michelle, ma belle

Dear, dear Michelle,

Thank you for counting us as the Saturday stop on your East Coast Spring Break Tour. It was a treat and a privilege to show you some of our favorite places. We had such fun, starting our day with some tasty Brooklyn bagels followed by a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and into parts of Lower Manhattan.


Next we took some pleasant walks through the ever bohemian Washington Square Park and The Village surrounding it.


We ended our day with a bit of window shopping in a few of our favorite stores in the Flatiron District (Books of Wonder and Fishs Eddy), along with some spectacular views of the Flatiron Building itself.


Over the course of the day, we had some great conversations, catching each other up on our lives and making up for the continental difference in where we each currently call home. You got to meet Garrett and, if I'm recalling correctly, you were lucky enough to witness all of his moods, from happy, carefree, and talkative to his famously explosive meltdowns. You were so patient as we took care of both his needs and my own, as I became worn out much faster than the rest of our little group.

We had a GREAT day, Michelle, and consider ourselves lucky to have spent it with you! The next time you embark on another East Coast Tour, do come back and see us again!

Love,
Us

manhattan in the morning

Yesterday was a fun day. My cousin, Audrey, and her husband, Tolman, are here from Oregon visiting her parents (my New Jersey aunt and uncle) for a few days, and Garrett and I joined them, along with Aunt Colleen, for a morning of city adventuring. We met them at Times Square and while there toured two of our favorite haunts: the fantastic Toys R Us and the Hershey's store. Both were quick, in-and-out stops, but at the Hershey's store, Garrett "drove" the chocolate machine, had a blast doing so, and, because he did such a great job, not only produced chocolate he got to partake of, but he also got an official Chocolate Factory Worker hat.


We then hopped over a few avenues to 42nd Street at 5th Avenue, home to Bryant Park and the main branch of the New York Public Library. We attempted to get a glimpse of the library's copy of the Gutenberg Bible, but apparently it was still vacationing at the beach with the original Winnie-the-Pooh like it was last summer when we tried to see it. Oh well. The reading room was still cool, as always. (Oh, and FYI, if you ever need to make a pit stop and are near Bryant Park, you are in luck. I swear, the park restrooms there are honestly one of the nicest I've been to in the city -- certainly not what you'd expect at a New York public park. I know I was very pleasantly surprised.)


After the library and the park, we continued over a few more avenues along 42nd Street to step inside Grand Central Station, after which we went back to 5th Avenue, walking north to see the sights, including Rockefeller Center, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and of course, all the ritzy stores along the way. We parted ways at 59th Street, where the gang had a lunch date, and I headed back down into the subway to get Garrett home and out of his stroller. Despite the drizzly threat of rain and unpleasantly chilly temperatures, I had a great time. It's always a treat to spend time with family.

doomsday

The New York Metropolitan Transporation Authority (MTA) has found itself dealing with a $1.2 million budget gap (though no one is saying exactly why, which is slightly aggravating) and has consequently been forced to take drastic measures in the form of higher fares AND huge service cuts. Every New Yorker will be affected, and no one is happy about any of this.

Including me.

Aside from the fact that the higher fares will seriously eat into our already stretched budget, they're also making my already relatively small world even smaller. Without a car, I rely heavily on public transportation. Effective May 31st, not only will it cost me $2.50 each way (up from $2), but they're reducing the amount of trains on the line that extends into our neighborhood AND eliminating completely/reducing service for the two buses I use on a regular basis. This includes the bus we take to get to church, which is projected to no longer run on the weekends. By summer our commute to church will take over twice as long as it currently does. I shudder to think what this will be like once I'm toting two children across town each Sunday without the help of my husband, whose calling requires he be at early morning meetings.

And speaking of longer commutes, with the total elimination of one of the trains he often takes to get into work, his one-hour-each-way ride into and out of the city will undoubtedly take longer, keeping him away from his family more than either of us would like. Oh, and the price of the 30-day commuter Metrocard he purchases pre-tax through his job will jump up a whopping $22.

I can't stop riding public transportation altogether (and no, buying a car again is also not the answer), but this "doomsday budget," as the media has coined it, will force me to think seriously about how often I board a subway or a bus. I project that soon we'll be sticking a little closer to home.

So, yes, I'm a New Yorker who is not happy about this. Not happy at all. And I know I'm not the only person who is desperately hoping the state government can get over their differences long enough to find a compromise to help ease the budget gap burden now weighing on those of us who ride regularly.

it's a...

My ultrasound this morning was 75% successful in that we walked away from the appointment 75% sure that I am growing another boy. The baby was faced down and modestly scrunched up, making it difficult to confidently determine the gender, but at one point the anatomy looked suspiciously male. I go in for my 20-week peek in the middle of April. Perhaps then he'll be less shy. In the meantime, though, 75% is a strong enough reason to use the pronouns he and him.

And lest, for whatever reason, you think otherwise, let me assure you that we are 100% happy. The more I think about it, the more firmly I am convinced that Garrett will benefit best from a little brother, and I am happy to give him one. A playmate, especially one of the car-loving, block-tower-building persuasion, would be so good for him. And if, as these stills suggest, he grows up to also be a rollercoaster lover, well, all the better.

Wheeeee!

bean bags revisited

On Saturday we bought a trash can for Garrett's bedroom (see above). It's shaped like a frog, and Garrett fell head over heels in love with it when we first pulled it off the shelf to consider purchasing it. Initially we did use it as a garbage can; we tossed his dirty diapers in there, along with tissues used to wipe his nose. But, as we watched Garrett carry his beloved can from room to room, it didn't take long for us to realize that this particular frog's life as a trash receptacle was going to be short-lived. And when he started strewing its dirty contents across the living room floor, we cut our losses and gave the frog's image a makeover. It is now home to our collection of bean bags and used as a bean bag tossing game. Garrett thinks the transformation is pretty darn fantastic.

Before I leave the topic of bean bags, I wanted to thank you for your nice comments about how mine turned out. I know I was pleased, and it pleased me to hear that you were as well. A few comments I received even made me momentarily and semi-seriously consider making more in several different varieties so that I could become one of those stay-at-home-Etsy-business-moms. I started envisioning bean bags in solids and patchwork, in squares, circles, triangles, and heart shapes. In my head I even started attaching bean-filled arms and legs and creating rustic-looking bean bag people. Of course, I honestly don't know that I have the time to venture into something of that caliber, nor do I have the easiest access to the necessary supplies. But it was still fun to entertain the thought. In fact, even though it may very well be impractical (and, I mean, honestly, bean bags are easy enough to make, anyone can go make their own), I still find myself entertaining the thought. So, guys, feed my day-dream: could a bean bag business even take off? How much do you think the average person would pay to have someone create a beanie collection so they wouldn't have to?

genius

Blake showed me this comic in his New Yorker magazine a week or so ago, and, because it's been making me laugh ever since, I thought I'd share the love. Besides, we all could use a little humor on a Monday morning, right?

beanie baby

For reasons I can't quite name, I have always considered bean bags to be a good educational toy to have around the house. This week, prompted by a sharing time lesson plan that called for the use of one, I pulled out a pile of fabric scraps, put dried beans on my grocery list, and tried my hand at making some. They were remarkably easy -- especially for someone with my very meager sewing skills -- and I now have fourteen bean bags to prove it. I'm not yet sure what I'll do with them all, but I'm confident that Garrett will help me think of something. He's already discovered them to be useful things to toss gleefully around the house.

toddler hodgepodge and infant modesty

I don't understand the adoration toddler's feel for Elmo. To me, and most adults I know, Elmo is one of the more annoying characters on Sesame Street. But to Garrett, and most children I know, he is one of the most beloved. I cringe every time I hear the "Elmo's World" theme music come on at the tail end of our morning hour of Sesame Street, but Garrett, on the other hand, perks up happily. Take this morning, for instance. Garrett and I were in the kitchen making a batch of zucchini muffins (I did all the work; Garrett drank milk and watched me from his perch on a chair). Just as I was about to put them in the oven, the "Elmo's World" theme wafted in from the living room. Garrett paused, then anxiously handed me his cup and begged to be put back down on the floor. I obliged, and watched him eagerly run to the TV where he generally stayed put for the next fifteen minutes or so. I guess that furry, red, third-person referring monster speaks a childish language that I don't fully understand.


We have a small bookshelf in our hallway filled with children's and young adult novels. Often when walking by, Garrett will get distracted by their colorful spines and start pulling them off in favor of piling them up on the floor. He knows he's not supposed to do this, and usually keeps a keen eye out over his shoulder in the event that I catch him in the act. Over the last few days, he's generally left these books alone -- with the exception of one: The Bronze Bow by Elizabeth George Speare. It's an excellent book, for those of you who haven't read it, but this doesn't explain why Garrett has taken a fancy to it. For some odd reason, he firmly believes that this book belongs not on the shelf, but on the floor next to it. I have passed by this spot countless times, and each time I do, I have to stop myself from stepping on this book. Each time, too, I bend down and put it back in its spot on the shelf, only to find it returned to the floor a short time later. This afternoon, Garrett must not have had his keen eye out, because I caught him in the act:




As I was washing lunch dishes, I heard a rather desperate cry coming from the bathroom. I took off my rubber gloves and went to investigate. What I found left me clutching my gut in hysterics. Garrett, who, when I asked him if he was ready to get in his bed for his post-lunch nap, apparently thought that I said bath instead of bed, was trying to get himself into the tub, only to get stuck halfway:


And by the way, he did eventually get his dangling, little body the rest of the way in, no thanks, of course, to his mother, who ran for the camera rather than her son in his moment of helpless desperation.




Either because I'm very brave or very stupid, I took Garrett with me to my four-month doctor's appointment this afternoon. I say this because Garrett has a tendency to think that all trips to the doctor must be for him and consequently flips out whenever we get called back to the exam room. Today, though, despite an hour-long wait for our turn, he behaved remarkably well. This probably had something to do with the little girl, his same age, who joined us in the waiting room and who was cute enough for Garrett to go ga-ga over. He was so happy to have been joined by a little friend that the open-mouthed, tongue-protruding, drooly grin his face contorted into when he saw her stayed glued to his face until we were called back. After that, he was so entranced with the equipment -- and especially the sonogram machine -- that he continued in this well-behaved vein for the duration of the visit. I don't know about you, but I'll take entranced over petrified any day.

But speaking of the sonogram machine, we got to take a little peek at the baby at this appointment. The heartbeat was reassuringly strong as ever, everything is looking healthy and normal, and its cute little body looked so comfortable inside me, I was almost jealous. The doctor tried to uncover its gender, but, sweet baby, it was being too modest: its legs were scrunched up like a frog and meticulously crossed at the ankles, preventing any decent detective work. However, the doctor did say that, assuming the modesty front was only temporary, we'd probably learn the gender next week when I go in for another routine perinatal ultrasound. This was exciting news to hear. I wasn't expecting to get any sort of idea until the 20-week ultrasound next month. Of course, like I said, this child might continue to hide the knowledge, so don't anyone -- including me -- get any hopes up.

clusters of crocus

A lot of you have asked me recently how I've been feeling lately. (Thank you. You are all so kind.) At almost 16 weeks, I'm happy to report that I'm starting to feel like a normal person again. Well, normal with the exception of the fact that my mid-section won't stop expanding. I still have a hard time getting through an entire day if I don't take a little afternoon nap, and I still spend an occasional evening feeling yucky and nauseous, but overall, life is good again.

And what makes it even better is what Garrett and I spied on our walk today:


Spring is nearly here, my friends, and I couldn't be happier. Over the past week or so we've had more sunny, beautiful days than crappy cold ones, and it's been marvelous. I'd almost forgotten just how pleasant it is to be able to take my son out for a walk around the neighborhood without having to dress up for and brace ourselves against bitterly cold temperatures. We go for walks together just about every day now, leisurely walking hand-in-hand up and down the streets. This evening was particularly pleasant because three of the neighborhood's friendliest dogs were also out for walks and Garrett got to spent a bit of quality time with each of them. He was in heaven, and if he didn't know better, he'd have told you it was a lucky sort of day.

Speaking of lucky, if you ever want to see a St. Patrick's Day celebrated with style, go visit Ireland. But if, like me, you can't quite swing a trip across the ocean, come to New York. It must be the branch of Irish heritage the city lays claim to, but I swear, they know how to have a good, green time around here. Everyone, young and old, drowns themselves in green. They eat their corned beef brisket and drink their pints of Guinness. And then there's the parade. Oh, the parade. It sometimes seems to be a bigger deal than even the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I didn't watch much of this year's march down the avenue (I needed that afternoon nap instead), but Garrett and I did do a bit of quiet St. Patrick's Day celebrating. For dinner I made green-tinted waffles and served them with green grapes and slices of kiwi. (I drew the line at dyed green milk. I just can't go there.) It was yummy. And seeing as I have a tendency to favor breakfast-themed dinners -- brinners, if you will -- over the corned beef brisket and cabbage, maybe next year we'll eat green eggs and ham.

across the river

This weekend we went to visit my aunt and uncle, formerly of Massachusetts, at their new home in New Jersey. We took an express bus from the Port Authority and were at their house about an hour later. I cannot even begin to tell you how nice it is to have them so close.

We spent most of the weekend relaxing and stuffing ourselves with Nutella-and-strawberry-topped crepes. But we earned our keep as well. Blake and Garrett were put to work helping Uncle Joel do some work around the yard. Garrett did a great job helping to pick up sticks.


We ran an errand to Toys R Us where Garrett got to help pick out a collection of Cars themed Hot Wheels. He spent much of his weekend rolling them across the floors.

While at the toy store, Joel and Colleen took the Wii plunge. Blake helped them set it up, after which we all competed in a bowling tournament. Yours truly swooped in during the 10th frame with a triple strike, winning the game by a landslide. (What can I say -- I rock at Wii bowling.)

Even though this was a weekend trip to visit a branch of my extended family, Blake got to spend a bit of time with a branch of his. His cousin is serving a mission in the great state of New Jersey, and, believe it or not, is currently assigned to work in my aunt and uncle's ward. There was a linger longer after church on Sunday, so aside from a peek into the good missionary work Elder Matthews is doing, we were able to enjoy a nice, relaxed visit with him as well.


As you can see, Garrett was the most relaxed of the four of us. I interpret this to mean that he had a real swell time in nursery.

We're home again, but are anxious to go back across the river soon. After all, you can't beat having family close by, and a two hour door-to-door trip to see them is the best we've experienced since we've lived in the East. (Neither can you resist the temptation to take a dive in the swimming pool on the lake in their neighborhood. Summertime, here we come!)

crac!

When I was younger, if we wanted to watch a video after church, it had to be something calm, usually a cartoon. In the evenings, we'd sometimes all gather together in the living room and watch a family-oriented special on PBS. One Sunday aired The Man Who Planted Trees, a beautiful animated short about a solitary shepherd who, by himself, reforests the landscape one seed at a time by the French-Canadian Frederic Back. I immediately fell in love with the beauty of the animation and the tenderness of the story it told. A few years ago, for my birthday, Blake gave me a complete DVD set of Frederic Back's animated shorts, which included The Man Who Planted Trees. Also included was another short, called Crac!, which I have since grown very fond of as well. It is the story of a rocking chair and the family who built and loved it. In the event that you, too, let your children watch calm videos after church on Sundays, I've embedded it below.

chinatown

It's been a while since I've had a Manhattan adventure to report here. I mostly blame winter. And morning sickness. But there have been other things keeping me busy, too, like doctors appointments and running the Primary. But it's March now, and though it's still pretty chilly outside, Spring is definitely trying to establish a presence, and I'm starting to run out of reasons to want to stay indoors.

A few days ago, my friend, Emily, and I, tired of staring our own respective four walls, decided that a city excursion was in order, and so yesterday we bundled up the kiddies and trekked to Chinatown. First stop was Pearl River Mart, a Chinese merchandise mecca on Broadway near Canal Street. If there is a product of China that harks back to the sometimes kitschy side of Chinese culture, you can find it at Pearl River. Rice paper lanterns, folding fans, and silky high-necked shirts with their accompanying delicate slippers, it's all here. Among my favorites were the pretty ceramic rice bowls and the dangling garlands of paper butterflies.

Next stop was lunch at the Dumpling House, where we stuffed ourselves silly on fried pork dumplings and sesame pancakes -- all for a whopping total of $7. Garrett and Elizabeth snoozed while we ate, which made dining in that tiny establishment a little more convenient, waking up just in time to eat a few bites themselves before we packed up and left.

Our last stop of the day was dessert. For this we trekked a few more blocks east along Grand Street into the Lower East Side so that we could partake of the divinity that is Doughnut Plant. I can't yet vouch for everything on the menu, but the Tres Leches cake doughnut is absolutely delicious. We got there right in time -- as we were eating our purchases on a bench just outside, a whole class of Asian school children arrived. Their teacher was sending them in two or three at a time because that's only about how many could fit at once at the counter. We watched them giggle and consider their options while we enjoyed each other's company in the sunshine.

I can't speak for Emily and Elizabeth, but after our subway ride home, we were pretty tuckered out, and as soon as we got back to the apartment, we settled down for a nice late afternoon nap. It was a fabulously fun day, and as the days get warmer, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for more just like this one.

busy busy busy

Garrett's been an incredibly busy boy lately. Here's a sampling of what he's been doing:

- He's starting to speak in short sentences. He says "Whoooh dat?" (translation: "What's that?"), which he says more as a statement and less as a question, and "Mmmm...dat goo" (translation: "Mmmm...that's good"), which is pronounced more often at snacktimes than at actual meals.

- He loves animals, and is starting to learn what sounds they make. He knows that the snake says "Ssssss," and when you ask him what the fish says, he silently opens and closes his mouth. Sometimes I can get him to tell me what cows, ducks, and sheep say, but he's still learning how to correctly tell me those on a consistent basis.

- Of course, he also knows what the dog says. He continues to display more dog love than I thought was possible in a toddler. I wish we could get him a dog, but for now I might have to settle with letting him play with his many toy dogs and with letting him vicariously own a real one of his own by showing him dogs on TV and on our walks through the neighborhood. I'm eager to introduce him to 101 Dalmations (either the live action or the cartoon) because I'm pretty sure it'd make him crazy happy.

- He sort of says please, and by "sort of," I mean when I ask him to tell me please, he'll vigorously nod his head yes.

- And speaking of yes, he says that, too. It sounds like "yesssssss." The other day during church he was especially antsy, and nothing we offered to distract him helped to calm him down. Finally I asked him if he wanted his binky, to which he eagerly replied, "yesssssss." I love that he's starting to demonstrate that he understands what I'm asking and telling him.

- While he's lately been learning new words at a rapid rate, he's still primarily conversant in his own gibberish language. My favorite is when he'll lean in and start whispering to me, as if he's letting me in on a little secret. Of course, because I want him to trust me as his confidant, I'll whisper back, which ultimately results in long whispered conversations where I have absolutely no clue what we're talking together about.

- He had a funny moment in the middle of the night last night. He roused me from sleep with calls of "Mama! Mama!" so I went into his room to see what was wrong. I found him lying flat on his back, arms spread eagle, on top of his blankets, and he seemed so confused, like he had no idea how he'd gotten this way. I put him back underneath his covers and tucked him with his silky blanket and binky and he fell comfortably asleep again. I chuckled as I left his room.

- He still likes to show me the parts of his body that he knows, and yesterday he showed me where his hair is. So, yes, we're definitely making slow-but-steady progress on the human anatomy.

- He's been more generous with his kisses lately. His favorite way to distribute them is still to offer someone his forehead so they can kiss him. (I'm especially charmed when, out of the blue, he'll come to me, offer me his forehead, and wait until I figure out that he's waiting for a kiss.) Blowing kisses is coming in at a very close second. A few times he's plastered his open mouth onto mine, which even though it's by far the most slobbery kiss he's given me, it's still pretty sweet.

- On Monday for Family Home Evening, we decided to teach Garrett to recognize images of Christ and temples. So we pulled down from off the walls our framed pictures of both Christ and the Manti Temple, told him which was which, then quizzed him. He wouldn't tell us he knew one from the other by pointing at the actual picture, but rather he'd run to the spot where they normally hang on our walls. It wasn't a response we were expecting, but at least he demonstrated he knew Christ from a temple. (We also started FHE with a prayer, which he folded his arms all the way through for, and a giggle-filled rendition of "Popcorn Popping." All told, our Family Home Evening lasted about 3 minutes.)

- Garrett's imagination has been running wild lately, and it's so fun to watch his little brain in action. He loves to feed me imaginary food by pretending to pluck it from pictures in books and magazines. He'll also now initiate pretend phone conversations. "Hello? Hello?" he'll say, holding a wooden block to his ear, after which he'll carry on a little longer in gibberish. Then he'll hand the phone to me because apparently whoever is on the other end of the line has something they wish to say to me, too.

I could go on, as anyone who's lived with a quick-learning toddler knows, but I'm going to stop here and save more of his busy tidbits for another rainy day.


In the meantime, though, I feel inclined to tell you that I've been pretty busy myself lately. This post that you're now nearly finished reading, is my 700th Adventures with Lindsay publication. Seven hundred posts! Can you believe it? I hardly can. I suppose that I have to make to 1000 now, seeing as I'm three-fourths of the way there.

at home in the neighborhood: grocery shopping

I am sure you are all dying to know what it's like to grocery shop in Brooklyn, especially without a car. Well, today, then, is your lucky day. This morning Garrett and I went out to do our weekly stocking of the shelves, and I am now ready to let you in on the quirks and intricacies of city grocery shopping.

First of all, if you are on foot, you will need a folding cart because you won't be able to carry it all home in your arms. (And on days with a particularly long shopping list, the stroller won't even cut it. Two gallons of milk dangling from a lightweight stroller? I don't think so.) Garrett likes to ride in our cart while it's empty and he helps me push it when it's full. He's a good helper that way.

While Brooklyn is home to your typical supermarket, it is also home to smaller specialty markets. When I need fish, I usually stop by the fish market because it's fresher and sometimes cheaper. When I need produce, I often stop by the produce market. My favorite produce market is 3 Guys, but it's a good distance away, and I don't always have the time, energy, or cooperating weather forecast to go there. Luckily for me, a new fruit and vegetable stand just opened up in my neighborhood which, unlike some others nearby, is generally good about stocking decent-looking and well-priced produce. Plus, the owner, who himself is a proud family man, treats his customers well. He is always incredibly helpful when I'm struggling to get my cart and my toddler inside his store and today he gave Garrett a banana just for being a cute boy. Also, milk is often a better price here than it is at the supermarket. So the first stop on my grocery rounds is usually the Stop and Go.


Next up is the grocery aisle of our Rite Aid Pharmacy. Nearly every week, an item or two that I regularly purchase (such as raisins, creamed soups, or taco seasoning) goes on sale for a far better price than at the supermarket, so I stop in to stock up. I love our Rite Aid, and the people who work there, I've noticed, love me, either because I give them my business, or because I have a darling little boy they like to dote over. (I'm pretty sure it's the latter. Nora, my favorite cashier, is always cooing over Garrett in her thick Brooklyn accent, fondly remembering the days when he'd come in as an infant bundled up in his teddy bear coat.) While I'm here, I'll also stock up on any household and toiletry items that we need or which are on sale.


My third, and usually my final stop, is the supermarket. It is here where I purchase the bulk of my shopping list items. Sometimes, like this morning, I'll let Garrett help me push my little cart around the store. Other times I'll load him and my previous purchases inside a regular, albeit pint-sized, store cart, fold up my own cart and hang it upright from the hooks provided at the back. I'm a bulky, awkward load when I do this, and it's often pretty difficult to steer in and out of the teeny tiny aisles, but a few bumps never anyone, right? I'm just as recognized here as I am at the produce market and Rite Aid, and again, probably because of Garrett. (He may at times be a very awkward accessory, but he's proven himself to always be worth the extra weight.)

Before any of you walk away from this post with an image of your typical suburban supermarket in your head, let me just clear a few things up right now. Most Brooklyn grocery stores -- at least the several that I've been in -- consist of a small handful of narrow and tightly packed aisles with food items stacked almost higher than you can reach. And while every square inch of available space is stocked with products, the selection is not huge. You're lucky to find store brands, or even a wide variety of name brands. Consequently, it's a little harder to shop on a tight budget, which is why my meals often revolve around the weekly circular. It took me some time to get used to NYC grocery stores, but now that I have, I've discovered that I often feel lost and overwhelmed in their suburban counterparts.


All three of these Monday grocery shopping stops are within 5 quick blocks of home and three blocks of each other. It really is handy having so much so close (especially in the drizzly weather we dealt with this morning), and makes the on-foot routine a little less tedious. Now, if you want to talk tedious, I could tell you how I get all these purchases up the stairs to our apartment. I think, though, that I'll let your imaginations go creative with that one -- mine usually has to.

pin a rose on his nose

He points to his tummy, and sometimes he'll show me where his belly button is. But his snazziest (or perhaps I should say schnozziest) trick is what he does when I ask him to show me his nose:

I always knew my boy was special.

(Okay, okay, so I know that eventually I'll have to teach him to just point to his nose and not shove his fingers up inside it, but for now I think it's pretty funny.)

tweet tweet

I recently read somewhere that the likes of novels, short stories, and even blogs have been outmoded, that the status update is now the new medium of creativity. Those of you who are addicted to Twitter know what I'm talking about. If this is, indeed, the case, and not just the opinion of a small handful of Twitterpated individuals, then, as a writer, I'm sunk. I don't do the status update -- at least not well. I've written and shared a few by way of Facebook and Gmail Chat, but, quite frankly, they all stink.

How can something so trivial as a status update be poorly written, you may be asking. Well, it's simple: just install into your head a brain like mine and you will see why I have problems.

First of all, I'm constantly changing my mind, which in turn would mean a constantly changing status update. In my mind, this doesn't quite defeat the purpose, but it certainly does seem to outdo itself. Take today, for example. In about five minutes of real time, I could tell you the following things:

Lindsay...

• is comfortably situated on my couch.
• is watching Garrett make his beet red poopy face.
• just changed the world's stinkiest diaper.
• mends mysterious holes in Garrett's shirt.

Obviously, because I have vowed to not spend my life glued in front of my computer, I wouldn't list everything. But how do I pick which one to share?

Let's say I've narrowed my favorite down to the last, and probably least offensive, in the list: "mends mysterious holes in Garrett's shirt." Enter my next problem: perfect wording. Do I like the status update as it is? Or should I change it to "is mending mysterious holes in Garrett's shirt." Or perhaps, "is mending three mysterious holes in Garrett's shirt." Or even, "just poked my finger while mending three mysterious holes in Garrett's shirt. Anyone have a bandaid?" The possibilities are endless, and I get dizzy thinking of them all.

So, no. I don't do the status update. I don't enjoy them (my own, that is...some people I know come up with wonderfully creative ones which, of course, have a tendency to make me wonder why I couldn't think up something like that). Consequently, as things stand now, I will never join Twitter. Aside from my absent ability to create status updates which I deem suitable enough to share, I prefer that the majority of my life take place in real time right in front of me and not in some online virtual reality.

No Twitter for me, thanks, but that doesn't mean I don't do birds. I love birds, and am loving just as equally their current rise in popularity. (Just walk through an Anthropologie, and you'll see what I mean.) And speaking of that fabulous store, a few days ago we hung up some birds that I purchased there a short time back with a bit of birthday money. I think they look lovely between our two living room windows -- like they might happily fly away after they've wrapped up their restful perch, but won't because they're nailed to the wall. Now these make me happy.

thoughts on a second pregnancy

I've been thinking a lot lately about the Lord's timing and allowing myself to trust in it and, ultimately, in Him, especially in regards to this second pregnancy, and I have learned a few things -- dear and sacred things -- that I'd like to share with you today.

Before I was pregnant with Garrett, I was baby hungry -- almost certifiably so. I wanted to be there, where so many of my friends were finding themselves. I wanted to be a mother. I wanted a baby to cuddle and care for, a companion I could watch grow up. Throughout my pregnancy with him, I marveled at my responsibility to host within me my growing boy, which certainly made it easier to bear the discomforts of my ever-changing body. When he was born, I was amazed at what we had created, and I was eager to begin my job as his mama.

As the weeks and months passed, however, I realized that I was not especially eager to ever repeat this process. Sure, I wanted more children, eventually, but the thought of surviving another pregnancy, another childbirth, another round of dark and difficult newborn days did not appeal to me like they did before. As Garrett grew older and the time came to start thinking about giving him a sibling, I'd push the thought to the back of my mind, telling myself that there was still plenty of time, I'd think about it later -- when I was baby hungry again.

In November the desire to be pregnant again was about as far away from my heart as it ever had been, but by Thanksgiving, something else was pricking at my brain, and how heartily it consumed me took me by surprise. Blake and I talked and I discovered that he was of the same mind: Someone, we knew, was anxiously waiting to join our family.

Neither of us could deny this feeling, this prompting. It was too strong and too persistent. Whether I was baby hungry or not, action had to be taken. By the turn of the new year, the pregnancy test read positive.

"Trust in the Lord with all thy heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Never before in my life have I understood this scripture as profoundly as I do now. Upon acknowledging the notion that some precious spirit needed to be with our family, and needed to come now, I put my thoughts and actions into the Lord's hands, and He took care of everything.

I am no more baby hungry than I was a few months ago, at least not in the same way I was before Garrett. But I am marveling at my responsibility to host this precious, growing child, and I am more and more finding myself just as anxious to meet him or her as he or she was to come to me. I am grateful for the guidance and direction of the Lord, into whose arms I have placed myself. I can't do this a second time by myself, but happily, I don't have to.

frozen

Yesterday, in the aftermath of Monday's nor'easter, the city shivered from bitter temperatures. Well -- I was shivering, at least. And so was Garrett, who woke up from a frigid night with blue, chattering lips and feet anxious to get the heck off the icy wood floors and onto the rugs, stat. Together we spent the majority of the day waiting for our radiators (the heat from which we have no control over) to stay turned on long enough to actually heat our little rooms. I was FREEZING, and nothing I tried worked to warm me up. Hot chocolate, turtleneck sweaters, heavy quilts, a dinner requiring the use of both the stove and the oven -- nothing. I even tried my brother, Tyler's, trick to think of Ernest Shackleton stuck in the Antarctic, but to no avail. I would have tried running my blow dryer, but it died on Sunday and, with the storm, I haven't yet been able to get to the store to pick up a new one.

When bedtime rolled around, we tucked Garrett, who unfortunately sleeps in the coldest room in the apartment, in with several extra blankets. Blake wrapped him up like a burrito, and by the time he was through, Garrett looked like a cozy life-sized banana. (The tightly tucked blankets must have made him comfortable because he made no effort to wiggle out.) We then gathered almost every other extra blanket in the house and piled them on our bed before diving under the heavy warmth.

We slept, sedated beneath the weight, until the wee hours of the morning, when we heard Garrett groaning and half-crying in his sleep. Blake went to check on him and discovered an icy room and a little boy loosed from his blankets. Opting for body heat and bedding he couldn't easily climb on top of, Blake brought Garrett to sleep in between us for a few hours (a practice which I normally don't like, but illness and subzero temperatures seem to be okay exceptions). We slept comfortably together and woke up considerably warmer this morning.

The temperatures are supposed to be higher today and, with less wind predicted, should feel true to form. I am glad of this because 1) leaving the house actually seems like a possibility, and 2) good golly, I'm sick of the cold! I think I'm going to need you guys to remind me when I start complaining about summer heatwaves that I dislike winter worse.

poster child

Blake's youngest brother, Neil, has Down Syndrome. For the last couple of years, he has been participating in a therapeutic horseback riding program through the American Quarter Horse Foundation. Based on the reports we've heard, Neil has thoroughly enjoyed the interaction with the horses, and the regular riding has helped him to improve his ability to communicate and interact with others, among other things.

Recently, Neil became the poster child for the foundation's "Because of a Horse" campaign to raise awareness and funds for America's Horse Cares, the therapeutic riding program he participates in. Don't you think my brother-in-law is handsome? (Watch out, girls -- he just turned sixteen.)

buried in snow

They weren't kidding when they said that March comes in like a lion.


Last night a nor'easter blew into town, and now we're buried in snow. Some reports I've heard say that before it's finished later this evening, the city will be draped in up to 12 inches of snow. Right now in many parts of Brooklyn, they've already measured 10 inches. New York City public schools have even declared it a snow day, which is incredibly rare (this is the first snow day in five years!).

snowy views on our street

After Garrett decided he wanted more of the snow that just what he could see from the window, we bundled up and went outside. He had a great time -- for about two minutes. And then the wind-whipped snow still falling brought him scrambling back inside.

While we were out I made an attempt to walk the three blocks to our grocery store because we're just about out of milk (and you do not -- I repeat, do not -- want to be around my son when he's milk-deprived), but there was no way we could make it. The snow is just too deep. I might just have to brace myself for an afternoon of Garrett hanging desperately off the refrigerator door begging for yet another glass of milk while we wait for Blake to pick up a couple gallons on his way home from the office.

March certainly came in like a lion, but I, for one, am certainly hoping that it goes out like a lamb.