Yes, another video. :)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Cirque de Bebe
Lola loves electronics. Any sort of remote control, camera, computer, phone, wireless or wired, she loves them all and doesn't discriminate. Her favorite kind of electronics? The ones that we don't allow her to play with. This category includes the video camera. So now, with her new found mobility, filming her takes on a new level of ninja-like qualities.
Anyway, with all that said, I caught about 4 seconds of her newest physical feat.
Her jumper is now serving a new purpose.
Anyway, with all that said, I caught about 4 seconds of her newest physical feat.
Her jumper is now serving a new purpose.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Hair
Over the weekend, Lola reached the 13 month mark. She is talking more, walking more, eating more...it seems like she is developing new tricks each and every day. While I need to take some time and record all of these new events, I don't feel like doing that tonight.
So, instead, I give you this photo. Lola, with hair, yes hair long enough that it requires a clip. Eating and enjoying eggs, much to Josh's dismay. Finally, something Lola and I have in common. :)
So, instead, I give you this photo. Lola, with hair, yes hair long enough that it requires a clip. Eating and enjoying eggs, much to Josh's dismay. Finally, something Lola and I have in common. :)
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Routine
The house is quiet right now. It's 8:37 PM and every being, except me, is sleeping.
But, I can pretty much guarantee that someone will wake up at midnight, then again at 2, and then a dog will want to go outside at 3, followed by another wake-up by a certain someone at 4:30 and finally, I will hear "IT'S TIME TO GET UP" in baby-speak around 5 AM.
This is our routine.
I really should get to bed.
But, I can pretty much guarantee that someone will wake up at midnight, then again at 2, and then a dog will want to go outside at 3, followed by another wake-up by a certain someone at 4:30 and finally, I will hear "IT'S TIME TO GET UP" in baby-speak around 5 AM.
This is our routine.
I really should get to bed.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
untitled
Last night, in an attempt to locate Josh's frequent flier number, I dug out my old day planner. I suppose using the word "dig" is a misnomer. I knew exactly where it was located. In the summer of 2008, when we moved into this house, I placed my day planner on a shelf on my closet and left it there. Until that is, last night.
Picking it up, it felt strange to me. I had forgotten how heavy it was. It was thick, because when I was in law school and then later, when I was acquiring my master's, I used to love to plan out my days, thus I used a system that allowed each day its own individual page. My planner, all 365 pages, was dearly loved.
As I flipped through its pages, I slowed down when I came across the month of February. "Study community property," "Practice multiple choice questions," and "Memorize California evidence rules" were common entries. Then, near the end of the month, taking up a three page spread, "Bar Exam" was highlighted in bright orange. The next day was blank.
The months of March, April, and May were filled with notes and schedules from the track team that I used to coach. Workout plans, parent phone numbers, and directions to different high schools were written on its pages.
The first few days of June were marked with job interview information. A phone number for a recruiter. The address of a firm in Los Angeles.
Then, on June 11th, there was a circle around 1 PM. Next to it, scribbled in pencil, was the word "utlrasound."
Looking at that page brought back a rush of emotion. I remembered sitting in my car, outside my office, calling my OB-GYN. Telling them that I had a positive pregnancy test. Telling them that I was certain that I was not pregnant. Telling them that I must be a false-positive. Shaking as I wrote ultrasound on the page. Scared that something might be going on that I would have no control over, something that I had not planned.
My notes on days following June 11th were sparse. "Start packing" said June 28. "Start new job" on July 21. After July, the days were blank and empty.
Holding my planner, I knew that for the later part of 2008, I started consolidating all of my appointments on my computer in Outlook. The planner wasn't necessarily discarded because I no longer made plans. It was just that my plans no longer fit into its daily, pale blue lines.
I remember entering "due date" on February 3 into my outlook calendar, then changing it a few weeks later to February 5, and then even later to February 6. Finally, at some point I gave up, frustrated by the fact that my midwife couldn't provide me with an absolute certain date. I deleted the notation altogether, determined to try something new, attempting to roll with it.
For 2009, I didn't even buy a day planner. In May 2009, I realized my mistake, but felt it was too late to make such a purchase. Besides, it felt like life was moving forward so rapidly. The days blended into the nights, the weeks absorbed by weekends, and soon it was August, then October, and finally December. I felt like the entire year escaped me. Not that it wasn't documented, because it was, here and in Lola's baby journal, but nothing was really planned.
While I've come to accept that life moves forward, and can do so joyously without any real planning, there is a part of me that longs for order and stability and scheduling. After all I am a lawyer, and I became a lawyer by way of planning and plotting my life out on those pale blue pages.
Knowing this, I purchased a small day planner for 2010. It's no Franklin Covey, as I can no longer afford such luxury, and an entire week is mapped out in two pages. Whimsical blue flowers grace its white cover and so far, its pages contain notes on doctor appointments, a running list of people to whom I owe thank you notes, and date reminders of celebratory occasions.
And perhaps, best of all, it captivates Lola. She, the one who taught me that sometimes the greatest events of our lives are not planned, pats its cover gently and quietly turns its pages with her tiny fingers. Have I found a happy-medium? I don't know, but I feel like the answer is maybe.
Picking it up, it felt strange to me. I had forgotten how heavy it was. It was thick, because when I was in law school and then later, when I was acquiring my master's, I used to love to plan out my days, thus I used a system that allowed each day its own individual page. My planner, all 365 pages, was dearly loved.
As I flipped through its pages, I slowed down when I came across the month of February. "Study community property," "Practice multiple choice questions," and "Memorize California evidence rules" were common entries. Then, near the end of the month, taking up a three page spread, "Bar Exam" was highlighted in bright orange. The next day was blank.
The months of March, April, and May were filled with notes and schedules from the track team that I used to coach. Workout plans, parent phone numbers, and directions to different high schools were written on its pages.
The first few days of June were marked with job interview information. A phone number for a recruiter. The address of a firm in Los Angeles.
Then, on June 11th, there was a circle around 1 PM. Next to it, scribbled in pencil, was the word "utlrasound."
Looking at that page brought back a rush of emotion. I remembered sitting in my car, outside my office, calling my OB-GYN. Telling them that I had a positive pregnancy test. Telling them that I was certain that I was not pregnant. Telling them that I must be a false-positive. Shaking as I wrote ultrasound on the page. Scared that something might be going on that I would have no control over, something that I had not planned.
My notes on days following June 11th were sparse. "Start packing" said June 28. "Start new job" on July 21. After July, the days were blank and empty.
Holding my planner, I knew that for the later part of 2008, I started consolidating all of my appointments on my computer in Outlook. The planner wasn't necessarily discarded because I no longer made plans. It was just that my plans no longer fit into its daily, pale blue lines.
I remember entering "due date" on February 3 into my outlook calendar, then changing it a few weeks later to February 5, and then even later to February 6. Finally, at some point I gave up, frustrated by the fact that my midwife couldn't provide me with an absolute certain date. I deleted the notation altogether, determined to try something new, attempting to roll with it.
For 2009, I didn't even buy a day planner. In May 2009, I realized my mistake, but felt it was too late to make such a purchase. Besides, it felt like life was moving forward so rapidly. The days blended into the nights, the weeks absorbed by weekends, and soon it was August, then October, and finally December. I felt like the entire year escaped me. Not that it wasn't documented, because it was, here and in Lola's baby journal, but nothing was really planned.
While I've come to accept that life moves forward, and can do so joyously without any real planning, there is a part of me that longs for order and stability and scheduling. After all I am a lawyer, and I became a lawyer by way of planning and plotting my life out on those pale blue pages.
Knowing this, I purchased a small day planner for 2010. It's no Franklin Covey, as I can no longer afford such luxury, and an entire week is mapped out in two pages. Whimsical blue flowers grace its white cover and so far, its pages contain notes on doctor appointments, a running list of people to whom I owe thank you notes, and date reminders of celebratory occasions.
And perhaps, best of all, it captivates Lola. She, the one who taught me that sometimes the greatest events of our lives are not planned, pats its cover gently and quietly turns its pages with her tiny fingers. Have I found a happy-medium? I don't know, but I feel like the answer is maybe.
Monday, February 22, 2010
For Rachel
Lola is starting to venture into the world of pretend.
We were first offered a glimpse of this treasure when she grabbed Josh's coffee cup on Christmas Eve and starting "drinking" from it. The next day, upon receipt of her chatter phone, we began to make phone calls. Most of our conversations go like this.
Brrrrring, brrrrring.
Me: "Hello?"
Lola (curious look)
Me: "Oh, hi _____ (insert Auntie/Grandma). Would you like to talk to Lola?"
Me, give phone to Lola.
Lola looks at phone. Holds it. Says nothing.
Me, take phone back.
Me: "She doesn't feel like talking right now. Can you call later?"
Me: "OK. I'll tell her. Bye."
Me, hang up phone.
Me (look at Lola): She's going to call you back later.
After repeating this scenario, oh 150 times or so, with Lola never taking the receiver to talk to someone, I saw her do the most bizarre thing last week. She crawled over to her high chair, picked up the loose nylon strap, held it up to her ear and said, "Bababa? Uh. Dadama." Then, she proceeded to have an entire conversation.
The next day, she grabbed our cell phones and started to "make calls." And, then, I saw her use these as her "phone" and it cracked me up so much that I had to catch it on video.
We were first offered a glimpse of this treasure when she grabbed Josh's coffee cup on Christmas Eve and starting "drinking" from it. The next day, upon receipt of her chatter phone, we began to make phone calls. Most of our conversations go like this.
Brrrrring, brrrrring.
Me: "Hello?"
Lola (curious look)
Me: "Oh, hi _____ (insert Auntie/Grandma). Would you like to talk to Lola?"
Me, give phone to Lola.
Lola looks at phone. Holds it. Says nothing.
Me, take phone back.
Me: "She doesn't feel like talking right now. Can you call later?"
Me: "OK. I'll tell her. Bye."
Me, hang up phone.
Me (look at Lola): She's going to call you back later.
After repeating this scenario, oh 150 times or so, with Lola never taking the receiver to talk to someone, I saw her do the most bizarre thing last week. She crawled over to her high chair, picked up the loose nylon strap, held it up to her ear and said, "Bababa? Uh. Dadama." Then, she proceeded to have an entire conversation.
The next day, she grabbed our cell phones and started to "make calls." And, then, I saw her use these as her "phone" and it cracked me up so much that I had to catch it on video.
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