Happy Halloween. With added cursing!

The cold and flu season has descended upon our house with the intensity of a thousand plagues. Haha. It's November 3rd. Shit.

Anyway, Scarlett was sick for her birthday, and it looked like she was going to be sick again for Halloween. She rallied somewhat, and we decided that Kevin could take her out on our street for a little trick-or-treating fun. I think they were gone 4 hours, and came home with a wagon full of goodies. [Oh, and a special shout out to whoever gave out the sugar free gummi candies with *added Vitamin C* - you suck. Seriously. Next year locate the rolo aisle.]

Later that night [much later, like 2am] I woke up to Scarlett crying in her bed. I went to check on her, and she was sobbing and trying to tell me something. I finally realized what she was saying was "I...want..my...pumpkin..." Nice try, kiddo.

Restraint.

Happy Birthday to my sweet girl.

Are you sure?

Pretend for just one moment that Scarlett isn't the funniest thing in this video. Van is eating food for the first time, and dude, he GETS it. A natural. He wants to know what we've been waiting for, and by the way, when can he have some ribs?

Farm Day

Scarlett is growing up so fast that I can hardly bare to blink. The other day her teacher told me that she was "very independent", which I'm pretty sure is pre-school code for "pain in the ass", but it was something that she didn't need to tell me. We hear "I want to do it myself" all day long. Thank goodness there are still things she needs help with - like screening her own tee shirt, and hitching the occasional ride with her father.

Three is barreling down at us - I'm not going to go all melancholy on you, but I sure am glad we have the other one - the one that still wants to nap on mom. And nowhere else.

Many, many thanks to Tom and Wendy for opening their home to us and all the other vagrants that love to experience life on a farm for one beautiful fall day each year. We had a wonderful time, and we even got to stay past sundown. Cheers!

I'd like to publicly thank This Guy.

My natural grace got me into a little trouble last night. Not two minutes after I helped myself to a glass of wine, I managed to knock it over. Refilling would involve walking up to a table of [lovely, I'm sure] strangers, reach into their conversation area and grab a bottle that I had JUST GRABBED. So instead, I made Paul do it.

Thanks, Paul. I appreciate you taking that bullet for me.

And I'd also like to thank Tom and Wendy for owning a kitchen table that is impervious to red wine. And for having 3 kids, which also made me feel less guilty about being the knob that spills red wine at a party. And most of all, for hosting a wonderful day in the country.

Ballet Princesses who Golf.

Forgive the horrible lighting here, but I didn't want to take the time to adjust the lamps in case I missed Odette's death scene. Or Mickelson's putt on 18.

Ninety-seventh what now?

4 months old. 18lbs 14oz. 26 inches long. Head, melon-esque. We're actually going to have to procure a larger infant seat when he outgrows the one that would still fit his sister, if she hadn't gone all "20th percentile in height" on us.

Yesterday's 4 month well check uncovered nothing more than a patch of eczema on his leg, and a record breaking case of cradle cap on his head. The former gets a dose of antibiotic ointment, the latter, absentminded picking while I'm watching the new season of The Biggest Loser.

There are no words.

Except maybe "Sorry about the pink chair, but well, you know, big sister."

Wedging him in this required butter and a shoehorn, but I think the end result is quite spectacular.

Down on the Farm

I have never in my life seen a baby of any species drain a bottle as fast as this baby goat. Not even my son, who has been known to suck his avent dry before you can say "Fat Baby".

By the way, this sweet baby's name is "Diamond". Which led to more than a few inappropriate stripper jokes, but honestly, if you name your goat Diamond, she's probably destined for the farmyard pole. And you will be sure she'll pay for her straw in singles. While she's putting herself through goat school.

I've just now taken a good look at the picture of Scarlett and her friend Barrett walking in the goat pen, and as soon as I'm done with this entry, I think I need to go find her sneakers and burn them. Because OHMYGOD do you see what they are walking in? How did I not notice that? Oh yes. Perhaps it was because one of the farmers put a chicken on their head and walked around. CHICKEN. ON HEAD.

*faint*

Oh, and *vomit*.

Montana comes to visit.

I finally got my hands on Baby Maya. And Baby Maya got hers on Baby Van.

Alice did not get to see Alby this trip, and I think she's still a little miffed.

I love summer, except when the corn in the cob get stuck in your teeth.

Also, summer naps rule.

Kevin thinks I should cut out the middle man, and just call this "Fat Baby".

But God forgive us, we can't stop laughing at this picture. He really wants to smile, but the weight of those cheeks just hold the corners of his mouth down. But there is joy in his eyes. I see it.

Blurry proof that sometimes he's happy.

No mirror needed.

Van [He's the one with the car on his shirt. I know. I get confused sometimes too.] went for his 2 month well baby appointment. He's on target to outgrow his sister sometime next Tuesday. Probably around lunchtime.

White rice and cupcakes are not food groups.

Edemame. Fresh cherries. Milk. A sourdough roll.

I would be so proud of this if she'd eaten anything besides the roll. Some days I think it's a miracle she poops at all.

Van's youtube debut.

I was feeling all guilty about how Scarlett was the most photographed baby in the history of all babies, and how Van barely gets snapped [although in my defense, as the primary family photographer I've had to explain on numerous occasions that you will not have your picture taken much when you refuse to be put down] but I did finally get a little video of my son.

Out of curiousity, I went and looked to see when Scarlett made her youtube debut, and as it turns out, Van beat her by a cool 3 months.

So suck it, birth order. I rule.

Then the circus came to town.

This is a good lookin' couple.
This couple, also good lookin', compared notes on wardrobe.

My dad's baby sister, and her great-nephew, that looks NOTHING like anyone in our family.

Left to right: Jake, Zoe [holding Van], Scarlett, and Charles Rex.

Amy's clan came to town at the end of June when school got out. They were very pleased to be here because the east coast has been hit with another ice age this summer, and the third week of June was upon us and there wasn't a single person in Connecticut who had donned a bathing suit. So they came to the Midwest where we start sweating around Memorial Day, and don't stop until Halloween. When it snows.

Scarlett is officially enchanted with her older cousins, and Jake declared Van to be the baby to beat all babies. Although ever the diplomat, he couched it slightly by saying things like "well, he's the best under 2 month old baby" and that Scarlett was the best two year old in the girl category, because he has the feelings of other cousins to consider.

Van tried to prove me wrong by being a very good and quiet baby around his aunt and uncle, which lasted until everyone got back on the plane, at which time he opened his mouth and let me have it.

Woefully behind.

This is just one of those pictures that is fun to share. I have nothing to say about it, except perhaps, how cute is this gang?

The cute might kill me.

Seriously. It might.

Van's hips are fine. He has also gained almost 3 and a half pounds, and has grown over 2 inches. I don't know how to dress a child that has no visible bones.

At his one month appointment, our pediatrician made the comment that he was very glad that we were finally talking about normal baby problems like colic. Now, I adore our pediatrician. At our very first appointment, when Scarlett was 5 days old, he quoted Frank Deford to me. FRANK DEFORD. And it wasn't even Wednesday!

But when he said he was glad to be talking about colic, it was all I could do to keep from offering to continue the conversation at 1am. Because I'd be up. Swaddling and shushing, and wondering if crate training would work as well as it did with Alice.


Oh, I jest. We wouldn't put Van in a crate. It's not soundproof.

"Can I ask a question? When did I get to be 39?"

"The better question is when did I get to be old enough to be married to someone who is 39?"

Happy Birthday, hubby mine. Do you want me to make you some chocolate cupcakes? I owe you after you sat through 2 hours of Garrison Keillor.

Of course, the Stanley Cup finals were on this week, so we could probably call it even.

Although I might still make you cupcakes. I'm pretty sure we'd find a few takers in this house.

Update. Because I'm not really interested in watching "Password".

As I mentioned, Van had an ultrasound on his hips to check for signs of Hip Dysplasia. We were going to go over the results with our orthopod this past Friday. However, a couple of days after the appointment, our pediatrician called us to let us know that radiology had sent the results to their office, and that everything looked normal. We decided to go ahead with the ortho appointment anyway, because we thought it would ease the last of our worries.

Alas, Scarlett thwarted that plan by waking up very sick on Friday. We had to cancel Van's appointment and schedule one for Scarlett, which revealed a very run of the mill ear infection. But let me tell you, when my kid is too sick to provide a running commentary on life, and just wants to lay on me and whimper, then she is really sick.

The upside is that I think that for the time, Van is in the clear. We'll reschedule and confirm, but I'm feeling optimistic.

I can't do anything about the fact that due to his appetite, he's rapidly developing rubber band wrists, but frankly, those are so delicious that I don't want to.

Captain Obvious.

Here, she splashes.


Here she said to me "I wet." And looked concerned.

Here, he sighed and thought "I'm really tired of just being put places."

Day and Night.

See here, kid. I know you are new in town, but this? This here is day. During the day, we like to nap, sure, but the lions share of our sleeping is done at night. Night - like when it's dark out? I see you looking around when I go in to replace the binky you've spit out, and I wonder what exactly you think you are watching. It's just you in a quiet dark room. My best advice as your mother would be to just go to sleep. For several hours. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Blue.

Turn ons: Eating. Sleeping. Being held and jiggled slightly.

Turn offs: Being naked and then made clean. Not pooping. Prop 8.

Tomorrow we go for an ultrasound of Van's hips, then we'll meet with Dr. Mehlman and his crew next week to go over the results. Hopefully my uterus was a more hospitable place to be this time around, but we are open to the fact that he might follow in his sister's footsteps - if only to save ourselves the blindsiding of last time.

I've gotten to be proficient at hip x-rays, so we'll see how I do trying to read the ultrasound screen over the shoulder of the radiology tech. Because I'm sure they love that.

See, there she is.

I can only hope that his sense of smell isn't fully developed yet, because ye Gods, that dog needs a bath.

Yes. Alice is here too. But she's smart, and hiding.

Clearly, he's scrumptious.

But make no mistake about it, this is still her show.

Everyone is asking how she's reacting, and I'm happy to report that she's interested, but not overly so. She wants to check him out, but isn't too bothered by the whole thing. When I told her that eventually he'd be big enough to play with, she did check to see that her toys were all present and accounted for, but then decided to offer him her "ipod" as a small gesture. [I'd be happy if he accepted, then promptly lost the damn thing, but that's a whole different post.]

My favorite moment was this morning when she watched me change a diaper.

"Hey! What 'DAT???" And so, we learned a new word.

Oh, and when you bring home your 2nd, please don't make the same mistake we did, and overcompensate with sugary treats, because I'm listening to the results of that play out upstairs right now, and I'm very glad that I chose to care for the one that poops every 15 minutes.