Home of the Elio Family 

Offensive Language

I got lambasted the other day, at lunch. By Rory. I’m still feeling the shame, but I’m still giggling a little bit, too. We went to Friendly’s for lunch, and at the end of the meal, the waitress gave the boys balloons. I was immediately annoyed, because we don’t usually give them balloons, and she didn’t ask before offering them to the kids. So I was a little snippy with the kids, saying, “You’d better not pop those balloons in the car and distract Daddy while he’s driving. I mean it; if those balloons get popped in the car, there’s going to be heck.” Rory turned to me and said in an astonished voice, “MOMMY! That is NOT language for lunch time! You just said HECK at our LUNCH TABLE! Don’t you want to say that you’re sorry?” Well, excuse me!
The Gipper has started “cruising”—a totally fake milestone invented by parenting magazines, through which we have been conditioned to believe that this step toward a REAL milestone is a milestone in itself. “Cruising” just means that she’s holding onto pieces of furniture, and walking while grasping them. Not walking, but not just standing, either. So we hold pieces of food at one end of the couch and wait for her to grasp her way along until she reaches it. It’s really fun to watch. And because it’s been added to the parentese vernacular as a milestone, we get to call relatives and say, “Reagan started cruising!”
Riley Kate is still loving the 12 Dancing Princesses, and spends her days pretending to be Princess Genevive or Princess Janessa. She has a toy Princess Janessa that winds up and dances, but Riley Kate lost Janessa’s blouse, so now she’s a topless dancer, which is very unseemly for a two year old to play with. A few days ago, Ror was in one of his sentimental moods, and said, “Mommy, you look just like Princess Genevive.” Riley Kate turned her fury on him so quickly, he was almost frightened. She screamed, “I AM PRINCESS GENEVIVE! ME! ME! ME!” Now that he’s been schooled by Her Highness, he’s unlikely to commit THAT mistake ever again. I didn’t want to point out the dichotomy of the situation, that Princess Genevive’s character is naturally sweet and accommodating.
Connor is working diligently on his Christmas list already—this year, my Mom gets the award for early-bird, asking about Christmas lists in SEPTEMBER! I thought Uncle Paul was jumping the gun last year in October! I should take a page from that book, rather than my usual run-to-the-mall-on-December-19 tactics. Anyway, Connor’s list is bizarre; I’m pretty sure that most of the items on his list exist only in his head; if it were a toy inventor’s to-do list, it would be a really great list, but since it’s a guide for Mommy’s shopping, it is discouraging indeed.

New Video

New Video of Connor at right. It's a recitation of "Windy Nights" by Robert Louis Stevenson and the first five Baltimore Catechism questions. Poetry is part of his school curriculum and this was the first poem he had to memorize.

This Surely Does Not Compare to Whatever Was Written on that Paper.

I am so angry with myself. I’ve stayed away from the blog because, as I recall, I had SUCH a cute story about each of the kids, and I wrote down the basics on a piece of paper. I can picture the piece of paper (which I promptly lost), but I can’t picture the words on the paper. It had something to do with the kids’ trip to Knoebel’s with Nana and Grandpa, and other little tidbits, but I can’t remember a darn thing. The only thing I can recall is that it had the makings of a very entertaining article. So I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. I feel like no stories will ever live up to the great notes I had jotted down on that paper…
Connor continues to do well in First Grade, and I am loving the new curriculum. His self-esteem also continues to grow by leaps and bounds; while doing worksheets, he says things like, “Man, I am on FIRE today!” or, as he said to Grandpa yesterday, “Well, big boy—big brain.” His favorite part of school is Fable Time. I read a Fable, and he’s supposed to re-tell the story in his own words, which I am to write down exactly as he dictates, and then draw a picture to illustrate the story. At the end of the year, it will be gathered into a Fable Book. After I read each story, he says, “Okay, well, you know this is my version, right?” He then proceeds to tell the story as he thinks it SHOULD have occurred. The Ant and the Grasshopper became a fable about childcare issues, The Bundle of Sticks became a story about how you can really break a lot of stuff if you just try, and The Stag at the Pool became a totally twisted tale of animals and their deep, emotional conflicts.
Ror has decided that he is ready to start school, so he began by doing some handwriting sheets. This quickly became boring to him, so this morning I started teaching him from Connor’s Reading/Phonics test. Now he’s running around the house pointing at various words that begin with “m” or “s”, saying, “Look! I found a ‘mmmmmm’! I found a ‘sssssss’!” So I guess we’ll keep going with it, as long as he’s interested.
Rory has also been saving his money for my birthday, to buy me a “sparkly hair clip”. I could not possibly find this any more charming. First of all, he says “sparkly hair clip” as though it is the ultimate gift that I could ever, possibly want. Secondly, his methods of acquiring the money (ransacking my purse and Chris’s pockets as well as demanding payment for any helping he does around the house) really crack me up. I really can’t wait to see my new, sparkly hair clip next week.
Riley Katie has found a movie that illustrates her heart’s deepest desire—it’s a movie about princesses (naturally) who are ballerinas (duh!), who have no brothers (paradise to Riley-Kate!). We have watched this movie, and its accompanying “bonus music video), over and over, ad nauseum. During the movie, Riley Kate dances like a dervish, spinning until she falls over. We’re thinking if she doesn’t mortally wound herself from all of the twirling and falling, it really will encourage her to take up dancing.
The Gipper has displayed, once again, her superior abilities and enchanting cuteness. Nana and Grandpa bought her a baby toy shaped like a gumball machine, which lights up and sings a song when the baby places the balls inside of the machine and then presses a lever. In my infinite cheapness (disguised as a very lofty belief in buying only wooden blocks and shape sorters for babies), my other kids never really had any baby toys (aside from the two leap frog toys bought by Uncle Bobby and Aunt Denise, who probably took pity on my technology-less children), so Chris and I haven’t had a chance to really see what babies can do with toys. Last night, we sat with Reagan as she played, and after watching her put the balls into the machine and then press the lever (followed by a charming little clap for herself and a squeal), we were absolutely convinced that she is a baby genius. Stay tuned.

Finally!

For those interested, Chris FINALLY put up some new Sports Junkies sound clips on the myspace page. Enjoy!

Drama On Wheels

In every parent’s life, there are these Poor Judgment Hall of Fame moments, during which you can almost see disaster coming, as a result of your actions. Today, I had one of these moments. I bought Connor Heelies. For the stylishly challenged, Heelies are those sneakers that turn into skates at the touch of a button. I’m sure you’ve seen kids careening through the mall in them. Anyway, Connor has been asking for Heelies for months, and given that he had totally outgrown his summer shoes, I took him shoe shopping today. Wouldn’t you know, there was a steal of a deal on Heelies, and Mom got suckered. Unfortunately, I had failed to recognize that Connor is totally uncoordinated, and he nearly cracked his skull in the first thirty seconds after arriving home. After about five minutes of Chris dragging him around while Connor clung to his legs for dear life, I asked, “Connor, do you want me to take them back? It’s okay if you want to get different sneakers.” Connor took one look at me, his eyes welled up with tears, and he burst into choking sobs. “No, I just want to do it like the big kids! Why can’t I do this? WHY, WHY, WHY?” We sat him down, gave him a pep talk (using Reagan Bacon as an example of how even a baby has to learn to crawl), and half an hour later, he was skidding around the house, crashing into walls and performing death defying, uncoordinated stunts.

While I was at the mall today, every single person who spoke to me commented on how much Reagan looks like me. I am still aglow with pride. At first, I thought it might just be because those people had never seen my husband, but no—I sent out a mass email last night with a picture of the Gipper, and I got six different respondents who claimed that she is absolutely the spitting image of ME! Wow! It only took four kids for me to get some genetic credit.

While I’m on the subject of the mall and Reagan, I may as well tell you that I am so annoyed with the general lack of baby shoes/foot coverings available. Babies can kick shoes off. We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t make quality footwear for babies? I bought two cute pairs of Nike “booties”, only to realize that the structured look was due to the foot form in the packaging; they were really just glorified socks, which she’ll kick off in five seconds. I was hesitant to buy them anyway, because although they were pink and white (it was a two pack), they had a big swoosh across the toe of each pair. While I like my sons looking sporty and cool, I think of my girls in more princess-y, ethereal terms, and swooshes do not belong on their booties. But in the interest of keeping my little Bacon’s toes warm, I was willing to weather the swoosh, only to discover that I had been duped by sly packaging tactics. But I digress.

Rory tried to be a bad-word instigator this evening. I slipped up and said “stupid” (a bad word in our house), which led Connor and Ror to immediately say, “ooooh, you said a baaaad worrrrrd, Mommy.” I apologized profusely, whereupon Rory came over to me and rubbed my arm, saying soothingly, “That’s okay, Mommy. I know you want to say that word. Go ahead and say it again. You want to say it, Mommy, and it’s okay. You can say whatever word you want.” All with a sly smile. Get thee behind me, Rory!

Little Miss Lolly continues to use the potty several times per day and is totally weaned from her “Boppy.” We marketed this as a special deal by which she could use a Dora and Diego sippy cup, and it worked like a dream. “We want you to have this Diego and Dora cuppy, but it’s only for big girls who don’t use boppies.” Bam! So ended the boppy. She’s totally smitten with Dora and Diego. She sings the Diego song (The words of which are apparently simply “Diegooooo. Go Diego, Go!”), all day and night, sometimes waking Reagan at 2:30 a.m. just because she’s in the mood to sing Dora or Diego.

Well, off to bed for me. Lugging Reagan around a mall for three hours, with her strapped to my chest, is not as easy as it used to be. Between the weariness from that, and the nervous spasms I’m experiencing from realizing that I have now taken an accident prone kid and put him ON WHEELS, I am just tuckered out!

Wanted: Blanket, Any Condition.

Around five years ago, Walmart sold a baby blanket from the "Blue Jean Teddy"/"All My Toys" collection. The blanket was felt/flannel and was maroon, denim blue, green and cream. It was a series of blocks, and some of the blocks had "T", "O", "Y" or "S" on them. They retailed for about $10-$11. (This is NOT the quilt that has the Teddy bear on it. This is just a receiving-blanket sized felt blanket. Just blocks and letters, no actual teddy ON the blanket.)

If you have one of these blankets, whether stained, used, torn or otherwise, I will pay whatever you ask for it, as well as shipping. I will also consider becoming your indentured servant or giving you a kidney.

Please contact me immediately if you have one of these blankets. If you have more than one, I'll buy every single one you have. Condition of the blanket is no object.

Rant, Rant, RANT!

This has nothing to do with the kids, really. I just need to step up on my soapbox, and since my blog has become (blushing with insincere modesty) so popular over the past six months, I figured this is the best forum for it. And also, let me say that I am not categorically against vaccines. I think they are right for many families, and I think that with proper research, quality control, and truth in advertising (rather than coercion via nondisclosure) vaccines could be a really fantastic practice, for most people.
Please boycott American Baby Magazine. It is such a bunch of hooey, and its vaccination articles are such a horrendous disservice to American parents. This month, they’ve featured another fear-mongering article, “Don’t Wait to Vaccinate!” The article is just despicable, both in its faulty sources, and what it neglects to say.
Let me start with the dereliction of duty by neglecting to mention that there ARE certain populations who should NOT be vaccinated. This isn’t even disputed; the AAP recognizes that certain children with certain familial backgrounds (just to give ONE example, children whose parents have a verified autoimmune disease, such as CROHN’s disease) should not be vaccinated. The only vague reference to this fact is “herd immunity…doesn’t take into account that some in the herd may not be adequately protected…because a medical condition prevents them from being vaccinated.” If American Baby is so concerned about America’s Children (and not, say, concerned with placating their advertising sponsors, etc), then why would they not make mention of the fact that most doctors do not bother to ask parents about familial history or previous medical conditions, or even previous vaccine reactions, before pumping a child full of the vaccine? Why would the author of this article not feel the need to inform parents that it is they, not the doctor, who will need to do research and find out if their child is not a good candidate for a particular vaccine?
I won’t even go into all of the extremely faulty assertions made about the “Myths of Vaccination,” aside from saying that mothering.com would be a good starting place to find links to objective studies on the efficacy and dangers of vaccines. I acknowledge that my link to the Think Twice site (at right) is a decidedly one-sided and less-than-objective view, but there ARE plenty of very objective studies (NOT funded by either side of the lobby) that refute every single claim in this article. Start with mothering.com and go from there. And when reviewing the mainstream studies, well, I’m not a scientist, but it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to follow a money trail.
Lastly, why does this article not talk about the acknowledged lack of quality control and resulting fatalities and serious health and developmental ramifications of various vaccines? Why not list the VAERS website? Why not admit that some vaccines WILL ACTUALLY CAUSE THE VIRUS? Why not acknowledge that with today’s hygiene practices, outbreaks could be reduced? Why not mention that with modern medicine, treating the actual diseases, should they occur, could be far less lethal, in some cases, than the effects of the vaccines? It’s laughable that the article mentions pertussis outbreaks. Pertussis is generally only dangerous to infants younger than a year (and even then, almost never lethal). Most adults contract pertussis more than once in their adult lives, and don’t even know it. Or, American Baby Magazine, why don’t we talk about the widespread ramifications of the Varicella Vax? Hm? We’re vaccinating children for a non-lethal disease, using a vaccine whose immunity wanes in less than a decade. If a child contracts the actual disease (chicken pox) during childhood, it confers lifelong immunity in most cases, or reduced susceptibility. But good luck apologizing to all of those future adults who will be wracked with shingles. At least they didn’t have to “suffer” chicken pox, right? Furthermore, why does the article list WHEN children should be vaccinated for Hep B, but fail to inform parents that the disease for which they are vaccinating their newborns is spread almost solely through sexual contact? Why not mention that many of the vaccines that are “routine” in the U.S. are illegal in other countries because of the dangers? Is it okay for American children to be guinea pigs? Is it okay that my son actually contracted a disease from a vaccine that was meant to prevent that very disease? Is poor quality control okay? I guess so. I mean, they’re just kids.

Now, at the risk of coming off as crunchy (but on a totally unrelated subject), I wanted to also share this poem. I am really not a hippy. C'mon, you all know me. I'm don't wear birkenstocks or anything like that, and I really don't consider myself a lactivist. But I AM really proud of my nursing relationship with my Gipper, and I thought this poem was so cute. I wouldn't feel so defensive, I guess, were it not following up a crunchy rant on vaxing. LOL Anyway, enjoy the poem. I don't know who wrote it. I just think it's funny.



Dr. Seuss for Nursing Moms
Would you nurse her in the park?
Would you nurse him in the dark?
Would you nurse him with a Boppy?
And when your boobs are feeling floppy?
I would nurse him in the park,
I would nurse her in the dark.
I’d nurse with or without a Boppy.
Floppy boobs will never stop me.
Can you nurse with your seat belt on?
Can you nurse from dusk till dawn?
Though she may pinch me, bite me, pull,
I will nurse her `till she’s full!
Can you nurse and make some soup?
Can you nurse and feed the group?
It makes her healthy strong and smart,
Mommy’s milk is the best start!
Would you nurse him at the game?
Would you nurse her in the rain?
In front of those who dare complain?
I would nurse him at the game.
I would nurse her in the rain.
As for those who protest lactation,
I have the perfect explanation.
Mommy’s milk is tailor made
It’s the perfect food, you need no aid.
Some may scoff and some may wriggle,
Avert their eyes or even giggle.
To those who can be cruel and rude,
Remind them breast’s the perfect food!
I would never scoff or giggle,
Roll my eyes or even wiggle!
I would not be so crass or crude,
I KNOW that this milk’s the perfect food!
We make the amount we need
The perfect temp for every feed.
There’s no compare to milk from breast-
The perfect food, above the rest.
Those sweet nursing smiles are oh so sweet,
Mommy’s milk is such a treat.
Human milk just can’t be beat.
I will nurse, in any case,
On the street or in your face.
I will not let my baby cry,
I’ll meet her needs, I’ll always try.
It’s not about what’s good for you,
It’s best for babies, through and through.
I will nurse her in my home,
I will nurse her when I roam.
Leave me be lads and ma’am.
I will nurse her, Mom I am.

Godmother Traumatizes Young Godson

[Katharine. If you’re reading this, please start saving for the therapy your godson will need.]

Rory has a fixation with what he sees as Katie’s imminent demise. Katie was recently at a party where she [*ahem!* had a few cocktails, and then] held a snake. A big, BIG snake. That was dangerous enough, but then someone took a picture of this display of capricious daring, which Katie printed out and gave to Rory. Then, to really hammer the point home, she posted it on her page. So, my life, lately, is largely comprised of conversations where Ror bursts into a room and tells me that he’s afraid that the snake is going to eat Katie, followed by my assurances that the snake is no longer on Katie’s neck, at which time Ror insists that Katie is still in grave danger. He also goes into great detail when explaining what the snake was thinking when on Katie’s neck: “That snake was saying, ‘I want to eat Katie right now. I’m gonna bite your Katie, Rory-boy, and you can’t help her!’” Then he flashes to the future tense: “And I will put on my cape, and I will SLAM that snake! I’ll SLAM him! But he’s so dangerous! It’s DANGER! But I’m a hero. And I’ll take that snake and SNAP him! I’ll SNAP right on him! Even though it’s danger and he’ll say, ‘Rory-boy, now I’m gonna eat YOU!’ But I will still save her!”

Chris announced this morning that Reagan said “uh-uh” (as in “no”) in response to his trying to get her to touch the vacuum cleaner. She shrieks in abject terror as soon as the machine is turned on, so Chris decided to show her that it wasn’t anything to be feared. He says he carried her over to it, leaned her toward it and said, “Go ahead, touch it,” and that she recoiled and said, “uh-uh!” completely clearly. Add this to the fact that she continues to make kissing noises AND blow raspberries, and we’re left feeling that we’ve just got such a charming little Gipper on our hands, it’s hard not to brag. (And, really, have we ever restrained ourselves from bragging before? Why start now?) She also continues to say “Mama”, “Dada”, “Nanana”, and “Rah-Rah-Rah”. One may surmise that “Nanana” and “Rah-rah-rah” are not words and should therefore not be included in parental bragging soliloquy, but, consider, if you will, that my kids refer to my Mom as Nana, and that Reagan also has a brother named Rory. See? Nana and Ror-ror-ror! Genius!

Connor is gearing up for another school year already. First grade—hard to believe. (Or as Connor says, “You can’t even believe it, I know!”) He’s now a student of Mother of Divine Grace School, which is a classical curriculum, with lots of poetry and art appreciation. We haven’t begun yet, but Connor is very adamant in his assertion that the fact that he has not begun 1st grade classwork is totally irrelevant to his status as a First Grader. He says, “Well, if I’m finished with Kindergarten, then I AM in first grade.” He was featured in a new production piece for Chris’s show, and he loves listening to it, though I was not totally convinced it’s appropriate for his ears. Any cuss words are bleeped out, but the subject matter is “Heckling”. I’ll post a link to the sound bytes when Chris gets around to posting new Junkies bits. Anyway, Connor is very pleased with his work, and is ready to oust the “Turn this ship around, or I’m coming back” bit from its status as favorite bit in favor of the one that actually features himself.

Little Miss Lolly is practically potty-trained. I'm so shocked. I regret to admit that I am not at all responsible for this feat, nor is Chris. She just started saying, “I need to go potty. I have to let the peeps out.” And that was that. (See link at Right, “Lolly’s News”. I’m going to try to post a link to video of her making the announcement.) She is also quite fascinated with her “Lolly Pocket” dolls, or Polly Pocket to you and I. Lolly pocket goes everywhere with Riley Kate, and woe be to anyone who tries to play with her without permission. She is also loathe to allow any males to play with Lolly Pocket in any case, as men or boys tend to not really “get” all that is the essence of Lolly Pocket. In other words, they do not understand that the fundamental principles of playing with this doll are to simply make her hop around in a circle and sing, “Lolly Pocket, Doo-doo-doo, Lolly Pocket, Doo-doo-doo” and say repeatedly, “Let’s have hugs! Now kisses! Now let’s all be friends! Oh, I love you!”

I’m afraid I must end this article in order to have “Cake Time” with Peter Parker. Connor removed the lenses from a pair of my sunglasses and every afternoon, it’s Tea Time with Peter. And every afternoon, this writer is shocked to be the recipient of the startling revelation—“Don’t tell anyone, but…I’m Spiderman.”

You're So Lucky to be Reading This. HA!

I think I have writer’s bipolar disorder or something. I’m either the most prolific writer ever, cranking out a blog a day, or I get into a slump and don’t write anything. Hm..

Anyway, be thankful, readers, that you don’t have to pay for this blog. You are reading the elucidating and useful words of a real, live, humor column writer. A popular online parenting resource has just commissioned me to do a series of columns. I don’t think I’m allowed to print the name, but call me and I’ll tell you! (If anyone from the publisher is reading this, I’m KIDDING, of course. If any of my relatives/friends are reading this, seriously, call me. wink wink) Anyway, it won’t come out until sometime next year, and it will be forty weeks’ worth of columns. It’s the perfect deal—I write about my kids, I get money for it. Good times. They’re paying me, but the articles will be free to those who subscribe to their weekly newsletter, so as soon as I’m permitted to do so, I’ll post a link.

Back to my updates on the kids…

Well, we closed on the house in July, and the kids are in love with their new home, and become decidedly embittered when they have to “go back to work,” as they refer to returning to NJ. We were surprised on the first weekend when they begged to stay at the new home. Rory started saying, “Oh, I don’t WANT to go back and take care of the big boys! I’m staying here! That’s it!” So all in all, I think the new house is a hit. They’ll probably like it even more when it has furniture.

This past weekend, we went to the Museum of Natural History. Actually, Chris went to see “Rent” while I took SEVEN KIDS BY MYSELF to the museum. I must have a death wish. We started with lunch in the museum restaurant, where Ror promptly spotted a woman who looked like Katie and started screaming to her to come to our table. Even after the woman told him that she wasn’t Katie, he was really freaked out.

After lunch, we moved on to the dinosaurs, some of which were replicated sculptures, rather than just skeletons. So the bulk of the visit went like this:
Ror: Is this alive?
Me: No, it’s dead.
Ror: Are you sure?
Me: Yup.
Ror: How ‘bout this one? Alive?
Me: Nope, also dead.
Ror: It looks alive. It looks like it wants to say, “I’m gonna eat you, Rory!”
Me: No, I promise. Definitely dead.
Ror: But it might wake up.
Me: No.
Ror: Oh, but look at THIS ONE. It’s looking at me. It’s alive.
Me: Fortunately, that one is also dead.

Riley-Kate hit her tolerance limit for museum fun very quickly; she hadn’t napped and didn’t want to be in the stroller (speaking of strollers, the girls have a hot little ride now. I’ll post pics), so she took it out on me. “I’m not your friend. We’re not friends. I am NEVER your friend anymore.” She also exercised her loudest voice to address everyone in the room, every time she had an observation to share. She would shout, “Hey, EVERYBODY!…See the dinosaurs?”

Ror, also traveling sans nap, got a little testy with the origami teacher, telling her that she probably didn’t know how to make a rocket ship anyway. Then when she tried to help him, he said, “I think I already told you. I SAID A FLAT ROCKET!” He zonked out soon after, along with Riley Kate.

Connor really enjoyed the origami lesson, and relished in saying “Miss Teacher”. “Miss Teacher, do you think mine is great? Am I doing good listening? Wow, look at that, I did it just like you said, Miss Teacher. Thank you so much for teaching me this cool project, Miss Teacher.” Connor also enjoyed conducting lectures at various displays. We were standing in front of a particularly gruesome Polar Bear exhibit, and there were some other people there. Connor saw this as an opportunity to show off his vast knowledge of the circle of life. He turned to some random woman and said, “If you look at the seal lying there, you’ll see some blood on its neck. This is because the Polar Bear has just killed the seal. Polar Bears are predators, and seals are their prey. Polar Bears must live near seals so that they have food. Since they eat seals instead of plants, they are called carnivores.” The woman was impressed, so she began asking Connor about other displays in the Biodiversity Hall, and he either shared his knowledge or just made up random facts. She was duly amazed and shook his hand before we left.

Tomorrow, Connor and I are going to a gala honoring Katie and her contributions to the HD community. But first, we will be stopping at the zoo and meeting up with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousins. I haven’t told him this, to spare him losing his mind for too long prior to the event; he’s very intent on convincing his cousins that he’s “a cool friend”, so I’m sure that when I do tell him, I’ll get a long dissertation on what kind of hair gel he wants to wear, what kind of outfit would be nicest. So I’m just sparing myself for as long as possible.

We’ve got another licensing review today, so I’m off to a sparkling day filled with ridiculousness.

P.S. I appreciate the lovely emails I receive in response to my blogs. However, I must let you know, readers, that I am DEEPLY, DEEPLY disappointed that I got no commentary on the fact that I have figured out how to post pictures in the text. I'm not looking for much; just a few phrases like "superior technological prowess", "the Bill Gates of the new millenium," etc. Thanks.


*******
EDITING TO ADD:

I forgot two big details from the weekend. The first is funny, and the second is not good news—please don’t talk about it to Connor.

We went to the Mets game on Saturday night (Chris, Connor and I; the other three were partying with Katie). We had soooo much fun, but it started MUCH later than it was supposed to (rain, a ceremony beforehand, etc), and therefore ended much later than we anticipated. So, of course, we then had to ride the 7 train alllll the way back to the Port Authority. (For the record, I’m no John Rocker. I personally have no problem with the 7 train, and I rather enjoy long rides—just not when they happen at 11 pm.) The train was very crowded, so Chris was about five feet away from us, with a bunch of people in between. Connor decided to pass the time by striking up a conversation with two people on the bus, a woman and man, both about 30. They were really nice people, with a very good sense of humor.
Connor started out with, “Whew, I’m so tired. Do you get tired? But then in the morning, I’m SO awake. Do you have to lie there and wait for your Dad to tell you it’s okay to get up?” The woman started laughing and said, “I wait for my alarm clock to tell me it’s time to get up, and then I have to go to work.” Connor replied, “Oh. My Daddy works. He’s on the radio. He’s so funny. Check out his page—it’s the Sports Junkies. There’s this one thing [begins laughing to himself], it’s so funny, where the guy goes YOU BETTER TURN THIS SHIP AROUND, OR I’M COMING BACK!…[cracks himself up for a good minute]… Well, you have to hear the other stuff before it, I guess. It’s like, LOSE ELEVEN TO ONE, TO THE PIRATES? THE PIRATES!… Well, you have to listen to it.” By this time, the two people are just hysterically laughing at Connor’s ability to crack himself up. Then he goes on to say, “You should find me on Myspace. I have a page. It’s a Captain America Page.” He chatted with these people during the WHOLE trip. By the time they left, they wanted the address of the Sports Junkies Page. Chris has decided to add Connor to the publicity team.

When we arrived at Port Authority, we had a LESS pleasant incident. And I have to say, sometimes I think that we somehow attract crazy people. We arrived at Port Authority and went to our bus’s gate. By this time, it was after midnight (so perhaps THIS was mistake number one). Then, of course, Connor had to use the bathroom, which was down the hall from the gate. I decided to take him, because I know my way around the PA much better than Chris, because when he comes into the city, he usually drives. Connor and I went into the bathroom, and saw a woman standing at the mirror, furiously chopping off all of her hair with a big, rusty metal scissors (the old fashioned kind that look more like a dagger than a scissors). As is the case with most mentally ill homeless people, I assumed that she meant us no harm and didn’t even notice us. So Connor went into his stall and I stood guard outside the door. When he came out, he went over to the sink to wash his hands, at which time the woman came up behind him, holding the scissors in both hands like a dagger, arms poised over his head, and screamed, “You sick F***K HEAD! You SICK F***HEAD!” Before she even had the first word out of her mouth, I shoved him out of the way and dragged him out. And let me tell you something about Port Authority Police Department. They were so fast on this woman like flies on honey, I really had no idea how they realized what was going on and got her so fast. It was like one second, there was no one around, and one second later, there were EIGHT COPS. The policemen, especially Officers Colon and Reilly, were SO nice to Connor, attempting to distract him from the woman flipping out as she was being apprehended by asking him questions about himself and about the Met Game. Connor, ever one to recover quickly, went from “I can’t believe that scary lady said a bad name to me!” to, five seconds later, noticing a man walking down the corridor in a baseball cap, and said, “Hey! Officer, I think that man is a YANKEE fan! He has a YANKEE hat on! You know, my Uncle Frankie is a Yankee fan. I get so upset about it. He’s in my family and he likes the Yankees. I tried to talk to him about it, but he just wants to keep liking the Yankees.” The officer cracked up, and then started taking Connor and I back to Chris. Boy, nothing gets Chris’s heart pumping faster than seeing his wife and eldest son being escorted back from a trip to the bathroom with a bevy of police officers. We decided not to press criminal charges, because obviously the woman was mentally ill. She had apparently signed herself out of a shelter and come to the Port Authority, so the officers were taking her to a hospital or something for evaluation. Connor is just fine, and talked the whole way home, occasionally interrupting his usual conversation with, “Daddy, can you believe that lady wanted to pinch me with her big scissors? That’s crazy? And then I saw a Yankee fan…”

So all’s well that ends well. Another eventful night in the city. Please keep that woman in your prayers. She was clearly homeless, and it seems that no one can legally protect her from herself. She can sign herself out of any facility she’s checked into. L

Fun At The Beach

Long Beach was great fun, as usual. Ror was terrified of the sea, as usual. Connor, however, was a brave soul, and had lots of fun in the ocean with Katie. After watching Connor and Riley Katie have all the fun, Ror did eventually venture in, after much cajoling, and ended up having a blast.
Gipper enjoyed her first seaside adventure and was fascinated by the sand. I’m sure she would have eaten it if we had allowed it.
One thing that has sort of perplexed me is that the kids have never asked about the reporter and photographer. I’m not sure if it’s our own constant shutterbug antics or what, but Connor, Ror and Riley-Kate seem to take it for granted now, that Katie comes with her own entourage, and that now and then, they’ll be asked questions and have a billion pictures taken of themselves. No biggie. I was not totally thrilled that the photographer came with us to the beach; she’s a nice gal, but I really don’t think the New York Times needs to run photos of me in a bathing suit when I’ve still got [coughs to conceal actual numer] postpartum pounds to lose. Anyway, Connor, Ror and Riley Kate had no such scruples, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she took about a hundred photos of them, though I did hear Riley Kate mumble something like, “those blasted paparazzi again…” Kidding.
We did manage to get some photos of our own, so check them out via the link at right.
Wish I had more to write, but alas, I am back on the antibiotic and narcotic train to oblivion, so my head isn’t exactly as clear as usual. Hopefully in a few months this will all be a distant memory and I’ll be back to normal.
For those who are counting, TEN DAYS TO CLOSING on the house!