Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

It took nearly 26 months, but Harry finally needed a haircut. I waited so long for it to grow I will admit that it was really hard to bid those blond, curly locks goodbye. But this morning Harry and I took a little trip over to PhD, a hair salon in Alexandria that will gladly trim-up the occasional child (how $13 is worth it to the stylists who have coax and cajole reluctant toddlers is beyond me). But Sonia was patient - never blinking when Harry refused to put on the penguin salon cape - and knew exactly when to whip out the lollipops, which were all Harry needed to be the model child. He received very high marks.

In no time at all (sob!), his precious curls were gone. I may never be the same.

I Like to Move it, Move it....

Charlotte is nearly crawling now, a necessity, I believe, to get to her brother's toys and drive him insane. She is doing a fine job.

"My Friend Tote"

Harry has lots of great friends. And they're all about the same age.

So it was great fun to have some friends of Paul and their three children come stay with us over Memorial Day Weekend. The youngest of their kids, Tote (a derivation of Christopher, please don't ask), is a year Harry's senior and the two of them got on like a house on fire. Tote was just the seasoned ringleader that Harry needed, showing him a three-year-old's trick-of-the-trade -- from the magic of nuclear-blue freeze-pops, to the fashion statement that is Batman undies and using the big-boy potty. Harry is still waking up every morning asking for his new friend. What a drag his family lives in Philadelphia.

Even Charlotte got something out of the visit. James, 12, was quite taken with our little girl. He actually wanted to give her a bottle. I dare you to find me another pre-teen boy who likes babies.

Little Chef

Given how much Harry enjoys eating, it's probably no surprise he's trying to cook. No, we don't prop him up at the stove to make dinner. But at least twice a day he asks if he can make salad. And every day I slice up veggies and put them in separate bowls and let him assemble the greens. From there we've moved on to making meatballs (he smooshes all the ingredients together with his hands and dusts the balls with flour), he's even rolled whole trout in cornmeal. 'Fish sleeping," Harry informs us. And who are we to tell them they won't be waking up? I think maybe we'll get him a pint-sized toque blanche for Christmas.

Shoe Fetish

Charlotte may not be crawling yet, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get around. A lot. After feeding her a bottle this morning I put her on her play mat. Within moments she had rolled (over and over and over) to reach a paisley-orange sneaker that clearly looked very appealing. By the time I realized where she had gone, she had barfed into said shoe. I will not be sharing pictures.

Sushi Baby

Who can resist a baby in Converse sneaks?

I'm Drinking in the Rain....Just Drinking in the Rain...

We got caught late Saturday afternoon in a downpour as we strolled through Old Town. Actually, I was in Pacers getting fitted with a new pair of running shoes ...faaaaaaaast sneakers in hideous pink and silver (who designs these things?)...when the sky opened. We thought we could race the thunder home, but we got as far as the very gross Rocket Grill (think beer stank and cigarette smoke) when the big drops started to fall. So we did what any respectable couple with two children in tow would do....we ditched into the bar for a cocktail. As soon as the sky cleared we got the Hell out of there, but just two more blocks down the street...more rain. So, we did what any slightly tipsy but respectable couple with two children in tow would do....we ditched into the Hilton hotel bar, for another drink.

It was quite the walk. Unlike the Rocket Grill, we found some comfy chairs, snagged a bag of gratis bar popcorn for the boy and settled in with our drinks to watch the ponies running the 134th Preakness Stakes at Pimlico. We're lucky that there are no additional bars in the two additional blocks that separate our home from the Hilton. Or are we?