Mama-Come-Lately

You are 21 months old.

You kiss all the “boo boos” on the banisters:

You say “hi” as sweetly as possible after you get scolded.

You have met Santa a few times and you think it’s fun that he waves at you, but you are not inclined to get very close to him.

You have a toy phone, but you use the TV remote to call your grandma in India.

You are cutting at least one molar. We know because you are gnawing on everything, including your fingers, like you’re four months old again.

You understand that sheet music is to songs as books are to reading. Luckily, the music we have out is at the “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” level, so Mama can play it for you.

You are happy to mix up a pretend drink for yourself while Mama cooks, though you sometimes require her assistance with pouring in some pretend salt or honey (two of your favorite taste treats).

You are trying like hell to draw a circle so you can draw a cat. Which explains why you scribble over every cat we draw for you — you’re teaching yourself to draw. Duh.

You occasionally claw at Mama’s face, usually when you’re tired or scared. But we still have chats about why that’s not okay.

You will now eat hard-boiled egg whites if there’s enough seasoning on them. You will also eat cheese crackers because Elmo is on them.

You demand music during car rides.

You adore your play food and are particularly fond of making sandwiches. Cheese-lettuce-whole cucumber-and-pretzel sandwiches. You also like to send the lemon, ear of corn, and tangerine on short trips into space.

You are also really into some soft play tunnels we just brought out, and the few new books we’ve gotten you recently.

You want to run all the time: Before diaper changes, after diaper changes, freshly out of the car, as soon as you finish your morning bottle. But most interestingly, when you are a little uncertain or shy about a social situation.

You encountered your first train table last week. We more or less had to rip you away from it when the train store closed. Now we’re figuring out how to fit one on our main level.

You are 21 months old. How did that happen?

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Once a week for the past month or so, I’ve been kissing my son and husband goodbye and heading to another part of town to sing with people I’ve only recently met. I am not perky at practices, but I do my best to get my part right and generally be a good band member until I beg off at 9 p.m. This is ridiculously early by rock-n-roll standards, but necessary if I’m to get through the next day of parenting with a minimum of zombie brain moments. My band leader is exceedingly gracious about my early departures.

So why do I stay up late and slog myself through the next day? Singing well with a group of people is for me like I imagine hitting the jackpot is for a gambling addict. It’s one of the best feelings I can feel, a happy place I can nestle into and know that I am unquestionably where I belong. I also think it gets me high, though that part is more alchemical than rational.

Also, I get to pet the world’s softest chihuahua:

Further, I’m working on a really cool project — Anne Sexton’s poem Snow White, set to music by Ann Hirschfeld, the latest effort of the St. Louis collective called Poetry Scores. If you live in town and would like to see and hear the fruits of our labor, head to Mad Art on Friday, November 8. Doors at 6, free admission, cash bar, performance at 8, with artworks and food based on the poem out for all to consume. Here’s a link to an eloquent and detailed description of the event.

Hope to see you there.

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Here is a photo of a common beverage:

You’re thinking, “Yeah. Milk, no big deal.”

Wrong.

Not milk.

Meeps.

At least that’s what we call it at our house, now and forevermore.

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I have nothing to kvetch about today. I pondered for a bit but all I came up with was formula lumps. And there’s not much to say about that. They’re gross. Ew.

Um… Here, look at this nice photo of autumn leaves:

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