cat named pig

1.  Lemurs

2.  Monkeys

3.  Red panda

4.  Tree kangaroo

5.  Fishing cat (this one is actually a cat)

6.  Lynx 

I think he had a very good time. The fish seemed to be his favorite, although that silly tree kangaroo cat was definitely cracking him up. I think the size of the aquariums kind of blew his mind. So many huge, brightly colored fish moving way faster than Norah Jones Fish at home. (And in cleaner water.) 

We’ve been to the zoo with Siena so many times that she can practically recite the bad jokes in the bird show along with the trainers, but today we went with her class and I think that made it the Most Fun Visit Ever for her. Especially because her teacher brought FRUIT SNACKS for all the kids, and man, you should’ve heard those kids talking about those fruit snacks. Starting the minute we got in the van, continuing throughout the entire visit until after the bird show when they finally got to eat them, we couldn’t go five minutes without someone asking about the fruit snacks and when we would have them. The teachers and I would be all, “Yeah, we’ll have fruit snacks in a little while, but hey — look at that animal you’ve never seen before! That’s cool, too!” 

All in all, it was great morning. And I’m guessing there’s some serious napping going on at school right now.

…..

P.S. Another of my favorite things from the field trip was this one little boy who absolutely adores Elliot. He gave him dozens of hugs, played patty-cake, and helped me push the stroller. Every so often he would look at me and say “He sure is cute, isn’t he?” or something along those lines. Totally melts my heart, and what I really love is that it’s one of the boys who is so nurturing and interested in the baby. He’ll be a great dad someday. And maybe in a few years, I’ll hire him to babysit.   

Elliot’s wispy mullet was getting pretty festive in the back, so, in a mind-boggling lapse of judgment, I decided to trim it. By myself. In the bathroom, while holding him with one arm and trimming with the other. I must have forgotten that he is eleven months old, heavy and active enough that I can no longer hold him with one arm for very long without him trying to lunge for freedom. He’ll see the cat, or a BALL! and just fling himself in that direction with no concern for gravity or what the impact with the floor would feel like.

All this is a long way of saying that, the haircut? It’s not great. Looks sort of. . . Amish. By which I mean no disrespect to the Amish people. They seem lovely, and they make great candy that Matt’s dad gives us at Christmastime. All I’m saying is, their look is not my look. Nor my baby’s look. Not unless he grows up to go through a rebellious stage where he deliberately wears his hair Amish-style because he knows it irritates me, or something.

But that’s a battle for another time. The challenge for now is a) getting Matt to help me by holding the baby while I try to even it out, and b) actually getting it evened out instead of just making it worse. Or maybe I’ll just have Siena help. She’s good at cutting hair.  

I’m not sure if I can, but here’s the situation:

Matt gets up early with the kids (we usually alternate days sleeping in) and gets their breakfast. He feeds Elliot a banana, which is great because they’re healthy and it’s something I really hate doing. I can’t stand the smell of bananas; when I was pregnant, I couldn’t even have them in the house. I only eat them when they are tinged with green, before that ripe banana smell really sets in. Once the first spot of brown appears, forget it. They’re worthless to me.

Anyway, because of this aversion, I rarely feed bananas to the baby. Not only is the smell revolting, but you should see what he does to the little pieces we put on his highchair tray. Not to mention the disgustingness I have to scrape out from between his fingers when he’s done. Bleh.

So it’s great that Matt feeds him chunks of banana at breakfast time, but then I come downstairs and immediately lose my appetite. Because the high chair tray is covered with dry, fossilized remains of banana and the cloth seat cushion has been upholstered in a sticky mass of banana paste, formed from pieces that fell on the way to his mouth and were mixed with dropped Cheerios and crushed under his chunky, squishy baby thighs. And I have to scrape this off the seat and tray before I’ve even had my coffee, because there is no way my stomach can handle nine cups of strong black coffee with the scent of banana mush in the air.

Like I said, I’m not sure I can complain about this — but, then again, I think I just did. To anyone bored enough at work that they were willing to read an entire post about bananas.

 A rare ballet-related photo where Siena was actually standing still long enough for me to take the picture. 

Usually, if she’s in ballet attire (which includes nightgowns, dresses, Belle costumes — anything appropriately “fancy”) it’s non-stop motion until I interrupt her with my unreasonable suggestions that we “take a break” to do something as tedious and painful as eating lunch, or going to music class. Where they dance.

She found the nightgown and plans to wear it all day, dismissing all my arguments about temperature and social norms. Turns out, this particular summer-weight nightgown is not just for sleeping. It’s also her “ballet nightgown” and must be worn to perform The Nutcracker and also The Shrek Ballet, which you may not have heard of. I hadn’t, until I was invited to watch it this morning. It should probably be called The Number Third Shrek Ballet, as it is based on The Number Third Shrek Movie. 

Just a typical day at home, doing nine-thousand loads of laundry and then strategically hiding the Barbie ballerina nightgown under a large stack of warm, fleecy pajamas in her dresser drawer. All in the hope that, MAYBE, just once, she will wear whatever’s on top and not dig through the entire drawer of winter pj’s to find the one nightgown made of hot-pink nylon and sheer, gossamer butterfly wings. 

Over half Laura’s time on the web is spent looking at her most recent Google Reader updates. It lists all her favorite sites in one place, which she peruses at her leisure, until something catches her eye to open and read. She has about 10 upon which she regularly checks.

As she was checking on it Monday evening, I thought I’d look to see if I had set one up (I faintly remembered something about Supreme Court updates).

Sure enough, I had my very own Google Reader. This is the conversation that ensued:

Matt: [typing username and password]

Laura: You have a Google Reader account?

Matt: I think so. [Matt’s Google Reader pops up]. Supreme Court, some sports stuff…what the hell is Footbag Worldwide?

Laura: Footbag Worldwide?

Matt: Yes, it’s right there. It’s for hacky sacks. I’ve never heard it called a footbag. Why is it there? Hey, they’re having a gathering in Florence.

Laura: [much laughter, then mumbles, again]…footbag.

Matt: Maybe Google Reader adds stuff automatically?

Laura: No. [laughs some more] Footbag.

I can honestly say I have no idea how Footbag Worldwide got into my Google Reader. Or Sports Frog. Laura says maybe I was drunk when I set it up, which has to be the case, because in addition to those 2 oddities, I have 3 ESPN sites, BBC Sports, some Yankees vs. Red Sox drivel and lastly, the U.S. Supreme Court updates from Cornell’s law school.

Needless to say, I need to rethink my Reader strategy. As powerful as Google is, I cannot allow them to choose what I read on the web.

I think I’ve cracked the code to this whole parenting thing, at least where the three-year-old is concerned. I can get Siena to do whatever I need her to, as long as I stay in character. And today my character is Godfather Drosselmeyer from The Nutcracker.

This means that I am addressed as “Godfather,” or occasionally “Grandfather,” every time she opens her mouth. Which is fine with me, because it means I can reply “Clara, you need to finish your lunch and then it will be nap time.” And she will shove a huge bite of vegetables into her mouth, just like that, without even arguing about the nap part. It’s great. 

She also just asked me when I was “going to be done with [my] magical e-mail.” And didn’t seem to mind at all when I said it would be another minute.

Next up? I think Godfather Drosselmeyer needs a magical bubble bath. And some magical Ben & Jerry’s.   

Here’s a quick recipe Matt tested out this afternoon:

Step 1: Remove frozen half-baguette from freezer.

Step 2: Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Step 3: Place baguette in oven and close oven door.

Step 4: Forget all about steps 1 - 3. It’s like they never happened.

Step 5: Leave house to run errand; stop by friends’ house, then return home.

Step 6: Wonder why it smells like toast. 

If you’ve played around on Google Maps, you’ll know that you can pretty much see any house or landmark in any city in America. They don’t have everything on there (note to Google: let’s see you do the Grand Canyon, then we’ll know how good you are), but since I first heard about this, I’ve felt a little uneasy about it. Here’s validation of my feelings:

Google rules the world. Let me know when they’ve mapped Italy.