Wednesday with The Weasel Queen

Why I love living in Davis Sq.

May and I went for a walk yesterday. We started at 'Bucks, got ourselves our usual chai, then took the back road to Porter. On a tree, we saw a hand-inked poster that asked "Are you ready for the Apocalypse? Are you ready for the Weasel Queen? 9/9/2011"

No clue what that means.

Then we went to porter Square books and bought a Vietnamese spring roll (don't all book stores sell those? They should!) We stayed for the children's story hour and as it was breaking up, heard a mom say to a slightly rambunctious daughter: "You need to ground yourself. Take a deep breath, now let it out... Good."

On our way back, we saw a tandem recumbent bike drive by.

Then we went to the Farmer's Market -- love the Farmer's Market. Bought rhubarb and goat cheese and a loaf of bread and some Boston Lettuce. Admired someone's bumper sticker that read "Vampire Slayers Against Bush." Stopped and chatted with Helen and Jake on the way home (I have to post a picture of Helen and Jake soon. They are the King and Queen of the Bike Path.)

Jen came over but May was asleep so she didn't stay long.

And after dinner, we contemplated ice cream and which of the six places in Davis, Porter, or Harvard we would choose from.

I love Davis Square.

Hats-Off!

Hello all, this is Christopher posting this time...Manda is busy feeding and talking to her Mom.


Mayhew has a few new tricks today. First, she has discovered that she can consistently find, grab, and throw her hat. This is not so good so soon after the solstice, so carrying May is now a test of reaction time to grab flung hats.

The other trick is that she is fully sitting up. Yes I know we showed photos of her sitting up earlier, but now she can maintain a sitting posture for longer, while doing other tasks (like picking up and chewing on a toy). Pretty impressive progress if you ask me.

Also in the news, May's 6-month well-baby visit was today. She is up to 26 1/2 inches long/tall, and 17 pounds, 10 ounces. The doctors say "She is the baby that everybody wishes they had." and "It's so good to see such a happy family."

Next up, the start of solid foods. "Dun Dun Duh!" We're going to wish we had a dog before this is over.

Getting May's head shrunk

Today we went to the Harvard Development Lab to have May included in one of their studies on how babies learn, think, and interact with the world.

The study was actually really interesting. May was shown a short film in which a woman appeared on the right side and said some inane happy peppy dialogue speaking in New England-accented English. Then another woman said the exact same thing with a heavy French accent. This is the fourth part of a study. Katie (the examiner) is studying whether babies connect more strongly with people speaking the same language/accent that they hear at home. (They do.)

What's fascinating is that babies can recognize their native languages this early! I mean, May is five month old and months away from speaking but already she knows the syntax, sounds, and rhythm of English.

The human mind is an amazing thing.

The coolest thing, however is that she got a spiffy t-shirt that says "Baby Scientist" and has the Harvard logo on it.

The ivy-league pressure begins!

The three faces of May

Get more photos of May, including May sitting up on her own (!) here.

Twenty-first century girl

When I was a kid, growing up not too far from the Big Apple, which we'll all agree is the greatest food city in North America, my idea of exotic cuisine was... well, "Italian hot dogs", which were dogs served in a pita with onions and peppers and things. And we didn't eat that too often, either.

Now, when Christopher and I want to go out to dinner, we have a gracious plenty of choices. Thai. Vietnamese. Lots of Japanese. Spike's burgers and dogs. Northern Italian. Southern Italian. American Italian. Cheap Italian. Good Mexican, mediocre Mexican, and Tex-Mexican. Portuguese and Salvadoran. Cambodian and French. Cuban and French. Six different sushi places, three diners, untold Indian places, Southern BBQ, Mongolian BBQ, vegan or vegetarian options. Afghanistani, Ethiopian, and, I kid you not, three different Tibetan places.

And that's all within easy walking distance of our apartment. Actually, it's a small fraction of the places in easy walking distance of our apartment.

I'm thinking about all of this because I will shortly begin to feed May something besides breastmilk. What is still up for debate -- one research study says cereal, another says meat, then there's the veggie option -- but soon she'll start discovering different flavors and I am going to be responsible for shaping her palette.

As a foodie, that's a big deal in my world.

The traditional line is that kids only like sweet, bland, boring food. I don't buy it.

Japanese babies learn to love Japanese food. Why can't May learn to love a little wasabi and pickled ginger and miso soup? She's had it -- second hand as it were -- since I'm breastfeeding. Bird chiles, fish sauce, lamb, lingonberries, chai... These are all things I eat on a (semi)regular basis. Why can't she? There's much more to culinary life than mac-n-cheese, pizza, and hot dogs.

Not that I don't love all three of those things. Don't get me wrong. No one loves pizza more than I do.

But one thing that constantly amazes me is when I'm in a food place and I hear a mom say to a kid, "You won't like that." How does the mom know? Most people require more than fifteen exposures to a new flavor or texture to like it. Let the kid try the mango salsa. No harm and maybe you've got a new favorite dip.

Like father, like daughter

Barb sent Christopher (and Skip) a very cool Father's Day present. These matched photos of Skip holding a young Christopher and Christopher holding May.





(Mike also did a very cool morph of the two photos.)

May's rules for June

The summer solstice is tomorrow and you have to be particular careful of the sun. Be like May and...


... always wear a hat.


... take lots of naps.


... drink lots of water.


... eat only nutritious snacks.

(For more of Jen Hoberman's photos from her visit on Saturday with May, click here and scroll down to the second half of the gallery.)

And a picture of May

Since you don't really care about Cthulu or whatnot, here's a photo of May in her green and white dresw which I bought for Easter but it was too cold to wear.

My daughter: Child of destiny

We were at the Pandemonium grand opening this weekend and one of the clerks made a Cthulu noise. May, who was her usual cheerful self, suddenly squoke. Her face crumpled and suddenly she broke into a ear-splitting and violent wail.

Clearly, she's destined to battle the Old Ones.

We also celebrated Father's Day. May and I got Christopher a Swiss Army Pocket watch because he aspires to being a curmudgeon and curmudgeons have a required uniform. Esp. curmudgeons in the British tradition.

(In case you're curious, other items in the uniform include, but are not limited to: a nice tweed blazer; a distinctive hat; a walking stick, by preference blackthorne; a flask, usually containing a single malt; a large fountain pen, with a wide nib; a Barbour coat; a lovely dress knife (he's got these last two already). Optional items can be based on the kind of curmudgeon you chose to be, for example a dandy-ish, or a crusty countryman, or a Old Boy academic and these itmes can include a bow tie, a monocle, unusual cuff links with a story behind them, a kilt (which he's got), a school tie and scarf, and silk kerchiefs to match your Jermyn Street shirts.)

The Smarter Stepsister

The blessing -- and picking out godparents -- has got me thinking a lot about fairy tales lately. Especially Cinderella.

Fairy tales are important. They teach vital life skills: be nice to that old lady, she might be more than just an old lady; keep your promises; crossroads are dangerous places. The Anansi tales -- best known to non-Gaiman fans as the Brer Rabbit stories -- teach us that brains usually win out over brawn. Important lessons, one and all.

Alas, the lessons they teach are also outmoded a little. Back in the day, a girl was often only as good as the husband she could land. Which is why the girls in the stories were always trying to land a prince.

(A side note: doesn't it seem dodgy that the stories always end with a wedding? Doesn't the complete lack of information about marriage seem... sinister? Plus, all the married women are the villains of the stories. Think about those life lessons.)

May's godmother has dealt with this issue by giving her a stack of books that are fairy tales outside of the usual mode. Not One Damsel in Distress, for instance, which, the title pretty much says it all.

But I keep thinking about Cinderella's evil stepsisters. Specifically the one who (in the pre-Victorian versions of the story, anyway) slices off hunks of her foot to fit into the slipper. Stupid bint.

I mean, if Cinderelly wants to wear dangerously impractical footwear and yoke herself to a guy who is so shallow he fell in love after one lousy dance, more power to her. Not me. Why make drastic and damaging changes to yourself to fit into what the story expects you to do? Just because the main characters are always marrying princes, doesn't mean you have to.

You just need to change the story. Or at least your expectations of the story. I think this one of the most important things I can teach May. If you don't fit a situation, change the situation, not yourself.

If you don't look good in this season's hip-hugger jeans, don't wear them. Wear long skirts instead. If you aren't happy working in an office, get a job where you can work at home. If you don't fit the damned glass slipper, put on a pair of boots instead.

And hey, if you happen to wear a perfect size six stiletto and possess an overwhelming desire to wear tight-laced corsets and a tiara, then hell, marry Prince Charming and enjoy it. But don't let the story bully you into it.

The smell of honeysuckle

After a week of cold and gray and rain leading up the blessing, summer arrived yesterday. The sky is high and clear and blue and the wind smells like honeysuckle along the bike path. It's a little too warm in the sun, but perfect in the shade and all the trees finally have a full canopy of mature leaves.

As such, I'm not going to be inside a lot today. So I'll just include a link to Mike's Yahoo Briefcase where you can see yet more photos of May's blessing. Just click on "Mayhew" and then on "Mayhew Blessing." You'll see a list of alphanumeric codes like DSC09172 or whatever. Each one represents a photo... click on the name to see the photo. Mike's a pretty talented photographer, so they are worth clicking on.

Outsourcing our parenting

I was going to apologize and explain that I had been busy with May's blessing for the past week, and that's why I didn't blog. But most of you who read this were invited to the blessing, so I figure you understand.

We're still unpacking and settling back in, so I won't post for long other than to thank everyone for their kindness and help. (Special shout-outs to my mom and dad for hosting, Skip for a simple lovely ceremony, and Nikki and Steve for being generically wonderful to our entire family.)

I will, however, take advantage of what Christopher and I call "the outsourcing of our parental duties" and link to the wonderful photos taken by our friend (and personal family photog) Jen Hoberman and Nielsen family friend, Marsha Nordstrom.

Wednesdays are the best day in Davis

Because it's the Farmer's Market Day. It's still very early in the season, but the market is loaded down with plants on flats to be grown in gardens and a few early treats: mostly rhubarb and garlic scapes.

We hit the Red River Rock meat stand. They sell organic grass-fed beef and are where I get my meat from in the summer. (For special occassions during the winter, I sometimes order. They deliver any cut over $20.) They also have, on some weeks, lamb and May and I bought a pound of lamb loin chops from Kim. We'll have them for dinner Thursday night -- after they defrost.

I'd planned on getting some asparagus for a spring pistou, but apparently Hadley isn't having the same warm spring we are and no "Sparrow Grass" is to be had for another week or three. Instead we'll have sweet pea soup to go with the lamb chops.

There was rhubarb and, as Christopher is surpassingly fond of rhubarb, we'll be having it for dessert. I like to stew it up with just a tiny bit of sugar and serve it with whipped cream as a fool, which is like a pie without crust.

To add to the fun, when all three of us went out for a post-prandial walk, the Commonwealth Morris Dancers were doing a demo in the square. I don't understand Morris dancers -- why people would strap bells to their shins and wave hankies in a rhythmic fashion while whacking about with sticks is a mystery to me -- but I'm deeply glad that they exist. The world needs people who are willing and even eager to be made to look silly to keep up a tradition.

The hats, on the other hand....

Also, we picked up a book on special order at Porte Sq. books. The Poo Bomb was recommended by Kaja Foglio on he Girl Genius blog. It's a geek guy's take on the pleasures, or lack thereof, of the first year of his daughter's life. It's sharply funny and very honest in a way no other book I've ever read has been -- it admits that the first year or so of childhood is no fun for the parents and that it's just a stage most of us slog through (full of poop and spit-up and sleepless nights and mind-numbing boredom punctuated by gut-wrenching terror) to get to the fun part of parenthood.

Since this is a mommy blog I probably oughtn't say that, and I suspect all you grandmothers are howling in protest that you loved having infants. I suspect that there are people who do love taking care of infants but I suspect they are as rare as people who actually enjoyed high school. (And those, despite the "these are the best days of your life" mythos, are few and far between in my rememberance.)

Though I have to admit that people who love taking care of infants are like Morris Dancers to me. I don't understand them, but I'm happy they exist.