Baby Talk

A few days ago, Shelby turned 19 months. It has been a wonderful year for her so far, and I have many many reasons to be thankful for her. She's pleasant to be around 95% of the time, she's sweet and loving, good-natured and blessed with a great sense of humor. Despite her "littlest dictator" moniker she earned in the beginning, she only sometimes bosses us around now. It's much more endearing when she does it now, thankfully, than when she was a few months old, screaming bloody murder...and many other things that I have blocked out, thank God.

Now, her bossing takes the form of directing. Like telling me where to sit when I'm pushing her in the swing (I have to sit on the big porch swing while she's burning off the momentum. Then, when she starts to slow down, I have to get back up and push her again. I take orders since I know I at least get to sit down a while.) She likes to order up her music (with the Shelby-version of the ASL sign for "music") while in the car and during meals. She wishes us in close proximity whilst she toils away at playtime. I try to leave her for short bursts, but she nearly always drags me back eventually. But what really ruffles her feathers is if one of us tries to leave the room without her permission. It's a source of great anxiety for her until the absent parent returns, and often the remaining parent must take her to find the one who had the audacity to go AWOL. Or she finds us herself and stands beside the toilet to watch. And then she orders us beheaded.

Just kidding.

No, more likely our punishment is a picnic in the floor with goldfish crackers. Infinitely more pleasurable than the guillotine.

All of this ordering around, though, as well as everything else she might have to say to us, is administered through a complex combination of sign language and intonations which sound like words but which really just mimic our tones. I so far have only been able to discern a few real words, like "mama" and "dada," which of all the words are used by far the most frequently. For instance, she uses them to ask one of us where the other one has gone. Like putting her hands in the "where did he go?" position and saying "Dada"? Or to establish possession (a big theme with her), such as when she points to my sunglasses and says, "Mama?" Though today it sounded a whole lot like "That's mama." So she left off the "s." I knew what she meant. Close enough, right? It is actually her first sentence!

Anyway, we seem to repeat not only these words but the same sign/tonal conversations over and over again. My favorite one lately has been the one about motorcycles. Since her Da has a motorcycle, she associates that (and everything else similar to that which he owns. Or has worn. Or eaten. Or carried around.) with her Da and enjoys going over it again and again.

If she sees a motorcycle (or a lawn mower. Or even today her cup of juice which is like the juice that her Da drinks every morning. Not this morning, mind you, but some mornings in the not so distant past), then she makes the sign for motorcycle. I won't try to describe it for you, but she's got the ASL sign down pat. Anyway, here's the conversation:

Drinks her juice and points to juice.

She: ::signs motorcycle:: Dada?
Me: Yes! That's right! That's Da's juice, like Da's motorcycle. (But of course!)
She: ::signs helmet:: Dada?
Me: Yes. Da wears a helmet.
She: ::signs helmet and points to me:: Mama?
Me: ...and Ma wears a helmet when she rides her motorcycle...
She: ::signs helmet and points to herself::
Me: Yes. And Shelby wears a helmet sometimes.
She: ::points to me::
Me: And Ma wears a helmet...
She: ::points to herself::
Me: And Shelby wears a helmet...
She: ::points to me::
Me: And Ma wears a helmet!

And so on...

This conversation is repeated about four or five times a day, maybe more. I lose count. But the point is, she likes to establish possession and relate most things in her universe to her dad. It's precious.

I'm just blown away by how much she can communicate with such a limited speaking vocabulary, though I shouldn't be, given the 30 or 40 signs that make up her sign language vocabulary. I do really think that the sign language has helped us tremendously. Sometimes I wonder if it has delayed her speech a bit, even though the research says that kids speak 50% sooner or something, with signs than without. One always wonders how correct those studies are. However, I do know it has helped me become so attuned to her gestures that I often fill in huuuuuge gaps of meaning with the subtlest clues, getting confirmation with a smile and a cute little noise. I know how her brain works and I understand the cognitive leaps she's made to get from Subject A to Subject B. I just love that.

It's so mind-blowing how her little gears are turning. I really think this is one of the most fascinating and rewarding parts of being a parent, when you finally start seeing what is going on in their brains. Honestly, most of what she says is repetition, repetition of what we have told her, of what she has seen or heard. She is just looking for confirmation or reassurance 90% of the time, but I am happy that I understand her well enough to give it to her. She's a high anxiety child, but who knows how much more anxious she might be now were we not able to understand her.

Anyway, even though I do look forward to the time when she can speak more clearly, I am really embracing these days when we speak our own secret language, when our conversations are so...easy, when so much is said with so little. It's a precious gift and I thoroughly enjoy each day of it.

A playdate

Yesterday we had a little friend over and enjoyed a relaxing morning together. Both girls have recently discovered pigtails. I'm not promising these stayed in for longer than a few hours, but at least they looked cute for pictures, right?

She's pretending to be a daredevil on the slide. In actuality, whenever her adventurous, slide-loving friend stood next to the ladder, she'd back down and let her up.

After some Elmo and a snack, we busted out the sidewalk chalk. Ahhh, loves me some sidewalk chalk.

I also discovered the magic of a successful playdate: Two children are sometimes less work than one. How does that happen, exactly? I'm not sure, but it's true.

A beautiful morning with two sweeties.

And I started my second Mitford book! I am a little groggy this morning, though. More and more, I find myself paying for all this bookworming with sandpapery eyes and a groggy brain. But it's worth it.

On the Nightstand and on my Mind

Since I seem to have gotten my life under control lately and the daily hum has kicked in--a pleasant hum, mind you--, I have started reading a lot more. A LOT more. Much as I have noticed with my Netflix list, I have observed that my tastes in books have changed dramatically since becoming a mom. Even when preggers I could not read/watch/listen to any violent or disturbing stories. It was just too upsetting. I blamed it on hormones, but it was much more likely that it was something more fundamental.

I have always been the kind of person who was hardened to life in many ways. I have been able to consume tales of hardship with a startling gusto--I often said I enjoyed stories of po' white trash. The tune varied, but the tone remained the same. I could give you some names, but my mom brain (and maybe my conscience) seems to have blocked them all out.

Anyway, I knew what I definitely did NOT like, and that was sap. I was not a sappy person and I just hated sappy books. Nicholas Sparks? Gag me with a spoon! I did actually read one once and I was not amused. And once (in my pre-baby life) my aunt tried to foist a Mitford series book on me and I repelled it as though I wore Wonder Woman bracelets and it was gunfire from the Hallmark Channel.

Since I became a mom, thought, I have softened considerably, as one is wont to do. This fundamental shift I know has something do with taking care of a completely vulnerable and innocent creature, which can crack the granite around the hardest heart, and also probably with experiencing months and months of chronic sleep deprivation which breaks even the strongest prisoners of war. Never much of a crier, I'm reduced to tears over the weirdest moments (my baby brings me a flower and I'm a pile of mush) and I blame it all on having a child. Just take a look at my nightstand these days:

I mean, have you ever?

When searching for library books lately, I have one criteria--I must feel good after I finish reading it. I do not want disturbing images, words, or characters. I do want happiness and warmth. If I get to laugh and read about food, then all the better.

So I'm well over half-way through the first Mitford series book and I'm loving it. (!!) It's just the thing I need right now. Not at all sappy, though, just comforting. Lots of talk about crackling fires, dogs and cats, roast chicken, pots of soup, secret loves, Bible reading, and even some knitting! And I am laughing out loud a lot. The writing here is stellar and the sense of humor pervasive. I have stayed up to eleven the last few nights reading this and A Girl of the Limberlost, which was sweet (a lot of talk about moths and passages about the virtues of hard work), but not nearly as enjoyable as the Mitford book.

So while I have my child to thank for opening my heart to some different kind of books and a new way of approaching my leisure time, I have Posey Gets Cozy to thank for some of the book recommendations. She had an entry a while back that asked for suggestions for these kinds of books and I just happened to have been on the same quest. It was perfect and I went wild at the library. I might not get through all these before I have to return/renew them, but I'm giving it a go. Also I bought a couple at B&N the other day, and I especially loved the Gary Chapman Love Languages book. If you are married, I highly recommend it. I'm even making my husband read it--it's short and I never ask him to read a book, so he did agree to it. I discovered my love language is gifts. Who knew?

Anyway, luckily, I have not been compelled to switch on the TV in the evenings, so I have plenty of time to read after the kiddo goes to bed. It's been so refreshing to pick up a book and read for hours. I'm just filling up my mom-and-wife wells to the brim with these books and I cannot get enough.

I should have added to the stack above the copy of my Bible, which I have been reading some lately. I plan on starting an intensive Bible study in the fall (along with yoga teacher training, if all goes well), but right now, I'm just finishing a Beth Moore study that I never finished three years ago when we were in the process of moving. It's just the thing to get me back in the mindset my heart is craving. Having moved here right before Katrina, I just hadn't gone back to church the way I needed to. There were lots of reasons for it, but even after I found a church that seemed to fit me, my spirit just wasn't...in the mood. However, all this work I've been doing on myself lately has left me hungry for spiritual guidance and I'm happy that I didn't have to look too far to find it. Yesterday I went back to church for the first time in months and it felt good. They even remembered me.

Needing more pictures to illustrate our chat today? Well, here's my very own personal child as a visual aide:

Still in the helmet phase around here. Despite the O.C. Chopper look, luckily, she really isn't bad to the bone.

After church yesterday. My own little angel. I know it was really her they remembered. But I'm OK with that.

Anyway, I don't know what happened with today's entry. I had it all written out in my head early this morning, but it took a decidedly different turn. I start out to write just about the books I've been reading and it becomes the Confessions of St. Augustine. Sorry, guys.

Happy Monday, though! And thanks for all the kind words about TV. I'm telling you, I would not be filling up my mom-and-wife well if I were just plopped in front of the tube each night. I'm so grateful for books, right now. Really grateful. Oh, just stop, you! You're making me all verklempt!

Spring things

What a great week it's been. Spring is definitely here, even though it's been a bit cooler this week. Even though I dread the inferno of summer, I try to live in the moment and enjoy the absolutely gorgeous weather and relatively bug-free days. It's wonderful. Really.

We've stayed extremely busy with all our story-timing, but have played outside a great deal and had fun inside, too. With things like beach chairs in the foyer (why not, right?). I also put together her Learning Tower, a Christmas gift just now getting use, which has moved her into the fourth dimension. We get to chat while I'm making dinner and she pretty much eats standing up in it now. We love that thing. And yesterday she received her first bicycle helmet. Ever since she saw her dad on his motorcycle with his helmet, she's been obsessed with helmets and we had a great time today wearing the helmet around for a while. Never mind that she shuns riding toys. At least we'll be protected in case of a earthquake. Safety first, people.

One big change that we've endured recently has been a subject about which I have very mixed feelings--the introduction of television into our daily routine. I'm pretty anti-TV for kids. I don't think it's healthy, I saw the effects of too much TV on teenagers and experienced it myself, I think the term "educational television" is an oxymoron, and yet I can sing the TV theme songs to most of the sitcoms produced from 1975 to 1991. What can I say? I'm an enigma. Anyway, we'd made the choice not to let her watch any TV for the first couple of years and for the most part I'd stuck closely to that. However, during the last few weeks the afternoons have gotten very very very very long. Reality has set in that no matter how much I would like to shield her little developing brain from the evils of television, it's possible that just a little TV might keep her mom from going coo-coo.

So TV it is.

We watch a little Elmo in the morning and then a little DVD from the library in the afternoon after nap time. I limit it to no more than an hour per day and even though I HATE watching her watch TV-- seeing her spaced out and zombified is just about more than I can bear--I do admit that I love Sesame Street. Those people are genius, and I enjoy letting her sit in my lap while we watch together and talk about some of the things she's seeing. I love the break I get and I love that she loves Elmo, who happens to be one of the most hypnotic characters I've ever seen. They really know how to glue a person to a TV screen. Especially if that person is wearing diapers. Or happens to be 35 years old.

There is something also to be said for being a part of the preschool culture. I don't want her to be totally clueless about Elmo and Blue and so forth. There is a balance there and I hope we've achieved it. Sigh. It's not the way I'd love to have things, but life is like that, isn't it? A compromise. A compromise covered in red fake fur with big googly eyes.

But enough seriousness. I have photos. And then off to bed. It's late!

Don't you just love the juice box in the drink holder?

Krauss-Plant Revisited

So we just got back from our belated anniversary trip to NOLA where we were Jazz Festin' with our pals, Alli and Rob. You know, we're just THAT close. See how close we are?

OK, so we're not really personal friends of these two, but we ARE big fans. Remember how I wrote about seeing them on Crossroads? Yeah, it was awesome. Well, we just couldn't stand it. We had to see them in person. And we did! You know, we often say we're going to do something and never actually do it, so I'm proud of us for following through with this one. It became a special trip for both of us since it was our eight anniversary celebration and our first weekend out of town without the kiddo, who was busy being spoiled by her grandparents.

So we left Friday morning, just the two of us--I know, weird, right?--and we were able to check-in to our hotel early, get tickets to board the shuttle (a really long line, but it was way too far to walk and didn't want to fool with public transport), get on the bus, Gus, and make it over there before hunger caused our vital organs to start shutting down and our stomach to start digesting itself. Which is convenient because the food over there was WAY better than our own bits of stored energy. Seriously, the BEST festival food you'd ever eaten because it was New Orleans, after all, and if one is going to go to a city to eat oneself to death, that would be the place to start.

It was our first time at Jazz Fest so we just walked around and soaked up the freakishness. Held in the infield of a horse racing track at the fairgrounds, the place has the air of a gypsy camp. Lots of French/Afro/Native American/Hispanic/Asian themed areas with various foods and cultural exhibits or crafts. People come from all over for this, too, so it really is a great place to people watch, my favorite part of festival-going. We purposely brought as little as possible, not even chairs, and I was so glad we did this. I hate having to cart stuff around, and being kid-free gave us the option to do without pretty much everything. Even though I wished I had brought some hand sanitizer, the day went very well. Even the weather cooperated. PERFECTLY overcast with a breeze in the 70's. No sunburns for us!

We'd walked around for a bit by the time Allison Krauss and Robert Plant came on, but even though my feet were already starting to feel it, all of that totally fell away when they began. The set wasn't much different from what we had already seen on CMT, but to see them harmonize together on "When the Levee Breaks?" In New Orleans? When the river was at flood stage again? When a few drops of rain plonked on my head even at that very moment? Oh. My. God.

To hear the mandolin player wail on the opening riffs of "Black Dog" and see all the aging hipsters (yes, even me) in the audience flip out?

Or to hear R. P. sing backup harmony on "Down at the River to Pray"? I admit I shed a few tears. It was so amazing.

ETA: How could I have forgotten one of my top three favorite performances--"The Battle of Evermore"? Since the song was originally recorded in Appalachian style, it didn't sound too different, but Krauss's voice on the high harmonies soared and matched Plants note for note in probably the eeriest song of the entire set. Real goosepimples on that one. It was surreal though; I just never thought I'd hear her sing lyrics about dragons.

Seeing them live I noticed some things. For instance, R.P. flips his blond curls around all over the place while dancing in his very R.P. way. Also, Allison Krauss is very thin. Someone really needs to give her a cheeseburger.

But they both looked great in person--and on the Jumbo Tron. I don't attend many Jumbo Tron performances, but it seems sort of like cheating to watch that screen because it feels like I'm just watching them on TV. Like a simulacrum of a concert. But still, handy to have when you can't see over the hat of the person in front of you. Also, what is it with the cell phone and people calling friends to say "Hey, I'm at the Allison Krauss/Robert Plant concert!" Loudly! In the middle of a song! And I'm like, "Are you REALLY at the concert? Because it sounds like to me that you are just talking on the phone." What a narrative existence we all live. But I digress...

As far as the May/December duo goes, I tend to think that the Krauss/Plant album has a bit of novelty act about it, though I do enjoy it all to varying degrees, but there are some songs that I genuinely love. I thought the best songs were the ones from each of their own solo careers that were brought to us in a fresh, new way. It was so so cool and not one of those concerts one is likely to see very often in his or her lifetime.

I felt really sorry for Sheryl Crow, actually, who had to follow that act. We enjoyed her, but she sounded just like she does on the radio, and because I'd heard each of her songs about 500,000 times each, I wouldn't exactly call her set "fresh." We even ended up leaving early to catch the shuttle before the crowds let loose. Sorry, Sheryl! You're fab! But my feet were really feeling it by then.

However, after we freshened up at the hotel, we went back out for a nice dinner at a random place we stumbled into. It was actually next door to the Quarter Stitch, the yarn shop, and it was a fine dinner with a glass of wine that MUST have had a shot of liquor added to it because no way could one glass of wine make me that loopy. I actually dragged hubbo to Cafe du Monde afterward for beignets! I can honestly say I didn't look at my watch (because I don't wear one) but I am pretty embarrassed that I was probably drunk at Cafe du Monde on one glass of wine before 10:00 p.m. Welcome to 35, y'all. Also, I made my husband order a sazerac because I wanted to know what it tasted like but neither one of us like it. In case you are wondering, it tasted like straight whiskey, so save yourself the eight bucks and just get a shot instead.

Anyway, well-rested, we got to walk around the Quarter a bit today, after breakfasting at Cafe Beignet (more beignets!) on Royal St., my absolutely favorite breakfast spot. Then I hit the yarn shop and petted and sniffed, but did not purchase anything. !! Aren't you proud? My husband was. We did enjoy chatting with the lady that runs the place. She sadly had to miss the Krauss/Plant performance, but did see Led Zeppelin in 1971, so I guess that sort of makes up for it.

Welp, post-trip ennui has set in. I have been getting word from some playgroup friends that they've been led to my blog and I'm glad to have them. Welcome, friends! See? One time I had a life. LOL! Though it's really much more enjoyable now, I swear.

Anyway, I've got some Scrabulous moves to catch up on and we might play some pool here later. The kiddo is already asleep and we're probably not too far behind. More blogging this week, I promise!