Following a lovely and relaxing Memorial Day weekend, Mother Nature promptly decided to kick off summer with two days of rain and smog for everyone to enjoy, meaning that adorable park scenes like the one above had to be put on hold until the skies finally cleared Thursday morning. It also means that the past two days have been primarily spent in the house and at various retail stores trying to break Av from all of the bad habits and spoiled behavior she picks up on over the weekend at her grandparent's house.In a situation that I imagine is the same for every parent, a grandparent's weekend means that the beginning of the following week is filled with yelling, fit throwing and overall general freshness. It also means that she thinks she is too cool to take a nap, hence why I haven't been to active with the blog this week. Even now, as I sit on the couch watching Chuck Norris and Wesley Snipes try to sell me a Total Gym (on mute, of course), I can hear faint whimpering resonating from the crib, meaning that she is completely exhausted but still fighting the urge to sleep.
While the weekend itself was pretty fun and low-key, the activities that the baby took part in are largely generic, leaving little material to share here. What I will say is that she is really starting to pick up on the whole speaking thing, and has increased her sound mimicking quite a bit.
I guess this means that I should probably stop calling people 'douchebags' while I drive.
Her defiance has also started to really take off. Seriously, it is like she is a 3-year-old trapped in a 1-year-old's body. Actually, she pretty much has the body of a 3-year-old, too. We were at the playground one day and a random, unwelcome conversation with some mom uncovered that the baby she was playing next to (I say next to because babies rarely actually play with each other, I'm finding out) was the exact same age as Av- like down to the week. I was shocked to find that out because Av towered over her. I mean towered. Like a good three inches taller, as well as wider, thicker and much, much more coordinated. I thought at first that maybe the other baby was retarded or dwarfed or something, but it turns out that Av is just a bruit.
In any event, she has really started to push some buttons lately- and she knows exactly what buttons to push, too, because along with being huge, she is also way to smart for her own good. For example, she knows that she is not allowed to put things in her mouth so when she wants to test you she will grab something and hold it in front of her lips until you notice, then slowly move her hand toward her mouth until you yell at her. One particularly disgusting instance took place last week at the beach.
Aside from those intended for tourism and mass public use, New England beaches tend to be very rocky, weedy and generally disgusting. In Salem, where high tide will cover most beaches all the way up to the ocean wall, this is a particularly prominent trait. Some days the beach near our house can be completely invisible, covered entirely by water, while others the tide is so low that there is about 200 yards of rock and sand before you get to the shore line. One day last week, with temperatures hovering around 90, Av and I decided to go exploring during low tide and walk down to the water's edge. We picked up some shells (which she usually just tosses back in to the water) and splashed around for a bit until we saw what is probably the single most disgusting thing I have ever witnessed in nature.
We were both standing barefoot in about two inches of water when out of the sand next to us burrowed some sort of clam-like creature that I had never seen before. It was rectangular, about five inches long and one end was perforated, like a clam shell, so whatever was inside could eventually weasel out. As it poked out of the sand a lobster-tail- like arm propelled its motion by poking out the top and bottom of the shell. It eventually shot out of the sand, spraying water out of the top, and flopped on to the beach. I have tried desperately to figure out what this thing is. I have asked people who know sea creatures, I have Googled everything from 'rectangle clams' to 'burrowed sea creatures' and found nothing. Here is an artist's rendering of what I saw.
Speculation is that it is some sort of deformed clam, or perhaps a smaller, more rectangular version of the geoduck, a clam like creature native to the gulf area, also known as nature's penis.
Whatever the case, the thing was f-ing nasty and I felt uncomfortable standing next to it as it wiggled across the shore, so we moved along. Further down the beach we found a bunch of the mystery creatures that hat hatched, leaving the empty shells on the beach. Av and I picked a few of them up looking for clues and at one point the baby, as she always does, tried to eat one of them. I did the usual 'no mouth' thing, to which she did not respond, and then resorted to slapping her hand until she stopped. In an act of anger, frustration and defiance she yelled at me, threw the shell and preceded to look right at me, put her hand in front of her face and slowly lick all of the wet, gross beach sand from the palm of her hand. Nasty. It was like the infant equivalent of getting the finger. I couldn't even get mad because, well, she ate a bunch of sand. That had to suck.
*UPDATE* My cousin, who grew up in the great state of Rhode Island, has checked in and identified the mystery creature as a Razor Clam (officially known as an Ensis). Absolutely disgusting. Thanks, Pat.
The Suburban Ghetto
Since the guy across the street got nailed for armed robbery a few weeks back things haven't been quite so exciting in the ghetto recently, despite the fact that summer has started. Sure, the college kids and Spanish people are extremely loud very early in the morning and late in to the night, but there has been a minimal amount of police activity to report.
What I can report is that the loud, crazy, unemployed lady that lives downstairs now has an opportunity with the warm weather to put her insanity on public display. For example, yesterday I came home to find her on the porch, braiding her daughter's hair and singing to herself as the little girl was forced to read aloud some book from school.
'How's it going?" I said. To which I was greeted with only a wink. Later that day I was sitting on the couch trying to stay awake while I read my HR text book when I heard some singing outside the window. I stole a look through the blinds to find Crazy sitting on the sidewalk, alone, presumably waiting for her poor sap of a boyfriend to come home, just singing. Loud. Eventually the boyfriend, Steve, arrived to an 'I haven't seen you in 6-months' style hug and an 'Oh my God, I missed you.' Sweet? Maybe, but I know for a fact that it hadn't been more than three or four hours since he had left the house.
I should probably tell you that throughout all of this, and pretty much throughout every day so far this summer, Crazy has been clad in a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and green cowboy boots with a red bandanna tied around her right ankle. Cool look.
Finally, a new character has emerged in the 'hood this summer- a middle-aged ex-boxer who I have affectionately named 'Punch Drunk Pauly.' I don't know what his name is or where he lives, but I always see him walking down the street with his Sony Walk Man talking to himself and shadow boxing. He is clearly, like most boxers over 40, just kind of wasted from being punched in the head too many times. He has this loud, almost Neanderthal-like voice and he makes absolutely no sense when he talks. Clearly a sweet, probably harmless guy, he appears to just be staying in shape because he doesn't have much else to do. I see him walking everywhere, just about every day, and he always yells a very friendly, but primitive 'Hi there!' to the baby. The best was the day that I heard him walking by yelling something about 'where did my hero go?' at the top of his lungs. It took me a minute or two, but I finally figured out that he was listening to the Foo Fighter's Song 'Hero' on his Walk Man. Punch Drunk Pauly has officially become my new favorite neighbor.
What I can report is that the loud, crazy, unemployed lady that lives downstairs now has an opportunity with the warm weather to put her insanity on public display. For example, yesterday I came home to find her on the porch, braiding her daughter's hair and singing to herself as the little girl was forced to read aloud some book from school.
'How's it going?" I said. To which I was greeted with only a wink. Later that day I was sitting on the couch trying to stay awake while I read my HR text book when I heard some singing outside the window. I stole a look through the blinds to find Crazy sitting on the sidewalk, alone, presumably waiting for her poor sap of a boyfriend to come home, just singing. Loud. Eventually the boyfriend, Steve, arrived to an 'I haven't seen you in 6-months' style hug and an 'Oh my God, I missed you.' Sweet? Maybe, but I know for a fact that it hadn't been more than three or four hours since he had left the house.
I should probably tell you that throughout all of this, and pretty much throughout every day so far this summer, Crazy has been clad in a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and green cowboy boots with a red bandanna tied around her right ankle. Cool look.
Finally, a new character has emerged in the 'hood this summer- a middle-aged ex-boxer who I have affectionately named 'Punch Drunk Pauly.' I don't know what his name is or where he lives, but I always see him walking down the street with his Sony Walk Man talking to himself and shadow boxing. He is clearly, like most boxers over 40, just kind of wasted from being punched in the head too many times. He has this loud, almost Neanderthal-like voice and he makes absolutely no sense when he talks. Clearly a sweet, probably harmless guy, he appears to just be staying in shape because he doesn't have much else to do. I see him walking everywhere, just about every day, and he always yells a very friendly, but primitive 'Hi there!' to the baby. The best was the day that I heard him walking by yelling something about 'where did my hero go?' at the top of his lungs. It took me a minute or two, but I finally figured out that he was listening to the Foo Fighter's Song 'Hero' on his Walk Man. Punch Drunk Pauly has officially become my new favorite neighbor.
Beat LA (again)
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