Funny you should ask. This is actually one of the few Marvin Gaye/Al Green/Janis Joplin songs the aspiring drummer who lives behind our house has not yet massacred with his double kick drum (or whatever it's called- I'm not down with the lingo). His new urge to practice has driven us inside on more than one occasion. It's not that bad when he sticks to whatever it is he's usually playing- but there's just no place in "Let's Get it On" for the double kick.
Wren and I are sitting across the table from each other. She just finished a cup full of apple-flavored Yo-Baby and is now working on spreading a pile of cheerios in as wide a circumference around the highchair as possible. Ramona is helping with the clean-up. Wren's a little peeved that she doesn't have all my attention but I think she'll get over it.
She has a tooth now- so tiny and pearly- on the bottom in the middle. It's pretty cute but I'd like it more if it (and all it's little sub-gum friends) didn't keep us up all night. Wren's new accomplishments, besides sprouting teeth, are clapping, dancing to music, laughing at jokes (which is just whenever she sees you laugh) shaking her head no, standing unsupported for long periods of time, and eating finger-foods (instead of just smashing them into her hair).
She also started responding to Ramona's whinning with this high-pitched squeaking call. She'll hear Ramona whine at the door and turn her head to squeal- "gwee gwee gwee". It feels in my ears like I really shouldn't be able to hear it- just on the absolute upper limit. Wren's delighted about it- she thinks she's talking to Ramona. When we ask her what a dog says I'm sure she'll say "gwee gwee." They'll be no end to the mockery in nursery school. Meanwhile Lazlo and I have our own response to Ramona's whine: "If you don't be quiet I'm going to kick you in the face/kill you with my bare hands/set you free on I-10..." you get the idea. We try to be inventive. We're not really awful people. I don't raise my voice, so she thinks I'm just paying attention to her. It's just that the constant grating whine (along with eating my panties) is Ramona's way of letting us know she's unhappy that we have a child and don't take her to the park more often. Ever since watching "Dissing your Dog" by Will Ferrel, I've found it helps me vent some spleen.
Well Lazlo is busy with work and school, of course. And I've been working on submitting an application to grad school. It's a hassle to get all the stuff together, and I still need to write my statement of purpose. Also I need to find one more recommender. I loved going to UT but it sure wasn't the best place to form long-term recommender/recommendee relationships with professors. I just took whatever classes looked interesting that semester- they were all so specific. I don't have any basic, sweeping survey classes and I certainly never took the same professor twice.
So of course having all this stuff to do has inspired me to get busy with my procrastination. I've been researching the Golden Age of British Detective fiction and it's been really interesting. I -love- these novels and I encourage all of you to check them out. There was actually a club they were all in- Christie, Marsh, Sayers, Chesterson. They made rules that there could be no "untraceable poisons" no "mysterious Orientals" (?) and "at most one secret passage." Also the books had to have a puzzle plot; that is, they had to be laid out in a way that it would be possible to figure out who did it. They're like great crossword puzzles with lots of narrative and characterization.
Well we're home again obviously. I haven't had the blogging zeal lately. I've barely had the diaper-washing zeal, and if only one thing gets done it's going to be diapers. Some day perhaps we'll bore those of you who haven't already heard it with the interminalble story of "Christmas in the Airport 2005!" It's pretty intense and I can't seem to muster all the necessary negative adjectives at the moment. I'll come back to it when I find the thesarus. We got shelves for Christmas (woo-hoo!) and our books are finally in some semblance of order. We have an actual reference section now. Seriously.
Some friends stopped by the other day for lunch and suggested that we get a library card. Little do they know. I have cards for -several- L.A. area cities because I have a sad history with the "return" part of the whole "check out" equation. I went to the Highland Park library to check out some books yesterday and I couldn't because I had too many late fees. I'd had books out so long they were declared "lost". I had to go the Pasadena library instead. If the Library Science school ever finds out about this I'll be black-balled for sure. I can always say in my application that I love google, the L. of C. categorization system and "the cage," that I hate Dr. Laura, backgournd checks and the FBI and I'm all for homeless people looking at porn in the library whenever they want. That, and an ACLU membership should get me in for sure. You've got to love those fierce librarians. Whenever I hear about librarians vicsiously defending peoples' reading lists I picture that old librarian in Venice (?) in Indiana Jones who looks like she could eviscerate Harrison Ford if he tempts her.
It's funny to me that I could actually end up pursuing a career as something I pretended to be as a child. I went through a phase where I would stamp or shush anything that came near me. I also went through a priest phase, where I carried an open book in front of me and recited a jumbled Episcopal liturgy. All the other phases were pretty run of the mill: ballerina, cook, trampoline gymnast, Maria Von Trapp, doctor, and of course the ever popular Magical Pony Doctor.
So Christmas: It was good to see our family. It would be good if the guy with the shopping cart would stop walking back and forth in front of the house during nap time. And how many garbage trucks do we really need on one block at the same time?
Anyway, we got (and gave, if I do say so myself) some truly wonderful gifts. Wren received a Thomas the Tank Engine from her Nana which she can ride around. Her eyes glaze with excitement and wonder when she looks at it. She could sit on it and push the buttons for hours, but unfortunately her balance usually gives out about 20 minutes in and she tumbles off the side. The only thing that can compete with the train is, of course, poor Ramona, who spends her time either doing her best to avoid Wren or stoically accepting her "petting." I'm filled with such gratitude for our wonderful put-upon puppy.
And I'm also filled with homesickness for places and people. I love our friends in CA, and in my head I know the people here are a better match for us now- with common interests and dreams and yadda yadda, but I'm lazy and I miss the no-work friendships with less-matchy friends and family back home. In addition to being private and lazy I'm also self-conscious and worried about imposing. New friendships are tender territory; there's only a few months of history. I just have to remind myself that every friendship has been new. Even Kelly and I, in the summer between 4th and 5th grade were awkward with each other. If I told her which counselor I liked, would she tell the rest of the cabin? If I had to pee in the middle of the night could I wake her up to help me look for snakes on the way to the bathroom? Now it's more like, "Will you tell all our friends how filthy my house was when you stopped by?" "Is it okay to call you for no reason except to see if you want to come to Target with me to return some panties that are too small for my post-pregnancy ass?"
Oh, who am I kidding? It was fat before Wren. Damn those cheetos and their perfect orange faux-cheesiness.
That's all the news I'm up for sharing today. I hope all of you are enjoying the new year.
