Chicken Little

Last week, Claire said her fourth word and it left me puzzling over it for several days. So what was it? If the picture didn't give it away already, "chicken". It wasn't so much the word that left me puzzled, but more the timing of the word. First word, "da-da"—I hear that is pretty standard (some throw back from evolution where children say their father's name first to remind them they are their blood and not prey). Second word, "baby"—again, typical, as they are seen frequently, have a catchy pronunciation and always commented on. Third word, "doggy"—definitely a NYC mainstay and Claire's biggest street competition for oohs and aahs. Fourth word, "chicken". What? I know, it was said while Dave was reading a book on farm animals, but, what?

On the tail of Claire's fourth word, came her much anticipated fifth word, "ma-ma". Granted "ma-ma" should have been her first word with the amount of time I spend coaching her in the fine nuances of the word. Regardless, it was music to my ears, even though it was said at 4:30am when Dave brought crying Claire to me in bed. But still, I reflect, "da-da", "baby", "doggy", "chicken" and then "ma-ma"? What does a girl have to do to be first, second, or even third in her girl's vocab? Do chickens stand out more than mothers? Do feathers and waddles make me less interesting than feeders (i.e. the nursing station on my chest) and comforting arms? I am perplexed, but still ever so grateful that my wee one finally knows my name.

Vacation, or Bust

Music To My Ears

A while back, Laurel wrote a post on my dear brother, her husband Ian, and his singing antics around the house (and because evidently trying to link another post to mine is beyond my Gen X mind, you'll just have to image how funny said post was). I loved the blog and reminisced about many such songs I heard while growing up around Ian. We often noted that he could not move without making some sort of sound effect. Since the blog, I have been paying more attention to my personal house soloist, Dave. Dave used to only make up songs for me but now prefers his new audience of Claire. Claire is a little less discerning at this point and doesn't interrupt him (except by oohs and aahs which actually encourage him) or have the ability to quickly leave the room.

This morning I overheard this little ditty from my bed, where I was still trying to get some shut eye, regardless of the fact that Claire had been laid on top of me moments earlier by dad. Claire was in the office with Dave and the song begins,

You crawl here, you crawl there, you crawww-all everywhere (good start, kind of catchy right?)

You look here, you look there, you loo-ook everywhere (I'm liking this, I can picture Claire bouncing to the tune now)

You eat shoes, you eat shoes, nasty fungusy shoes (What, what is she eating? I am almost out of my prolonged reverie at this point.)

With broken toenails, broken toenails, broken TOOOEEENAAAAIIIILS!

I hate to leave you suspended in the middle of Dave's aria, but the song abruptly ended for Claire and me here. I was suddenly wide awake with Claire in my arms, prying said shoe from her mouth and taking her to the kitchen for a real meal.

I always said I like to wake up to music, and you know the universe always gives you what you want, in one way or another.

BTW, the place is rented and it paid for our complete two week vacation to Mexico and California. Not bad, Craig's List.

Lipstick on a Pig

I was recently talking to a friend who rents her place out on Craig's List while she is away on vacation and gets oodles of money for it. It is not like I have never heard of this before, but oodles of money spoke to me this time like never before (maybe it was booking two trips to the West Coast two months in a row that did it to me). Anyway, I talked to Dave about it and, of course, he was all in. One of Dave's favorite things is making oodles of money in somewhat risky ways—talk to him about his summer as a ticket scalper for more details. Last night we finally did it, posted our place online. It was more difficult than you might think, first we had to scour the place and second we had to take photos. Taking photos is normally as easy as point and shoot, but when you live in a cracker box it takes some ingenuity. One shot was taken from the fire escape, another from the building hallway and another from standing on a chair. Last, we had to put together a somewhat cohesive and enticing blurb about the place, while still sounding no-nonsense (you wouldn't want to attract any craziness to your apartment). I stopped Dave once for sounding too ghetto, while he had to correct me on sounding too stiff.

Finally, the ad was up. Seeing your bed on a public site seems odd and seeing a price tag next to it that says $250 a night seems even more odd. To pile a little more odd on top of that, we've already got a couple of responses.

Here's our post:

$250 / 1br - Available Nov 11-26 and Dec 18-Jan 1 MUST SEE APT (Upper East Side)

Immaculate, quaint, comfortable Upper East Side apartment very close to Museum Mile, Central Park and Gracie Mansion in one of the safest neighborhoods in Manhattan. Apartment Features and Amenities: Very Comfortable Full Living Room with a Full Size Couch and Love Seat; New 42" LCD TV; Cable; High Speed Internet & Apple Computer in Separate Office; Fully Furnished Kitchen; Nursery Nook for Infant/Toddler; Shower/Bathtub Combo (Towels & Linens Provided); Large Bedroom with Queen Size Bed with High Quality Mattress and Windows Facing a Classic NY Tree-lined Street; Queen Size Air Mattress on Request

***More Photos Available Upon Request***

REQUIREMENTS: NO SMOKING; Pre-payment required; Refundable $300 security deposit as long as apartment maintained & reservation kept; Must talk via phone to set up details; Max occupancy four adults and one child





So, my friends, what do you think? Would you want to stay here? Should we jazz up our blurb? Should we buy plastic sheets? What say you to $250 a night?

I Want You Back Cruciverbalism

I cheated. I betrayed. I took off with Sudoku, but I have have now returned to my first lazy Sunday afternoon love, the NY Times Crossword Puzzle. Sudoku was tantalizing at first, but it turned out to be all smoke and mirrors. After a while I felt taxed by it, instead of intrigued. I'd complete a round and still feel wanting, my eyes lingering elsewhere and my mind not knowing exactly what was missing. Finally, I figured it out, I wanted my first love back—those meaty, mind boggling, pull-your-hair out works of puzzledom. I wanted the thrill that comes from figuring out 32 down and 42 across. I wanted to feel that ever-present scholarly, yet smug feeling that goes hand in hand with puzzle completion.

Sunday was my first attempt to re-engage with my puzzle passion. It was trickier than I had thought. I no longer knew the language, the subtle nuances in meaning or the complicated word play. I started, I stopped, I stumbled, I hestitated, I got hung up on clues like "Party People" and "Yuletide quaff". I'd like to say it all came back quickly, but getting back together turned out to be a time-consuming process with lots of late night tête-à-têtes. How time consuming? Well, let's just say this, that the Sunday Times puzzle wasn't quite completed on Sunday, or Monday, or Tuesday, but I am proud to say that it didn't make it past mid-week. Tonight it lays perfectly complete, by my side, albeit with several different colors of ink, letters that you can barely make out because of the rewriting and the evidence of several spills (Thanks Claire, getting back together is even more difficult when you're trying to do it with a kid in tow).

If you are ready for a new love, or to dust off that old love, let me give you a leg up, 115 across is "politico", 60 across is "nog" and 80 down, ohh that 80 down, is "Olsofjord". Have fun puzzle geeks.

I'm Shameless

I know, I know, I am becoming one of those people who just posts pics of their cute kids, rather than actually blogs, but I couldn't resist. I swear Claire has become even more darling in the past few weeks—a feat I didn't believe was possible, but here is insurmountable proof.
Claire never had a balloon before this weekend and then she had three. She loved them and I don't know why I never exposed her to them before. Oh yeah, they are completely economical and accessible, that's why it never occured to me.
"Eyore" with balloon in tow, just a little cheerier.
Cody's not the only one who prefers to ride in bags.
Less you think we are only exposing Claire to the Yankees, we also took her to a Mets game. I'll let her choose for herself.
Those eyes, need I say more.
See, I'm not completely Claire obsessed. I also included a picture of the absolutely adorable Michael Donvito.
Claire met cousin Michael at the Children's Museum on Friday. They were quite a pair. Laura and I confused a couple of friends by strolling around with each others babies.

Becoming Jane

Noelle just took this little exam to see what Jane Austen character she was most like. So I had to do it too, and guess what... I am Elinor Dashwood and so is Noelle. Great minds think alike and although Elinor is a bit stuffy, she is ever so likable and wise. I am flattered. Take it ladies and brave gents. I can't wait to hear who you resemble.

Take the Quiz here