Sunday, October 30, 2005
Attention Scooter Libby:
Just because your name is absolutely adorable doesn't mean you can get away with compromising our national security.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
new developments on the front lines.
It's late, or early, so I don't know how coherent I'll sound. But there are small things that happened, and one big thing I have to note. The big thing--Ben can walk! Kind of. He gets this alarmed/excited/horrified/concentrating look on his face and he hobbles towards our open hands, which are sometimes dangling bribes--like bottles or keys or remote controls--to urge him forward. At times he makes it pretty far, but his legs buckle underneath him and he crumples to the floor and resorts to his old standby--crawling. It's such a beautiful thing to see him walk, and you can tell he feels so incredibly proud of himself, and he expects our applause for each step, and if we don't give it, he looks disappointed.
There were smaller things these past few days. He played peek-a-boo with me this morning. He put a hard hat (pictured below) over his own face, and then pulled it away and laughed again and again. There are even smaller things that make it amazing--when he breathes in my neck or clings to my shoulders, or makes an "ooooooooooo" sound in the back seat when I'm driving, or sleeps with his little fists curled, and sighs when he's overwhelmed with whatever the task is at hand--knocking the cds down, pulling Weebles out of a container, clicking two Legos together. He is so amazing right now; I feel like we're in a rhythm with him, finally, and I know it will be disrupted again, but it is so, so nice.
But there are dangers, too. Ben, this morning you quietly opened one of the remote controls and, well, put a battery in your mouth. I turned around, and it was dangling from your lips like a cigar, and I dashed over and eased it out, and I felt bad about it all day, but now you are banned from all remotes except your designated one, from which I promptly removed the batteries. And when you read this when you get older, I promise that I was a good mom, just not perfect.
There were smaller things these past few days. He played peek-a-boo with me this morning. He put a hard hat (pictured below) over his own face, and then pulled it away and laughed again and again. There are even smaller things that make it amazing--when he breathes in my neck or clings to my shoulders, or makes an "ooooooooooo" sound in the back seat when I'm driving, or sleeps with his little fists curled, and sighs when he's overwhelmed with whatever the task is at hand--knocking the cds down, pulling Weebles out of a container, clicking two Legos together. He is so amazing right now; I feel like we're in a rhythm with him, finally, and I know it will be disrupted again, but it is so, so nice.
But there are dangers, too. Ben, this morning you quietly opened one of the remote controls and, well, put a battery in your mouth. I turned around, and it was dangling from your lips like a cigar, and I dashed over and eased it out, and I felt bad about it all day, but now you are banned from all remotes except your designated one, from which I promptly removed the batteries. And when you read this when you get older, I promise that I was a good mom, just not perfect.
Monday, October 10, 2005
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