World's smartest baby

I thought it was amazing when she started to walk at 9 1/2 months, but this is just too much:



I finally loaded a few weeks' worth of pictures, including some of her new hot wheels


Click either one above to see more.

And now for something completely different...

...me PRAISING the institution of day care. Yes, my job sucks these days and yes I would love to have a bit more time with my kid, but here's what day care means to me these days:

1. Someone else can watch Clementine for a few hours as she kicks, screams and shrieks at the top of lungs, pulls hair and hits when someone does something crazy like keep her from biting into a live electrical wire or take away the bottle of dangerous poison she is likely to drink. Yup, you can have the temper tantrums because my patience is wearing thin.

2. I haven't changed a dirty diaper in over almost two weeks! Wet, yes; dirty, no. She's always at day care when the urge strikes her, and last weekend she had a little bout of vacation constipation. I've almost forgotten just how disgusting it is, but I'm worried that means my gag reflex is coming back.

Cherries and tantrums and brides, oh my!

If you had seen me yesterday, you would have thought of those old Calgon commercials where a frazzled looking woman has a kid pulling at her skirt, the phone ringing, a pot boiling over on the stove and her hair all wild and crazy around her. It was just one of those days--work was overwhelming, Clementine was needy and there just weren't enough hours to get all the shit done I needed to. Today's not much better, but I keep thinking if I can make it a few more hours I can go home, survive bed and bath time and then veg on the couch watching Miami Ink and dreaming of the day I stop breastfeeding and can get my Clementine-inspired, belated Mother's Day tattoo. Or maybe I'll just dream of being Kat Von D, the chick tattoo artist who is one of my many personal heroes. Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch and compose my letter of resignation, which I do in my head sometimes when work gets rough.

One of the reasons it has been a little hectic is that I got to go away again last weekend. It has been a summer full of travel, and I'm really enjoying getting out on the road with my family and seeing this crazy state. Our awesome friends David and Laura have introduced us to the Michigan phenomenon of "Up North" in its various incarnations, and this past weekend we went up to a little town outside Traverse City, home of the annual Cherry Festival, called Elk Rapids. It was everything I wanted in a weekend away, and the only sucky thing about it was coming home. The town is nice and vacationy--some shops, a great city beach, a park, cool houses and a yummy bakery--and it is situated in a neat corner of Michigan, giving us time for a day trip that let us see all sorts of new things. Clementine, who has been a fantastic traveler on most of our other road trips, has quite a little stuffy nose, so she was more terror than usual, but it didn't slow us down very much. OK, so the idea of taking her to an outdoor fireside poetry reading failed miserably because she thought everyone was there to hear her shout and scream and cry, but that was our only misstep. We were able to enjoy a day at the beach and one poking our heads into towns (read: shopping) like Glen Arbor and Leeland, and we even visited the very cool Sleeping Bear Dunes. I can't wait to get back to all these places and get to know them even more. Someday Clementine will really appreciate her nomadic parents, and I know she'll always love her some David and Laura, who have been with us through some of our best and worst travel moments.

Back here in the real world, we are dealing with some troubling developments in Clementine's behavior: mainly the temper tantrum. When I take something away from her (ummm...like the hair dryer cord or the lead door stop that could crush her toes into oblivion) that she really wants, she will throw a total hissy fit and shriek louder than a baby her size ever should. It is honestly otherworldly. I was able to excuse it for a few days as a side effect of her cold, and I'm still pretending deep down that it's possible, but I also have a sinking feeling deep inside that I've already somehow totally fucked up my job as parent and have created a spoiled baby. Maybe it's not that bad, but at 2:30 a.m., she was up shrieking and kicking and pulling hair/beards and causing some parental discord between the one who wanted to leave her shrieking alone in her room and the one who picked her up and caused the other to look like the evil, abandoning parent. It really just takes me back to those newborn days when, at some wee hour, Nate and I would yell at each other with the little energy we had after weeks of no sleep over something inane that we could certainly agree on after rest and in broad daylight. So yeah, my kid is kind of broken, and I just don't know what to do to fix her. It still seems impossible to me that my little love has turned into a calculating, manipulative child who needs me to be firm, but I'm getting worried that I've spoiled her. Is that the giant parenting machine infiltrating my brain? I feel very insecure in my parenting skills in these times of crisis, and I try to remember that I have my own instincts to follow. My instincts tell me not to fight against the fits, but I'm afraid I'm headed toward being that awful mom in Target who just continues shopping while her demon spawn runs wild, banging into shit and throwing temper tantrums over not getting a barbie or some other shit toy.

Between work and parenting it's amazing I have time for much else, but my friend Karen is getting married this weekend, so I'm also involved in much briding [and I'm having fun, Karen, so stop reading this and get back to finishing your programs!]. She's holding up pretty well, but it's hard as someone who has lived through the experience to hold my tongue when she's all distraught over flower arrangements, chair covers and the like. I want to tell her that in the end none of it matters, but brides can't hear that, can they? I don't want to generalize, but I think it's safe to say that anyone who has been through the planning and execution of a wedding probably comes out of the experience having realized that their color scheme, music selection, flower arrangments, etc. weren't the make-or-break-it factor they thought in the planning process. But just try to tell that to a bride who is pretty sure the entire tenor of her marriage will be set by the song she and her hubby use for their first dance. There is no listening. Karen is hardly a bridezilla, but she is definitely lost in the details, and while I'm getting wrapped up in the fun of it, I keep thinking how even the informal celebration we had after we got hitched in Vegas was probably more than it needed to be. I would have had a much bigger house down payment if I really had just rented a park picnic shelter and grilled myself. But I digress. Karen has just come in to show me her wedding hair, and if she can get the top to look less like a football helmet, it is very lovely [go finish your programs, Karen--you know it does really look like a helmet, but the back is very pretty and you will be a gorgeous bride.].

She and Dave spent hours at my house last night working on their music mix because the one traditional wedding element they decided to opt out of was a DJ or band. Instead, they're using my iPod. I'll be interested to see how this works out for them since dancing is a big part of why people like going to wedding receptions--that and the liquor. For those of us in the non-clubbing set, it is the only time we get to truck out onto the dance floor and make fools of ourselves. That doesn't happen at the shows we go to in Detroit, where you are really just supposed to nod/bang your head and stand there looking cool. Thank heavens Karen's sister sent some dance song ideas their way to make sure there was something mainstream that everyone can relate to--I can't wait to groove to Madonna and Riyannah (or however the hell you spell that), two secret, guilty MTV pleasures I treat myself to while pumping in the morning. I'm pretty bummed that Karen got Dave involved after she and I had worked so hard, though, because he's taking music way too seriously, voting off some of my favorites, thinking that if there are one or two cheesy dance songs people will leave the wedding saying "Well, that would have been fun if it weren't for the Hokey Pokey. How lame can you get? Their marriage is doomed!" Sure, I was against the YMCA at my wedding, but know what? Everyone in the house danced their asses off. And none of them like the Ramones or the Pixies because you just can't catch a beat there. I got over it, and people had a good time. So I'm trying not to take it as a big fuck you that last night Dave overruled that inane Cha-Cha song that Karen and I always dance to at karaoke night and she LET him. I love being told to sliiiide to the left, even if it is the dorkiest thing in the world, and it's not like I've asked to do the Chicken Dance (although, after some wine, I totally would). I love Karen to death, but she's a little too eager to throw her friends under a bus for her man sometimes, and this might be the last straw. I mean, can you imagine a wedding where you don't get to do any stupid dances? [Get back to your programs, Karen--the Electric Slide doesn't count! Even after I went into the Victoria's Secret dressing room to help you find a bra for your dress, no cha cha? But you said yes to Eric Clapton, my least favorite song in the world?? I think you'd kick me in the ass if Dave told you to, and that's just lame!]

This blog took me a whole work day to do because of all the shit in my inbox. I guess I gots to get back to it. I have some great pictures of the amazing shrieking baby that I may or may not get to between my tattoo fantasies tonight.

The most adorable spaz

One of the best things about this whole growing up thing is how the tables have turned over here. It used to be that Nate and I would run circles around our little girl, flailing toys in her face and trying to make her laugh...or at least react. Tonight as I was watching her run (and I mean run at a pretty healthy clip) in circles through our house, throwing her toys this way and that, smiling and waving like a little wildwoman, it hit me that she is the one who entertains us these days. We just sit back and watch her try to climb up on the couch (her little leg trying to find something to get up on) or pull her train around for hours. Whatever did we do before she came along?

Tonight we overdid it on the fun, however. After squealing with delight a little past bedtime, she quickly turned from an adorable little firecracker to a hell-baby. She totally lost her shit and started perfecting her new tantrum scream and this funny little passive resistance move where she throws her arm and head back, arches her back and goes totally limp when you try to pick her up. I know she's testing us, and I think I fail when I start laughing because it's so damn cute. She's got some spirit, that girl!

From rash patrol to bargain patrol

Last week Clementine was sick, and it wasn't no fun for no one. She had a terrible fever and gave up on sleeping entirely, meaning Nate and I would cradle her hot little head in our hands all night long, looking for a position that would stop the shrieking (hers and ours) long enough to eke out a few hours of sleep each night. She presented no other symptoms, which had us guessing (along with Emily with an M) she had roseola, which is a couple days of fever followed by a rash. We had the fever. We got no rash. Or did we? Nate and I thought every little bump was a rash, and we haven't really figured out if the big rash of bumps she had for a few hours on Friday was the roseola or the result her asshole mom, who gave her a bite of ice cream before realizing there are peanuts in it. I thought we had left the neurotic new parent days behind us, but you have never seen anything quite so pathetic as the two of us bugging the hell out of our daughter by poking at every skin imperfection trying to figure out if it was "the sign" we were awaiting. She was happy unless we were prodding at her, but prod we did until she put her foot down and learned the new fun trick of throwing her body back out of our hands in the ultimate active passive resistance move ever. Yup, she's a funny little one.

Because of the threat of a looming illness, we did not travel to Chicago for my niece's baptism as planned. The idea of visiting a plague upon the houses of the windy-city children we would have met over the weekend was too much to bear. The way roseola is spread is though saliva and snot, and since Clementine's favorite activity is pulling pacifiers out of other kids' mouths, chomping on them a bit and then returning them to their owners, I decided we would most certainly spread the love if we attended. Instead, we stayed home and got into all sorts of trouble during one of the busiest weekend of the Detroit summer.

First there was Birmingham Day on the Town. Birmingham is a rich (and kind of snotty) northern suburb of Detroit, and it has some fine shopping I can't afford most of the year. On Saturday, however, the whole town went on sale, nowhere as much as the Purple Bear, a store with ridiculously expensive but mostly fabulous clothes for kids. They had boxes of $5 and $10 stuff, and I went a little crazy. Think Clementine was a fashionista before? Oh you just wait until you see her new gear. Thankfully Karen (no kids) was with me and Lisa (a daughter to whom Clementine is indebted for at least half her wardrobe), or else we would have put ourselves in bankruptcy for clothes for kids who would probably be just as happy in nothing. But oh are we so vain.

The Fourth Street Festival is this wild, arty block party in a hidden corner of Detroit. It has art and food and beer and cool stuff and four or five stages of awesome bands, and it is just generally one of my favorite festivals of the year. The neighborhood is a cool cooperative with some communal parks and green spaces, a huge chess board and an art car that has flames shooting out of its mouth. We usually spend the day there and skip out on the night stuff because by then we are either overserved or ready for the Concert of Colors (see below). This year, sigh, I didn't get down there at all. After my shopping shenanigans, I had to get darling C. her nap, and by the time she woke up it was 103 and sticky and I'm just so damn lazy. But Nate got a pass from the office, and he went down, dissed the Muldoon's, a band with two kid guitar player/singers and their drummer day, but loved some of the other stuff he saw. Here is the new face of parenting: when he got home, I cuddled up to the beer on his breath and made him describe everything he saw. I did not tell him about Clementine's diapers, pooping or breastfeeding--it would have shattered the illusion of coolness I was nurturing.

On Sunday, we hit the Royal Oak Garage Sale and got this fantastic early-70s chopper-style tricycle for Clementine. We saw a little girl riding it around, and when we went to check it out, Clementine leaped out of her stroller (duh! we unstrapped her first) and shook her head vigorously every time we tried to remove her from the trike. How could we not buy it? And how could we pass up the vintage kissing Dutch lawn ornaments by friend Laura found there for me? I can't wait to finish my backyard!

The rest of the day was errands and house stuff until we went down the Concert of Colors, a weekend extravaganza of free concerts. I was bummed this year that they moved it from Chene Park, which is on the water, to the Detroit Symphony Orchestra building, but that was before it was 100 degrees in the shade. I forget every year how much I like that festival--it brings out all the hippies and heads, all the cultural pockets of the city, all sorts of cool, interesting people, and they all mingle in the streets and in front of the stages. It's very family friendly, and I love the opportunity to relive my previous life as a Dead Head (oh, yes, those were ugly, unshaven times) and revel in gratitude for getting back to burgers and grooming. Don't get me wrong: I loved that time in my life (or shall I say I loved that life? I feel like I've had quite a few), and it always reminds me of Ithaca, New York, a town that mingles Ivy Leaguers with communes to interesting effect. We saw some great bands and some even better dancing, and with that the weekend was over. How do you return to work after all that fun.

Clementine is on the mend, I think, though she scared the hell out of us last night by taking a tumble from the bed. The dangers of cosleeping, I guess. I she was so restless that she rolled across the bed on off, reawakening the neurotic new parent feelings in me and Nate once again. We were just thinking of working on getting her in her crib, but I might have taken three giant steps backward last night when I got to comfort her after her fall. AND she slept all night. Almost.

We've got the fever...

...and not for the flavor, either. Clementine has a raging come-and-go fever, and today is the first day I've been able to leave her to get some work done in my office. I've been trying to work at home while she takes her hot, sweaty little naps, but things are piling up, not that I can muster up too much energy to care.

She woke up on Monday with a fever but was in a great mood all day long. She had a terrible night with a super-high fever that I couldn't break with Tylenol or cold compresses, but Tuesday she was at a normal temp most of the day. Last night was the worst so far, though, with 102 degrees (in the armpit because I just can't fathom the rectal temp yet--she's hot, it's bad, how much more exact do I need to be?) and goosebumps all night long. She felt like like she was on fire, even her cute little hands. We did cold compresses again, which, because she was wearing a tie-dye, has left her stained blue, and she again woke up, took some Tylenol and has NO FEVER. It's a mystery, but can I just brag about how well-natured she's been through the whole thing. It hurts to be away from her, but I know she's with her dad and happy this afternoon.

Detroit distraction

We're throwing a wedding shower tonight, and I am totally unprepared. I don't know how it has happened, but my office looks like one of those rooms they might feature on a reality show where they turn something totally trashed into a miraculous, usable room. I'm not going to even bother getting that ready for tonight, but I have some cooking and cleaning to do downstairs that will keep me busy all day. I should have gotten a lot more done last night, but we went downtown instead on a Clementine date (she met up with Hudson, and we hung with his parents as per usual).

I haven't come up with a way to describe Detroit that has remained true for very long. It's a city that is constantly changing--sometimes for the better, sometimes not. In recent months, it has all been positive. Bringing the Superbowl here meant that a lot of new businesses, restaurants, bars and cash infiltrated downtown, and now there are lots of pockets of developed areas that are amazing and fun to hang out in. I used to think Detroit was a city nature was determined to reclaim. Half the buildings in town have trees growing through the middle of them; they've been abandoned, picked over and left to disintegrate. Others have had 50 lives--the style of the building may be old and Art Deco, but the features have been painted over or even hidden by a facade, and even the resale/consignment store that was the last occupant has long given up. But now there are new buildings and concentrated efforts to restore the old ones.

When Nate and I were looking to buy a house, we tried very hard to find one in the city. There are some great old ones that need as much TLC as the one we ended up buying just outside (literally, we are two blocks north of the city line) Detroit. It was hard, since we aren't locals, to find the right kind of neighborhood to put that much effort in, and once we did, it was impossible to imagine having to drive to the suburbs anyway for big grocery shopping trips (the pickings are slim in the city) and other services you just can't get in the city. Things are changing now, though, and it makes me wish we had moved down there. If we ever finish the house we're living in, Detroit would be the first place I'd look for so many reasons. Not only would I like to be a part of the positive change that is taking place, but I'd like Clementine to grow up with a city mentality, and I'd like her to live someplace diverse. Hazel Park is the opposite of all that, and I can't bear the thought of her playing in the park with kids who scream some of the racist and ignorant things we've heard them scream now that we have parent ears and are listening for those kinds of things.

Courtney and Adam are some of our only parent friends, which alone makes them awesome to hang out with, whether or not we have the kids with us (although come to think of it, I'm not sure the four of us have ever done that). They live in Detroit, which means that going out in the city is easy. They are also becoming the kind of friends you don't have to make plans with a week in advance with three structured activities, which is really all I want in friends these days. We met them at the Cass Cafe by Wayne State, and once Clementine had totally trashed the restaurant by gumming and then dropping every single piece of food we gave her, we went down to Campus Martius in the heart o' the city to eat ice cream and enjoy the weather. We actually thought we might be enjoying a concert, too, because it's one of those great green spaces they are using to draw people downtown--all sorts of activities and programs to get people down there. But alas there was no music, so we were entertained instead by our darling little kids. Clementine amused herself by slapping Hudson around a little because she doesn't really understand gentle touching, and Hudson got frustrated when we left him on his tummy for too long. His lack of mobility so far means he can't chase Clementine down, which might be her saving grace for right now. Once that kid can move, I think she'll have met her match.

Party preparations call. I think we're going to go with low lights and candles tonight so I don't have to scrub the floor.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

I can't get the damn Go Go's out of my head today 'cuz I'm still in a vacation frame of mind. I'm only just now getting caught up with laundry and camping unpacking, and I sure as hell haven't grocery shopped. Priorities, people. We've been trying to be outside as much as possible, and Clementine needs her daily bike rides to keep her happy. I think she's pissed off about returning to real life schedules and as a protest has given up on her good sleeping habits. The last two nights she has been wide awake and whiny from 2-4, which makes for whiny parents the next morning.

I did spend some time last night working with our vacation pics, of which there were far too many. I need to slow down with the digital and take a little more time framing my shots, but it's easy to get carried away.

Our first day at the beach was the first time Clementine had seen waves or sand. She wasn't sure how she felt about either at first, but she warmed up tot he sand right away. The waves were another story. Although they captivated her, and she constantly walked toward them, the lake was way too cold, and she invariably started freaking out when she got up to her belly. So on the sand she sat:

I'm not sure what her obsession with beer is (I contend it is just the bottle concept), but pretty soon she was just one of the adults chillin' on the beach with a cocktail.

The outdoors totally zonked her out, and she napped so well. She loved being in the tent, and its various windows and doors meant we could use it as a crib and playpen too:

She wouldn't keep a hat on her head (and don't even start on her helmet, which she spent a good amount of time trying to pull off her head while also stretching her neck to unreasonable lengths), so the bandana was the next best thing:

She LOVED the bicycle, even if she did hate the helmet. We had to pry her out of the bike seat most times, and some times we just let her use it as a chair.

I

t's Michigan, so of course there were lighthouses to visit:

Her hair in this shot kills me, as does the fact that someone let her eat macaroni salad, which violates a major rule in my house against introducing mayonnaise (the most disgusting food on earth, I think):

And because Clementine was so anti-water, Nate had to use the beach to practice their surfing moves. I think they're going to take their act on the road...

Like I said, I took about a thousand of these puppies, so if you want to see more (including the horrifying pictures of me in a bathing suit, though you can imagine I've edited most of the truly terrible ones out), click on one of the above pictures and check 'em out. I do believe there was never a cuter camper than my little girl.

562 miles later...

We've returned from an amazing week in what everyone calls the great Michigan "Up North," even if Ludington is actually more out west than up north. Sure, we got off to a rocky car-packing start, when Nate and I were ready to ring each other's necks over what to pack and where, but once we hit the road and then promptly had to repack on the fly so someone could sit on a big, uncomfortable backpack near our ever-screaming, car-hating love of a child, we were set. The week was one of those fabulous vacations: we slept in (even Clementine), stayed up late, had lots of naps and ate tons of great junk food. We hiked, biked, canoed, sat around campfires and spent loads of time on the beach. There was much ice cream, an occasional beer, some shopping and tons of merriment, and Clementine, ever the traveler, was fantastic. She loved bike rides (she even cried when we would try to take her out of the bike seat) and eating sand at the beach, and the fresh air turned her into a napper and pretty good sleeper.

If there were any downsides, they were:

1. Nate lost his wallet, which made us frantic with worry for a little while. It turns out that the Ludington police found it, but we didn't find that out until we got home. It's not that we didn't check there--it's just that the police office was CLOSED from Saturday through the 4th of July and we felt a little bashful about dialing 911. A great big hassle, but at least Nate doesn't have to sit at the DMV today for his new license.
2. Using the breast pump while camping is at best a pain in the ass, at worst a little unsanitary. Let us not dwell on it: let's just say it sucked.
3. Clementine learned the concept of no. She can't say it, but she can vigorously shake her head in disagreement with just about anything. "Do you want to eat?" "Can I have a kiss?" "Shall I sell you to the gypsies?" All of these are answered with vigorous head shaking.

But other than that, it was a glorious, glorious time. We were bereft at the thought of coming home and meandered our way through the middle of the state imagining all the other trips we are going to take before the end of the summer.

We got home in time to hook up with Clementine's boyfriend Hudson and his fabulous parents Courtney and Adam for the last day of the Tastefest. We missed most of the best bands on earlier days, but there was plenty of eating to be done and lots of crowds for Clementine to greet with her smile and new constant waving--it's so cute, it almost counteracts the head shaking no. When we got home last night, she showed off her new talent of walking, yes WALKING, across rooms and over all sorts of stuff. I know not what to do--isn't she still supposed to be my baby?

Today I'm back aat work, which is somehow easier to manage now that I've signed my contract for next year and am reminded that I do make some money here. If only I could keep track of it. I also had a wonderful midday delight that feels almost as scandalous as an affair: I met a man for lunch. OK, the man was Nate, but it was exciting because we dined together alone in public with no baby and no hefty babysitter fee to pay. Nate has transferred back to the home office of his firm (away from the floundering, festering sore that is Ford these days), and now he's just minutes away. I forsee many of these liasons as the summer progresses.

I managed to only take about 140 photos last week at the beach. I'll will hopefully get to them tonight becasue unpacking seems too painful.