Category: Family & Home

Miles found a banana slug in Tilden Park, sat watching it scoot for a long time, then made a little bridge for it to crawl under, a technique no doubt borrowed from the parallel universe of his choo-choo obsession. “Here you go, bana sug!” Stroked it gently. After treating it with care and sweetness for the longest time, he suddenly stood up and, without warning, stepped on it — hard. Amy shrieked, and suddenly he became very frightened, unsure of what he had just done. A child encountering his own power to hurt. Amazingly, the slug slithered away under its own steam. But later, over dinner, he became very sad and worried when the topic came up, seemed like he was going to cry. An opportunity to talk about life. All of these things so confusing and fascinating to a toddler. Phonecam image, love the fishbowl effect.

Tub no longer draining. Did I let a Thomas the Tank Engine ColorForm slip down the hole at end of one of Miles’ baths? Nope, they’re all accounted for. Borrow a snake, unscrew the drain insert, snake won’t make it around the bend. Into the abyss — under the house on belly like a lizard, dirt in hair. Looks like once-upon-a-time workmen busted up the old tub with a sledgehammer — a great pile of foot-long jagged steel shards beneath the tub. Unscrew hose clamps from the rubber collar that conjoins downtube with S-curve. Jam snake into place, crank, crank, sweat, crank, cuss, crank. Feel like I’m getting nowhere, back it out, LO! : Massive wad of wife hair, eight inches long and as wide as the drainpipe itself, comes slithering out into my hand. A solid pound of hair and slime, paydirt! Re-assemble, slither back out, test from up top, scour the tub, leave hair prize out on display for all to enjoy.

Hard to describe why a job like this is so rewarding; perhaps it has to do with spending so many hours in front of a screen every day — getting your hair in the dirt and your hands in the goo is strangely satisfying. Life is rich.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was reading stories to Miles in the evening, I heard the soft clicking of Amy’s camera going off in the hall. Wasn’t sure whether we were in her frame or not, but found the sound comforting. Tonight we got take-out sushi to eat at home and Miles had his first taste of sashimi — appropriate because we’ve been reading about Yoko, the cat who took sushi to school (none of the other kids in the story could grok it, leaving poor Yoko struggling for cool in a terminally un-hip, merciless world). Miles’ first sushi experience went well, and he actually did succeed in eating with chopsticks, kinda, but he mostly enjoyed making balls out of rice and batting them around while calling out “Rice balls! Rice balls!” After tonight’s storytime, this lovely valentine rolled into my inbox. I love my family.

We’re scrambling to leave the house this morning, and the phone rings. I take the call on my shoulder, while pulling on shoes, then hear Miles in the kitchen: “Mommmm-eeee, heeelllp!” Mommy’s indisposed, better investigate. I hop in on one foot. The mad scientist is holding a coffee drip cone (the plastic kind with holes along the bottom) up to the filtered water dispenser that sits on the kitchen counter. He’s opened the valve but doesn’t know how to close it. Water is overflowing the cone, pouring out the holes, and running down his arm into his shirt. A gallon of water covers the kitchen floor.

… and I know we’re genetically linked because yesterday while we were out “playing soccer” he circled the bases of the baseball diamond backwards.

Yup, that’s my boy!

Congratulations to Amy for selling one of her photographic prints to a pair of Norwegian art collectors. Inflammation is a 30″x40″ (mural-size) image of a rotten banana — immense and grotesque, bursting at the seams with the fullness of its own decay. Kind of grim, but beautiful in a dark sort of way. Amy’s a master printer, but hasn’t had her hands in the chemicals since she became pregnant with Miles a few years ago. This was one of a pair of major works she’s sold in the past few years, what with her hands full being a mommy. Now itching to start creating new work. As Miles enters preschool before long, I look forward to hearing the click of shutters around the house again, to seeing her creative side in full blossom – one of the reasons I fell in love with her to begin with.

The woman who purchased “Inflammation” is an anesthesiologist. Go figure.

Miles was wearing his fireman’s hat for like three hours tonight, never left his head. Amy finally went to take it off him, only to find it stuck. Hunh? She pries it off and looks inside: A big honkin’ lump of blue Play-Dough, mushed into the dome and glommed into his hair. Then more fun discovering that a small wad of Play-Dough can be used to make a little plastic person walk up the side of a wooden house. Making Play-Dough hamburgers, um-um (ice cream), green beans, making sure everyone gets a bite. Learning the difference between eating food made out of Play-Dough for real and eating it for pretend. Learning why it’s not the best idea to mix the colors too thoroughly, or to let dried bits of Play-Dough from previous sessions become intermingled with the current project.

Two months ago Play-Dough was this bizarre substance he wasn’t quite sure what to make of, regarded with trepidation; now it’s an obsession surpassed only by Thomas the Tank Engine (more on Thomas another night).

Back in October, posted about the super-scary day when Miles slipped out through the cat door and climbed to the top of a ladder leaning up against the house. Wanted to join me on the roof. Serious palpitations for Amy and me.

We shared the story with our families, of course. Then today Amy received this birthday drawing from her 8-year-old niece Roya, depicting the scene for posterity. She even remembered his triumphant proclamation, “I climb HIGH!” Love the stylized thought balloons emanating from daddy’s head, visualizing the worst. Rock on, Roya.

Miles swapped toys with some friends, came home with a whistling jungle toy and a waddling duck on a stick. Amy decided to have some fun: placed a trail of coffee beans on the bathroom floor and called him in. “Miles, look what the duck made!” Unexpectedly, he looked crestfallen. Later, didn’t want to play with the duck anymore. “Why don’t you want to play with the duck, Miles?”

“Duck poopy.”

Miles is way into Fisher Price’s “Little People” series — the videos, the garage, the farm, the little figures with big hands holding useful things like wrenches and pitchforks. Amy was looking into the Little People Sweet Sounds Home, and found this in the Amazon customer reviews:

… WHY is the mom of the house holding a baby bottle and has a burp cloth over her shoulder and the dad has a permanent cell phone in his hand?!?!?!!? … Why isn’t the DAD holding a bottle? Is he too busy on the phone with his clients to help with the baby? What happens when mom goes back to work and she has a burp cloth stuck on her shoulder? It might be hard to trade stocks on Wall Street when you have a bottle permanently affixed to your hand. …

Yeah, uh, that would be a problem.