Aoife, Underwhelmed

A few weeks ago we started Aoife with solid food.  I was in no hurry, because breastfeeding is so easy and starting solids just complicates things.  Because then you have to remember to bring food with you when you go places, whereas with breastfeeding you don't have to worry about accidentally leaving your boobs at home.

We began with rice cereal, like "They" say you're supposed to do.  Let's just say that Aoife did not appreciate the flavor.  Or texture.  Or really anything about the rice cereal.  On the contrary, she was angry.  Like, "This is what I've been waiting for?  You have GOT to be @^$#% kidding me."  I gave her a few days to cool down and tried the rice cereal again, this time with a little more breast milk mixed in.  I think she started screaming at me before the spoon even touched her lips.

So then we tried bananas, because what kid doesn't like bananas?  Mine, apparently.  She was much less angry, but no less convinced that we were trying to poison her.  But she continued to be interested in the food that we were eating, so I figured maybe she just wants to be able to do it herself.  When Chris made pancakes this morning, we made a small one just for Aoife so that she'd be able to have her very own breakfast to do with as she liked.  This is what happened.  I thought about adding captions, but they're really not needed.

Yeah.  She's totally giving Chris a dirty look in that last one.

I'm not really sure where to go from here.  We've tried rice cereal, bananas, pears, pancakes, teething biscuits, and avocado on numerous occasions, with breast milk, without breast milk, in varied consistencies, and with different spoons.  Nothing strikes her fancy.  I can't decide if we should risk a throng of PETA picketers in our yard by continuing to beat a dead horse with the bananas, or if I should keep trying new things until I find something that she'll actually swallow.  I don't know.  She's going to need solids eventually though, because as much as I love and support breastfeeding, I will totally not be coming to school to give her a snack on her first day in Kindergarten.

Independence

Yesterday Cormac figured out how to ride his tricycle mostly by himself so, at his insistence and our backs' misgivings, we took the adult-push handlebar off. He practiced riding around our porch and was very proud of himself.

And as it would happen, today was the 4th of July parade in our neighborhood, where kids decorate their bikes and ride around the park. So Cormac rode his bike around the park. Sort of. His trajectory is what I imagine it would be like if I had several tequila shots and tried to ride his trike blindfolded. And maybe even naked. It's hard to say what would happen after several tequila shots. Anyway.

He would get going really fast, then become interested in what people around us were doing and promptly veer off into the grass or someone's heel. Everyone was very understanding, though, as their children were doing essentially the same thing. And all participants got a popsicle for their trouble, so who could complain? Rocket pops make everything better.

My slightly more dependent child did not participate in the parade because she had to nap, but she was properly attired for the Fourth and very cute at that.

Happy Fourth of July!

Crazy

Sooo....two kids is a lot of work. Having that second kid doesn't just double your work, it increases it exponentially. Like, to the 112th power. All of a sudden you go from two-on-one to man-to-man defense. Or even zone when you're by yourself. Because now you have two dependents who are remarkably good at tag-teaming in the needs department. Take nap time, for example. I put Aoife down for a nap, then move on to Cormac. He takes for-freaking-ever to calm down, and by the time I get him somewhat settled Aoife has woken up angry because she has rolled to the other side of the crib and can't get her pacifier and lovey since her arms are pinned to her sides by the darn blanket. So then I get her back to sleep, and by that time Cormac has thrown all the toys out of the bins on his bookshelf and is using them to climb up higher on the bookshelf in order to fling more stuff off.

Or sometimes in the car, Aoife gets annoyed that she's still in her carseat because it's been, like, five whole minutes. So she starts fussing, which annoys Cormac, so he yells, which bugs Aoife so she cries louder, which makes Cormac cry, and so on. The situation deteriorates very rapidly.

And then try traveling with both of them. We did it a few weekends ago when we went to a wedding in Seattle. Thank God my parents were on the same flight with us, because otherwise one of our children would still be lost in the airport, and I would still be knocked out from all the Ativan. Here's the craziest thing, though: we're planning a trip in the beginning of November with just Chris, me, and the kids. To England. I know. We clearly did not have our thinking caps on when we made that decision. But the tickets are already booked, so across the pond we go. But it will be fine as long as no one loses anything too important, like an eye or a limb.

I had originally planned on making this post longer, but I've been working on it for, like, three days now, and I can't really remember what else I wanted to say. Because I have two kids. So I'm just gonna post what I've got, because, hey, it's something, right?

Conversations With Cormac. And Aoife. And Inanimate Objects.

While driving in the car, I hear voices in the backseat. At a stoplight I turn to look at Cormac.

Cormac: I'm talking to Aoife.

Me: Oh yeah? What's she saying?

Cormac: Ah.

***

Cormac: Hi!

Chris: Hey, Kiddo! What are you coming over here for?

Cormac: I'm coming to eat ice cream!

Chris: Oh, you want some ice cream, huh?

Cormac: Ok!

***

Cormac to his stuffed bunny: No, no. I don't like this. I need some space... Ow! Don't kick! That hurts.

***

I'm taking Morris for a walk with Aoife in the Moby wrap. As I cross the street, I pass a woman who asks, "Is that a little baby in there?"

Me: Yup!

No, I have a ten-pound tumor on my torso that I like to decorate with scarves.

Kites: A Story In Pictures

A few weeks ago, we bought a kite to fly at the park across the street from our house, because it's almost always windy. For some reason, though, every time we planned to go use the kite for the first time, something came up and we had to postpone. But yesterday we finally made it over to the park with said kite in hand... only to find that there was almost no wind to speak of. There was enough of a breeze to get it in the air for a short time, so we made the best of it.

Cormac flying the kite mostly by himself.

A small amount of assistance,

And now on his own.

This is about as high as we got it.

A rainbow in the sky

Short range kite flying

Time to head home.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Although the real celebration with family, corned beef and cabbage, and car bombs is on Saturday, we celebrated on a smaller scale today; everyone wore green, we listened to Irish music all day, and we made colcannon for dinner. Cormac also informed us that he really likes beer, and he would like to drink some, too. I told him he has to be at least eight before he has any beer.

Colcannon is really easy to make, and it's delicious. Here's a recipe. Make sure you use plenty of butter and salt. And if you feel the need, you can add some cooked thick-cut bacon or ham.

Colcannon

1 1/4 pounds (about 2 large) russet (baking) potatoes

3 cups thinly sliced cabbage

1/2 cup milk, scalded

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into bits and softened

Peel the potatoes and cut them into 1-inch pieces. In a saucepan cover the potatoes with salted water and simmer them, covered, for 15 minutes, or until they are tender. While the potatoes are simmering, in a steamer set over boiling water steam the cabbage for 5 minutes, or until it is tender. Drain the potatoes in a colander, force them through a ricer or the medium disk of a food mill into a bowl, and stir in the milk, the butter, the cabbage, and salt and pepper to taste.

Slàinte!

Making Do

What, your kid doesn't sleep in a laundry basket?