And there's no better way

To top off a bad day/week than "the call" from HR where you opt out of the career for which you attended 19 years of school to qualify.

At least my kid is still cute. Most of the time (see yesterday re: loud crying causing strangers to turn and stare).


Maybe matching pink sparkle shoes for Mommy would lift the mood around here.

It's a Sad Day

When it's day 2 of 3 days of fun for John including new member FHE last night, US Open tonight, and US Open again tomorrow night. And a ticket was available for me tonight at the last minute, but I couldn't go because we didn't have a babysitter. And Evelyn screamed for 30 minutes straight on the way home (causing everyone within a two block radius to look around, searching for the source of the noise). And said screaming caused me to forget to go to the grocery store so I had to eat cheerios (which I had for breakfast as well) and peanut butter and jelly for dinner.

The pity party's in full swing over here if anyone's looking for an evening of not very much fun at all. Because some days are just like that. Even in Australia.

City lessons

Dear Evelyn,

As you get older, you will start noticing that sometimes people make bad choices. For example, standing in the "12 items or less" line at Trader Joe's when it wraps halfway around the store and the "Any number of items" line has less than 10 people in it? Bad choice. Emptying your bag on the floor of the subway and then pushing the items in it (as well as your half-eaten ice cream cone) into the hands of a stranger's child, against her mother's protest? Bad choice.

It's okay. Everyone makes bad choices. The key is to realize when you've made a bad choice and retreat, rather than getting angry at, for example, (a) the lady who gets into the "Any number of items" line with 10 items and therefore ends up checking out before you or (b) the man who stands up for the child's mother and sharply asks you not to let the child play with your things. Re the latter: Also, some bad choices can be avoided by saying no to drugs.

Love,

Mommy

A day in the life

Wake up (notice the word; she really can say it; I swear . . .)



Jump on bed



Practice gymnastics



Eat tissue paper



Prepare for meal time



A girl's gotta stay on her toes to keep up these days.

Who says you can't go home?

I have come to think that "home" will probably never be one place for me. Home is John and Evelyn. Our little apartment is home, too, but hopefully only for a few years (it is, after all, very little). As dots on a map go, New York is home. In fact, in one more year, I will have lived here longer than I've ever lived anywhere else. I always get a rush of adrenaline (the good kind) when I run my first errand or go for a walk after being out of town. I love it here. It is the home I have chosen for myself. The place I lived as a student, as a newlywed. Where I had a baby. Where the doormen know my name and even some of the grocery-store checkout girls recognize me.

In a broader sense, home is also where my parents live. That's an ever-changing destination (they have now relocated 2 times to my 1, and they're about to move again), but individual pictures of everyone hanging their stockings, New Year's Eve on the good china, and seven-layer salad at every holiday meal make it home. Now that I'm married, Kingston (where John is from) is home, too. And Provo always feels a little like home even though I would never want to live there.

But there's something to be said for the streets you rode down on the big yellow bus, the parking lots you learned to drive in, the mall where you "hung out" with your friends when you were 13, the people who knew you when you were young. For the people who still love you even though they knew you when you were young (especially your teenage years). For seeing a girl you used to babysit go to her first football game in an updated version of the cheerleading uniform you once wore (yes, a cheerleader; shocking, isn't it). For the most hideous statue you've ever seen (surrounded by flags of the Confederacy). For taking your baby to sacrament meeting in the building you rushed to at 6:15 every school morning (seminary started at 6:10). For knowing how to get somewhere even though you haven't been there in 10 years. I don't think John understands it. I can't completely put my finger on it. But I go too long without hearing a soft accent and I start to miss it. And every few years, I just have to go home.

* * *

August 11 - I try to get Evelyn psyched for our trip by buying her new toys she will have to leave behind.

August 12 - We enjoy our first forward-facing car seat experience. The convertible seat won't fit rear facing on planes.

August 13 - Evelyn experiences her first lemon.

August 14 - breakfast with champions

August 15 - Who says you have to go to New York to get bad service (where the rule of thumb seems to be that if you can get out for less than $75 per person for dinner, you don't deserve a polite waiter/waitress)? And yet we all thoroughly enjoyed our much anticipated trip to the Pancake Pantry (complete with controversial sign stating, "Unattended children will be sold as slaves").

August 17 - Southern hospitality at work. If you owned a beautiful heirloom high chair that had been in your family for about 100 years, would you trust this child in it? With avocados?

August 19 - How much is that doggy in the window? Free, since he belongs to someone else. Although I have to say he is about the cutest dog I've ever seen.

Even though we will never have a dog.

August 20 - Home again.

Where Evelyn demonstrates she is not totally her mother's child by segregating the carbs while happily eating everything else.

One of THOSE parents

I became one of those parents more than a year and a half ago, when I immediately gave over all blog content to my yet-unborn child. As we all know, things have gone downhill from there. So it's only a small step now to duck into the group I had privately committed not to join. You know, those parents whose child says "ba" while pointing, and the parent claims that little Johnny now knows about 15 different words. In this respect, Ruth is my greatest inspiration; I have honestly never heard her claim that Abbi can say anything I haven't heard Abbi say myself.

Imagine me hanging my head in proud shame (if there is such a thing), then, while I write that Evelyn has said her first few words. So far the list is short; her use of said words is not completely consistent yet, but over the past two or three weeks, she has started to say "Daddy," "Momma," and our favorite, "hi" (while waving). Witnesses? Well, *someone* doesn't like to perform on command, it would seem. She rather prefers to apathetically watch me make an idiot of myself as I enthusiastically wave at her and repeat "hi" in a bright falsetto over and over again while earnestly telling our friends, "She can do it. Really, she can." Several strangers might back our story, but we are conveniently unable to produce any of these supposed witnesses (such as: people walking west on the south side of east 72nd street last Tuesday around 7:00; lady in children's section of Barnes and Noble at 5:00 last Wednesday afternoon; etc). So, for now, I guess you'll just have to take our word for it. That and shake your head with a mixture of pity and amusement next time you see us fluttering our hands and brightly cheering, "Hi, hi, hi" at Evelyn.

Other recent excitement has included:

1. Last Wednesday, Evelyn got her first taste of one of Daddy's favorite go-to meals: McDonald's. We were on our way home, running late (again), and I remembered John had eaten the leftover pasta that originally went with the leftover chicken. I didn't feel up to waiting the extra 20 or 30 minutes before feeding her dinner and putting her to bed, so I stopped by and picked up some chicken mcnuggets (at least they're made with white meat now, right?). I limited her to 2, and she loved them.

She loved the frozen peas I gave her equally well, though. She's not very particular.

2. On Friday afternoon, Evelyn went to daycare for the first time. She did not nap, but if the caretakers can be trusted to tell the truth on these matters, she behaved herself. She did not cry when I left, as she was enthralled with all their books. At one point, apparently, another little boy (a smaller baby) was crying, and Evelyn took the book she was looking at, crawled over to him, and started turning the pages for him. Sweet, no? According to the report card they gave me, she also worked on developing her fine and gross motor skills by playing with pots in the pretend kitchen, including boiling a pretend potato on the pretend stove. Shrug.

3. Saturday morning, Evelyn, Abbi, and their chauffeurs met up for an early boat ride out of South Street Seaport to see the waterfalls. It was the perfect day for it - sunny but not too hot. I don't think Evelyn really noticed the waterfalls themselves, but she liked being on the boat.

4. After the boat ride, we took a little detour by Dunkin Donuts, the Apple store and Lindt chocolates before meeting the Blanchards at the carousel in Central Park. A perfect (and cheap) Saturday activity.

On our way home, we scoped out the carnival-type rides at the Trump ice skating rink (we'll be going back sometime soon to actually ride; anyone interested) and then walked several blocks up Park Avenue, which was closed to vehicular traffic for the day.

5. Sunday, Evelyn demonstrated her growing usefulness in the kitchen during an Olympics break. Imagine how helpful it is to have an extra set of hands. OK, so it's not really that helpful when the hands grab everything they can reach and throw it on the floor. Someday, right?

A plug for seatbelts

They're not just for cars, folks. Last week, I left Evelyn unbuckled in her stroller for the first time while cruising through the Met. (For anyone who was wondering, "Washington Crossing the Delaware" is in storage until 2009, but we got to see the giant yellow balloon dog and lots of superhero costumes, so it worked out OK). We left around closing time, along with hundreds of other people of course. Not wanting to block traffic,* I thought, I'll just wait until we're across the street and then stop to buckle her in. Of course, while stepping onto the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street we hit a mini-pothole not easily navigable with stroller-sized wheels. She tumbled forward onto the concrete. Judge all you want. You won't be the first. That honor goes to the man walking in front of us, who turned around and stared with a combination of horror and disdain for a full 3 minutes or so as I tried to calm her before continuing on our way. I expect a call from CPS any day now.

Ruth said, "You probably shouldn't blog about this one." But when your blog is stereotypically devoted to your kid, it's difficult to post anything if your kid has road rash on her face. And by this time, I think I've probably told pretty much everyone within a 2-mile radius what happened anyway. We get a lot of questions. Lying seemed like a bad idea, and it's hard to explain how a child can fall out of a stroller without some negligence on the caregiver's part. Learn from my mistake. Buckle up.

It's amazing how quickly her face has healed, actually. So much more quickly than my scrapes and bumps fade. Just look at the difference between these pictures from one and two days later versus yesterday's pictures, below.

July 31

August 1

Yesterday we headed to the Children's Museum for a little 10-month birthday celebration. I knew she was too young for most of the exhibits there, but they do have a little baby play place, and I thought it would be good for both of us to go somewhere new. I think she enjoyed herself.

She saved some sea turtles with Diego

Rocked out at Dora's fiesta party

And then found one of her favorite toys - a baby! - in the baby play place

After all that excitement, she completely refused to take her afternoon nap yesterday, which left both of us more than a little frazzled, leading to my calling John at 5:30 and telling him that if at all possible he really, really needed to come home and put the baby to bed and let me go do something else (first time in 10 months that I've done this). Thank you, honey. He is a both kind and wise man.

*Yes, traffic. In a city where most people commute, run errands, and go about all their other business with a combination of walking and public transportation, sidewalks are major roads. Please don't stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk and just stand there. Would you stop your car in the middle of the freeway during rush hour? Exactly. Particularly, don't do it with 5 of your closest friends. Not only is it excessively annoying, but it also marks you a tourist and easy prey for pickpocketers (especially if you spend your sidewalk-blocking time talking loudly about things like where is Seredipity/Toys R Us/Times Square/the Empire State building or the dirtiness of the streets or how confusing you find the subway system).