These videos have been making me happy lately:
Tina Fey's Bitch is the New Black.
Sarah Silverman's I'm F*cking Matt Damon.
Jimmy Kimmel's retort, I'm F*cking Ben Affleck.
And Rufus Wainwright's tributes to Leonard Cohen, Everybody Knows, Chelsea Hotel #2.
Enjoy!
1. My father, who is increasingly less mobile, was in the process of taking his many pills and asked my mother to get him a cup of water. She filled and then extended to him by its handle a silver, 1-cup, measuring cup, the one that I use in the mornings to measure the oatmeal. He paused, reined in his eyebrow, accepted the cup and drank.
2. We bought a new toothbrush for my mother at the corner store, a green basic by a hippy German brand. I opened the package and handed it to her. She took it with her in to the bathroom and returned a few minutes later. Where is the toothbrush? My father was trying to get them packed. I put it in the bathroom, my mother replied. I had a sinking moment of suspicion. Which toothbrush did you use, the new one or the electric one (my electric one)? I already knew the answer. Well, the electric one, that it the kind that I have at home, she replied.
I share these moments with some hesitation because I do not want to expose my mother in a way that would upset her, but the truth is that we laughed after both of these events and I include my mother in the we. While she was not being intentionally funny, she was able to see the humor in drinking from a measuring cup or stealing her daughter's toothbrush (apparently my electric toothbrush is superior to the one she has athome). And we are laughing too, at the absurd mundanity of it all. Why does it matter what vessel you drink from, as long as you get the water down with pills? My mother would insist that it does not matter at all. And perhaps, perhaps she is right.
I ended up getting Soren a different pair of shoes. The first pair were working out well enough, but these seemed to be just enough better. Peter's big feet never found themselves in quite the right shoes until he was well into adulthood, so we agreed that even though baby feet grow so fast, it is worth investing in good shoes. What constitutes better in a pair of shoes for a not-yet-walking-all-by-myself-er? Well, the soles are much more flexible (and the soles of the first pair were much more flexible than most on the market) and rubbery with traction. They are also shaped in such a way that a pair with a touch of room in the toes will stay on well, rather than coming off with the first climb. These should last a bit longer and can be worn with a choice of sock (thick woolens or thin cotton). The makers of these shoes are also committed to humane conditions for their workers and using non-toxic materials. I do wish that they would provide a few more specifics about the workings conditions, the location of their factory and the sources for the materials that go in to each shoe, but what they do say appeals. Most importantly, the little gnome has been wearing these all over the place quite happily, and while I still think barefoot is the best, these seem like a good alternative out on the street. Lately he wishes to walk wherever we are. This afternoon he pursued Peter, who was carrying a large truck, the many blocks between The Ark and our car. Unfortunately, this meant that I also pursued Peter, waddling along hunchbacked with my index fingers extended as gnome controls.
My parents are back this weekend, after a trip to Santa Barbara. For confirmed east-coasters, they have toured more of California than I. My mother, the little gnome, and I were sitting in our playroom/study, on the bed that we had set up for them. Above our heads hangs a mobile that my mother bought for the little gnome when she was staying with us over the summer. In proof that the brain works in truly mysterious ways, she identified this mobile immediately and remembered exactly when and where she had purchased it. I am consistently surprised by the memories that stick.
Siddarth gave us a Mr. Bento as a wedding gift. Soren has taken it over. Come see the cuteness.
Balls basket in bookstore.
Originally uploaded by jmss.
or, how to entertain your kid on a cloudy afternoon.
Little gnome you have been quite sad today, not your usual sunny self. This morning you woke up early and then napped early and for very little time. Everything in the house upset you. Finally we just left and you distracted yourself at the cafe up the street, dumping out their dominos, rearranging the bottled water and generally prancing around. When we got home, you went right to sleep. NayNay arrived and I snuck out while you were sleeping. Apparently you woke up happy and had some more adventures about town this afternoon, but just before I got home you dissolved into tears because Calliope refused to share her lobster with you. You were still crying about it when I walked in. While you were nursing I tried to explain that Calliope enjoyed many years without ever having to share her toys and that the transition is hard on her, especially since you only want HER toys, not the piles of your own covering the living room. And while I told you all of this you nursed yourself to sleep. Even though it was a bit early, I have put you to bed with only those few minutes of awakeness between us after I returned from work. This must be what it feels like to come back from work just in time for bedtime. I do not think I like it.
On Saturday the little gnome turned ten months old! The climbing continues, supplemented with with an obsession with dogs and a new interest in balls-fetch with Calliope or pass with me. Thanks to a tip from Leila, the reading has improved with the purchase of a few touch & feel books (Fuzzy Yellow Ducklings) and books with cutouts. I have been grading papers this evening and before the little gnome went to bed he kept trying to steal my pen. The comments are in black or purple, depending on which pen I had stolen back from him.
His life in pictures is here!
PS We got him hi first pair of shoes with soles (See Kai Run, at the recommendation of our neighbor).
1. The clock on my blogger seems to still be stuck on Greek time. I made sure to upload the Valentine's photo on Thursday, but see that it is listed as Friday the 15th. [fixed. -papagnome]
2. Soren has new shoes! His first pair with soles. Apparently he and Daddy NayNay chased dogs in them this morning at Dolores.
3. I just watched Ma Vie en Rose. Very good.
Calliope adores a particular red rubber ball and it is the gem of her ball collection. The little gnome loves this ball too. This morning, after an early waking, he engaged Calliope is their first game of fetch. He has been offering Calliope toys for a while, but this was the first time he actually released the ball for her to pounce on. Bliss.
A bit later I packed him into the beco to run a few errands. I did not notice that he was holding anything until, after a couple of blocks, we passed a dog out for a walk. Out popped the little gnome's right hand, gripped around the red ball. Fetch!
1. The (maternal) grandparents arrive tomorrow.
2. My recent taste for Boccalone Orange & Wild Fennel Salame adds yet another mark to the crazy California foodie column.
3. The little gnome is growing up to be quite the mission kid: two trips to Boogaloos in less than five hours (one with Daddy NayNay and one with all of us).
4. Courtney came for a visit yesterday and the little gnome was all smiles. Apparently he does remember the hours spent with her in a bustier shopping for a wedding dress.
5. Did I mention that the children's playground in Golden Gate Park is amazing? The best Uncle Dave and I have ever seen.
6. Did I mention that one starts to feel sort of awkward while waiting at Body Manipulations with a dog and a baby? To assuage this feeling I changed the little gnome's diaper in the window. Uncle Dave has new hoops.
Apparently a common term for women voting for other women (because they are women) is voting with your vagina. What the fuck? Apparently my vagina has been awfully active over the years. If I vote for a man am I voting with my cock? What is my father voting with if he votes for a woman? My brother is a socialist and they do not vote at all (can't participate in a system you are acting to overthrow, and all of that). Where does this genitalization of voting leave him? In the end I hope that some of us are voting with our heads.
Hello nostalgia! It turns out the book Feed Me I'm Yours remains in print. I remember the original cover, a baby face smeared with an orangey-brown substance, of the small paperback that my mother used to prepare such delicacies as Peanut Butter Balls (peanut butter and wheat germ, rolled into little balls, yum!). During a stop at a local bookstore this afternoon in search of books with touch-me texture (found: Fuzzy Yellow Duckling), where I discovered that the bookshelf on which all of the children's books rest is actually a house and the slanted shelves are the roof (failed to look below my waist on all previous visits), I happened upon the new, and much less endearingly-covered 30th anniversary edition of this Vicki Lansky classic and am now its proud owner.
From this man's etsy shop bio:
Bio
I am 87 years old and still kicking. Always enjoyed woodworking and especially wooden toys. After my retirement from the Merchant Marine over 25 years ago, began selling my traditional and unique hardwood toys. I try to sell a toy that is attractive and very sturdy. . .Normally I ship the day after payment is made.
Male, Born on November 18
Wow. And the little gnome's knitted longies arrived this afternoon. They are adorable and I will post pictures as soon as I can take them!
During a dinner at which all foods other than Teddy Puffs (organic cheerio-like cereal in the shape of teddy bear faces) were summarily rejected, the little gnome extended a wet fist clasped around one melting puff and indicated that he wanted me to open my mouth. When I complied, he thrust his fist inside and released the puff, laughing. What followed was a quid pro quo Puff Off in which each of us placed a puff in the mouth of the other and laughed, showing off the wet, fractured puff on our tongues. The exchange went on until I failed to place the next puff for him to offer to me on the table speedily enough. The little gnome reached into his own mouth, pulled out the remnants of the prior exchange, and bestowed this upon me.
I will admit, I accepted the offering.
Calliope, my first little one, has adjusted remarkably well to the intrusion of the little gnome into her world. In the very beginning she was actually quite enthralled with him and she remained that way until he learned to move himself around. Now he is the one enthralled and she rather horrified at this creature who follows her everywhere--along the furniture, into her toy box, behind the couch, and under the bed.
This last must be especially galling. Until recently the expanse between the bottom of the bed frame and the top of the spare mattress stored beneath was Calliope's private club, the dark, narrow island to which she brought her special toys, items she stole, or treats she wished to nibble alone. Now the little gnome pursues her even here, bumping his head repeatedly on the slats of the bed as he crawls onto the mattress and into this dank fortress. Gag or Gap or Gagp, he repeats as he makes his way towards her (it took me some time indeed to recognize this as some attempt at dog), fully expecting a warm and exuberant welcome. She does her best not to acknowledge the intruder at all.
Yesterday I tried and failed to photograph the little gnome's naked butt sticking up in the air as he worked his head around the corner of the back of the couch, peering into the small space between its slanted back and the wall. Calliope, no longer able to find peace beneath the bed, has taken to squeezing herself behind the couch in order to escape the endless, joyful pursuit of her unwanted admirer. If she could take out a restraining order, she most certainly would. For now, she will have to content herself with dismembering each of his rubber duckies.
