Murphy's Law is in full force at our house.
Elsie is being a chubby darling, playing at standing up while raising her arms in the air, and I can't find our camera. It has lain idly for the past week on the steamer trunk in our front hallway, with no real cause for use, and now, when I need it, I can't find it.
So, dear reader, you must be content with my description.
Elsie is wearing an apple-green one-piece romper and fuzzy striped socks. Her dark brown hair has lightened a bit after our trip to Jamaica, and lost all of its island humidity-induced waviness, but there are a few sweet inklings of curls around her ears and the back of her neck. Her chubby cheeks seem as though she is storing nuts for the winter, but we know that is only a ruse. Although she still likes to pick up tasty things off of the floor and pop them into her mouth (don't worry, Gramma, all edible things).
She is a prolific crawler and cruiser, ably pulling herself up and moving from couch to chair to leg. Her favorite "leg up" is actually my leg, and I have to make certain my pants are on snugly, lest a too-strong tug should yank them off.
She loves to play games - mostly repetition games, where she will mimic whatever Nathan or I do, within limits. She'll clap her hands or hit her fat fists on the table after we do, or parrot our sounds, such as "Mama" or "Dada" or "Abha." She loves to clap and laugh, and play pat-a-cake and snuggle into my shoulder (which is my favorite).
But this evening, she is playing at standing. She'll start on all fours and shift her weight back into her rather large diapered bottom. They, she'll slowly raise her arms off of the floor, wobbling until she's lifted them over her head (or as much over her head as is possible, considering she is still the possessor of short and chubby baby arms). She then seeks my eyes and proudly quacks at her accomplishment. My favorite part is the "dismount," where she plops onto the aforementioned diapered bottom with a soft "thud."
My sweet chubby, dimpled baby.
04 December 2009
Perfunctory Post #1 - Nathan's Birthday
Well, dear reader, I promised I would write about his, and so I shall, mostly to satisfy the family & friends from afar who take interest in our little family's goings-on.
Nathan celebrated his 30th birthday last week (at least I believe it was last week - things have been in a bit of a tizzy in the Thanksgiving aftermath), in conjunction with Thanksgiving dinner.
To be fair, he actually celebrated his gift from us on the previous Sunday - at the Chicago Bears vs. the Philadelphia Eagles football game held at Soldier Field in Chicago. I had actually remembered this year to procure tickets more than a week prior to his birthday, and therefore didn't have to spend too pretty a penny for seats, although it's shameful the way that tickets are acceptably "scalped." Nevertheless, I am in no was abashed at the gift, as he attended with his father, and neither had ever attended a Bears game.
This, dear reader, may not seem like such a dire wrong. I've never attended a Bears game, or any professional football game, for that matter, and will happily progress to the next world without ever having done so, but for Nathan and his father to have never done so - it is almost akin to a travesty. Almost. I still have a proper sense of proportion.
So I arranged that George should drive in for the evening and meet up with Nathan at work, who had as yet been unaware of the plans. I packed warm "secular" clothes for Nathan - orange and blue, of course - and hid the tickets in a funny little card I made for him. We arrived to "pick him up" and gave him the card. He was very excited, and, after a bit of scrambling to meet up with George, embarked on the train to get to the stadium.
To the outside world, both Mr. George Davis and his son Nathan seem like pleasant, mild-mannered gentlemen. Both are veterans of the stage, and both are soft-spoken and spiritually-minded. Never have I heard either swear or raise his voice, or show aggression or brutishness.
And yet, when cut, both bleed orange and blue.
Our dear friend, Emeric, must be one of the most superstitious football fans ever. He won't watch the game with certain people, as he believes they jinx the outcome of the game. When the Bears are falling behind, he'll call me to see if Olivia is wearing her Bears sweatshirt. If not, I am told to put it on her. And he was pleasantly surprised one day to, in casual conversation, learn that Nathan was a football fan. Not only that, a BEARS fan. And, not only that, but could recite plays and statistics from years past with surprising alacrity. They immediately became friends, and we were honored with an invitation to watch the game with Emeric.
So George & Nathan attended their first Bears game together, with seats at the fifty yard line. The Bears had been faring rather poorly in the season (I overheard the idea that for some reason, perfectly good quarterbacks lose their spark in this team), and this game would be the turning point. If they won, they would still have a fighting chance for the playoffs, but if they lost, the season would be essentially over.
Of course, they lost. But it was a well-played game.
Not being so dedicated to a team myself, and knowing that by saying so here, I may forfeit all future invitations to Emeric's house to watch football, what I do like to see in a game is each team playing its best. I especially like to see players demonstrate courtesy (no personal fouls) and dignity. Just as in politics, there will always be someone upset by the outcome, and, Lord knows, the only thing we can eternally put stock in is the next world. So it is refreshing to see a team play with a good sense of healthy sportsmanship and honor. And a coach who doesn't lose his head or swear (at least not that I can tell) when things go otherwise than perfectly.
Don't worry, Bears fans. There is always next year. Hope springs eternal, even in sports.
Nathan celebrated his 30th birthday last week (at least I believe it was last week - things have been in a bit of a tizzy in the Thanksgiving aftermath), in conjunction with Thanksgiving dinner.
To be fair, he actually celebrated his gift from us on the previous Sunday - at the Chicago Bears vs. the Philadelphia Eagles football game held at Soldier Field in Chicago. I had actually remembered this year to procure tickets more than a week prior to his birthday, and therefore didn't have to spend too pretty a penny for seats, although it's shameful the way that tickets are acceptably "scalped." Nevertheless, I am in no was abashed at the gift, as he attended with his father, and neither had ever attended a Bears game.
This, dear reader, may not seem like such a dire wrong. I've never attended a Bears game, or any professional football game, for that matter, and will happily progress to the next world without ever having done so, but for Nathan and his father to have never done so - it is almost akin to a travesty. Almost. I still have a proper sense of proportion.
So I arranged that George should drive in for the evening and meet up with Nathan at work, who had as yet been unaware of the plans. I packed warm "secular" clothes for Nathan - orange and blue, of course - and hid the tickets in a funny little card I made for him. We arrived to "pick him up" and gave him the card. He was very excited, and, after a bit of scrambling to meet up with George, embarked on the train to get to the stadium.
To the outside world, both Mr. George Davis and his son Nathan seem like pleasant, mild-mannered gentlemen. Both are veterans of the stage, and both are soft-spoken and spiritually-minded. Never have I heard either swear or raise his voice, or show aggression or brutishness.
And yet, when cut, both bleed orange and blue.
Our dear friend, Emeric, must be one of the most superstitious football fans ever. He won't watch the game with certain people, as he believes they jinx the outcome of the game. When the Bears are falling behind, he'll call me to see if Olivia is wearing her Bears sweatshirt. If not, I am told to put it on her. And he was pleasantly surprised one day to, in casual conversation, learn that Nathan was a football fan. Not only that, a BEARS fan. And, not only that, but could recite plays and statistics from years past with surprising alacrity. They immediately became friends, and we were honored with an invitation to watch the game with Emeric.
So George & Nathan attended their first Bears game together, with seats at the fifty yard line. The Bears had been faring rather poorly in the season (I overheard the idea that for some reason, perfectly good quarterbacks lose their spark in this team), and this game would be the turning point. If they won, they would still have a fighting chance for the playoffs, but if they lost, the season would be essentially over.
Of course, they lost. But it was a well-played game.
Not being so dedicated to a team myself, and knowing that by saying so here, I may forfeit all future invitations to Emeric's house to watch football, what I do like to see in a game is each team playing its best. I especially like to see players demonstrate courtesy (no personal fouls) and dignity. Just as in politics, there will always be someone upset by the outcome, and, Lord knows, the only thing we can eternally put stock in is the next world. So it is refreshing to see a team play with a good sense of healthy sportsmanship and honor. And a coach who doesn't lose his head or swear (at least not that I can tell) when things go otherwise than perfectly.
Don't worry, Bears fans. There is always next year. Hope springs eternal, even in sports.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
