Try Try Again

I want to be a perfectionist in all things. And I fail miserably. But when it comes to knitting, I endeavor to get it right (even when it gives me a splitting headache). Charlotte's pink sweater is precious, but the discovery that the sleeves were three-quarter just wouldn't fly. So last night I ripped out the hems and went at it again. Paul napped after a successful and fun Thanksgiving with the kids and out-of-town family...and I worked, knitting needles in hand. But the sweater is perfect now, suitable for at least a few months wear, and I'm happy. So now, on to the Christmas stockings. I plan to make four, one for each of us, in slightly different colors. I'll be lucky if I get one done by the time Santa arrives.




















I have a head cold that insists on lingering and a whopping sinus headache. So church was a miss (must make it there soon to adopt our family for the holiday!). I put Charlotte down for some much-needed tummy time. And while she turned her head a few times, she prefers to slumber on her belly. Cute but misguided, my dear. Harry tries very hard to join her on the mat, if only for the attention. This morning, when that proved unsuccessful, he began swatting her in the head with a sheet of newspaper. At least it wasn't a book.

Giving Thanks

I don't have a huge family. The births of my two children pretty much doubled my small circle of kin, but I am blessed to have a brother, sister-in law and two nephews who live a few states away, in Vermont. They decided to join us for Thanksgiving, their first chance to meet Charlie face-to-face.
During their whirl-wind journey we visited friends, participated in the Del Ray Turkey Trot with both the kids (kudos to Bonnie for joining us, despite West coast jet lag), ate a heaping turkey dinner and shop-shop-shopped at Nordstrom (perhaps Bonnie's favorite place on Planet Earth.).

Paul, and the boys went to the newly-remodeled American History Museum where they battled the crowds, which were conspicuously absent in the shopping malls. Good for Bonnie and me, bad for the, you know, economy. Good luck Mr. Obama.


Harry absolutely relished the attention shown to him by his uncle Doug, who read him stories, and cousin Reid, a strapping 13-year-old who is both brilliant and already wowing all the girls with his dashing good looks (look out Mr. Pitt).














Before the family left, Harry was presented with an awesome early Christmas gift -- a garbage truck with all kinds of movable parts. Funny, too, since Harry's favorite book of late is "I Stink," the story of a NYC garbage truck.

Charlotte took all the visitors in stride, posing for photos in her new sweater, the pink one mom has been knitting recently. Note please that mom welcomes all compliments on the sweater, which is already too small for said baby. She gets points for trying, right? Today, we unravel the sleeves and try again.

I Blame the President Elect

It was decided that we'd follow the time-tested methods suggested in the potty training books: strip toddler down, place potty within view, and wait. So why, not, I thought, just let Harry go bare while we were in the kitchen last night, and see if his potty proved alluring. That's when Paul and I got into a spirited discussion (read: argument) about the President elect and his plans for government contractors. Would he be ditching the lot in favor of government-employed scientists, or is it unnecessary worry. Suffice to say we fell on different sides of this debate, and in the process of making our points, we sort of forgot about Harry, who was happily roaming the kitchen sans diaper. Then I noticed the puddle near my feet. "Is that pee??" I laughed and Paul went to fetch some paper towels.....that's when he spotted the baby-sized pile of, yes, poop right next to the potty chair. While Harry clearly needs more practice (and I need more Mr. Clean), he did provide for gales of laughter. Good try buddy. We're rooting for you. Now where are those diapers?

Five

Ms. Charlotte, proving herself to be an awesome baby, did a five hour stretch in her bassinet last night. Five hours! I'm so proud of her, wasn't even annoyed when she vomited all over the kitchen floor. Who cares. Five hours! She even cooed through her morning bath, no tears. What a girl. Now if I could just find her something to wear for Thanksgiving dinner. My friend Jen, whose daughter is always dressed so adorably, loaned us a few things for the holidays (trying to do my part in with the rotten economy...borrowing not buying...it's so hard to restrain!), but everything is still a bit too big for Charlie, 6-weeks-old as she is. So the credit cards may make an appearance today at "Why Not" or my other Alexandria favorite, "Nina's Closet." Shopping for a precious little girl - Oh the agony.

Simple Pleasures

When I was about Harry's age I was photographed in my highchair, licking angel food cake batter off an electric beater tine. My brother, who is 18 years my senior, is also in the shot, greedily licking at the sweet goop. I made the world's finest chocolate chip cookies last night (not my recipe so I can brag -- secret ingredient? Sea Salt and 24-hour refrigeration, published this year in the NYT), introducing Harry at long last to the simple pleasure of cookies and milk. His reaction was a very pure "mmmmmmmmm." This picture reminds me very much of that day, let's see...38 years ago. All that's missing is uncle Doug. He's coming to visit for Thanksgiving. Maybe we can coerce him into a little cookie batter love fest while he's in town.

Little Man

It was big times for our little man last night. It started with his first shower! Sorry, no pictures since dad was also rinsing off. But there they were, under the waterfall of drops, rubber bath toys scattered at their feet. He liked it, but perhaps not as much as his new potty. He greeted the plastic pot with a big "hi!," inspected it inside and out and then stripped down and gave it a try, complete with reading material. No action so far (could you go with someone snapping pictures?), but we're taking it slow. No pressure Harry!

Sleepless In Alexandria

It occurred to me at 3:30 a.m., in the midst of a groggy feeding, that I used to stay awake at night just to watch Harry sleep. My heart would swell as I'd just gaze at him, my first little miracle. Funny how second miracles aren't quite so scintillating. Beautiful, wonderful, precious and cherished, yes, but last night, as I gazed at Charlotte, preferring for the first time to watch her slumber instead of taking my own opportunity to hit the pillow, I was reminded how second children just don't always score all the perks. In some ways, they're luckier. More seasoned parents make better, calmer parents and in turn, probably turn out more adjusted little ones who, for example, are willing to sleep without being held all the time. As a result, Charlie is a much better infant snoozer than her brother.

I recall the first time Harry threw up -- and I'm talking one of those Linda Blair Exorcist projectile vomit experiences -- I just lost it, sure he'd need to be hospitalized. There were calls to the pediatrician, chapters of speed reading in baby books, great wrending of hands. And of course it was nothing more than gas. Charlotte is already a champion puker and mom and dad are taking it in stride, this time with a lot of patience and laundry detergent on hand. To date she has visited the doc a mere fraction of the times we hauled in her brother. Sometimes it's good to come in second.

Included, some photos from Friday's mothers' group.: Harry picking through the pantry in search of food. And Charlotte in the gentle arms of my friend Holly.