Sunday, June 24, 2007
Revealing Her Inner Old Testament Hebrew Self
Genesis 37:29-34 And Reuben returned unto the pit; and, behold, Joseph was not in the pit; and he rent his clothes. And he returned unto his brethren, and said, The child is not; and I, whither shall I go? And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a he-goat, and dipped the coat in the blood; and they sent the coat of many colors, and they brought it to their father, and said, This have we found: know now whether it is thy son's coat or not. And he knew it, and said, It is my son's coat: an evil beast hath devoured him; Joseph is without doubt torn in pieces. And Jacob rent his garments, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days.
36 Weeks and Andy Rooney
Me and Gianna. I'm totally sucking in my stomach.
Included in this pregnancy edition: one of my scars from my laparascopic surgery! Rad.
Did I say Andy Rooney? I meant Andy Warhol.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Timeline: An Ice Cream Meltdown
We went out for ice cream this week. Several times. It's that time of the year. It's light out late. It doesn't cool down until after 6:30. Stella's alert and dirty and we're burning daylight before we can give her a bath and put her in her comfy little bed where she nestles down for the night and recharges for the next long, hot day.
There is not a good local ice cream place near our house. I could sit here and mentally map out the local environs and...nothing for miles. No Baskin Robbins, no mom and pops that sell ice cream, no hispanic helado store--to me this is a disappointment. It seems that getting ice cream shouldn't be a production. One shouldn't have to drive for miles to find a fun little place that sells ice cream. But we do.
We go to Mary Coyle's. This is a local place that's been around for a while. It's been a frequent place since we've been married, too. It's not too far, but far enough. They make their own ice cream and employ the slightly privileged teenagers that live in downtown Phoenix. There have been a number of these servers that stick out to us and whenever we pull up to park we wonder aloud, "I wonder what happened to Sweaty Motivated Boy? Or Hair Twirlling Girl who let people's ice cream melt? Hmmm?" It's a fun little game of familiarity.
Anyway. We went to Mary Coyle's this week. We order some ice cream fully aware of the requirement to share with Stella because she is unable to manage or consume her own bowl. Well, all was well at MC's. We were having a fun time. There were pink straws to play with! And she was sitting by her dad--her new fave.
And then they brought the ice cream.
This is usually this highlight. but not when you're dealing with the end-of-the-day emotional capabilities of a small child. She got her own spoon and she was given the opportunity to use it at will. But she did not choose wisely.
For added emphasis:
There is not a good local ice cream place near our house. I could sit here and mentally map out the local environs and...nothing for miles. No Baskin Robbins, no mom and pops that sell ice cream, no hispanic helado store--to me this is a disappointment. It seems that getting ice cream shouldn't be a production. One shouldn't have to drive for miles to find a fun little place that sells ice cream. But we do.
We go to Mary Coyle's. This is a local place that's been around for a while. It's been a frequent place since we've been married, too. It's not too far, but far enough. They make their own ice cream and employ the slightly privileged teenagers that live in downtown Phoenix. There have been a number of these servers that stick out to us and whenever we pull up to park we wonder aloud, "I wonder what happened to Sweaty Motivated Boy? Or Hair Twirlling Girl who let people's ice cream melt? Hmmm?" It's a fun little game of familiarity.
Anyway. We went to Mary Coyle's this week. We order some ice cream fully aware of the requirement to share with Stella because she is unable to manage or consume her own bowl. Well, all was well at MC's. We were having a fun time. There were pink straws to play with! And she was sitting by her dad--her new fave.
And then they brought the ice cream.
This is usually this highlight. but not when you're dealing with the end-of-the-day emotional capabilities of a small child. She got her own spoon and she was given the opportunity to use it at will. But she did not choose wisely.
For added emphasis:
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
In Addition to Which...
On a recent trip to the pediatrician I received a handout that told me to always feed my child at the table. We mostly abide by this habit, especially when snacks involve oranges or other sticky consumables. I thought this was a precaution for the safety of the child--choking hazard, etc.
Until this week.
I have just discovered the source of the ant infestation in our house. At first it was mild. They were discovered Tuesday morning. A few roamers seemingly without purpose. There was no food or sticky liquids laying about. I squirted them with some soapy water and called it a day. Ants, to me, do not instill fear and disgust when they are on the floor, in small numbers. Lacking in organization.
Well, good morning, Thursday. I arose to the mixing of my coffee and turned to find a large clump of them on the kitchen counter. I began to do some more intense investigation. There was a long steady stream of them coming in from the floor by a window. This was no rambling, rag-tag group of nobodies. These ants were working--they had purpose. This was the kind of assembly you would see outside and think, "Wow, ants are so industrious!" Or at least I would. I do find the little buggers fascinating--outside, or on the floor in small unorganized numbers. Not on my counters or in my couch with numbers approaching double digits and in forms resembling small cities.
Time to take serious action.
I performed a "how to kill ants" search on Google. So many options. Baby powder? Cayenne pepper, Simple Green, diatemaceous earth.
OK, now I know what to apply that won't hurt my child or animals.
But wait, why are they crawling on the couch?
Upon lifting one of the cushions I found the reason: a large chuck of a no longer recognizable food substance. Sadly, the first culprit that came to mind was Stella--most likely the proper culprit. And now I have another reason why she won't be wandering the house consuming snacks.
Until this week.
I have just discovered the source of the ant infestation in our house. At first it was mild. They were discovered Tuesday morning. A few roamers seemingly without purpose. There was no food or sticky liquids laying about. I squirted them with some soapy water and called it a day. Ants, to me, do not instill fear and disgust when they are on the floor, in small numbers. Lacking in organization.
Well, good morning, Thursday. I arose to the mixing of my coffee and turned to find a large clump of them on the kitchen counter. I began to do some more intense investigation. There was a long steady stream of them coming in from the floor by a window. This was no rambling, rag-tag group of nobodies. These ants were working--they had purpose. This was the kind of assembly you would see outside and think, "Wow, ants are so industrious!" Or at least I would. I do find the little buggers fascinating--outside, or on the floor in small unorganized numbers. Not on my counters or in my couch with numbers approaching double digits and in forms resembling small cities.
Time to take serious action.
I performed a "how to kill ants" search on Google. So many options. Baby powder? Cayenne pepper, Simple Green, diatemaceous earth.
OK, now I know what to apply that won't hurt my child or animals.
But wait, why are they crawling on the couch?
Upon lifting one of the cushions I found the reason: a large chuck of a no longer recognizable food substance. Sadly, the first culprit that came to mind was Stella--most likely the proper culprit. And now I have another reason why she won't be wandering the house consuming snacks.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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