Musings and Lyrics

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The last day of National Poetry Month has me in a reflective mood. Back in the day, I was the dopest emcee this one particular side of the Chippewa and Tittabawassee Rivers, but even though I'm now like a car fitted with a spare – retired – I’ve still got mad love for the art of poetry. Ogden Nash’s playful verses jumpstarted my love for puns, Langston Hughes’s “Dream Deferred” helped shape my worldview, and hip-hop music and Ani DiFranco's songs served as the soundtrack for my college and post-graduation years.

Here’s my nomination for favorite rhyme from the past month (we’ve been catching up on “Flight of the Conchords” episodes):

Theatre of the Absurd

Here’s an anecdote (antidote?) for you, my dear readers, to save you from the pervasive and frenzied media coverage of President Obama’s 100-day dash:

Me: "Did you know that today marks Barack Obama’s 100th day as President of the United States?"

Olivia: "No."

Me: "Do you know who was the president before him?"

Olivia: "Nope."

Me: "A man named George Bush."

Olivia: "Oh, yeah. I know him. I saw him at the movie theater."

Me: "Really? What was he doing there?"

Olivia: "He was taking the tickets."

Rite of Spring

budding branches

blooming flowers

verdant lawns

sidewalk chalk

Bovine Intervention

My activist wife’s riff about the midriff-exposing cowgirl costume our daughter’s dance instructor had originally selected for the spring recital was the catalyst for a parental revolt, and as a result, a wardrobe malselection was thwarted. (The song the kids are dancing to – “Redneck Girl” – is not without problems of its own, but at least they won’t look like the Pussycat Dolls.)

Above: our cowpoke models the new outfit, which was evidently inspired by Jessie from “Toy Story 2.”

Bean There, Done That

Reed’s noggin temporarily (temporally?) served as a serving dish after some of his mom’s bean dip went astray from its original flight path. Beni reported – unabashedly, I might add – that the same thing happened earlier in the week.

What's Mined Is Mind

Beni accuses me of being away whenever Olivia ponders life’s weightier topics. She enters the following conversation from this morning – a morning I spent on the road on business – as further evidence.

The situation: Olivia had looked out a window to see if she could locate the source of some loud buzzing. Our neighbors to the south had hired some men to do work in their backyard.

Olivia: "Mom, they’re cutting down our tree. They can’t cut down our tree."

Beni: "That’s not our tree. That’s their tree – they can do whatever they want with their tree."

Olivia: "Those two mans don’t live over at that house. (Pause.) Two mans can’t get married to each other – can they, Mom?"

Beni: "Uh, they can in some places."

Olivia: "Like where?"

Beni: "Like Vermont."

Olivia (lengthy pause): "How about in Japan?"

Beni: "I’ll have to check on that for you."

Honor Thy Mother

As Kermit the Frog sang, it’s not that easy being green, but as you may have noticed, it’s a lot easier being green now than ever before. And so on the day we celebrate our earthly mother, I urge you to not only follow those eco-minded tips we’re barraged with this time of year, but also to move beyond the rhetoric our politicians use when discussing environmental issues.

To those ends, here’s a hot tip to ensure you’re of greener mind than our elected officials: bookmark and read Grist – a web site “dishing out environmental news and commentary with a wry twist since 1999.” The on-line resource is a delicious mix – a granola, if you will – of self-deprecation (we’re called “sanctimonious tree-huggers”), wit, humor, and insight, which means that you’ll be able to laugh while crying from learning about the ways our Mother is being abused.

O's Holds Barred

The presence of his sister sows panic in Reed – he gets all wide-eyed in bemusement whenever Olivia is close by, especially when she’s got him in her uneven though loving grasp. We’d done some coaching with Olivia prior to Reed’s arrival, but working with a doll is not quite analogous to holding an actual human being. We’ve had to correct the holds that resemble this…

…to ones that involve her cradling him while sitting on the floor. See:
She’s taken to our instruction well, but as you can see, Reed still gets that fearful look whenever Olivia’s in his space. We feel fortunate, though, that big sister is taking such an active interest in her baby brother.

Water-Resistant

Reed made like his name by doing an impression of a tall grass sitting in a wet area. He also took on the literal sense of his name – Reed is derived from the Middle English reade, which means “red” – during the course of his first bath. (Interestingly, at least to me, I’ve discovered some of the other meanings of his name. There is, of course, the thin elastic piece that vibrates against the mouthpiece of certain woodwind instruments, but alternate definitions for reed include an arrow, an ancient Hebrew unit of length equal to six cubits, and a ridge on the side of coins. Fun fact: pennies and nickels don’t have reeds but dimes, quarters, and half dollars do—118, 119, and 150 grooves respectively.)

Here are some pics from Olivia’s first bath:

Napping House

Max and Reed have a contest every day to see who can sleep the most. Retired racing greyhounds (or greathounds, if you prefer, as Olivia does; or RRGs, the cumbersome initialism preferred by not a one) can sleep up to 18 hours a day; newborn babies usually spend 16 or more hours in slumberland. Here are the results of their head-to-head battle for this week:*

Monday: Max (16.5 hours); Reed (17.3)
Tuesday: Max (19.7); Reed (17.7)
Wednesday: Max (18.4); Reed (18.6)
Thursday: Max (20.3); Reed (17.7)
Friday: Max (15.5); Reed (18.1)

*Figures not subject to standards of accurate recordkeeping.

Slow Show Your Stroll

This afternoon, Reed made his first extended public appearance, an occasion that was also marked by the debut of our double stroller. Warmish weather and cabin fever prompted our amble around the neighborhood. We’re hoping for many more of these family outings now that winter – knock on wood of the ever-greening trees – is in the rear-view mirror.

Snoozesome Twosome

In a house with young children, sleep is like gold: it’s precious, shiny, and can be traded on the commodities market. (I concede that this analogy is far from perfect, but remember that a .333 career batting average will get you into the Hall of Fame.) I arrived home for lunch today to find both kids partaking in a siesta, an (in)activity guaranteed to make me – their perpetually fatigued father – jealous.

(Tangentially, are there other word pairs in which the difference in just one letter accounts for such divergent meanings, as is the case with siesta and fiesta? Comely and homely come to mind, and I supposed gold and mold could be thrown in the mix. Any others?)