Asher found a nice, fat drawing surface.
And then went to town.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Monday, September 29, 2014
Happy Monday!
We made two different driving trips through my favorite part of ABQ today (the Village of Corrales).
They do fall right. The entire main drag is lined with creepy scarecrows.
Dia de muertos is a fascinating holiday.
Asher & Har playing ball.
Truth Bomb: Toddlers Are Scary
My day began so perfectly. Asher started grumbling at 6:30 a.m. while I was sitting up in bed checking email and looking at people.com. I slowly made my way into slippers and a robe, down the hall, and into the pitch blackness of his room. Winter is coming people, the mornings are darker than they were a week ago. He stood up and reached for me, settling into my arms in a big sleepy hug as I lifted him out of the crib. We sat in the dark together while I whispered to him all of the fun things we might do together today, brushing his hair with my fingers, helping him ease into the morning... until he woke up, shrieking, "PAH-PY!", scrambled off my lap, and ran (swerving) down the hall to find Harlan.
We had waffles for breakfast and around 8 I decided it was time for our morning walk. I filled a travel mug with half & half and added a splash of coffee, put on a sweater (again, winter is coming people!) and off we went.
At the end of our street we experienced the most delightful thing that's happened on our walks ever. It beats the trampoline dogs, the roadrunner run-ins, it beats everything. A sprinkler was running, watering a tiny patch of grass the size of a sand box (what Albuquerquians call 'yards'), and chasing each other around in the mist were two pigeons. They were literally playing tag. Just following each other around, flapping their wings, playing in the water. I could have watched them for hours. But something pulled me out of my happy little dream world: Asher's pointer finger shooting up at the sky as he yelled "VROOM! VROOM!" (Asher speak for 'hot air balloon'). And then my perfect day spiraled.
You see, in the last week, Asher has become a toddler. Not in how he toddles, not in how he talks, not in how he interacts with the world around him-- in how he interacts with ME. He is a headstrong, argumentative, difficult little person when he doesn't get his way. And this is new. And per the usual, in an ignorant, first time mom sort of way, I thought I might somehow be exempt from this stage- so this has been a real shocker. Because I have the sweetest baby. He has been so gentle and kind, concerned about other peoples feelings (he cries when he thinks kids get hurt at playdates), and so, so, so in love with his mama. Certainly, my sweet little boy would never scream "MOMMY NO!" in Target and slap my hand when I tried to take away the nail polish he was .1 seconds from unscrewing and pouring all over himself. WRONG. Certainly my little boy would never act like a total banshee child when he was forced to stop playing with the hose? WRONG. Yesterday Ben and I took him to the grocery store and as soon as we got inside Ben broke off from the pack to go get his flu shot. Within one minute I was calling him on his cell phone begging him to forgo the shot and come rescue me from the 24 pound tyrant I was facing off with on aisle 2. Asher had seen a banana, and he had to have it. When he didn't get it, he screamed bloody murder. When I gave him a fruit pouch instead (stupidly thinking that would be a cleaner alternative for a mid-shopping trip snack) he looked at me, one eyebrow up, unscrewed the top and squeezed it as hard as he could, sending blueberry applesauce shooting across the cart (barely missing a fellow shopper), and then threw the now-empty pouch on the ground. While screaming about the banana. Where oh where has my sweet baby gone?
So this morning, when Asher started yelling "VROOM VROOM!" and frantically pointing at the sky, I started experiencing banana PTSD. I knew the tone of his impatient pointing and yelling. Translated, 'vroom vroom' didn't mean, "Mommy! Look at the balloon! I love balloons!" like I would have said it did a week ago. It meant, "Mommy I swear if you don't get me on that (expletive) balloon this (expletive) second I am going to lose my (expletive) mind." And guess what. I know my baby. Vroom Vroom turned into straight screaming and twisting and trying to houdini his way out of the shoulder straps of his stroller. Then the strap got caught around his neck (don't even ask me how this happened) and as I reached down to try to free him my hand went just a little bit too close to his severely teething mouth and CHOMP. I got bit. And by "I got bit" I don't mean he snipped at me and then looked at me cowardly like he does when I try to check out his teething progress. He bit my left hand pointer finger and clamped down like a pitbull. I shook it, I pulled it, I couldn't free it. I had to pinch his cheek so that he would yelp in order to free my poor finger. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose the nail. Like when you slam your hand in a car door or drop a cement block on your foot...that kind of force was exerted on my finger. Now, to be fair, I'm pretty confident Asher would not bite me if he weren't tossing and turning like he was caught in a fishing net and associated my hand with his dilemma. He couldn't see me when I reached down (I came over the back of the stroller). But still. The hysterics The chaos. And now I maybe, possibly, could be the proud mom of a biter. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I love my child. All of his craziness included. (By the way, Ben has told me to stop using the "C" word because I tend to call Asher crazy about 50 times a day...but I'm afraid people are going to think that when Ben tells me to not use the "C" word they are going to think I'm actually using the "C" word and I'm going to be stripped of all mom privileges effective immediately).
Toddler years are going to be hard. And this is just the beginning. Wowsers.
We had waffles for breakfast and around 8 I decided it was time for our morning walk. I filled a travel mug with half & half and added a splash of coffee, put on a sweater (again, winter is coming people!) and off we went.
At the end of our street we experienced the most delightful thing that's happened on our walks ever. It beats the trampoline dogs, the roadrunner run-ins, it beats everything. A sprinkler was running, watering a tiny patch of grass the size of a sand box (what Albuquerquians call 'yards'), and chasing each other around in the mist were two pigeons. They were literally playing tag. Just following each other around, flapping their wings, playing in the water. I could have watched them for hours. But something pulled me out of my happy little dream world: Asher's pointer finger shooting up at the sky as he yelled "VROOM! VROOM!" (Asher speak for 'hot air balloon'). And then my perfect day spiraled.
You see, in the last week, Asher has become a toddler. Not in how he toddles, not in how he talks, not in how he interacts with the world around him-- in how he interacts with ME. He is a headstrong, argumentative, difficult little person when he doesn't get his way. And this is new. And per the usual, in an ignorant, first time mom sort of way, I thought I might somehow be exempt from this stage- so this has been a real shocker. Because I have the sweetest baby. He has been so gentle and kind, concerned about other peoples feelings (he cries when he thinks kids get hurt at playdates), and so, so, so in love with his mama. Certainly, my sweet little boy would never scream "MOMMY NO!" in Target and slap my hand when I tried to take away the nail polish he was .1 seconds from unscrewing and pouring all over himself. WRONG. Certainly my little boy would never act like a total banshee child when he was forced to stop playing with the hose? WRONG. Yesterday Ben and I took him to the grocery store and as soon as we got inside Ben broke off from the pack to go get his flu shot. Within one minute I was calling him on his cell phone begging him to forgo the shot and come rescue me from the 24 pound tyrant I was facing off with on aisle 2. Asher had seen a banana, and he had to have it. When he didn't get it, he screamed bloody murder. When I gave him a fruit pouch instead (stupidly thinking that would be a cleaner alternative for a mid-shopping trip snack) he looked at me, one eyebrow up, unscrewed the top and squeezed it as hard as he could, sending blueberry applesauce shooting across the cart (barely missing a fellow shopper), and then threw the now-empty pouch on the ground. While screaming about the banana. Where oh where has my sweet baby gone?
So this morning, when Asher started yelling "VROOM VROOM!" and frantically pointing at the sky, I started experiencing banana PTSD. I knew the tone of his impatient pointing and yelling. Translated, 'vroom vroom' didn't mean, "Mommy! Look at the balloon! I love balloons!" like I would have said it did a week ago. It meant, "Mommy I swear if you don't get me on that (expletive) balloon this (expletive) second I am going to lose my (expletive) mind." And guess what. I know my baby. Vroom Vroom turned into straight screaming and twisting and trying to houdini his way out of the shoulder straps of his stroller. Then the strap got caught around his neck (don't even ask me how this happened) and as I reached down to try to free him my hand went just a little bit too close to his severely teething mouth and CHOMP. I got bit. And by "I got bit" I don't mean he snipped at me and then looked at me cowardly like he does when I try to check out his teething progress. He bit my left hand pointer finger and clamped down like a pitbull. I shook it, I pulled it, I couldn't free it. I had to pinch his cheek so that he would yelp in order to free my poor finger. I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose the nail. Like when you slam your hand in a car door or drop a cement block on your foot...that kind of force was exerted on my finger. Now, to be fair, I'm pretty confident Asher would not bite me if he weren't tossing and turning like he was caught in a fishing net and associated my hand with his dilemma. He couldn't see me when I reached down (I came over the back of the stroller). But still. The hysterics The chaos. And now I maybe, possibly, could be the proud mom of a biter. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I love my child. All of his craziness included. (By the way, Ben has told me to stop using the "C" word because I tend to call Asher crazy about 50 times a day...but I'm afraid people are going to think that when Ben tells me to not use the "C" word they are going to think I'm actually using the "C" word and I'm going to be stripped of all mom privileges effective immediately).
Toddler years are going to be hard. And this is just the beginning. Wowsers.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Random Phone Pictures from September
First:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAREN!
Second:
Here are some random pictures from the last couple of weeks.
The King of Lounging
Diet Coke?
California Pizza Kitchen Lunch Date
Grandma Dot sent a giraffe pajama suit. Our halloween costume plans just changed in a heart beat.
My fashion forward baby....
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Sunday, September 21, 2014
Grandma Karen Wins Amateur Photographer of the Weekend Award
I know I'm his mom and I'm so biased...but seriously.
SERIOUSLY.
Checking out the Model G trains.
Distracted by the sprinkler.
Family picture at the pond.
99% of Asher's life involves food on his face. Not going to worry about it.
All Boy. Running around with a wrench.
Grandpa + Sprinkler = Awesome.
Watermelon
After Asher started shivering in his sprinkler, we warmed him up and let him roam around while chowing on watermelon. Not a bad end to a fun day.
Grandma & Grandpa Visit ABQ
Karen & Jim came down to Albuquerque this weekend and we have been having a lovely visit. Asher has been in fine toddler form-- mostly happy and prancing, with a tantrum/shriek thrown in here and there. We visited Ben's work, went to the botanical garden, had dinner at El Pinto, and logged lots of outdoor sprinkler/mail/tree house time.
This morning we went to the botanical garden.
Of course Asher took every opportunity to get knee-deep in water.
A protective hand on the hat. You can kind of steer him with a gentle push of the head.
Asher warble communicates with the turkeys. It is the bomb.
Point. Cow.
Point. Goat.
Ducks and fish fighting over crackers.
Three generations. Love.
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