Shay is understanding more and more of the things we say, and my new favorite part of being his mom is watching his language develop. So far he doesn't say any recognizable words--he definitely says a lot of "mamamamama" but not really directed at me; he'll say "--g" for dog; he babbles with a sort of underwater sound a lot. I think he is saying a lot of things, just not in ways that I totally understand yet. But he is definitely receiving language in ways that I can perceive.
He follows all kinds of directions, all of a sudden, and it takes me by surprise. I have always talked to him, narrated things for him, asked him questions, etc., but it has long been more of a monologue than a conversation; however, now I notice that he's answering my questions in ways that he can--waving when I tell him to wave bye-bye, pointing across the room at his dump truck when I ask him where it is, choosing the book he wants to read when I offer him two choices.
This morning, after he had his own breakfast, I fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal, and he really desperately wanted bites, and kept pointing up to my bowl. It was super hot, so I was trying to blow on bites before feeding them to him, but I could tell it was still too hot by the way he was squinching up his face with each bite. "It's still really hot, Buddy," I told him. "Can you wait for a minute?"
He waved, and looked up at me expectantly.
If, in this mysterious world, you need to wave for a minute to get oatmeal, he's ready to do it.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Merry Christmas, and Happy Birthday!
In my dad's Danish family, Christmas is celebrated on Christmas Eve--the main events that I remember from celebrations at my grandmother's house when I was a little girl were dinner (and, mostly, walking around the table and studying each of the hand-painted flowers on her china, deciding which plate I wanted to eat from), dessert (a rice pudding with raspberry sauce, with one blanched almond hiding inside one person's pudding. Whoever finds the almond in his/her pudding gets the "almond present," which is traditionally a marzipan pig), and "dancing around the Christmas tree" (we would pull the tree into the center of the room, make a circle around the tree, hold hands, and walk around the tree while singing Christmas carols). This year, we had an early dinner so that dude could eat with us, hid the almond inside of a gingersnap, and skipped the Christmas carol singing to avoid waking the baby--but some day, I hope he gets a taste of those Danish traditions. My favorite of the Christmas carols is "Nu har vi jul igen" -- the song has only one line (which translates roughly to "Now it's time for Christmas again, and Christmas lasts until Easter), sung faster and faster and faster each time you sing it, and also "danced" faster and faster and faster, until everyone collapses, laughing, unable to go any faster. We teach newbies to sing "You are a hooligan, oh you are a hooligan, and you're about to get a postcard," which kinda sorta captures the basic sounds of the Danish words.
In our family, in addition to celebrating Christmas Eve, we always celebrated Christmas morning -- and in Patrick's family, Christmas is always celebrated with a dinner on Christmas Day. So, in the morning, we celebrated Christmas... as well as Dude's first birthday. Wowza! One year! My Christmas wish came true: I did not go into labor this Christmas. Woo to the hoo! We tried to make all the wishes Shay didn't even know he had come true: there were Christmas presents, and birthday presents; Christmas jammies, and a birthday t-shirt. Here he is, on Christmas morning, age 365 days. Doesn't he look taller? And more mature?
As you can see, I was at times more excited than the baby about the presents. He seemed to think it was mainly a cruel joke: somebody gives you a box, then they take it back to get the paper off it, then they give you this cool new toy, and then they take it back to get it out of all the plastic and tape and twistie ties.
Seriously, toy makers, you are ruining Christmas with your kryptonite packaging.
There were some happier moments, once the packaging was removed and the new loot stayed in his possession for a while. And then, after dinner, there was cake!
Here he is with his first bite of chocolate; he is clapping, though you can't really tell from the photo.
All in all, it was a fun set of celebrations, but a bit overwhelming for the poor little man. This whole "having a birthday on Christmas" thing is something we're going to have to work on. We're thinking of doing a half-birthday party for him in the future, instead of a birthday party. Thoughts? Do you know anyone who has a birthday on Christmas? What are some things we could do to make sure he doesn't feel cheated out of having his own special day?
Hope your day was merry and bright. You are a hooligan! And you're about to get a postcard!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Rule of Life #4
So, are you doing Zumba? I had never heard of this until a couple months ago, and then suddenly everyone was all, zumba this and zumba that, kind of like when everyone, all at once, started spinning. (With spinning, I sort of thought everyone got crafty all the sudden, and started spinning their own yarn or something. It took me a while to catch on that it was an exercise.) Anyway, I decided to try a Zumba class this morning, to see what the fuss is all about. Apparently, first of all, it is really "zoom-ba," not "zuhm-ba." In case you were pronouncing it like I was. And it is sort of like jazzercize and salsa dancing at the same time, and let me tell you, the rhythm is not inside me.
But luckily, the rhythm seemed to be only inside the instructor, and so everyone in the room was sort of jumping around, shaking their hips and doing jazz hands, eyes locked on the instructor so as to try to get his/her own hip shaking to be vaguely in the same rhythm as the instructor's -- no one watched each other much. I don't think I got many of the moves right, but I definitely jumped around enough to work off some of that artichoke dip from last night's Christmas party.
I did, briefly, catch my own eye in the mirror once. And while I had to quickly look back at the instructor to figure out what was happening next, I also spent a split second thinking about a list that I recently read online -- "Forty-Two Things That Change When You Have A Baby," I think it was called. Many of them, though true, were sort of boring and cliche, but one did catch my eye: "now you look at your baby in the mirror instead of yourself."
That one thing on the list had sort of struck me with its truth, in that way where something is obviously true, but you've never really thought about it before, or at least you've never thought of it in those terms before. Other than vague attempts to check that there's no food in my teeth, or that my jacket isn't on inside out, I rarely look at just myself in the mirror lately, though I probably coo and tap and point and wave at the mirror at least seventeen times a day, with Shay by my side or on my hip.
And then, suddenly, there I was in the mirror: just me, separate from the baby. And I was shaking my hips and doing jazz hands, to no discernible rhythm.
My AP English teacher from high school once told us that an important key to happiness is learning to embrace "Rule of Life #4," which he told us was "Don't take yourself so seriously!" We asked him over and over again what the other rules of life were, but he wouldn't tell us -- "you've got to figure them out for yourselves," he would insist. I think about that sometimes, but my list is still a work-in-progress. "If you cook you don't have to do the dishes" is definitely on there; I think it's #7.
And I think that Rule of Life #4 is a continual work-in-progress, but for that final split second I spent being aware of myself in the mirror, shaking my hips and doing my jazz hands, totally off-rhythm and sweaty, I noticed that I was smiling. So, I'd add a forty-third thing that has changed in my life: I'm learning to embrace Rule of Life #4.
What about you, what do you think the "Rules of Life" are? How are you doing on #4? And also, have you tried Zumba? If so, can you tell me how long I'll be sore for? Because my legs are kinda ouchy.
But luckily, the rhythm seemed to be only inside the instructor, and so everyone in the room was sort of jumping around, shaking their hips and doing jazz hands, eyes locked on the instructor so as to try to get his/her own hip shaking to be vaguely in the same rhythm as the instructor's -- no one watched each other much. I don't think I got many of the moves right, but I definitely jumped around enough to work off some of that artichoke dip from last night's Christmas party.
I did, briefly, catch my own eye in the mirror once. And while I had to quickly look back at the instructor to figure out what was happening next, I also spent a split second thinking about a list that I recently read online -- "Forty-Two Things That Change When You Have A Baby," I think it was called. Many of them, though true, were sort of boring and cliche, but one did catch my eye: "now you look at your baby in the mirror instead of yourself."
That one thing on the list had sort of struck me with its truth, in that way where something is obviously true, but you've never really thought about it before, or at least you've never thought of it in those terms before. Other than vague attempts to check that there's no food in my teeth, or that my jacket isn't on inside out, I rarely look at just myself in the mirror lately, though I probably coo and tap and point and wave at the mirror at least seventeen times a day, with Shay by my side or on my hip.
And then, suddenly, there I was in the mirror: just me, separate from the baby. And I was shaking my hips and doing jazz hands, to no discernible rhythm.
My AP English teacher from high school once told us that an important key to happiness is learning to embrace "Rule of Life #4," which he told us was "Don't take yourself so seriously!" We asked him over and over again what the other rules of life were, but he wouldn't tell us -- "you've got to figure them out for yourselves," he would insist. I think about that sometimes, but my list is still a work-in-progress. "If you cook you don't have to do the dishes" is definitely on there; I think it's #7.
And I think that Rule of Life #4 is a continual work-in-progress, but for that final split second I spent being aware of myself in the mirror, shaking my hips and doing my jazz hands, totally off-rhythm and sweaty, I noticed that I was smiling. So, I'd add a forty-third thing that has changed in my life: I'm learning to embrace Rule of Life #4.
What about you, what do you think the "Rules of Life" are? How are you doing on #4? And also, have you tried Zumba? If so, can you tell me how long I'll be sore for? Because my legs are kinda ouchy.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Five Boxes of Things!
(Inside my head, that title is sung, like "five golden rings!")
One of my favorite things is when there are things that fit inside of boxes. For example, I love those Russian matryoshka dolls, the doll that nests inside the doll that nests inside the doll--but really I just sort of love anything that nests inside a box. Here are some of the boxes filled with things that have arrived at our house lately:
1. A head full of books:
This is the latest issue of McSweeney's: a box in the shape of a head, filled with pieces of novels, stories, oral histories, poetry, and cards. Patrick gave me a subscription last Christmas, and it's seriously the most fun subscription I've ever had: you never know if you're going to get a standard book-like literary magazine, or a severed head box full of books. Awesome! You can't see from this picture, but the bottom of the box is a cross-section of the guy's neck. Gross! Yet amazing!
2. A "dairy milk" advent calendar:
This has been here since the beginning of December, actually: an advent calendar, sent "to Seamus" (i.e. Patrick) from Patrick's sisters in Ireland. In Ireland, they say "dairy milk" for what we call "milk chocolate," and in America, Patrick likes to have an Irish advent calendar to make it really feel like Christmas.
3. Presents! (Shhh, those are surprises; no photos yet!)
4. The boxes that they ship presents in:
Sorry for the blurry quality of the photo, but it's impossible to get a non-blurry one to go with this theme because Dude plays with such great, speedy gusto with empty cardboard boxes. He does his own version of the hokey-pokey, putting stuff in a box and then taking it out, sticking his face in the box and then taking it out, and then he "drives" the boxes around the house. I really don't know why we bothered to buy him actual presents--not only will the paper and ribbon be more interesting than the gifts themselves on Christmas morning, the plain cardboard boxes are apparently the best toys he's ever had.
5. A wintertime CSA box:
The CSA program we do usually only sells their veggies in the spring, summer, and fall, but they have occasional wintertime "boxes." (At the pick-up site, the veggies were actually in a box. But the farm recycles the boxes, so along the way it became a plastic bag full of things.) Beets, carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, parsnips, onions, cilantro, and lettuce, oh my! Yum!
What boxes are arriving at your house these days?
One of my favorite things is when there are things that fit inside of boxes. For example, I love those Russian matryoshka dolls, the doll that nests inside the doll that nests inside the doll--but really I just sort of love anything that nests inside a box. Here are some of the boxes filled with things that have arrived at our house lately:
1. A head full of books:
This is the latest issue of McSweeney's: a box in the shape of a head, filled with pieces of novels, stories, oral histories, poetry, and cards. Patrick gave me a subscription last Christmas, and it's seriously the most fun subscription I've ever had: you never know if you're going to get a standard book-like literary magazine, or a severed head box full of books. Awesome! You can't see from this picture, but the bottom of the box is a cross-section of the guy's neck. Gross! Yet amazing!
2. A "dairy milk" advent calendar:
This has been here since the beginning of December, actually: an advent calendar, sent "to Seamus" (i.e. Patrick) from Patrick's sisters in Ireland. In Ireland, they say "dairy milk" for what we call "milk chocolate," and in America, Patrick likes to have an Irish advent calendar to make it really feel like Christmas.
3. Presents! (Shhh, those are surprises; no photos yet!)
4. The boxes that they ship presents in:
Sorry for the blurry quality of the photo, but it's impossible to get a non-blurry one to go with this theme because Dude plays with such great, speedy gusto with empty cardboard boxes. He does his own version of the hokey-pokey, putting stuff in a box and then taking it out, sticking his face in the box and then taking it out, and then he "drives" the boxes around the house. I really don't know why we bothered to buy him actual presents--not only will the paper and ribbon be more interesting than the gifts themselves on Christmas morning, the plain cardboard boxes are apparently the best toys he's ever had.
5. A wintertime CSA box:
The CSA program we do usually only sells their veggies in the spring, summer, and fall, but they have occasional wintertime "boxes." (At the pick-up site, the veggies were actually in a box. But the farm recycles the boxes, so along the way it became a plastic bag full of things.) Beets, carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, parsnips, onions, cilantro, and lettuce, oh my! Yum!
What boxes are arriving at your house these days?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
How I Am Spending My Time Lately
My friend Becky does these funny pie charts on her blog, explaining how she spends her time. I'm new to this blogging world, so I was looking at hers for ideas of what to write about (imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?)--but I wasn't sure about putting together a pie chart, as I'm neither savvy with the internets nor with math (or "maths," as my husband calls it. them? whatever), so here is a more wordy version of how I've been spending my time:
I spend about 37% of my day breaking bananas up into small pieces. Did you know that if you push on the end of a banana, it will split itself into three sections? This is something I did not know until I started feeding a toddler, but this dividing of bananas, and then the smooshing of each of the three sections into smaller, bite-size pieces, has now become a sort of zen-like part of my every day. Dude really likes his bananas, and he's been sick lately (see below), so I'm not trying too hard to make sure he gets a huge variety of foods; I'm just content if he eats--so I give him the stuff he likes. Bananas, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and peas, to be exact. I was so determined that Dude be an omnivore, unlike his vegetarian father, but what he wants is bananas, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and peas. And lentil soup.
The past few days, I have been spending about 20% of my time hanging out with Shay in a steamy bathroom, trying to break up his croupy cough. Sometimes in the dark, in the middle of the night, trying to rock him back to sleep--these are the times when it is hard to find the humor in the situation. Sometimes in the light, in the middle of the day, while he tries to drive his book about schoolbuses that also is a schoolbus into the tub, screeches in delight while unwinding the toilet paper roll, and repeatedly "boings" the doorjam--these are the times when I'm able to find humor in the situation. Mostly, the humor is directed inwardly: before I had S, when I envisioned a scene of "reading with my children," it did not take place in the bathroom and it did not involve me saying "please don't drive your schoolbus book into the tub. You can drive your schoolbus book on the floor, or on the lid of the toilet."
I spend about 8% of my day admiring the Christmas lights on our window, working on holiday cards, browsing online shopping sites, baking gingersnaps, and generally spreading holiday cheer.
I spend 14% of my day finding cold coffee set down somewhere odd, reheating it, and then forgetting it in the microwave.
I spend 19% of my day trying to assess whether the child, dog, or grownup's leg that S is currently trying to hug, bang, or tackle is cool with being hugged, banged, or tackled. In the waiting room at the doctor's office on Monday, he actually encountered an 18-month old boy who was quite a kindred spirit: the two walked up to each other, grinned, and then gave each other a big bear hug. The bear hug kind of moved across the carpet before turning into a bear hug-tackle; S kind of got the brunt of the tackle as he ended up between the floor and the other kid. So he cried for a sec, but both dudes were fine, and the other mom and I only needed to spend fifteen seconds assessing the damage in each other's worlds, quickly figuring out that both dudes hug, and tackle, frequently--so, no biggie. This interaction required way less of my energy than the one at library storytime last week, when S walked up to a two-year old girl who was much bigger than him, smiled and hugged her, and she burst into tears. I am way more shy around strangers than my son is, and moving through the world with him, encountering other parents and dog owners and people S flirts with is forcing me to be social in a whole new way. It's eye-opening, and exhausting.
I spend 2% of my day napping--I am exhausted (see above), but there just doesn't seem to be much time to do anything about it (see above).
What are you up to these days?
I spend about 37% of my day breaking bananas up into small pieces. Did you know that if you push on the end of a banana, it will split itself into three sections? This is something I did not know until I started feeding a toddler, but this dividing of bananas, and then the smooshing of each of the three sections into smaller, bite-size pieces, has now become a sort of zen-like part of my every day. Dude really likes his bananas, and he's been sick lately (see below), so I'm not trying too hard to make sure he gets a huge variety of foods; I'm just content if he eats--so I give him the stuff he likes. Bananas, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and peas, to be exact. I was so determined that Dude be an omnivore, unlike his vegetarian father, but what he wants is bananas, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and peas. And lentil soup.
The past few days, I have been spending about 20% of my time hanging out with Shay in a steamy bathroom, trying to break up his croupy cough. Sometimes in the dark, in the middle of the night, trying to rock him back to sleep--these are the times when it is hard to find the humor in the situation. Sometimes in the light, in the middle of the day, while he tries to drive his book about schoolbuses that also is a schoolbus into the tub, screeches in delight while unwinding the toilet paper roll, and repeatedly "boings" the doorjam--these are the times when I'm able to find humor in the situation. Mostly, the humor is directed inwardly: before I had S, when I envisioned a scene of "reading with my children," it did not take place in the bathroom and it did not involve me saying "please don't drive your schoolbus book into the tub. You can drive your schoolbus book on the floor, or on the lid of the toilet."
I spend about 8% of my day admiring the Christmas lights on our window, working on holiday cards, browsing online shopping sites, baking gingersnaps, and generally spreading holiday cheer.
I spend 14% of my day finding cold coffee set down somewhere odd, reheating it, and then forgetting it in the microwave.
I spend 19% of my day trying to assess whether the child, dog, or grownup's leg that S is currently trying to hug, bang, or tackle is cool with being hugged, banged, or tackled. In the waiting room at the doctor's office on Monday, he actually encountered an 18-month old boy who was quite a kindred spirit: the two walked up to each other, grinned, and then gave each other a big bear hug. The bear hug kind of moved across the carpet before turning into a bear hug-tackle; S kind of got the brunt of the tackle as he ended up between the floor and the other kid. So he cried for a sec, but both dudes were fine, and the other mom and I only needed to spend fifteen seconds assessing the damage in each other's worlds, quickly figuring out that both dudes hug, and tackle, frequently--so, no biggie. This interaction required way less of my energy than the one at library storytime last week, when S walked up to a two-year old girl who was much bigger than him, smiled and hugged her, and she burst into tears. I am way more shy around strangers than my son is, and moving through the world with him, encountering other parents and dog owners and people S flirts with is forcing me to be social in a whole new way. It's eye-opening, and exhausting.
I spend 2% of my day napping--I am exhausted (see above), but there just doesn't seem to be much time to do anything about it (see above).
What are you up to these days?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Read it?! I haven't even taught it yet!
One of my professors in grad school used to use this joke--if you asked him if he'd read a certain book, he'd respond, "Read it?! I haven't even taught it yet!" Though the idea that one would actually teach a book without reading (at least most of) it first is a bit of an exaggeration, it gets at a certain way that academics and grad students learn to "read" certain books without actually sitting down and reading them all the way through. It turns out you can figure out a lot about a book by reading its cover, jacket, index, and table of contents, and browsing through a chapter or two.
This is a tool I use readily when reading parenting books--I find that many of the ideas could really be 3-page articles, but they are stretched into 250-page books. I like the challenge of trying to figure out the idea, the general "camp" of the author, and 2-3 concrete suggestions, without actually reading the book.
It's kind of like the challenge of covering the "answer" of those "Who wore it best?" spreads in magazines, and trying to guess correctly who did wear it best. Except that it's not really like that at all, other than the fact that those are two little games I play with the reading material by my bed.
Perhaps I play those games because I have been needing breaks from my other reading material--after describing the opening of the novel I just started reading to Patrick, he remarked, "You're reading a lot of depressing stuff lately." It's not really all depressing overall, though many of the books have a sort of dark tone to them: Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers, about Hurricane Katrina and post-9/11 policies; The Year of Fog, by Michelle Richmond, a book about a missing child that takes place mostly in San Francisco; I'm now reading Purge, by Sofi Oksanen. There's something dark about each of those books, but something beautiful about each of them as well. Novels, books of short stories, memoirs, creative non-fiction--these are books I read from cover to cover.
What about you, what are you reading lately? And is there anything that you like to "read," without really reading it?
This is a tool I use readily when reading parenting books--I find that many of the ideas could really be 3-page articles, but they are stretched into 250-page books. I like the challenge of trying to figure out the idea, the general "camp" of the author, and 2-3 concrete suggestions, without actually reading the book.
It's kind of like the challenge of covering the "answer" of those "Who wore it best?" spreads in magazines, and trying to guess correctly who did wear it best. Except that it's not really like that at all, other than the fact that those are two little games I play with the reading material by my bed.
Perhaps I play those games because I have been needing breaks from my other reading material--after describing the opening of the novel I just started reading to Patrick, he remarked, "You're reading a lot of depressing stuff lately." It's not really all depressing overall, though many of the books have a sort of dark tone to them: Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers, about Hurricane Katrina and post-9/11 policies; The Year of Fog, by Michelle Richmond, a book about a missing child that takes place mostly in San Francisco; I'm now reading Purge, by Sofi Oksanen. There's something dark about each of those books, but something beautiful about each of them as well. Novels, books of short stories, memoirs, creative non-fiction--these are books I read from cover to cover.
What about you, what are you reading lately? And is there anything that you like to "read," without really reading it?
Saturday, December 11, 2010
People- (and Machine-) Watching
One of the things I love about living in a big city like San Francisco is the people-watching. When I was still in grad school, I used to love to sit in cafes, writing, reading, watching other people writing and reading and talking, basically allowing a little bit of my mental energy to drift off and notice other things so that I wouldn't feel so locked inside my own thoughts, my own Word document. I don't have much time for sitting in cafes these days, but when I find myself at parks, in grocery stores, I find myself doing a little bit of people-watching as I go about my business. Mostly of other moms and dads, but those observations are a different post.
This one I wanted to be about Seamus, who watches everything. People, machines, cars, bicycles, everything that moves. Here he is, looking out one of the windows in our living room.
They are tearing up the corner curbs on our block to replace steep curbs with wheelchair- and stroller-friendly ramp-like curbs. There are jackhammers, temporary orange fences, men at work, all sorts of things that Dude finds fascinating. Several times a day, he goes over to the window, steps up on a little stool we got for him so that he could see out better, and watches. Sometimes he brings along his snack cup, sometimes he brings along a toy.
After spending so many months trying to create a world for him to see--holding up toys, setting up mobiles in a way that he could see them, etc., it's amazing to watch him getting lost in his own little world. I look at these pictures and think, "Jeez, those telephone wires are ugly. When is the city going to finish that project of putting all the wires underground?" I texted Patrick a photo like this the other day, and he responded "I need to wash those windows." I can't quite imagine what Seamus thinks about as he watches the dudes working on the curb, but I don't think it's the state of the windows or the telephone wires.
What do you think, what are one-year-olds saying to themselves as they watch the world go by?
This one I wanted to be about Seamus, who watches everything. People, machines, cars, bicycles, everything that moves. Here he is, looking out one of the windows in our living room.
They are tearing up the corner curbs on our block to replace steep curbs with wheelchair- and stroller-friendly ramp-like curbs. There are jackhammers, temporary orange fences, men at work, all sorts of things that Dude finds fascinating. Several times a day, he goes over to the window, steps up on a little stool we got for him so that he could see out better, and watches. Sometimes he brings along his snack cup, sometimes he brings along a toy.
After spending so many months trying to create a world for him to see--holding up toys, setting up mobiles in a way that he could see them, etc., it's amazing to watch him getting lost in his own little world. I look at these pictures and think, "Jeez, those telephone wires are ugly. When is the city going to finish that project of putting all the wires underground?" I texted Patrick a photo like this the other day, and he responded "I need to wash those windows." I can't quite imagine what Seamus thinks about as he watches the dudes working on the curb, but I don't think it's the state of the windows or the telephone wires.
What do you think, what are one-year-olds saying to themselves as they watch the world go by?
Starting
I always tell my students not to stare at the blank page, dreaming up the perfect first sentence for their essay. Just start, I tell them. You can revise it later. I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while, but I kept putting it off because I couldn't think of how to start. So I'll finally take my own advice and just start. And maybe I'll change it later.
One of my very favorite books, Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, begins with Lawrence Selden unexpectedly encountering his friend Lily Bart in Grand Central Station. "Selden paused in surprise," the novel's first sentence reads. I spend a lot of time following around an active, almost-one-year-old little boy, and I find that I spend a lot of time pausing in surprise these days, as I help him narrate what he sees and realize that the world is full of unexpected wonder. So I thought that I would make this blog about the things, big and little, exciting and mundane, that make me pause these days to think, wonder, or laugh.
One of my very favorite books, Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, begins with Lawrence Selden unexpectedly encountering his friend Lily Bart in Grand Central Station. "Selden paused in surprise," the novel's first sentence reads. I spend a lot of time following around an active, almost-one-year-old little boy, and I find that I spend a lot of time pausing in surprise these days, as I help him narrate what he sees and realize that the world is full of unexpected wonder. So I thought that I would make this blog about the things, big and little, exciting and mundane, that make me pause these days to think, wonder, or laugh.
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