The Happiest Baby on the Block

Caedmon is a happy baby. 

He smiles a lot.  He giggles when you tickle him and play certain games like peek-a-boo.  He's quite easy to please. 

This week, however, he has taken his happy baby-ness to a new level.  He smiles all the time.  He laughs easily.  He smothers Derek and I with nine-month-old-baby-boy affection. 

You see, last Friday Atticus and Adelaide left to spend a week with Derek's parents.  So while A & A are having the time of their lives at Grandma and Papa's house, Caedmon is here with us, experiencing the joy of single childhood.

No one has stepped on him in a week.

No one has bitten his face.

No one has sat on him.

No one has grabbed his foot to keep him from crawling away and escaping whatever torment he's currently enduring.

 And so as much as I'm looking forward to reuniting our little family this weekend, I do feel kind of bad for our Spud. 

As always, I'll do my best to shield him from the random violence and over-affection his older siblings bestow upon him, and when I fail, just tell myself that he'll be the toughest kid in preschool.

The Sunflower State

When I first moved to Connecticut, the people I met had all kinds of questions about my home state.  None had ever been to Kansas- surprise, surprise- so I became their primary reference guide.  Over time, I discovered that their questions could be grouped into four main categories:  Geographical, Agricultural, Tornadic, and Other.  While I certainly didn't mind- in fact, often welcomed- queries about my upbringing in the midwest, after a while I did get tired of being asked whether or not I had ever milked a cow.  Here's a little taste of what I was often asked.

Geographical: 

• Kansas- that's one of those states in the middle, right?
• Hmmm, Kansas- that's one of those square states, right?

Agricultural:

• Did you grow up on a farm?
• Have you ever milked a cow?
• Have you ever touched a cow?
• Have you ever touched a pig?
• Have you ever touched a chicken?  I mean a live one?
• Have you ever ridden a horse?
• Do you know any cowboys?
• Wait, what did you say?  What's 4-H?
• Have you ever ridden on a tractor?

Tornadic: 

• Have you ever seen a tornado?
• What's it look like?
• What's it sound like?
• I heard that the sky can be completely clear and blue and a tornado can just come right down without warning.  Is that true?
• How can you live in a place that has things like tornadoes?

Other:

• Do you like "The Wizard of Oz?"
• Isn't Kansas, like... kind of claustrophic?

I only received that last question once, and was completely bewildered by it, until my co-worker explained that he would feel claustrophic if he ever lived in a place so far from any open ocean.  I told him that Connecticut, with all it's trees and high population density felt far more claustrophic to me than my wide-open-spaces home. 

I have to say that I probably received more tornado questions than any other, closely followed by those in the Agricultural category.  One of my favorites is one that was actually posed to Derek.  A man asked Derek where he was from, and when he responded, "Iowa," the man followed up by asking, "So, you get a lot of hurricanes out there?"

Derek paused, then clarified, "Hurricanes?" 

The man missed his chance to correct his gaffe when he said, "Yeah, hurricanes."

"Nope, we don't really get any hurricanes in Iowa."  I think it showed great restraint on Derek's part for not giving any number of smart-aleck remarks that had to have come to mind.

We Love Michael Buble

And I don't care who knows it.

I also don't care that this probably puts us firmly in the category labeled "squares." 

I further don't care that the very fact that I use the term "squares" means I'm a double-square. (Ooohhh, man, I'm a square squared.  Get it?  Square to the power of two?  Anyone?  Anyone?)

Just about seven years ago, shortly after moving to Connecticut, I discovered the music of Michael Buble.  I shared this discovery with Derek, and he liked it, too.  This was a good thing because we don't always have the same musical taste.  Aside from his talent, I like the music of Buble because it exposes a new audience to a variety of artists.  In the space of a few albums he has covered everyone from Van Morrison to the Carpenters to Elvis Presley to Ray Charles.  This, to my mind, is a good thing.  Plus it makes me want to go and listen to the originals, which is also a good thing.  Lots of goodness here, people. 

Our first MB concert was in Connecticut, and while I had enjoyed his albums, I wasn't really looking forward to the live experience.  I just assumed it was going to be a kind of lounge act where some Canadian dude crooned a bunch of standards.  I was wrong.  He is a marvelous entertainer, one both Derek and I enjoyed, and seriously funny.  No polite smiles or awkward fake laughter needed.

Since then, we've wanted to see him live again, and we got the chance last night.  Along with some dear friends (and thanks to Derek's mom who watched the little darlin's for us), we went to see Buble perform in Des Moines, and he was just as good as we remembered.  His set, lights, etc, were all a bit bigger than they had been the first time we saw him, but then, he's moved up in the world.  We had floor seats toward the back (which means short little me watched him on the giant screens for much of the time), until he made his way back to a smaller stage right by us and performed a few songs there.  It was fun to watch him sing up close.  He was impressive.  And sweaty.  I guess that's what you get for wearing a full suit under blazing-hot lights with lots and lots of hopeful women pressing in to get as close to you as possible.  Like they had a chance- his wife was in a little crow's nest right there next to us.  She was blonde and pretty, and did a pretty good job of acting not-bored despite the fact that I'm guessing that's the bazillionth time she's seen that particular show. 

Our friends who went with us- Buble neophytes- also enjoyed the show.  I think I speak for everyone when I say we can't wait to go see him again.

Even if it does mean we're squares.




Note:  Yet again I can't figure out how to add an accent over letters, and it is driving me CRAZY.  Buble is supposed to have an accent over the 'e'.  (Say: Boob- Lay)  If you are more tech-savvy than I am (and it doesn't take much), please help me.  Today. 

The Crisler Life

When I talk to someone on the phone that I haven't seen in a while, at some point the following questions are always asked:

"How are the kids?  How is Adelaide?  How is Atticus?  How's Caedmon?"

Our children are young enough that they do change a lot from week to week; however, I still don't often know how to answer this.  Our lives just aren't that exciting. 

"Well," I often begin, "let's see.  Adelaide has started reading.  So that's, um, good.  Atticus is... Atticus.  He likes music.  And being rough with Caedmon.  And playing outside.  Caedmon babbles a lot, and crawls, and... stuff." 

Riveting, I know.  At this point I'm usually tempted to exaggerate a teensy bit, but I'm afraid it would be a little obvious.  "Adelaide is reading and has started speaking Mandarin and Atticus likes to destroy everything and volunteers ten hours a week at the nursing home and Caedmon is pulling up and is learning baby sign language."  I don't do this because, well, it's just not true.

This is the ugly truth.

Adelaide likes to put on her play make-up most days.



She feels no need to look in the mirror while doing so.

When we're at home, Atticus is generally fun and happy.



When we go out in public, he appears sullen and stares at everyone distrustfully, especially if Derek isn't there.


Caedmon is at that stage where I can haul him out and make him do fun tricks, like crawling, babbling, and pulling up to various items of furniture.

He also likes to pull himself up to the trash can, grab ahold of the sack, and pull the whole can onto it's side, so that he can take the lid off, rifle through the contents, and scavenge for scraps of food.  Thankfully the only thing I've found him with so far is an almost-empty jar of peanut butter.

The Crisler life is so glamorous.

Laughable

The other day, I picked up a book to read.  This is not unusual behavior on my part. 

Adelaide settled in next to me and stared at the pages of my book.  This is not unusual behavior on her part.

I read for about a minute.  Then Adelaide pointed at the book and asked, "Does that say 'so'?" 

"Yes."

"Does that say 'the'?"

"Yes."

"Does that say 'look'?"

"Yes."

"Does that say 'over'?"

And on and on it went.  "Does that say 'bad, even, do, for, of, met, you, to, if, go, from, she, love'?"

I silently kept count in my head, and when we hit word number 35, I started laughing.  Adelaide paused, joined in for a few seconds, then asked, "Why are we laughing?" 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts.  Just to say, "Because I'm happy," would have been accurate, but not really the whole truth.  Sometimes when something new and amazing comes along, I just can't help but laugh.  When I was pregnant with Adelaide and felt her move for the first time, I stopped what I was doing and laughed and laughed, full of the wonder of it all.  When Atticus first said, "Mama," the joy seemed to bubble up out of me in the form of a laugh.  And that's what happens when I see Adelaide reading.  It seems to come so easily to her, and to see her enjoying and catching on so fast to something that I love, it's wonderful.  And, apparently, laughable. 

I tried to explain all this to Adelaide, then apologized in advance for being the mother that, instead of crying at her wedding and graduations, will likely be laughing like a loon, making a complete spectacle of myself.  She accepted my apology with the caveat that I not be too loud so as not to embarass her.  "Fat chance," I thought, but instead meekly said, "I'll try, honey." 

And now, for the non sequitur of the week, here is Caedmon.

We spend our mornings playing at home, walking around town, visiting the library and the playground.  By lunchtime most days, the poor little guy is plum tuckered.

He usually falls asleep over his sweet potatoes and Crispy Oats (that's Aldi-speak for Cheerios).

 
He takes a nap, wakes up, and we do it all over again. 

I love summer.

Pride Goeth Before A Fall

Do you struggle with pride? 

Let me lend Adelaide to you for a day.  She'll clear that right up.

A few days ago, I decided to change before Derek got home.  I had been wearing ratty old clothes for most of the day, but decided my husband didn't need to be greeted by that depressing sight when coming home from work.  I came down the stairs in my fresh clothing, only to be greeted by Adelaide, who cocked her head and looked at me critically.

"Did you change your clothes for Daddy?"

"Yup."

Her expression changed to one of confusion.  "Do you want him to think you look handsome?"

"No, handsome wasn't exactly what I was going for..."

"Then why are you wearing brown?  It doesn't look very nice."

I tried to keep in mind that her current idea of "looking nice" includes lots of rhinestones, hooker heels, and pink. 

Then just yesterday, she was asking how everyone around the world came to speak different languages.  We got into a discussion about the Biblical tower of Babel and God changing a common language into many to confuse the people.  One of the nice things about Adelaide is that she listens intently, then shows that she has been paying attention by asking (about a million) questions.  I braced myself for the usual onslaught, of which the first was, "What did the tower of Babel look like?" 

I replied,  "Well, I don't really know, let's look in the Bible and see what it says-"
"No, no," she interrupted.  "I mean did you see it?  Were you alive when that Bible story happened?"

It's a good thing I've never been particularly senstive about my age and getting older.  It's also a good thing I have Atticus to say things like, "Dat's purdy, Mommy," no matter what I'm wearing.

Music To My Ears

A couple months ago, I was listening to Atticus run through his nightly musical repertoire.  First the ABC's, followed by Jesus Loves Me, concluded by the Itsby Bitsy Spider.  As I listened to his little two-year-old-boy voice, I thought to myself, I should record this.  It's just so sweet, and one of those things I'll probably have forgotten about in a year.

Well, I didn't record it.  Now I'm kicking myself, because he sings those preschool songs in a much different way, just two months later. 

He's transformed the ABC's into a stylized, syncopated version of itself.  I'm sure if he could snap, he'd be busy keeping time with his fingers. 

"A-B/ C-D/E-F-G/pause/ H-I/ J-K/ L-M-N-O-P..."

You get the idea. 

If it weren't for the lyrics, I wouldn't recognize Jesus Loves Me.  It resembles nothing else so much as Alien Ant Farm's cover of Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson.  Where before there was sweet melody, a slick white suit, and awesome choreography, (or maybe just the melody part) there is now only aggressive chanting.  It sounds like Atticus is just waiting for someone to try and suggest that No, Jesus does not love him.

The Itsby Bitsy Spider is the song that is the most unchanged.  He's so busy trying to get all the hand movements down and laughing hysterically when he knocks himself over with the force of his movement at "wash the spider out," that he doesn't concentrate too much on altering the tune.  He contents himself with singing it in his best and deepest love-child-of-James-Earl-Jones-and-Lauren-Bacall voice.  He can get pretty low.  If you've ever heard Derek speak, you know why.  And I haven't been a soprano since the 6th grade, when Mrs. Martin instructed me to go to the opposite end of the room in Walnut Valley Youth Choir.

Adelaide usually joins in when Atticus veers off the musical beaten path.  Unless he tries to mess with Switchfoot or a Disney song- some things are just sacred.