A Video!

{EDITED TO ADD: I may be too dumb for Vimeo, but I think it works now-- I forgot to make it a public clip. Sorry. If you can't see it and want to, let me know-- it will not work on Ben's Vista plagued machine, but few things will...}

Of nothing, really. Just 1:49 minutes of Harry walking through pebbles at the park NOT making any animal sounds. It was the only one we had that didn't feature Ben and me sniping at each other about the quality of the video or cursing in the background.

See, we have a really cool video camera, but it takes teeny DVDs, which don't go in my computer because I just have a slot on the side, not a disc reader thingy that pops out. What I need is a USB cord to connect the camera to the computer, but since the camera didn't come with one (?), that option never occured to me. Huh.

So, this is from our regular old Kodak.

Anywho, more video from now on, since we can use it.

No updates of any importance. I ate an entire box of Cheerios yesterday, and I really have a thing for frozen chicken nuggets, which is odd because last pregnancy, I could not stand the smell of chicken and once kicked Ben out of bed because he ate chicken for dinner and had a lingering odor. Also, I have not eaten anything in nugget form (except for cheese, I guess) since the late 90s, when I had a very bad bite from McDonalds. At breakfast this morning, Harry ate an entire scoop of butter with a spoon (we were at a restaurant-- I don't serve ice-cream size scoops of butter at home). The CW won't come in on our downstairs TV, so I could not DVR America's Next Top Model, and I am pissed about it still but don't want to spend hours on the phone with the cable company. Ben surprised me with some Lancome last night while I was writing, and that's it.

Enjoy Harry at the park.


Harry NOT making animal noises from sarah on Vimeo.

Harry Appleseed

*Note: The title of this post is not meant to suggest that Harry is a drunk**
** Other Note: It is my contention that Johnny Appleseed was, in fact, a drunk. He made apple jack or whatever the whiskey you make from apples is called. Apple wine maybe? Or hard cider? Whatever-- the details (like whether Appleseed merely scattered seeds--like a drunk might-- or tended to nurseries-- like a conservationist, blah blah blah) are not important. Why else did he live like a nomad and wear his pot on his head? Because there were no lampshades on the open prairie. Also, why was everyone also so damn glad to see him? Because he brought the booze, duh.

But all of that has nothing to do with our apple picking adventure, which, of course, was alcohol free, damn it.

See, Ben's not technically climbing the tree (NOT ALLOWED at the place we patronized). He clearly has one foot on the ground.

There's the tip of his hat-- I tried to get him jumping out of the tree, but I was not quick enough.

Oh, there he is.

Harry picking his first apple


Which he promptly ate

The obligatory pumpkin shot. Harry smashed a pumpkin with his foot in the process of climibng on this pumpkin-- he liked it-- squooshy

4 Molars and a Lot of Poop

This entry might be a little distracted, as Harry is wrapping cords around his neck right now. If I take the cords away (my iPod cord, the camera cord, a couple of cell phone chargers), he freaks out, so I just have to keep reminding him they're not necklaces.

Anyway, the title says it all. And, I hope, conveys my blahness and my desire to go. back. to. bed.

Harry got a wicked bad diaper rash and had some disgusting diapers on Friday, but he has been getting a bottom left tooth for weeks now, so we thought it was finally coming all the way in (has a shiny white tip, but that's it). Still, he was really drooly and crabby for just one little tooth. I was holding him upside down on Friday night (upside down baby is a fun game-- you should try it), and I noticed that he has 4 new teeth. All molars.

So, we've been dealing with mouth, tummy, and rash issues all weekend. All of the teeth are through the surface of the gum now, but they still have to come all the way up, if you know what I mean. (Thank god he's still sleeping all night long because I am so freaking tired because I'm pregnant and not drinking much caffeine (a cup of tea in the morning, compared to several POTS of coffee, god help me), and I need to sleep. Right now, in fact).

Rash is better. He's been drinking Pedialyte, which he hates.

Can't use wipes, so lots of laundry.

Luvs are a little leaky, so lots more laundry.

Here's a picture of a simpler time, a time before molars. Check out that belly!! No weight gain, just interesting redistribution.


We picked apples last weekend-- and I promise pictures. I am very tired now. Must gather cords.

Surprise!!!!

Yeah. That's an ultrasound picture, taken last Thursday, at 8 and a half weeks.

We were going to wait longer to tell the world, but today, I woke up with a big ol' pregnant tummy, which is cool with me because I haven't gained any weight, and all my pants still fit if I wear them really low.

But I think maybe the reason I haven't gained in any weight is either A) I have been too queasy to eat for the past month or so, B) My boobs are even smaller than they were pre-breastfeeding, or C) I have only been working out 4 days a week, so all my muscle tone is gone, and fat weighs less than muscle anyway.

Still, I didn't show with Harry until 20 weeks-ish, and that was only when I would pooch my stomach way out, so it's creepy to be this big this soon.

Baby #2 is due at the end of the Spring semester (see-- you spend 5 years studying Planned Parenthood, and you get really damn precise at family planning).

And yeah. We're freaking the eff out. Oh and yeah. That's why I've been such a colossal bitch lately.

(One more thing: If you want to see the really funny sticky-outy vein in Ben's forehead, ask him how many home pregnancy tests I took-- just ask him-- it's funny.)

(Last thing, I promise: Harry knows where the baby is, and he kisses it-- cute, huh?)

Story Time Because I Am Crazy Like That

We are on our way to story time at Borders for the second week in a row, although last week was NOT a success. Harry was overcome by the excitement of hanging out with all the big kids, and he kept running up to kids sitting happily with their sippy cups and snack baggies, crouching in their faces, and saying, "Aughhhh!" at the top of his lungs. Harry was the youngest by about 18 months. (Excpet for Josephine, who was excessivley well behaved, grumble grumble.)

We're trying again because Borders has a good kids' section, and he can run around there, at the very least.

I actually think the story of the wet dog that the story lady read last week was not sophisticated enough for Harrison, who has slightly more academic tastes.

Case in point, this book theft:


Harry always says before you join the ranks of all those who interpret Plato as entirely dismissive of rhetoric as a mere craft, consider giving the Gorgias a closer read-- line by line, perhaps.

Also, Audre was right-- the master's tools can never dismantle the mater's house. The Melissa & Doug tool bench, however, can be used to beat the crap out of an IKEA desk, in case you were wondering.

Bone Ball and Other Weekend Amusements

Harry's grandparents paid us a visit this weekend, and we had a delicious brunch at the Old Fashioned which has the best fried cheese curds in town. And this is quite an achievement for a town like ours that prides itself on the amount of deep fried cheese it serves. Also? Not fried cheese curds are disgusting-- they're squeaky, which is not a quality I ever look for in my food once it's dead--and does cheese ever really live?.


While we were walking back to our car from the restaurant (the long way because we wanted to melt off some of the aforementioned cheese), we noticed that the State Historical Museum is running a Brewers World Series display, so we decided to check it out. I absolutely love the State Historical Museum, mainly because no one is ever there, so we can say whatever we want and touch everything and generally act like assholes. I also like it because the stairwell doors are locked so patrons have to take an elevator up one flight at a time. Lazy, cheese-filled Wisconsinites.

Here's Harry driving the giant tractor, which is part of the Wisconsin Farm Life floor and usually our favorite exhibit (although the Native Americans had some pretty cool stuff, specifically their deer skin shoes which look a whole lot like Robeez, and there's a pretty cool feminist dislay of laundry as women's (really freaking hard) work in pioneer days).




Harry having the run of the place. Really, empty museums are my favorite. Because even though the docent was quick to tell us that it was a wigwam, not a teepee, not a single other soul was around to hear our gaffes. I hate talking out of my ass about artifacts or paintings-- or even animals at the zoo-- when there are others around because I am afraid I'll be exposed as the fraud that I am. Alligator or crocodile? Monet or Manet? Teepee or wigwam? How the hell should I know?


Harry enjoyed the Aztalan house, which was just his size and had cool animal pelts on the walls. I have no idea what kind of animals they were, but since we were alone, I went with hamster and elephant-- reasonable choices, I think.


On Sunday, left to our own devices, we played an intense game of bone ball, which involves two grown-up idiots, one tolerant baby (all in their jammies), a whole bunch of hard plastic balls, a giant bone bat (which was supposed to be part of Harry's Halloween costume, but he isn't a dragon anymore, so now we just have a huge plastic bone), and some protective stuffed animal gear. Observe:

Shagging balls in the outfield


Picthing and catching


Batting (it's a home run if goes downstairs or in Harry's wagon).

I had this great post all worked out in my head,

but then I cleaned out the fridge, and I completely forgot what I wanted to say. So, I'll just post the pictures I took weeks ago that have been languishing on my camera. Nothing like Tuesday's meatloaf and eggs from June to ruin a coherent line of thought.

He's actually not going to be a lion for Halloween, but wouldn't it be cute if he were?


This is what he does if we say, "Smile for the camera."


He's super into shoes.


Bidding the pool a fond farewell-- clearly this was thrilling.


The artist at work


Little Gym-- and my favorite little smile


Mismatch


He really wanted to wear these flip flops-- kept bringing them to me and saying shoes, which sounds a lot like sheesh, which was totally apropos because he seemed exasperated until I figured out that he wanted the shoes on his feet, which took awhile because I think our coffee pot is breaking (!) because it's cracked a little and makes coffee that looks like tea and doesn't taste like coffee.


How old is Harry? Quick! Tell me before the shoadow monster creeps further into the frame.