Monthly Archives: March 2007

Because Today Is All About One Step Forward, Many Steps Back

I nailed the damn bouree last night. Twice, in fact. Then I blundered in the hornpipe, which is attacca directly after it. Sigh.

Most of my Haydn is better. The trouble passages aren’t as troublesome, except when they are. (No, there’s actually meaning to that. I’ve improved to the point that the really hardest bits sound worse because everything around them isn’t a complete disaster.) And if I could just get past the damn mental block about playing A flats things would be very much better.

This has been a very trying day so far. The boy is off the rails, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and things just keep going wrong (the cats weren’t fed before HRH came to bed last night so they woke Liam and I up early, Liam didn’t want breakfast, he was dressed and put in the car without having a diaper change before we left so we had to turn around and come back, and so forth). I got to deposit my latest cheque from the publisher (and yay for that), but the grocery store was crowded beyond belief. Also, that grocery store has taken to locking the gate that allows wheelchairs and strollers through, because people were walking out with carts. This left another woman with a stroller and I standing outside in frustration. We flagged down a store employee as he left and he told us to go ask at the front desk. “We can’t get in to do that,” I said, “because we can’t leave our children out here.” He went back inside to fetch someone with a key, looking mildly annoyed because it wasn’t his job. Time to rethink the brilliant client-defeating strategy, people. If it had taken any longer I would have turned around and gone to another store, one that I know I can get into with a stroller, except I couldn’t face the thought of wrestling the boy in/out/into the car again.

It took the boy forty-five minutes to fall asleep for this afternoon’s nap. I’m ready to… I don’t know what I’m ready to do. I should try to squeeze work into the next hour, but I think I may practice instead, except that will frustrate me too. I wish I could just play something pretty without working at it. My computer refuses to recognise any blank CD I put into it to record a practice CD to listen to in the car, so that project I’ve been working on for the past hour is on hold too. It’s just that kind of day, you know? Nibbled to death by ducks.

Reading

Yes, the jacket looks fabulous, and the only way I could possibly like it more is if the back was just a tad more tailored just below the shoulder blades. It’s nice to have something pretty and new because I have been feeling remarkably unpretty for a few months now.

So far it has been a week of mailbox joy, because in yesterday’s post a box of discounted books arrived. Lots of YA short fic, including a copy of the collection known as Swan Sister, which has nothing to do with my work in progress. The titular story was so moving that it made me cry, but then, apart from being well-written it was about a little baby who doesn’t live very long, and I’m hypersensitive to fragile little things in hospital incubators. Also in the box was the copy of Starhawk’s The Earth Path which I’ve been meaning to get since it came out (thanks for the reminder, Fearsclave) and Magic or Madness by Justine Larbalestier which I read most of before bed last night (it’s that good, as I expected it to be, and now I have to order the second one quickly). And for the boy there was Kitten’s First Full Moon, a book which I saw before he was born and wanted to get for him, but found the published price a little steep. I wanted to wait for the paperback but there’s still no sign of one despite the fact that it’s a Caldecott winner, so when I saw it listed on my favourite discount site I ordered it for him. He loves it, and has brought it to HRH and I to read a dozen times since yesterday afternoon. I’m glad it’s a hit.

I’m also reading Murder Must Advertise, and why has no one ever handed me one of Dorothy Sayers’ books before? I adore her writing style, and the mystery part is nicely buried in character interaction without being ignored or poorly constructed. I’ve added her to my list of authors to look for when I am in secondhand shops, which is all too infequent. (GingerGirl recommended a couple of her titles to get me started lo these many years ago, but alas, I never found them when I remembered to look. Why is it so hard to find classic mysteries, new or used? And I miss you, Ginger, wherever you are.)

I’ve been struggling with a headache off and on these past couple of days. I’m hoping it’s the change in weather.

I can feel a ruthless purge of accumulated Stuff coming on. I have no idea when it could be done, however.

Right. To work.

Mailbox Joy!

Not one, but two cheques!

Payment for work done is a lovely thing. That’s one of the hard things about this business: you put in a lot of work, and only see a lump sum somewhere down the line. These aren’t large, but any money is good money.

Not as lovely was the parcel pick-up slip in the mailbox. The postman didn’t even bother to ring. It’s dated Friday, when I was home all day; the time is marked only “PM”; and the ‘other’ box is checked as the reason. At least s/he had the decency to not claim the delivery was attempted but no one was home. Likely s/he was running late and decided to drop the last parcels at the postal counter instead of actually trying to deliver them. Whatever — it is the lovely lovely black velvet Edwardian-style jacket I got for a song on eBay! Huzzah! I will pick it up tomorrow on a walk with the boy.

Full weekend: a thoroughly enjoyable show of The Mikado on Friday night, brunch out on Saturday with the Preston-Leblancs, brunch in on Sunday morning, psankya egg-decorating early Sunday afternoon, a great visit out to spend time with Karine, Adam, and boys late Sunday afternoon, and an excellent, excellent Sinfonia concert Sunday night. My view of the celli was blocked by the person in front of me, and I found I could appreciate the music as a whole more since I wasn’t watching what the cellists were doing. I wasn’t ‘working’, in other words. Now if I could just switch that analysis mode off at will when I’m reading books….

Twenty-One Months Old!

This month has been an explosion of new words. Among them have been French fry, bean, animals, shade, table, chair, jam, elbow, noodles (which he calls ‘noddles’, terribly cute!), rainbow, two, blue, mail, CD, night-night, dear, deer (yes, he differentiates), puppy, little, yo-yo, bell, sticker, snowplough, tow truck, dump truck, paper, tickle, happy, down, yoghurt, running, beaver. We’re thrilled that he can identify ‘happy’ correctly. He’s working on ‘mine’ and ‘sad’, and he tells us he’s tired by saying ‘night-night’. Of course, he also says this when I pull the afghan over my legs when I’m cold, since tucking someone in is an indication of bed. He names lots of body parts, and strings words together: “Dada go? Puppy up. Love Maggie. Yoghurt later.” But the best new word this month: LIAM! Not only that, but he can look at himself in the mirror, point, and say “Liam”, or pat himself on the chest and say it. He’s also said “Me!” a couple of times while looking in the mirror, or when we say his name to him.

Well, to be honest, ‘Liam’ is tied with ‘love’ as the best new word of the month. He walks up to me, leans his head against me, and says “Love” in a very contented tone. Oh, hey, is that my heart swelling nigh unto bursting?

He is so terribly gentle with Maggie. He leans his cheek against her as well and says ‘love’, or ‘gentle’, or ‘nice’. He touches her various body parts and names them: “Maggie ear… toes… eye… tail…”. HRH explained to him that Maggie was actually the oldest in the family. He loves her so much that I can already see the issues we’ll have to deal with when her age finally negatively affects her quality of life.

As his fine-motor skills improve he is becoming better at crafts. We had a lot of fun making Valentines for people this year, drawing with markers and glitter glue (which is great fun to smear). He is also in love with stickers, which we were using as toilet training reinforcement for a couple of weeks, but stopped once he began demanding stickers just for running into the bathroom, or brushing his teeth. When given a sticker he would want it on the back of his hand instead of the record sheet, and then he would peel it off and stick it on someone else happily (usually HRH or I, but sometimes he’d get a cat). We’ve stopped the reward thing, as it served its purpose for the first ten days or so, and now the stickers are just fun-time treats. He tries to eat them, the nut, and once he’s licked them they don’t stick to anything. If they were paper-based I wouldn’t think twice about it, but half of them are foil-based, so we keep a close eye on him. He also likes to give stickers to his favourite toys and pictures in books. He’s generous, that’s certainly not a problem.

Remember that picture of Thomas the Tank Engine he drew? Every time he passes it, he glances up and says “Ati!”. So not only did he draw something representational, he recognises it as the original subject weeks after he drew it. This boggles my mind. Last night HRH asked him what he wanted to draw, and he said “Nemo!”. He picked the marker colours on his own, pulled the caps off and snapped them back on again properly, and drew something orange with green, blue, black, and brown accents. And then he later looked at it and said “Nemo!” again. I don’t know what to be more excited about: the ability to uncap and recap markers properly, or the execution of a representational drawing and correct recognition of that representation after a delay.

The daily routine is nice and simple. Liam wakes up on his own around 7:00, and has some toast and milk. At 7:30 we let him watch Thomas and Friends on PBS. Then at 8:00 he gets dressed, and then sits down at the table for cereal or oatmeal and fruit for breakfast, with juice. Then it’s either out to the caregiver or Grandma, or to run errands, or settling down to play. Around 9:45 he has a snack of more juice and crackers. Lunch is served between 11:30 and noon, and usually consists of some combination of grilled cheese sandwich, pasta, chicken nuggets, potatoes, and vegetables, followed by fruit or yogurt. After lunch we settle down with some milk to read stories for about ten minutes, then Liam goes down cheerfully for a nap. It feels like he shoos us out of his room — yes yes, this book, now this book, okay, bed now, bye, later! Naps last between 90 mins and 2 hours (although last week he pulled a 2 1/2 hour nap, yikes). Once he’s awake we play some more, have a snack of cheese or fruit and crackers, and sometimes watch part of a film or some TV episodes on DVD. We all sit down to dinner around 6:00, then Liam has his bath around 6:30. By 7:00 he and a parent are snuggled in the chair for a couple of stories, then he asks to be put down in the crib and left alone. He reads to himself, talks to his bunny, then nods off and sleeps for around twelve hours.

Toilet training proceeds apace. He stayed dry through his nap last Thursday, but I think that was luck. Some days he only uses two diapers/training pants, other days he uses six. He adores brushing his teeth, to the point where he’ll brush them five to seven times a day. I’m not going to argue.

This bitter cold was driving us all crazy. With this very welcome thaw, complete with sun, I’m so looking forward to being able to go for walks in relative comfort again.

Oh, and the aquarium score: we’re down to a half-dozen fish.

TMOBP Update

1,507 new words today. Onward, onward; chipping away at the plot. Maybe four or five chapters left, now.

I feel rushed, because I’m going out tonight and the next two hours are going to be squished full of fetching boy and cooking/eating dinner and getting ready to go. I hate feeling rushed.

Also, whatever’s chewing away at my back can take a hike.

Yawn

Liam woke up at 5:20 this morning, which means I have now been up for six hours. I’m stiff and creaky and nothing’s flowing. He’s woken up crying at odd times every couple of days this week; I wonder if the molars are doing sneaky secret molar-stuff under the gums.

And this morning I bid a sad farewell to Knick-Knack, the best cat with whom I ever worked. May there be plenty of BBQ Ringolos for you to mooch in the Summerlands.

Irony

The problem with being virtuous and not buying cookies or ice cream while grocery shopping means that there’s never anything sweet in the house to satisfy the sudden violent craving that hits now and again.

Which makes me cranky while fighting said craving.

And sure, I could bake cookies, but I did that the other night. I’m snacky now, not an hour from now.