tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17650250051438980352024-03-08T01:39:22.452-05:00The Kil EmpireSarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-17198647889739844662010-06-04T01:58:00.000-04:002010-06-04T01:58:22.252-04:00White lace and promisesOn the twenty-second of May, we attended a very special wedding: my mom and Cyrus's. As you can see, my mom was the loveliest of brides.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4656232105/" title="2010-05-22_13-40-53 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="2010-05-22_13-40-53" height="400" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/4656232105_5b2edd4cbb.jpg" style="height: 400px; width: 202px;" width="202" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4665104375/" title="Wedding 1 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="Wedding 1" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4665104375_7e6e015e1e_m.jpg" width="225" /></a><br />
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My brothers walked her down the aisle.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4665104775/" title="Wedding 2 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="Wedding 2" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4003/4665104775_158772fc8d.jpg" width="353" /></a><br />
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She and Cyrus made their vows to each other, and then family and friends from far and wide celebrated with food, drink, and dancing.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4656836906/" title="2010-05-22_14-19-51 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="2010-05-22_14-19-51" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4046/4656836906_014e495b9a.jpg" width="289" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4656829002/" title="2010-05-22_17-11-19 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="2010-05-22_17-11-19" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4055/4656829002_345b12147a.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4656855348/" title="2010-05-22_17-23-42 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="2010-05-22_17-23-42" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4047/4656855348_1a21a3d9b6.jpg" width="274" /></a><br />
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I got a kick out of dressing Ike and Max in suits and ties, of which they were surprisingly tolerant.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4657729630/" title="Mary Cyrus 061 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="Mary Cyrus 061" height="500" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4031/4657729630_9b932a1d8f.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/4657729622/" title="Mary Cyrus 056 by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img alt="Mary Cyrus 056" height="500" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1270/4657729622_3bfe5456a7.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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Mom, you are the sweetest and kindest person I know, and it is obvious that Cyrus treasures you. I am glad you found each other and wish you many happy years.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-37507294114873572342009-09-27T15:20:00.002-04:002009-10-05T16:39:58.324-04:00For DaveTwelve years ago, I had a friend named Dave. I wanted to be quite a bit more than friends, but I was sure the feeling wasn't reciprocated. I lamented about this to our friend Brooks until he had (understandably) heard enough. He forced me to call Dave and confess.<br /><br />Ever so glibly, I said, "Dave, I...I like you."<br /><br />Dave replied, "I like you, too."<br /><br />The next morning, he picked me up for our first date. We went out for breakfast and then to a nearby park. It remember it was a beautiful fall day, the sun pouring down in golden slants. Fall is a curious time. It holds so much promise, but a season of cold and darkness must be endured first.<br /><br />On the playground, we met a little girl and her younger brother, Cassandra and Austin. Cassandra must be a legal adult by now, and Austin would be starting college. I wonder how their stories have unfolded?<br /><br />Dave, did you imagine we would end up here? We have a happy home and have inexplicably produced the world's most beautiful babies. I'm exactly where I wanted to be since that fall day in the park--with you.<br /><br />Thank you for these dozen years so far. Here's a slideshow of us from then to now.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fsarcy%2Fsets%2F72157622520165646%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fsarcy%2Fsets%2F72157622520165646%2F&set_id=72157622520165646&jump_to="></param> <param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649"></param> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=71649" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2Fsarcy%2Fsets%2F72157622520165646%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2Fsarcy%2Fsets%2F72157622520165646%2F&set_id=72157622520165646&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><br /><br />P.S. Mom, thanks for coming up with the title for the slideshow. :)Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-29901830956352980642009-09-16T00:46:00.002-04:002009-09-19T21:30:36.728-04:00The New EmperorHe's here!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3925337610/" title="The new guy by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2613/3925337610_35d162d3ae.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="The new guy" /></a><br /><br />September 15, 2009<br />1:55 P.M.<br />20 inches<br />7 pounds, 10 ounces<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3924551659/" title="The new guy by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2534/3924551659_354dfe88b6.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="The new guy" /></a><br /><br />Look at those dark eyes! He's amazed us with periods of alertness, where he seems to be taking in all his surroundings. We've had such a peaceful day together. As would seem to be our habit, we haven't chosen a name for him yet. We welcome suggestions.<br /><br />Will post more soon...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Update 9/18</span>: His name is Maximus Richard. Going by Max, and sometimes being called Ike by his slightly addled (though adoring) parents.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-55280280251058672132009-08-31T23:57:00.003-04:002009-09-01T01:33:00.446-04:00Bring me a dreamI can't sleep. I spent last night sitting up on the couch, and here I am again now. The baby is doing cruel and unusual things to my innards. My left leg feels like it has a swarm of burning bees in it. I had the same problem while expecting Ike, but I don't remember it being as painful that time. I knew it had something to do with a nerve being compressed by the growing baby, but I only just asked my doctor about it. It's a condition called meralgia paresthetica, or lateral femoral cutaneous nerve entrapment. Fancy. It can be caused by obesity, too-tight clothing, diabetes, or pregnancy. If pregnancy is the cause, Google says the cure is to have a baby.<br /><br />So I'm waddling around in a bad humor, disposed to grow frustrated with my very active Ike a little too easily. But often he's so cheerful and sweet, I keep resolving to be more patient.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3876461095/" title="Bath mosaic by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2642/3876461095_f6e2fb0781.jpg" width="500" height="168" alt="Bath mosaic" /></a><br /><br />Over the past few weeks, his language skills have increased noticeably. He says hello and hi when the phone rings. Amusingly, he says "die" instead of "bye." At bedtime, he says "night-night," and the cuteness is almost unbearable. He says "wheel" and "boy," and Mama and Daddy if you ask him to. He's also saying "ball" with an awesome New York accent--"boooaawwl."<br /><br />He spent hours this weekend opening and closing the sliding doors at his grandmothers' houses. He loves to study the wheels and track inside the dishwasher if I let him. People predict he's going to be a scientist or an engineer. I'm not making any predictions yet, but I do hope he retains his inquisitive spirit. His dad has. They're both inspiring.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-31042120052918677452009-08-06T11:14:00.003-04:002009-08-06T19:46:13.029-04:00You can stretch right up and touch the skyOne of the high points of Ike's summer was his first "swim" in a big pool.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789405546/" title="Ike's first swim by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2549/3789405546_9fcde7b007.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Ike's first swim" /></a><br /><br />He's started to feed himself with utensils. With great enthusiasm and minimal good aim. We've found it's usually best to strip him down to his diaper first.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3788787811/" title="Awesome! by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2544/3788787811_5b09dd3f73.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Awesome!" /></a><br /><br />We visited Dave's uncle and aunt for a few days at the beginning of July.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789408676/" title="Cedar Lake, IN by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2344/3789408676_21cfed7961.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Cedar Lake, IN" /></a><br /><br />They live on Cedar Lake in Indiana, about an hour south of Chicago. Dave's grandparents' house used to stand just a couple lots over. They both passed away within the past few years. Dave's uncle owns the property and is soon going to build a new house on the old site. Dave spent many summer days at this lake as a kid, often with his dad. The circle of life; bittersweet, amazing.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789411604/" title="Cedar Lake, IN by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2617/3789411604_22018aabb4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Cedar Lake, IN" /></a><br /><br />We went to a couple flea markets while we were there. One find was this furry rocking bear. Have you ever seen such a thing? I wasn't sure Ike would play with it, but Dave's aunt said that for the $5 price tag, it was too cute to pass up. It is.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789601088/" title="Ike's rocking bear by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3541/3789601088_bb85a5bcf7.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Ike's rocking bear" /></a><br /><br />Ike went cold turkey off his pacifier after the Cedar Lake trip. He hasn't seemed to miss it. When he was about 15 months old, he stole a pacifier from our friend's baby's mouth. So Dave and theorized that if we wean him off them now, he won't be interested in stealing them from his new baby brother. We don't actually know what we're doing, though.<br /><br />I recently bought a new lemon-scented dish soap. It has no phosphates or dyes, which appealed to my tree-hugging side, and the label was vintage-apothecary pretty, appealing to my flea-market aesthetics. Unfortunately, it kind of sucks, performance-wise. Doesn't seem to suds up well. <span style="font-style: italic;">But</span>, it smells divine, just like the "lemon ice" I used to eat in New Jersey. I suppose it's what's widely known as Italian ice, but I remember my family and others calling it lemon ice, no matter the flavor, as in, "What kind of lemon ice do you want, raspberry or coconut?" Kind of like how southerners use "Coke" as the all-encompassing term for soft drinks. "What kind of Coke can I get you, Sprite or Dr. Pepper?"<br /><br />Every time I washed a dish, I couldn't stop thinking about lemon ice, or Eyetalian ice as I imagine folks around here say, and the unlikelihood of finding some nearby. But it turned out that Ritter's, a frozen custard stand near my mom's house, has it. So I dragged Ike and my brother John along, not that they protested overmuch. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789604260/" title="Frozen custard by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2523/3789604260_75e5493f54.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Frozen custard" /></a><br /><br />They had frozen custard, which is excellent in it own right, and normally preferable, but I got my wished-for tart, creamy lemon ice. <span style="font-style:italic;">Lemon</span>-flavored lemon ice.<br /><br />I don't know the science behind this, but pregnancy heightens my sense of smell. I crave nice scents--the definition of "nice," inexact. Sometimes I stand in front of the spice cabinet and wave ground ginger, cinnamon, and allspice under my nose. I recently found myself huffing basil and mint in my mom's garden. I also have a nontoxic almond furniture polish, which smells just like a rich marzipan. When I was expecting Ike, I used to let myself sniff it once a night as a bedtime "snack." I raved to Dave about it and exhorted him to take a sniff. He thought I was off my rocker.<br /><br />The smells of gasoline and paint also seem delicious, but I do have a bit of sense remaining and I try to be judicious about purposely inhaling them. The downside of my temporary bloodhound sense? One open beer on the other side of the house makes me feel like I'm bathing in a keg, and I can tell you when a mouse farts under the front porch.<br /><br />A number of untended, overgrown areas surrounding our property were recently studded with ripe black raspberries. Nothing smells quite as wonderful as sweet goods baking in the oven, so I decided to see if I could gather enough berries for a pie. While Ike took his nap, I took a bowl and foraged. As I pushed deeper into the weeds, I found a dead animal (opossum?), mostly skeleton and hair, and almost fell into a giant hole or den of some sort. My cat, Chun-Li, who must have been chasing her tail when God handed out stealth and other catlike attributes, lumbered through the brambles like a bear. It rained a little, barely getting through the treetops to me, and the greenery as I stepped on it smelled so fresh and alive.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789426160/" title="Wild black raspberries by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3479/3789426160_ec805df4e9.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Wild black raspberries" /></a><br /><br />I love real berry pies, ones whose fillings aren't far removed from the actual fruit, not the kind with wretchedly sweet canned fruit fillings. I decided this when I was maybe nine or ten years old, hanging out at Uncle Mike's cabin in upstate New York with most of my dad's side of the family. Uncle Jack had bought a pie at an auction, to benefit a local school or something like that. I remember him saying his bid was $7, which I secretly thought was insanely expensive! It was blackberry and I thought I had never tasted anything so perfect before. I savored it slowly at the table before going outside to poke at the campfire with my cousins.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3788619841/" title="Wild black raspberries by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3496/3788619841_d263380843.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Wild black raspberries" /></a><br /><br />I thought of that long-ago pie as I made this one, which, sadly, turned out much prettier than it was tasty. I put some Chambord (black raspberry liqueur) in it, but think I erred on the side of too little sugar. By the way, I've been thinking of adding some recipe posts to the blog, since I'm over-interested in food right now and find myself cooking even more than usual. I'll forewarn you if I do, in case you want skip over those entries in favors of Ike-centric ones.<br /><br />Last weekend, Dave and I loaned Ike out to his grandma and Uncle John and betook ourselves on a quick getaway to the Saugatuck area. We stayed at this darling place, the <a href="http://www.thehunterslodge.com/">Hunter's Lodge</a>:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3788637571/" title="The Hunter's Lodge by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2506/3788637571_f3990cca44.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="The Hunter's Lodge" /></a><br /><br />It's an old, rambling log building, restored by the couple who live on the premises, John and Paul. Our room was small but immaculate. There didn't seem to be anything extraordinary about the bed, but I woke up both days without any aches and pains, which hasn't happened in months at home. We took a sunset cruise on a big sternwheeler; watched Lake Michigan on a windy night; went to the movies; had some really good food (prime rib at the <a href="http://www.thebutlerrestaurant.com/">Butler</a>, cinnamon French toast with fresh fruit and crème anglaise at the <a href="http://www.elboroombistro.com/index.htm">Elbo Room</a>) in addition to our crappiest restaurant experience of all time (<a href="http://www.kalicokitchenrestaurant.com/kalicokitchenrestaurant/">Kalico Kitchen</a>). <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3788634351/" title="Star of Saugatuck boat ride by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2501/3788634351_6e5200a730.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Star of Saugatuck boat ride" /></a><br /><br />Dave and I couldn't believe how simple it was just to take care of ourselves with no toddler in tow. We laughed about what, pre-parenthood, we used to think we were taking vacations from. It was a good breather, just to be "boyfriend and girlfriend" again for a bit. But we tripped over each other a little to get back to Ike.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789416422/" title="Laughing at the windshield wipers by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2629/3789416422_3d62b8f306.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Laughing at the windshield wipers" /></a><br /><br />'Cause he's just too awesome.<br /><br />Then my brother John--that formerly wee lad who recently turned 15--drove. As in, conducted a motor vehicle. He bravely went out for a land-cruise with Dave in the Roadmaster, then came back and switched to my mom's Kia and took us downtown for lunch. I could hardly believe someone whose diapers I used to change was <span style="font-style:italic;">driving me around</span>. (I'm sure he appreciates me putting that out there.) I admired his calm; he's only been taking driver's ed for the past few weeks. Like a crazy old lady who repeats the same stories over and over, I keep telling him that I was such a Nervous Purvis when I was learning how to drive, I used to dislocate my own shoulder from tension. He humors me, though.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3789616810/" title="John driving! by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2622/3789616810_20f92ffd47.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="John driving!" /></a>Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-83009293049364613072009-06-11T17:36:00.001-04:002009-06-11T17:37:54.744-04:00Ike Travels, Gets HaircutLast month my cousin Larisa came to visit. She had a work obligation in Grand Rapids, so it was a great excuse for us to see each other. Ike rushed her as soon as she arrived at our house and tried to fill her arms with all his toys, including his wheeled, ride-on giraffe. It was pretty funny to watch him try to hoist it up. The next day, he found choice rocks from the driveway to give her.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3513707970/" title="Larisa's visit by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3606/3513707970_45a99b4a38.jpg" alt="Larisa's visit" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3513701942/" title="Larisa's visit by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3381/3513701942_7b1ddea114.jpg" alt="Larisa's visit" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />Mid-May, we packed up my mom and John and traveled to St. Louis for my brother and sister-in-law's graduation ceremonies. Jesse now has the title of Juris Doctor and Melody is a Master of Public Health.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3616571225/" title="Graduation mosaic by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3664/3616571225_71ed164eaa.jpg" alt="Graduation mosaic" width="500" height="168" /></a><br /><br />We spent a couple days hanging out with them, appreciating their accomplishments, as they enjoyed the end of many years of classes. Activities included Missouri Washers:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3551320871/" title="Missouri Washers by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2480/3551320871_3d9ac89e19.jpg" alt="Missouri Washers" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My brother, Alexander Supertramp!</span><br /><br />It's the same idea as horseshoes, but you toss metal washers toward a wooden box, ideally into the small piece of plastic pipe set in its center. Dave and I have a game of washers at home made by <a href="http://www.missouriwasherworks.com/">this</a> company, but Jesse handily made his own.<br /><br />Ike developed this slightly maniacal, Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks chuckle while we were there. "Ike, you sound like a critter," said Dave. Plopping washers into their boxes elicited the chuckle, playing with plastic cups in the bathtub brought it on. He just couldn't contain his fascination and excitement about all the cool stuff in his ever-increasing awareness. I think everyone around caught a little buzz of his unjaded delight.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3552131436/" title="Missouri Washers by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3554/3552131436_cd9b1c784b.jpg" alt="Missouri Washers" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Chun-Li still can't get any respect.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3615362300/" title="World's largest hummingbird by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3372/3615362300_3edc90d2f7.jpg" alt="World's largest hummingbird" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />She's perched by a hummingbird feeder on the lattice overhang about seven feet above our back deck. I don't know how she managed to get up there, but two dogs were on the deck below her, jumping and yapping. I was furious. One of the dogs, a neighbor's Jack Russell, is always over here harassing our cats. The other was some young thug with a spike collar. I'd love to give the neighbor what for, but I'm sure I'd wimp out as I was stomping over to his house. By the way, I haven't seen a single hummingbird in the vicinity of the feeder this season.<br /><br />A few days before going St. Louis, I decided I needed to bring a Michigan gift, so Ike and I took a quick trip to Lake Michigan. We took a little drive though Saugatuck and the surrounding area, taking in the eye candy of quaint cottages, quirky motels, and views of Lake Michigan and the Kalamazoo River. I figured some Michigan wine would make a nice, celebratory gift, so I stopped at <a href="http://www.fennvalley.com/">Fenn Valley Vineyards</a>. They're glad to supply free tastings, and I was extremely tempted, but I offered up to the sommelier that I was pregnant. I felt rather guilty being in a winery "in my condition" <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> with a 1-year-old in tow, so I tried to recall which varieties Dave and I had enjoyed in the past and quickly chose six bottles.<br /><br />Then we stopped at Crane Orchards. There's a <a href="http://cranespiepantry.com/">restaurant/bakery</a> on the premises that an antique shop owner recommended to me years ago, so I decided to finally try it. It was full of farm antiques and vintage ephemera. Ike sat in an old, old wooden high chair and was greatly pleased by banging the tray up and down and feasting on apple butter bread. I comforted myself about not being able to have any wine by finishing my lunch off with a piece of red raspberry pie. Then, in case I got sad again later, I took a dozen of their cider donuts to go.<br /><br />Ike liked this pint-sized old tractor they had outside.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3551336627/" title="Wheel Horse by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3168/3551336627_0bda2c77c5.jpg" alt="Wheel Horse" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3551335427/" title="Wheel Horse by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3317/3551335427_2650d86576.jpg" alt="Wheel Horse" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />Last Sunday, Ike got his first haircut. He went to the Mastercuts at the mall in Portage, to the stylist Dave's been going to for the past eleven years. (It's somehow turned out that our whole family--me, my mom, my brother, and Dave's mom--gets their hair cut at this salon now.)<br /><br />I was nervous. Unless he's sleeping, Ike is in perpetual motion. I thought he would object to sitting in the chair, and that surely things other than his hair would end up cut off. I was also worried that I would embarrass us all by crying as his precious little curl-wisps disappeared.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3614542383/" title="Ike's first haircut by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3561/3614542383_cc0ebb4752.jpg" alt="Ike's first haircut" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />It all turned out better than fine. Ike sat quietly in the chair, holding a purple hair clip. Dave stood nearby, poised for any leaps from the chair, and I hovered around (tearlessly), taking pictures and stashing locks. Uncle John was with us, too. It was all done in a few minutes.<br /><br />After the haircut, Daddy treated him to a ride on a triceratops. He thought it was okay at first; not so much after a couple minutes.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3614542881/" title="Ike's first haircut by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3405/3614542881_3a0e5b7fbc.jpg" alt="Ike's first haircut" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />It took me at least a week to get used to the fact that my wee, fluff-headed baby was gone and replaced by this...adolescent toddler. Who has recently discovered that he can climb up on to the couch by himself and disport daredevilishly thereon. Who is 32 inches tall and 25 pounds as of his pediatrician visit yesterday.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3614545457/" title="Big boy hair by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3404/3614545457_5e79c58f88.jpg" alt="Big boy hair" width="375" height="500" /></a>Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-52671188473939970542009-05-08T15:27:00.001-04:002009-05-08T15:29:23.374-04:00Snips and snailsHello, sunshine.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3513704122/" title="Larisa's visit by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3603/3513704122_80cac120f6.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Larisa's visit" /></a><br /><br />Ike and I have recently been mentioned on some other blogs! Check out the links:<br /><br />First, by one of my oldest friends and a blogging veteran, Faith. She posted my mom's recipe for the delicious "<a href="http://flashbangfibers.blogspot.com/2009/04/date-nut-bread-or-muffins.html">bullet bread</a>."<br /><br />Amy, one of my former coworkers, took some pictures of <a href="http://amylovesbrian.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-been-while-since-i-posted-blog.html">Ike at "work</a>." Amy has an assortment of toys and gadgets at her desk, which help keep Ike's attention when we visit my old workplace. <br /><br />Gina, also a former coworker, took a break from her usual creative/art blogging to set up Ike with a <a href="http://lillysoflondonish.blogspot.com/2009/05/matchmaker-matchmaker.html">potential sweetheart</a>.<br /><br />Thanks for the mentions, girls. Ike's not letting the fame go to his head.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3513742306/" title="The flappy-headed Ike by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3540/3513742306_25238b08c0_m.jpg" width="203" height="240" alt="The flappy-headed Ike" /></a><br /><br />:::<br /><br />Q: What has a four-chambered heart, weighs about 9 ounces, and can put its feet up by its head?<br /><br />A: Ike's baby brother!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3512891441/" title="Another boy! by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3303/3512891441_350d0822d5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Another boy!" /></a><br /><br />We're having another son! By all indications, he's developing just as he should be. It's hard to believe we're already halfway to meeting him.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-35045130389536115632009-04-25T02:37:00.002-04:002009-04-25T02:44:49.120-04:00Sorry it's been so longA couple weeks ago, one of my oldest friends flew from her home near a famous city far, far away and came to stay with me for a week. City Mouse visits Country Mouse. I'll call her by one of her many nicknames, Sparty Bo (which has nothing to do with Michigan State's mascot; she and I grew up in New Jersey). During Sparty Bo's visit, we concocted some fabulous plans to do creative things, but somehow most days got away from us as we gabbed at the kitchen table. We did manage to cook quite a bit. Sparty Bo's a vegan, and she does some impressive things without the aid of meat, dairy, and eggs, which you can read about on her cooking <a href="http://gonggongvegan.wordpress.com/">blog</a>. It was fun to eat and cook along, but I'm not ready to go vegan myself, as I harbor a fondness for real butter and cow's milk. I did make a vegan mousse-style dessert, <a href="http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/recipe_soydreams.htm">Chocolate Espresso Soy Dreams</a>, and didn't miss the dairy at all. (I used a few tablespoons of brewed espresso, rather than the instant espresso powder the recipe calls for, if you're interested.)<br /><br />Sparty Bo and me at the wee little airport in Grand Rapids:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3472532728/" title="At Gerald R. Ford Int'l. airport by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3603/3472532728_4be1a74762.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="At Gerald R. Ford Int'l. airport" /></a><br /><br />Dave and I have two cats, Chun-Li and Cammy. They were housecats for a while but, after repeatedly proving themselves unworthy, were moved to the garage. (They're both spayed and have all their claws, both good things for most cats, I feel.) They can come and go as they please through a kitty door. They have a pet crate with a leopard-print pillow inside to sleep on, and a heat lamp above to keep them warm in the winter.<br /><br />Chun-Li has been down on her luck lately. While Sparty Bo was here, I found Chun-Li hiding under a tool chest in the garage. Tufts of fur were all over the inside of the crate, and her collar was missing. I found it underneath the leopard-print pillow. Dave inspected her, and she didn't seem visibly wounded, although she protested if he touched her neck. She was kind of sleepy and dumb(er than usual) for a few days. My best guess is that she got her collar (it's the breakaway kind) caught on the crate and hurt herself in the process of wrenching free. Or maybe she got into a fight.<br /><br />She got well, but then she got her butt kicked by one of the many indigent cats that roam through Freeport. Chun-Li and her sister Cammy are both named after characters from the old video game series "Street Fighter," so I guess they're just living up to their namesakes. <br /><br />There's an enormous orange cat that harasses Chun-Li. Normally I find ginger-hued cats adorable, but this guy is just huge, creepy, and gross. I'd say his Street Fighter alter ego might be <a href="http://strategywiki.org/wiki/Street_Fighter_II/Characters/Zangief">Zangief</a>. He's definitely a bully; he looks almost twice Chun-Li's size. Chun-Li's sister, Cammy, has a particular nemesis, too, but he's similar to her size, so it seems like a fair match. His fur is what I would call "smoke blue," startlingly pretty--I'll call him <a href="http://strategywiki.org/wiki/Street_Fighter_II/Characters/Vega">Vega</a>.<br /><br />Anyway, a couple nights ago, I heard caterwauling and thumping on the front porch, and opened the door to see Zangief shoot off into the night, and one of my cats roll from her back to her feet and sprint away. I thought it was Cammy, but the next day Chun-Li had wounds and a dismal look in her eyes. I took her to the vet today, and she ended up getting stitches in her head and under her left front leg. She looks really goofy with a big swath of fur shaved from her head, but she's acting like she feels better. We're going to try to keep her contained while she recovers.<br /><br />Yesterday morning I emptied the kitchen wastebasket and ran out the back door to dispose of the bag. When I tried to get back into the house, I found I'd been locked out--by Ike. Ike's figured out how to lock and unlock on our doors, and while he doesn't yet know how to turn the knobs and open the doors, I'm sure that's coming any time.<br /><br />I started rapping on the glass part of the door, and Ike came padding up, giggling at the funny game Mom was playing. I ran to the front of the house to get our spare key from its hiding spot--but it was gone. Growing a bit frantic, I ran to the back of the house again, this time to the sliding glass patio doors. The lock inside is a lever, and Ike has recently discovered that it's delightful to flip the lever up and down, up and down. I knocked on the glass until Ike came bouncing into view, carrying the empty kitchen wastebasket. Again, he thought I was just the funniest lady ever, but he ran over and flipped the lever up. I burst inside, took the wastebasket away, and attacked him with hugs. <br /><br />Later on, my keyring firmly in hand, I went back outside to double-check for the spare key. I found it; it had somehow fallen from its hiding nook.<br /><br />As I was getting my hair cut last week, Dave walked into the salon, carrying Ike. My stylist looked up and said, "That's not your baby. He's blond!" Here he is at the playground, inexplicably blond, but definitely my boy.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sarcy/3472527606/" title="Friday at the park by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3351/3472527606_0a4aa46f30.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Friday at the park" /></a>Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-42924787703496899832009-03-30T13:24:00.004-04:002009-04-17T13:30:03.766-04:00Of birthdays and butterfliesDoes anyone remember this wee lad?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3398144445/" title="Little John by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3658/3398144445_0d4b968298_o.jpg" alt="Little John" width="125" height="170" /></a><br /><br />It's my youngest brother, John, I'm guessing around 4 years old. He turned 15 on March 10th. <span style="font-style: italic;">How</span> do these things <span style="font-style: italic;">happen</span>?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3394594619/" title="Untitled by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3457/3394594619_2a233a5c92.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="375" /></a><br /><br />He had a birthday party at Lazer Land. They have arcade games, mini golf, and of course, laser tag, where you run around in a dark maze and shoot your friends with infrared beams. John and his pals routinely slew any of us who were over high shool age.<br /><br />One of the things dads are for:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3394587305/" title="AWESOME by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3474/3394587305_bf90af1e5a.jpg" alt="AWESOME" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Dave and Ike also have a new game called "Fall off the Refrigerator." No further pictures; I realize airborne infants can be a bit alarming if you haven't been desensitized to it through daily exposure.<br /><br />Ike got sick Tuesday morning two weeks ago. It was some kind of flu. He was sweet and pitiful the first couple days, quietly lying on me and sleeping on and off all day. Once he began to mend a little, though, he was ornery and prone to fits of screaming. The whole week was so confusing and emotionally draining--it was so sad to see him feeling badly. Was I taking care of him properly, or was I making things worse?<br /><br />That Friday I got sick, though not as badly as Ike had been, but by Sunday he and I were both mostly back to our usual selves. The sun came out again and things had turned out all right in the end.<br /><br />My neighbor's 11-year-old granddaughter is a Girl Scout, and she told me about earning merit badges for learning new skills. I was thinking about imaginary parental merit badges; there should be one for Baby's First Sickness. I don't know if I handled everything properly, but we got through it, and I feel like I'm better equipped for the inevitable next time.<br /><br />This Saturday I met up with my friend Yvette for a long overdue girly outing. We convened at Frederik Meijer Gardens to see their annual butterfly exhibit. Yvette brought the butterflies to my attention two years ago; she and I went together then, and I've been back a number of times since. There's a Conservatory open year-round, full of lush tropical plants, a little waterfall, and small birds. It's warm and humid and a welcome escape from Michigan winter. (Snow yesterday, by the way, and frost still on the back porch today at noon.) Once a year in the spring, thousands of butterflies are set free in the Conservatory, and you can just walk among them, enjoying their colors and patterns.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3399502490/" title="Butterfly mosaic by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3426/3399502490_081c84c940.jpg" width="500" height="168" alt="Butterfly mosaic" /></a><br /><br />Yvette and I looked at butterflies, ate lunch at a leisurely pace, and shopped for, eh, ladies' underthings and maternity jeans. Yvette is my personal shopper. I have no style and she aims me in a better direction. Before going home, I stopped at Cold Stone Creamery, chosen specifically because I read somewhere that their ice cream has an obscene amount of fat and calories. Then, feeling spoiled by my day of irresponsibility, and starting to miss my boys, I headed home.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-56613201297603715242009-03-16T18:58:00.001-04:002009-03-16T18:58:22.150-04:00Date-doo!I'll speak for Ike and say he's had a pretty eventful week. Last Sunday (the 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span>), we participated in our first family outing, by which I mean we went somewhere with another couple who have kids--Brooks and Nicky and their two boys, J., age 4, and B., 5 months. My brother John came along, too. The place was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BounceLand</span> in Kalamazoo, full of giant inflatable things for kids to climb in and on, obstacle courses and slides and the like.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3354296088/" title="BounceLand by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3468/3354296088_4e7db87193.jpg" alt="BounceLand" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Ike was overwhelmed by all the noise and kids. He was apprehensive about touching any of the bouncy stuff himself, but seemed to like it when Dave carried him. At one point, he managed to run behind one of the bouncy things and unplug it, causing an evacuation of that particular inflatable. I was getting a (terrible) Slush <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Puppie</span> at the moment, so I missed this piece of fun.<br /><br />I introduced Ike to B., to get a feel for how he might react when he gets his own new baby sibling, and Ike stole his pacifier. That tells me much.<br /><br />Later in the day we visited with Ike's grandmas and had a "grandma buffet" for dinner. My mom made delicious buttery, lemony scallops and roasted vegetables, and Dave's mom made her beloved chili recipe.<br /><br />Dave has developed this little game with Ike over the past few few months. Ike will be holding a toy or a book, and Dave will ask, "May I have that?" Ike will hand it to him, practically turning inside out with glee. Dave will shout exuberantly, "Thank you!" then hand the item back to Ike, saying, "Here you go!" Repeat. Repeat.<br /><br />Before the grandma buffet, Ike was bringing all the toys and books he could find to his Grandma Gayle. Suddenly he started saying "Thank you!" and "Here you go!" as he dropped off his items. His pronunciation was a little off--see the title of this post--but there was no mistaking the phrases. We were all amazed. He says "uh-oh" and "doe" (no) all day long, but that had been the extent of his English until that moment. He's still saying them, and seems to be saying "Mama" on purpose now, too.<br /><br />On Tuesday, Ike had a well-baby checkup. His latest stats: 31 inches and 22 pounds, 11 ounces. Every visit, the nurse asks whether I've signed a vaccine waiver. It's right in the file she's leafing through, but I'm sure they have to cover their butts. We've declined vaccines so far, concerned both about what additives go into them and the sheer number of shots children "must" have nowadays. I'm planning on giving him a few select ones when he's a bit older.<br /><br />They also ask whether there are guns in the home (no, but I'm in a little curious what happens if I say yes) and if we have well water (yes). I took the fluoride prescription the doctor wrote last time, but this time, had to confess that I hadn't filled it; I saw the nurse mark something in the file. I think they have us branded as crazy, crunchy freaks, although they've only been polite and respectful. (I've heard stories about pediatricians who kick you out of their practice if you don't agree with their vaccine philosophy.) I actually really like the staff and Ike's pediatrician. I'm even a little envious of her. She's quite young (another thought on that later) and very stylish; her jewelry is always perfectly accessorized to her outfit and she wears cute shoes, like pointy high-heeled boots, and I feel disgracefully frumpy in her presence. I don't know how she gets though the day tending to infants and children without getting all besmirched.<br /><br />On Thursday, I had a prenatal checkup. Baby (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Blobby</span> #2? Don't know what to call him/her.) is ticking along at 170 beats per minute. I was happy and relieved to hear the heartbeat, since the baby really isn't concrete to me yet. My waist is already gone but I've been attributing it to daily doses of pancakes and such. The surreality will probably cease within the next few weeks, when the little bug starts kickboxing in there.<br /><br />My OB/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Gyn</span> is only about 8-10 years older than me, and his looks remind me somewhat of a youngish John Travolta. On my initial introduction to him about five years ago, I was suspicious, since all my prior experiences with doctors indicated that they should be older than your grandparents and not resemble any <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Scientologist</span> actors. But he easily earned my trust. He is very talkative and likes to get all metaphorical and allegorical. I can't tell if he knows how goofy he is. I vaguely remember him trying to ease me into why my C-section for Ike was indicated; something about labor being a mountain, and he was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sherpa</span>, but he could only take me so far.<br /><br />At my last visit, the doc was explaining something I asked about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">luteal</span> cysts. Dave had come along and taken Ike out for a breather, but he walked into the exam room mid-explanation. Afterward he asked me, "What was that about Pocahontas running around in your uterus with Phil Collins?" I'm pretty sure the doc mentioned neither, but close enough.<br /><br />There's a place called the Bagel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Beanery</span> just down the street from the doc's office, so Ike and I went there for lunch after my appointment. Now, Michigan bagels are not like New York/New Jersey bagels, which are lush and plump, and of which I often wistfully dream. But Bagel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Beanery</span> bagels are pretty good. I recently discovered what a wondrous toddler food bagels are. Ike loves any sort of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">bready</span> item, and it takes him a long time to chew through a whole bagel, giving me time to eat my own food or grocery shop peacefully.<br /><br />Ike and I had a companionable lunch...until he suddenly snapped and threw a tantrum. I don't remember what provoked it. I moved his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">sippy</span> cup a few inches toward the middle of the table? I didn't see it coming at all. One minute he was happily bagel-munching, the next minute throwing, kicking, that horrid back-arching, and crying all at once. I hauled him out amid furtive glances, not sure if they were hateful or sympathetic. I wrestled him into his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">carseat</span>, and he zonked out almost immediately, in that enviable way babies have. I think maybe the onset of Daylight Savings time has fiddled with his sleeping habits a bit.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3354292284/" title="At the Bagel Beanery by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3605/3354292284_54afc621aa.jpg" alt="At the Bagel Beanery" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A few minutes before Hulking out. The serious brows are from the chewiness of the bagel, not a signal of his impending rage.</span><br /><br />At each check-up, Ike's stylish pediatrician sends me home with a pamphlet detailing something specific to his current age. The one we got at our visit last week was about tantrums and how they're normal at this stage. I threw it in the recycling bin right away, thinking "Pshaw! Ike is such a happy baby!" When I got back home after the Bagel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Bewitchery</span>, I rescued that pamphlet from the tomato sauce cans and milk jugs.Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-83243323914899426862009-02-28T21:18:00.005-05:002009-02-28T23:58:03.794-05:00Love Them from the Moment They Begin<span style="font-family:georgia;">Today I managed to take this picture just before I exploded into a sparkling confetti of hearts and rainbows.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3317267689/" title="More cute overload by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3601/3317267689_a964425e31.jpg" alt="More cute overload" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />"...if you like your kids, if you love them from the moment they begin, you yourself begin all over again, in them, with them, and so there is something more to the world again."--William Saroyen, </span><span class="mw-headline"></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Here Comes There Goes You Know Who</span>.<br /><br />Morning sickness has receded, for the most part. I was grateful for it, of course, but it really sapped me. As I had with Ike, I usually felt best right when I woke up, but I would infinitely degrade for the rest of the day. My sense of smell sharpened and the world was full of assaulting stenches. We had a Super Bowl party right when I started feeling bad, and just the memory of wafting beer, cold cuts, and queso dip makes me turn green. I asked Dave if he would mind limiting our family to two children. I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> there was no way I could <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> do this again.<br /><br />I got by on rice and egg noodles, mostly. But food sounds good again, and I am eternally hungry. I want yeast rolls with cinnamon butter! Gelato! A Chinese buffet! And feeling better has me all amnesiac. More babies sound good again; I'm sure I could hobble through "morning" sickness one more time!<br /><br />Welcome to Ms. Sarcy's wild ride. I cry when I see babies--even illustrated ones in Ike's books--because they are <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> so <span style="font-style: italic;">precious </span>(though not as precious as Ike). I cried because Dave turned down the volume on the TV while I was watching something, and I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> it meant he hated me. Maybe it's because none of my pants fit. I think I have jeans in five different sizes, and they're all either too small or too big, and I know they're <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> going to skip right along to too small at any second. So I've just resigned myself to never leaving the house, unless I need some Chocolate Underground yogurt or salt-and-vinegar potato chips.</span></span><br /><br />It'll be okay. There's good company at my house.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3303843829/" title="Topknot by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3497/3303843829_22cd642ddc.jpg" alt="Topknot" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br /><br /><h3 style="font-family: georgia;"></h3>Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1765025005143898035.post-3911461435925031342009-02-21T01:48:00.004-05:002009-02-23T12:26:28.799-05:00First post<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Welcome to the latest flavor of The Kil Empire! The Shutterfly <a href="http://thekilempire.shutterfly.com/">photo site</a> still exists, but I don't think I'm going to continue updating it. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Not that you ever did</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >, you say sarcastically. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Yes, I know</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >, I reply nervously, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >but I hope to do better this time</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >.<br /><br />I've been thinking of starting a blog for a long time...this particular space has been reserved and sitting vacant for three months, after I thought about signing up with Blogger for a couple </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >years</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >. It seems like an excellent venue for keeping in touch with far-flung friends and family. By the way, friends and family--if you've recently noticed your blog getting a lot of hits from a particular area, it's me. I've been scouring your blogs in order to steal all your ideas and try to make mine as good as yours.<br /><br />Well, onward. I will give you what you're here for: Ike.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3130784925/" title="Untitled by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3099/3130784925_acf85ae8c7.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="331" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(You can click on any picture to see it larger.)</span><br /><br />On November 2nd (his 11-month birthday), he started walking--well, drunkenly tottering and mostly falling. Within the week he was walking all over the house, chin down so he could watch his feet, fat belly sticking out, chuckling and hooting with pride. It was as if he dreamed of improvements and woke up each day with new skills. He soon progressed to running, and now the soundtrack of my day is the incessant pitter-patter of little feet.<br /><br />This all means that the world (well, the first three vertical feet of it) is now his oyster. Our house is minimally baby-proofed. I bought some cabinet locks, but it turns out they won't fit our cupboards without some labor-intensive modifications. I've been neither ambitious enough to practically rebuild the cabinets <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >or</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > seek out locks that fit, so Ike spends large portions of his day banging the doors open and shut and rummaging within, and I spend large portions of my day saying "NO!" Most of the stuff is okay for him to play with--Gladware and measuring cups--but damn, does he love to make a mess.<br /><br />December 2nd was Ike's first birthday. He did his best to pretend he was not the subject of a photo sitting at JC Penney (although, to my amazement, most of the proofs were great), and later we went out for dinner, but it was easy to tell that he thought the highlight of the day was birthday cake.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3295514751/" title="Birthday cake mosaic by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3354/3295514751_8205fbae0a.jpg" alt="Birthday cake mosaic" width="500" height="168" /></a><br /><br />Actually, he loves to eat in general. He rarely turns things down, with a few notable exceptions--he actually </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >cried</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> when I merely offered him some Thanksgiving turkey, but he enjoyed the leftovers the next day. He's quite the omnivore--peanut butter toast, avocado, pasta, apples, and, apparently, lemons:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3129643653/" title="Eating a lemon at my former employer's Christmas party by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3240/3129643653_042e5fa0f6_m.jpg" alt="Eating a lemon at my former employer's Christmas party" width="180" height="240" /></a><br /><br />Ike loves to read:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3277332348/" title="Bibliophile by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3458/3277332348_b710fc84fe.jpg" alt="Bibliophile" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />This happily coincides with his aforementioned love of mess-making. Every day he throws all his books on the floor in his room. Then he strews his toys around. Sometimes he pulls his clothes out of his dresser and flings them about. (Occasionally, he puts them in his hamper, as if to help me with the laundry. So cute! Yet so frustrating!) Then he proceeds to litter the rest of the house with sundry baby toys and accessories.<br /><br />He likes to have books read to him as well. He excitedly gets into my lap and puts his little hands out, fingers spread, in anticipation of turning the pages. I have to be mindful of the word-to-picture ratio, however. If the words outweigh the pictures, I have to create a CliffsNotes version on the spot, otherwise he'll lose interest and wiggle away.<br /><br />Ike loves to play:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3276542181/" title="Ike and his can of Lavazza espresso by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3313/3276542181_207b3d6508.jpg" alt="Ike and his can of Lavazza espresso" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />Especially with things that are not actually toys. (That's a can of espresso he carried around for about an hour on Christmas Eve.) When he learned to crawl, it was his joy to raid the Tupperware cabinet, stack all the containers and gnaw the lids all day. His Uncle Nate gave him a "Runaway Bunny" gift set. It came with the book and a soft stuffed rabbit. All Ike cared about was the box it was packaged in. I've quieted him in a middle-of-the-night cryfest by letting him play with a little plastic bottle of anti-gas medicine.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />Ike's loud and opinionated (in some language that's not English) but he balances it with a sense of humor. A couple nights ago he kept falling face-first into a pillow, laughing at himself and looking up to make sure we were laughing, too. Dave tells me often, "I love my baby. He's so great."<br /><br />:::<br /><br />On January 13th, I had a strange inkling. So I peed on a pregnancy test (or 5, but who's counting?). The second line was faint, but it was still a line. Was it very early pregnancy, or residual hormones from the recent miscarriage? Was that even possible? At my post-D&C checkup, my doctor said he wanted me to come in right away if/when I got pregnant again. He said it was likely that, should I choose, I would go on to have successful pregnancies, but he also said there were some things that could be done very early to minimize the chances of another miscarriage.<br /><br />I went to my doctor for a blood test on the 15th. I was supposed to be able to call for the results the next afternoon, which was a Friday. The day dragged by. I called about 1 P.M. and was baffled to get the office voicemail service. I called about six times before noticing that the message stated they closed at <span style="font-style: italic;">noon</span> on Fridays!<br /><br />So I bit my fingernails all weekend and studied <a href="http://peeonastick.com/">PeeOnAStick.com</a>, an informative site that I cannot believe exists, or that I'm admitting that's how I spent the weekend. On Monday I called the nurse, and she confirmed that I was pregnant. My hCG (the "pregnancy hormone") level seemed low, so she wanted me to get my blood drawn again and see if the numbers had gone up (hCG levels double every 72 hours in early pregnancy).<br /><br />I was surprised but didn't allow myself to get excited. Dave kept reminding me not to get excited. My pregnancy with Ike was so normal and uneventful that we were spoiled and assumed subsequent pregnancies should be no different. The miscarriage kind of took away that innocence.<br /><br />I got all set to bundle Ike up and drive up to Grand Rapids. I called Dave to fill him in. "You can't go anywhere," he told me. I assumed he meant the roads were bad (Michigan winter, you know) and started yelping about how I was an excellent driver. But no, he meant I literally couldn't go anywhere. His car wouldn't start that morning (flat battery), so he'd taken my truck to work. I had to wait until tomorrow.<br /><br />The next morning, Ike and I drove up to a clinic in Grand Rapids. I'd forgotten about Obama's inauguration until I turned on the radio. We watched part of the ceremony in the waiting room before my blood draw. They said I could call my doctor's office for the results that afternoon. We met up with Dave for lunch at a very quiet, empty Red Robin and half watched Obama's speech. I suggested that, if there was a baby in there somewhere, we might name it Barack.<br /><br />Late in the afternoon, I called the nurse, and she said my hCG levels had risen exponentially. I hung up, swore (mildly), and told the embryo that I was excited and counting on him/her now. I had to figure out how to keep myself sane for the next three weeks, until an ultrasound to confirm a progressing pregnancy.<br /><br />It was a very long three weeks. But on February 11th, we saw a little bean with a heartbeat. Afterward we indulged in a healthy lunch of hot dogs, soda, and French fries. I imagined Ike was so happy because of the good news, but I know he was really just digging the French fries:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33534458@N07/3276514617/" title="Hot dogs and French fries by Sarcy, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3490/3276514617_724feddbfc.jpg" alt="Hot dogs and French fries" width="375" height="500" /></a><br /><br />When I had my initial blood draw, I'd also had a culture done to check for something called "ureaplasma." (Don't start Googling it or you may needlessly horrify yourself, as Dave and I did.) It's a bacteria that's present in a lot of people, usually without causing any symptoms or problems. There is a <span style="font-style: italic;">theory</span> that it can <span style="font-style: italic;">possibly</span> cause miscarriage, so my doctor started me on antibiotics as a precaution. It turns out the culture was positive, so I have to take antibiotics for 10 days per month until the 20th week of pregnancy.<br /><br />I'm coming up on 10 weeks. The due date is September 22nd. I haven't really wanted to tell anyone about this, as if saying "I'm pregnant" will jinx the baby. But to prove to myself that I'm not superstitious--and because I feel like I'm gigantic already--guess what, I'm pregnant.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Sarcyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04414340948170295932noreply@blogger.com9