"I want to be just like you, Bewa (Bella)..."
"I like you, Caleb..."
"I like you, too, Penelope..."Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Babies and Hidden Cameras
My baby only thinks she's outsmarted me! Not the case, sweet, little, sneaky Penelope! It turns out that my baby it quite savvy when it comes to anything to do with technology. I'll explain in a minute.
Penelope has the uncanny ability, until now I thought of it as a magical ability to know the precise moment that I am beginning to enter the realm of sleep.
I've even tested this ability by changing the variables. For example, I've gone to bed at different times, 10pm, 11:30, or 1pm. It doesn't matter. She wakes up crying as soon as my dreams are calling me. Also, I've put her to bed at different times to see if I can mess up her sleep pattern. It doesn't help. Right at that moment when the world around me begins to fade into the past, I'm jolted right back into it by a cry.
Then it hit me. We always talk about kids these days being great with computers, cell phones, video games, etc. Well, we forget that babies, the next generation, are even more advanced. I then realized that Penelope's nightly wakings were no mere coincidences. She doesn't have any special magical ability or intuition. It's calculated, planned and crafty. You see, she installed hidden cameras in my room and special sensors in my bed that measures my breathing and body temperature. It sends her a signal as soon as it detects that I am falling asleep. I haven't figured out where she keeps all the equipment which I'm guessing she has a ton of footage of me, tumbling out of bed, often with a grumpy look on my face, stumbling into her room. I think she's been having a hay day, probably holding in the giggles right before she fake cries.
The interesting thing is that as far as I can tell these sensors are only on my side of the bed and the hidden cameras apparently only point to me.
Well, Penelope, I'm on to you, baby. I know all about your secret little covert operation. We'll see who wins this little contest. I have tricks up my sleeve, too, you know.
Note: Last night I think her equipment malfunctioned or the computer crashed or something. I fell completely asleep for several hours before she woke up.
Penelope has the uncanny ability, until now I thought of it as a magical ability to know the precise moment that I am beginning to enter the realm of sleep.
I've even tested this ability by changing the variables. For example, I've gone to bed at different times, 10pm, 11:30, or 1pm. It doesn't matter. She wakes up crying as soon as my dreams are calling me. Also, I've put her to bed at different times to see if I can mess up her sleep pattern. It doesn't help. Right at that moment when the world around me begins to fade into the past, I'm jolted right back into it by a cry.
Then it hit me. We always talk about kids these days being great with computers, cell phones, video games, etc. Well, we forget that babies, the next generation, are even more advanced. I then realized that Penelope's nightly wakings were no mere coincidences. She doesn't have any special magical ability or intuition. It's calculated, planned and crafty. You see, she installed hidden cameras in my room and special sensors in my bed that measures my breathing and body temperature. It sends her a signal as soon as it detects that I am falling asleep. I haven't figured out where she keeps all the equipment which I'm guessing she has a ton of footage of me, tumbling out of bed, often with a grumpy look on my face, stumbling into her room. I think she's been having a hay day, probably holding in the giggles right before she fake cries.
The interesting thing is that as far as I can tell these sensors are only on my side of the bed and the hidden cameras apparently only point to me.
Well, Penelope, I'm on to you, baby. I know all about your secret little covert operation. We'll see who wins this little contest. I have tricks up my sleeve, too, you know.
Note: Last night I think her equipment malfunctioned or the computer crashed or something. I fell completely asleep for several hours before she woke up.
Monday, February 25, 2008
A Rude House
My husband asked, "Why are you looking forward to going to the cabin this weekend?" I answered with, "What?" You know, the kind of "what" that is loaded with all kinds of other sentences and grimaces and attitude. OK, so I'm not very proud of that "what." But that's the kind of "what" I said.
His question was sincere. He was making conversation. I was sitting on my overstuffed chair in the living room when he asked me. This offered a great vantage point for my next eloquent discourse. To my left was the little bar cabinet. On top of it was a filing case of magazines, a little pile of fabric, a box of embroidering threads, and a Valentines gift basket. I could swear that I saw that little mess frown at me. My eyes moved a foot over to the right to the kitchen table and there sat a small pile of puzzles that my Penelope had dumped on the floor days previous. They were joined by several other odds and ends. I could tell they were giving me a dirty look.
Unfortunately my eyes kept going to the right where they ungraciously landed on the queen of all messes! This area used to be a surface, but that has been long gone. Instead one can find an item of any given category just laying there, all scrambled up with each other screaming amongst themselves and at me anytime I walk by. A candle holder, a spool of thread, many many coupons that will most definitely never get used, pictures to be hung, a telephone, the hospital bracelet that Penelope wore as a newborn (I know, that's awful, it's meant to be in the adjacent pile for her scrapbook. I know, I know, who am I kidding?), a picture frame, postcards, note cards, things that I don't know how to describe, all of them living together for too long.
I wish I could stop there but my eyes kept making its way around the room while intermittently rolling for venting purposes. The armoire’s piles have a miraculous quality to them. It's like they think they're the modern day version of the five loaves and two fish. I'm always trying to show them why they're not, theologically speaking, but I think they are just delusional. Not to mention that everything in my house yells at me, "Dust us, already!!!" They start chanting this anytime I think I'm going to sit down for American Idol or anything that suggests, sitting. In fact, they even make up little songs about how dusty they are.
I told Christopher all of these things. He graciously listened, per usual. I said that I just want to go somewhere nice, not rude, like my house. Somewhere where I could go to any corner I wished to simply sit in it and not have it yell at me. We did. We had a great time.
The underlying message is this, I like to use this kind of technique, giving inanimate objects a "real" voice. I feel it portrays me as the victim and all the inanimate things as the villain. It works out very nicely, thank you.
His question was sincere. He was making conversation. I was sitting on my overstuffed chair in the living room when he asked me. This offered a great vantage point for my next eloquent discourse. To my left was the little bar cabinet. On top of it was a filing case of magazines, a little pile of fabric, a box of embroidering threads, and a Valentines gift basket. I could swear that I saw that little mess frown at me. My eyes moved a foot over to the right to the kitchen table and there sat a small pile of puzzles that my Penelope had dumped on the floor days previous. They were joined by several other odds and ends. I could tell they were giving me a dirty look.
Unfortunately my eyes kept going to the right where they ungraciously landed on the queen of all messes! This area used to be a surface, but that has been long gone. Instead one can find an item of any given category just laying there, all scrambled up with each other screaming amongst themselves and at me anytime I walk by. A candle holder, a spool of thread, many many coupons that will most definitely never get used, pictures to be hung, a telephone, the hospital bracelet that Penelope wore as a newborn (I know, that's awful, it's meant to be in the adjacent pile for her scrapbook. I know, I know, who am I kidding?), a picture frame, postcards, note cards, things that I don't know how to describe, all of them living together for too long.
I wish I could stop there but my eyes kept making its way around the room while intermittently rolling for venting purposes. The armoire’s piles have a miraculous quality to them. It's like they think they're the modern day version of the five loaves and two fish. I'm always trying to show them why they're not, theologically speaking, but I think they are just delusional. Not to mention that everything in my house yells at me, "Dust us, already!!!" They start chanting this anytime I think I'm going to sit down for American Idol or anything that suggests, sitting. In fact, they even make up little songs about how dusty they are.
I told Christopher all of these things. He graciously listened, per usual. I said that I just want to go somewhere nice, not rude, like my house. Somewhere where I could go to any corner I wished to simply sit in it and not have it yell at me. We did. We had a great time.
The underlying message is this, I like to use this kind of technique, giving inanimate objects a "real" voice. I feel it portrays me as the victim and all the inanimate things as the villain. It works out very nicely, thank you.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Navally
That's right. I've been feeling very navally lately. I know that's not technically a word, but I like how it sounds. What I mean by that is I've been staring too long at my proverbial naval lately. It's dark, it's stinky, wrinkly and ugly. No light can be shone into the pitiful hole. Nothing can be seen with clarity and certainly nothing that is seen can be called lovely. Unhesitating light, brilliant and arbitrary, is needed to see the beautiful.
Last night, my daughter woke up as soon as I was falling into a coveted sleep. So I got up and tended to her, moderately annoyed, and soon she was asleep again. I went back to my bed and just as sleep was closing my eyes she woke up again. This time I nudged her dad and he went to her. For some reason nothing would console her. I could not sleep to the persistent crying soundtrack of the night, so I, too, got up, this time extremely annoyed. She eventually settled back down, with me at her side in her bed. I was very uncomfortable and could not sleep. One hour and a half later I found myself back in my own bed still trying to fall asleep. Finally, I could feel sleep whispering softly of dreams I was about to sink myself into and my droopy eyes closing for the final time. So I thought. Right then, my baby started crying AGAIN.
Where does a mother go from being extremely annoyed? What's the next level called? My eyes couldn't roll enough times to vent away the frustration.
What could be wrong with her? I thought about our previous day. We had left our house in the morning and only came back at 9pm. That wasn't the plan but that seems to be our way, always on the go in search of something different and fun to do. I realized that she had not had a proper nap. I remembered that while we were at my brother-in-law's place she started crying and crying wanting to take a bath. It was 7pm., the time she usually takes a bath before going to bed. But since my head was stuck in my naval, I only concerned myself with the fact that I was having a good time, even though it was kind of fuzzy and claustrophobic in there.
By this time my baby was asleep again, on her side, facing me with her little hand gently resting on my shoulder, I was laying next to her. And just like that, I popped my head out of my stinky naval. Suddenly, brilliant light cut sharply through my self-ridden heart. It cut to the place in my heart that was not putting her needs before my own. Her room was dark but I could make out the curve of her sweet face and the slight dimple in her chin. I touched her face, her little ear and her silky hair. I did not hesitate to kiss her face. In that moment, in the dark, my heart was finally light enough to recognize it, she was the beauty before me that my heart was begging to see. And I saw it. I finally did.
Last night, my daughter woke up as soon as I was falling into a coveted sleep. So I got up and tended to her, moderately annoyed, and soon she was asleep again. I went back to my bed and just as sleep was closing my eyes she woke up again. This time I nudged her dad and he went to her. For some reason nothing would console her. I could not sleep to the persistent crying soundtrack of the night, so I, too, got up, this time extremely annoyed. She eventually settled back down, with me at her side in her bed. I was very uncomfortable and could not sleep. One hour and a half later I found myself back in my own bed still trying to fall asleep. Finally, I could feel sleep whispering softly of dreams I was about to sink myself into and my droopy eyes closing for the final time. So I thought. Right then, my baby started crying AGAIN.
Where does a mother go from being extremely annoyed? What's the next level called? My eyes couldn't roll enough times to vent away the frustration.
What could be wrong with her? I thought about our previous day. We had left our house in the morning and only came back at 9pm. That wasn't the plan but that seems to be our way, always on the go in search of something different and fun to do. I realized that she had not had a proper nap. I remembered that while we were at my brother-in-law's place she started crying and crying wanting to take a bath. It was 7pm., the time she usually takes a bath before going to bed. But since my head was stuck in my naval, I only concerned myself with the fact that I was having a good time, even though it was kind of fuzzy and claustrophobic in there.
By this time my baby was asleep again, on her side, facing me with her little hand gently resting on my shoulder, I was laying next to her. And just like that, I popped my head out of my stinky naval. Suddenly, brilliant light cut sharply through my self-ridden heart. It cut to the place in my heart that was not putting her needs before my own. Her room was dark but I could make out the curve of her sweet face and the slight dimple in her chin. I touched her face, her little ear and her silky hair. I did not hesitate to kiss her face. In that moment, in the dark, my heart was finally light enough to recognize it, she was the beauty before me that my heart was begging to see. And I saw it. I finally did.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
My Funny Valentine...
Christopher and I met on Valentines Day twelve years ago. That same night he wrote me a letter that he did not plan on giving me... thankfully, he changed his mind. All these years later we are still in love and we have our very own valentine, Penelope.
Making a valentine card for her "papai"
She's so darn cute, don't you think? And she's mine...
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