magazine. Heh.

And because I’ve been told that I have been delinquent in the photo department.

Many thanks to Val for a) saving my life with that extra bottle of novolog and b) taking us to her town pool! And for all you curious DOCers out there, her castle is truly reeediculously awesome.

Are there any toddler books in the genre of “Hands are not for Hitting” except focusing on FOOD IS NOT FOR THROWING! Especially not when the house is being invaded by ants?!?

I have searched on amazon and come up dry.

(No it doesn’t mean he’s done eating. It doesn’t even always mean he doesn’t like the food in question. Yes, we try taking him out of the chair. He just loves to THROW.)

Recommendations for “how-to-keep-your-toddler-from-driving-you-nuts” books would also be greatly appreciated.

This post is for Kerri, who is off gettin’ married. A big congratulations to Kerri, Chris & the indomitable Siah Sausage. For their newlywed edification, I present the following scene from married life:

The Scene: Pili is reading aloud to me from Yet Another Stupid Parenting (YASP) Magazine Article about the keys to a happy marriage, P’ito is standing on the bench in the breakfast nook next to her.

YASP: We sneak away for dinner or for some “us time” in the bedroom

Me: “Us time in the bedroom?” Why don’t they just say UH-UH-UH-UH! (punctuated with appropriate Elvis-like pelvic motions)

P’ito: UH-UH-UH-UH! (pelvic thrusts)

Pili: I hope he doesn’t do that at daycare.

Me: (insert maniacal giggles)

Pili, sighing: You’re going to blog about this, aren’t you?

P’ito has now lived with us longer than he lived in Guatemala.

I feel so completely his mama. I know the warm soft spot between his cheek and his neck, his delighted giggle when I spin him around, the sweet baby shampoo scent of his hair. I know the difference between a squawk of momentary discomfort and a howl of distress. And he knows the sound of our voices, the garlic-onion-mustard seed-tomato smell of our home, the rhythm of Pili’s steps coming up the stairs.

But then I look at our pictures of him in Guatemala, the flowers and colors and unique and wonderful sensations of that place. The scent of corn tortillas warming for a late afternoon lunch. The bouncing of tuk-tuks on cobblestones. The dust rising off the road as a brightly colored bus speeds by. And I wish he could know those sensations in his blood the way the smell of tar in the NYC subway will always smell like home to me.

He may not be able to articulate his memories, but I know that they are there. When we first brought him home, we quickly realized that he knew that los pollitos meant time to fall asleep. That he was gobble gobble gobble, “mi gordito” as his niñera proudly told us.

So I think about today with very mixed emotions, knowing that each day that brings him closer to us, brings him further from those first connections and associations that are part of the wonderful, exuberant, inquisitive boy I love so very much today (and everyday).

… who’s ever done this…

thought: hmmm, my site itches

damn, just changed it this morning. Shouldn’t be itching already. Stoooopid Disease.

Wait. Put in thigh site this morning. Itches on stomach.

[bangs head on wall] Put in new site. Connected, primed. Never took out old one. ARGH.

(Enter right, neosporin)

Oh, and a random cute kid picture. First Professional Haircut.

Kitty Cat from Art Sweet on Vimeo.

Baths are for Wimps from Art Sweet on Vimeo.

Because I use P’ito’s Real Name in these clips, and because there is some nekkid baby tush in them, these videos are password-protected. It’s the same password as I used before; if you’ve lost it or don’t have it, leave me a comment with your email and I’ll send it to you if you don’t seem like a creepy child pornographer.

If I don’t send it right away, it’s probably not because I think you’re creepy, I’m just busy.

On that note, back to grant applications I should have done a month ago.

I looked directly into these eyes for the first time.

And touched these hands for the first time.

Pili brought cakemix, eggs, and oil to Guatemala so that she could bake me a cake. But this was - and is - still the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

Exactly one year later.

I decided that was a better title than: “And now I forgive you for hitting me square in the face with ravioli (from three feet away.)”

Scene: I am putting a sleepy P’ito down in his crib.  I rub his back, give him a kiss (and then steal another one, because his hair is Just So Soft) and he curls up on his belly with Blankie.  At the door, I blow him one more kiss.   He rolls over, brings his hand up to his lips, and goes “Mmmwah!” right back at me.

p.s. My computer is back! Hooray! Only $100 and a new keyboard later…

Part I:

I sneezed at work this morning. With a mouthful of coffee. Which came out my nose (ow). All over my (personal) laptop.

First the keyboard stopped working, then the whole thing started making an ominous beeping noise.

It’s at the computer doctor now. I told him about the coffee, but not about the nose part.

Part II:

Memo to self: Your almost 16-month old son does not have the manual dexterity to feed himself spaghetti in red sauce. He will get very frustrated, resulting in spaghetti and sauce all over you and all over the kitchen. It’s three hours later and I still haven’t mustered the energy to clean up the kitchen, which looks like the set of a slasher movie.

That’s not just a winter-sucks-chin-up-girl-positive-self-talk thing to say, although such a pep-talk is never unwarranted.

But quite literally. I have won some very cool prizes on the internets lately over the last couple of months. Mostly thanks to the wonder that is Prizey. And my guilty conscience forces me to interrupt my unplanned blogatus to say thanks. I won… Putamayo Kids Music, a tres cool funky ring (& barrette, which has been in my hair constantly since I got it), a beautiful book, which I am looking forward to reading with P’ito. I know he’ll love the cover: in his vocabulary all animals with fur are currently “CA! CA! KIKA! (kittycat).” Finally, I won a toy garage.

P’ito likes playing with the cars, and he keeps trying to use the keys to open other locked items: file cabinets, doors, etc. He hasn’t used them to open the garage yet though!

Prizey has become a little bit of an obsession for me since my part-time single mamahood began, in part because toddlerhood is kicking my ass, and once P’ito goes to bed, I have very little emotional energy left to give to anything.

Don’t get me wrong - P’ito is absolutely, ferociously wonderful. In the past couple of months, he has developed a fantastic sly mischevious sense of humor: hiding behind corners and then popping out at me with a huge grin, rolling over and playing bare-tushed sleepy on the changing table, turning all possible objects into hats or telephones - always with that little aren’t I cute? smile.

But when he’s awake I am constantly either playing with him or on alert: why is it so quiet? what does he want? He’s not super-verbal yet, so we stand in front of the fridge with him pointing and going “meh! meh! meh!” and I try to figure out - does he want the picture of Pili? The cat-butt magnet? The list of phone numbers? Of course, he wants the small choking-hazard magnet! He’s really into testing limits right now: looking at me with his arm raised and the nice-ecologically-sound-extremely-HARD-wooden-projectile-toy in his hand & smiling: “Watcha gonna do, Mama?” Throwing food is big right now. Taking a big slurp on his sippy cup, looking at me with that oh-so-innocent smile - and spitting milk down his shirt (insert maniac toddler giggles here). And OH, the tantrums, the YOU MADE ME PUT MY SHIRT ON! YOU MADE ME TAKE MY SHIRT OFF! boneless on the floor tantrums.

End result: hundreds of posts bookmarked on my bloglines to go back and comment on, and some excellent free stuff.