and together they pointed at airplanes

Blake's current calling prevents him from joining Garrett and I on our bus ride to church. And so, each Sunday morning, I haul Garrett, his bag, and my bag down short five blocks and over one long avenue to the bus stop. It is a heavy load and sometimes my arms go numb from the weight of it.

But today, as we waited for our bus in the shadows of large homes and the shade of tall trees, it was easy to forget about the growing density of my growing boy. Because today, at his prompting, we listened carefully for the sounds of airplanes flying low overhead and scoured the blue skies to spot them. When we found them, we, in our excitement, pointed at them and watched them disappear into the distance. Thanks to our close proximity to three of the country's busiest airports, in the seven minutes we waited for our bus to arrive, we were never left without an airplane to gaze at.

The actual bus ride to church is a very wiggly one. Garrett has forgotten how to sit still, and his curious hands are in constant reach of something: a pole, a handlebar, the hair of the lady sitting in front of us, the button to request a stop, screws in various sizes and locations. It is all I can do to keep him happy without that happiness depending on our neighbors who would prefer to be left alone.

But today, in between his wiggles, Garrett found a friend reflecting back at him in the shiny black paneling between the bus windows. He smiled and waved; his friend smiled and waved back. They engaged together in a several happy games of Peek-a-Boo, each boy pleasantly surprised to find the other looking back at him. And these activities continued intermittently throughout our thirty-minute bus ride.

This life as someone's mother is far from being a breeze, but, as if to balance the challenges, it is also incredibly fulfilling. I am privileged to walk beside (or carry, as the case may be) this pint-sized person who is able to point out the finer, almost invisible, details of life -- an ability that never ceases to amaze me. So here's to rediscovering this beautiful world alongside the boy who's discovering it for the first time.

see you in the voting booth

Well, not technically in the voting booth, seeing as how voting is something we Americans get to do privately. Not that folks these days are especially concerned about whether or not the whole world knows who they're voting for. So, in that vain, I would just like to say that I am definitely intrigued by McCain's choice for running mate.

I don't know much (yet) about Governor Sarah Palin, but what I do know, added to what I saw of her speech earlier today, I am so far impressed. She is a maverick, a conservative, a reformer, a mother of five, a woman. Her political experience may be limited, but then, so is Obama's. She can, however, based on her current position as governor of Alaska, mark that experience as executive, something that I think might give her a slight edge to Obama's background with the legislative branch.

I think this was a clever move on McCain's part. Where Obama seems to only talk about change, McCain's gone and, by choosing a woman as his choice for vice president, actually enacted change. Either way, my waning interest in this election campaign has been renewed, and I now have a better reason than "I don't want to throw away my vote and, thereby, my right to complain about politics" to go to the polls this November.

shadows of the summer

I've had a pretty awesome first summer here in the city. Let's do a quick re-cap, shall we?

Fun, huh? Thanks, Dad, for clueing me into this one!

every five minutes

It certainly seems that every five minutes I turn around and Garrett is doing something new. I feel like I just did similar post, but he's at it again, so I am, too.

In the last few days, I've been surprised by the following new tricks Garrett has learned:

• Crawls, and gets stuck, under chairs
• Found a special new place for his books
• Lines his bath toys along the edge of the tub
• Climbs out of the bathtub (um...yikes!)
• Moves a heavy diaper pail to find, and play with, the electrical socket/cords hidden behind it
• Points to airplanes and watches them fly across the sky
• Stops and opens the microwave (I cannot even begin to tell you how annoying this is getting)
  
• Does the actions to "Popcorn Popping" (well, only the popcorn part, but he uses two hands and participates on cue)
• Gives excellent, though prolonged, goodbye hugs and cries appropriately at parting
• Laughs heartily, shakes his head, and slaps his knees to demonstrate that he thinks something is funny
• Points to what he wants (with one hand, while simultaneously grabbing for it with the other)
• Stands alone for a few seconds and catches his falls when he loses his balance
  
• Leads the way when I hold his hand for a walk around the apartment
• Points to the baby when I show him his box of Gerber rice cereal and ask, "Where's the baby?"
  

And I think that's about it...for now.

like pennies in a piggy bank

Garrett's found a new special place for his books:

the hour

I spent more of last week's trip to the laundromat keeping Garrett from escaping out the door and onto the street than I did washing clothes. After dishing to Blake the dirty details (and, judging by the shade of black Garrett's legs turned during the course of his explorations across the floor, they were seriously dirty...laundromat floors are not exactly known for their ability to be eaten off of), we came to a compromise that sent me straight to laundry heaven: One day a week, Blake would suppress his desire to get to the office early and stay home with Garrett while I washed and dried our clothes. For the first time in my life, I found myself actually looking forward to laundry day because for the first time since Garrett was born, I would have a regularly scheduled hour to spend as I pleased (in between switching loads, of course). I could read books! I could sketch out some of my creative writing ideas! I could sit and daydream!

Well, today was the day. Laundry day. And, even though it meant that I had to be out the door by 7:00, I cannot even begin to tell you how luxurious my morning has been. Instead of wrestling with my one-year-old to get out the door and fighting with him to keep him from touching things he shouldn't, I quickly started the wash without him and spent my hour catching up with George as he led his ragged army around New York in the year 1776. It was beautiful (the uninterrupted reading, not the war, which at this point was rather humiliating for the American troops).

Add to this the fact that I came back home to little boy who wasn't cranky and a bed that I didn't have to make, and I've got the beginnings of a potentially fabulous day. Now, if I could just weasel my way to a full day's worth of free hours...oh, I salivate at the thought. But I shouldn't get ahead of myself. That will come with time, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'm perfectly happy to have my one hour a week, even if it means sharing it with the laundry.

governor's island

Governor's Island, as seen from the ferry crossing

Governor's Island, located about a half mile from the southern tip of Manhattan, and even closer to Brooklyn, has a very rich history:

• Sighted in 1524 by Giovanni da Verrazzano;
• Explored in 1609 by Henry Hudson;
• Settled in 1624 by the Dutch West India Company (and called "Noyten Eylant," or Nutten Island);
• Privately acquired in 1637 by the Dutch governor of New Netherland;
• Overtaken in 1664 by the British during their occupation of New Amsterdam;
• Renamed in 1698 to Governor's Island, for the “benefit and accommodation of His Majesty’s Governors";
• Occupied in April 1776 by George Washington and his rebel troops, and fortified that summer in preparation for battle with the British;
• Falls, in September 1776, to the British after the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Long Island (then known as the Battle of Brooklyn);
• Surrendered, in 1783, to the Americans at the close of the Revolution;
• Ceded in 1800 by New York to the United States. At about this time, construction begins to build up the island as a military post;
• Served, from 1861 to 1865, as both the central recruiting station for Civil War soldiers on the Eastern Seaboard and as a prison camp for captured Confederates;
• Hosted, in 1909, as the starting point for the first airplane flight over American waters. Wilbur Wright took off from the island, circling the Statue of Liberty once before returning;
• Was, from 1914 to 1918, a major supply base and embarkation point during the First World War;
• Served, from 1939 to 1945, as an administration center and the chief reception center during the Second World War;
• Was handed over, in 1966, by the U.S. Military to the U.S. Coast Guard;
• Was abandoned, in 1996, by the Coast Guard;
• Was purchased, in 2002, from the federal government by New York for only $1;
• Became, in 2003, a National Monument, open on weekends in the summer for visitors...

...which is why we chose this storied island as the destination for yesterday's excursion. We packed a picnic lunch, boarded the free ferry at Whitehall and South Streets in Lower Manhattan, a ride which, all told, only lasted seven minutes (but which didn't stop Garrett from enjoying every head-in-the-breeze moment of it),


and began our explorations of the island. Some of the highlights included:


An up close and personal view of one of Olafur Eliasson's famed NYC waterfalls. I tell you, this is an incredibly impressive form of public art.


Great views of Lower Manhattan, the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg bridges, and of course, Lady Liberty and Ellis Island. We enjoyed our picnic lunch in some pleasantly cool shade with impressive vistas in the company of buzzing cicadas -- a welcome change to the whir of hurried cars. Who knew an escape from the city was only a seven minute ferry ride away?


Stately buildings, such as these barracks along Colonel Row, which harked back to the days when the island was a military outpost. We also looked at and wandered in a few of them, including the impressive residence of the chief commanding officer.


Fort Jay, one of the military defenses on the island. The most fascinating spectacle Fort Jay had to offer was the magazine, or underground storage space for the arms and artillery.



The circular Castle Williams was, hands down, the most impressive defensive fort on Governor's Island. Built in the decade before the War of 1812, the stronghold was so commanding that its very presence on the island influenced the British to not attack New York during that war. During the Civil War, it served as a military prison for captured Confederate soldiers, and, in the years following, continued to simultaneously serve as both a military prison and a barracks.

Despite the unfortunate sunburn I received during the course of the day (the one outing I forget to don sunscreen for...), I give Governor's Island two thumbs up. We had a blast wandering around this serene piece of history. And this weekend was an especially appropriate time to visit because the parks service was commemorating the infamous Battle of Brooklyn, which was fought 232 years ago later this week, with various activities (none of which, unfortunately, we timed right enough to participate in). We plan to return again next summer and maybe then we'll take them up on their offer of inexpensive bike rentals and ride around the island.

hello dali

We went to the Dali: Painting and Film exhibit at the MoMA this evening. For those of you whose only experience with Salvador Dali is "The Persistence of Memory,"

"The Persistence of Memory"

let me be the first to tell you that not only is his style very surreal and a little weird, it can also be incredibly creepy.

"Soft Construction with Boiled Beans"

I learned this evening that Dali was not only a painter but a filmmaker as well. He worked with Alfred Hitchcock to design the set for Spellbound:


He also worked with director Luis Buñuel on the bizarrely surreal (and intensely disturbing) film Un chien andalou:

On the walls throughout the exhibit were projected the various films Dali took part in the production of. I watched about three minutes of Un chien andalou before I couldn't stomach anymore. I don't know about you, but watching ants crawl out of a hole in a man's hand is really not my cup of tea.


It was an interesting exhibit, and worth the "free Friday" crowds, if only to be able to see "The Persistence of Memory" in person, but as we walked out of the museum, I couldn't help but agree with Blake's thoughts: "I'm not sure if I can trust anyone who says that Dali is their favorite artist."

Intending to prevent any potential frighteningly surreal dreams tonight, I did a little Google search once we got home in the hopes that I'd find some redeeming qualities in Dali's style. Happily, I did. Here are a few gems that I'll leave you with:

"Landscape with Butterflies"

"Woman at the Window"

Not sure what this one's called, but it's kind of neat, don't you think?

first cityversary

On a rainy afternoon, one year ago today, we arrived in Brooklyn. We were an exhausted, ragged three-some: Blake, who had driven our moving truck from Muncie, Indiana, through Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and over a few bridges into the city; me, who, like Blake, had been awake for nearly two days straight, finishing up the packing and cleaning of our old apartment; and Garrett, seven weeks old, colicky, and constipated. The storm, which had started as we began loading up the truck, thus delaying our departure considerably and forcing us to pack up almost completely without our promised help, followed us all the way to New York and kept us company as we unloaded into our new apartment. As I stood, surrounded by boxes, in the old, echo-y rooms we'd soon be calling home, trying to comfort my fussy baby boy and near tears myself, I felt sure that the thunderous downpour was a bad omen, a sign that our move was nothing but a big mistake. In the lonely, unsettling days and weeks that followed, I felt it even more acutely: could I ever really belong in Brooklyn?

But then I'd remember that too many miracles came to pass to bring us to the place and position we now found ourselves. We were supposed to be here. For what reasons exactly, I didn't know yet, but that didn't matter. I had a city I needed to learn to love.

I found the laundromat, the grocery store, the library, the bank, the pediatrician. I learned how to get places on the subway and how to tote an infant around on foot. Slowly I adapted to the culture of Brooklyn. With time I became a recognized part of my community. And in the process a certain fondness for it developed somewhere in my heart.

The other night in my Book of Mormon reading, I came across the following verse from Alma:

Now when our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us, and said: Go [...] and bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success.

Success we have indeed found. And blessings in abundance. More than once Blake and I have stopped to consider the fact that, had we been living in any other part of the country at this time of economy-crumbling, we'd be suffering greatly: the cost of living may be high here, but where else can you get away from the burden of monthly car and insurance payments, in addition to explosive gas prices? Where else can we stay so healthy just by going about our daily routines?

Which isn't to say that some days are just hard. I struggle with Blake's long work hours. I still wonder how well I fit in my ward. And life on foot in a big city is exhausting. But I've realized that my happiness is a choice: I can choose to wither in misery, or to bloom where I'm planted. I've decided to blossom, and this choice has led me to a kindred spirit, exhilarating outings, and a realization that my situation is in fact a pleasantly comfortable one.

This last year has been one of struggles, learning, and adapting. But it's also been one of happiness, growth, and incredible memory building. I like Brooklyn, and I'm starting to think that Brooklyn likes me.

wacky dreams all around

To start this post, I want to share a poem that was published last October in the New Yorker:

Dream with Flowers and Bowl of Fruit

Too many of my dreams these days are boring.
I expect to drop into the pillow
and see the kind of action night is for --
a psychic workout, romance, close escapes:
Not much gets accomplished in a still-life;

nobody looks at asters as a way
to get a taste of life. I want to happen,
not to slightly rearrange my day
nightly in a recurring tablescape.
Dreams! However beautiful the apples,

fruit is low on drama, and I miss
passion, flying, falling, being chased,
crashing, panic -- trauma -- and I miss,
small and quick, a movement in the grapes,
and the shiver of a petal in the vase.

--Deborah Warren

Awesome poem, don't you think? Such an interesting way to express a wish for nighttime dreams which are more than just a rearranged still life of daytime routines. I especially love the line "However beautiful the apples,/fruit is low on drama."

More often than not, my dreams are wacky and drama-filled, anything but rearranged fruit on a quiet table. Some of them have been so vivid, I still remember them quite clearly, like the bizarre one I had when I was about 14.

Before I dive into the dream itself, a quick geography lesson is in order. The house I grew up in was a split entry, with the main living area upstairs, and the laundry room and a large playroom/family room downstairs. The latter was located to the right of the bottom of the staircase, just beyond the under-the-stairs storage, and was entered by way of a dark brown, wooden door.

And now the dream:

I was calmly walking down the upper flight of stairs. Everything was present day and in technicolor. But as soon as I reached the landing by the front door, my world turned black and white, I was in an enormous hurry, and I'd been transported back to the 1940s. I rushed down the second flight of stairs, turned to the right to face a door no longer solid brown, but which now had a window on the upper half. The glass was of that thick, pieced together sort that is all but impossible to see clearly through, and there was black lettering, displayed in an arch, announcing what sort of room I was about to enter. I don't know what the words actually said, but apparently it was some sort of open newsroom.

I flung the door open and yelled, "Stop the presses! I've just discovered a new word!" Everyone gave me their full attention and then suddenly the screen of my dream when black and a twirling newspaper spun into focus, highlighting the fabulous new word I'd just created. I don't remember what the new word was, or what it meant, but I can tell you that it called for a lovely assortment of little-used letters like "x," "z," and "q." Also, it was beautiful, not only for its useful meaning, but for the actual shape the letters made joined together in this particular order.

My creation of this word helped me to quickly achieve world fame. The next thing in my dream that I remember is an image of me, dressed in fabulous post-war garb, including a large hat worn tilted to one side, riding in the back of a classic convertible car through a New York City ticker-tape parade held in my honor. I somehow was able to produce the most exquisite wave as I acknowledged my adoring public. It was awesome.

And that, my friends, is a classic example the wacky dreams, which are about as far removed from a "still life" as I think you can get, that I am wont to often have. What are some of your wacky dreams?

tricksy

Every day, it seems, Garrett tucks away a few more tricks up his sleeves. Here are a few of my current favorites:

1. I don't know if it's because he recognizes himself, or if he's just seeing another little boy, but Garrett has lately become fascinated with his reflection. Every time we pass a mirror (or, really, anything in which he can see his reflection, like the windows on the subway), he shoots himself a flirty smile and, with his fingers extended and his knuckles facing outwards, he wiggles his little elbow and waves happily to himself.
   
2. He has learned that his teeth are useful beyond mealtimes. They can also grip toys when your hands are otherwise occupied.
3. He snaps his fingers (or thinks he does),
4. And whistles (or tries to).
5. So long as I'm holding at least one of his hands, he gets a real rise out of walking as a means of movement.
   
6. He is slowly, but steadily, learning how to clean up after himself. Each night, he follows my example and puts his bath toys back in their basket.
7. Likewise, he is starting to share. Well, maybe "share" isn't quite the right word. But instead of just showing me something he's got in his hand, sometimes he'll let me hold it, too. (Of course, once I've got it, he freaks out and wants it back. Baby steps, I keep telling myself.)
8. Garrett and I are a good team: I can build the really cool alphabet block towers that he can't, and he's most excellent at knocking them down when I won't.
   

re-upholstery

About a month after Blake and I were married, my parents moved up the hill to a new house. An upgrade in their home meant a simultaneous upgrade for a few of their furnishings, and Blake and I were fortunate enough to be handed down some old pieces of furniture. One item (which I believe had been handed down to my parents around the time of their marriage) was an old sewing cabinet. The sewing machine was no longer intact, but, being a good, solid piece of well-put together wood with four drawers and an accompanying chair, we decided to take it and use it as a desk. For the last year or so, it has housed our computer.

A few months ago the upholstery on the chair pad began to rip. Not knowing exactly how to go about fixing it, and assuming that I lacked the funds to do so, I pretended not to notice as it gradually got worse.



Recently, during a webcam conversation with my family, my mom noticed the state of the chair and said, "You know, Lindsay, you can easily fix that. The seat just pops right off and you can staple a new piece of fabric to it."

Staple fabric?

Sure, she told me. Fold the fabric over and staple it to the bottom. She'd reupholstered it that way years ago to match the room it was kept in. It wouldn't take much for me to go find some fabric to match our new couch and rug to make the chair look as good as new.

Today I braved the tiny fabric store across the street from our apartment. The first time I went in, several months ago, I'd been scared away from the messy piles of unapproachable fabrics and foreign language the proprietor spoke. But this morning I tried again and was happily surprised that the quilting fabrics were now more easily accessible. I picked something out, spent about ten minutes tearing off the old seat cover and stapling on the new, and voila! Good as new!

answer

Well, here's the answer to my Find The Hidden Bars game. By our count, we found 24* groups of bars (each of which, in theory, should have five individual bars, thus making the individual bar total, for those of you who counted it that way, 120).

But no matter what the official total is, I'm still pretty impressed by the design skills exhibited in this ad.


*And don't you think it's interesting that 24 is 42 backwards? Perhaps this ad really is more than meets the eye...

killing time

In his job as an advertising research analyst, Blake spends his work-days focusing primarily on telecommunications ads. Our evening conversations are sprinkled with news of this company's latest ad campaign and that company's hilarious new commercial. So it wasn't too surprising when, this afternoon, standing on the subway platform waiting for our train, this AT&T ad hanging on the wall caught his eye:


It's one of their "More Bars in More Places" ads, Blake explained to me. And then he asked, "Can you find all the bars?"

Together we scrutinized the picture, and together we found more bars than we bargained on. I'm not going to tell you how many, except to again say that it was quite a few, because I want to ask you:

How many bars can you find?

If you want to play along, post your guesses in the comments section. (You might want to click on the photo to enlarge it.) I'll share the answer we came up with in a day or so.

forks vs. fingers

I mentioned earlier that Garrett prefers, but has not quite mastered, using utensils by himself. Here is our little man, entrenched in the battle he continues to wage to grow up far quicker than his mama would like. I think it's interesting how he holds the fork with his right hand, but feeds himself with his right. He is the same way when eating without flatware: the Goldfish grasped in his right hand are held onto for dear life, while those in his left hand get shoveled into his face. What does this mean? Is it too early to tell if he'll be right or left handed? Or is this a sign of ambidextrousness?

Also, I took him in yesterday for another haircut, the results of which should be evident in the second video. When I set him in the boostered chair and Mona wrapped the cape around his neck, he burst into nervous tears. But as soon as she started running the comb over his blond little head, he calmed right down. Like a good back rub or scratch behind his ears, Garrett enjoys himself a good hair comb.

new and improved...

...which apparently also means longer.

Here is Version 2.0 of the mix tape I made a few months ago. This one's a bit more mellow. But I like it that way.

Last time a few of you commented that you liked to go back to my original mix tape post to listen to my music picks. For you folks (and, okay, for me, too), I've posted a more permanent version of the mix tape at the bottom of my blog. If this post is no longer at the top, and you feel so inclined, just scroll down, push play, and enjoy.

who is this big boy and what did he do with my baby?

Since he turned one earlier this summer, there have been several times when Garrett has forced me to stop in my tracks and wonder who this big boy is and what did he do with my tiny baby? He has been changing and reaching milestones much faster than he did in his first twelve months, leaving me in constant awe. Here's a peek at what he's like these days.

Making sure Garrett is well-fed has been a battle from day one, but lately, as he's started experimenting with toddlerhood, the stakes are rising. He's good at eating table foods, unless it's vegetables, which he'll still only eat pureed. Anything he's not interested in eating gets hurled to the floor (and anytime his curiosities about gravity need fulfilling, he'll toss favorite foods over the edge, too. This typically signifies that mealtime is over). Though his skills in the Proper Use of Utensils Department are still seriously lacking, he prefers to use the fork and spoon himself. For a boy only thirteen months old, his attempts aren't half bad. After a few stabs, with different hand-holds, at a slippery piece of food, he's usually successful. He hasn't, though, figured out that the point of getting food onto a fork is to transport it to your mouth, and therefore usually uses his free hand to pull the food off and eat it. His nimble fingers have also translated to an ability to hold his bottles and sippy cups himself (though, when I really need him to just finish his milk already, I'll still cuddle with him on the couch and hold it for him). With his ability to self-feed, his Menu of Favorite Foods has increased dramatically. He loves, among other things, animal crackers, cut up pieces of fresh fruit (especially grapes, nectarines, plums, bananas, and peaches), bread and jam, raisins, meatloaf, and banana muffins. These loves, though, were not haphazardly developed: the inspection process all foods must go through is rigid. First a new food is fingered, then it's smelled, then licked, and, if it's passed the tests thus far, it is inserted into his mouth. If he's still pleased, he'll eat it and beg for more; if not, he'll shake his head until the food dribbles back down his chin. He is more easily distracted these days, which makes mealtimes last a lot longer, but he makes up for it by engaging in lively dinner conversations which I can only pretend to understand.

Garrett's ever-increasing mobility has been taking him all sorts of places. He can't sit still anymore. He crawls (which occasionally looks less gimpy, especially when he's wearing his new high-top Converse sneakers, which make it more difficult for him to propel himself on one leg), easily pulls himself to a stand (on me, on furniture, on walls, etc), cruises along furniture, walks, so long as I'm holding his hands (he's recently gotten brave enough to continue walking even if I'm only holding one of his hands), and reaches, pushing himself up on tip toe for even more alluring discoveries. And he does all this with the speed of lightning. The results are a messier apartment (he leaves a trail of abandoned explorations in his wake, so it's never difficult to find where he's hiding) and more bumps and bruises. Oh, and smashed fingers. He is fascinated by doors, drawers, and knobs, and while he's learned how to open and close these hinged objects, he hasn't yet learned that it's a good idea to keep his fingers out of the way when he does. He also hasn't picked up on the fact that stuck fingers won't be going anywhere unless he releases the pressure he's putting on the drawer/door doing the smashing. This results in lots of sad, strong screams. I have to tell him "no" an awful lot. Like when he wants to stand up in the tub. Or when he wants to press the power button on the computer. Or when his fingers get too curious at the electrical outlet. Or when he wants to turn the knobs on the stove or push buttons on the microwave. And even while the word "no" doesn't mean much to him yet (because he usually doesn't obey), he understands the meaning of my tone of voice (because when I tell him "no," he usually starts to cry).

Garrett, like most babies, has always had the ability to melt the hearts of strangers, but lately he's become more aware of his ability to flirt. And flirt he does -- incessantly! On the sidewalk, in a shop, or on the subway, you'll catch him smiling to catch the eyes of others, waving to them when they acknowledge him, clapping his hands to play, and babbling in response to their coos. He even flirts with himself: anytime he catches sight of his own reflection, he smiles and waves. Generally speaking he is a very happy little boy. He loves tell you all about his adventures, but in case you can't understand, he'll grin and scrunch up his nose. Garrett loves to play. Currently, his favorite game is Chase, the rules of which are simple: assume that someone wants to chase you and run away as quickly as you can, checking back occasionally to make sure they really are chasing you. If they're not, laugh and start running again; you'll soon have roped them in to playing. But life is not all giggles and grins. He actually spends a good part of his days whining and screaming. And when he gets upset (and by "upset," I really mean "hopping mad"), he throws his back out and bangs his head on the hardwood floor -- over and over. And then he cries because he hurt himself. It's a vicious, self-defeating cycle. I really think he might be teething again because His Royal Cranky Pants is starting to drive me crazy.

Ah well, he's in bed now. He's a sweet boy when he's sleeping. His earlier bedtime has prevented him from joining us as we keep our eyes glued to the Olympics, but that doesn't mean he's not absorbing fragments from his crib. I will leave you with a video, taken this evening, of Garrett's attempt to try out for the Men's Gymnastics team. He didn't make the cut, but I'm sure you'll still find his floor routine quite stunning.

tradition

If you come to visit us, expect to take a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Our initial walk across the bridge
August 27, 2007
Blake, Lindsay, and Garrett
(the latter two are standing behind the camera because, hey, someone had to take the picture)

October 5, 2007
My mom, Nancy

October 12, 2007
Kristeee

May 19, 2008

Royce and Heather


July 26, 2008

Katie and Chelsea


And today, August 11, 2008

Eric and Brittany

So...who's next?

china on my mind

Last night Beijing blew us away. China certainly outdid themselves with their use of technology and precision during the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, making it incredibly difficult to pick just one favorite part of the program. But I will say that I especially loved watching the lighting of the Olympic flame. And even though I had to stay up way past my bedtime to see that flame lit, it was still burning brightly this morning. And so, armed with a day pack and a brother-in-law who speaks Chinese, we headed for Chinatown.

us, along with our weird alien-son, in Chinatown. (Yeah...not sure what sort of face he was trying to pull for this picture.)

It was my second visit to Chinatown, and probably my most enjoyable, owing, no doubt, in large part to the fact that Eric speaks Chinese. With his guidance, we braved a few shops (where his amazing skills brought down the price on an item we didn't actually want to buy), partook of exotic and strange free samples in a candy shop (and I use the word "candy" loosely), and purchased treats in a bakery (the fried buns, which are basically just sugar donuts, are delicious). I bought a lovely porcelain rice bowl for only a buck, and walked down crooked Doyer Street, where I spotted this fantastic sign in a restaurant window:



Other enjoyable highlights of today:

• Walking through Little Italy and the Lower East Side
• Catching views of the Empire State Building and the Flatiron Building from Madison Square Park
• A little browsing in stores like Fishs Eddy and Books of Wonder

For most of the day, Garrett was all giggles, babbling, and happy squeals.


He even waved to us while on the swings in Madison Square Park:

And then, somewhere on the wild streets of New York City, Garrett kicked off and lost one of his brand new sandals. Ooh, I was upset. We looked and looked, retracing our steps to the best of our ability, with no luck. It's gone forever. I swear, the sidewalks here will eat your valuables alive if leave them even briefly unattended.

Sigh.

I guess it's a good thing that, even with only one sandal, he's still cute.

reruns and debuts

Blake's brother, Eric, and sister, Brittany, are in the city for a week-long visit to see us and to get better acquainted with the Big Apple. They arrived Wednesday night and already we could pack them up and send them back home, we've done so much! Here's a run-down of our adventures yesterday:

• Coney Island to eat hot dogs at the original Nathan's Famous
• Times Square, with stops in Toys R Us, M&M World, and the Hershey's store
• Rockefeller Center, with a stop in the NBC store
• Midtown 5th Avenue, with stops in the Disney Store, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and F.A.O. Schwarz
• A walk through Central Park
• A photo-op at the Manhattan Temple

With the exception of St. Patrick's, it was all re-runs for Garrett and I (Blake had to work). The cathedral was awesome, though. So beautiful and so striking -- especially when backdropped against ritzy Manhattan. (Sorry, no photos. I snapped a few, but none of them turned out.)

Garrett had a heyday in both the Disney Store and F.A.O. Schwarz. He fell happily in love with every plush creature we let him bury his face into, and if they vibrated, well, all the better! More than one unsuspecting on-looker reported to me that he was adorable (to which I, of course, readily agreed). At the toy store, we let him crawl around on the Big Piano again. Here a handful of toddler girls fell head over heels for him. Garrett, while pleased with the company, really couldn't have cared less for their displays of undying affection, as evidenced here:

Blake was able to take today off work so we decided to make the most of it by adventuring into uncharted territory. First stop was to see Ulysses and Julia:


And now I can even more confidently tell you who is buried in Grant's Tomb. Well, maybe not buried, if you want to be technical. Entombed is more like it. But any rate, this morning we visited the mausoleum that is the final resting place for President Ulysses S. Grant and his wife Julia.

Next, we walked a few blocks south to tour the Columbia University campus. BYU was great and all, but have you guys seen this place? It's fantastic!

the library

if you look closely at the building behind him, you can see he's posing with all of his favorite Greek thinkers.

And then it was onto the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, which is absolutely massive. Construction began in 1892, and it is still not quite finished. Also, a portion of it was destroyed in a 2001 fire, and they are currently trying to renovate that. Still, though, it's a mighty impressive sight:

the view from Amsterdam St. Only a fraction of it fit in my camera view.

side view

All this sightseeing made us hungry, so we stopped at a corner pizzeria for a slice and soda (which we ate folded in half because, well, "when in Rome..."). Blake, Eric, and Brittany continued onto the Met, while Garrett and I opted for the route home. I'd say, though, that it was a good day... even Garrett gave it a thumbs up.

double dutch

I saw a piece on the news last night about how double dutch jump rope is rising in recognized popularity and by the spring of 2009 will become a varsity-letter sport in schools across New York City. Not surprisingly, the first schools to offer double dutch at the varsity level are located in the predominantly black neighborhoods of Bushwick, Harlem and Bed-Stuy, "where the ropes have long swung on asphalt playgrounds."

As I watched the broadcast, I was a little incredulous. Jump rope? A varsity sport? You've got to be kidding me! But then I watched the quick-footed black girls hopping between the two fast-moving ropes, doing flips, twists, and other tricks as opportunity allowed, and I changed my tune. Not only does it take skill to double dutch, it looks like an incredible workout.

According to the New York Times article on the subject,

“As an urban district, we need to be creative in an urban kind of way, and double dutch does that for us,” said Eric Goldstein, who oversees the Public Schools Athletic League, the governing body for the city’s interscholastic sports. “If you see people doing it, it looks hard and it is hard.”

He has a point. The city and the suburbs support very different cultures and ways of life, and appropriate adjustments should be made accordingly. And double dutch jump rope is certainly not easy. Have you ever tried it?

I did, once. And it was a joke. Double dutch is dang hard.

Regular jump rope, however, I enjoyed (probably because I was decently good at it). Back in elementary school my recesses were spent reciting jump rope rhymes with other girls in my class and our feet whipped in and out of the rope. The only rhyme I remember now is the "Cinderella" one:

Cinderella,
dressed in yella
went upstairs to kiss her fella.
By mistake
she kissed a snake.
How many doctors
will it take?
1, 2, 3, 4.....

The other game we played didn't have a rhyme, but did allow for more girls to jump in and out of the rope during the game. During each girl's first turn, she ran into the moving rope, jumped once, then ran out. Each time her turn came up, she added one more jump. This continued until her feet got tangled, at which point she was out. The last girl remaining won the game.

What fun memories this post has fostered! I don't know about you, but I'm now itching for a good game of jump rope. What were your favorite jump rope rhymes and games?

and the flaky friend goes to....

The Powers That Be have done it again. And, as winner of the our Flaky Friends $25 gift certificate giveaway, they chose

KaLee of Just KaLee, who said: "I love Seth the Unfortunate Elephant. I'm sure Easton would love to get that long trunk in his mouth."

Congratulations, KaLee! Email me (my address can be found on my profile page) by this Friday so that I can put you in contact with Hollywood Flakes.

birds and shells

This is what I did with the IKEA frames I bought yesterday:


They're hanging along the sunniest wall in our bedroom. So now my ears can wake up to the sounds of pigeons cooing on my windowsill while my eyes can be aroused by the beauty of these Charley Harper bird illustrations. I couldn't ask for a cheerier arrangement.

And this is what I did with the IKEA vase:


No more tin-can storage for the seashells I've been collecting for the last twenty years or so. They look much better prettying up my bathroom. Right now, because it's the only place to put them, they're sitting on top of the toilet. I'd much prefer that they were showcased on a little decorative corner shelf or something, since the top of the toilet is also our make-shift counter space. I suppose a decorator's job is never truly finished.

Next projects: a shadow box for Garrett's room and a few finishing touches on his baby book.

to ikea we did go

Today Garrett and I went on our own adventure to the IKEA that just opened up in Brooklyn. We rode the subway to 9th Street, then transferred to a free shuttle bus that gave us front-door service to the big blue-and-yellow box. Here are a few things we experienced, observed, and learned:

• The restaurant, which was our first stop, affords some pretty excellent views of the Statue of Liberty.
• Garrett does not like their macaroni and cheese kids meal (and, quite frankly, neither do I).
• The rumor is true: the Brooklyn IKEA IS the biggest around. Seriously, this place is huge!
  
• And they sell houseplants (which I didn't ever see at the one in Elizabeth, NJ). Yes, I bought one.
• I found lots of things I wanted to buy, but didn't. Like toys for Garrett, another bookshelf for our livingroom, a children's table, and star-shaped ice cube trays.
• I also found a few things I went there in the first place for, which I did buy. Like a glass vase for displaying my seashell collection, some basic frames to hang my bird pictures, and an apple slicer, which will come in handy this fall when apples are cheap cheap cheap.
• I am unable to get cell phone service while inside IKEA.
  
• When stopped to consider a certain item, the positioning of the stroller must be done with Garrett's curious hands in mind.
• And speaking of strollers, the 9th Street subway entrance for the return trip is far from stroller friendly. New Yorkers, though, never fail to come through to help a struggling young mother with her baby-and-bag load, and for that I am incredibly grateful. Still, though, I think next time we'll try taking the free water taxi.
  

the flaky goodness

My sisters are gone, and I miss them. It is altogether too quiet around here; we had a lot of magnificent adventures while they were in town. But, I must admit, it's nice to once again have a few more calm moments in which to sweep and mop my floors, roam leisurely through Target (while laughing at Garrett who is now of the habit of flirting mercilessly with every person we pass), and tie up the loose ends I let dangle while I vacationed with them in the city.

Even so, I need something to fill the gap while I wait for Blake's brother and sister to arrive for a visit next week. And what better way to do so than with a giveaway?

Hollywood Flakes, one of my all-time favorite bloggers, has spent the last several months sitting at her sewing machine feverishly creating an assortment of adorable plush creatures. (Sadly, this means that she has not spent as much time furiously filling her blog with her fabulous sense of humor. But her plush menagerie is pretty impressive, which puts me in a forgiving mood.) She's given me the go-ahead to offer a $25 gift certificate good towards anything at Flaky Friends, her etsy store. So, are you guys in?

To enter, please visit her collection, pick out your favorite, and report back in the comments section of this post. Easy as pie.

As for my favorite? Definitely gotta be this guy:


Isn't he a keeper?

So, browse the Flaky goodness and join the fun! But do it soon -- you only have until Tuesday, August 5th at midnight to enter.


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The Fine Print:
- You have until 11:59 PM on Tuesday, August 5th to enter.
- I will randomly select and announce a winner on Wednesday.
- Please, only one entry per person.
- Also, anonymous entries will be ignored.

this is not a box