How to Be Alone

This video has been floating around the interwebs for the past couple of weeks, and I finally just got around to watching it.  As the most ironically attention-seeking introvert you'll ever meet, this really speaks to me.  I love being alone, but I fought hard against it for years thinking that it was weird or anti-social or fear-based.  But a lot of my best times are by myself - traveling alone, eating alone, wandering alone, exploring alone.  Sure, I've been lonely, but I enjoy my company and generally enjoy going solo.  So, this is an affirmation of what I once considered freakery, and a lovely affirmation at that. 

Here's to the loners.  I toast you from afar.

Quote of the Day

Saith Uncle Damon on this, His birthday:

"Livy's not hater.  She's a baller, she's a player."

Happy birthday, Damon!

Golden Birthday, Golden Showers

Olivia turned 13 months on the 13th, and we celebrated this marvelous Golden Birthday without even realizing it!  I had arbitrarily decided that we were going to have a Fun Day that day and then realized a couple of days later that it had been a milestone day all on its own without my designation.  What luck!  What fun!  What adorableness!

First, we went to Me & Moms to buy Olivia her first pair of practical, wearable shoes.  Of course she had shoes before this, but he had the kind of ridiculous shoes that eager baby shower attendants buy in anticipation of tiny baby girl feet.  So, they're cute (I'm talking to you, Dickensian patent-leather dress boots!), but they're not good for actual play time.  I intended to be efficient, frugal, and pragmatic on this errand, but instead I went nuts.  Livy now owns 3 pairs of shoes from the consignment rack (black Mary Janes, red Keds, and black Vans-type sneakers) and then two pair of brand-spanking-new Robeez.  It makes sense to go wildly over budget if you're getting a deal, right?  Right?  And, hey, can I sell you a bridge when I'm finished buying these here fancy shoes...?

Then, after our shopping spree, we went to play at the botanical gardens near the Ballard Locks.  It's the kind of park folks usually just walk through, so there is usually a lot of space for crawling wildly and chasing each other around trees.  We especially like playing there on the weekdays when it's even more private so that I don't feel so stupid crawling around chasing after Livy and screeching "I'M GONNA GET YOU!" over and over again.

Well, wouldn't you know, but I did get her!  I don't think she minded it.

The stroller didn't mind getting gotten, either.  Livy likes to pay it forward.

Later, after a luxurious afternoon nap, Olivia and I met our friend Breanne for dinner at Bluebird Homemade Ice Cream and Tea Room on Capitol Hill.  No, they don't serve dinner, unless you count a scoop each of peanut butter and jelly ice cream and chocolate pudding ice cream dinner (Theme: "food flavored like other food"), which we do.  Breanne had wanted to meet Livy for a long time, and we tried our hardest to impress her.  First, Olivia welcomed a visit from the poo fairy, which required a trip to the ladies' room for a quick change.  Now, for as charming as this ice cream shop is, it is not built for babies in the least.  Not only did I have to carry Livy in her stroller down some tricky stairs to get to the place (Thanks, gawking hipsters, for not offering to help!), but the bathrooms have no changing tables, no counter space, and filthy, sticky floors.  So, I laid down a couple of sheets of The Stranger, changed her, and returned to the table, where I promptly spilled chocolate ice cream directly onto the sliver of ultimately unsalvagable white tank top peeking out from under my purple shirt.  Then, after our meal and some good slurps off of her sippy cup, I discovered that Livy's shorts were wet.  Now, given her poor cup handling skills I figured that she was just covered in water as I pulled her onto my lap.  Then I felt the familiar warmth of baby pee spreading down my leg.  So, after another trip to the newsprint-covered bathroom floor, Breanne and I hauled the baby and stroller up the stairs, hugged gingerly goodbye, and I rushed Livy home to scrub the transferred ink from her tush and do an emergency load of laundry.  I can't help but think that we impressed Breanne with our wit, charm, and aborbency.

But we put that chaos behind us.  Oh, look, here it is taking a commemorative photo!

So, it was a memorable birthday, even though we didn't remember it at the time.

Shame vs. Pride

Among our famlilial vernacular here at Me Show Central prominently feature the terms Shit Shame (SS) and Poo Pride (PP).  They're pretty self-explanatory, but I will explain them anyway because I love the sound of my own voice even when it's written.  SS is best personified by the character of Paul "Shit Break" Finch from the American Pie franchise, who would beat a hasty retreat from school to his home when a #2 came a-knockin' at his back door.  PP is best represented in my mind by a boy SLB and I went to high school with (this would be your cousin, Adam, Mrs. Miller) who would announce every day after lunch in chemistry class that he had to "drop the bomb," get up, leave, do his business, and return to class triumphant.  So, you see the delineation between SS and PP is clear.  But not so clear is on which side of this divide this falls:

J.D. Salinger's Toilet for Sale on Ebay

Because J.D. Salinger was a notorious recluse, I wonder if that automatically implies SS.  But perhaps he was only reclusive in how and whether he spoke to the public about his writing and was in his personal life a proud and performative pooper.  I'm certain that somewhere in his private papers is some piece of incontrovertible (I almost wrote "solid," but thought better of it.  No.  Wait.  I didn't think better after all.) evidence to demonstrate whether he was cringing or beaming on the john, and I eagerly await its public announcement and celebration by inhabitants of the crossroads of literary appreciation and feculent connoisseurship.

Little Moments

Lately Olivia has been very interested in climbing, but since we live on one level and don't have room for climbing toys she mostly climbs me.  I spend a lot of the day lying or sitting on the floor while she tries to scale me.  This is what that looks like.



These are the little pieces of her late babyhood/early toddlerhood that I'm going to miss, just like I miss the "interminable" hours of holding her while she slept on my shoulder as a newborn.  I'm trying to remember the good stuff as it happens, even when it's disguised as boring, repetetive, or mundane stuff.  These are good summer days.  These are good times.

Buy Yourself That: Emotion Coaching Funpak!

I think my bookgroup is reading John Gottman's Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child.  We haven't talked about it in weeks, but I finished it a while back and really learned a lot from it.  It's one of those parenting books that not only helps you become a better parent, but also has the potential to help make you a better person, too.  Its core message is one of helping your children identify and cope with their emotions by empathizing and strategizing with them.  The idea is simple, but it seems pretty rare in practice.  Empathy certainly isn't emphasized in schools (this book is a great read for teachers, too), and it appears to be a newer revelation in parenting given what I've seen on playgrounds, etc., where getting kids to stop feeling their feelings seems to be job one in teaching good behavior.  I highly recommend this book to teachers, parents, and caregivers.  It's a great one and sure to be useful in improving your relationships with kids and adults alike.

To go with this, I bought Todd Parr's Feelings Flash Cards for Livy to play with. 

I really like them because of the vocabulary they teach.  Rather than being limited to "happy" and "sad," the cards run the gamut of complicated and nuanced emotions in kid-friendly language (annoyed, worried, excited, and even ants-in-my-pants are represented on the cards).  She likes to flip the cards and look at the pictures, and I like that she's picking up on emotional language that we can use together in emotion coaching later on.  Plus, Todd Parr is a fantastically funny illustrator.  Shoot, he created one of my favorite children's books, Underwear Do's and Don'ts, so I'm happy to support his little empire.

If you want to start smaller with your little one, I also recommend Mrs. Mustard's Baby Faces by Jane Wattenberg, a fold-out book that has all happy baby faces on one side and all sad baby faces on the opposite side.  It's a wordless book, so you can tell the story of each baby or give each emotion a name on your own, but little babies love looking at the crisp, clear photos of other babies.  Olivia has loved (and mauled) this book since I bought it when she was about 3 months old, and it's always a favorite of other kids during playdates, too.  She sometimes points to the sad babies and makes sad faces herself and smiles with the happy babies, showing that she's learning empathy or playing with expressions of her own emotions, either of which is useful in fostering emotional intelligence.

So, there you have it!  You can take the teacher out of school, but you can't take the school out of the teacher.  I didn't mean to spend this year developing curriculum, but it sneaks up on me all the time and I only realize that I've done it after it's done.  Enjoy the fruits of my obsessive labors, friends!

Eat This: Roasted Asparagus, Yolky Egg, with Cheese, Bread, and Charcuterie

Just because it's summertime is no excuse to avoid the oven, especially when roasted farmer's market asparagus is on the menu.  I highly urge you to make this for yourselves and experience the ease, joy, and deliciousness of a 15 minute meal that transports you immediately to a small sidewalk cafe on a narrow, cobblestoned Parisian street.  Plus, it'll make your pee smell funny.  Win-win!

What you need:
Asparagus
Eggs
Good bread
Good charcuterie
Good cheese
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper
A delicious beverage (I like a glass of chilled white or pink wine, and SLB favors a cold beer.  Please yourself on this one, friends.)

What to do with it: 
1.  Preheat the oven to 400
2.  Wash your asparagus and trim off the woody ends.
3.  Put your asparagus on a sheet pan, then toss it with a tablespoon or two of olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a good grinding of pepper.
4.  Pop that tray in the oven for 10 - 15 minutes, depending on the girth and mass of your asparagus, until it's roasted through.
5.  Now, while the asparagus is roasting, slice yourself some delicious bread, cheeses, and meats.  Arrange artfully on your plate or platter.
6.  Then, as your meat and cheese approach room temperature and become their unrefrigerated, flavorful selves and while the asparagus is still roasting away, make yourself a yolky egg of your choosing.  Some like them poached, but I like them sunny side up.  Ideally, your egg will be finished just as the asparagus comes out of the oven, but asparagus can wait for your egg to cook if it has to.  No worries.
7.  Place your egg on top of a healthy serving of asparagus.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Devour with your bread, cheeses, and meats.
8.  Toast yourself for being so continental, even as you eat dinner on the floor in front of a Daily Show rerun.  Aren't you sophisticated?  YES.  Yes, you are.

Spin, Livy, Spin!

Shameful confession: for as long as I can remember, I have had a huge crush on Stevie Nicks.  I can specifically remember spinning along with Stevie in the "Gypsy" video as she spins with herself in the mirror, which I think officially makes me a metaStevie of sorts.  If you haven't seen the video, I highly urge you to watch it now.  While I use them with a frequency to that which I use "the," I generally hesitate to drop F-bombs on this blog.  But I'm dropping one now, friends, because this video is fucking awesome.



The earnest gazes!  The cinematic pretensions!  The obvious use of dancing body doubles!  The cameos by other Fleedwood Mac members (the best of which is easily the closeup of Mick on the back of a truck, followed closely by the closeup of Mick in a rain-soaked fedora).  In the name of the Sweet Baby Jesus, the lyrics!  What do they mean?  What's happening here, besides spinning wildly and gazing poignantly?  Oh, right.  BEING AWESOME, that's what's happening here.

So, yeah, I love me some Stevie Nicks.  In fact, when my mom and I attended the Tacoma Dome extravaganza that was The Dance reunion tour, I screamed "SPIN STEVIE, SPIN STEVIE, SPIN STEVIE!" so loudly when she got up a particularly good twister that I was hoarse the next day.  And this is to say nothing of the best Halloween costume ever - me as Rumours-era Stevie continuing an ill-advised relationship with an unfortunate young man I convinced to dress up as Lindsey Buckingham for the exact purpose of me needing a Lindsey Buckingham.  Yes, friends, you could say that I have a disease and that the only cure is a combination of gauzy bell sleeves, platform granny boots, and velvet top hats.

And so you'll understand why this was so thrilling today.



She's blonde; she has huge, curly hair; and she likes to spin.  She is the second coming of the Nicks!  Bow to her, and then rise gracefully, gaze intensely, and spin for all that you're worth!*

Future Livy

*As a reader of this blog, I'm just going to assume that this isn't much.

Flow It, Show It, Long as God Can Grow It

I am a short woman with straight, dark hair.  SLB is a short man with straight, dark hair.  Thus, it only makes sense that our tall, blonde daughter's hair is now growing out into a curly mop top. 

We know that the height comes from my mom's side of the family, and we guess that the blonde is either from SLB himself (he used to be a towhead) or again from my mom's side.  The best we can do to guess at the curly-headedness is that it's a fairly recessive gene from my dad's side of the family.  Other than that, we're stumped.  Livy Bean is truly her own lady.

And some days, when we're really lucky, she is her own lady with FANTASTIC bedhead.  The curliness adds amazing height and dimension to her sleep bedraggled locks.  For example, one recent morning she woke up with a perfect cropped bouffant 'do reminiscent of conservative 1960's secretaries.

Miss Larsen, would you please take dictation?  Bring your steno pad...

Feminine, but businesslike.  That's our Livy.

Bring in a cup of coffee, too.  Black.  You can get one for yourself, too, if you'd like.

The profile was remarkable.  No product here, just the magic left over from a nighttime visit from the Bouffant Fairy.

The curls have even started to ruin a beloved post-bath tradition of slicking her hair back into a Gordon Gekko 'do. 

Before curls.

After curls.  No hope for Wall Street here, hippie.

But it's nothing that a barrette can't fix.

Sing it!: She's got Charlie Manson eyes...

Buy Me That: Moustachio Teether

O.K., so ostensibly it's for Olivia.  But given my prediliction for wearing fake mustaches whenever possible, it's really for me, too.  You can get it from Little Alouette.  You can give it to me.

Summer of Awesome: Independence Day Edition

Yes, yes, I know it's well past the 4th of July.  But better late than never, right?  Right!  Let's go!

This 4th of July marked two firsts:  Livy's first Independence Day and Livy's participation in her first parade.  Usually I hate parades - I find them boring to watch live, and I find sitting and standing in huge crowds for long periods of time irritating.  But walking in a parade is a different story.  This is my 3rd, and the attention plus the perambulation equals pure Me Show joy!  I like people looking at me!  I like walking and waving!  I LIKE PEOPLE LOOKING AT ME WHILE I WALK AND WAVE!  Luckily for her, so does Olivia.

The parade was a little Mayberry-type affair in my aunt, uncle, and cousins' neighborhood in Puyallup (pronounced pyoo-AL-up, regardless of the Morah's insistence on saying POY-uhl-up).

Cousins on parade!

Here we are preparing for our daring march.  Clockwise from left, that's David, Emily, me, Hannah, and Livy.  Emily was thrilled to spend the day with her little cousin, and Hannah was glad to see us both.  David just wanted to hear me belch like a dyspeptic trucker and make fart jokes.  I didn't disappoint.

I'll kill you for this one day, Mommy.

You like that pimped out patriotic baby-and-stroller combo?  Of course you do!  I had the outfit planned for weeks, down to the ludicrous hair bow, and Hannah and I went nuts with the crepe paper.  As we were taping streamers to the stroller, Hannah told me to taste the crepe paper.  I'm an idiot, so I did.  It's really salty, a fact that Olivia enjoyed as she tried again and again to devour her decorations.

We were led by an antique fire truck filled with happy patriots.

Emily and Livy got tired of the parade at roughly the same time.  It was a longer walk than any of us bargained for.

We were all grateful to retire to the community picnic.  Here beautiful Hannah holds Livy, who enjoyed holding the gluten-free hotdogs more than anyone should.

Then we returned to Aunt Katie and Uncle Kirk's house where Olivia enjoyed the playful mauling of a huge monkey named Stripes while Uncle Kirk sneaked a snuggle.

Livy may have SLB's face, but HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, does she ever have Uncle Kirks huge, melon-like noggin.

It's hard to say whether she's a fan of the Elmo puppet Emily gave her or not.  It's easy to say that she loves gnawing on his eyeballs like a ravenous vulture.

It was a great celebration, and I'm already planning on upping the ante for next year.  We'll throw candy!  We'll add glittery streamers and pompoms!  We'll all dress like Uncle Sam!  Beware, pyoo-AL-up, we've got 11 months to plan, and we mean business!

Buy Me That: Tiny Terrarium Ring

Buy it from Woodlandbelle.  Now.

It's the cutest thing I've ever seen.  Sure, I'll break it if I wear it, or Livy might eat it.  But it would be worth it, no?

Especially for Uncle Weaver

Look, Uncle Weaver!  Livy loves to read about Ronald Reagan with SLB on the weekend!

No, Olivia, in this case "trickle down" doesn't refer to your drool.

But then she also gets stuck in nesting tables sometimes, too.

"I swear I saw a jellybean under here, Mommy."

I'm not saying she's dumb, but I am saying that she may have a career in politics unlike that which her father and I have envisioned...

And a special treat for readers - a photo of SLB and Uncle Weaver in their youth as Navy fighter pilots.

"Nobody cries for Maverick."

Pastafarian

Our friend Sandy, whose son Gavyn turned a year old two days before Livy did, told me yesterday that her pediatrician told her to feed Gavyn what she and her husband Mike eat.  Now that the arbitrary marker of one year is past, we can start feeding our babies all the delicacies forbidden during their babyhoods - peanut butter, cows' milk, eggs, strawberries, etc.  I took Sandy's report literally last night, and Livy and I sat down to a lovely meal of pasta and peas in an ad hoc turkey bolognese.  Delicious chaos ensued.

This is the face of gustatory bliss.

Olivia was methodical in her eating strategy:  pasta first, turkey second, peas third.  Aside from an emollient sheen of red sauce and olive oil coating its surface, that tray was licked clean by the end of the meal.

Notice how that smear of bolognese on her forehead is in the exact shape of baby fingers?  That's what happens when you stroke your forehead with delight as you eat pasta with your hands.  You've been warned.

The bath afterward was both necessary and lengthy.  Oil and water don't mix, so even after a good half hour of soaking and scrubbing Livy still smelled like a bad Italian restaurant.  So be it.  She had a good time.

There were far more than 11 herbs and spices left in the tub after I hosed her off...

... to say nothing of one huge, spicy meatball.

6 Months

Today would have been Kylie's 6 month birthday.

I miss my niece.

Rhymed - For Her Pleasure

Millfoil

Mille feuille

Mille feuille

MILF Oil

Summer of Awesome: San Juan Island Edition

Hey there!

Remember when I wrote my Life List?  Remember when I said I wanted to vacation in Friday Harbor and go whale watching with Livy and SLB?  Well, check and check, mofos, because a few weeks ago SLB took some time off and we journeyed north for an idyllic summer vacation.

After a pretty arduous drive and ferry ride with a teething baby (3 teeth came in during our 4 day vacation) we arrived in Friday Harbor just in time for a stroll around town, a delicious meal with a great view, and this sunset from our condo balcony.

Not bad, Friday Harbor.

Not bad at all.

SLB and I vacationed on San Juan Island once before when I was in college and he was preparing to leave for law school, and I'd stayed there a couple of times as a kid during summers when my dad was working and sailing there.  So we have a history, San Juan Island and I, and I've been eager to share this with Olivia even if she won't remember it.

There's a lot to like there.  For one thing, Roche Harbor literally welcomed SLB with his own dedicated graffiti in once-wet cement.

And, for another thing, people on San Juan Island like their puns and poop jokes.  I was among my people at last!

Yep, that's the B-Yacht'ch.  And the little boat tied to it is the Baby B-Yacht'ch.

I disapprove of the egregiously unnecessary misspelling, but otherwise I heartily approve!

This was on a porta-potty at the alpaca farm we visited.

And, because San Juan Island is a magical place, it offers two of my other favorite things beyond poo jokes: delicious food to eat and cute critters to look at.  Two of the days that we were there we lunched at Pablito's Taqueria, tucked away in a little corner of Friday Harbor.  I particularly enjoyed the goat cheese and greens empanada, coffee-braised pork taco, and the chipotle-rubbed rockfish taco, and SLB fell in love with the yam taco.  We also liked these ladies, who are on a huge poster above the salsa bar.

They may be wearing maribou pumps, but they WILL kick your taco-eating arse.

We also got dinner from Market Chef two nights in a row to eat after Olivia went to bed.  There is a reason why this humble little deli-style eatery is ranked #1 on Trip Advisor's list of Friday Harbor restaurants.  The food is delicious and the service is friendly and warm.  We became particular fans of the macaroni and cheese, barbecued shortribs, crab cakes, roasted vegetables, and beet salad, and their key lime pie is wonderful despite their assertion that they "really don't do desserts."  After wrestling Olivia into her much-hated Pack-n-Play for bed, we were grateful to Market Chef for making dinner for us.

I lost one game by forfeit because I was playing drunkenly and wasn't pleased with my lack of precision and panache.  Otherwise, rest assured that I am still SLB's Scrabblemommy.

Our last dinner on San Juan Island was a special one that miraculously took place outside of our condo.  We got brave and ordered up a babysitter from Island Sitters (Ask for Rina, who 1. was fantastic with Olivia and, 2. will totally talk shit about her friends' trashy tattoos when you stumble home from dinner tipsy and chatty) and enjoyed a lovely meal at Duck Soup Inn.  I had what is easily the most perfectly cooked salmon I've ever encountered in all my years of Northwesty salmon eating.  It was pan seared to perfection - delicately crispy on the outside and silkily yielding just beneath the brittle crust.  This was matched with a luxuriously creamy polenta, roasted corn, and pickled cucumber ribbons, and, oh my friends, what a treat it was.  I will urge you to try any savory dish on the menu, but DO NOT F* AROUND WITH DESSERT.  Go big, go bold, or go home.  SLB's hearty chocolate-banana layer cake was ironically flawless in its rustic imperfection, but my hoity-toity nectarine-buttermilk ice cream was a real disappointment.  This is a homey place, so eat homey, homies.

We didn't just eat on this trip, although that might be hard to believe from the previous paragraphs.  We spent a lot of time during the days wandering the island with Livy and seeking out beautiful views and wildlife.  The views were much easier to capture on film, but we saw and got only a few crappy pictures of DOZENS of orcas, a mama deer and her twin fawns, a harbor seal who splashed us and flirted with us from about a foot off of the dock we were walking on, alpacas at a local alpaca farm, bald eagles, and a camel named Mona who was purchased by a farmer from a petting zoo on Ebay. 

Whales!!!

After a magical and frustrating afternoon on a whale watching tour trying to capture the magesty of a pod of leaping, frolicking Orcas and their babies, it finally dawned on me that whales just don't say cheese.  So be it, whales!  I love you regardless, or maybe because of, the difficulty in photographing you!  Perhaps if you were more reliable about showing off, though, the littlest of our crew might be more impressed.

I tried pumping Livy up with tales of how we were going to be ADVENTURE LADIES! on the boat, but she didn't buy it.  Thanks to SLB for carrying the napping baby while I was an ADVENTURE LADY! by myself.

The alpacas were easier to see and understand, and so they got a better reception from Olivia.

Like big, weird dogs > like big, weird fish

Can we get one, SLB, pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?

And, finally, Livy's biggest highlight from the entire trip was the enormous soaking tub in the condo.  It was big enough for her to swim in, so one night we took an extra-splashy bath.

I think it was Hemingway who said "If you can't end with a pithy line, at least end naked."  Well said, sir. Well said, indeed.