Life in 140 Characters or Fewer

The old less vs. fewer conundrum. #sticklersunite

In case the title and opening line didn't make it painfully obvious, I've decided that the easiest way to update the blog today is to have a little Twitter crossover. It's been quite a crazy few weeks for us so often, little updates are the best.

Parents like this give the rest of us a bad rep. This is why we can't have nice things! http://t.co/foNxjlhZsI
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) January 30, 2014

Is it me or does burping a baby feel like russian roulette with vomit?
— Charlie N Andy (@HowToBeADad) January 29, 2014

Back in my happy place...the gym! Yes, I'm a bit weird like that.
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 1, 2014

#sarahandduck the first rule of octagon club is that you don't talk about octagon club. (We've done too much telly watching today!) #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 2, 2014

How long is it acceptable to keep your kid in the same pair of pyjamas? And do I get leniency for being in A&E last night? #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 2, 2014

I get stupidly excited to have a lunch where both boys nap so I can use both hands to do things. Some days I greatly envy octopuses.
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 4, 2014

Worst parking job: the lady with a 4-week-old and a toddler who has just announced a need to find a toilet. And yes, that was me. #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 4, 2014

I have seen my life reflected back at me and I am Tom Hiddleston. I have this exact convo with Ethan EVERY DAY! http://t.co/f6vBrn3pYo
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 4, 2014

Crying baby in the car? Play Mika at deafening volume...who knew T was such a fan!? Quieted him in 30 seconds & saved my sanity. #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 11, 2014

'E, use your hands, please. Millions of years of evolutionary energy gave you those hands so you could eat your chips with them.' #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 12, 2014

I question the laws of physics that allow my son to throw up on his own back. Now to wash cheesy milk-vomit off us all... #mumlife
— Bryony Dick (@beginningbryony) February 13, 2014

And now to go get my crying baby...who has cried all morning. Thankfully, I have a heart-shaped box of Recee's cups to fuel me through the day. Happy Valentine's Day to me!

Fangs!

Appropriately in time for Halloween, E has decided to sprout a few razor-sharp baby fangs! (Tangent: You could write it as Hallowe'en, if you prefer the pretentious apostrophe, to remind people that it derives from All Hallows Eve so making up things like Jesusween are doubly stupid because it isn't hallo-ween, it's hallow-even. Even for "evening", but shortened like in hymns to keep the appropriate meter. Grammatical rant over.)

See, we knew ages ago that he had cut his first tooth. Really, we were holding off the Dorky Parent Announcement until said tooth was well and truly visible...the better to capture it on film for posterity. I was all set to make another attempt to photograph it yesterday, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the flash of another tooth! Now cue the image of me wrestling my child and trying to convince bribe him to show me his tooth for the better part of 10 minutes.

as we try to capture the elusive teeth on camera...

After numerous bouts of fussiness and crankiness that we were sure would yield some budding teeth, but instead were just fussiness and crankiness, we felt really vindicated to see those little fangs. Sure, it took the better part of a year, but at least now I know E won't be the Toothless Wonder forever.

Shelf Indulgence (What I've Been Reading)

Yes, you should imagine Sean Connery saying the above title with an ironical cock of his thick black eyebrows - the old rogue.

I do love it when other people give me decent reasons to read something. I have to confess, I don't always take the sage advice I'm given (mea culpa, Marillenbaum, I know I didn't read Pride and Prejudice until a boyfriend of mine suggested it months after you did), but when I do I'm very rarely disappointed.

So it was with the first book I'd like to briefly rave about: Rules of Civility, by Amor Towles. This time, I took my little sister's advice and when I saw the book on the shelves at my local, the title caught my eye.
     -I'm sure someone told me to read this, I thought. Maybe it was the Midget...or was it Rachel?
(This is where I say that they should both be flattered that I conflated their opinions in my poor memory, because I'd obviously decided that they both had similar good taste and would advise me to read such a book.)

I snagged Rules from the shelf and brought it home and was in no wise disappointed. Towles's heroine, Katie Kontent (like the state of being, not the substance of a book) is a lovely narrator: well-read, witty, with something of a Lynn Truss streak about her every now and then (she spends a paragraph or two reminds us of the proper rules of grammar and punctuation when they provide a germane interlude to her story). There's something of the vibe I've always gotten from The Great Gatsby from everyone I know who's read it, and to make a more concrete comparison of my own, I get stirrings of a feminine, Depression-era Jack Kerouac, On The Road, tone cropping up throughout. Possibly even, dare I say it, a bit of Holden Caulfield in some of the throw-away literary references Miss Kontent makes throughout. Here is someone who's not only at ease with their well-rounded self-education, but takes it decently for granted in a way that allows the reader to do the same.

The story that Towles tells through Katie Kontent is a simple enough one, but as with many stories, the charm is in the telling. The only character for whom I have the contempt of the unbelievable fiction is Anne Grandyn...but I'll leave you to discover that one for yourself.

Second book? Girl Reading, by Katie Ward. This one had its recommendation from no less a personage than Hilary Mantel. (Author of my two latest loves of historical fiction: Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies chronicling the rise of Thomas Cromwell - minister to Henry VIII.) Granted, I will say that Mantel's - and by extension, Ward's - terse and subtle style of narration isn't for everyone. It takes a while to get into the heads of the characters - even the narrators - but once you do, the story is a rewarding one. The only downside? You have to get used to following the dialogue with a lack of quotation marks. But then, that seems to be a theme with these two books.

Girl Reading follows six interconnected vignettes through time as we watch the intersection of art and...well, girls reading. It's quite fun to imagine the story behind the creation of each work and something of the sitter in it. Part of what endeared the book to me is the fact that I do this sometimes when I'm looking at a particularly fun painting - especially one by a painter about whom I don't know much. Of course, the other good thing about this book is that it breaks up quite nicely into manageable sections - so if you're the sort catching snatches of your book in between, say, watching your highly active 10-month-old - it's easy to dive back into whenever you next get the chance.

Happy reading!

Back on Track

Today was a good day. After a nap that lasted deliciously and sinfully into the afternoon hours (oh yeah, having a new baby boy means I now have an excuse to stay in bed until 12:30) I did something I haven't done in months. Quite seriously. I went for a run. Wait, let me say that with all the appropriate gravitas and feeling that it requires... (ahem)

I WENT ON A RUN!!!

(I think that I now owe five Hail Marys and six Mea Culpas to Lynn Truss, patron saint of punctuation and pedantic adherence to the rules of grammar.)

I laced up my trainers, popped on a sports bra (on top of my nursing bra, 'cause I'm cool lazy like that), got Ethan all bundled up, and broke out the jogging stroller to help it fulfil the first half of its purpose: to let me jog. Oh, what a glorious feeling to be back in my exercise gear!

We drove back to the old neighbourhood and took a run through the streets and around the playing fields. In the true spirit of maternal multi-tasking, my run through the streets was really a run to the grocery store so I could get celery and carrots to have aromatics for my Thanksgiving turkey tomorrow.

If I can do this Thanksgiving, I can do any Thanksgiving. I will be the multi-armed god of Thanksgiving...complete with nose ring and unnecessary animal appendages. The pie has been baked, the herbs are on the counter, the potatoes are cut and waiting to be boiled and mashed, the aromatics and turkey are cosy in the fridge, and I finally have a turkey baster. It only took me two Thanksgiving dinners without one to get my act together, but I am now officially kitted out and prepared for Thanksgiving culinary mastery.

Wish me luck, people. I'm back on my way to being basically amazing. Stay tuned.

Everyone Needs an Enabler

There is officially (at least, according to the medical professionals I've seen) one week left on the countdown to Baby D's arrival. My only problem with the near-constant Braxton-Hicks contractions of the last day or two is...well, that they're Braxton-Hicks and not demonstrably The Real Thing. The Husband, apparently, came about 11 days late, and I know from asking my own mom that I was a week late, myself.

So as I wait for either labour to start itself (please, dear Lord!) or for the midwives and doctors to issue my baby an eviction notice, I've been getting increasingly impatient. My hospital bag is packed. The stroller handle has been fixed. The car got cleaned inside and out. The car seat is officially and irrevocably installed. Thank You cards for baby shower presents have all been written. I've attended my antenatal class and learned all about birthing positions, breathing through contractions, and the rest of the general indignity that surrounds the miracle of life. I've even come to something of a stopping point with all of my DIY projects.

I painted the nursery, hung pictures, hung curtains, tidied shelves, assembled a chair, assembled the crib, washed all the tiny baby clothes I found it useful to wash...I'm currently on hiatus from baby-prep. But then...as I vent my impatience to the world...a wonderful suggestion to pass the time comes along...

Another DIY project!? I could sew a crib skirt to hide any under-crib storage. I could make a fun mobile to hang over the baby's crib (Alexander Calder, anyone?). I could install crown moulding that would let me paint the ceiling a fun colour so that the moulding pops, creating fun architectural interest in the room! I could put doors on the shelving! I could paint the inside of the shelf framing so it makes a fun contrast to the white outside and shelves! The possibilities are endless.

Ladies and gentlemen: my own mother is now my DIY enabler...and I get to have her stay with me for two whole weeks next month! Just think of the wreaths and quilts and wall art I could make (or convince her to make with me, since my sewing skills are pretty crap).

Also, another great Lorelei Gilmore-enabler moment? My mom just spelled it labour...with the extraneous British ou, like in colour or candour. I've been doing this for years - since high school, in fact, when I used it to great effect in typing up some notes for the lovely Ryan Jackson. Said Anglicized spelling not only started a very fun mock argument in the hallway after class, but prompted Jackson to give me a copy of the brilliant Lynn Truss's Eats, Shoots and Leaves. I have an unhealthy, nerdish love for that book.

First, she enables my DIY obsession. Then, she enables my Anglophile tendency to spell everything the way the Husband always learned to. How awesome is my mom? (Correct answer: very.)

Driving (Me Crazy) Around Town

So, I've officially started the dreaded driving lessons today. Have I mentioned how much I disdainfully wrinkle my nose at the UK driving system? Thank goodness that once I passed this stupid practical test I won't have to take it again or renew my licence until I'm too old to see properly.

In all fairness, my driving instructor's not a bad guy. A bit quiet, and definitely makes a point of telling you when you do something that would fail your exam, but not a bad guy. I mean, he could go a lot harder on the tough love routine, and being clear about what you need to fix in order to pass is a good thing, but he still gives off a little bit of a stand-off-ish vibe. Perhaps it's the whole "stiff upper lip" nonsense. From that statement, don't assume he sounds like a Miss Marple extra or Winston Churchill; but he's just a quiet and reserved kind of guy...in spite of (only kind of) joking about how he'll start to yell "FAIL!" at me if I do something that would automatically cost me my passing mark on the exam.

No, it's not my driving instructor that I complain about (at least...not yet, and let's hope, not ever): it's the whole system. My fellow Americans, you don't realize how well you've got it! Holy crap; in any state I've lived in, our practical driving test is ten times easier than the palaver I've been told I have to perform and the hoops I have to jump through just to get my licence over here. I knew that as an experienced driver, I'd have a few bad habits to unlearn, but I swear it would have been easier to just erase most of my driving experience from my memory! No cross hands, no crossing the centre of the steering wheel with your arms, check your mirrors before applying the breaks, have the car in gear before you check the mirrors before you signal before you check the mirrors again before you drive off into the sunset. Even when I was first taught the mechanics of driving a manual, I've never had to remember so much at one time to drive successfully. Thank goodness this test comes up in 7 weeks or else I'd probably stab poor Neil the Driving Instructor in a fit of legal insanity. And let's face it: I do not need to be on some TV show trying to raise my baby from behind bars. That's just not cool.

Did you know the ridiculously daunting statistic that, over here, only 42% of people will pass their practical driving test the first time? 42%!!!! (Yes Lynn Truss, I've abused that exclamation point; mea culpa, mea culpa.) I swear you would have had to try to fail the exam I took in Maryland. I even had the option of taking the test on the DMV track...with no other cars around. They couldn't make it any easier if they just handed me the licence when I turned 16. That said; I don't feel that the test was really too easy. In point of fact, I've seen no benefit to the more stringent testing done here in the UK. While some of it may be needed since there are loads more steep inclines in suburban areas, tiny one-lane country roads, and 2-lane roads that most Americans would shudder to think that opposing lanes of traffic drive down, I guarantee that most of it is an exercise in pedantry. And let me tell you, whatever muscles get exercised when you're being uselessly pedantic, the DVLA must be pretty hench, because you'd think Useless-Pedantry was their middle name.

Le sigh. If only London had been cheap enough to live there until we moved. Then, I'd never have to drive anywhere in this country, and by the time I *did* have to drive, I'd just have to renew my expired Utah licence and change it to whatever state we set up residence in. Oh America, how I miss your comparatively lax driving standards. I miss your simplistic testing and lack of roundabouts. Though I must admit, America, I have gotten used to driving on the wrong side of the road. It just feels normal now!

In the meantime, I'll be practising looking in the mirrors before I do anything...probably to the point where I develop a rapid eye twitch, which people will assume means that I'm mentally unbalanced. And if poor Neil the Driving Instructor yells out "FAIL!" one too many times, I just might actually become mentally unbalanced...

A Random Note

Yes, stating this officially makes me ridiculous.

I promise: I do use commas. They just don't show up in the font I have on the blog right now. Why do I care enough to tell you this? Because despite years of atrocious spelling (and my spell-check is still a crutch), I became a grammar Nazi. (There was a comma in there...I swear.) So (big fat comma) since it bothers me to read my posts without all the punctuation I tend to use (BFC again!) I figure someone else is just as big of a freak as I am. After all...the only people reading this are my friends. At least...until I'm bizarrely famous for no good reason. Then tons of people who don't know me will read my blog...and judge my font's lack of proper comma insertion. Perhaps this calls for a new font...