Thora's Conversation Skills: Exciting and Yet Excruciating

Thora turned 17 months old on Thursday. And she seems to be changing before my eyes. Here is an exchange that can be overheard on our twice-daily walks to the dog's off-leash park and a gazillion other times in between:

Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"
Me: "Yes. There's a light. But that light is off. Off. OFF."
Thora: "On. On. ON!"
Me: "It's a light. That light is off."
Thora: "On. On."
Me: "Oooh, there's a light that's on. That light is on. On. ON."
Thora: "On. On. ON! ON!"

Let me remind you that the dog's walk takes about 35 minutes roundtrip. And for the most part, this is our interaction--the WHOLE WAY--with little variation. Once we get to the park, it turns into her saying "hi" to the dogs and doing her new dog sound "Woo woo woo woo," and saying "Poo? Poo?" when Georgia goes off to the other end of the park to "do her business." But then, once we leave the park, and start passing all those houses, with all those porch lights... Well, just writing this gets me a little fatigued.

So--this will seem unrelated, but I promise, I bring it back around--last week, at the playground that has a sprinkler, Thora started using the word "Nunny" for "Running" in the context of "Mommy, pick me up and run us through that sprinkler!" Needless to say, I was quite tickled with this new concept. Not the "Make Mom Run Through The Sprinkler" concept, but that she, right before my eyes, conveyed an idea that, before this moment, she'd been unable to articulate.

A little background: this sprinkler has two cycles, a high-arching, high-pressure spray, and the lower pressure that mirrors the flow of water coming out of a garden hose. And the funny thing is that Thora only wants me to run her through the water when the spray is high and arching, like rain. (Initially she first said, "Nay. NAY," which means "rain.") She generally plays for a minute or two on her own in the garden-hose spray, and then when the rain-spray comes on, she runs up to me, saying "Nunny! Nunny," with an occasional "Muh-moo, muh-moo," which means "more" and is almost always accompanied by the sign for "more". So I pick her up and run through the sprinklers.

The use of "nunny" has since expanded to accompany pointing at my running shoes or at my ipod (which I only use when I run by myself). But back to the first day she used the word, when we'd been at the park playing in the sprinklers. Later, we were doing our afternoon walk to the dog park. A man passed us pushing a jogging stroller. "Nunny!" she said. How smart she is, I thought. My desire to encourage her: boundless. My joy at the new conversational focus beyond porch lights and their enigmatic status of being on or off: ecstatic.

Me: "Yes, running. Running. He's running."
Thora: "Nunny. Nunny!"
Me: "Running. Yes, he's running."

This went on for about 2-3 more minutes, with little variation. I was so proud of her, that she's making these connections, that she can apply a concept to different situations, that she can use new words in the right contexts. A few minutes later, we got to the corner and began following a street that many bicyclers use. And I pointed them out, hoping to ride the wave of language acquisition.

Me: "Look, she's riding her bicycle. Riding."
Thora: "Nunny."
Me: "No, riding. RI-ding. RI-ding her bicycle."
Thora: "Nunny."

It went like this for next minute or so, until we got to the dog park, where the lesson was suspended. ("Hi!" and "Woo Woo Woo," and "Poo?") But we picked it back up when I saw the next bike rider.

Me: "Look, he's riding his bicycle. Ri-ding. RI-ding."
Thora: "Nunny."

Then I tried a different tactic.

Me: "When you run, you run on your two legs."

And I started to jog. Oh, something I should mention is that Thora weighs around 30 pounds and I wear her on my back in an Ergo baby carrier (which I couldn't recommend more highly). And so running in this circumstance is ridiculous-looking and more importantly, uncomfortable. I was only able to run like that for about 10 paces. And then I hear from over my shoulder, "Muh-moo. Muh-moo," accompanied by the baby-sign for "more" which I can feel between my shoulder blades.

Me: "Okay. Mommy's running. Running."

And again, the second I stop, I hear "Nunny. NUNNY!" with the baby-sign for "more." I accommodated. And accommodated. Let me tell you, before I write the next few sentences, that I did this for several blocks, before I said what I thought I wouldn't ever say. I said:

"Is that light on?"

Farmer's Market Bounty: Puckery Pickles

This past Monday, I was compelled to pick up some cucumbers and make my own pickles. To be truthful, the compulsion was probably chiefly driven by the "3 for $1" sign above the mound of ENORMOUS cucumbers. I couldn't resist. I love pickles. And I love having my own pickles in the fridge to shamelessly munch on when the mood strikes, or even when it doesn't. (Otherwise, I'm snacking on the pickles which are meant for tuna salad and hamburgers.) I plan to do a little more tweaking to the recipe to get a punchy but a bit more subtle flavor. Right now, the vinegar hit is unrelenting. But I love it. I'm a vinegar lover, even if it often catches me unprepared most times and causes my throat to seize up and my eyes to tear. Here is the one and only recipe that I've used to make pickles over the past years. These are refrigerator pickles and so last in the fridge for a couple of weeks. (They're not preserved so they need to be eaten relatively quickly.) I found this recipe in the New York Times Food section about 5 years ago. Although I cut the recipe out of the paper, I don't have an author to attribute it to. However, this author adapted it from "Blue Hill at Stone Barns" (which is meaningless to me, but I figured I should include it). I too have made some changes/additions (see what I did in italics below) and I look forward to playing around some more. But for now, here's the recipe:

8 medium Kirby cucumbers
This Monday, I got the three for a dollar good-sized regular cucumbers and 2 were used to fill the 3 jars I used.

For the brine:
1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
I use less (slightly less than 1/4 c.) since I like a more savory pickle.
1/4 cup Kosher salt
2 cups water
I'm thinking of upping the water and reducing the vinegar ratio in the future, maybe 2.5 cups water to 1.5 cups vinegar. Just fyi.
2 cups Champagne vinegar
We didn't have any, I used what I did have on hand: 1 & 3/4 cups white wine vinegar and 1/4 cup white balsamic vinegar.

Infusing flavor in the jars:
I completely eyeball the following ingredients. I'm certain I use more of everything below, plus I added mustard seed in comparable amounts as the peppercorns this time around. Also, I never add the chiles, but I'm a baby about heat.
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
4 sprigs of dill
3 garlic cloves, peeled and halved
2 whole dried chiles (optional)

1. Boil a stockpot of water as deep as the shoulder of a quart jar (or of the jars your using; I use a hodge podge of saved glass jars of all different sizes, so I usually have to boil in batches and adjust the water level accordingly.)
2. Wash cucumbers and slice into 1/8- to 1/4-inch-thick rounds.
3. In a small saucepan bring sugar, salt, vinegar and 2 cups water to a boil over high heat; remove from heat and set aside.
4. Distribute peppercorns, dill, garlic, and chiles equally between 2 sterilized 1-quart jars, then pack jars with cucumber slices. (I layer pickles, then spices, then more pickles, etc., since I think it helps disseminate the flavor. However I have no research to back that up.) Fill each jar with brine to 1/2-inch from rim.
5. Partly close jars, leave gap for steam to escape, and place in boiling water for 10 minutes. Carefully remove jars with jar lifter or 2 tongs and close lids tightly. Cool to room temperature. Refrigerate for up to two weeks.

Farmer's Market Bounty: Yellow and Red Brandywines

Even though we bought tomatoes at the farm stand at Verrill Farm over the weekend, I couldn't resist splurging at our Central Square Farmer's Market on Monday with these two Brandywine (heirloom) tomatoes, a yellow and a red. I picked up a whole wheat french bagette at Trader Joe's, cut off some slices and brushed them with herbed olive oil. (Basically I just dump rosemary, thyme, sea salt, and pepper into a few tablespoons of olive oil and stir.) I put these slices under the broiler for just a couple minutes, until they're lightly browned (or not so lightly since I always forget about them) and then top with the sliced tomatoes. These Brandywines were so flavorful, they didn't need the typical basil and mozzerella that often accompany sliced tomatoes in our house. Sean and I devoured these. Honestly, I can't wait for Monday, when I will pick two new heirloom tomatoes and we'll do this all over again. This makes an easy and tasty appetizer while we're cooking dinner. Although, had I made up more, we probably wouldn't have needed whatever it was we were cooking.

Thora's First Trauma (Don't panic, she's fine!)

Here is the story of Thora's first trauma... a dislocated elbow. First let me say that she is absolutely fine and in the course of the entire ordeal, she probably suffered less than 20 minutes of acute pain. Don't get me wrong. I know that is a lot for a baby. But when viewed among other childhood injuries, like a broken bone for example, it seems rather short.

She had been trying to climb up on the wicker trunk we have in the living room (see photo above). It is less than two feet high. And while she tries to get on it repeatedly throughout the day, (and we constantly make her get down), our real concern has been her standing on it, or rather, her falling off of it while standing. I never would've guessed, watching what she had been doing, that there was any risk for a joint un-socketing.

Anyway, she was laying on the top of the wicker trunk, sprawled out on her tummy, gripping the sides in each hand, when lost her balance and the left side of her body slid off the edge. I didn't see any cause for alarm in watching this happen, because as I said, her feet would've been mere inches from the ground and she could've just stood up. However, she must've held on too tight with her right hand as she fell to her left, and perhaps wrenching it in just the right way caused her elbow to pop out of the socket. I watched it happen; it took mere seconds. My immediate hypothesis was that she must've scraped herself on some loose piece of the wicker. She hadn't fallen, so I admit I was baffled as to why she was screaming so hard. (The poor thing was trembling.) After holding her, and trying to search out the cut, scrape, or bruise and not finding anything, I began feeling around for broken bones. A dislocated elbow is pretty subtle, well, for a non-doctor, that is. In fact, it took me a minute or two even to determine which limb was hurting her and even then, once I figured out it was her right arm, I assumed it was a dislocated shoulder. I never guessed it was the elbow until the doctor started working on it at the office.

Anyway, I called her pediatrician and was told that they could squeeze us in 45 minutes. I laid Thora on our bed in a big nest of pillows and she practically fell into a trance. I think after feeling the pain so acutely, now that she was lying there and the pain had stopped, she became totally relaxed, practically drowsy. She lay there, lazily watching me as I scrambled around getting us ready to leave for the hospital. (I was still in my pajamas when this happened.) Thora suffered a brief minute or two more of pain while I dressed her in some easy-on-and-off clothes--it was cold today or else I wouldn't have bothered dressing her at all--and put her in the stroller. Again, the pain subsided almost immediately and she relaxed during the trip on the train to the doctor's office. In fact, she was completely herself, getting excited about the trains charging in and out of the station, hollering "wooo wooo" at the ambulances parked near the entrance of the hospital, etc. She was totally herself, except that her poor right arm sat limp at her side. But as long as she didn't have to move it, she seemed to be in no pain. Not even the somewhat bumpy ride in the stroller bothered her.

Once there, we met with a doctor who after getting as much information from me as possible, and after doing some brief exploratory examinations, tried (very quickly, so as not to cause her more pain) to pop the elbow back in. She couldn't quite get it, after just a quick try, and so got her colleague to come give it a go. He had me put Thora on my lap facing out, and while holding her elbow in place, flexed her wrist up to her shoulder three times. I heard the soft pop after just the first flex. He said that I should wait ten minutes or so, periodically checking her abiliity to move her arm, to see if she could move it around on her own. He said the final test would be to put her on the ground and if she can reach both arms up to ask to be picked up, she's fine. Well, we hardly needed ten minutes. In less than one minute, she was raising her previously-injured arm at the elbow and pointing at the baby photos on the wall. In less than two minutes, she was holding on to the toys that I'd brought. After 3 or 4 minutes, she was mimicking me reaching both hands up to the ceiling "Strrrretch!". Basically, she was as good as new almost immediately.

So what did I learn from this experience? I'm not sure. That toddlers can injure themselves doing things that look pretty harmless. Yikes. I don't want to learn that! I learned from talking to some of Sean's co-workers (the one silver lining in all of this is that Sean got a visit from us in the middle of a Labor Floor day and got to show Thora off to his co-workers) is that this is a really common injury and it happens to tons of kids her age. I don't know yet whether she'll be
more susceptible to the same kind of injury in the future, now that it's happened once. I'll need to talk to the pediatrician about that. What did Thora learn from all of this? Absolutely Nothing! She was trying to climb on the wicker trunk exactly 3 minutes from getting
home from the hospital.

Thora, in all her 16 month-old glory

I'm overcome with a sense of regret and a time-slipping-though-my-fingers feeling that I haven't been better at documenting Thora's various stages. They come and go so quickly. I'm reminded over and over how all-consuming each parental phase seems until I'm out of it and eyeball deep in the next one. In fact, each phase seems determined to be with me for good and not a phase at all. "Surely, I'll never sleep again," I think. "This is it; this is my life now." But then a week later, we're all sleeping through the night, but I'm not noticing because all I can see is that my clothes, while never exactly fancy, have become wearable napkins, and I think, "Well, that's it. I'll never again walk around in public with a t-shirt that does not reveal what Thora ate earlier in the day. That's just my life now, until when, she's 16?"

Anyway, regardless of how it feels, the phases don't swallow me whole, despite the sucking sounds that come from my legs as that pull them out of the murk that's up to my knees. Raising a toddler feels more like I'm walking up to my knees in some unspeakable substance, walking until I think I can go no further, when out of nowhere, I walk into a swarm of bees. I haven't realized that the swampy ground has dried up and is in fact a nice mossy surface. I'm too distracted, debating if I should remain perfectly still or break into a full sprint. You get the idea.

So here's an anectodal snapshot of Thora in this moment, before she moves on to the next big thing. I think we're in a pretty good place on the metaphorical terrain. The ground is pretty smooth, the weather pleasant, with only the occasional hidden geyser to watch out for. Thora seems to spend about 90% of her awake time narrating all that she sees and knows. And she knows a lot. She points out all the objects that she knows. "Cuh" for cup, "Nay" for rain, "Vrreh-wa" for umbrella. She identifies parts of her body, "Toe" where she currently has an "Owwie," her "Knee," and she's always telling us where her "Ha" (hat) goes. She anticipates putting on her "Shees" (shoes). There's the food that she likes: "Ahh Jiss" (apple juice); "Nana" (banana); "Coo Coo" (cookie); "Cee Cee" (cereal); "Wa Wa" (water). But right now her favorite word/concept is "On" (light). "On" is her word for light and it means all lights, whether they are on or off. It takes us FOREVER to walk anywhere, since she points to almost all of the porch lights and says "On! ON! ON!" Any and all light fixtures receive her attention. As do many key holes on car doors. She walks up to the parked cars saying "Cahh" (her first Bostonian accented word, sigh) and holds her hand out clutching an imaginary set of keys and says "Key."

Her vocabulary is growing each day. However, some words that she'd mastered long ago, have now taken on additional and unexpected meanings. For example, "mama," which always just meant me, now means "chair" or "seat." This transition originated, I think, from a time when she started telling me where she wanted me to sit. We'd be at the park, climbing into the small playhouse, and she would pat the bench seat across from the seat she normally takes and would say, "Mama," as if to say, "Mama, I want you to sit here." However, recently, Sean and I watch her pat any seating surface, the couch or chairs in our living room or kitchen, park benches, curbs, and say "mama," whether I'm there or not. How do we interpret this? Does she think I'm always sitting on my ass? Hardly! Also, the simple word "hi," which she uses like a professional--she says "hi" to almost everyone we come across!--now has been attributed a new meaning of "here, take this."

While her growing linguistic dexterity is not her only trait right now, it is probably the one that we revel in the most when Sean and I are comparing parental notes: "Guess what she said today?" etc. More to come soon about all her other brilliant-seeming (to us, of course) and totally silly characteristics.

Farmer's Market Bounty: Radishes & Beer

Well I want to say, who knew? But since I don't really know all that much about all the ways that various foods are used the world over, the answer to that question surely is: Lots of people. And by "lots" I think I may be talking about millions (gazillions?). So, I guess I rephrase this to say: I really wish I knew about this! All you gazillions of people that have been eating raw salted radishes paired with beer, (Germans, I'm looking at you) why didn't you tell me?

Anyway, this past Monday at our local Farmer's Market in Central Square, I was eyeing the blood-pink color of the radishes and thought that for the first time in my life, I might buy some, for salads. Sean and I are always looking for ways to spruce up the salads we have with every single dinner (except when we have pancakes or waffles for dinner). We really like crunch, so we're constantly rotating through carrot/broccoli slaw, soy nuts, croutons, red and yellow peppers and the like. As I was handing over my money (I think $2) I thought to ask how else people might use radishes besides cut up in salads. He told me that people sautee the greens. But I could tell that his heart wasn't really there, until he said, "You know how I really like them? Sliced and salted with beer."

So I wasted no time. There were a couple cold beers in the fridge. There was sea salt in our cabinet. Now there were radishes. I put the baby to bed--not in the middle of the afternoon or anything, but at her regular bedtime--and got to slicing. And the verdict: I LOVE them. They're the slightest bit hot, in the way that wasabi is hot, but only a whisper of wasabi's sinus-clearing punch. And of course, I love the satisfying crunch and savoriness of the sea salt. Sean's comment after trying one was, "Well, I don't hate them." (Since the first taste test, he's gladly had more here and there.) But he did say that he thought one could get a "burning stomach" like he is prone to get when he has raw garlic or raw onion on an empty stomach. I guess that's why you pair them with the beer.

p.s. I am submitting this post to the Farmer's Market Report over on To Every Meal There Is A Season. Check it out here.

Lessons in Doing it Yourself

Thora is a budding individual, complete with strong impulses to do things on her own. This new Thora often rears her head at times when I would prefer to be a hands-on Mom, e.g. when she boldly, one might even say, audaciously, crosses the wobbly, tight-rope-esque plank on the big kids' playground equipment at the park, which often catches me completely unprepared since this is the same toddler who thinks and over-thinks how to step off a ledge with a 2-inch drop. Or when, like pictured, she is determined to push her stroller. Most of the time she is pushing with her head down and doesn't notice that I'm steering. However, sometimes she does look up and then I can practically read her thoughts in that irritated expression. It says: "Mother!" And so I let go and watch as she immediately steers the stroller straight into somebody's fence.

But the other day, this new, determined Thora and her newfound will had unexpected results. Well not really all that unexpected, as you will surely guess after you read the next line. So Thora was drinking a smoothie... See, you probably know where this is going already right? I kind of knew too. However, Thora had NO idea.

So I've been making her smoothies and then pouring them back into the washed containers of the Stonyfield yogurt drink that she loves. (The Deception begins!) I bought a package of straws, too, so she can have a bit more control over the experience. I think it's pretty unpleasant for the both of us for me to have to hold the bottle to her mouth. I mean, I can never really tell how fast I'm pouring it into her mouth which always seems to result in her desperately slurping at the yogurt that keeps lapping just out of reach of her lips, only then to be drowned by a forced-guzzling.

Anyway, we were sitting there at the kitchen table, I was holding the container and the straw in place while she sucked down the smoothie. That is, until she started to push my hand away, first just away from the straw, and then away from the whole bottle. Of course, the thought going through my head was, "I ain't trying to hear this," and so I kept at it, trying to maintain a maximum amount of control with just my fingertips. But Thora wasn't having it, herself surely thinking, "I ain't trying to hear this, Mother!" And so finally, against better judgement, or at least, before I had covered in plastic all the surfaces in a 50-foot radius, I let go. I watched as she continued to drink, chug the smoothie, and in just a few brief seconds was convinced that that was all the learning curve she needed. Clearly I was on the very very bottom of my own learning curve. My lesson was that she hasn't learned her lesson. I mean, for pete's sake, I haven't learned her lesson. It wasn't too far in my past, like 3 months ago, that I was holding something liquid, and turned my wrist to look at my watch, and ta-dah! So, with neither of us having any clue where we were on our respective learning curves, and foolish with over-confindence, I walked away. Like 3 feet away, to put some of her lunch leftovers back in the fridge. And as I closed the fridge door, I looked up, and that's when I saw her arm, the one holding the smoothie, inexplicably jump, and the next thing you know... Well, I never had cable growing up. But somehow I caught glimpses of people on Nickelodeon getting "slimed." This is what, briefly, Thora looked like. She was coated in a pale orange seeping goo that completely masked half of her head, face, upper, and lower body. Initially, I was surprised that there could've even been that much smoothie left in there, even when full to the rim. And when I walked away, the container was 1/3 full, at most. So there she was, for a split second, blinking a heavily-coated eyelid, blowing a smoothie bubble from her parting lips, before the sobbing started. Essentially, a midday bath was called for. And I literally rung smoothie out of her shirt after I pulled it off of her. I guess we both have a lot of learning to do. But what is terrible was the thought that I so briefly entertained in the nano-second while I was registering what was happening: Where's the camera?

Poop-the-Pool Signal?

We're three for three. Each of the three times in the last week and a half, when I've made a special point to jog us over to a wading pool for Thora to splash around in, we've gotten there only to find out that the pool has been closed due to an "accident" or a "contamination." I can't tell you how maddening this is. Specifically, because on each occasion, it was close to 90 degrees with 80% humidity and I'd just run 3 miles to get us there.
For now, the only silver lining is that Thora's too young to have dashed hopes. And if she's anything like me, god help us once we get to that point. Perhaps my frustration, to the point of internal tantrum-throwing is because Thora is blissfully unaware; unaware of what she's missing out on, and unaware of my tongue-clicking and my complaints of "You've GOT to be kidding me," which sail right over the jogging stroller's canopy only to disintigrate into angry molecules in the air. Hopefully, once we get to the point when unexpected turns of event need some careful redirection and positive spin, I'll be as chill as you can get. I'll be channeling the "stoned surfer" vibe, who takes each new happening as merely what is meant to be. "Dude, Thora, what a bummer. That's core. But I guess, when we think about it, we don't want to be swimming around in some kid's toilet, right? Hey, let's go sit in on that drum circle over there." So for the time being, I'm going to do two things: 1) Try to stop adhering to the "Someone's Got to Pitch a Fit, And If It's Not Going to be Thora..." theory, and 2) try to figure out what kind of signal we emit as we're preparing for these outings. I imagine that we're unknowingly sending up some kind of "Poop In The Pool" signal, a la Batman, and kids all over the Boston-Metro area are doing as told, just in time for us to round the bend, me desperately scanning the horizon for sprays of sprinkler water, and instead seeing the nearby playground lethally overcrowded.

p.s. the photo above is of our outing to dry land, the big field at the end of Magazine, close to our house.

If I had to pick my favorite 12 photos from our trip to NYC

...they would be the following. Keep in mind, I really couldn't narrow it down any more than I did, hence the "Top 12" rather than "Top 5" or the infinitely more common, "Top 10." But anyway, I think these 12 really capture the trip as a whole, all that we did, and we did a lot.

Elizabeth opening gifts at her baby shower.
As of this posting, she is 2 days past her due date!
And in this heat and humidity!

Tony and Thora. I can't get enough of this photo.

Grandpa Bob wearing Thora in the Ergo.

Visiting the Bronx Zoo. This was definitely one of the major highlights of the trip.
Of course, Thora slept through the first 90 minutes,
dropping off, literally, seconds before we walked through the gates.
Here she is trying to be woken up. Awww.

Awake and loving it! This is by the tiger.

Happy Family

Thora recoiling while trying to feed the goats
at the petting zoo inside the Bronx Zoo's Children's Zoo

On the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Thora in the sprinklers at one of the playgrounds in Central Park.
This photo seems to act like a portal for me, showing me what she'll look like
as a much older Thora, like the 4-year-old Thora.

Getting into people's things in New Jersey

Thora loved the bubble machine. "Buh Buh! Buh Buh!!!"

Sean and Thora on Ellis Island,
Lower Manhattan in the background

Trying to Catch Up

It's been ages since I posted anything, and that has partly do with:

1) we were in NYC for 2 weeks during the second half of June, and what with the preparation before and regrouping afterwards...

2) we are in the final stages of buying the condo we're living in and so it has been endless emailing and phone calls and stress

3) Sean is preparing a list of cases for the Board exam that he will take this winter. This case list is due in the coming weeks and so he is working on that during every spare moment, which leaves me with the baby from morning to night everyday, which absolutely exhausts me, after which I find myself sitting down to a plate of reheated dinner and Jezebel and the next thing you know it's 10:30 and I can't believe that missed my 9:00 pm bedtime that I'd been swearing to adhere to since I heard the baby's first squawks in the pre-sunrise hours of the morning.

4) and since I quite narrowly defined this blog by its title, I frequently feel that content needs to be green-related to merit posting, which creates stalling and doubting, by which time the idea or anecdote of a post has evaporated. I need to stop feeling this way.


So there it is. I'm going to be more post-y. End of story.

p.s. This photo of Thora is taken north of the South Street Seaport along East River Drive looking back at the Brooklyn Bridge, specifically of one of four waterfall art installations.