the baron: are we going on a train tomorrow?
toddler x: yes!
the baron: what are we going to do tomorrow?
toddler x: train!
the baron: who are we going to see tomorrow?
toddler x: uncle dylan!
new york city, here we come.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
princess... like gay, but worse?
tomorrow the baron, the husband, and toddler x will find out the gender of baby segundo. both the baron and the husband are hoping for another boy, for reasons that have to do entirely with their self-perceived parenthood FAILS about raising girls and NOTHING to do with the obvious awesomeness of little girls.
for the husband, raising a daughter would perhaps remind him of his teenaged years; viewing a 13 year-old girl from the lens of fatherhood rather than teenage-boyhood might be too much for him to bear, since he'll acutely remember what, exactly, those teenaged boys are thinking about when and if they call upon his daughter. he has visions of standing guard on the porch, cocked shotgun in hand, warning young men away from the house. it's not a pretty picture.
for the baron, should she be carrying a daughter, her concern will mainly be about fundamental personality differences between herself and said daughter. the baron has been informally polling women at toddler x's playgroup and has found that the disposition of the mother is no guarantee about the disposition of the daughter. in other words, to paraphrase a woman from yesterday's playgroup, a woman whose rather sheltered daughter insisted on being a fairy princess for halloween: 'i used to think girls weren't born to want to be princesses, but she wants to wear her costume all the time. i have NO IDEA how she got this way. i'm not like that at all and she doesn't see those things...'
does this mean there's a princess gene? something that can't be fought or altered, some fundamental part of some little girls that draws them to pink and purple, makeup and jewelry? if so, the baron and the husband are screwed.
for the husband, raising a daughter would perhaps remind him of his teenaged years; viewing a 13 year-old girl from the lens of fatherhood rather than teenage-boyhood might be too much for him to bear, since he'll acutely remember what, exactly, those teenaged boys are thinking about when and if they call upon his daughter. he has visions of standing guard on the porch, cocked shotgun in hand, warning young men away from the house. it's not a pretty picture.
for the baron, should she be carrying a daughter, her concern will mainly be about fundamental personality differences between herself and said daughter. the baron has been informally polling women at toddler x's playgroup and has found that the disposition of the mother is no guarantee about the disposition of the daughter. in other words, to paraphrase a woman from yesterday's playgroup, a woman whose rather sheltered daughter insisted on being a fairy princess for halloween: 'i used to think girls weren't born to want to be princesses, but she wants to wear her costume all the time. i have NO IDEA how she got this way. i'm not like that at all and she doesn't see those things...'
does this mean there's a princess gene? something that can't be fought or altered, some fundamental part of some little girls that draws them to pink and purple, makeup and jewelry? if so, the baron and the husband are screwed.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
pregnant! again!
but reader, let us not dwell on that fact just now.
instead, as the baron, the husband, and toddler x prepare for an early december trip to new york city, let's read a bit about the city.
...
the baron's favorite part of this article?
“Rats are almost as fecund as germs … a rat at four is older than a man at ninety. ‘Rats that survive to the age of four are the wisest and the most cynical beasts on earth,’ one exterminator says. ‘A trap means nothing to them, no matter how skillfully set. They just kick it around until it snaps; then they eat the bait … I believe some of them can read.’ ”
instead, as the baron, the husband, and toddler x prepare for an early december trip to new york city, let's read a bit about the city.
...
the baron's favorite part of this article?
“Rats are almost as fecund as germs … a rat at four is older than a man at ninety. ‘Rats that survive to the age of four are the wisest and the most cynical beasts on earth,’ one exterminator says. ‘A trap means nothing to them, no matter how skillfully set. They just kick it around until it snaps; then they eat the bait … I believe some of them can read.’ ”
Thursday, September 22, 2011
irony what now?
the husband had just finished reading 'the lorax' to toddler x.
the baron: dude, doesn't that make you choke up a little at the end? it makes me cry a little every time i read it.
the husband: kind of.
the baron: i wouldn't mind having a lorax sticker on my car.
the husband: um, i think your sticker should be the once-ler.
the baron: oh... right.
the baron: dude, doesn't that make you choke up a little at the end? it makes me cry a little every time i read it.
the husband: kind of.
the baron: i wouldn't mind having a lorax sticker on my car.
the husband: um, i think your sticker should be the once-ler.
the baron: oh... right.
Monday, March 21, 2011
is this what it will be like?
the baron has been trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the people she and baby x meet at the park: other children, usually a little older than baby x, and parents.
it's no secret that the baron is happiest either alone or with her immediate family. it's also no secret that small talk is not something that comes naturally or easily to her. so giving good face at the park is a task that she'd rather not do... but as the weather improves, as it has in the last week, the baron finds herself faced with other parents a lot. a whole lot.
if she were alone, or with someone other than baby x - who has recently refashioned himself as Mr. Staring McLookatme - the baron would keep to herself. it's awkward, though, to ignore people when baby x is SO OBVIOUSLY STARING AT THEM and otherwise trying to draw as much attention to himself as possible. tentative and painful conversation between the baron and the play ground parents usually follows.
this past week, the baron met a woman who's house caught fire christmas eve, and who wanted to enroll her child in a foreign language immersion program. and a woman who suffered some kind of verbal aphasia that made it impossible BUT IMPOSSIBLE for her to remember the baron and baby x's names EVEN AS THE BARON SPOKE THEM. and a woman who sat on a bench with her face covered by her hands, removing them only to yell 'no! no!' at her golden retriever while her husband and children played on the merry-go-round.
you, reader, must be wondering how the baron is able to navigate her life, given the fact that there are PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. mirrored aviators, reader. they're amazing.
it's no secret that the baron is happiest either alone or with her immediate family. it's also no secret that small talk is not something that comes naturally or easily to her. so giving good face at the park is a task that she'd rather not do... but as the weather improves, as it has in the last week, the baron finds herself faced with other parents a lot. a whole lot.
if she were alone, or with someone other than baby x - who has recently refashioned himself as Mr. Staring McLookatme - the baron would keep to herself. it's awkward, though, to ignore people when baby x is SO OBVIOUSLY STARING AT THEM and otherwise trying to draw as much attention to himself as possible. tentative and painful conversation between the baron and the play ground parents usually follows.
this past week, the baron met a woman who's house caught fire christmas eve, and who wanted to enroll her child in a foreign language immersion program. and a woman who suffered some kind of verbal aphasia that made it impossible BUT IMPOSSIBLE for her to remember the baron and baby x's names EVEN AS THE BARON SPOKE THEM. and a woman who sat on a bench with her face covered by her hands, removing them only to yell 'no! no!' at her golden retriever while her husband and children played on the merry-go-round.
you, reader, must be wondering how the baron is able to navigate her life, given the fact that there are PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. mirrored aviators, reader. they're amazing.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
dinner table conversation
the baron: baby x is so heavy. my shoulders and back ache from carrying him around all day.
the husband: i know. why don't you get a massage?
the baron: that money could be better spent on jiffy pots and yard stuff. maybe i'll just get some aspercreme and you can rub it on my shoulders some night you're feeling romantic.
the husband: sure. let me put my dentures in first.
the husband: i know. why don't you get a massage?
the baron: that money could be better spent on jiffy pots and yard stuff. maybe i'll just get some aspercreme and you can rub it on my shoulders some night you're feeling romantic.
the husband: sure. let me put my dentures in first.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
the baron loves the husband because...
...he makes her laugh.
to wit, a text she received from him earlier today:
Goddamned crooked fingered troll
to wit, a text she received from him earlier today:
Goddamned crooked fingered troll
Monday, March 7, 2011
so much sewing to do
the baron, for being an unemployed stay-at-home parent, has a kind of big to-do list. it's mostly household-y stuff like vacuuming, laundry and the like, but there's other stuff on there too, stuff that might be labeled 'hobby' but which has come to feel like work. it's the sewing, that damn sewing.
first, sometime late last fall, she thought she'd make her brother a quilt. upon completion of the quilt's top, however, she decided that it didn't look sufficiently masculine enough for him, so she decided to start another, manlier, one for him, one consisting of triangles matched up into squares matched up into larger squares. midway through cutting the fabric for this quilt the baron remembered: dude, quilting with triangles is some hard business.
such a hard business, in fact, that the baron thought she'd take some time out from this second quilt to make a hat for baby x. 'a' hat turned into two hats, which then somehow - after the husband cleaned out his closet and displayed for the baron the pile of collared shirts he planned to donate to the thrift store - turned into four collared summer shirts for baby x (three of which are pictured below).
the baron has been working on these hats and shirts for the past couple of weeks while her quilts languish unseen in a cupboard. today she will finish the last of collared shirts and maybe, maybe get back to the quilts. maybe.
first, sometime late last fall, she thought she'd make her brother a quilt. upon completion of the quilt's top, however, she decided that it didn't look sufficiently masculine enough for him, so she decided to start another, manlier, one for him, one consisting of triangles matched up into squares matched up into larger squares. midway through cutting the fabric for this quilt the baron remembered: dude, quilting with triangles is some hard business.
such a hard business, in fact, that the baron thought she'd take some time out from this second quilt to make a hat for baby x. 'a' hat turned into two hats, which then somehow - after the husband cleaned out his closet and displayed for the baron the pile of collared shirts he planned to donate to the thrift store - turned into four collared summer shirts for baby x (three of which are pictured below).
the baron has been working on these hats and shirts for the past couple of weeks while her quilts languish unseen in a cupboard. today she will finish the last of collared shirts and maybe, maybe get back to the quilts. maybe.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
shades of harlan pepper
all the dogs look forward to spring, but none so much as harlan pepper, he of the flinty gaze and and speckled chest.
so, because the weather has been looking up, enjoy yourself a photographic ode to harlan pepper.
so, because the weather has been looking up, enjoy yourself a photographic ode to harlan pepper.
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Monday, February 21, 2011
lunch for a tiny, tiny king
the baron would like to know if someone would come to her house and cook for her like this, please.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
awesome awesomeness that is too awesome
a lifetime ago, when the baron was young, she thought she'd grow up to be an academician of the lit-crit variety, reading lots of fiction and theory and writing lots of insightful things and papers and essays (for publication and conference presentation, of course, because that's how it works when you choose the ivory tower route). she decided this for herself after reading 'the great gatsby', but before realizing a number of things about the world of literary criticism: that everyone, BUT EVERYONE, had done some kind of scholarship of fitzgerald; that 'gatsby' was the most well-mined of all of his works; that literary criticism is a hard racket to break into; that sometimes the best and most interesting cultural commentary isn't necessarily reflected in the fiction written by entitled white men.
so. that dream. out the window. ahem.
the baron, though, still has a thing for 'gatsby', and for fitzgerald. (tangentially, on one of their first dates, the husband took the baron to see fitzgerald's grave. she knew then he was a catch, but a CATCH!) she rereads 'gatsby' every so often - her well worn high school edition - cringing a bit at her nascent literary critiques. it still gets her, the story, the writing, the sadness, the ending - that damn green light.
----
sometime in the 1980s, the baron and the brother were gifted a nintendo gaming system. the graphics seemed, to the baron, light years more sophisticated than the atari she had previously played. they had, maybe, three games? super mario brothers, tetris, and something else... she can't remember exactly what.
over time, the brother became quite good at those first games, and over the years has become a very, very skilled player of video games. for the baron, who has painful memories of playing against her brother during his late adolescence, the original nintendo system remains her favorite.
(painful memories you say?
the baron: i don't want to play.
the brother: come on. come ON! mortal kombat is great.
the baron: i don't want to. you always kill me right away.
the brother: i won't.
the baron: really? ok. how do i make my person jump? or kick?
the brother: [starting the game] it's easy.
the baron: how?
the brother: it's easy. figure it out.
the baron: but. how.
the brother: dude. did you see that? i just pulled your spinal cord out. cool.)
----
someone else likes 'gatsby' too, and some old school nes. the baron's been at it for two days and can only yet get past level 1, but reader? it's kind of awesome.
so. that dream. out the window. ahem.
the baron, though, still has a thing for 'gatsby', and for fitzgerald. (tangentially, on one of their first dates, the husband took the baron to see fitzgerald's grave. she knew then he was a catch, but a CATCH!) she rereads 'gatsby' every so often - her well worn high school edition - cringing a bit at her nascent literary critiques. it still gets her, the story, the writing, the sadness, the ending - that damn green light.
----
sometime in the 1980s, the baron and the brother were gifted a nintendo gaming system. the graphics seemed, to the baron, light years more sophisticated than the atari she had previously played. they had, maybe, three games? super mario brothers, tetris, and something else... she can't remember exactly what.
over time, the brother became quite good at those first games, and over the years has become a very, very skilled player of video games. for the baron, who has painful memories of playing against her brother during his late adolescence, the original nintendo system remains her favorite.
(painful memories you say?
the baron: i don't want to play.
the brother: come on. come ON! mortal kombat is great.
the baron: i don't want to. you always kill me right away.
the brother: i won't.
the baron: really? ok. how do i make my person jump? or kick?
the brother: [starting the game] it's easy.
the baron: how?
the brother: it's easy. figure it out.
the baron: but. how.
the brother: dude. did you see that? i just pulled your spinal cord out. cool.)
----
someone else likes 'gatsby' too, and some old school nes. the baron's been at it for two days and can only yet get past level 1, but reader? it's kind of awesome.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
today's word is diversion
the baron was at a fabric store the other day and spotted some very deeply discounted halloween fabric. deeply discounted enough, in fact, that the baron had this thought: 'hmm. halloween is coming, and baby x will need a trick-or-treating bag...' and before the more prudent side of her brain could counter with 'halloween is yet 8 months away', the baron found herself at the cutting table asking for three yards, please.
the baron was at the fabric store to pick up thread to match a large - very, VERY large - quilt she's working on; that tree below, constructed from lots of different fabrics and appliqued onto a white panel of fabric, is the center of the quilt.
has the baron mentioned it's a big quilt? so big that her tiny singer sewing machine is dry heaving at the thought of having to quilt it? so big that it's more practical to talk about it in feet rather than inches?
so big that the baron decided to take on the smaller, more manageable task of a trick-or-treating bag instead.
oh, but reader, it's a lovely bag. totally worth two days away from the quilt-of-nearly-unmanageable-proportions. she made it reversible, using two fabrics: one rather silly and one a bit spookier. thus, depending on his mood - or his age - baby x can select which side he'd like to use.
see!? clever, handy bag, eh? this small project was not a useless diversion.
wait, was today's word denial?
the baron was at the fabric store to pick up thread to match a large - very, VERY large - quilt she's working on; that tree below, constructed from lots of different fabrics and appliqued onto a white panel of fabric, is the center of the quilt.
so big that the baron decided to take on the smaller, more manageable task of a trick-or-treating bag instead.
oh, but reader, it's a lovely bag. totally worth two days away from the quilt-of-nearly-unmanageable-proportions. she made it reversible, using two fabrics: one rather silly and one a bit spookier. thus, depending on his mood - or his age - baby x can select which side he'd like to use.
see!? clever, handy bag, eh? this small project was not a useless diversion.
wait, was today's word denial?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
tea for two
as only half of baby x's tea went into his lap *and* he seemed to enjoy the bit of it that went into his mouth, the baron declared their adventure a success. woot.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
the big game
the baron is obviously not talking about the super bowl. she knows what she'll be doing on sunday.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
goodnight baby x
the husband and baby x have a very well developed bedtime routine. each night, the husband and baby x select two books, which the husband reads aloud while holding the books with one hand and baby x with the other. once the books are finished, the husband recites 'goodnight moon', from memory, always ending with 'goodnight baby x'.
the baron isn't sure - or can't remember - why 'goodnight moon' is the book that is repeated night after night. it's short and rhyme-y, certainly, which gives the book an easy-to-memorize quality. but then, so is 'i love you, goodnight', another book in baby x's library. 'goodnight moon' is not even the most delightful of baby x's 'please, please go to sleep now' books (the baron favors 'guess how much i love you', which is so lovely to look at and to read that her heart breaks a little every time she finishes it).
there is something charming, and kooky, and amazingly clever, about 'goodnight moon' though, something the baron only figured out after reading the book a countless number of times. once she spotted it, 'goodnight moon' really started to grow on her.
it's that, in 'goodnight moon', margaret wise brown is self-referential, ridiculously so. 'goodnight moon' and another of her books, 'the runaway bunny' (also lovely in a makes-the-baron-cry-every-time kind of way), are all over 'goodnight moon'.
to wit:
the book on the little boy bunny's bedside table? 'goodnight moon'.
the only book on the bookcase with a readable spine? 'the runaway bunny'.
the painting on the wall behind the quiet old lady whispering hush? an image from 'the runaway bunny' (it's the scene where the mommy bunny fishes for the baby bunny. no, really, fishing, like in a stream, with a carrot as bait).
the quiet old lady whispering hush? the mommy bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!
the little boy bunny in bed, to whom 'goodnight moon' is read? the runaway bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!
it's all very cute and very meta, but here's the thing: these hidden asides aren't immediately obvious - at least they weren't to the baron - and that makes the baron love them even more. they're super-secret jokes, put in by author and illustrator, for reasons hard to immediately discern. no doubt, with a little help from her friend google, the baron could learn all about 'goodnight moon', for the gentle winks contained within it have no doubt been cataloged by someone, somewhere on the interweb.
but, reader? the baron probably won't bother with trying to find out the whys and whens and how-many-other-times about 'goodnight moon'. it's kind of delightful enough, just the way it is.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
breakfast and some things to do today
it's another grim and dreary day where the baron lives.
the baron's bastardized version of a cafe mocha is a good way to get the day started... especially since she has a long day in the kitchen ahead of her (see that to-do list below).*
*reader, this is baby x's menu for the next week or so. is it weird that baby x is eating like a king - a tiny, tiny king - while the baron eats protein bars and water with the occasional piece of whole wheat toast thrown in for good measure? sigh.
Monday, January 31, 2011
all this useless media
reader, can you pick out all the unfashionable media* in the photo below?
*that'd be: records, laserdiscs, magazines, tapes, tape deck, record player (under that blue cover on the right side there) and laserdisc player (under the record player). also pictured, though only glancingly so: compact discs (baby x is marshaling his considerable skill and concentration to extract a cd case from the shelf). new media what now?
*that'd be: records, laserdiscs, magazines, tapes, tape deck, record player (under that blue cover on the right side there) and laserdisc player (under the record player). also pictured, though only glancingly so: compact discs (baby x is marshaling his considerable skill and concentration to extract a cd case from the shelf). new media what now?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
wherein the subject of breasts is visited
baby x is now nearly 10 months old (!), a fact for which the baron and the husband are grateful. he's healthy and happy and wanting to explore more and more of the world. he's now eating solid food, real solid food, the kind of food that makes the husband occasionally say, as he looks longingly into baby x's food bowl, 'that looks good. if he doesn't finish it, i will.'
the baron spends at least two days a week planning and cooking and freezing meals for baby x, and he's now into adventurous fare like broccoli, rice and cheese casseroles and indian spiced lentil stew. it's an exciting time for the baron and the husband, watching baby x taste new things FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME, and for baby x, for whom everything is exciting and potentially the best thing he ever ate. he mostly likes everything, even (or especially) the addition of herbs and spices to his meals.
however. all this excitement comes with a seemingly insignificant side effect, seemingly insignificant if you are anyone but the baron.
because baby x is now eating three meals a day plus snacks, the baron doesn't nurse him very often anymore. she went, in rather short order, from nursing him 10-12 times per day to their current schedule of no more than 4-5 nursing sessions per day. nine months ago, when her breasts weren't in great shape (you know, reader: tearing, bleeding and other kinds of baby-induced traumas), she would have given anything for the nursing experience to be over. she often thought, in those early days, that breastfeeding for an entire year (as is recommended by the american academy of pediatrics and also EVERYONE ELSE THE BARON ASKED ABOUT IT) seemed like a ridiculous goal, one that she was certain to fall short of.
but.
now nine months on, she's quite good at nursing; it's become second nature for her, and for baby x. now, breasts healed and anxiety about 'is baby x eating enough? AM I STARVING HIM?' mostly abated, she's a bit sad about their diminished bonding time. it's normal, she knows: as he eats more solid food, he drinks less breast milk.
she says to friends that she's looking forward to baby x's first birthday, the one year mark, the day she can start him on dairy milk. this is partly true: it will certainly be easier to provide dairy milk to him on a long trip - or even a short one - than to breast feed him. except that there's a part of her, a not-very-small-part of her, that's looking forward with sadness, waiting to mourn the end of this special time. crazy, eh?
the baron spends at least two days a week planning and cooking and freezing meals for baby x, and he's now into adventurous fare like broccoli, rice and cheese casseroles and indian spiced lentil stew. it's an exciting time for the baron and the husband, watching baby x taste new things FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME, and for baby x, for whom everything is exciting and potentially the best thing he ever ate. he mostly likes everything, even (or especially) the addition of herbs and spices to his meals.
however. all this excitement comes with a seemingly insignificant side effect, seemingly insignificant if you are anyone but the baron.
because baby x is now eating three meals a day plus snacks, the baron doesn't nurse him very often anymore. she went, in rather short order, from nursing him 10-12 times per day to their current schedule of no more than 4-5 nursing sessions per day. nine months ago, when her breasts weren't in great shape (you know, reader: tearing, bleeding and other kinds of baby-induced traumas), she would have given anything for the nursing experience to be over. she often thought, in those early days, that breastfeeding for an entire year (as is recommended by the american academy of pediatrics and also EVERYONE ELSE THE BARON ASKED ABOUT IT) seemed like a ridiculous goal, one that she was certain to fall short of.
but.
now nine months on, she's quite good at nursing; it's become second nature for her, and for baby x. now, breasts healed and anxiety about 'is baby x eating enough? AM I STARVING HIM?' mostly abated, she's a bit sad about their diminished bonding time. it's normal, she knows: as he eats more solid food, he drinks less breast milk.
she says to friends that she's looking forward to baby x's first birthday, the one year mark, the day she can start him on dairy milk. this is partly true: it will certainly be easier to provide dairy milk to him on a long trip - or even a short one - than to breast feed him. except that there's a part of her, a not-very-small-part of her, that's looking forward with sadness, waiting to mourn the end of this special time. crazy, eh?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
that time at the orthopedist's office
the baron and the husband and baby x spent a good part of their morning yesterday at an orthopedic surgeon's office, in way-far-out-there maryland. they were there on behalf of baby x, by way of referral from his pediatrician. the fat folds on his chubby legs are asymmetrical, which may indicate a wee bit of trouble in his hips.*
in the waiting room, baby x crawled about on the floor upending magazine baskets and chewing on backpack straps. also in the waiting room was an elderly woman and her black-and-blue eyed son (upon whom, apparently, a tree branch fell). the woman sat down near them, opened her bag, and extracted a small beanie baby toy. this beanie baby - a floppy eared dog - had seen better, cleaner days.
'can i give this to him?' she said, gesturing toward baby x.
with as much grace as she could muster, the baron offered the woman effusive thanks for the kind gesture, but said that the toy was a bit on the small side for baby x. in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'WHEW. bullet dodged THERE, eh? well done, the baron! no strange toys from strangers for baby x!' she cast a sidelong glance at the husband and imagined him giving her a psychic pat on the back.
but.
the woman had a counter offer, one that the baron could by no means have anticipated.
she said, 'i have a plastic bag full of toys in the car. i have a very big teddy bear in there, would he like that? would he like a teddy bear?'
the baron said, '...', followed by, '...'
in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'what the what?!'
[reader, let's pause this scene for one minute. usually, the baron isn't so much a fan of people. just in general, people in general. in a waiting room, you'll often find her in a corner with a book and her sunglasses on. this morning's waiting room was no different; left to her own devices the baron would have taken baby x to a corner of the waiting room and tried her hardest to convince him to play quietly.
but.
babies rarely want to stay quietly in a corner, and baby x is no different. also, babies are kind of old lady magnets. and this woman, with the past its prime beanie baby, was old. 72 years old, she said. and it seemed as though she, like the beanie baby, had seen better days. during the brief time she spent with the baron and the husband, she mentioned that her middle son died 14 years ago and that her youngest son had terminal liver and pancreatic cancer but had been refused treatment by everyone and was 'pretty well using'. 'using', in this case, meant to indicate drugs, as far as the baron could tell. also, her oldest son, did the baron mention, had been attacked by a fallen tree limb and had black and blue eyes?
it seemed that, in this case, this woman needed to gift a gently used stuffed animal to baby x MORE than the baron needed to heed her own instinct to avoid strangers. the idea that baby x
might appreciate and delight in a very large second hand teddy bear seemed to genuinely make this woman happy.]
the baron said, 'if you're sure and you don't mind, then he'd love a teddy bear.'
she made off to her car at a quick clip and returned with a black plastic bag from which she pulled a very large teddy bear. and a frog.
the woman said, 'i give away a lot of toys, at mcdonald's or arby's. i get them from friends. i give away a lot of frogs especially. see?' at this, she opened her jacket to reveal her sweatshirt: a cartoon frog, underneath which read Forever Relying On God.
[reader, let's pause this one more time.
ok. this was the moment when the baron began a mental retreat. without looking at him, the baron knew the husband was doing the same thing. baby x, on the floor with his new bear and frog - because, oh yes, she gave him one of those too - couldn't have been happier or more oblivious to the extreme religiosity happening above him.]
the baron, being not especially religious herself, made a series of oohing and aahing sounds while her brain whirred away trying to find a natural end to the situation, a graceful escape to the conversation. none came, but luck was with them:
they were called into an exam room by the nurse.
*trouble in this case having to do with hip dysplasia. the pediatrician thought baby x's hips felt fine, but based on baby x's fat folds suggested the trip to the orthopedist to be sure. the orthopedist, after a full physical examination and x-rays of baby x's hips, felt that baby x is perfectly healthy.**
**baby x needed to stay perfectly still during the x-ray; the husband and the nurse held baby x on the table to keep him still. the baron hovered outside, waiting for the x-rays to finish, and over mild grunting heard emanating from the from the room heard this from the nurse: 'this is a strong baby!'
in the waiting room, baby x crawled about on the floor upending magazine baskets and chewing on backpack straps. also in the waiting room was an elderly woman and her black-and-blue eyed son (upon whom, apparently, a tree branch fell). the woman sat down near them, opened her bag, and extracted a small beanie baby toy. this beanie baby - a floppy eared dog - had seen better, cleaner days.
'can i give this to him?' she said, gesturing toward baby x.
with as much grace as she could muster, the baron offered the woman effusive thanks for the kind gesture, but said that the toy was a bit on the small side for baby x. in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'WHEW. bullet dodged THERE, eh? well done, the baron! no strange toys from strangers for baby x!' she cast a sidelong glance at the husband and imagined him giving her a psychic pat on the back.
but.
the woman had a counter offer, one that the baron could by no means have anticipated.
she said, 'i have a plastic bag full of toys in the car. i have a very big teddy bear in there, would he like that? would he like a teddy bear?'
the baron said, '...', followed by, '...'
in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'what the what?!'
[reader, let's pause this scene for one minute. usually, the baron isn't so much a fan of people. just in general, people in general. in a waiting room, you'll often find her in a corner with a book and her sunglasses on. this morning's waiting room was no different; left to her own devices the baron would have taken baby x to a corner of the waiting room and tried her hardest to convince him to play quietly.
but.
babies rarely want to stay quietly in a corner, and baby x is no different. also, babies are kind of old lady magnets. and this woman, with the past its prime beanie baby, was old. 72 years old, she said. and it seemed as though she, like the beanie baby, had seen better days. during the brief time she spent with the baron and the husband, she mentioned that her middle son died 14 years ago and that her youngest son had terminal liver and pancreatic cancer but had been refused treatment by everyone and was 'pretty well using'. 'using', in this case, meant to indicate drugs, as far as the baron could tell. also, her oldest son, did the baron mention, had been attacked by a fallen tree limb and had black and blue eyes?
it seemed that, in this case, this woman needed to gift a gently used stuffed animal to baby x MORE than the baron needed to heed her own instinct to avoid strangers. the idea that baby x
might appreciate and delight in a very large second hand teddy bear seemed to genuinely make this woman happy.]
the baron said, 'if you're sure and you don't mind, then he'd love a teddy bear.'
she made off to her car at a quick clip and returned with a black plastic bag from which she pulled a very large teddy bear. and a frog.
the woman said, 'i give away a lot of toys, at mcdonald's or arby's. i get them from friends. i give away a lot of frogs especially. see?' at this, she opened her jacket to reveal her sweatshirt: a cartoon frog, underneath which read Forever Relying On God.
[reader, let's pause this one more time.
ok. this was the moment when the baron began a mental retreat. without looking at him, the baron knew the husband was doing the same thing. baby x, on the floor with his new bear and frog - because, oh yes, she gave him one of those too - couldn't have been happier or more oblivious to the extreme religiosity happening above him.]
the baron, being not especially religious herself, made a series of oohing and aahing sounds while her brain whirred away trying to find a natural end to the situation, a graceful escape to the conversation. none came, but luck was with them:
they were called into an exam room by the nurse.
*trouble in this case having to do with hip dysplasia. the pediatrician thought baby x's hips felt fine, but based on baby x's fat folds suggested the trip to the orthopedist to be sure. the orthopedist, after a full physical examination and x-rays of baby x's hips, felt that baby x is perfectly healthy.**
**baby x needed to stay perfectly still during the x-ray; the husband and the nurse held baby x on the table to keep him still. the baron hovered outside, waiting for the x-rays to finish, and over mild grunting heard emanating from the from the room heard this from the nurse: 'this is a strong baby!'
Friday, January 14, 2011
in the 2011
reader, it's been a good long while since.
since what?
since the baron has come to this place to check in.
she has no good excuse. excuses. life and baby x are, it seems, perennially in the way.
sigh.
the baron wants to ease in slowly, so:
baby x has just now taken down the next highest row of cds on one of the two cd towers in their sunroom. this is not a particularly sturdy cd tower and needs anchoring to the wall, but in truth, the baron and the husband perhaps did not anticipate their son standing and reaching and grabbing at just 9 months old. they maybe thought they had a wee bit more time to figure things out.
the cd tower is safe for the moment, however, as baby x is now trying to reach the telephone charging cords on top of the telephone table. in the process, he has become stuck underneath the telephone table, trying repeatedly to stand up straight and finding repeatedly that the underside of the top of the table will not allow him to do so. another long day ahead.
since what?
since the baron has come to this place to check in.
she has no good excuse. excuses. life and baby x are, it seems, perennially in the way.
sigh.
the baron wants to ease in slowly, so:
baby x has just now taken down the next highest row of cds on one of the two cd towers in their sunroom. this is not a particularly sturdy cd tower and needs anchoring to the wall, but in truth, the baron and the husband perhaps did not anticipate their son standing and reaching and grabbing at just 9 months old. they maybe thought they had a wee bit more time to figure things out.
the cd tower is safe for the moment, however, as baby x is now trying to reach the telephone charging cords on top of the telephone table. in the process, he has become stuck underneath the telephone table, trying repeatedly to stand up straight and finding repeatedly that the underside of the top of the table will not allow him to do so. another long day ahead.
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