Thursday, October 29, 2009

When Delirium Sets in

There is a point, with most kids anyway, where they get so exhausted they become silly. I love this, because the kid will be teetering on this tightrope of emotion, laughing one minute and then whining or crying the next. Elliott is currently on that tightrope. I sat down with him for his midday nap, and he decided to play a game with me, kind of like a mute peekaboo game. He would peek up over the bumpers in his crib, giggle for a few minutes, and if I didn't duck out of his sight he'd slam his head down on the mattress, kick his feet, and then peek over the bumper again. He thinks this is hysterical, until he ducks down and bumps his head against the crib bars. I started to worry that he hurt his head, until he peeks over the bumper to see if I'm still there, and starts giggling again. Since I'm still there, but haven't picked him up yet, he ducks back into the mattress to "cry", then peeks over the bumper to laugh, and then repeats his new game over and over.

Monday, October 26, 2009


I decided to try to make Elliott's Halloween costume this year, since if it turns out terribly he can't really complain, and he'll look adorable despite my questionable costume making abilities. I hunted down a plain, brown set of footed pajamas, and made a curly tail and hat to attach. I'm hoping that if I put a banana in his hands, the monkey vibe will come across, instead of Ewok or unfuzzy bear. And for now, I am putting it on his head and giggling as he crawls around. What do you think?

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Budding Fisherman

Hey Grandpa Ingram and Granddaddy Gossage, you have a new fishing buddy to train.

Elliott loves the fishtank from Nicki Ingram on Vimeo.

Monday, October 19, 2009


This is what happens when you decide not to pick up after yourself after doing a crossword puzzle.

He crawls over to your pen, sticks it in his mouth, and decides to chomp on it until you look over and OhmygahElliottgimmethat GIMME THAT! And he looks at you like, "Whoa lady, you need to take it easy."

Sunday, October 11, 2009

You get what you pay for

I have been growing my hair out since before I got pregnant with Elliott, which is a testiment to how monumentally slow my hair grows. Of course, I will try to get a trim or a minor cut to get through the awkward stages, but I like being able to do more than two things with my hair. That brings us up to last Friday. I decided I wanted to get a little trim, to pamper myself a little, so I made a last minute appointment with our local stylist school. I've been going there for years, since I hadn't yet fallen in love with a stylist since we'd gotten here, and although the cuts aren't usually the best quality, for $16 you can hardly complain.

HOWEVER. Oh, however, I had cause to complain after that appointment. Dear Lord, I have never had such a bad haircut experience. I told the student that I wanted a long version of the bob I normally rock, which would mean she'd take the back up an inch and call it a day. She picked up a pair of scissors before even washing my hair and started her work.

At this point I take a minute to fully evaluate my stylist. Her long, wavy hair is dyed black, except on one side where she has cropped it an inch from her scalp and dyed it blond and green. An artistic one. That's cool, I guess, I thought. In her ears were holes the size of a dime, spaced open with little plastic rings. She doesn't talk to me, just snip snip snip snip snip until I'm wondering when she is going to put those snazzy thinning shears down and wash my hair. Hair is flying into the coffee mug I am holding and I am bored with no one to talk to and no magazine to read, and I'm reminded of those scenes in Edward Scissorhands where hair is just flying and Johnny Depp looks totally creepy and you see topiaries in his backyard that he's practiced on. Finally, she talks:

"I'm about finished with the cut, but we can wash it and style it and see what you think." She hands me a mirror and I see that she has taken off most of the hair I have been growing for over a year and left a scraggly fringe of it underneath "to give the illusion of length and movement". I stroked what was left of my hair and started stuttering.
"I. Uh. It's. It's so thin. I. Um."

So she washed it. And fixed it. And it still looked awful. So I asked her to adjust the fringe. She trimmed a little and gave me the mirror. Still bad. By this time, I think she started to hate me. She told me "It's not like I can glue your hair back on". She told her instructor, who was obviously trying to save my shag, "I think I know how to cut 1/4 of an inch of hair off her head."

Finally I just told her to stop and that it was fine. I got in my car and called my sister and used a few choice words to recount the experience. Then I told David about it. Then I started crying.

David: Why are you crying?

Me: I (sob) look (sob) so (hic) UGGGGLLLLLYY (wail)!

David: No you don't. It looks fine. (David looks a little bewildered at this surge of total hormonal overreaction)

Me: I have a MULLLLETTTT! It looks terrible! I am ugly...(Sob, wail, moan)

David: Is something else wrong? I just don't think you would normally react this way.

Me: (indecipherable blabbering about mullets and Joan Jett and being UGGGGLLLLYY)

David: (Shrugs and goes to bed.) (this is not the right reaction)

I went to a real salon with real stylists three or four days later, and it's much better now. We also had a talk about his job when this kind of thing happens, which is to pretend like I am NOT overreacting and to hug me and tell me I don't have a mullet or look like Joan Jett until I believe him. And I learned that $16 haircuts are $16 for a reason.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Sweetness. Sort of.

Elliott just worked really hard to scootch over to me on the hardwood. When he finally got to me, he laid his head down on my leg and looked up at me. I thought about how sweet it was that he had worked so hard and was snuggling with my leg, and then looked at me and smiled-

and threw up on my jeans.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

5 and 6 Months

Dear Elliott,

This month you get two newsletters in one, because momma has been seriously busy lately. August went by fast, because we got to spend ten awesome days with your Auntie Nicki, who swears she taught you to roll over. Then I started trying to figure out packing our house, and before I knew it, August was already over and our house needed to be moved across town in three days. So we called some friends and they did most of the work for me. We moved into our new apartment and you got your own bedroom and have slept pretty well since that, and then your Grandma Peggy and Aunt Sissa came to visit us.
They did a lot of the unpacking for us and helped make our house look like our home in record time, because apparently they are physically incapable of sitting still. They are champions of getting stuff done, and one of these days I'm going to have to try to copy them so that I can keep up with you.

You started to get up on your hands and knees that week, and I had to fight the urge to tip you over so that you couldn't figure out that you were thisclose to figuring out how to crawl. Then I watched you practice every day, watched you turn red and start yelling at the toy that your fingers just couldn't quite grasp that got pushed further and further away from you, until one day I noticed you had developed a technique. You would get on all fours, wait a second, and then fall forward an inch or two, then repeat until you managed to get close enough to whatever you were going for that your flailing hands could knock it toward your mouth.
And so now, I guess, you are kind of a big boy. A six-month-old, who can get into the toybox and pull the dog's hair and charm people's socks off by grinning a big, gummy grin. And I have managed to survive the first six months of being a mother. I am learning the fine art of respecting nap- and bedtimes but being flexible enough to not become a total anti-social hermit. I am thinking of traditions that I want our family to have since Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas are all speeding our way. I am trying to figure out how to babyproof our apartment and have it still be a good place for adults to live, too.

While it is sad to see you outgrowing tee-tiny baby things and getting closer and closer to being independent and not needing me for everything, it is also pretty exciting to watch you growing and learning and opening up into a little boy.
Love, Momma