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Warren Buffett to Begin Multibillion Dollar Giveaway – Los Angeles Times

June 25th, 2006 by Joyce

Do you think he heard me?

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Beach day

June 24th, 2006 by Joyce

We went to the beach today. David enjoyed the sand and water, but Carmen did not. After all, the water was wet, and the sand dirty. They both enjoyed the seagulls, though had we been in California they may have enjoyed the drunk pelicans more.

Pictures later. I think the camera is still in the car.

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Beach (test)

June 24th, 2006 by Joyce

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Dawdling

June 21st, 2006 by Joyce

I should be in bed. But I’m dawdling. What else is new?

The babes have entered a hats phase. Boxes, baskets, a plastic molcajete, and various parts of our wardrobe are all strong candidates for being worn as hats. Carmen prefers the over-the-eyes look.



Whole Foods today, and Madison the Magical Juice Lady was working. She showed the babies a carrot cheer–complete with a shaking booty–and the babes, still groggy from a too-short afternoon nap, just watched, slack-jawed. But when she gave them some fresh carrot-orange juice, they instantly perked up, flapping their arms and squealing, signing juice and more and delighting everyone at the counter. This is what they looked like in the car when we got home. (Poor David was a little tired.)


Last week David grew into Carmen’s Preschoolians, and Carmen grew into a pair of size 23’s. Actually, she was a 22, but Preschoolians messed up the order (oops), so I told Carmen she’d just have to make do for a week. She didn’t seem to mind, and walked all around the house pointing at her feet and saying “shoes!”
Somebody remind Daddy that he should check and make sure that the babes’ pants aren’t crooked when he puts them on, eh? Carmen doesn’t seem to care, though. She just goes and goes, however she’s dressed.


She is my daughter. Here’s an excerpt from an e-mail that I sent to Ashley this week discussing Carmen’s dawdling at night:
Sorry we missed you. We were in the throws of dinner (as in, thrown food, not throes, although it is agonizing to pick up rice and beans off the floor, off the table, from the walls, and all the little cracks in the booster seat three times a day . . . so it’s maybe throws for the babies, throes for the parents). And then it took Carmen 1.5 hours to get to bed. She’s the master dawdler. She nurses, she potties . . .

And I put her down.

Then she needs to potty
Then she needs water
Then she needs to potty
And she needs me to read on the potty
The same book
Again
And again
And again

And I put her down
Then she needs to potty
Then she decides her nose is stuffy, and will I please aspirate it?

And I put her down
Then she needs to potty . . .

And it kinds of goes on and on and on like that.

I won’t deny her potty time, because if you gotta go, you gotta go . . . but I suspect she’s really dawdling (I’m sure you’re suspecting the same), and this is kind of weird, because I didn’t think a kid this small would have figured out already how to dawdle? ALTHOUGH she does actually go every time she sits on the potty (although she’ll sit for 10 minutes just for a tinkle, just because she likes sitting there) so, eh, who knows?

But she is a real stinker. That quiet, patient baby is a thing of the past, lemme tell ya. She’s hilarious. They both are.

And this is the schedule I gave her (Ashley’s visiting next week):

By 6:30 they’re awake
7:30 they’re eating breakfast after morning boob, brushing teeth, combing hair, and emptying my sock drawer
9:30 they eat a snack (which they sometimes eat in my poor car)
11:15 lunch (more or less . . . they’re usually pretty exhausted unless they’ve had a snooze in the car)
12:00 nap
2:30 wake up
3:00 snack
5:30 Matt home, eat dinner (that I may or may not have cooked . . . June Cleaver I AIN’T!)
7:00 lights out
7:15 brush teeth and Big Red Barn (by the big red barn in the great green field, a little pink pig was learning to squeal . . .)
7:30 babies asleep IN THEORY (ha ha)
8:00 David is konked out by now for sure
8:30 Carmen is maybe konked out, but she’d rather not be

If Carmen’s asleep, I should be, too. Good night!

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We went to the park with Guest Blogger!

June 18th, 2006 by Joyce

Father’s day and all, so Guest Blogger got to take the babies to Hermann Park, Houston’s premier pigeon and duck habitat and home to it’s only hill. (in true Texas fashion, it’s a pile of leftover dirt from building a football stadium, but it is nonetheless a hill).

We tried just a walk in the stroller, but Carmen kept signing “Shoe! Shoe!” to say that she wanted to walk around. Shoes are their favorite, favorite, favorite things right now. Every time the babies put on shoes, they get so so so excited, because shoes mean that they get to go somewhere, and when they go somewhere they get to run around. And the best types of somewheres are places with geography – the display aisles at Fry’s, the steps on the deck at the local school, or even a hill. Up, down, up, down, up, down. And just in case I didn’t know, reminding me that yep, that’s a dog over there, and a puddle of water, and a bird, and a duck, and a bike.

And proof of how much we really learn by association. Every time we see a doctor’s office, we cry now – even if they haven’t started poking out our tear ducts. And every time we see a shoe, we are so excited because the shoe represents freedom, a chance to visit cows and chickens, and maybe even a hill. If Carmen ever shops at Nordstrom, we’ll know where it started.

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Oh, guess what?

June 18th, 2006 by Joyce

The rice cooker broke again. It was our third. Cuisinart, what’s with your rice cookers? The third did last longer than all the others, by at least a month, despite being used at least once a day (for oatmeal and whatnot, not just rice). But it still broke.

So we give up. We bought a Zojirushi. Figure a Japanese company knows something about making rice cookers.

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All by myself

June 18th, 2006 by Joyce

David just left to take the babes to Hermann Park to talk with the ducks and geese and leave me with a little peace and quiet to work on my BTA strategic plan for the BTNP. The house is quiet and strange as I sit here, all by myself, with the restless cat for company.

For Father’s Day I gave Matt an Eric Carle book called Mister Seahorse. Seahorses carry the eggs of their young until they are ready to hatch–they are a daddy fish. In the book, the seahorse meets other daddy fishes, like the tilapia. The illustrations are beautiful because it is, after all, an Eric Carle book.

Never mind that the real motive for the seahorse nurturing its young is because it doesn’t trust the female to do the same job. Fortunately most children’s stories lend themselves to a broad–and most flattering–interpretation of reality. Didn’t the Brothers Grimm make having a stepmother sound downright romantic?

I made Matt promise to keep the babes in the stroller when they visit the ducks. I keep thinking of a story on the news this past week. A little boy pulled away from his father and fell into a pond. Rather than drown, however, he just rolled onto his back and floated–just like he had been taught in his swimming class. The babes are going to take a class like that this fall at a pool near the house. (I should take it, too, but would be embarrassed to take a class called “Starfish 2.”) Until then, the babes are stuck in the stroller when they outnumber their parents, especially near water.

I’m sure the ducks like it better that way, anyway.

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