Luke's blanket

is trailing in the wind as the swing floats back and forth, back and forth. Luke's eyelids slowly droop, sleepily hypnotized by the smooth rocking motion. It would all be very serene and pleasant if the swing didn't randomly let out a schizophrenic "sqUEAK...SQueak...sQUEak". Every now and then Luke twitches in response to it, but doesn't open his eyes. I think I'm in the market for some WD40.

This morning we had a photo shoot, as you can see. We needed some good pictures to give to the church, and to the grandparents to frame. I'll send you yours, Mom. I put more of these pictures in the photo album, if you'd like to see more.

Last night was an amazing sleep. I blame it on the needles. They say it can make the baby sleepy. Luke fell asleep at 7:15pm. He woke up at 10pm ate, and got a diaper change. Then he woke up at midnight, ate, got a diaper change (now I was beginning to wonder if I'd made a huge mistake by letting him sleep at 7:15). The next time I woke up was 6am! He ate, got a diaper change, and went back to sleep until 9. That was sure a lot of sleep.

Tonight Derek and his brother are going into Winnipeg to pick up the furniture that we left at our house on Mulvey. I can't seem to get excited about spending anymore time in the car with Luke, so we may just stay home and let the guys do their thing alone.

A few days ago I roasted a chicken so that I would have leftover chicken to use on pizza, chicken pot pie, enchiladas. But last night I wasn't going to use the chicken. I was going to make Derek's favorite meal: warenika and farmer sausage. I wanted to have leftover sausage for Derek to take sandwiches to work today. Luke and I took a little nap and for some reason these naps just totally derail me. When I woke up I started making chicken pot pie. By the time I realized I was making the wrong meal it was too late to stop. I had the pie crust all rolled out already. Derek was disappointed, but pot pie is also a favorite so no big deal. As we sat at the dinner table digesting our pot pie I was brainstorming ways to make it better. I said to Derek, "Now that I know I can make this crust I can get creative. I could make apple pie, or pizza pie!" I looked at the pot pie and thought to myself, "This pie wasn't quite right. It needed salt or something. You know, it would be really good with meat in it." It would be really good with meat in it. I said it again to myself. It would be really good with meat in it.

I had forgotten to put the CHICKEN in the chicken pot pie. I blame it on the needles.

Here's the video I promised. It's titled: Baby has left the building!

Vaccination Day

Pictures: I had too many cute pictures today, so I started a picasa album titled "Luke". Take a look under "Laura's Photo Albums" on the right if you're interested, or click here:


Welcome to Vaccination Day. To prepare for takeoff, please insert your earplugs, gear up your sympathy tears, and peel off the tiny plastic cover on your miniscule circular band-aids.

Note: at today's appointment Luke weighed a staggering 14lb, 13oz (I'm the one staggering).

Yes, today was the dreaded vaccination day. Luke got his first two shots. And it's true, he was more brave than I was. He was asleep when the nurse jabbed the first needle in and it looked to me like she was trying to hit his femur with a needle that was bigger than my pinkie finger!

Luke voted that waking up from a cozy nap with a needle stuck deep in the flesh of his thigh is his least favorite way to wake up.

And that wasn't the end. We had to have matching band-aids, don't you know. Both thighs had to be poked. Although I think "poked" is not a violent enough word. I use that word when referring to a slight nudge from the soft end of my finger. Gouge, jab, stick, probe, stab, thrust, dig...these are all words that I would think appropriate when referring to the abnormal entrance of a sharp object into soft, innocent flesh. Derek says I better be careful not to pass my fear of needles onto our son. I don't need to pass MY fear onto him. He'll figure it out himself soon enough.

Luckily, his bravery wasn't required for long. It was over in less than three and a half minutes (yes I watched the clock). And ten minutes after that he was asleep again. Thank goodness. The nurse asked us to stay in the waiting room for twenty more minutes just to make sure he didn't have an allergic reaction. So what's with stabbing a baby and then waiting around to see if they break out in hives? Does this seem cruel to anyone else? I was so petrified, we stayed for thirty-five minutes just to be sure we were near a doctor if anything more horrible than what we had already experienced happened. In ten minutes I stuck my finger under his nose five times to make sure he was breathing.

Now I'm afraid to take off the band-aid. There's going to be blood on the other side of it, you know. And what if it's not stopped bleeding yet? What if the sticky part pulls his teeny baby leg hairs? His leg is probably sore from the needle.

Too bad I put him in his cutest outfit to psyche him up for the needle. (Do you think he's thanked me yet?) I just happened to buy the cherry flavored tylenol syrup; I tried to give him some and he spit it out. Now it looks like there's blood all down his shirt, and he keeps spitting out red bubbles like he's bleeding from the mouth. Not only do I have the trauma of watching my baby spit up red saliva, I have to put on yet another load of laundry.

I'm a basket case!

And Luke is napping...again. Don't worry Derek. He's taking it better than me.

Warenika: a second attempt

This post is a supplement to today's post titled: Pizza Crust

(Just to give you some history: there's "Warenika: a first attempt" which details my first time eating warenika. Do not be confused by the title, this was my first time making warenika by myself, second documented story of encounters with warenika)

As a devoted newlywed, I decided to attempt to make my husband’s favorite meal for his birthday. Unfortunately for me, it happens to be the most tricky meal to make in the history of civilization on earth. I think those Germans knew what they were doing, and schemingly planned a meal so delicious your mouth could water just seeing the name, and so confoundedly hard to make you will want to yank your own eyeballs out just to keep from crying in frustration. That should give you some idea of what’s coming.
Attempt. That’s the key word here. I attempted. I did not succeed. So if you enjoy a story where everything works out happily in the end and success and delicious warenika are on the menu for dinner…you’re looking for a different story. This is a tragedy. And not just any tragedy. A warenika tragedy. The worst kind.
It started out as a normal Summer day in Winnipeg. We were living in our own home on Mulvey Avenue! The heat was actually quite unbearable and we had no airconditioner. Actually, it wasn’t the heat, it was the humidity. And that’s humidity with a capital H. We both went to work in the cool of the morning. He, to continue construction on a house, and I, to mow lawns and lug heavy furniture around the university I was attending. Needless to say we both expected the worst out of a humid day in July. But it was Derek’s birthday and we both left the house in high spirits.
I had a particularly good reason for being in high spirits. I had a surprise for my adorable husband on his birthday! I was taking off from work early to come home and make his favorite meal before some of our friends showed up to share a birthday meal with us! I was so excited that I expended a great deal of energy doing the normal work around school, skipping out to the garage instead of walking, taking the lower end of the book case as we hauled it down the stairs. When I got off work at two in the afternoon I was as tired as I would have been had I worked the full nine-hour day. But I got on my bike and pedalled home in joyful anticipation of the party I was hostessing tonight.
When I got home I busied myself with putting up streamers and starting to mix the dough for warenika. The windows were open and the fan was on full blast, along with the music…and Ifailed to notice the vacant street in front of my house. Normally Mulvey is full of cars. People park several blocks away from Corydon and walk to work in the morning. But I rode my bike up to the back of the house and never even looked out front. This was my first dire mistake.
Green and blue streamers waved in the fan’s blast and I stirred the dough until I knew I’d have to take another shower before guests arrived. Dancing around with a wooden spoon between the counter and the refrigerator didn’t help. I continued to add flour, but that dough just wouldn’t clump together. So I left it to dry a little in front of the fan and I finished the cake and put it in the hot oven. I laughed as I thought, “I could just leave it on the counter and it might actually bake faster”. I returned to the dough and it was still too sticky. So I added more flour and left it in front of the fan again. As I worked on the cottage cheese filling I wondered what I might be doing wrong. My mother-in-law uses an electric mixer…was that the only way to get it right? Did I copy the recipe wrong? Did I forget something?
Soon everything was ready except for the silly dough. I was really starting to get miffed about the situation. I was certain I had the filling done correctly and it was resting in the fridge. The cake was in the oven, which was heating up the house; the frosting for the cake was made and sitting on the counter. The sausage was thawing in the sink. The canned corn was sitting in its can in the pot waiting until closer to dinner. What could I have done wrong? Aha! I had not mixed it by hand yet. That would be easier than stirring it with a wooden spoon anyway since it’s so thick.
So I shove my hands into the warm moist dough and knead it and knead it and knead it. I put more and more flour on the table top and knead and knead and knead. I’m drenched by now, and exhausted, and starving, and much more frustrated than before I stuck my hands into this goopy mess, not to mention the fact that I’m all out of flour.
I decide to call my mother-in-law. She’s made these hundreds of times! She’ll tell me what to do! But first I have to get this dough off my hands. I take the sausage out of the sink and push the faucet up. No water comes out. There’s nothing. Not even a tiny drip. Not even a spit of mist. Nothing. I go check the bathroom sink…and shower…and the hose outside. No water. And as I’m standing over the long hose in the front yard I notice that there are no cars on the street. There are barricades at the end of the street. With signs.
Covered in crusty dough and sweat I march to the end of the street and read the sign: “No parking Street Renewal Project Water will be shut off between the hours of 12 PM and 8PM 7/7”. Just then a truck pulls up with a cartoon picture of a water droplet the size of my torso, smiling with a great big blue smile out from the side of the truck. A man gets out and starts pulling hoses and tools out of the back of his truck. “What’s the deal?” I ask him. “Well, we’re repairing some broken pipes and have to shut off the water to this block”. “Had to” I say. “What?” “Had to, it’s already shut off. And I can’t wash my hands!” “Sorry”, he says, and he smiles like that big dopey water droplet on the side of his truck. Sorry…
I turn around and storm back to the house with my hands well away from my pants. I’m supposed to host a party tonight! I’m supposed to serve warenika…Derek’s favorite meal! As I return to my kitchen I notice the pan I used to make bacon the night before soaking on the counter by the sink. Desperately I stick my crunchy hands into the greasy, tepid water. I rub as much of the slime off as I can and dry my hands on a towel. I grab the phone with dough still under my fingernails and dial my mother-in-law.
Nobody answers. I dial again. Nobody answers. I dial my sister. Nobody answers. I dial my best friend. Nobody answers. I dial the couple coming over for dinner. Nobody answers. I dial my mom. By the time she picks up the phone after the fourth ring I’m sobbing. She can’t recognize the voice of the person who has called her crying and sobbing. I’m sure all she could understand was “Water—.” Mumble mumble Sob. “Dinner—.” Unintelligible cry. “Derek--.” Hiccup, hiccup, cry. It’s hot as Hades, my hands are crusty and smell like bacon, there’s no water, I took off work early, people are coming over in half an hour, all I wanted was to make a special dinner, I’m a bad cook, I’m a bad wife, I’m a bad homeowner, and my own mother doesn’t know my voice on the telephone!
At last she recognizes my voice and says “Laura! I’m so glad you called!” Just for that, I stop crying. Can she not understand my crisis?! Well, apparently not, with all my sniffling. I finally explain the situation to her and she laughs and says, “I saw your weather report online today. You’ll never get that dough to dry in such humid weather without an air conditioner.” My own mother laughed at me. Boy, do I feel like an idiot. She suggests going over to a friend’s house, taking a shower, and going out to an air conditioned restaurant for dinner.
I leave the broken egg shells on the counter. I leave the greasy frying pan of precious water. I leave my flour-y apron. I leave the wooden spoon on the stove. I leave the melty frosting in the bowl. I leave the hot cake in its pan. I leave the steamy upstairs apartment. I leave the fan blowing the blue streamers. I leave the cottage cheese filling. I leave the sticky dough smudged across the kitchen table.

And when I get home…it’s dried on.

The end

Pizza Crust

A month ago I bought a pizza crust at the Winkler Farmer's Market. I thought I'd give it a try and if I liked it I could come back next week and get another. Well I liked it, and so did Derek, and I just hate making dough from scratch (why? It's not that hard and it's not that messy. It might have some mental connection for me with the first time I tried to make warenika on my own - a dough disaster. I'll attach that story if you're interested in hearing my warenika sob story).

So the very next week after a long day of shopping in Winnipeg and a screaming baby all the way home, I psyched myself up for one last stop before going home. I told myself "a carefree, flexible Mom would stop and wouldn't let the crying baby get in the way of her plans. Besides, I don't have any other ideas for dinner." I even thought I might get two as it got later and I got hungrier on the drive.

With the baby screaming and a stressful thumping behind my ears I jogged from the car to the baked good table, eager to get the crust and go home. A lady ran up just as I did and I reluctantly smiled and said, "Go ahead". She said "I realized I should really get two crusts if I want to make a meal out of it" and picked up what looked to be the last pizza crust on the table. I scanned the table, craned my neck to look in the back of her van, and just barely restrained myself from looking underneath the table for any spare, lost pizza crust. Nothing.

I gulped and asked in a small voice, "Do you happen to have any more pizza crusts?" For a minute my hopes rose as she turned and dug through a box behind her. She turned back to me, looked at me blankly and asked, "What?"

My heart sunk and I asked again in a dejected voice, my shoulders sagging. I knew the answer before she spoke. There were no more pizza crusts. That was the last one.

I got back in the car, the baby screaming so hard there was spit running down his chin, and I cried with him. I cried the whole way home. What was I going to make for dinner? Why was the baby still crying? I am so tired! "Go ahead" like it was no big deal when that was MY pizza crust. Can you believe it?! The last one!

The following Tuesday was my father-in-law's birthday and we were going to have birthday dinner together, but I had pizza crust on my mind. I was determined to get to the Farmer's Market early to ensure I got a pizza crust. But at 3:15 Luke fell asleep...and so did I. I woke up at 4:45 thinking only of birthday dinner. At 6:30 when the whole family was sitting around the dinner table I did some math out loud and did it VERY wrong. My sister-in-law Jaime (a nurse) comforted me in my stupidity saying it is a proven fact that women lose brain cells when they have a baby. At that moment I remembered what I'd forgotten - what all those lost brain cells were supposed to have kept me from forgetting. The pizza crust.

The very next day at the coffee shop I asked if their baker -Linda- made pizza crusts. "No" they said "but our previous baker, Tina, did." "Tina?" I asked, "Is she the one who sells at the farmer's market?" "Yes, that's her" he said, "She goes to all the farmer's markets." That very night I made plans with Charity to go to the farmer's market in Morden the following evening. I am going to track down this crust if it is the last thing I do! I fell asleep dreaming of pizza.

Thursday morning, the day of Morden's farmer's market, I got a call from Charity. "The Farmer's Market isn't happening until tomorrow because of the Corn and Apple Festival". Once again, my dinner plans were foiled.

Friday finally came and the sky held dark and threatening clouds. Would I once again be deterred from being united with a pizza crust? I called Charity. "What does the weather look like over there?" "Oh it looks like it might rain, do you still want to go?" Are you kidding?! "I'll be over in a few minutes."

We walked six blocks to the farmer's market and Luke wasn't too happy to be in the stroller. It's too much like the car, I guess. We got there just as the last booth was being set up. The booths were arranged around an intersection, leaving a big open square in the middle. I walked out to the middle of the square and turned slowly around and around. My jaw dropped. I could not believe it! Not a single pizza crust. I threw my head back in frustration with a small sob and just then felt a raindrop on my face like a tear. We walked back the six blocks in the rain, Luke crying the whole way. I decided the weather and Luke were very intuitive.

I had nearly given up on the pizza crust after that stormy day. But yesterday I got a three hour nap in the morning. When I woke up I felt refreshed and alert and I remembered the abandoned pizza crusts. "One last time" I told myself, "I'll try one last time." The farmer's market starts at 4. I was there at 3:45. I was on my game, shoes tied, change in my pocket, baby in the pack, 15 minutes to spare.

I saw it from across the market. The table of baked goods was there in the corner, a ray of sun falling across the golden pizza crust. My feet broke out into a run, my heart floated along behind me like a kite, I would finally have my pizza crust! I reached the table and reverently picked up not one, but two pizza crusts. The lady beside me browsing the pies became curious as my eyes brightened, my hands clutching the bag, and she asked, "Is that pizza crust?"

"Yes" I sighed. "This is pizza crust."

Elvis and Car Seats

Pictures: Luke and Kathy visiting yesterday. Luke raises an eyebrow, "What are you lookin' at?"

First I have to recognize the fact that I switched the 1 to 10 chart around. In the hospital, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 is very little pain and 10 is the worst pain you've ever felt. I was using 0 as the total lack of joy, and 10 as the most joy possible. I apologize, and in the future will try to use the appropriate scale (1 being good, 10 being bad).

So what’s with car seats being so heavy? They create them to be “convenient” and “safe”, but what’s convenient about lugging around a fifteen pound carrier with an even bigger baby in it? Because you know baby has to stay in that car seat until they’re 20 pounds AND a year old! And what’s safe about throwing your back out to maneuver the car seat through a doorway while holding the door open with one foot and swinging the dead weight of the car seat onto your elbow, propped on your hip? Also, what’s safe about having a baby screaming behind you while you’re driving who you can’t distract because they’re facing away from you? You end up pulling your arm out of it’s socket so you can torque your body around to make your head still face forward while you put the soother back in your baby’s mouth, or give him your finger to suck. Now tell me, what’s “safe” and “convenient” about that?!

Luke has decided he doesn’t like driving anymore. He cries when you put him in the car seat, quiets down for a moment while you carry it to the car, then screams the minute it clicks into the base. Yesterday when I went to Morris to meet with Kathy I tricked Luke into sleeping for the first fifteen minutes. But when he woke up he rolled his fingertips together menacingly and shouted, “You may think you’ve pulled one over on me, but just wait and see how I can pull one over on YOU for the next thirty minutes! Hehehe”. Or maybe I just imagined he shouted that. Anyway, he was shouting.

While visiting with Kathy I had a cinnamon roll at the golf course restaurant in Morris. This toasted cinnamon roll, homemade by “Pat”, should go above Grands cinnamon rolls in my list. I haven’t quite come up with a good rating for it yet. Maybe Smiling Silently to Self. And by the way, toasted is good. She cut it in half like a hamburger bun and toasted it on the grill.

Now about Elvis. Luke does a really grea Elvis impersonation. I hold him up under his arms, he stands on his legs and waggles his hips around with a look of extreme concentration on his face. He even changed the words to the song “Nothin’ But a Hound-dog” to “You ain’t nothin’ but a baby/crying all the time. You ain’t nothin’ but a baby/cryin’ all the time. You got poopy, stinky diapers/and those ain’t friends of mine!” And he learned how to raise one eyebrow just to make his Elvis impersonation more believable. I tried to tell him that his height might lose him the job in Vegas, but he insists on sending his audition video in. I’ll try to get you a copy of that this week.

On a Scale of 1 to 10

Pictures:
Luke with the soother tucked in, and Megan and Luke visiting.

When I was in labor the nurses and doctors kept asking how my pain was on a scale of 1 to 10. I was so antsy and hurting that I couldn't imagine where I would be on a scale of 1 to 10, and I was frustrated that I couldn't answer their question. So I've been practicing-not quite a pro yet, but getting better.

We had a visitor on Saturday and I felt like the mouse in Cinderella “VIS-i-tor, VIS-i-tor!!!” Megan came over for a couple hours and we just visited (and then she went with me to the grocery store where the visiting continued). It’s amazing what adult conversation can do for my morale. I’ve felt closer to 10 than 5 all day today, just from visiting with Megan TWO DAYS ago.

Yesterday we went to the Show and Shine, motorcycle and car show at the Corn and Apple Festival in Morden. Harv and Helene were volunteering, helping with parking, so we thought we’d maybe run into them and say hi. It was a gorgeous day, we had a lovely tour around some VERY clean cars (and that’s about all I have to say on the car and bike subject…what do I know about cars? The fact that a car’s hood is up does nothing for me. I lean in, look around, nod, ask, “what sort of mileage does this thing get?” and that’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge…not that I’m not interested, I’ve just never pursued it is all). I’m pretty much impressed that they’ve polished anything under the hood…crazy car fanatics. Most of these cars tires were so clean that I’d rather eat my dinner after they’ve run over it a few times.

When we got home the weather was so nice, and 14th Street was paved last week, that we opened up all the windows and for the first time since we moved in enjoyed a breeze running through our house (I should explain the 14th St. comment. 14th Street runs behind the houses across the street from us and is a moderately high trafficked road. It has been a dirt road up until last week and the dust raised each time a car drives by at 90km/hr is enough to make an athsmatic shudder. I have enough cleaning to do with the dirt from all the construction in our neighborhood, so we have kept the windows mostly closed this summer). It truly felt like a Sunday afternoon with the windows open, especially when I took off my shoes and socks, put the baby down for a nap and stretched out on the couch. I was suddenly aware that that lovely sound I was hearing was birds and crickets. It felt like home, then.

Luke is settling into a routine and I’m realizing that I desperately want to protect his nap times. I always thought I’d be one of those moms who would drag her kid around everywhere and they would turn out to be real flexible, happy, well-adjusted kids. Yesterday when we were out and about during his nap time he was SO upset...screaming away. He actually reached a new decibel level. Then when we got home I stuck him in the crib and it was as if he was so happy he couldn't sleep. He lay there with his arms spread out as if he was hugging the bed, but was so stressed out from screaming that he didn't sleep, just lay there smiling drunkenly for an hour. I decided while he was screaming in his car seat that I would lay down in front of a runaway train before I disturbed nap time again. He can learn to be flexible later. I will put him down for a nap at noon! The baby is little, but he’s the boss.

Today I am going into Morris to see my friend Kathy for what may be our last Tuesday coffee before she and her family move to Bolivia for three years. You’re saying “Tuesday? Boy is she messed up! It’s Monday.” Yes, I know; but last year when Kathy and I were in California we had coffee every Tuesday. And when it happened that we had to change it to Thursdays we still called it Tuesday. Like, “So we’re going to meet for Tuesday coffee on Thursday for lunch, right?” And we rarely had coffee. It was usually tea, and more often than not there was a high-calorie muffin involved. So this afternoon I am certain to be back down closer to 0 than to 5 when coffee nears it’s end and I am looking at a forty-five minute drive back to Winkler during which I will contemplate my kindred spirit Kathy, that is, when I’m not trying to pacify a wailing child in the back seat with his back turned to me…
Which brings me to the topic of car seats. But perhaps I will tackle that tomorrow. Oh, and I’ve also gotta tell you about Elvis, but really it will have to wait.

Identify Yourself

Today Luke went on a play date with his friend Levi. They did not play too much. Well, Luke didn’t. Levi played plenty. Levi lives in Morden, ten minutes down the road, and was born in February. He is Ryan and Charity’s son. Charity and I got rained out of the farmer’s market last night, so we walked down there this morning. And not long after we returned to her house it poured again. So we had some excellent timing! I bought carrots, potatoes, and onions. Charity bought bread, cookies and carrots.

Luke and I ended up staying at Charity’s house for a few hours after our walk because the rain was coming down so hard we would have gotten soaked walking to the car, and I had to load up the stroller, car seat, and vegetables. We stayed long enough for Luke to fall asleep for his afternoon nap, and to share soup and bread with Charity, Ethne and Ryan. It was a very nice visit.

In a book I read recently the therapist tries to get the main character to define herself using three words. This is supposed to give the therapist some insight into the person’s character. I want to get to know Charity, and I feel like every time I’m with her I totally forget a million wonderful and insightful questions. But today I remembered this question, so I asked Charity. She told me to go first and I realized what a hard task it is to come up with three concise words to define my character!

I finally settled on these three: photographer, friend, woman. I chose “photographer” not just because it is something I do, but because it is something I really enjoy spending my time at. Art is central to how I understand the world and myself. I chose “friend” because I wanted a word that showed me being in relation to others, but words like sister and wife were too restrictive. And finally I chose “woman” because since giving birth to Luke I have been very proud of being a woman, very proud of being that unique & safe place for a baby to grow and enter the world from. Being Luke’s mother defines me, but I haven’t been a mom long enough to use that term as something central to my character.

It was an interesting challenge. It made me wonder what Luke would say now that he’s two months old. I think he might say “baby”, “eater”, and “pooper”. But I don’t really know.

This morning Luke started to fuss at eight. I prayed he’d go back to sleep for another hour and lay in bed for another fifteen minutes while he continued to make noise. Finally I got up and went to pick him up. His head was wedged in a corner of the crib and he had one arm hanging out between the slats. He was so pitiful grunting away and pushing himself further into the corner. I felt just awful. This afternoon when I lay him down for a nap in his crib, I went to nap too. After a little while I started hearing a strange sound coming from Luke’s room. I went to investigate and found Luke way at the end of his crib, pushing his head against the slats. This time I was able to laugh and ask, “Is that crib getting in your way?” I really need to get a bumper!
News Flash: Luke took the soother last night!
Happy Friday to All. So ends the first week of my resolution.

Pout

Photo: I have almost captured the elusive and exquisite pout, in this photo we are getting closer.

For a moment I was so thirsty that I couldn’t remember what I was going to post today. Then I took a bite of cinnamon roll and it all returned to me! Cinnamon rolls.

I am sitting at Gingerwood Lane with Luke in my lap and an orange roll at my elbow. He’s just been awake for half an hour so he’s content to sit and stare into outer space for a while yet…hopefully. I came to Gingerwood because Ten-Twenty-Seven doesn’t open until eleven a.m. and I was starving now. I wanted to test Ten-Twenty-Seven’s cinnamon roll, but I just couldn’t wait.

I believe that I could eat a cinnamon roll any time of any day. I would try any roll you suggest. Cinnamon rolls could be the only food group and I would never starve or grow bored of mealtime…although I may get fat. I love cinnamon rolls, and I have put them in order of my deliciousness rating below:

Dreaming of eating it: Gingerwood Lane’s orange roll
Drooling in anticipation: Laura Isaac’s leftover zwiebach dough
Jumping up and down and clapping: Old West cinnamon roll with walnuts
Licking my lips: Pillsbury’s Grand cinnamon rolls with cinnabon frosting
Scrunch my nose and shrug: Tim Horton’s

Do you have any I should add to the list?

Luke just fell asleep so now I can type with both hands. But I better hurry because when he wakes up he wants to eat. Today we are going to the Farmer’s Market in Morden with Charity and her kids. I’m trying to track down the lady who makes those awesome pizza crusts, and someone told me she makes the rounds of all the local farmer’s markets. Tragically, I lost her phone number after I bought a crust at Winkler’s Farmer’s Market. But the hunt is on and I believe today I will finally be successful…I just have a feeling in my stomach. Although that just might be my cinnamon roll settling 

Tonight at 9:30 Luke will be exactly 8 weeks old. Milestones: He can hold his wobbly head up, stand in your lap while you balance him, follow you with his head and with his eyes, turn his head to look for me when he hears my voice, sleep five and a half hours at night, smile at a cheerful voice, sleep in his own crib, take a rubber nipple bottle, and he now uses the thicker liners in his diaper instead of the newborn liners. What a big boy!

Waking Up Happy

Yesterday I did not have an internet connection, but I wrote this so here it is (sorry for the delay):
This morning, as usual, was a happy morning for Luke. But for me it was especially happy to wake up and know that this afternoon I have an entire hour to myself. For the first time, Luke is going to grandma's house for an hour while I...fritter away an hour however I want! I will write more when I come home from my precious hour, but for now, enjoy the cheerful video. Lord knows it's not always like this :)

Later: I am back from my glorious hour...and what did I do? I got a massage. It was wonderful. And it was even more wonderful to come home to a quiet, happy baby who had slept the whole hour and was just chowing down on a bottle with grandma.

Last night Luke slept in the crib for the first time. Up until now he has slept in our bed with us, or in the bassinet beside the bed. I think it was harder for me to sleep than it was for him. I kept worrying that he was going to suffocate and pondering other disasters equally irrational and when I told this to Derek this morning he said, "Yep, you're a mom". Great...this is what I have to look forward to?! Do all Moms have irrational fears and stay awake worrying as their baby sleeps in the next room?

I used to be a rational, if somewhat dramatic, person. Now I’m an irrational dramatic person. Do you know what this means? A rational dramatic person would say, “He’s just a tiny baby! He can’t defend himself against dangerous, slobbering wild animals! Luckily he doesn’t have to, he’s safe in his crib, so good-night”. The irrational dramatic person would look suspiciously to the right and to the left and then whisper in a scared voice, “He’s going to climb out of his crib, drive out to the woods and be eaten by a bear! There’s no way I can sleep tonight. I have to stay up and keep watch for roving bands of wolves in my suburban prairie neighborhood!” If this is to be my future, I’m beginning to have second thoughts about being a mom. But, as my own Mom said, "It's a life sentence". I think I’m going to need a therapist while I’m serving my time.

Please Don't Tell My Dog

As I lay in bed doing a fairly regular mental inventory of our belongings, and listing things in the order which I would grab them if the house caught on fire, I realized that my dog was no longer at the top of the list. This might explain her strange behavior towards me recently, except I am certain she doesn't know...yet. And please don't tell her. Perhaps you think it's morbid that I have a mental list of what I would grab if the house caught fire. But if it ever happens I'M going to be the morbid person who is prepared.

When I was younger, the first thing on the list would be the heroic rescue of all my family members and my mom's dog. That was a given. Then after that I would run back into the flaming skeleton of a house and majestically exit with my film and my camera. Not so I could take pictures of my burning house, but so that I would have the memories...and who wants to lug huge photo albums down the hall? So it was the film, and then the camera, for sentimental reasons.

In the last few years my priorities have changed. When I got Ally, the dog, she became my top priority (after my heroic rescue of all my family members of course). I imagined I would wake Derek, grab the dog, then the computer (because now all pictures are on the computer...ah the digital age), the camera, and then run out of the flaming skeleton of a house.

When we lived in a second story apartment I imagined what I might be able to toss out the window in order to save more. There was a conveniently placed bush that I imagined tossing the dog, the computer, my camera and then myself into. Forget the majestic exit with the halo of smoke. I was saving all I could and jumping out at the last minute.

Since I had Luke in June, the dog has finally been bumped from her #1 spot on my list. But worse than that, while I lay in bed imagining the house going up in smoke, I realized that everything on my list had been bumped. In fact, if I could grab the baby and get out of the house alive I wouldn't give a second thought to the dog, the computer, or the camera equipment...okay maybe a second thought. But only once I was out of the house safely with Luke would I even consider the things I had left behind. When I confessed this to one of my good friends she reminded me that dogs are quite intuitive and that maybe the dog would get out of the house on her own. This was a comforting thought, except for the fact that she sleeps locked in her crate at night. So if the house burns in the daytime she may have a chance. I also realize that it is a completely normal reaction of a mother to put her child's welfare above all else. But something tells me Ally would not understand; so please, don't tell my dog.

Pictures: Yesterday I assembled Luke's high chair. It's a space saver chair, which means it clips onto a kitchen chair. And he can use it already because it reclines. Don't remind me that he doesn't eat anything that requires a chair or a table top. It's just too cute to sit him in his chair at the table.

New Year's Resolution...in August

Well, most of you have probably stopped reading this blog because the last time I posted was in May, and now it's August. But I have a New Year's Resolution (even though it's not a new year), because I think it will be a good challenge for me. I intend to post each day of the week (not weekends) and include a new picture that I have taken each day. This way my family can see my son growing, and I can stretch the kinks out of my unpracticed writing hand and head. I'm hoping that the practice writing and the discipline of using my camera every day will prepare me for some day re-entering the workforce as an independent art-eest.

I will not update you on regular things like the fact that Luke had a bath this morning, and we stayed in bed until 9, or the never-ending laundry. I will try to give you interesting tidbits. So today the most interesting thing that has happened was that while Luke took a fifteen minute nap I got down on my hands and knees and vaccuumed the living room rug with the shop-vac. What can I say...I was desperate. And it is cleaner than it has been since the day I took it out of the package. Maybe I should have included a picture of my clean rug instead of my son in his diaper :) We don't have a vaccuum because we are having central vac installed eventually. Most projects on this house are "eventually" going to be completed, so I couldn't really give you an estimate on how long this might take. And since we don't have much rug it hasn't really been an issue.

But while my Dad was here in July he bought us a shop-vac and jokingly said, "now you have a vaccuum!" as if I would drag that thing into the house and vacuum up piles of sawdust from my dining room floor. We all laughed. But today when I looked at my living room rug and couldn't imagine sweeping it one more time, because each time I sweep I feel like I'm rubbing the dirt in, I took Dad seriously. I dragged the dusty shop-vac in from the garage, put the biggest extension on it that it had, got on my hands and knees and cleaned the rug 3 inches at a time. But boy is it beautiful. Even with our cardboard coffee table sitting on it.

LATER: Luke took a nap on the floor and when he woke up I got this picture of him AND the rug...two birds