This year for Halloween, Bean is dressing as a traffic cone.
Thanks to a local friend for knitting this outfit for her. That’s all I have to say about that.
We had a great time at the women’s gathering. I took some pictures of Bean’s first swim. We also took her 4 month pictures today. Go to the sidebar and then to our Flickr site to see those.
The flight we took two weeks ago was just a dress rehearsal. Tomorrow morning at the butt crack of dawn, I’ll be rising, dressing, feeding my daughter, and stumbling out the door in a bleary-eyed state. My first flight leaves at 6:50. Then, there’s a rush to a connecting flight. (Ok, it won’t be much of a rush, the part of the airport I’ll be in won’t exactly be busy.) I’ll be at my destination by 9:30 in the morning. That’s just about the time I go down for my nap!
It will be me, Bean, a hiking backpack, and a stroller…. off to go through the joys of travel without the hub. Where are we going? There’s a group of women in the country getting together in another city. Here, it’s sweater weather. There, it’s warm & nice. I’ll get to go swimming (and so will Bean!), I’ll walk on the beach, hang out with other English-speaking grown ups, and more fun stuff like that. Plus, no cooking, dishes, or housework until I return!
Also no blogging or e-mail. Yes, I know I haven’t been a stellar blogger of late. Consider this notice that my trend of slacker posting won’t improve until next month.
In other news, Bean will be 4 months old tomorrow. When she gets older I’ll tell her that I took her to a resort town for her 4 month celebration. I’m sure she’ll feel incredibly privileged.
Now, off to pack that hiking backpack!
(The comic is Bizarro by Dan Piraro. It was published on September 26, 2007.)
Congrats to all of you who, like ChadWB got an A+ plus 100 points on yesterday’s quiz. Life is continuing on in our household. The big sickie is feeling better. The little sickie is just plain miserable. She coughs and sniffles and feels yucky. The only good part: She just wants to be held. I am happy to oblige. Still, I’d like her to be 100% better tomorrow. We took her to the doc yesterday and he gave us all the meds she’ll need, so hopefully she’ll be better soon. It’s nothing serious, just her first cold.
I also got our internet settings right. To sum up the problems in a nutshell: A nutcase in our country got mad that people were talking bad about him on their blogs. So, he took them to court. The gov’t decided to shut down all blogs hosted by WordPress. I’m not sure if this will be temporary (just until the case is heard in court) or permanent. Anyway, they didn’t do a very good job of shutting things down. With some simple setting changes, I’m back in business. Annoyed, but back in business all the same.
Today a good friend came by from the village. Between chatting with her and taking care of my sweet sick Bean, not much else went on. So, nothing to report. Sorry you came by to read a big lot of nothing. I’ll work on that. 🙂
In other news, my hub is signing up for a new gmail account. Sadly, RayRay@gmail.com is already taken.
What do these two people have in common?
a) They both make me laugh.
b) They’re both cute.
c) They’re both ill right now.
d) Both of them did really well on the plane and hardly cried
e) Both of them are hungry right now.
f) All of the above.
If you chose f) all of the above, you get an A+. If you didn’t, you failed the test. (Sorry, there was only one question…. so it was either A+ or big fat F-.)
I’m having new difficulties accessing my blog…. more on that later. Anyway, I have some solutions, but no time to take care of it. Why? Well, I’ll give you a quiz for some bonus points:
mab has no time to fiddle with the settings on her computer because:
a) She is taking care of her two sick people.
b) She needs to cook dinner for the two grown people.
c) She’s been at the doctor and the pharmacy all day for the little sick person.
d) She’s tired.
e) All of the above.
If you chose e) all of the above, you get +100 points.
Sorry for the lack of posts…. our internet access has been spotty. Tomorrow we’re taking advantage of the Ramadan holiday to go on a little trip. We’re flying up to the Big City to visit some friends. We aren’t taking our computer, so we won’t have e-mail or any of that stuff. Why aren’t we taking our computer? Because we are taking the following:
A large bag for Bean’s stuff
A backpack for our stuff
A stroller
A huge, well-stocked diaper bag
A bag of a special dessert from our city as a hostess gift
A teething baby
This will be a big adventure…
For a month now a drummer has wandered our neighborhood at about 3 a.m. each morning. He beats his drum in a jaunty rhythm and people wake up to eat before the Ramadan fast begins for that day. A couple of times each month, he comes by all of the apartments for whom he drums and he asks for a tip. Does he knock on the door? Politely ring the doorbell? Nope. He comes into the building and walks up and down the stairs, beating his drum and hollering. This echoes nicely in our concrete-and-marble stairwell.
I am now convinced that Bean is a super-prodigy who will do everything early. Why do I say that? She’s teething. It’s a month and a half earlier than the books say most babies teethe, but today I got proof. She was fussy all afternoon. I burped her — so it wasn’t gas. I changed her (several times) — so it wasn’t a wet diaper. I checked her outfit — so she wasn’t hot or cold. I fed her — so she wasn’t hungry. I gave her new toys — so she wasn’t bored. I moved her to a new position — so she wasn’t uncomfortable. After trying dozens of new things while trying not to do too much and overstimulate her, Bean continued to cry. Then, I pulled out the Baby Oragel. One swipe, a yucky face (she hates the stuff), and she calmed down and went to sleep almost immediately. The verdict: All of the drooling, fussiness, chewing, and extra-juicy diapers were right. She’s teething.
Normally she sleeps very soundly, but not since this teething adventure began. So, when I heard the drummer enter the door of our building and begin hollering, I was prepared for her to wake up. Usually, they bang around awhile & move on. However, this guy was particularly full of the holiday spirit. I just couldn’t take it. The hub was trying to nap (it had been a long night last night & a long day at work), Bean was just down for a nap, and the drummer was jolly-jolly banging away. Before I knew what I had done, I was out of my seat and heading towards the door. My plan of action was still unclear. Should I open the door? Should I say something? Or, should I just peer out the peephole and silently curse him in two languages? I was opting for the latter when the drummer made a mistake. He rang our doorbell.
After we came home from the hospital, a friend made a sign for us. It says: “Please don’t ring the doorbell, the baby is sleeping.” This is a wonderful sign. It makes people knock instead of ring our annoying doorbell that sounds like a spastic bird tweeting. (My apologies to the spastic community out there for comparing you to my doorbell.) Apparently Mr. Happy Drummer Man was like most drummers I knew in high school band: better at drumming than academic pursuits. He neglected to use his reading comprehension skills and he rang the bell anyway. I opened the door.
My first mistake: My hair was wet because I had just showered. This is a cultural no-no for a woman to answer the door or go out with wet hair. Especially freaky-sticking-out wet hair. I had been wearing a towel turban and barely remembered to rip it off before I opened the door. The result was truly shocking.
Next, I hollered at him. It was good-natured hollering, meant only to get his attention. After all, he was standing in our narrow hallway, facing my neighbor’s door, his back to me, and banging away on his giant bass drum. When he turned, the following conversation ensued:
Drummer Man: Hello Sister! (That’s a polite address for woman here. I could tell he thought he was going to get some dough.)
mab: Excuse me. My very little daughter is sleeping. Can you please not play?
Drummer Man: I’m so sorry, sister! (He stands there with a huge smile smeared on his face and a waiting expectancy. I realize that he still thinks he’s getting cash. I start to close the door. He and his buddy are shocked that I opened the door, but didn’t give them cash.)
Let me break this down for you: For me to open the door and tell him to shut up without giving him any money would be like you opening your door and flipping the bird at the 3rd grade Sunday School class that’s come to sing Christmas Carols. I realized that I was, in effect, verbally flipping him off, so I stuck my head out again. I was going to try to fix things.
mab: I’m sorry, I don’t celebrate Ramadan. Thanks.
So I know that’s not exactly a good thing to say. In fact, it is a pretty grinchy, rude thing to say. But, my language skills just weren’t up to a complex explanation of the reason I wasn’t going to give him money. I couldn’t say: “Sorry, dude, but your playing at 3 a.m. has been most annoying to me and my family. We don’t fast. We don’t need to get up early. We don’t need your nice playing. If you want to play for us at 3 p.m. when my entire household is awake, I’d love to tip you. But, it goes against my principles to tip you for a service that I don’t want at all. But, happy holidays to you!” My attempt to fix things failed. I had already verbally flipped him off. This was worse. This was like punching Santa Claus in the gut. Who would punch Santa? Apparently mab would. Sigh…. I meant all of that to sound different than it came out….
Drummer Man: (with more grace than I could have given if I were him) I’m so sorry, Sister! Have a great day!
He quit playing and left the building.
I’m not going to sleep tonight. I’m too afraid that the ghosts of Ramadan Past, Ramadan Present, and Ramadan Future are coming to visit me, the Ramadan Scrooge.
I’ve been growing out my hair for Locks of Love. Months ago, it got to an annoying length. Weeks ago, it got to an unbearable length. Now, it’s just impossible. Leaving it down drives me crazy, so it’s always up in a huge bun. Why was I waiting? Well, hair needs to be 10 inches to be used in a hairpiece. They can take shorter lengths of hair & they sell that to offset the price. The last time I cut my hair and donated it, I only had 7 inches to donate. That bugged me. So, I was determined to make the 10 inches this time.
It’s there. In fact, it’s about a foot from my chin.
So, last night the hub stayed with Bean & I took off to the coiffeur. Armed with pictures of how I should cut the hair so I could donate it and a plastic bag to put the hair in, I felt ready.
While I was in college I got a terrible haircut — possibly the worst haircut anyone has ever received. I brought a picture in to the hairdresser and spent a long time laboriously explaining what I wanted. Then, the cut began. The result was hideous. She shaved the back of my head and left the front super-long. It was a reverse mullet. I couldn’t put a hat on to hide it — all of my remaining hair disappeared into the hat. I looked like a high school punk-goth. Since I usually didn’t hang out with the crowd we called “Skaters,” this didn’t really fit me. Hideous.
This memory comes back every time I go for a haircut — particularly a drastic one like last night’s. The new stress factor: explaining the hairstyle I wanted would be laborious, but it wouldn’t take long. I was going to have to do it in another language & I wasn’t sure I could do that. So, I took in a picture.
I liked how the hair was short, but still had long layers. I also liked the soft curls. I could pull back my hair if it was like this, and have some styling options. Overall, it’s cute, but in no way could I be taken for a shaggy boy.
Here’s what I’ve discovered: If you take in a picture, the hairdresser often glances at it, sees only one portion of the haircut, and goes to town. With the Horrid Cut, the hairdresser saw that I wanted my hair slightly angled towards my chin. She exaggerated that and shaved the rest. This hairdresser saw only the back and missed the long, pretty layers.
Do I hate it? No, not hate. But, I don’t really like it. Still, the benefit of short hair: It’ll grow out soon.
The good thing: We cut off 14 inches of hair! Whoa. That’s a lot. After all of that, I’m finally glad to have something short. In a few weeks, I’ll take that picture to another hairdresser and try again.
There is some more good news. For once, my hair looks like a true Hollywood hairstyle. In fact, for once I look like someone very famous. Jennifer Aniston? Angelina Jolie? No, but someone connected with them…
I just wish I looked like a famous girl….
On another subject, my hub is in trouble. We took Bean to the doctor yesterday for her check up. The waiting room was full, so he couldn’t sit. Instead, I saw him looking at all of these free brochures and flyers. Last night, I got into bed and felt some paper there. He had brought one home and put it in the bed as a joke. Which one did he choose? “Exercise After Pregnancy.” I threatened to take my still-chunky form and sit on him. You might be saying: “Oh, mab, in the pictures you don’t look chunky!” My response: “That’s because I was sucking in so hard I heard my ribs crack.”
Before any of you start to think that my hub is a terrible, insensitive person, you should know that we do crap like this to one another all the time. The fun is in the vengeance.
Good news! The magic computer people have recovered the data from our hard drive. As far as we can tell, everything will be recoverable. This is such happy news that I’m making the hub take me to Burger King for dinner.
To make up for this incredibly boring update post, go to Bean’s website. I put up two videos of her doing cute stuff. The second one cracks me up every time I watch it. If you don’t have her website, drop me an e-mail or leave a comment. I’ll send you the link.
Well, not much went on around our house this weekend. I got to sleep in a little. It was nice to get those extra 34 minutes of sleep. After breakfast, I made 34 cookies. The hub ate only 10. I decided to go for a little walk, so I headed down to 34th Street — it was a short 34 minute walk, round-trip. Bean and I practiced her new sounds. She is cooing and gurgling a lot now. In fact, I counted 34 coos in our conversation yesterday. I got to talk to my folks on the phone for about 34 minutes. They’re doing well. They enjoyed watching Bean on the video camera. I think she kicked her feet 34 times for them. She also smiles a lot now! I think she smiles about 34 times a minute! All in all, it was a quiet weekend at home. It would have been more quiet except for the whooping practice I was giving Beanie. She pretty quickly caught on and whooped 34 times.
The mab Blab 