Raffi's Hipster Alter-Ego?

Henry and I have been grooving on some Dan Zanes kids records we found at the library recently. As with just about anything these days, listening to CDs usually turns into a mini-battle of wills. Hank’s obsessed with Dan’s version of Hop Up Ladies. This is (mercifully) a very nice song--good thing because we’ve been listening to it about a hundred times a day (not using hyperbole here). There always comes a point at which I finally have to tell him that’s it, that I have to turn on the radio to listen to Marketplace or something like that. Meanwhile, I’m partial to his fabulous versions of Waltzing Matilda (with Debbie Harry) and Loch Lomond (with Natalie Merchant—love her!) both of which have made me cry. It’s sometimes a feat to convince the boy to sit through these two but totally worth it.

Have to admit, I didn’t know who Dan Zanes was before stumbling on these. (I’m sure some of y’all have heard of the Del Fuegos, but I spent the eighties exiled in loserland so was not au courant…).But happy to have discovered him, as his stuff is not at all smarmy, cloying or otherwise annoying in the manner of so many kids records. So far, the only ones we’ve found that mama can tolerate have been by Woody Guthrie and Buckwheat Zydeco. So Dan, I’d say you’re in good company.

Mother's Little Helper

Had to pretty much wrestle the boy down for his nap so I could run downstairs and satisfy my excruciating jones for a cup of tea. These days I think about a cup of tea at three o’clock the way I used to think about a glass of wine at the end of a work day. I long for it. From all indications, it’s pretty much the same way Carla feels about Sarko. While I’m a little unnerved the intensity of my cravings, I suppose it’s really a pretty harmless addiction. Usually manage to limit myself to three cups a day so little Co's hands don't start shaking. So, it’s one sugar and no milk for me. Must be piping hot. I’m pretty much a Red Rose gal (taking a cue from my UK native mother in law, plus I like kitschy little animal figurines that come in the box). However, I have some fancier stuff that I bust out on special occasions. Was way into some crazy strong stuff called Flying Monkey (I’m still talking about tea here) that Auntie Colette found at some kind of tea palace in Cville, but that supply has been exhausted… My new fave is a smoky Russian blend Cousin Amy brought up from Richmond. Drink this one black. Anyway, just another tool to get me through the day. Have tried meditation, but it’s just not the same.

More from the Other Side of the Fence

Our mysterious neighbors were totally throwing down this evening. I mean a dj with Kool and the Gang cranking and professional grade pyrotechnics. Thought they might be having a wedding or something over there. Christian went over to ask them to celebrate a little quieter due to sleeping kids and a cranky domestic partner only to discover what appeared to be a five-year old’s birthday party. They very kindly turned down the volume, but I’m still disturbed. Oh, that’s right. This is the richest bloody county in America. Time to get used to nauseating excess. Ready to move back to Brooklyn if they’ll have me.

The Eyesores Next Door

Unbelievable. I actually saw a living person come out of one of the McMansions in the development next to our farm yesterday. We’ve been living here over two years now and this is maybe the third or fourth sign of life I’ve witnessed. Seriously. It’s kind of creepy, really. There are a bunch of those deluxe wooden swingsets up, but I’ve never actually seen any children using them.

Have long suspected that it’s some kind of colony of pod people over there. One guy did come over once last year to let us know that one of our cows had gotten into his yard. He seemed kind of put out when I explained that they weren’t actually my cows (they belonged to the guy who rents our fields for various agricultural pursuits). I think my neighbor expected me to get out my lasso and come take care of it tout de suite.

The development, by the way, is named for an upscale village which is nowhere in sight but does add a certain cachet to one's mansion tract. On the other had, our little Lovetown (which is much closer) brings associations of tractor hats and such. The houses have been there for a few years, built on the farm next to ours, which was sold by a local lawyer/landowner for a couple mil. I clearly remember driving by on my first date with Christian in 2002 just as they were burning down the old farmhouse to make way for the new monstrosities. The houses were going for over a million each at one point. Not sure what the going rate is these days given our local housing glut and all the rest.

I have to confess I recently found myself fantasizing about living in one of those places. It was one of those days when the realities of living in an old house were getting me down—the layers of dirt, the termite damage, the peeling paint. But don’t worry-- it was just a momentary thing. The truth is, my man and I are just not cut out for the HOA lifestyle. We like to let the grass grow and leave our junk strewn about in the yard. And if I want to put up a clothesline one of these days, well I’m just gonna go ahead and do it. In case you’re curious, here’s some info on the Right to Dry movement.

Milestones

We’ve got Day 1 of preschool under our belts and Henry’s well on his way to a reputation as a troublemaker (that would be Christian’s genetic legacy of course). He apparently ran away from the teacher when it was time to go back inside after playground time. She had to chase him down upon which he started kicking her.

When I came to pick him up, there was a mega (blood sugar related?) meltdown (he was apparently too busy to eat his snack). He refused to put away the toys he had taken out and didn’t want to walk out with me. It soon devolved into kicking and screaming on the floor. Let’s just say that transitions are a bitch these days.
“Is this typical?” asked Ms Barbara. She’s a somewhat stern-looking, schoolmarmy type, a little intimidating (though I hear she’s actually very sweet). “Um…not really,” I said hopefully. Anyway, it took me forever to get him out to the parking lot and into the car (with Coco in tow). Then, just as I had finally finished loading everybody up and was pulling out of the space, I hear those words I’ve come to relish and dread at once: I have to go potty. So, back into the community center where there were intense negotiations about which bathroom to use (upstairs vs. downstairs/ladies room vs. “family” bathroom). We finally made it home and he settled down after eating some pretzels. He was playing in the living room while I fixed lunch when I realized it was suspiciously quiet in there. I peeked in to see that he had conked out on the couch, where he remained asleep for two hours. Guess being a holy terror really takes it out of you…

It’s been a big week for Coco, too. We discovered her first tooth over the weekend (lower front). Just hoping she’ll use it judiciously! She is scooting across the floor like crazy on her belly, following Henry and grabbing everything she can get her hands on. I have gotten really lax about keeping the floor flotsam-free since Hank stopped putting stuff in his mouth. Time to get back to our rigorous inspection/ cleaning routine (yeah right). I have vowed to start vacuuming once in a while, though. In other news, we had to lower the crib all the way down as our girl has started to pull up to standing. And finally (sniff), we got rid of the bucket carseat. As much as I love having a kid with a handle, the time had come. The road to toddlerhood begins…

Call Her Juneau

Also contributing to my excellent humor is the huge disbelieving chuckle I got shortly after waking up when I heard about Sarah Palin’s knocked up teenager. You’ve gotta love those Republicans! The whole scenario reminds me of something out of Northern Exposure. It's like Shelly Tambo running for president or something… Unfortunately, I’m predicting that they’re going to get in. My elementary school buddy Shannon, whom I’ve come to rely on as a pretty accurate bellwether, is going for McCain. She’s never been wrong in her voting career: voted twice for Clinton and twice for stinky George. Shannon attributes the evolution in her voting patterns to her own growing conservatism as we make our way through our fourth decade. While that is certainly in play, I think it may also have something to do with the lousy candidates the Dems fielded in the last two elections. (I’m all about Al Gore these days, but I don’t think he had yet come into his own back in 00). She’s in that white working/middle class demographic that the Dems are licking their chops over. Barack, honey, you’ve failed to win her over. When we find someone who can, we’ll have it in the bag. Anyway, I'll be doing what I can to prove myself wrong...

Call Me Curly...

Woke up this morning feeling like belting out something from Oklahoma. It’s a beautiful, fresh late summer day, and all is right with the world. They’re making hay in our fields. They’ve got this cool baler that scoops up the hay and spits out a nice fat bale. Henry’s totally fascinated. Impossible to get him down for a nap with such wonders going on outside the window.

On top of all that, preschool starts up tomorrow. Hank will be going three mornings a week starting Monday. We went to a meet-the-teacher open house at school today and milled about with some fellow parents. I always feel kind of goofy and shy at these things—like I’m some kind of outcast, like everybody already knows each other etc. I’m sure I’ll get over it. Anyway, I’m practically salivating at the thought of all the stuff I’ll be getting done. Am I sick to be fantasizing about the solitary vacuuming that’s in store for me? In addition to a teeny bit of therapeutic housework, there’s gonna be some mom/baby yoga, and you know I’ll be doing some blogging while little Co takes her morning nap. Must admit, I’m starting to get just a little wistful at the thought of my baby starting his school career. But I’ll certainly get over that, too.