Fancy Things

The other day, I was dressing Soren in one of his rugby shirts, and he decided he wanted all the buttons to be done up, including the top one. I explained that the top one is generally left unbuttoned.

Soren: Why is it a button instead of nothing?

Me: To be fancy, I guess.

Soren [exasperated]: Well, then why don't they just put a GOLDEN CAR on there? Or a TROPHY?

Car Show!

(written by Chris)

Soren has been fascinated by cars for longer than he has been able to articulate that fascination. He had a lengthy phase of pointing out that a car or truck was passing by, then asking what each car he saw was, and then learning the logos of all the car companies and naming all the cars he saw (and he can identify the make of virtually all late model cars by sight). Today, I was able to provide him an all-access pass to more cars than he could imagine by taking him to the New England 2010 Auto Show, at the RI convention center. Kids' Day meant he was free with my admission, and no one could complain I was there following the orders of a three-year old.

As we approached the ticket booth, Soren spotted the banner with the roughly 20 participating automakers on it. "Hey, there's a lot of logos here," he shouts, and begins naming them, "Honda. Toyota. GMC! Lincoln...." I merely shrug to the ticket taker.

In the course of a little under three hours (we had to dash over to the Westin to score some apple juice at the two hour mark), we evaluated (i.e., sat in) a wide spectrum of vehicles, ranging in price from roughly $18,000 to roughly $75,000:

3 GMCs
6 Chevrolets
2 Buicks
8 Toyotas
4 Fords
4 Lincolns
4 accessible Toyotas
3 Mazdas
6 Subarus
3 Audis
4 Acuras

I briefly ogled a couple Lamborghinis and a couple Rolls Royces, but Soren had no interest because he could not sit in them. "Come onnnn, Daddy...."

Visiting a car show with Soren is different from visiting as car buyer in several key ways:

Price does not matter. Soren doesn't really yet understand money or status or quality distinctions. Therefore, he was absolutely as enthusiastic about the most basic Chevy Cobalt and Ford Focus as he was about the much more expensive cars we sat in. Importantly, he is indifferent to size (when you're 39 inches tall, being an expensive sports car is the biggest threat to adequate leg room and view), so the cars vary less to him than they would to someone who is, for example, not three.

The back seat does matter; the front seat does not. In fact, I was only permitted to sit in the front seat of three cars, and of those, two did not have back seats (one was a Corvette, so...). Otherwise, our experience of each car emphasized the back seat: we would approach a vehicle that was deemed worth our time--primarily by being next to the vehicle out of which we just climbed; I opened the passenger side door for Soren, who climbed in (and climbed is often the best descriptor); I would be instructed to close his door and come around the other side; I would enter through the driver's side rear door, and close it; I would be instructed to lock it; after a brief pause, we'd note something about the upholstery; we would decide to move on.

It's always his turn. When looking at popular cars at car shows, I've often had to wait to get into the driver's seat. People aren't generally looking at the back seats, but when they are, they're standing and peering in in a way that allows room for an eager three-year old to slip in front and climb in. Soren was entirely polite about it, complete with "Excuse me," but he'd slip right up to the front to scramble into the back seats.

Basic car features are interesting. During the car show, Soren learned about the different designs of door locks, levers (including the all electronic system on the Corvette) and regular seatbelts. Once he learned about a feature, it had to be examined on subsequent vehicles. We had to try the seatbelts in most of the latter half of cars we tried, but fortunately he grew to understand they all work in the same way (and are uncomfortable).

Salespeople go the other way. These car shows are, after all, sales tools. A couple of times, as I rounded the back of a car to get in the driver's side, I was intercepted by salespeople who wanted to tell me about the car I was circling. (Despite my bicentimillenial Jetta, I'm not in the market.) When Soren pops around the corner, or shouts that I need to get in the car, I just don't get bothered anymore.

Child locks suck. At more than one point, my tour of back seats left me in the embarrassing position of needing either to climb out the far side (to Soren's protests) or to beg fellow patrons to let me out because some previous attendee had triggered the child lock on the door I entered.

Overall, I will say that I'm impressed with the ground that American car companies have made on foreign automakers over the last few years: touch and feel quality was definitely comparable within price point in the cars I saw today. Of course, that's just the perspective of a back seat driver.

RIP 110 Film

Remember that first camera? The slab of a thing that took 110 film and flash cubes, or maybe one of those weird disc cameras, or the Kodak Polaroid-clone which you only had for ten months before Kodak got sued and had to take it off the market? It was so cool to get to take photos of anything you wanted, and you probably didn't even notice the aggrieved looks on your parents' faces every time they had to shell out for another roll of film or another set of crappy prints.

Well, now Soren has his very first camera. A slab of a thing with an LED flash and 50-cent software. It's fabulous.

Digital photography is a wonderful thing, my friends. Not only does Soren get to take a billion pictures of anything he wants, the only thing I have to shell out for is another set of AAA batteries every once in a while. He even has his very own Flickr account, so he can share his weird pictures with the three other people in the world who would like to see them. I am proud to be one of those three people.

Trash Talk

I was playing Mario Kart last night for Soren's amusement, racing the courses he requested (usually Bowser's Castle and Mushroom Gorge) while trying to hold Sigrid in my lap and keep her from grabbing the controller. So my usually superior skillz were severely compromised. At one point, when I fell off a bridge into a lake of molten lava for the third time, this conversation ensued:

Soren: Mama, what's that sound?

Me: Um, what sound? I'm not sure.

Soren: That's the sound of you not playing very well.

Did I just get smacked down by a two-year-old??? Excuse me? Well, at least we know where he got the sassiness from.

More Horrible Parenting on My Part

Sigrid took her first forward-facing ride in the stroller today! She seemed to think it was a good thing, what with all her smiling and foot-kicking and lack of crying, but she's wrong. It's stunting her language development, dontcha know. It is my parental duty to interact with her AT ALL TIMES. Even now. She's been napping in the stroller for a good 2.5 hours now, but I should probably be keeping her awake so I can talk to her and keep her on the college-bound track.

Just think how much more verbal Soren could be if we'd kept him rear-facing in the stroller all this time. The mind boggles.

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

See, this is what happens when I try to take advantage of a teachable moment when Soren expresses an interest in both measuring things and going outside. I hand him my good straightedge and tell him we're going to measure how deep the snow is, and let him outside while I'm putting my boots on, and then when I come outside he asks me where the ruler is, and I ask HIM where the ruler is, and it turns out he's dropped it into the crawl space under the deck, and I'm not going under there because there are dead spiders, and so my good straightedge is gone FOREVER. And I have to buy a new one. That's it! No more learning.

Note: Comments pointing out that I shouldn't have given a toddler my good straightedge will be deleted.

Helping...as Much as Possible

Shortly after I got home yesterday, Sigrid woke and began crying for dinner #1. Soren was playing nearby. I looked toward Sigrid and said, "Mama will be out soon to feed you."

Soren jumped up and ran toward Sigrid and pulled up his shirt. I asked him if he was showing Sigrid his belly. He said yes, because that's what Mama does to help Sigrid stop crying.

Pumpkin Express

Those of you who've visited us in October have probably been dragged to Schartner Farms' Pumpkin Express event, at the Schartner Farms stand/nursery, which has appealed to us primarily through the opportunity to eat saugies (RI hot dogs) and fresh red potato curly fries where it's a little too cold and windy.  We have never actually taken the Pumpkin Express itself, a hay ride out around the farm to a "pumpkin patch" with entertainment.  However, this year, we thought Soren might enjoy the express, so last Saturday we planned to try it out.

When we suggested to Soren that we would go someplace where we could ride in a trailer behind a tractor, he stopped short, his little toddler horizons infinitely expanded by the possibility.  He turned to us and uttered a breathy, dreamy "Yeah!" indicating he wanted to go.

Soren was thrilled when we got to the farm, and we stood in line, and then a real tractor pulled up, with two hay trailers.  He sat in the middle with Kirsten and I, and played with the hay, a baby truck he'd brought, and looked at the farm as we rode around.

When we got to the pumpkin patch, Soren tried out the toddler version of the corn maze, and had a great time.

Kirsten found a pumpkin and speculated about how much bigger she was going to get.

And Soren sold me some ice cream from a "booth".

Note who's holding Kirsten's pumpkin, and buying Soren's straw flavored ice cream. Sucker.

Oh, and we had lunch of saugies and fresh red potato curly fries.  Yum.  Might need to go back this weekend.

Oktoberfest

Amid the excitement and sloth of the last few weeks, we've delayed telling you about the fine time we had at the Acton, MA Oktoberfest celebration with Adam, Christi, Margot, Brian and Edith. Really, it has everything you want in an Oktoberfest, except beer, oompah bands, lederhosen, and the chicken dance.

Well, then, what did it have? Soren won a traditional Bavarian lollipop...



...and insisted on the highest form of Schwarzwald-region pastry, a frosted cookie shaped like a school bus (that cost $3 due to German wage rates, but was good for 90 minutes, so not a bad value)...


...and we saw the traditional Rhine jaws of life demonstration (which we have managed to miss by less than 10 minutes in each of our previous visits)...


...and Margot showed us some of the card tricks that are popular among babies on the streets of Berlin.

Also, we had some bratwurst, which were really pretty good, and actually something you'd expect at an Oktoberfest.

The day reminded us that we'd just missed Fall last year, since Fall in Alaska is about 20 minutes long; we just love these harvest festivals, so we'll probably go to more this month.

The All-Pervading Election

Either we're watching more election coverage before 7 PM than I think we are, or they're teaching Soren current events at school. I was reading the paper the other day, and he pointed to a picture and said, "There's John McCain!" Wha? He also knows Barack Obama by sight. And I really don't know why. I mean, their names come up in conversation at home, and he's certainly heard them mentioned on TV, but I didn't know he was getting enough election info to be able to put the faces with the names. I wonder if he can also summarize their positions on health care and the war. I'll ask him.

In Which I Jinx Soren's First Night in His New Bed...

...by saying that everything is going perfectly so far. Chris and I got Soren a toddler bed last week, and set it up today! Yes, our huge 2-year-old was still sleeping in a crib as of this afternoon, but he wasn't climbing out, so we were happy with its toddler-imprisoning capabilities. However, we were finally persuaded to get him into a big boy bed due to The Bouncing.

Ever since he was about a year old, when we read that toddlers will often bang their heads against things to soothe themselves and then congratulated ourselves for not having a weird kid like that, Soren has banged his head against things to soothe himself. More accurately, he sits on the couch and repeatedly bounces his head against the back cushions. In his crib, he doesn't bang his head against the railing (he has that much sense), but sits against the rails and bounces his back against them, producing a headache-inducing banging sound. And gradually working the crib's screws loose. Anyway, if he's having a restless night, the banging can go on for an hour at a time, in several sessions. When you're trying to sleep, or if you happen to be sitting in the room directly under his, it's really annoying, as soothing as it must be for our little weirdo.

In order to build positive toddler bed spin among our constituency, we took Soren to pick out some sheets the other night; you will be surprised to learn that he chose Cars sheets. He was really into it -- he carried the sheet set all through the store, out to the car, and into the house. He protested a little when it came time to dismantle the crib and put the new bed in, but once it was all done, he was pretty excited (not necessarily about sleeping, but definitely about carrying his new pillow around and jumping on it). Once bedtime rolled around, we tried to tuck him in (he declined, preferring to sleep on top of the blankets), said good night, and closed the door... and he stayed in bed. And, judging from the fact that it's been quiet up there for three hours, he is sleeping. In the bed. Yay!!!! No drama!!!! So far, anyway. We'll see what happens when he decides it's time to get up -- he's usually happy to sleep until a decent hour, but he hasn't, until now, been able to choose to get out of bed and play at 5 AM. We'll see!

Eating and Drinking with Daddy

Kirsten decided that I've been out of town plenty this summer, so now it's her turn. She's off in Denver with her adult sisters, leaving Soren and me to a guys' long weekend at home. I understand that today she enjoyed a "Day of Beauty," which, you know, is about time because, since my spa treatments in Vietnam, I've frankly been feeling a bit out of her league.

As you might expect, the absence of Mama has led to the erosion of the sobriety, morality and nutrition of her men. To wit, last night we went to the food court at the mall to have dinner. The remnants of Hanna were blowing through and we were trapped in the house all day, so it was nice to go to the mall to stretch. We got dinner from India Gourmet, which, it turns out, is really quite tasty, and convenient since no one cares what your toddler is doing at the mall food court.

Soren and I sat at a table across the aisle from another Dad and his 6 year old. They were squabbling loudly over the conditions under which the son would eat his dinner, fried chicken fingers and white rice. Soren was seated across from me, eating happily, without whining or fidgeting, his dinner, nan mounded with saag paneer, which is basically pureed spinach. While I'm constantly aware that Soren's food policies could change at any moment (witness chocolate cake), I couldn't resist a little smugness at the contrast of Soren politely eating spinach with the older kid having difficulty with fried food with little nutritional value.

Of course, not eating fried food doesn't count for much if you're drinking the wrong stuff. Especially if the wrong stuff is canola oil. Before dinner tonight (not at the mall food court, thank you very much), Soren felt I was a little slow at getting his apple juice, so perhaps I needed some help. He went to the baking cupboard and got out a bottle and put it on the table for me to pour into his cup. However, we keep the apple juice in the refrigerator, not the baking cupboard. In fact, he had given me a bottle that was remarkably like the apple juice: a Stop & Shop brand goldenish liquid in a bottle with a narrow "waist" about 2/3s of the way up, a trimmed rectangle below, and some more ornamentation above. He had found our vegetable oil, and was insisting that I pour some into his cup for him to drink with dinner.

Fortunately, he lost track of which bottle was "his" while I was taking pictures of him with this two bottles of "apple juice", so I was able to perform the switcheroo before he sat down to dinner.  (What, you think I'm up to actually posting that picture?)

Mom's Questions about Vienna Answered

Since I seem to have blogger's block, I'll use Mom's comment on the last post as a framework. Clever me.

Don't they have any small ANYTHING in Vienna?

Yes: extremely small stitches in the insane petit point works you can get in some of the stores we passed. Other than that, everything is pretty much huge. And covered in gold. Chris and I decided that Vienna (and much of western Europe) shows that Americans don't know crap about old money, big houses, or insanely ostentatious people. I suppose Donald Trump does like to gild his possessions, but he really couldn't pull off wearing a jeweled crown and ermine stole. I'm sure the US will gain more opulence cred as time goes by, though, so fear not; in a few hundred years, McMansions will come to be seen as attractive and tasteful, and we will pay large amounts of money to pass through their rooms, which will be only sparsely furnished because the family will have had to sell everything before going into exile. I'll stop now.

What's with the Sistine Chapel for Spanish Horses?

That's LIPIZZANER STALLIONS to you, and they have an awesome riding arena because they are the best horses in the world and SO SO PRETTY. I'm pretty sure I'm serious when I say I suggested Vienna for our vacation because it was home to the Spanish Riding School, and I wanted to go see the Lipizzaners. Sadly, there aren't any shows in summer, so we didn't get to see such fancy maneuvers as the courbette or capriole, but we showed up for the morning practice and got to watch the horses trot around the ring for an hour or so. Chris claims not to have been too bored, which is nice of him. The light wasn't great for our non-professional-grade photo equipment, but we managed to get a couple nice (or artistic, at least) shots:





I've seen the Lipizzaners perform a couple times in New England; the most recent performance was at URI, by an American group, and it seemed pretty dinky compared to my memories of the show I'd seen in Worcester in 1988. Well, it turns out that the Worcester show was performed by the actual Spanish Riding School! So that explains why it had seemed about a million times better. We'd even gotten front-row tickets for free, because I'd posed for a newspaper photo with one of the horses in some Kmart parking lot a couple weeks prior. I should get my mom to scan that photo for me. Sadly, I didn't come away with any good photos of the event, because I was a dumb eleven-year-old trying to take flash pictures through a glass divider.

Why is there a dog in the bushes?

Aha! That's not a dog. It's a statue of a dog's butt. It was oddly fascinating, and I couldn't stop staring at it all through dinner.

Whose dog is it anyway?

Well, it was a pretty close likeness of the butt of what seemed to be the restaurant owners' dog. So there you go.

My guess is the folks who partake of the ever present torten only need to walk around a bit...it looks like canvasing the terrain burns a few calories.

Yes, especially if you are carrying a huge mutant baby like I am. Which you aren't so SHUT UP! YOU DON'T KNOW MY PAIN! Sorry. Hormones. Anyway, Vienna itself was flat, but Baden, Melk and Durnstein (our side trips) featured plenty of lung-popping hills and stairs. Funny, Chris didn't seem to be nearly as out of breath as I was after climbing all those inclines. Perhaps it had something to do with the huge mutant baby. Or all the eiskaffee.

Enough about you all...how was Soren's visit with Grammy & Grampy?


Oh, HIM! Right! He, of course, had a fabulous time in Ohio with Grammy and Grampy (plus some bonus time with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dude). There were piles of toy cars to be parked in the living room, stylish new duds, visits to the children's museum and aquarium, and car trips with views of cornfields and LP tanks (which Soren apparently finds very interesting). Sadly, Chris and I didn't get to talk to him while we were in Austria, since our phones don't use GSM technology and Chris' emails to his parents about setting up time to Skype went undelivered (as were all his emails to .edu addresses, for some reason). He came back with a lovely photo album of his week in Ohio, though, so we have proof that he had a fun time. Come on -- what's better than a week with grandparents?

You know, besides a week without a toddler?

Of course, absence does make the heart grow fonder... so I'm very glad to be home with my little boy again.

Taking a Break from not Blogging

I have all kinds of good excuses for not blogging lately. My life isn't that interesting -- that's a major one. Also, everyone in the house has been sick, and Chris was in Vietnam in two weeks and is now in Anchorage for a week, and blah blah blah.

Soren had hand-foot-mouth disease (it's more fun to call it Coxsackie virus, frankly) over the weekend. The poor guy was covered in spots, had a fever, and was very sad because his mouth hurt. On Monday, Renee and Ian came over (Soren got Coxsackie from Ian in the first place, so it was OK for them to play together) (sorry to out you as a disease-spreader, Renee), and we had a nice time -- walked to the park, started making muffins, put Soren down for a nap when he started flipping out because the muffins weren't done yet, finished making muffins, ate muffins. I think all the excitement used up Soren's energy for the rest of the day, though, because all he wanted to do after his nap was watch Cars. We watched it three times. And I was not allowed to leave his side, or else much whining and screaming and "Mama, are you coming RIGHT NOW?!?!?" would commence. So Soren and I watched Cars three times on Monday. Unnnhhhhhnhnhnh.

The story has a happy ending: he feels better, and is back to his usual silly self.

I went to the OB for a checkup yesterday, and she said The Deuce was measuring a little large. Uh-oh. I mean, Soren was almost nine pounds, and he never measured large. Hmmm. Perhaps my special diet of Carnation Instant Breakfast, celery with hummus, and ravioli (not all at the same time) is some kind of fetus-embiggening regimen. If only I could choose to eat other things.

Soren had to come with me to the doctor's office, which he wasn't too thrilled about, but I psyched him up by telling him a) the doctor wouldn't be examining him; and b) he would get to hear the baby's heartbeat, and it sounds like "WWSHEEWWW WWSHEEWWW WWSHEWWW". In his words, "That's pretty silly!" When the doctor got the Doppler out and started moving it around to find The Deuce's heartbeat, it made its usual crackly noises, and Soren said, "It's a thunderstorm!" Then we got to hear the heartbeat, and he thought it was quite funny. I think the only major disappointment for him was the fact that they didn't have any lollipops, which are an important part of any doctor visit.

Everyone Enjoys our Yard

What's cooler than an owl in the backyard?

THREE owls in the backyard. All sitting on a branch fifteen feet away, glaring at me.

This sighting was followed (the same night and over the next few days) by glimpses of a skunk, a baby bunny, and this fine fellow:





We've decided that the owls aren't hunting mice in the grass -- they're hunting voles. For some reason, this makes me feel better. Maybe because voles won't try to come into my house and eat my cereal.

Until our yard is declared a wildlife refuge and becomes off-limits to recreational activities, we're having as much fun out there as we can. Gramma and Kelly Ann are here for a visit, and we've all been having a blast together! Sadly, I didn't get any pictures of Gramma teaching Soren how to do somersaults, but here are some other nice shots:






Finally, a moment of triumph: my BEST SCRABBLE WORD EVER.



The glory is tarnished very slightly by the fact that I had to tell Mom to pick another play when she wrecked my spot. But when "QUIXOTI" shows up on your tray, and there's a shining C sitting out there, waiting to be used, you do what you have to do.

Innocent

Once again, breakfast conversation is my inspiration. Another morning, another newspaper, this one with a picture of fighting, bloodied men on the front page. I try to skip it, but Soren catches sight of it and says, "What are those people doing?"

It's way too early in the morning, and in life, to tell him what's really going on, so I tell him they're talking.

"That man saying hi. How you doing, mans? They saying, 'I'm pretty good.' Right, Mama?"

Maybe it's just the hormones, but this makes me want to cry.

I don't want him to know about violence and meanness. I even have trouble with that song about the baby bumblebee, you know, the one that goes "I'm picking up the baby bumblebee, won't my mommy be so proud of me.... ouch, he stung me!"? Well, the second verse goes, "I'm smushing up the baby bumblebee..." and I'm too wimpy to sing to my little boy about smushing baby insects. So I change the words to things like, "I'm dressing up the baby bumblebee.... he likes to wear sweaters!" Or "I'm cooking for the baby bumblebee... he likes mashed potatoes!" Pathetic. And yet... the thought of putting that idea into his head, where one can go around smushing baby bumblebees... it's so sad.

It's just a song, and it's not like I don't go around smushing disgusting creepy spiders, infant and adult, that defile my home, and eventually Soren will learn that people smush bugs, and hurt other people on purpose, and the men on the front page aren't asking each other how they're doing. It'll just be so hard to watch my little boy learn these things. In the end, though, there's no avoiding it, and I can only hope that knowledge and awareness will make him a better person, one who will take action to help mankind and generally be more philanthropic than I am, or at least one who will be able to keep it together enough to pick the spiders up and put them outside.

Quotable

Soren has developed a slight fondness for Cars (the Pixar movie), maybe because it's the only movie we own, but also probably because it has cars in it. He asks to see it more than once a day, generally, but I'm trying to oblige him only every other day. Or else I will go insane.

At this point, he's seen the movie enough to be able to quote parts of it, which scares me a little. The thing I love, though, is that he picks the most mundane lines to quote, at completely random times during the day. At the breakfast table last week, he busted out with, "The Jeep says, 'WHAT travelers?!?!'" Well... yes, the Jeep does say that. I never thought of it as particularly memorable, but the Jeep does say it pretty loudly, so maybe toddlers are like parrots and mostly like to repeat things that have been said emphatically. This explains both toddlers' and parrots' fondness for dropping f-bombs. Which Soren has never done, thank you very much, in case you were wondering.

Yesterday, in the car, Soren started repeating, "The red car says, 'IS IT GETTING DARK OUT?'" Another accurate quote. Actually, he'd been talking about the weather right before he said that, and he'd asked me if it was sunny outside, so I guess he jumped from that thought to the movie quote. Kind of like when a bunch of our friends get together, and one of us happens to say, "That's bad," and then we have to jump into the whole Cursed Squishy routine from the Simpsons. Yep. That's my boy.

Where's my Mac and Cheese?

Alternate title: Get Back in the Kitchen Where You Belong, Mama

The other night, Soren was hungry and I was lazy (Sleepy, Dopey, Grumpy and Doc were out clubbing), so I told him I'd make him some macaroni and cheese. The Annie's kind, not the neon orange (and super tasty) kind. Don't judge me. Anyway, I apparently haven't learned my lesson yet, said lesson being: don't tell Soren you're going to give him something until it's on a plate and being carried toward him. Or else he will spend the next fifteen minutes repeating some variation of "Where's my mac and cheese? I want my mac and cheese. Where's my mac and cheese, Mama? Can I have mac and cheese?" Etc.

He asked mac-and-cheese-related questions for a few minutes while I was waiting for the water to boil, and then went off to play. After I put the noodles in, I went out to see how he was doing. As soon as he noticed me watching him, he got up and started saying "Go away, Mama! Go away!" And then he started PUSHING me. Which made me laugh, actually, because whatever. I'm huge. Anyway, I asked him where he wanted me to go, exactly, and he pointed toward the stove. "Go over there, Mama! Make my mac and cheese!"

OhohoHO.

I tried to explain that there was cooking going on without me, but he was pretty sure I was shirking, so I eventually gave up and stirred the pot a couple times to get His Highness off my back. We'll have a heart to heart about bossiness some other time. When I'm feeling less lazy, perhaps.

Soren Knows Just What to Say...

...to butter Mama up.

We were, once again, reading the newspaper at the breakfast table this morning, and Soren saw a full-page color ad for a Turner exhibit at the Met. He pointed to the painting and said, "What's that?" So I told him it was a painting. Then he asked, "Mama painted that? Did Mama do that one?" Aw, shucks, well... no. But it's really nice of him to think I'm capable of such things. Not that he's ever seen me draw anything except hearts (at his request) and trucks (yeah, you guessed it).

Soren Reads the Times

Chris is usually reading the newspaper at the dining room table when Soren and I come down for breakfast in the morning, and we occasionally get some good toddler comments on the latest world happenings. Or at least the pictures of said happenings.

This morning, Soren was looking at the front page of the arts section and saying, "That's a brown bee. That's a brown bee, Daddy." Chris was like, Whuh? But then he looked more closely and saw that Soren was pointing to a photo of a ring-tailed lemur. Brown bee, indeed.

When I got my turn with the paper, Soren pointed to a photo on the front page and asked, "Who's that? Who's that man?" I said, "It's Matthew Tannin."

"That's Mafu Taddin." Then he asked, "What's he doing?"

"He's... riding in a car." He was actually being placed into a police cruiser by an officer, but, you know, details.

"He's driving a car! He's happy!"

Sweet, innocent little boy.