Toddler for Sale: Cute.

Male.  Blue eyes, curly light brown hair, square feet.

Eats: everything but tomatoes and peas.

Likes: slides, the laundry bin, cats, a small brown dinosaur named Shmitty (replaceable for about $3.50), throwing legos and used cell phones down the stairs, the hose, Kidspace Children's Museum, his sister, dirt.

Dislikes: car seats, strollers, Raggedy Ann.

Knows approximately 3 dozen words; uses them to demand fish crackers, lit candles and video chats with grandparents.

Warning:  does not nap.

Rant: The Target Cafe

Why are the people who eat at the Pasadena Target cafe so unbelievably tweaky?

I mean really.

The people who shop at the Pasadena Target are not tweaky.  They appear to have regular jobs and regular families and regular lives and things to do.  I see them buy shampoo and Advil and diapers and Tostitos and apple juice, just like regular people.  Then they flip their sunglasses back down, steer their carts through the parking lot and stack their regular bags into their regular cars, just like the regular rest of us, and drive away.

But God Forbid you step past the cash registers and into the Target Cafe because I promise you, all the regular people will disappear and you will be surrounded by total creepiness.

This happened to me today.  I had to run into Target over lunch time and I was starving, so I slipped into the cafe for a quick sandwich.

Oh my God.

There were masses of unshaven men.  There were ladies with obvious wigs and darker-than-their-skin-color stockings that ended above their shins but below their dress hems.  There was a man (also unshaven) rocking back and forth and spinning something metal and shiny.  There was a man talking on an invisible cell phone (no ear bud) who would not stop bouncing his knee.  There was another man with very few teeth who was leaning over his lunch and eating with such fervor that it appeared as if he was afraid that one of us might steal if from him any minute. There was a woman walking around asking for change.  There was another woman who would not take her angry daughter out of the back of the shopping cart.  Amid all this, there was a pair of normal people trying to conduct an interview for a job at Target.  And me, snarfing down my sandwich and becoming nauseated.

When I had finished, I flipped down my sunglasses, slipped into the parking lot and back into the sunshine with my regular cart full of regular Target goodies.  And I smiled at the rest of the regular Target shoppers.  Until somebody gave me the stink eye because she wanted my parking spot.

Keep It Simple, Stupid

Because we believe in sleep, our lives revolve around nap times and bedtime rituals. One of my rituals is to walk around the block with both kids before The Edge's first nap. A reasonable person might assume it would take, oh 10, maybe 15 minutes to walk around one city block, tops. But this activity can kill anywhere from 25 to 45 minutes because The Edge must inspect every sprinkler head, must observe every ant moving a leaf and must point and giggle at every small yapping dog.

Peapod mostly delights in her brother's pokey pace, unless they are tantalizingly close to The Rock Section, which is both kids' favorite part of the block loop. If they are close, she will tug his chubby little hand impatiently and implore him to hurry up until they have arrived at this most magical of destinations.  The Rock Section is just the area on somebody's front yard between the sidewalk and the street where they have planted some cactus-type succulent plants and filled the rest of the space in with small rocks. These people have probably done this to save on their water bill. And maybe to get dogs to stop pooping on on their property. Who knows.

But my kids think it is the best thing ever. They stop there every time to pick up little rocks and put them on bigger rocks. Sometimes they put the little rocks on the leaf of what appears to be a yukka plant and pull the leaf down so the rocks can roll off.  Whee!

Not unlike the rhythm of my nap-driven days, my years also have a rhythm to them. Every August I rack my brain for unique and fun birthday ideas in preparation for September. You see, September is a double birthday month for Team Mihm:  both The Esposo and Peapod celebrate their birthdays in September. And when you have a spouse who gives you the trapeze for your own birthday, and a little girl who has been talking about her birthday for 7 months, you can't just phone it in.

So I think I've got The Esposo's locked down. But I was still working out the details for Peapod's celebration in my head the other day when she solved the whole thing for me. We were on our morning city block loop when Peapod got really excited.  "I know, Mommy!"  she said,  "We can have my birthday party at the Rock Section!"

We cannot do that, as the Rock Section is technically the bottom edge of somebody else's front lawn.

But her excited proclamation was a great reminder not to buy into the over-blown-kidz-birthday-party-bandwagon and realize that if I can deliver on as much fun as a pile of rocks, I should be good to go.

But we should probably have some bubbles, just in case.

July in Review - A Derivative Entry

The MVP's July In Review was such a compelling work that I felt peer-pressured by an infant into reviewing the very same month -- but from the perspective of Team Mihm. So here, in a nutshell, is our July In Review!

Ahem.

First, we traveled to Cape Cod, where we enjoyed the beaches, sand, sea air, saltwater taffy, dune grass, and our first taste of Four Seas Ice Cream, thanks to our good friends and Cape Cod regulars, The A Team.  Peapod experimented with her first official set of arm-band-swim-floaties, while The Edge took to heaping shovels full of sand onto his own beach chair, as you can see if you look carefully at the photo below.

A mere 24 hours after our arrival, I turned 24, oops, I mean 42.  Ever the clever one, The Esposo surprised me with a Price-Is-Right-Style gift presentation.  He put three envelopes in front of me, named "Thrill Seeker," "Part-Time Daredevil," and "Calculated Risk-Taker."  I chose the first one.  He made me open the other two first, to see what I did not win.  I did not win tennis lessons.  Boooo!  I also did not win trampoline lessons.  Lesser boo, but boo nonetheless.

But I did win.... flying trapeze lessons!  Yes, really!  Huge yaaayyy!!!  Hooray for The Esposo!

Ok, more on that later.

After a few days on The Cape, we went to Boston.  There we visited the Public Gardens, where the classic children's story "Make Way for Ducklings" takes place. One of us was very excited about this portion of the trip.

Later, we took a road trip out to Tufts University, The Esposo's gorgeous and green alma matter.  On the way, we may or may not have engaged in an animated debate about whether an entire university can actually be closed.  I suppose he was trying to manage our expectations since it was the weekend and it was July.  Plus after lunch it had started to rain.  Hard.  Like the kind of rain that attracts CNN reporters wearing North Face jackets with hoods.

Anyway, as a graduate of the large public university known as Go Blue U, I was certain that closing a college campus was impossible.  I was also wrong.  When we got to the Tufts campus, not a human was to be seen and not a building was to be open.  Apparently, students attend this peculiar institution to learn things and study, and when this is not happening, they go elsewhere.  I, myself, am not familiar with this phenomenon, having spent summers at Go Blue U trying to rappel down the side of Angel Hall at 1:45am, with the thrum of rap music and the smell of stale beer constantly permeating the warm summer air.  Anyway, the bookstore was closed, so we were reduced to ordering Tufts souvenirs online.  Totally not as fun.

On the last day of our trip, we took a ride on the fabled Swan Boats of Boston with some friends who had recently moved to the area from San Francisco.  This started off what seemed like an idyllic end to an idyllic vacation.  We bid our friends and the Public Garden farewell, packed up the rental van, and headed to the airport.

Then somehow our iPhones let us down.  The GPS was infuriatingly about 35 seconds behind our actual location, which does not sound like a lot, but is actually quite significant when you're traveling on the freeway and pointing at your exit that just went by.  This happened so many times that it went through the Circle of Funny. You know where it's really funny, then it's not funny at all, then it's really funny again? That. There was one point where we seemed to have entered some kind of festival, and were sitting in traffic next to a bunch of food tents and people dressed up. I was afraid that someone might decorate our van if we sat still there much longer.

At last, we reached the airport and we thought we were home free. Our plan was to get checked in, go through security and then hang out with Nana, who had been traveling with us, to say our last goodbyes. But when we got to the other side of security, it became clear that it would be difficult or impossible for her to get to us. We had just traveled with her for 6 days, and not said a proper goodbye!

We boarded the plain, exchanging phone messages with Nana, hoping she was not as sad as we were. Then we sat. And sat. And sat. We sat for over an hour before we even pulled away from the gate. This is not a big deal unless you are four humans sitting in three seats, and one of these humans insists on standing on your thighs and using your head as a lever to see over the seat behind you.

Then The Edge's fussiness started, followed by turbulence. Fortunately Peapod and The Edge have not taken physics yet and so they are unaware of the consequences of plumetting 33,000 feet straight to earth. I have taken it twice. I cannot explain The Esposo's relative calm except that he had a beer and I didn't.

About seven hours later, we landed at LAX. Home free, right? Wrong.

All our luggage showed up except... The Edge's car seat. This meant waiting another 90 minutes in the airport with two over-tired kids (it was 10:30pm -- 1:30am by our body clocks) and two Leaning Towers of Smart Carts full of luggage. The low point was when Peapod dropped her plastic hotel key (she likes to keep hotel keys as souvenirs) behind a sofa and started bawling "Moooommmmmyyyyyy!!!!! Get it baaaaaaccck!!!!!!" at the exact same moment that The Edge decided it was super funny to smack me on the face and laugh like The Joker. Fortunately I had a zen moment and was able to put it all in perspective:  nobody was injured. We were not in a hospital in a foreign country. Nobody had died. It was all ok. I put The Edge down, hoisted the couch (it was one of those weird superhuman-strength-moments), picked up Peapod's hotel key (and a magnet shaped like a dog -- bonus!), handed it to her, and smiled.

Within 5 minutes, the Virgin American attendant had gotten me a loaner car seat and The Esposo had appeared with the car. Home again, home again, fiddle dee dee!

So that was the trip.

A couple of weeks later, Team Mihm headed out to the Santa Monica Pier for me to redeem my birthday present.  See films below.

If this flying trapeze stuff seems scary to anyone, let me put it into context. While I was doing this, The Esposo wrangled two kids under the age of four on the Santa Monica Pier for two hours straight. Now that's scary.

Let's hear it for July! (And my fabulous Esposo!)

Thank You, Johnny Cash

I try really hard not to make this blog nauseating.

As in "look at this adorable picture of my baby playing with a puppy and carrying a flower!" or other such drivel that might make a reasonable person barf. But the events of the past few days made it really hard to avoid gag-worthy subject matter -- until Johnny Cash entered the picture and saved us all.

The first super-cute thing that happened was that Peapod got her first two wheeled bike. Well, actually four wheels if you count the training wheels in back. Which of course dictates that I insert at least one gratuitous cute picture of subject riding said bike. See below.



Please accept my deepest apologies for the fact that her outfit matches the bike. She picked out her clothes that morning and at that time, I had only seen the colors of the bike on the Craigslist photo online, so I did not realize the full potential for visual assault until we arrived at the seller's home. And as anyone knows who has driven across town to "look at" something on Craigslist -- it was too late by then. We had already fallen in love with the bike -- and the little girl it used to belong to.

Then, before we recovered from the bike purchase, 24 hours had passed and The Edge was sitting on a rocket ship at Little Kutz, getting his very first haircut. Insert second gratuitous cute photo.



Ridiculous, right?

Just when I was thinking I had a normal family, Peapod reminded me otherwise and saved the day. We were driving to her swim lesson this morning when Johnny Cash came on the radio singing "Ring of Fire."

Peapod: Who is this singing?

Me: It's Johnny Cash.

Peapod: It's just like that blue guy!

Me: What?

Johnny Cash: Love's a burnin' thing and it makes a firey ring...

Peapod: See? It's like that blue guy from China!

Now, by way of some background, the Esposo's parents had just returned from the World Expo in Shanghai, China and they brought the kids some souvenirs. One of them was a little stuffed version of the Expo's mascot, named Haibao. Earlier that morning Peapod had inexplicably named him Johnny Cash instead. Not just Johnny. Johnny Cash. This is him.



Me: I think his name is Haibao. He's the mascot from the...

Peapod: What?

Me: Never mind.

And He's Off!

First, A Song (to the tune of Row Row Row Your Boat)

Walk, Walk, Walk About,
The Edge is on the move...
Wiggly wobbly, giggly bobbly
Life is but a groove!

Yeah!

In the past two weeks or so, I am thrilled to report that The Edge has officially become a toddler! He's been teasing us with walking for about two months, but we can say it's official now because he uses walking as his primary form of locomotion. And because yesterday he hauled a package of toilet paper halfway across the house, which I thought was pretty good. Before he would walk as many as 27 steps and then get back down on his knees and crawl for the rest of the day, just to bug me.

Anyway, it's a big deal because now I no longer will go through 1.5 bottles of stain remover a week trying to get the knees of his pants clean. Unless he takes up cupcake smearing. See figure 1.

Fig. 1

Father's Day Gift Ideas

This is the part in the blog where I take up space (and potentially your time) to promote my own bad self. How could I be such a jerk? Let me explain...

I've been working with The Esposo to try to juice up his online health insurance website in the eyes of the Google-bots. To do that, we have to generate lots of content outside of Medicoverage that links back to it. (Hence the two gratuitous links above). To add further confusion and to potentially also cross your eyes, one must additionally try to ensure that those outside links that link to Medicoverage, are also, um, linked to.

Anyway, one of my pen names is Katie Banks and I have written an article as Katie about Father's Day gift ideas. Check it out and, if you like it, vote it up (use the little green button on the bottom). In my own defense, the article might actually help you to plan a fun Father's Day for the Super Dad in your life. If not, um, ... I'll.. uh.... buy you a fudgesicle..?

12-Minute Mile

Peapod entered her first official race last weekend and it was ridiculously fun. I suppose it was technically The Edge's first race as well, since he was an official entrant, but it's hard to give the guy credit since he spent the entire race slumping in a jogging stroller, eating Peanut Butter Bumpers out of a snack trap.

(I'm breaking my "no pictures" rule because I like this one so much)


It was The Esposo's idea. Sometimes he has bad ideas. Like the potato that is currently growing as a science experiment in what used to be a really nice water carafe. But when he has good ideas, he really hits them out of the park. He got it in his head that he wanted to celebrate our dog's 16th birthday by taking her to an off-leash dog beach on Saturday and then running the "Dog Mile" in Santa Barbara's annual "State Street Mile" race on Sunday. So he built a weekend around it and sooner than you can jam a dog bed, a step stool, two kids, some sunscreen, an old dog, and two strollers into a Highlander, we were off.

The beach was fun, but the race was just about perfect. I got to pin a number on my daughter's shirt for the very first time, which was surreal and magical for this washed-up, aging former athlete. Then we got in line with a bunch of other Dads and Moms and kids and dogs. There were dogs everywhere. Fat ones and shaggy ones, hot dogs and costume-wearing dogs. Most were barking or howling except ours, because she is mostly deaf. Did I mention that she is 16?

Then the whistle blew and everyone took off like bats out of hell. Including Peapod, which took me by complete surprise and left me lurching behind the Baby Jogger to catch up. The Esposo is a former track athlete who ran this same race a few years back in 4:56. Yes sports fans, that's a sub-five-minute mile. I, myself, am not quite as fast (stop laughing, Big Brother). Fortunately for me, Peapod could not keep up the pace of insanity for long and ended up riding another two-tenths-of-a mile on The Esposo's shoulders while she caught her breath.

Around the half mile mark, our aging dog became an anvil on a leash. My pace in comparison became quite perky. But then at about 6-tenths-of-a-mile, when we had dropped to exactly dead last, something truly magical happened. People on the sidelines had begun to clap and cheer for Peapod as if she had just set a new land speed record. Back on her feet by then, she had picked up the pace and was proudly waving back to her new fans and yelling "Hello!" and "Hi guys!"

When I was about 10, I won the Class III (that's old gymnastics-speak for "mediocre level") State Beam Championships. I was not a fraction as proud then as I was watching my 3-and-a-half-year-old daughter soak in the applause of complete strangers as she ran a mile in 12:05 to finish in last place.

After the finish line, there were the requisite race sponsors handing out their freebie samples and giveaways. The Esposo explained to Peapod that the water bottle she got there was her prize for not giving up and for finishing the whole race. She fell asleep holding onto it in her car seat during the drive home, and an athlete was born. Well, at least, two aging, washed up former athlete parents can hope so.

Sap in the City

The Esposo just gave me a super fantastic Memorial Day gift: he took both kids for the afternoon and urged me to do something that I deemed "fun." Left with the prospect of several hours without kids, a husband, or a meal to cook, I sort of panicked for a minute. Or five. First I worked out. Then I realized that working out did not qualify as "fun." Afterward, I actually caught myself folding laundry because I though it would be nice to "get ahead." Ahead of what, you moron? GET OUT OF THE HOUSE BEFORE YOU SWIFFER SOMETHING.

At last, I came to my senses and typed in www.moviefone.com and learned that Sex and the City 2 was playing 1.2 miles from where I was standing that very minute. I showered and ate a leftover burrito in record time. I texted V Train to see if she could join me but she was booked, so I ventured out alone. And it was awesome. I bought popcorn and a gigantic Diet Coke. I sat right in the middle. I saw previews.

The movie was cute. If you're a woman and you haven't seen it yet, grab a bunch of girlfriends and treat yourself. I saw one woman walking her at-least-88-year-old-mom in by the arm, and a gang of 10 women who filled up the better part of a row. It's not cinema at it's finest, but it's a ton of chick fun.

I do have a warning for fellow moms, however: you may tear up if you are a sap like me. There is a part where Charlotte is trying to make cupcakes, take a call from Carrie, calm her screaming youngest child and pay attention to her icing-smearing oldest child, when she ends up crying in the pantry. The only thing that has stopped this exact episode from occurring in my own home is that we do not have a pantry. And there are some other mom-moments that are scary-relatable, but I will not share them, lest I spoil too much of the plot.

Anyway, I know Memorial Day is when we are supposed to remember all those unfathomably brave men and women who have made life in the States so worth celebrating. But I found it was a lot easier to take some time that weekend to pause and remember our soldiers after I had a little time to pause and remember myself.

A Hill of Beans

Never attempt to out-think a toy maker. That's what The Esposo and I did and we ended up with a plastic pond of murky water and a small hill of beans in our yard.

We decided we needed to buy a bunch of entertaining, water-based crap for the back yard so that Peapod and The Edge would be amused throughout the heat of the summer. We are now the proud owners of a brand new inflatable kiddie pool with an accompanying inflatable, attachable kiddie slide, a Krazy Sprinkler Hose Thingie, and a Water-And-Sand-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella.

Now, the Water-And-Sand-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella had a very compelling picture on the box. It showed three impeccably clean toddlers standing around it, sharing the toys and smiling at the camera, but I was not fooled by this for one second. I knew that this miracle was accomplished solely through the magic of Photoshop. Immediately I began to concoct a plan to avoid what was sure to become the Mud-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella.

So I put said table in the car, took it home and discussed it with The Esposo, who I find to be particularly crafty when it comes to solving puzzles like these. Together, our Experienced and Clever Parent Brains came up with the idea of beans. We would put beans in the half of the table where the sand was supposed to go! Beans, we reasoned, do not make mud. Beans can be poured and scooped and plus they feel really cool in your hands. Beans would be the answer.

So I went to the grocery store and spent $21 on six very large bags of pinto beans (they were on sale).

Back at home, I poured them into the Water-And-Bean-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella and watched smugly as our kids scooped them up with glee and tossed them happily into the water side of the table. This was good! It went on for about 2 minutes and 14 seconds, then The Edge started to put the beans in his mouth. This was not as good. Peapod and I spent the next hour barking "No Mouth!" intermittantly to The Edge until he seemed to get the hang of it.

Two days of cloudy and cool weather would keep us from the backyard water crap and so we did not see what was happening to the beans in our absence.

When we returned, the water side of the table, which was now actually about 78% water and 22% beans, had become disturbingly murky. A dark ring had formed at the water line and very small flying bugs had started to breed. Apparently we were supposed to drain the thing after we were done playing with it. But that was not all. Left unsupervised for just two days, the beans had sprouted. Of course they had.

I decided to put an end to our agricultural experiment, dump out the beans, scrub the table clean, and start all over using just water on both sides. What I did not count on is that both kids had more fun with the plain old hose that afternoon than they had with all our fancy new crap.

Ritz Raff

Every now and then we breathe rarefied air.

Fortunately we have kids to bring us back down to our rightful places before we let the staff at the Ritz Carlton allow us to believe that we actually deserve to have our ski boots whisked away and replaced by slippers. Slippers!

Now let me explain.

We just got back from a fabulous family vacation to Lake Tahoe and San Francisco. While in Tahoe, we met a family friend for lunch at the brand new and, at the risk of being redundant, totally fancy, ski-in-ski-out Ritz Carlton at North Star. Mind you, we were just there for lunch, we were not hotel guests. But these Ritz Carlton people have a way of making you feel not just like you are on vacation, but that you are in fact a whole different person. In my case, even though I had both Peapod and The Edge with me, for a short while I forgot that I had frozen boogers on my right shoulder and poop bags, little green socks and a pink plastic necklace in my pockets.

The lobby looked like a cross between a ski lodge and a spa with throw pillows more expensive than my whole couch. When we arrived at the restaurant, they made our stroller disappear and replaced our skiers’ boots with slippers.

Halfway into The Esposo’s bloody Mary, Peapod asked him if he would take her to the potty. We continued our chatter in their absence about how gorgeous the restaurant was – weren’t the exposed wooden beams so pretty and wasn’t the etched glass something?

Then they came back and Peapod made her big announcement about the bathrooms.

“Hey guess what? The bathrooms here are really clean. Nobody wrote on the potty!”

The whole table cracked up, of course. Sure, it’s fun to be fancy, but it’s even better not to forget where you come from.

Put Me in the Zoo

Peapod had her first-ever school field trip today – they went to the zoo. This was something that had been scheduled once before, but it had to be postponed because big rain showers were predicted for the original date. When I shared that particular information with Peapod, she sank into her car seat and considered it thoughtfully for a few brief moments. Then she declared “I’m ok with that Mommy” and moved seamlessly onto the topic of whether baby ducks were wild or not. Which is actually not that easy to answer if you think about it.

Anyway. The re-scheduled zoo field trip date was back upon us and this time the weather would cooperate. Unfortunately my brain would not. It went sort of like this:

8:00pm the night before: tucking her in for the night.
Peapod: “Mommy, will the polar bears at the zoo be able to get me?”
Me: “No Sweet Pea. The zoo is actually designed to be very safe for people to look at the animals.”
Peapod: “But what actually stops the polar bears from getting me?” (She really likes to use the word ‘actually.’)
Me: “Well, they built a moat around the place where the polar bears hang out.”
Peapod: “What’s a moat?”
Me: “Um. It’s like a big, long hole. Sometimes they fill it with water, like a river. The polar bears would fall into it before they could get to you.”
Peapod: “What about the gorillas?”
Me: “I think the gorillas are in cages, Sweet Pea.” The gorillas are definitely not in cages.
Peapod: “Ok.”
Me: “Ok my angel. You’d better get to sleep fast because tomorrow’s a big day! Your first ride on a real school bus!”

10:15pm – 1:35am.
I repeatedly dream that the school bus inexplicably rolls over on the freeway.

8:37am Field Trip Day.
I walk her into the classroom and am paralyzed by the decision of whether to leave her jacket on or off. It is too chilly to go without it, but it's supposed to warm up later. Plus the jacket is very special – a gift from her godparents (and quite expensive) and I am sure she’ll lose it if she brings it. Why I did not consider this before, I cannot tell you. Her track record on being in charge of past jackets is 0/1. In my own defense, I am not the only mother behaving like a complete spaz over the jacket decision.
8:41am. Still in the classroom.
I gather The Edge, who is flirting like a madman with his favorite teacher, Ms. Dangerfield, up off the classroom rug and decide to take Peapod’s jacket with me. I kiss her goodbye, wish her well on her field trip and spend the walk back to the parking lot wondering if I imagined those goose bumps on her neck.
9:00am. Back at home.
I tromp down to the The Esposo’s basement office and bust through the door. He instinctively rolls his chair to me and reaches his arms out to take The Edge. And waits for my story.
Me: "I’m freaking out. I dreamt last night that the bus crashed. Help me."
The Esposo: (smiling) "In the history of LA Unified there has been only one school bus fatality and that was because a garbage truck malfunctioned right at the moment that a school bus was crossing it’s path. A total freak accident. It’s going to be fine."
Me: "She doesn’t go to an LA Unified school."
The Esposo (still unfazed by my lunacy): "You get the idea. Buses are safe. They’re huge and the drivers are very impressive. You don’t need to worry. Really."
Me: "But it’s cold and she doesn’t have a jacket and I have to put The Edge down for a nap right now..."
The Esposo: "Do you want me to go bring a jacket to her?"
Me: (incredulous, handing him one of Peapod’s less precious jackets) "Would you?"

I’m not sure what he said next, but there was some mumbling and eye rolling and sighing but then for some reason he hugged me and then would you believe that fabulous Esposo drove right back to the school to take that jacket to Peapod!

12:30pm. Picking up Peapod at School
Me: "So what did you see at the zoo?"
Peapod: "Um. Monkeys that were big and black and maybe they were actually gorillas. And I saw a walrus that swam past us in the water. But Mom I didn’t see any bears."

It was sunny and warm by then, but she was still wearing the jacket.

Applause, Applause!

The Edge just learned how to clap and it is totally delightful.

Since Big Sister Peapod is now almost 3 and a half years old and can sort the mail, make a cappuccino and use Bank of America's online bill pay feature, it's easy to forget how fun it is to watch a baby learn how to do new baby things.

It happened very suddenly during breakfast, sometime last week. Peapod was at the kitchen island eating Apple Cheerios, and I was at the sink, with my back turned. Then, out of nowhere, like balloons and confetti dropping from the ceiling to celebrate a store's millionth shopper, The Edge burst into applause in what I'm pretty sure was a commemoration of the millionth time I'd washed the high chair tray!

I'm not sure how he's been keeping track of it all this time, but it would explain that tattered notebook and pencil in his crib. Anyway, the effect was quite magical. Peapod and I both stopped what we were doing, looked at each other and shouted "He can clap!" We then spent the rest of the morning making fools of ourselves in an effort to get him to do it again.

What I Ate Today (By: The Edge)

My parents have me on a very strict diet because I am a baby and I think also because I have only two teeth. I also have a dog named Sapphira.

I think they should let me eat more things like they do and I also think they should let me operate the microwave because it spins things around and dings and I am pretty sure I could do it as it looks quite simple. Here is a list of what I ate today so you can see for yourself that I am ready for more.

• Formula
• Bits of bread. Why do they tear it up for me first? I can tear it up myself! Have they not seen my prior work on catalogs?
• Something mushy that tasted like oatmeal and apples mixed together which my Mom then mixed with more oatmeal. Why?
• Star-shaped puffs.
• Lint from under the dining room table. My Mom thinks she Swiffs a lot, but she doesn’t.
• A Frosted Mini Wheat. Note that I had to get this myself from under the dishwasher. My Mom eats them – the hypocrite! – yet she will not share them with me. But I noticed that when she caught me with the Mini Wheat, she let me keep it and she also seemed sort of impressed.
• Formula
• Organic butternut squash and corn. Not that you could tell by the taste, but it said so on the container.
• More pre-torn bread.
• More star-shaped puffs. She puts them in a contraption that she calls a “snack trap” that she claims is meant to keep the stars from spilling out. But I really think the device on the top of this “snack trap” is meant to be a delay tactic to buy my Mom just enough time to do things like pay the cashier at Target or fish the wipes out of the diaper bag. She cannot fool me, as I was not born yesterday.
• Two pieces of Styrofoam from the blocks at Kidspace. My Mom got the first one out of my mouth, but she does not know about the second. I plan to poop it out later as a surprise. Ha ha!
• A rock.
• Formula. They feed me a lot of this. I think it is why I am chubby, but I am not sure.
• Organic chicken and pasta dinner. I wonder why they buy all this organic baby food for me? Maybe they think it will balance out the lint and the Styrofoam.
• Part of a catalog.

You see? I am experimenting with all kinds of things on my own and am doing just fine. If you have the time and would like to support me, please send an email to my Mom and tell her that I am ready to move past baby food and try things like waffle irons and mustard and fruit. Yeah!