Friday, February 10, 2006


Wherein I just blather for a bit

It's been a helluva week. I am so far behind in work, in housework, in domestic paperwork, that I can't even string together a coherent post. I've been so busy that I wanted to thank you all for your recent comments - the questions are great, and I'll get to them soon, but also thanks for the well-wishes on kindergarten and other adventures, and for the nostalgia kick on 1970s TV. It's been fun reading your comments - even more so than usual!!

Simon went for his two-year-old check-up this week. The ped asked how he was doing with his words, and when Beloved told him he was forming sentences with clauses, he was suitably impressed. Simon at two is a perfect square: 35 lbs, 35 inches tall. This sounded vaguely familiar, so I looked in my own blog archives and sure enough, Tristan was a perfect square at three years old! Simon's currently 90th percentile for weight, and 80th for height. We brew our boys big.

Tristan gave up the guard rail on his bed last night, which is another major milestone for us. We had suggested removing it quite a few times, but Tristan always asked to keep it. He's been in that bed for longer than he was in his crib, come to think of it, and it's strange to be able to just sit on the edge of the bed without cramming my butt into the gap between the rail and the footboard. Simon is still in his crib, and showing no signs (touch wood) of contemplating escape, so we'll leave him there as long as he is content.

He also still takes his nightly bottle (Simon, that is - not Tristan), and I really should get around to weaning him from that. But it's me who loves the five minutes of cuddling at the end of the day, and Simon is much like his mother in that he is a creature of routine. The other day, I put the empty bottle on the wall unit instead of the side table and he scolded me for it. Apparently it's important for the balance of power in the universe that the bottle goes on the table and NOT the wall unit. Now I know.

I'll leave you with this conversational snippet from last week. We're sitting at the table, the remains of a Greek take-out feast spread out on the table. Tristan looks up and asks, "Mommy, why does dinner come from boxes?"

This is my domestic legacy.