Feeding Frenzy

Armed with a spoon and an appetite, Miles attacked his chicken 'n' sweet potato dinner.  Orange blobs landed on the floor, the dogs, my arms, and all points in between.  In an effort to teach a little independence, we ended up dousing the high chair.  Luckily, the pup-fronted clean up crew swooped in during bath time.  (Miles has become their official provider of treats.)  He got so gross, so caked in jarred sludge, so sticky icky that I had to undress him in the tub before filling it up.  That's my boy!  

A sliver of free time...

There's five minutes left in my evening until I head to bed and zone out watching "The Real Housewives of NYC**," so I thought I'd check in.  Life is being held hostage by this online class and work.  Glued to this laptop I have been but not doing fun activities like uploading more Miles pictures.

I've been more homesick these days.  In fact, I was sitting through a difficult meeting and had to leave because I started to cry.  I missed Miles that much- my heart was aching.  He's only a 20 minute drive away, but it feel like the longest drive in automotive history.  Luckily, I pulled myself together and blamed the watery eyes on allergies; 'tis the season to be red-eyed.  

Many reflections on the nature of love lately.  I keep talking with Jesse about how much my heart has grown since becoming a parent.  I fall in love with Miles all over again, every single day, and each time is a bit deeper than the day before.

I want to read everything that William Carlos Williams wrote.  I can't believe that I haven't devoured his work earlier- where have my eyeballs been??? A random note, I know, but his work is like lemon twist to the brain.  I'm hooked, but I have to finish Tori Spelling's autobiography first.  Honest.  And it's pretty good, good like wearing paisley flip flops to formal event.

**Well, I'm off to see Jill, Bethenney, Alex, Simon (he counts), and the really hyper one whose name eludes me at the moment, oh Ramona, that's it- but not the new lady Kelley; she's mean and a little off-center and not in a fun, reality TV way.  She looks like she'd cut you if you spill your drink onto her handbag.  I think Jesse secretly watches when I do.  Maybe he'll let me sign up for "The Real Housewives of Colonial Reenactment Towns."  But we both agree that it is not as good as Project Runway, duh.  Ciao!   

  

In the late afternoon sun...

...we had some photo-tastic fun!  Sorry for being corny, but sometimes his cuteness overpowers me.  These were taken after Miles and I sat through some of my school's final dress rehearsal of "Seussical."  It's the world of Dr. Seuss set to music, and our kids did an AMAZING job.  If this is ever a production in your neck of the woods, go immediately!  Miles sat enthralled for over an hour, nary a fuss uttered.  Occasionally, he'd spin around to make sure I, too, was watching.  Even cooler was his reaction to having the spotlight on him.  Every few scenes or so, the big light would swing past; this became Miles' cue to wave and holler.  He was a total ham, and I loved every second of it! That joie de vivre, as seen above, is a carry over from his first experience as an audience member.  We must find season tickets to anything with lyrics and dancing soon.  Get this kid 20 cc's of "Les Miz" STAT!

My Daily Moment of Zen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN0XWcj_L6o

I promise this will make you giggle. If not, you can take it up 

with Cookie Monster.  

Spoiler Alert: This in NOT a Miles video, but almost as cute.

This post was brought to you by the letter C.

Enjoy!

Where in the world have I been?

You may have been wondering what kind of activities have kept me out of the blog--drome.  No, I have not gone in to hiding; I've not made best friends with Salman Rushdie.  Besides, even if I wanted to be his friend, I am not hot enough.  The guy is a total model hound, and who knew models could read?  I kid.  

Okay, I'll just give you a quick overview of the last week in list form.  Last week my classes reviewed poetry, so I'm going to bust out the haiku, again.

I.

Where has my sleep gone?

To the University, 

of Phoenix, AZ!  

Virtual classes- 

Do not drink beer while typing.

You'll be too honest.

II.

Beth's getting hitched!

The ladies went out last night.

Only two weeks left... 

She wore a pink sash 

and a fluffy tiara

to P.F. Chang's.

III.

Creativity...

Judged state OM yesterday.

Impressive kids.

Think I'll coach some day.

The energy is amazing-

Electric thinking!

IV.

Someone's got new teeth.

The bottom row has been busy.

A reverse beaver.

We're up to three now-

three and counting on more.

Biting and drooling...

V.

Work, work, work, work, work...

Work, work, work, work, work, work, work...

When's Spring Break Part 2?

Big tests are coming.

Kids are planning mutiny-

I don't envy them.

I have some pics to upload- the next time I come up for air.  Little Man is trying to become Medium Man by packing on the pounds.  More sweetness to squeeze.  

I am supposed to be working an assignment, but this seems more important.

(And by "important" I mean "fun".)  Miles scooted all the way across the living room to reach the piano.  He knew exactly where he wanted to be and exactly what he wanted to do-tickling the ivories with Dada.

Later sunsets rock!

I'm stoked!  The sun is typically still up when I leave work now.  It's the small things in life...

Here's evening on my street.

Pop Quiz: Name this lady

Major Steps!

You've heard of hand-over-hand learning.  We're trying foot-over-foot.

My little Mozart

A couple of quick viewing notes:

1. Yes, he's wearing his Christmas bib, and it's April 9th.  But do you know how cold it is outside?!? Spring, I want a full refund.

2. The piano, which now hangs out in my living room, is in its third generational rotation.  

3. The keys have an added element of design.  My Uncle Jimmy, as a little guy, took nail clippers to the end of the ivories- thus giving the keys a scalloped look.  Classy!  I'm sure if he hadn't done it, I would have done something similar when I was that age.  Surprisingly, my name is not carved on the sides; that used to me my trademark.  

4. Can you read the books on the top ledge?  One cover is Rolling Stone's Top 500 songs of all time.  I've asked Jesse, the resident music expert, to learn "Sweet Child O' Mine."  Miles needs to see my sweet Alex Rose-like dance.  The second cover, which is signed by the author, is Barry Louis Polisar's "Noises Under the Rug."  He's like a vulgar Raffi; the guy sings about boogers and mean teachers.  Love it!

5. What I recorded was at the end of a 20 minute jam session put on by the guy in diapers.  Miles loves, LOVES, to play instruments.  To y'all it might sound jumbled and random, to me, that is music of my heart.  I hear melodic abstraction, commentary on his Yo Baby + rice cereal breakfast, observations about the new tooth that's ripping in...Miles is quite serious and focused when he's at the keys.  In fact, he looks like he should have on a suit jacket and a monocle.  Or maybe I have a secret desire to dress my son up like the Monopoly guy.  Only time will tell.

6. Enjoy!  The CD release party will be sometime this summer.  I'm hoping to get Sting and Bono to sit in on a few tracks.

Continuing continuing education

I'm being held hostage by my career- with that said, I am spending my 29th birthday at the mercy of the University of Phoenix.  To those teachers out there, you'll understand my strife sorting out longevity issues related to a provisional license.  Last summer, I spent my days focused on Miles' heart surgery, not keeping up with my graduate work.  And as I type now, I have no regrets for the alerted focus of my life.  Umm... hello?  That's what being a parent means- your life loses its singularity; decisions and directions explode into infinite and unpredictable directions.  Mommy-hood means living at the mercy of multiple destinies, and that's cool by me.

Anyways, I'm ringing in the new b-day year by diving off into the deep end of on-line education.  I took an on-line course over 2 years ago, and I struggled with the detached nature of the experience.  Content wasn't so much the problem as was remote learning.  I love being in the classroom.  Well, duh, I am a teacher.  Nothing beats the smell of chalk and the humming of overhead projectors.  Actually, a lot beats that.  In fact, the new technology in the classrooms blows my mind.  I'm of the generation that got wet ditto sheets for assignments, and I still remember that cold, slimy feel of a freshly dittoed hand-out.  Hot of the press pages couldn't even handle pencil marks- I remember having to double, no, triple my lines to make a gradable impression.  

Now kids get to play, I mean learn, with wireless keyboards and video cameras used as document projectors.  Very exciting times theses are.  Now that I've slipped into Yoda-esque speech, I'll get back to the point.  Yes, classes.  I'm slated to take 12 credit hours in 9 weeks.  Gulp.  That is really ridiculous, but I have to.  Such is the nature of teaching contracts, especially for those of us who didn't focus on education on the undergraduate level.  Me?  My degree is technically in Literary and Cultural Studies, but my focus was on Comparative Soviet Cultures.  I've got a BA in BS- turn me loose in at a cocktail party, and I'll blow your mind with parallels between 1950's sci-fi films and US anti-communist propaganda; give me a martini and I'll chew your ear off on how Alice in Wonderland and Rebel Without a Cause illustrate how absentee parental authority and the decline of patriotism became bedfellows following World War II.  Ask me to balance my check book or to solve a word problem- I'll get faint and give you some random Freud quote dealing with second cousins, sheep and used Yugoslavian vehicles.  What?!?  Exactly, that's my point.

Prior to teaching, my brains were used for frivolous endeavours.  Now that I have a purpose, a direction, I must bust my Cheez-It lovin' butt to maintain it!  If my posts dwindle, know that I've much rather be blogging here than on that other site for $250 per credit hour.  But I've got to do what I've got to do.  What other options do I have?  There is no place for a non-Russian speaking Soviet culture expert anywhere except in her own head.   Sadly, my neurons don't provide comprehensive health coverage.  For if that were the case, I'd hold court with Glasnost "glitterati" all day long.  Wish me luck at being legit.