WTF?

I am officially old.

My colleague, who is a mere 6 years younger than me, totally confounded me today with emoticons. I've NO CLUE what they are supposed to mean. Which makes me old.

Can someone translate this (below), puhleez?

2:35 PM Shawn: I found Monkey's emoticon
2:36 PM :() It's allegedly a monkey according to google :-)
2:37 PM They've given me way too much fun! :P
2:38 PM OH NO, HERE IT COMES (and yes, I realize I'm talking to myself) :P :-/ ;) :-o :'( :D x-( Hrm... :P x-( :(

Smiles

So earlier today I was exhanging emails with Boulder Mama, my sister in law. Her little one, HP, has just cut her first two teeth.

HP has a gorgeous smile. I'm her aunt, but damn - this kid is GORGEOUS! Boulder Mama hopes that HP's smile won't change once all her teeth come in.

Upon reflection, I said that Monkey's smile did change.

But really, I think the change is driven more by their emergent personality and ability to use their face muscles more than anything else.

Plus, I think Monkey likes to show off her teeth, since now she smiles with this super-toothy look, almost like she is baring her teeth like an enraged chimpanzee.

And yes, I just compared my child to an angry primate.

Must love cats

Attractive, cheerful brunette that walks, climbs, dances and is working on self-feeding seeks like-minded partner for supervised playdates at the park, trips to the American Museum of Natural History, and brunch on the UWS.

Must love cats, as evidenced by shrieks of joy and pointing at pictures of cats on MTA bus shelters (Bideawee ads, for example), and also by petting and kissing pictures of cats in such literary masterpieces as Olivia and One Dark Night.

Enough with the Snot already!!!!!

Ok, Ok, I realize that Monkey is in her first year of school/daycare, so she is being exposed to every mutant cold bug on earth. And that we live in New York City, in which millions of people sneeze and share their lovely cold bugs daily. And yes, that she is building her immunity.

BUT STILL.

When, on God's Green Earth, will we be DONE with the snot?

Monkey sneezed this morning on the way to school, and then wiped her nose with her hand.

Have you ever seen the Nickelodeon product "Slime"???? Well, it looked like she had stashed a quart of that shit in her hand....and it was stretched in between her hand and her nose.

Gah.

Thankgiving

We had a lovely Thanksgiving.

The night before Thanksgiving, we took Monkey down to see the balloons being inflated. We've done this for years. The balloons are all laid out, on the streets around the American Museum of Natural History, and you walk counter-clockwise, looking at the balloons with every other family on the UWS wondering what the balloon is...until some toddler yells out "Diego" or "Clifford!" and the mystery is solved.

Years ago this was a mellow event, but now it has turned into a circus. I would rather go to Times Square on New Year's Eve with Monkey than repeat that mess. Waaaay too many people, and poor Monkey was down low on the ground in her stroller. I got claustrophobic FOR her, and we only got as far east as Columbus before giving up and heading home!

Thanksgiving Day the weather was unbelievable warm, a temperate 65 without much humidity, and it made for a nice day outside with Monkey. (I loved the weather, but I'm convinced that Al Gore got that Nobel for a reason....hello, global warming!). Because it was so nice, and despite the night before, we took Monkey to the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, to watch the balloons.

She loved the balloons! Loved them! She screamed with delight and reached for them, cackling with insane toddler glee.

Only, the balloons she loved were the ones sold by the vendors, and held by happy toddlers in the crowd in front of us. We played the grinch card and declined to buy any for her, letting her scream with delight at the mere proximity of overpriced potentially lead-infested Thomas the Train Balloons on a stick for the low low price of 22$. (I've no clue what they charged, but I am confident they were waaay too much!). If there had been an Elmo balloon? Yup, we'd have been goners!

The real balloons? Meh. She could have cared less. Maybe next year........

Bad Bus Karma

I seriously hate the bus. My family laughs at me...but I seriously hate the bus.

And, I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

This morning I waited for 12 minutes, in the rain, with a screaming toddler pitching a tantrum because she hates the rain shield, waiting for a bus that NEVER SHOWED UP.

Isn't there a pithy quote about how 90% of life is just showing up? Apparently MTA BusM104 missed that nugget of wisdom while bouncing on his grandpappy's axle.

I know, 12 minutes isn't the end of the world. But still, it is just the latest in a long list of crummy bus experiences.

There was the time the bus I was on got pulled out of service because an insane guy refused to let an obese woman sit next to him. When the bus driver (rightly) tried to intervene, it got physical, the cops got called.....and I ended up running 15 blocks to make it to my doctor's appointment on time.

There was the time I waited for a bus for 40 minutes. And it never came.

And there was also the time that the hydraulic lift got stuck - halfway up - with a woman in her wheelchair on the lift. That bus also was taken out of service.

If you are ever with me in New York city, and I suggest that we take the bus together? Just say no.....you never know if my bad bus karma is contagious.

Gonna have to face it, you're addicted to....

Elmo!

Monkey is addicted to Elmo. I mean, wh

at is it about this monster? Isn't he just a red Grover?

Whatever it is, it has supplanted all other desires....Monkey will forgo just about anything, including cookies, in order to watch Elmo.

She has even started singing the welcome to Elmo's world song...and saying "mo?" while running down the hall to bang on the door and beg for access to the computer (so she can see Elmo at www.sesamestreet.org)

It's baby crack.

We didn't want to face the truth, and laughed it off as a phase. But then, reality hit. I knew we needed to stage an intervention when Monkey starting waving and saying "hi" to her pampers diaper....because it has Elmo's face on it.

Is it too early to check her into Promises? To you know, face her addiction and start on her twelve steps?

I know, I know.....at least it isn't Barney, right?

Fearless

So for everyone that wonders why I call Monkey's daycare "school"? Well, for one, since they held "parent teacher conferences" recently.

We showed up, not sure what to expect, and both inwardly groaned when the "teacher" opened up the conversation with "How can we describe our Monkey"....pause, smile, laugh....."she's fearless." Um, yeah. We noticed.

The teacher (whom we adore) used that word over and over again, describing how Monkey will leap or engage in some other acrobatic behavior, narrowly make her landing, then turn and smile at her teachers....who are hurtling across the room attempting to prevent this lapse in decorum. Um, yeah, welcome to our world.

We learned several other things. Monkey is the "queen bee" and likes to sit on the rocker and just admire her subjects (I mean classmates). She is fearless. She loves to read books. And she's fearless. Oh, and she speaks Spanish - knows that agua means water. I doubted this until yesterday, when both Dad and I heard Monkey say agua - clear as a bell!

So she's a bilingual EvilKenival. Woot!

Boo....k!

Huzzah! Monkey said book last night! Ok, so the "k" might have been a bit soft, so it sounded more like boo than book. Still, she said book!

She looks like her dad, she sleeps all crazy-entangled like her dad, but she likes books.......like her mom! Woohooo!!!

And just in time. Yesterday's Times ran an article about how people are getting dumber. No really, they are! In an alltime DUH moment, I learned that NEA spent money to learn that test scores are dropping because people are reading less. Probably because they couldn't read the questions. Heh.

How do I love thy insanity? Let me count the ways...

5 Ways I know that Monkey is still an insane toddler:

1. She turned a lovely hue of magenta last night, sobbing because I would not let her chew on the nail clipper. Maybe fuchsia?....nope, it was magenta.
2. She likes country music. And western. Which is wrong.
3. When prompted to give either me or her dad a "kiss" she headbutts us. Gently.
4. She sleeps arse up. Literally hunched on her knees.
5. She won't wear her mittens. But my gloves? Hooboy, now those are sweet!

....a dish best served cold

I spoke with 'Andpa** the other night. I told him about Monkey dancing to country music, and how this music made my ears bleed and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

And what did he do? He laughed. Hard. And said something about how I deserved this.....

I'm guessing he waited 30+ years to be able to laugh at me for this one. Thanks, dad. Um, want to tell me what else I'm in for???? Puh-leeeeze??????

** P.S. 'Andpa is my dad, Monkey's grandpa....and that moniker is due to the "g" and the "r" falling off of a tshirt someone from his work made him....GPMM&B might be full of smart lawyers, but they aren't the best at iron-on letters! heh.

Inheritance

There are some things about me that I hope Monkey inherits. You know, some traits about me that don't suck. Less wrinkles than normal, more friends from kindergarten than normal, stuff like that.

And then there are things that I am not sure I want her to get. Specifically, I am ambivalent about whether or not it will be a good thing if she inherits my "approachable" face.

(Backdrop to the story -I am wearing my black cowboy boots under dress pants. It's my friday dressy-casual approach to life.)

So, I was on the platform of the subway this afternoon with a colleague, returning to work after a meeting with donors, when this uber-tall guy with a southern twang starting talking to me.

He saw my cowboy boots and it set him off on this long narrative tale that started with how he had cowboy boots that had the same pattern on the toe, moved through life as a 9year old in the swamps outside New Orleans, and ended with him narrowly missing death after taking a swing at a horse amped up on steriods...and missing.

Yeah, some (Manhattan?) cowpoke took a swing AT a horse, missed, and lived to tell the tale.

Yes, a swing, as in trying to punch a horse in the mouth.

Story done, he ambled away, leaving my colleague to shake his head, raise an eyebrow and ask "do you always get wierdos talking to you?"....sigh...Yes, I do.

This is the price I pay for having a face that looks approachable. There is something about me that screams "tell me bizarro stories! I really DO want to hear your medical history? and "Yes, yes, I AM waiting to be saved by the lord."

Nashville Star

Monkey likes to dance.

And damn, if she doesn't do the best white man's overbite I have ever seen!

Almost makes me want to buy a videorecorder, so that I can torture her by showing home videos to her dates 16 years in the future....or just provide hours of entertainment to her inebriated friends. (kind of like the time we were in the basement of Splude's parents' house, and found the slide reel full of shots of Splude in her rhythmic gymnastic stage of life. heh. and no, I wasn't the one that started that - I blame Freak. call me and yell at me if you want for that, baby, but you KNOW you found those slides!)

Ahem. Back to Monkey.

I find the dancing irresitable. Except there is one wee problem. Monkey likes to get her freak on to.......country music.

Oh. My. Bleeding. Ears.

Dad put the "Americana" channel on (channel 647 on Time Warner), and she danced!! And danced! And spun, and giggled, and danced!

Oy. Too bad Auntie L and Uncle J moved from Austin, TX. We could have blamed it on them.

The dreaded stethoscope

Monkey's recent visit to the pediatrician did not go well.

Monkey was ok at first. Our nurse was kind, with a gentle presence, someone I'd trust to treat my child. But then she measured Monkey's head with a small measuring tape....which sent Monkey into paroxysms of fear. We had crying, shrieking, hyperventilation, trembling, and attempts to escape the nurse by climbing up my body and over my head.

So strange! Oh wait - what I had failed to notice (um, yeah, BAD move mom....) was that the nurse had a stethoscope slung around the back of her neck. So it was right in Monkey's face when the nurse tried to measure her head.

It went downhill from there. And then it got worse. The doctor came in... and actually had to listen to Monkey's chest with the infernal stethoscope. I was rendered partially deaf in my left ear, due to close proximity to Monkey's mouth and the screams emitted therein. Ouch.

Scrapes on my belly from Monkey trying to climb over my head? Check.
Ringing in the ears? Check.
Incredible sadness that I can't protect Monkey from an irrational fear? Check.
Embarrasing mom moment? Erm, check.

See, I felt compelled to state that Monkey is "normally a charming child" to a young intern shadowing our doctor. Like.. she....cares........

Billabehuh

I got to laugh out loud, heartily, twice this morning.

First, I went in to grab Monkey when she moved from saying "hi," and clicking the light on and off in her room, into that keening cry that says retrieve me and feed me NOW or I'll cry so hard the paint will peel off the walls.

As I walked through the door, she popped up onto her feet to say "hi" and STILL HAD PONYTAILS in! She looked like Boo, from the Pixar flic Monsters, Inc. It made me laugh outloud, I was so startled at this giggling, goggling daughter of mine with her hair all messed up! (Nana babysat last night, and, well, she raised boys....)

An added bonus? After I took the ponytail holders out and brushed her hair, I realized I could leave the top bow in - she went to school that way! Ta dah. 5 minutes saved, right there. Awesome.

Second cause for glee??? Monkey said bellybutton this morning!!

I was kneeling on the floor, she was in the glider (aka the Big Girl Chair) and I was wrangling her into her outfit for the day. Once I peeled off her new footed jammies (compliments of Jason, Lauri and Emma who gave Dad a gift certificate to Century 21 - thanks guys!), she was clothed simply in her diaper. She reached down, peeled back the top of the diaper that was obscuring her belly button, pointed to her bellybutton and said....billabehuh!!!

Ok, so we need to work on enunciation.

But when Dad came into the room, she said "billabehuh" and pointed at his midriff, demanding an on the spot belly button inspection. Dad complied, of course - belly button patrol is an important part of each day in our household. Good times.

Update on "Family Planning"

Yes, so the post below? In case you were wondering? No. Nope. Nada. We have nothing to announce to the family. No bun in the oven, no babybump, nothing...as in not trying. I was merely exasperated that the questions presume an answer. You know, the old saw about "when did you stop beating your wife"...

Family Planning

Each day, when I pick up Monkey from school, I get a green sheet of paper with a report of her day.

Vital statistics are reported:

• number of diaper changes (and of which variety)
• snacks consumed
• lunch report
• checkboxes next to activities in which she engaged (conversation with teacher, listening to directions, wiping own nose, etc.)
• So on and so forth...

But the bottom of the green sheet (because she's in the green room, bien sur!) is my favorite part. That is where the teacher writes a short, free form description of Monkey's day.

Yesterday the report noted that Monkey and Christina (another little girl in the green room) played with a baby doll, and pretended to put the baby down for a nap. Awesome - Monkey is engaging in imaginary activities! She is creative! She is modeling the behavior she sees! (note to self, never pick nose or undies out of butt....Monkey is watching. heh)

I read the report while still at the school, and commented on how she was putting the "baby" to bed.

And you know what BOTH teachers said to me? "She's getting ready for her little brother or sister!"

Um, when did I invite you two into my bedroom? Just saying.

Daycare-itis

First it started with a headache and nasty cold.

Then it dropped into my lungs and graduated to bronchitis.

Now, laryngitis. I can't even answer the phone at work, since no one understands me. Um, hello? I'm a fundraiser - I'm supposed to TALK to people for a living! Ugh.

I'm sick. I call it daycare-itis. I have the cold that Monkey brought home from daycare (and still has, herself).

The worst part? I kind of brought it (the cold, at least) upon myself.....

Monkey has tons of teeth, eats solid food, and therefore needs to have her teeth brushed. But she hates it, so I try to be creative.

In one of these fits of creativity? I let her brush my teeth - and she loved it! She even smiled long enough to let me cram the toothbrush into her mouth and attempt a full-mouth scrub down. Unfortunately, this learning activity then went south. To wit, Monkey took her toothbrush out of my hands, out of her mouth........and then shoved it into my mouth to brush my teeth. And I let her. Ew.

Not sure which is more gross - letting my daughter brush my teeth with her toothbrush, or the time she vomited on my face (and, um, a wee bit into my mouth). No, wait, the vomiting wins. Never mind.

Monkey see, monkey do

A new friend of mine has a child that is one month younger than Monkey. We have made plans to go hang out at AMNH in about a month...and got to talking (ok, "typing") about whether or not her son would be walking solo by then. He's about 14 months old, and content to walk with a helping hand from mom and dad. My friend commented that she loves getting together with us, and seeing what the older and "wiser" child is doing...a preview, if you will, of what her son will do soon.

Somehow I doubt the term "wiser" applies to Monkey. I'm thinking "dare-devil" is more like it.

To wit: last night I found her hanging almost upside down off of her pack n play! She gripped the top like she was on a monkey bar, and then somehow she worked her feet up to well past her waist...and was happy as a clam! Literally hanging off of the bar, dangling in the breeze.

Did I grab her and protext her from harm, prevent gravity from having its way with her noggin? Nope, I was busy trying to dislodge my heart from my throat.

And, before I could even flinch, she nonchalantly dropped her feet down and went on her merry way.

Her nickname IS Monkey for a reason. Somehow I don't think this is what my friend wants her kid to do.

I am SO not sending her the link to my blog. Nope, no can do. Monkey needs her playdates, and I'll drive away enough of her friends later on in life....sooo, I'll just let my friend (and her son) learn the hard way, when he starts keeping up with Monkey and does a triple lindy into my friend's startled arms. Heh.

Keeping Time

Ok, so Monkey has only mastered - like - 4 words (she understands dozens, but most of what comes out of her mouth sounds like "bah").

She can only hum the first part of the song Frere Jacques...and she certainly can't count.

She's a normal 15 month old.

So is it wrong for me to hope that I can teach her to tell time?? You know, so that I can get her to sleep in until an acceptable, nay - humane - time?

Because this daylight savings is KILLING ME.

Monkey woke up at 5am this morning (which until recently was 6am, and therefore an acceptable time to roust mom or dad). Dad is traveling, so they only way I could get clean...and trust me, I needed it after 2 days of sweating out this nasty cold....was to strap Monkey into her highchair, drag the highchair into the bathroom with me, ply her with paper and crayons, and take a shower (quickly!) while singing "old macdonald" and "Frere Jacques" at the top of my lungs so she'd hum along with me.

I told a colleague about this, as we were riding up in the elevator to work (I think she was wondering why I looked like something the cat dragged in). She laughed and said "whiskey." I don't know if she meant it for me, or for Monkey....

Go call your mom. Now, dammit.

Everyone has a mom. And everyone should call their mom - right now! - to tell her that they love her and adore her and are grateful for all that she did.

(If your mom is no longer with us, I'm sorry for your loss. Think good thoughts about her. Hug someone else's mom and spread the love).

Someone I love, one of my best friends in the world, is having a rough week; her mom is having an even worse one. They are both in my prayers (the whole family is). I'm praying for treatable and beatable.

Halloween Karate - hiyaaaah!!

There will be no adorable photos of Monkey in a Halloween costume this year. No hooting monkey, giggling pumpkin, clucking chicken, wee lamb or scary monster....

Why you may ask?

A) Is it because your beloved camera is broken?

Erm, yes, in part. But I'm getting that fixed and really, I have a fantastic backup...plus my cellphone camera in a pinch.


B) Is it because the truly fetching and adorable monkey costume you ordered was put on backorder, and then finally cancelled when the company realized the earliest delivery would be in December? (wow, talk about poor management there!)

Yeah, that too. Stupid company.

C) What is it then? Inquiring minds want to know!!!

(yes, yes, I know, I have a grandiose view of my blog...and your alleged avid interest in reading it...just roll with it!)

Well, it's like this........a few weekends ago, the day before Monkey's dad went away on a business trip, we took Monkey to the Bronx Zoo for their "Boo at the Zoo" activities. Most of the scheduled events were for older kids - face painting, sing alongs, etc. But there was an all-ages Halloween Parade through the zoo, replete with children AND adults in costume. We watched the parade go by, giggling and goggling at the funny/cute/strange outfits on display.

All was well. Monkey happily sat in her bugaboo stroller (thanks grandma and grandpa Larson, that ride rocks!), watching the parade go by.

Then, a tall adult in an elephant costume (Bronx Zoo employee, I'd guess) decided to "play" with Monkey.

You know, lean waaaay over with his HUGE ears and LONG SWINGING nose and gently bat her hands and faces with his GIGANTIC elephant feet.

Monkey did not take kindly to this assault upon her person.

She screeched (damn girl, you just sassed out an elephant that is waay bigger than you!) and swatted the elephant's hands (feet? paws?) away. She landed a few karate chops on the guy...and he moved on.

And I decided that costumes? This year? Yeah, they might be a tad much for the Monkey. Plus I didn't want to apologize to any parents if Monkey got freaked out by their kid and smacked him in the face.

She's fierce.