Mr. Peanut

We had the fortune to visit our good friends Cynthia and Al for dinner last night. They have family in town for the inauguration, more old friends of mine, and it was a big gathering, in Cynthia's beautiful home, a penthouse adorned, every few inches, by expensive, fragile art. Think: glass and ceramics, delicate fiber art and sculptures...everywhere. A toddler's dream. A parent's worst nightmare. I kept telling Harry 'you break it, you buy it' but that meant very little to a child who makes no allowance, and, well, doesn't understand most of what you babble anyway.

Somehow we made it through, with a lot of help from some of the teenage boys who were also there and very sweetly played and watched over Harry. One of them even took Charlotte out of her stroller to rock her. A teenage boy. I was, just, well....A teenage boy! Would that my children are so gentle and thoughtful and well behaved when they're young teens. In truth, the thing that mollified Harry the most was a HUGE bowl of salted peanuts that Cynthia (Aunt Skippy, as Harry calls her) put out....he literally ate half the bowl. One nut at a time. That's my boy!

Hat Trick

It's remarkable. Infants change so fast. Last night, before my very eyes, Charlie discovered her tongue and lips and all at once the little coos emanating from the back of her throat turned into full-blown goo-gooing. How fun is that? I didn't even have time to soak it in when this morning she rolled over. Not once, but three times in a row, as if to say 'duh, mom, I have this thing totally nailed. What's next?'

It was at the time of this triumphant roll that Harry was roaming around our office sans diaper, about to get into the tub. Poor little Charlie, she rolled over to great cheers from mom, and then a shriek. "Good God, what is that?'' Indeed, there it was, a little nugget of poop about two inches from her head. Note to self....do not let toddler go commando. Ever.

Inauguration Madness

Insanity. That is the best way to describe the security restrictions, bridge closures, projected pedestrian traffic jams and lists of what you can NOT bring with you to watch Obama be sworn in in the freezing, possibly snowing cold (strollers, backpacks, umbrellas, thermoses...you name it. It's a wonder they let you wear a coat).

It's the first event in memory when the powers that be have specifically suggested 'don't bring the kids.' I suppose it's good advice for this once-in-a-lifetime event since there will be endless lines, few bathrooms, no elbow room and lots of chaos. Cell phones won't be working very well. Bridges connecting DC with Virginia will be shut. Metro stations near the event will be closed. It's basically a police state. The advice being given to supporters in Virginia? You want to be here --Walk. We're talking five miles. Each way. In frigid temps.

I've covered two inaugurals in my life, and they were rough experiences at best. Of course I was up at dawn chasing protesters around, dodging arrest (at the time my editors weren't sure if I should or should not be hauled in with the rowdies), calling in feeds in the pouring, freezing rain with a thin plastic poncho as cover and a couple hand warmers stuffed in my soggy mittens. Good times! Still, I was very much looking forward to actually attending this ceremony. At this rate, it's really unlikely.

So, my little family will probably be in Alexandria, in front of the TV, where we will have a good view but lots of regret for being 'cowards' on this historic day. Still, we will be warm, safe and far from the throngs expected to be millions strong, throngs huddled in front of jumbotrons. Senator, you got my vote and you have my congratulations, but don't expect to see this body on the parade route. God speed.

Evolution

They say that by the time a toddler reaches 18 months of age he's learning a word every hour he's awake. Even the ones you don't want him to learn. Like when your husband drops your beautiful orange Le Creuset stockpot on the floor, cracking it in two. And you yell...well I think you know what you yell. It starts with "F" and rhymes with "luck." And your clever toddler repeats it with the same vigor and volume. Thankfully only once.

But we have only good news today with the delivery of Harry and Charlotte's newest playmate, Augusta Jay. I will always wonder if it was my pecan salad that caused your mother to go into labor 10 days early.

Up, Up and Away

Charlie took some big 'steps' yesterday, raising herself up on both arms and taking a long, hard peek around the room. Harry seems to dig her more and more every day, yesterday trying to wedge an empty bottle into her mouth and fetching her blanket when he thought her mother was being negligent.

A Tour of Casa Blanca

We're having friends over tomorrow night (Friends with kids. Friends who understand what it's like to miss New Year's Eve because they, like you, are so tired they go to bed at 10 and couldn't care less that a ball is dropping ANY where). So we're hosting a little fete, to ring in the New Year (think: dressy playgroup with booze).

Today we spent the afternoon at the White House, taking a tour with Aunty Cathy and her friend Brian. Nice chap. Tall. Doesn't get out much (sorry Brian, but you must be able to name ONE movie currently playing in theaters. Even this mother of a newborn can do that.) Cathy has a media pass that lets her get near-instant access to the Big House, and we were all delighted to ride her coattails. Maybe it was the weather, but the White House was empty. No lines. No one about. We had the run of the place, watching as they painstakingly took apart the chandeliers to clean each crystal in preparation for the Obama's occupation. It was fascinating. We followed the tour with brunch at the Old Ebbitt Grill. Then Cathy graciously dropped us in Old Town for a nice walk home. Did I mention the kids were with the nanny? We got four hours to ourselves. Awesome, relaxing, glorious guilt.

Fight On!

Harry and Charlotte got their first high-intensity taste of mom's alma mater with a New Year's Day match-up at the Rose Bowl: USC v Penn. State. Clad in our Trojan best, we settled in front of the tube (along with fellow Trojan Aunt Cathy) to watch the game. the highlight (in my humble opinion) is the Tournament of Roses Parade. I marched in the parade as a college freshman, a piccolo player in the Trojan Marching Band, suffice it to say this Trojan cheers loudest whenever the band appears). Thanks to Cathy's brother John -- who sent a USC calendar for Christmas, the kind that plays the school fight song (serious toddler appeal), Harry knows how to wave (the victory sign) during "Fight On!" You're next Charlotte. Get that "V" ready.

We won the game, shellacking the Lions 38 to 24.