Ike Travels, Gets Haircut

Last 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.





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.



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:


My brother, Alexander Supertramp!

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 this company, but Jesse handily made his own.

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.



Chun-Li still can't get any respect.



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.

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 Fenn Valley Vineyards. 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" and 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.

Then we stopped at Crane Orchards. There's a restaurant/bakery 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.

Ike liked this pint-sized old tractor they had outside.





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.)

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.



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.

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.



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.

Snips and snails

Hello, sunshine.



Ike and I have recently been mentioned on some other blogs! Check out the links:

First, by one of my oldest friends and a blogging veteran, Faith. She posted my mom's recipe for the delicious "bullet bread."

Amy, one of my former coworkers, took some pictures of Ike at "work." Amy has an assortment of toys and gadgets at her desk, which help keep Ike's attention when we visit my old workplace.

Gina, also a former coworker, took a break from her usual creative/art blogging to set up Ike with a potential sweetheart.

Thanks for the mentions, girls. Ike's not letting the fame go to his head.



:::

Q: What has a four-chambered heart, weighs about 9 ounces, and can put its feet up by its head?

A: Ike's baby brother!



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.

Sorry it's been so long

A 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 blog. 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, Chocolate Espresso Soy Dreams, 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.)

Sparty Bo and me at the wee little airport in Grand Rapids:



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.

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.

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.

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 Zangief. 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 Vega.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Of birthdays and butterflies

Does anyone remember this wee lad?



It's my youngest brother, John, I'm guessing around 4 years old. He turned 15 on March 10th. How do these things happen?



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.

One of the things dads are for:



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.

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?

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.

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.

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.



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.

Date-doo!

I'll speak for Ike and say he's had a pretty eventful week. Last Sunday (the 8th), 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 BounceLand in Kalamazoo, full of giant inflatable things for kids to climb in and on, obstacle courses and slides and the like.



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 Puppie at the moment, so I missed this piece of fun.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

On Thursday, I had a prenatal checkup. Baby (Blobby #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.

My OB/Gyn 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 Scientologist 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 sherpa, but he could only take me so far.

At my last visit, the doc was explaining something I asked about luteal 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.

There's a place called the Bagel Beanery 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 Beanery bagels are pretty good. I recently discovered what a wondrous toddler food bagels are. Ike loves any sort of bready 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.

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 sippy 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 carseat, 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.


A few minutes before Hulking out. The serious brows are from the chewiness of the bagel, not a signal of his impending rage.

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 Bewitchery, I rescued that pamphlet from the tomato sauce cans and milk jugs.