Spring break camp out

A very long time ago--like as long ago as 2005, when Jeremy and I lived in Montana and had no children and a house that was always clean--we (I) decided to celebrate a very cold spring break by camping in our tiny living room. As witness:


At the time, I was frustrated that we couldn't go anywhere or do anything during spring break. That frustration has become a familiar one, as we've always lived in places where "spring break" typically found us 1)poor; and 2)buried in snow (anyone remember our spring break trip to Mexico?).

This year, we are only slightly less poor and we had no snow, but Jeremy had a lot of grading and odds and ends to do. Plus it was kind of rainy and lame. What better way to celebrate those conditions than another spring break living room camp out?


I should pause here to give Jeremy credit for going along with this idea. When I first suggested it, I expected to meet with a subtle but recognizable amount of passive resistance. Instead, he seemed mildly enthused by the hassle of setting up a very large tent in our living room. He even managed to set up the tent by himself while I was out, all without Jonathan and Clara discovering the scheme. Remarkable!


When the kids finally rounded the corner to the front room and were greeted by a tent where no tent had been before, they were satisfactorily excited. Much jumping, laughing, and dancing ensued. (By the way, Clara told us she picked that particular nightgown because camping gives her so much joy.) Then we dined on hot dogs, chips, and root beer (nothing says "living room camping" like a meal of processed foods) followed by oven s'mores, which we did not eat in the tent.





After dinner, we told stories, sang songs, then settled in for a comfortable night of sleep. (We crammed our regular mattress into the tent, and Cole slept in his crib. And of course the kids can sleep anywhere.)


In the morning, we feasted on pancakes and sausage, thoroughly enjoying the end of a memorable camping trip. Since I don't plan on doing a ton of camping in the Missouri insect-ridden humidity, I'll have to look forward to our annual living room spring break camp out. It has most of the fun of camping with very little of the mess and hassle. Maybe that's why Jeremy went along with it so easily...

First food

Almost exactly three years ago, we put a small green bib on a round, sweet baby and fed him some rice cereal.

This month, we did the same thing.

According to my archive, we fed Jonathan his first solid food on the very day he turned six months old. With Cole, he was about six months and a week. Or, if you want to be more specific, he was actually about four months old, when someone let him gnaw on a graham cracker, propped up by himself on a couch, at a church party. That "someone" was not one of his parents. But, I choose not to count that as Cole's "first food," so this rice cereal is it.



I have never seen a baby take to solids like Cole. Although the video doesn't show it, by the next day he was eating more or less like a little baby pro, and he has since eaten oatmeal, peas, green beans, carrots, sweet potatoes, and pears, all with equal gusto and relish. Welcome to the club, baby boy!

WHO ARE YOU?

I'm Batman...


And so am I...

My favorite boys

Start spreading the news...

A few weeks ago, I pointed out to Jeremy (with a kind of wistful sadness) that Cole was already five months old and had only been to four states. To make matters worse, one of those states was Iowa, which we entered only accidentally for less than five minutes when we took a wrong turn on the way home in the dark one day. I'm not sure we should even count it (but of course we do). Never mind that by the time I turned fourteen I'd been to exactly four states; Cole comes from a family of well-traveled children, and he was falling behind.

To make up for having spent such a dull first five months on earth, Cole and I decided to join Jeremy at his annual geography conference in New York City.

Jeremy goes to this conference (for the Association of American Geographers) nearly every year. Since he started his Master's, he's gone to six AAG conferences, and I've joined him for four of those--Denver, Chicago, Boston, and New York. It's a bit of a shame that he always has to actually attend the conference when we're visiting some of my favorite places, but we've managed to strike a nice balance over the years.

This year's AAG was particularly well scheduled, since it took place less than two weeks past our TEN year anniversary (Holla, JB!). It seemed like a great opportunity to travel together, even if we did have to take Cole along. Frankly, though, if we had to take a baby it might as well have been Cole. We don't call him World's Best Baby for nothing.


Jeremy's mom generously offered to fly out to tend Jonathan and Clara in our absence, which made it possible for me to leave their sweet faces without too much heart-sickness, though I did feel a little choked up when I kissed them good-bye in the wee hours of the morning before leaving for the airport.

The flight to New York was fantastic. We had no one sitting around us, Cole was an angel, and Jeremy and I talked more in those three hours than we have in the last two months. That is probably only a slight exaggeration. I loved it! I would've wanted to stay on the plane forever if only 1)we'd had food; and 2)we hadn't practically been in a death spiral during the bumpy and horrible landing. Yuck.

We checked into our charming hotel, and I soon departed to find sustenance and roam the city streets. I'd only been to New York once before, when I was pregnant with Clara, but I very much enjoy visiting big cities and love wandering around looking at buildings and trying to avoid having homeless people spit into my mouth. I'm happy to report that I was successful on both counts. I returned after an hour with some food to a hungry and grateful Jeremy, then I said I'd stay with Cole while Jeremy walked the mile to the conference hotel to check in. I figured I'd lie down with Cole so he could take a nap, and the next thing I knew, three hours had passed and Jeremy was conked out on the bed with us (though not before snapping this charming photo). I guess some people might think a three hour nap was a bit of a waste in one of the world's greatest cities, but those people are not us. It was fantastic.



Our hotel was quite near Grand Central Terminal, so we wandered there for dinner. We'd thought to go farther afield, but we read a review that said Grand Central's dining concourse had more variety and better food than most small cities. Since we're from a small town now, we thought we'd see if it was true. It was. We had tandoori chicken at a little Indian place (that actually had a for real tandoor oven in it--at a food court!) then followed that up with a little gelato chaser. Very worth it. We even got to sample the local culture when a crazy lady who looked perfectly normal kept wandering by us muttering, "If the parents aren't normal the kids aren't normal. Parents aren't normal..." Ah, crazy lady!

Grand Central also gave us a chance to snap these pics for my sister, Megan. If they don't make sense to you, then you are not Megan:



And while we're on the subject of Megan, this one's for her, too ("Hey, Mozz--I think Kate left me a message!"):


We all slept very well that first night, including Cole in his little Russian Orphanage-chic hotel crib (where do they get those things?). In the morning, Jeremy dragged himself to present his paper at the conference at 8:00. He said it went well, which I'll go ahead and call an unmitigated success. While he gave his paper, Cole and I took the subway uptown and wandered around in the cold and wind until we met up with Jeremy. Later that day we went to the Met, and even though we only saw a small fraction of the art there, I was totally blown away. I guess there's a reason why it's a world-renowned art museum. It was like being in an art history book. I kept saying, "Oh, there's a Van Gogh. And another one. And another! Oh my goodness, look at all the Van Goghs!" I could've spent hours and hours just in the European and American art wings. Monet, Manet, Sargent, Van Gogh, Cassatt, Degas, Picasso, Seurat, Renoir, Rodin... Honestly, it blew my mind. My favorite piece was probably Van Gogh's "Wheat Field with Cypresses." It doesn't look like much in the picture, but in person I was amazed by the texture of the painting. So much paint! Amazing brush strokes... The whole experience made me wish I knew more about art.



Another highlight was our opportunity to go to church at one of the Manhattan wards. The church was a refurbished old building that from the outside looked like a great old church and from the inside looked like any LDS church building--just one that was five stories tall. We rode the elevator to the fourth floor just to peek inside the Sunday School classroom (and to be able to say we'd ridden an elevator at church).



On our last day in the city, I had this notion to take the ferry out to see the Statue of Liberty. Doesn't that sound like a nice idea? So we woke up, took the subway downtown, waited in a really long line in the cold wind, crammed into a ferry boat in the cold wind, got off the boat on Liberty Island (Hello, New Jersey! Lucky Cole gets another state!), walked around the island in the cold wind, then got cut off 10 people from front of the line when the return ferry was too full. Curses! We proceeded to sit in the cold wind on the dock for 30 minutes waiting for the next ferry. Have I mentioned anything about the cold wind?


So, I've always been quite moved by "The New Colossus," which is the poem by Emma Lazarus engraved on a plaque inside the lower level of the pedestal of the statue (which was closed for renovations, but I assume the poem is still there). I think it's really a beautiful poem, and whenever I read it I feel very keenly the promise that the Statue of Liberty must have represented to those many immigrants coming to America for the hope of a better life. But I will tell you this: when I was sitting on that dock surrounded by hordes of people in the cold wind with an extremely unhappy baby, I felt like the experience really brought to life the lines from the poem: "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore." Oh, did I ever yearn to be freed from those wretched, huddled masses! By the time we finally got back on the ferry, I was completely Liberty-ed out and practically kissed the pigeon-poop-stained ground when we once again reached terra firma. Obviously my 30 minutes in the cold wind really does not compare to immigrants sailing in horrific conditions for months at a time. And I'm not saying you shouldn't go to the Statue of Liberty should you have the opportunity. Just be prepared for some huddled masses.



And that was our trip! (Are you still reading?) Despite the wind and the crowds, we had a great time, and the World's Best Baby was in top form. We ate well, talked a lot, and drank gallons of orange water from the hotel lobby (heaven!). I can't wait to go back.


Incidentally, a few days after we got home Cole managed to squeeze in a trip to Kansas. He's making excellent progress.

Found!

Our babies are certainly not noted for their physical prowess, but I am happy to report that within the last week our nearly six-month-old Cole both found his feet and rolled over for the first time (he was so surprised!). Finally! Nice work, Baby.

If I only had 50 minutes to live...

Jeremy brought home his teaching evaluations from his first semester of full-time professoring today. I always like reading his teaching evaluations, because he always manages to elicit some inordinately passionate comments from his students. As an example, when he taught at SUNY-Cortland last year, one of his students said something like, "Best teacher I ever had! Dr. B----- is both brilliant and handsome!" Brilliant and handsome. I am married to the man, and those would probably not be the first two adjectives to come to my mind (not that they're not true, JB! Holla!).

Last semester was something of a slog for Jeremy (and me, if you want to know the whole truth). He was teaching three classes he'd not taught before, we had that baby the second week of school, and we were pretty well haggard and unattractive by the semester's end. It was the kind of semester where you just kind of hope your mad skills as a razzler-dazzler make up for any potential gaps in instruction.

So, I am pleased to report that Jeremy totally rocked his semester. He got terrific marks, some great positive feedback, and one truly memorable comment:

"If I had only 50 minutes to live, I would live them in this class. Because it seems to take an eternity."

Classic!

I guess you can't win 'em all, but if that's not worthy of embroidering onto a pillow, I just don't know what is. Nice work, Doc. I find you both brilliant and handsome.

Super!

Back in the day, possibly as long as three full months ago, when Jonathan's love of superheroes was at its peak, we all got ourselves some superhero names. This was during the time when Jonathan would rarely answer to his own name, demanding instead that we call him by a constantly rotating list of superhero names.

(I'm sure you can imagine a conversation like the following: "Hey, Jonathan!" "I'm not Jonathan! I'm Spider-Man!" "Oh! Hey, Spider-Man!" "No, I'm Batman!" etc., etc.)

Anyway, Jonathan is a warm-hearted and generous little guy, so he made sure that we all had our own superhero names as well.

Neither Clara nor I were awarded particularly memorable superhero names, though we were grateful to have them nevertheless. Jeremy got to be Cop-Man, which is amusing on so many levels. And then of course, the teeny guy got a name too--the best one of all.

Meet Biggie Man.


Biggie Man is an incredibly powerful superhero. He is known for his steely gaze, his napalm drool, and his unpredictable (and powerful) explosions. Don't be fooled by his mild-mannered alter-ego or his passive expression. Biggie Man is legit. And biggie. And awesome. And also pretty tender. It's great to be so super.

Ring the bells

Clara's Pre-K had a little Christmas concert before the end of school, which marked our very first foray into the world of school concerts. From what my parents seem to remember about raising their kids, the next 18 years or so will go by in a veritable blur of painful (yet charming) concerts, contests, plays, and productions. But if everyone takes a cue from Clara's concert, it won't be all that bad, because the whole event was over in about 30 minutes. That's a beautiful thing.

Clara just loves her Pre-K, and she was pretty excited about her concert. The kids sang three songs: "Jingle Bells" in Spanish, "Ring the Bells," and "B-I-N-G-O" (because that's what happens when you let four and five-year-olds vote on what they want to sing at a holiday concert). Clara took her performance very seriously and was a little perturbed that her classmates didn't all share her feelings. Take a look:



This video tells me at least three things about Clara: 1)The girl's got rhythm; 2)she is an extremely obedient student; 3)she values enunciation. Nice job, Sis!

Germs

Jonathan: How small are germs?

Me: Pretty small. So small you can't even see them.

Jonathan: But how small are they?

Me: Really, really small. You can't see them without a microscope.

Jonathan (pinches his thumb and forefinger together): Like this small?

Me: Sure. Really, really small.

Jonathan: But how small?

Me: Well, what's the smallest thing you can think of?

Jonathan: A germ.

Me: Well, then I guess they're as small as a germ.

Jonathan (pinches his fingers together again): Like this small?

Me: Sure.

Jonathan: I can see that.

Me: Well, there you go.

Jonathan: I can see germs.

Me: What do they look like?

Jonathan: Like aliens. Like aliens jumping on trampolines.

And now you know.

That's Dr. Finnigan to you.

I wish I had a better picture of this particular ensemble, because it's just so Jonner. Nevertheless, I'm sure this gives you a good sense both of how awesome cowboy Spider-Man is and how awesome Jonathan is.

A few musings on my boy:

Jonathan has a great laugh, and he's had pretty much the same laugh since he was a baby. If you haven't heard him laugh for awhile, might I refer you to one of our favorite family videos, which we've christened "Deer Pop" (for reasons that will be clear to you upon reviewing the film). That's how he laughed at 12 months; that's pretty much how he laughs now.

One thing I love about Jonathan's laugh is how free and unrestrained it is. He's totally un-self-conscious about it, and it's a thing of beauty. Just tonight we were at an evening story time at the library, and he and several other kids got into a "snowball" fight with fiberfill. All of the kids were having fun, but nobody was laughing like Jonner. I overheard one parent say, "Do you hear that laugh? Don't you love it?" I do.

Today at dinner, Jonathan said, "Dad, what do your students call you?" Jeremy said, "Well, some of them call me Dr. B-----, some of them call me Professor, and some of them call me Mr. B-----." Jonathan chewed on that for awhile, then said, "When I'm in your office, your students usually call me Mr. Finnigan." We both looked at him quizzically, then I said, "Why do they call you Mr. Finnigan?" He replied, "Just like that guy in that book, that really creepy book."


Jonathan: lover of all things spooky, super, and awesome.

Taking a sick day

In my line of work, sick days are something I sometimes secretly long for. The problem, of course, is that I'm generally as healthy as an ox, and other than a sad bout with H1N1 in 2009, I am almost never sick. Clearly I don't actually want to be sickly or unwell, but sometimes I wish I could just lie in bed all day and have someone fetch my meals and take care of the kids. Again, though, the only time that has ever happened is when I was nearly delirious with H1N1 or when I was recovering from a c-section. Not one of those occasions was remotely pleasant. So I guess what I really wish is that I could just lie in bed for a day, perfectly healthy, and do nothing but read and have someone fetch my food and take care of my kids. I'll have to work on that.

At any rate, our most recent sick day had nothing to do with me. The night after Christmas, Jonathan woke up in the night with a 102 degree fever which knocked him out for about 24 hours. I made up our traditional "sick bed" on the couch for him, and we all spent the day watching movies.


Clara was quick to sign up for a sympathetic sickness (such a good sister), so I made up a bed for her, even though she was perfectly healthy.


The biggest trick with Jonathan--in sickness and in health--is getting him to eat and drink enough. We tempted him with all sorts of delights, but he hardly ate a bite all day. Finally, for dinner, I spoon-fed him scrambled eggs on the couch while he watched another movie. I was happy that he ate at all, but Clara, sitting at the dinner table with Jeremy, far away from view of the TV, was really quite bitter. She spent the next two days trying to convince us that she was gravely ill and that nothing would speed her recovery faster than a light repast on the couch in front of a movie. When her machinations failed to get her what she wanted, she gave up, resigned to night after night of eating a normal dinner at the family table with no TV in sight.

Sometimes it really is hard to be healthy.