Happy 1st birthday to Robbie!

July 27, 2009, Robbie's 1st birthday. He seemed to really enjoy being the center of attention and Jack and Ellie fought over who got to help with what. All in all, a great day!

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Love, Robbie

Allow my mama to translate:

My mom just let me bang on the keyboard without complaining. She said it was important to let me express myself on my birthday. Let's see. One year old. I'm feeling it. I'm kind of figuring out this walking stuff that everyone else is doing. Daddy says everyone gets to be bipedal at some point, so I'm trying to keep up with everyone else in the family. But why does Jimmy walk on four feet? Will he be lonely when I give up crawling all together. Hmmm.

I don't remember a lot about my first few months, although Mommy says I was a very good new baby. She says she wished she would have had this blog for when Jack and Ellie were smaller. All my milestones are recorded here and she just has to remember theirs. I'm a lucky baby. She must love me more.

(Mama's note: That isn't true. I'm just a poor journaler and for some reason, this works for me.)

I'm not really sure what my name is, but in the past year I've answered to any/all of the following: Mouse Bread, Small, Smally, Robbie, Robert, Robert H., Little, Teensy, Tiny, Buddy, Little Buddy, Baby, Sweet Boy, Robin, Ribbit Robert and although I think my mother HATES this one, Baby Bob. People said that a lot when I was first born until her temper tantrums stopped them in their tracks. I love my mommy. I love her so much that when I was six months old, I decided she couldn't live without me sleeping right by her side. I convinced her of this through an entire month of screaming and sleeping for 15 minute snippets until she carried me to her bed and now it's our bed. I know she loves to have me there. I'm very warm and snugly and I smell very nice. She doesn't mind being squished to the edge of the bed every night or having me wake her up at 5 a.m. because I want to eat. She loves me.

(Mama's note: I do love him. I will love him even more when I figure out how to get him to sleep in his own bed without the incumbent HOURS of screaming. He is warm and snugly. But so is his dad, and I can warm my feet on him. Can't do that on the small model.)

We had a few rough months where my mommy was not happy that I had problems going poopy. Really, it wasn't fun for me either. We got to see lots of doctors and eat lots of different foods, but fortunately, everything seemed to work itself out. I finally started gaining weight and my mama and daddy are very very happy that I've worked myself into the 10th percentile for my weight. What? You think that's small? Well, three months ago, I wasn't even on the chart, so 10th percentile is pretty good, thank you very much.

I like to do all sorts of things. Play in the dog food for starters. I like to pop a piece in my mouth then throw hand fulls of it in the water and then splash it all together before my mama catches me. I like to pull all the pans and lids from the cupboard and bang on them. I like to throw things. My binky, my toys, my food off my high chair. Jimmy always looks so hungry, and I really, really want to share. I love to eat watermelon and noodles and oatmeal. I love the feeling of mushy food on my head, which brings me to my lack of hair. I'm not really bothered by it, but my dad is quite worried that I will never have any. I guess I have some because people are always asking what color it will be. My mom says something about "Maybe blonde, maybe strawberry blonde." I don't really care. I will just be excited not to have to wear the hats she always sticks on my head. I like to eat the dirt in the garden, although mama always gets upset at me when I do. I like to jump on the trampoline with Jack and Ellie. I like to steal Ellie's binky. That never makes her happy. Jack is very nice and kisses me all the time and calls me a cute baby. Until I knock his towers over or wreck his train tracks or get into his crayons.

Lately, I've started to figure out this book thing my mama does. Bedtime is not just about screaming. If I'm polite and grunt and hold it up, she will READ me my favorite book, "Baby Einsteins Touch and Feel Baby Animals." I love that fuzzy yellow chick and that prickly hedgehog. I can make all sorts of sounds and my mama loves my funny laugh and the funny noises I make deep in the back of my throat.

(Mama note: Honestly, I wish I could figure out how to post videos, because that sound is hysterical.)

And today my mama and daddy gave me this amazing sweet stuff. They call it cake. I didn't really know what was going on. We had some sort of noodle for dinner (Mama note: Baked ziti and watermelon, his favorites.) and I was happy to play. I wasn't too happy when they put me back at the table, but there was a cake with a frog on it and a fire stick. I tried to grab it but my mama grabbed me. Then Ellie and Jack helped blow the candle out and I grabbed it and no one stopped me. Oh sweetness! I cried when mama took the candle away, but then she gave me a piece of cake and I forgave her. Amazing. I want more. Now.

I don't get the tearing paper off boxes bit, but Jack and Ellie were excited to help. I was excited to go to bed and be done with my first year.

The question is, what can I get into tomorrow to kick off year two?

(Mama note: Anything he can. What a super cute, bald, smiley little kid. So glad Heavenly Father whispered to me when Ellie was two-weeks-old that there was a little boy waiting for me. My life wouldn't be complete without him.)

Notes on weekend: check and double check

* Feeling a bit sorry for my kids. They're on their third random infection in three weeks, this time, hand, foot and mouth disease. We've been to any number of places in the last two weeks where we could have picked it up, and sadly, where we could have passed it along before I figured out that those little bumps on Jack's knees were not bug bites. I've already called all my friends and apologized in advance in case their kids get it. In taking the kids to the after hours clinic in Geneseo today, we discovered the HF&M on both the boys and that Robbie had a double ear infection. At least that explained why the poor baby has spent the last three days screaming non stop. Felt like a bad mother that I brushed it off as teething instead of excruciating ear pain. We had planned to celebrate Robbie's birthday today (Sunday) so the girls could attend. However, not having had HF&M, they opted to (wisely, I think) stay away. So, Robbie will be having small just immediate family on his actual birthday. Hopefully, the are all on the mend now.

* Two major bone headed moves in less than 24 hours. We saw a woman we know out for ice cream the other night. She looked like she had something under her eye. I looked TWICE and finally told her. I was trying to be polite. My new rule is look four times and be sure it IS NOT a mole before embarrassing myself. Secondly, even though I have a good 32 years of experience in the sunburn department, at an unplanned pool party Saturday, I doused my kids in sunblock and THOUGHT I'D BE OK as I spent two hours (unwillingly) in the pool with them. Hello, genius. I have a personal SPF of 1. I have scars -- mental and physical -- from bad sunburns of yesteryear. I NEED SUNBLOCK. Did not apply. Paying the price. Ouch.

*Bob's on vacation this week. I think he has grand plans to do some writing, but frankly, I hope he sleeps the whole time. He is so sleep deprived, I'm always afraid he's going to fall asleep behind the wheel one day. So, I hope he just hangs with the kids, exercises and sleeps. I may resort to subterfuge to get him to do so. Our only grand plan for the week is one day at Seebreeze. Other than that, sleep, Bob, sleep...

* My camera battery is dead and Bob's memory card is full. Sorry for the lack of photos.

A little homesick

One of the fun things about being on Facebook is the opportunity to keep up with/find old friends. And by old, I mean people from the middle school days and farther back. Fun fun.

This photo was pilfered from the Facebook account of "Old" Joe Dory. That will distinguish him from his son, "Little" Joe Dory. They both fly planes, so it's easy to confuse them.

Anyway, I've known Joe my whole life. And for as long as I can remember, he has loved to fly. He has this fun little yellow plane that he just tools around in. Today, he posted this shot of our hometown on his Facebook page. I'm from rural Nevada. I'm not exactly sure where he found a spot flat enough to land, but this is from a hilltop overlooking Austin, which sits at 6,500 feet elevation in a little canyon. It isn't much, just a speck on Highway 50 with probably no more than 300 people on any given day. My great-great-great grandfather was an Italian immigrant chasing gold who saw a better life in being a merchant selling stuff to miners. He landed in Austin, via San Francisco and Virginia City, met my great-great-great grandmother and they set about populating Nevada. My branch of his decedents stayed in Austin. The rest are around the state and beyond and the Maestretti family has a big reunion for the whole extended clan every year.

These hills used to be covered in pinon pine (you are staring at a picture of the middle of the Toyiabe National Forest. Don't laugh.), but a fire in 1980 destroyed a lot of the trees immediately around the town. And in Nevada, trees don't just pop back up.

Anyway, lately I've been a little homesick. I attribute this to Facebook since even Austin itself has a Facebook page where someone has been posting pictures of all the fun little town things like Gridley Days and the Fourth of July events. It's a nice way to see how people at home are doing, but it tugs at the heartstrings a bit. Living in New York with three small kids doesn't make going West a very easy or affordable task anymore. I haven't been home since 2007, and really, since 2002, I haven't been home but for once a year. I miss the sunsets and the smell of sage after the rain. Horseback riding in the mountains and pine nuts in the fall. I miss my grandma's shady yard and her apricot tree. Well, I miss everything about my grandma, but that's another story. A dip in the tiny town swimming pool. My family, the living ones and the four generations buried down at the cemetery -- one of my top 10 favorite spots in the world. Sigh.

So I guess I'll just thank Joe for this nice picture to remind me of where I'm from and that, yes, even Nevada can be beautiful. And since I'm stealing his pictures anyway, I'll post another one to prove that a) Joe likes to fly, b) he'll do it in any weather, and c) I miss the mountains at home and this is a nice shot of them.

Squidy and Squirty

Two neon Squid diving toys: $1.08 after taxes.

Three hours of children entertained by throwing the toy squids into the pool and wading after them: Priceless.

Of trails, black raspberries and children

Jack remembered, and I didn't.
The raspberries. Black ones that grow wild along the trail. I've been taking him raspberry picking since he was en utero.
"Let's go for a hike," I said, "on a new trail for you guys." I wanted to take them to Hogsback where they could jump over tree roots and see the beautiful Letchworth gorge from a different angle.
"No, mommy, let's do the raspberry trail," Jack said, pointing to the tall grassy trail that leads from the Mount Morris Dam to Al Lorenz Park in Mount Morris proper.
I stood there by the pond where we had been looking in vain to see a frog, impressed with his memory. It's been such a cool summer, so un-summery, I seem to be forgetting everything we usually do. Or, it's just my memory loss in general. I used to have a great memory. Now I walk into rooms and have to stop and ask myself over and over what I was looking for. Jack can be my replacement memory.
I fished a 2-cup tupper I happened to have in the van, put the baby in my Baby Bjorn carrier -- the same one that held Jack and Ellie on their first berry picking adventures -- and we set off. Hiking with a 2- and 4-year-old is not an experience in distance. It's simply an experience. One with discussions of butterflies, why we can't reach the black cherries, what kind of animal poop that is on the trail, why the tiny, round, red berries are very bad for us.
And then it's the find. Jack the raspberry scout and Ellie the raspberry picker found them, a small bush about 150 yards in. And then another bush and another.
I have lots of memories on these trails from my five years in New York.
When we were first married, Bob and I ran these trails together. He showed me what, at the time, was the big berry bush and we sat and talked and ate the handful of berries we could find off it. I love to glean and wanted enough to make jam, but the birds and deer and perhaps other pickers beat us to them. Over the years, that bush has been crowded out by other bushes. Other black raspberries popped up, though.
The first time Jimmy ever ran away from me -- one of the three times he thought he could catch a deer -- was on this trail. Jack in the baby carrier and I paced the trail for an hour waiting for him to come back. He did. With his ear pinned to his back by stickers and every other burr you could imagine plastered to his coat. He's much more mellow now as a five-year-old, content to run the trail and happily tag along with us in his favorite element.
So many other walks. Crunching leaves in the fall. Berry picking every year.
Now these are Jack's memories, July picking with Mom and Ellie and Robbie and whomever else comes along. Today, he was Mr. Let's Find Another Bush. Mr. Come On You Guys Are Walking Too Slow. Mr. Mom Didn't You Pick Everything Off That Bush Already.
Ellie was eager to pick, but as I hadn't planned on it, we weren't properly dressed. Black raspberry bushes bite. And after a few pricks, she was very wary, although she tried multiple times, very gingerly, to pluck the sweet berries from their thorny homes. That left me picking (also not properly dressed.) Berry picking is a job best done in Kevlar. Long sleeves, pants and shoes will do in place of that. Without that though, you just have to be very, very careful about what you touch. And you have to stare in frustration at the ones you just KNOW you could reach if only. I have a few splinters to remove because I was too eager to get just that berry over there. One more, kids, one more and then we'll walk.
I had to put poor Robbie on the ground several times to keep him from getting kissed by a thorn. He was more interested in eating the berries, though. Of all of them, he came home looking like he'd been in a war with red juice smeared everywhere.
We picked and walked. Picked and talked. Soon, an hour had passed and they were picked and hiked out. They are small. We made it all of probably a half a mile.
But what a great half a mile.
They were eager for the van, water and a snack for the ride home.
I thought we should just eat the berries.
Mr. Memory remembered that last year, we made them into smoothies.
And when we came home, he marched to the cupboard and pulled out the smoothie maker.
Naturally, that is what will happen to this two cups of tiny, black berries.
And for one moment, they will make their own summer memory. Milk shakes or smoothies with their own berries. A real taste of summer.
And for me, a fantastic memory I hope to keep.

Addendum:

How children eat black raspberries. Jack and Ellie, politely in a milkshake, spitting out the tiny seeds as they go. Robbie, picking them up and mashing them all over his head. Nice.

I've been reading again...

Food for thought: "We have the illusion of consumer freedom, but we have sacrificed our community life for the pleasure of purchasing lots of cheap stuff." Tod Murphy, owner of Queechee, Vermont's Farmers Diner, quoted in Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle."

I have a lot more thoughts on this book, the concept of local consumership, clean eating, etc. but suffice it to say, this sentence sort of sums up my thoughts. It also begins to explain my hatred for my toaster, but that's another story...

funny thing I want to remember

After a couple late nights celebrating the Fourth, Jack woke me up this morning with the following:

"Mom, there's a problem with the sky!"
Me, grumbling: "What, honey?"
Jack: "Well. There's no clouds. Or sun. Just blue, blue, blue."

Problem? No way. I'm thinking: FINALLY!

"Uh-oh."

Recently: Jack is into science experiments, first up: cornstarch goo and baking soda volcanoes. A cheap slip-n-slide made Park Day at or house super fun. Robbie can climb. Ellie loves her umbrella. The seven Bacon and Lonsberry children take over a sandbox. And see our garden grow...sort of..some sun would help here...

* Robbie dropped his binky today. As I stooped to pick it up I said, "Uh-oh." To which he responded, "Uh-oh." Does this count as a word, I wonder? He does say mamamama and dadada, but I'm not sure those really count. Uh-oh seems intentional. He kept saying it all night to rave cuteness reviews. Sadly for him, though, I also let him cry himself to sleep tonight. He is rough to get to sleep and...well, let's just say his sleeping issues are an entire post that I don't have time to write. This week I regain control!!! I hope...

* Ellie's potty training is SUPER improved. I think her polly pocket princess love has overwhelmed her. I made her a super cool sticker chart and we got some princess stickers and she is doing great! Every time she goes potty she claps and says, "I'm going to get Cinderella!" After several frustrating weeks, she finally earned enough stickers for Sleeping Beauty, and I think she is going to get Cinderella MUCH faster. She even insisted on wearing her panties for her nap today. I'm pretty excited. If nothing else, by using just a diaper a day, I'm saving money! On another note, I cannot be the first mother to LOATHE the shoes that come with these princesses. My heavens, what a waste of time and plastic.


* Jack seems to have gotten over his pink eye fairly quickly and whatever his cold was that knocked him down for a day or two. He was in swimming lessons, which we couldn't attend, but I just had him moved to a different class. He starts again next week and he's really excited!


* Bob is off to Utah for 10 days. I'm hoping to survive.