Our Bodies, Your Selves

Grammers and I were having a cuddle after dinner last night. He was, for the most part, enjoying sitting on my lap and reclining back on my thighs but at one point leaned up and put his hands over my chest and mumbled something like “I-love-zehboobess…” 

Baby Graham, did you just say you love my boobies?

“Yes.”

Way to confidence-boost, little man. I’ll remember that when you want a 10-speed or something. 

In other news- both kids are doing great, looking cool, and saying hilarious stuff. I really need to make a point of writing it down because currently the only Virginia-ism that springs to mind is one from the other night… Graham was rolling around on top of a giant punching balloon and crashing into various pieces of furniture, or the floor and then laughing.

I said, “Be careful! Those aren’t meant for that! It’s going to pop and scare you!” 

Virginia replied, “They’re very strong- they have daddy’s breath in them.” 

Such a sweet concept.

If we were religious I’d change “daddy’s” to “HIS” and have it emblazoned on some sunset background web graphic in the worst “free download” script font you’ve ever seen. But we’re not. Sorry, Hobby Lobby!

So, we’re off to the Bahamas on Thursday for some high-intensity tanning and capitalism. Graham’s new thing is shaking people’s hands and saying “NICE TO MEET CHOOO” in a ridiculous voice over and over again, so maybe he’ll do a bit of networking at the swim-up bar. 

Gosh.

 

Is there an e-card category for “Sorry I got trashed at your baby shower”? Because I think I need one of those. 

 

Oops? But seriously, folks …there is just so much to update you on! Graham turned 2 last week, on Saturday Abigail hosted the aforementioned baby shower to welcome her late-June boychild, and just yesterday mothers around the world celebrated just how yummy ’tis to be a mummy. 

 

I have received some ever-so-kind encouragement to hop back on here and tip-tap away on the keys, and I really really intend to do that. No, really, swear… brb. 

 

 

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Remember me?

Remember when I used to come on here with some frequency and talk about the children I created?* Well I still have them and they are thriving despite not being discussed on the internet. 

Virginia loves strawberries and hates pants. She has an invented language that sounds like Russian that when employed she refers to as “speaking baby.” Frequently she “speaks baby” to Graham (as it is presumably his mother tongue) and more often than not, he hates it and starts hitting her on the face or attempting to thump her with his legendary “Grammer Hammers” (legs).

In their Halloween finery. William Wallace and Madeline.

In their Halloween finery. William Wallace and Madeline.

Graham is almost 22 months and loves trucks, taxis, trains, and TV. He also loves roaring, hiding under the covers, making unimaginable messes, and staying a baby. I asked Mike via text yesterday to check the size of a particular pair of his sneakers so that I could order a new pair, one size up — and Mike replied that a half size would probably be sufficient as “he doesn’t seem to be growing that much.” I asked “Do you think he is going to stay a baby?” to which Mike replied, “It’d be a good career move.” 

 

Baby Carrie Bradshaw asks: “In a world of Peter Pans… Can you go BIG by staying SMALL? …”

 

Things Graham can kindof say:

-Dinosaur Train (“dinor cheen”)

-water (pronounced “l’eau” – like the real suave continental dude he is)

-truck (and train and car and taxi and bus)

-penis (“pen-usss?” Yes, Graham- that is your penis.)

-mine! 

-Virginia (sounds more like “cheen-a” which is tough because that is also how he pronounces ‘train’)

-mama/dada (classic)

-peanut butter

-okay 

-no

-bye bye

There’s some more… and he understands a bunch – like when we tell him he is a BAD BABY and he needs to not touch the electrical sockets or pour pasta on the floor or bite his nails or eat his boogers, etc….and he just laughs and laughs….

Okay. More later!

 

 

 

*with help. 

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Not into this. At all.

Not into this. At all.

I suck at blogging now

It’s true! 

I used to “go H.A.M.” on the blog scene when I was 17-25 but that was like 2 years ago now! yuk yuk yuk. 

Anyway, what can I say- the children continue to thrive. Virginia has been biting her nails – fingers AND TOES, people, despite our telling her that this is totally gross. Graham tries to eat even weirder things than toenails (shampoo, baby powder, the couch) but he is a baby so he merely gets laughed at while being told “NO!” in an apparently very unconvincing way. 

Virginia has started UPK which is kind of like school, but more like the government’s way to send home a million depressing forms to your house to gauge whether you know how to feed, clothe and keep your child clean and off lead paint chips. I sound glib, but it’s really sad that for some kids, the city is the only thing attempting to look out for their well-being. It reminds me of something Anthony Kiedis once said …

Anyhoo, it certainly presents opportunities for daily sartorial expression and here are some of those recent expressions…ImageImageImage

For lunch she gets either a “butter sandwich” and dried apricots and a vegan marshmallow or two, or a sunbutter & jelly  with a side of cucumber slices and sea salt. They serve lunch at her school but she is so terrified of accidental meat consumption that she just brings her own stuff. 

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Young Graham generally has a filthiness about the face, especially in fall, when snot abounds, but he is just so damn cute and jolly that it’s hard to find fault in his filth. He can kind of say “boat” and boats are one of his favorite things. His other favorite things are every type of aircraft. He likes to point out all planes by shouting “laLA!” at the sky, louder and louder until you acknowledge him and the plane in question. He also likes to drink the bath water and throw things in the garbage. Nicknames include “Grammers” (classic) “Gwammuhs” (variation on Grammers) “The Garbageman”  “Littleman” (sometimes pronounced “Littelmin” as if it is a surname), “Marshmallow with Legs” and “MY SON!!!” (this one is just used by me)

Cartilage and Boobs

Virginia and I tend to have our best conversations when we are lying in bed together during what is called “The Funky Five.” (This is the five – but frequently 10, 15, 20, or until I accidentally pass out – minutes I spend lying with her post-storytime where she will presumably fall asleep) Anyway, the other night after our kiss goodnight I hear a sigh…

V: Are ears made of cartilage?

Me: Um…yes. 

V: (sigh) I wish my ears weren’t made of cartilage…

Me: What do you wish they were made of instead?

V: (makes a face like this is really dumb question) REAL bone.

Me: Oh. So you’d have really hard ears?

V: Yeah, so they wouldn’t be so bendy.

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Okay, here is another one. So I guess she is getting to that age (and sharing a bathtub with a baby boy probably helps) where she is keenly aware of, or interested in, the distinctions between male and female, and the mature female body vs. her own little girl body. We try to keep gender identification pretty low-key in our house and aggressively fight the stereotypes that every toy and apparel maker would shove down a toddler’s throat but the crushing wave of society is no match for mommy saying, “Girls can be great soccer players!” and “Why don’t you like your green sneakers as much your pink ones?” and “GODDAMMIT for the last time will you please just wear these BLOODY SHORTS I bought you!?!?!?! Money doesn’t grow on trees!” 

But I digress. She asked me recently when her boobs were going to get big and I told her not for another 10-12 years or so. She seemed okay with that. 

The next day, we were having dinner with our friend Celia and I repeated this story and Celia volunteered that sometimes (as in her case) “they never get big” to which V dejectedly moaned,

“But I want to have CHILDREN!!”

Ohhhhhh, and everybody laughed. #darndestthings

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My Beasts

In their natural habitat