Two

Happy birthday, little squeaker.

This past weekend, we had a party for the squeaker's birthday. His large extended family of aunties and uncles and grandparents and cousins came to celebrate with him. He got an Elmo bike and a barn with animals (including a neigh neigh), a tool set, a Curious George treasury of stories, a book about dinosaurs, and lots of play food for his "house."

Best of all, he got a giant empty box, specially selected (without the TV) by one of his aunties at Best Buy.

Happy Idiots

Just as it has since 1972, the Pew Research Center survey on happiness shows that conservatives are happier than liberals. Conservative columnist George Will notes that "[w]hile 34 percent of all Americans call themselves 'very happy,' only 28 percent of liberal Democrats (and 31 percent of moderate or conservative Democrats) do, compared with 47 percent of conservative Republicans." Will goes on to offer his analysis (and I use that word loosely) of the reason for this disparity, concluding that liberals look to the government to secure their happiness, while conservatives pursue happiness for themselves. Plus, liberals won't buy new cars because they don't want to give up their political bumper stickers, and their anxiety about global warming won't let them buy a new car anyway. And they worry about roads paving over nature and materialism and consumerism. So much hand wringing, says Will, makes a liberalism a "complicated and exacting, not to say grim and scolding, creed. And not one conducive to happiness."

Yes, George Will, it can be hard to be a responsible grown up, and to pay attention to how humans affect the environment and to how materialism and consumerism undermine the human spirit. I'm sure it is indeed much easier just to look after yourself than it is to be a "bleeding heart" for the people around you. If new cars, a big parking lot, and plenty of stuff to buy are really all it takes to make you happy, more power to you. But we liberals generally like to aim a little higher than our own individual happiness. Dissatisfaction is, after all, the root of change.

Froot Loop Pow wow

Last night, while the squeaker and I were eating Froot Loops together before bed, it struck me how very companionable he's become. Our time together is no longer me caring for a helpless baby. We sat at the table together (well, he stood on his chair to reach his cereal), and we talked about our favorite books and about his large collection of animals. There are things about having a tiny baby that I miss, but overall, I think that being with a child is more fun than caring for an infant. Witnessing his gradual acquisition of language has got to be one of the coolest things about being a parent.

He makes his baby triceratops hop around, looking for the mama triceratops: "Where's mama?"

If I "fly" him through the air when I pick him up, he tells me he's "being a butterfly."

If you tell him something is sharp, he'll say "sharp as a needle!"

This morning, when he woke up to discover that he was in the bed alone, he called to his papa and then said, "Lay with you, please?"

And best of all, he says "I love you, mama!!"

Not "Our Town"

Like many toddlers who nurse, the squeaker has a word for the breasts that feed him. He calls them the "nee nees" -- as in "more nee nees, please."

So I'm wearing this old t-shirt to bed the other night from one of the plays we did in high school, "Our Town," and it says the name of the play in large letters across the chest. The squeaker traces his fingers along the letters, and says slowly (as if he's reading it), "My nee nees." I laughed until I cried, so he'll probably be hesitant to try reading anything ever again.

Firefighters Rescue Valentine

In Nebraska, 7-year-old Joel Enriquez made a valentine for his mom, who died of cancer last year. He attached it to a balloon and released it by his school on Tuesday, but it got caught on some wires. For two days, it was stuck in the trees.

But his teacher told some firefighters about it, and yesterday, they braved sleet and wind to rescue the valentine with an extended ladder. One firefighter had three balloons ready for it, and after it was rescued and re-attached, they sent it sailing.

Schaefer the Stupid

So Maryland State Comptroller William Donald Schaefer thinks it's OK to ask a young aide to the governor to parade around so that he can admire her ass. Apparently, the 24-year old aide brought him a cup of tea before a meeting of the Board of Public Works. With people waiting to testify before the board looking on, he watched her walk away, then called to her and gestured for her to come back. When she did so, he asked her to "walk again." Flustered, she left the room and told others she was embarrassed.

Then he has the nerve to say that "this little girl" ought to be "happy that [he] observed her going out the door," and that he's the one who is offended. (It's not clear if it's the embarrassment of the young aide or the media attention that has "offended" the poor Comptroller.)

It's frightening how utterly unaware he seems of the inappropriateness of his behavior. He's always been an embarrassing oaf, but I think this takes the cake. Some have defended him, saying that men will always admire pretty women. But it's not his admiration that has landed him in hot water, it's the inappropriate and embarrassing treatment of a young woman in a professional environment. What an embarrassment he is.

Identity Crisis

It's official -- we're moving to Pennsylvania. I'm going to try to talk my office into letting me work from home two days a week, so that I commute the other three days. It would still be a lot of driving, but it would be nice to hang onto this job for a while.

Still, I didn't go to law school to be a government lawyer. I wanted to do public interest work, or to work for an organization that pushes for legal change in the areas I care about, such as women's issues or separation of church and state. In some ways, my current job is very public interest oriented, but the good stuff I work on is sometimes mired in bureaucracy and tedious regulations. But my job also fits well with the demands of my family, and that has been a good thing. So I'm wondering: should I treat this as an opportunity to reassess where I am and what I'm doing, so that I can pursue the kind of work I originally set out to do when I went to law school? Or is this job such a good one that I should hang onto it for now, even if that means a painful commute? Am I resisting change just because I feel more comfortable with the familiarity of my job, or do I have other good reasons for hanging on to it? And of course there is another wrinkle -- do I want (or need) to work at all right now? How much of a priority is it for me to stay home with the squeaker?

Anyway, I doubt the readers of my blog are interested in being pelted with my questions about Who I Am, Where I Am, and What I Am Doing.

So here are some recent additions to the squeaker's vocabulary that amuse us:
pegasus
faun
triceratops
T-Rex
centaur
lynx

From this list, you might be able to guess that he's been watching lots of "Fantasia" in the evenings. He settles down on the couch with his papa, a sippy cup of juice, and a bowl of cashews (the kid is obsessed with cashews), and they watch their favorite segments of Fantasia. At least it's expanding his vocabulary.

Yikes

It's been an exciting few days for us. We got socked with that snowstorm -- our little city was mentioned in the national news as having received one of the largest snow totals in the mid-Atlantic region -- 21 inches. This pic is our little snow-covered deck.

We bundled the squeaker up so much that when he fell over (which happened frequently, due to his multiple layers of pants), he couldn't get up. We took him outside and set him on the porch, and since the depth of the snow was actually level with the porch, he stepped right off into the snow, ending up face down and flailing.

But after that little mishap, he seemed to enjoy the snow. With some practice, he even managed to figure out how to stand up after falling down. We tried to do some of the cool stuff he's read about in The Snowy Day, but the snow was really too dry for building snowmen and snowballs, and it was too deep for snow angels. So mostly we just walked around at marveled at its depth, while he tried to gather up the chunks of snow that looked like pre-made snowballs, only to have them crumble in his hands. Then he found a puddle to jump in -- and to throw snow into -- and that was cooler than anything else he found, apparently.

Besides the excitement with the snow, we were also excited that we've found a house in Pennsylvania that we like. We looked at two houses over the weekend. The first looked great in the ads, but when we got there, we discovered that it shared a driveway with the neighboring house. And the neighbor had proudly displayed a large confederate flag on the porch, and a "NO TRESPASSING - VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED" sign along the driveway, facing the house that was for sale. The house itself was fairly nice, despite the autographed photos of President Bush that were displayed on the walls. But it was too small, and while that defect might have been overlooked, the neighbor could not have been.

But the second house was quite nice -- a little brick rancher on 9 acres, much nicer and larger than our house, though without some of the nice things we've added to ours (Corian countertops, ceiling fans, hardwood flooring, whirlpool tub). So we've submitted a contract, and we're waiting to hear if it's accepted, though we think it's quite likely that it will be because the sellers are apparently getting pretty desperate. I'm not sure yet what we're going to do about our jobs. It would be a long commute, needless to say, but there may be some solutions that would mean I don't have to leave my job. Of course, one of the reasons we'd been looking to move was so that I could stay home with the squeaker, but this house may be a little too expensive for that. Still, maybe I can find something part time, or figure out how to work from home.

I think this is probably the scariest thing we've ever done.

Prized Neigh Neighs

I'm honored to have been awarded the 2005 Blog Excellence Award for the Best Blog Featuring Neigh Neighs. I am sure the competition was fierce.

But really, the glory is all the squeaker's.

Dinos and the Plight of Mickey

Lately, the squeaker has been interested in dinosaurs. He has some plastic molded dinosaurs, including a T-Rex and a triceratops. He seems fond of his dinosaur pajamas. And he likes to watch the dinosaur segment of Fantasia. He gets very excited when the T-Rex appears and battles with the stegosaurus. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea for him to watch it, but he didn't seem distressed, just excited.

His reaction to the dinosaurs is definitely a stark contrast to his reaction to Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer's Apprentice segment. He likes Mickey, and he watches the marching brooms with interest. But when the sorcerer shows up and Mickey gets in trouble, he can't stand to watch it. He shouts, "Man! Man! Turn it off!" Not wanting to distress him, we turn it off, of course.

I suppose it isn't surprising that the squeaker identifies more with the hapless Mickey, toiling under the watchful eye of the sorcerer, than with the battling dinosaurs. Plus, he probably has no idea what's going on with the dinosaurs, but it's very clear that Mickey is being reprimanded, something the squeaker can probably relate to.

It would probably be safer to stick with Baby Einstein DVDs, which babies apparently find so addictive that my co-workers call them "baby crack." I'm not sure if that amounts to a recommendation for Baby Einstein, or a warning (or both?).

Feminism

Ruth Marcus has a good column in the Post today about Betty Friedan. In a time when the word "feminist" is so often construed to mean "ugly man-hater who rejects marriage and children," it's nice to be reminded of what Friedan actually advocated. Marcus notes that Friedan's "prescription for these women is remarkably un-strident, even balanced. 'Marriage and motherhood are an essential part of life, but not the whole of it,' [Friedan] writes. Women 'need to create a new life plan, fitting in the love and children and home that have defined femininity in the past with the work toward a greater purpose that shapes the future.' Friedan understood, as many of her more radical successors did not, that work without family could feel as empty as the converse."

Women have definitely come a long way in the last few decades, and yet it's disappointing that our society still struggles over the role of women in the workplace and the balance between work life and home life. I am glad to have flex time and adequate family leave time, and I rest easier knowing that the Family and Medical Leave Act is there if I need it. But how about some innovative, practical solutions to allow more women to devote their time to their small children, without crippling families financially? How about provisions to suspend student loan payments for a period of time (at least a year) while a new mother cares for a child? How about mortgage programs that are structured around a financial plan that allows for several years of significantly reduced payments while a family's children are small?

And while workplaces have implemented many family-friendly policies, our society still does not recognize the value of having very young children cared for by a parent. If we did recognize how valuable that is, we would develop meaningful maternity/paternity leave programs. Three months of unpaid leave is pathetic. Among first world nations, only the U.S. and Australia fail to provide paid leave for new mothers. USA Today observed that "to put it another way, out of 168 nations in a Harvard University study last year, 163 had some form of paid maternity leave, leaving the United States in the company of Lesotho, Papua New Guinea and Swaziland."

And what's interesting to me is that people who object to more generous parental leave policies often resent that they provide some kind of special benefit or luxury for women (or for parents). Anyone who has spent all day at home with an infant knows that maternity leave is hardly a vacation. More importantly, the intent of extended, paid maternity leave would be for the benefit of the child, not the mother. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends breastfeeding for at least a year, but working mothers who buy expensive breastpumps, struggle to find a place to pump, and then leave bottles of milk for their baby know how difficult this is. Some daycare providers won't even allow pumped breastmilk on their premises. And other women have jobs that are simply incompatible with pumping breastmilk. Many women work hard to find a way, but there's no reason it should be that difficult.

And it's not just about breastfeeding. The first two years of life are a key time for brain development and social and psychological growth. While a safe, nurturing daycare provider may help children thrive, there is no substitute for a parent, especially when the child is under two years old. Women have made great strides in changing the social and legal forces that limited their choices, but the economic forces are still very powerful. But who has time to advocate those kinds of changes? The people who care the most about the issue are too busy working full time jobs and then caring for their home and families to push for change.

Lorn's Birthday

Happy birthday, Lorna Doone. Miss you so much.

Gimme Some Presents Please

The squeaker's birthday is coming, so I was interested to read this article in Slate about "Spartan parents." The author writes about her family's decision to do a "book swap" among the kids attending her son's party, instead of allowing the usual deluge of transient plastic toys that is part of a privileged kid's birthday party. When the boy was small, he was OK with the book swap. But after a few years (and presumably after having witnessed the usual gluttony of a birthday party at other kids' houses), the boy wanted his presents. The author worked out a compromise that kept the book swap but allowed her son to receive some toys, too.

I, too, hate the idea of adding a pile of plastic toys to our already crowded household. And I think the "Spartan" approach is generally a good idea, though I like moderation better than absolutes (some soda, rather than no soda, and some sugar cereals, rather than none). Life, after all, is about pleasure as well as health. Denying yourself the former doesn't necessarily guarantee the latter, and too much self-denial may pose health risks of its own (see Death in Venice, by Thomas Mann!).

But in any case, I appreciate the impulse to replace the emphasis on the acquisition of lots of things with something less gluttonous and more measured. There is a constant tension between the desire to provide a child with everything his or her heart desires and the need to convey to the child what the really important things in life actually are. And there are plenty of parenting books out there to help parents avoid raising a spoiled, bratty child who fails to recognize how good he or she has it. And yet I think this quote from a parent, who posts on the bulletin board that I frequent, sums it up beautifully, and without the convolutions of the parenting books: "I spent so much time making sure that they wanted for nothing that they never learned to fully appreciate what they had."

Mama's Work

Yesterday, the squeaker's caretaker had jury duty. I had thought that she'd be finished early in the day, so I planned to go into work late. But as the day wore on, it became apparent that she would not be able to come at all. Since I had something at work that HAD to be finished yesterday, I packed the squeaker into the minivan and off we went.

There are no highways connecting my home to my work, so the squeaker got to enjoy the back roads and country views that I see everyday. He was very excited and kept talking about how we were going to "mama's work." He was very good for the car trip there and back again, and he behaved himself well in my office. But the best thing (from his perspective) was that the trip through the countryside afforded him an excellent view of horses, cows, and sheep. Naturally, now he thinks "mama's work" is all about horses, cows, and sheep. And of course, those who know exactly what I do know that he is right.

And one more squeaker story. Before we set off on our journey, he "cooked" breakfast for us in his new kitchenette. (Nana acquired this Little Tikes kitchenette for him and brought it down over the weekend.) Though it's just a fridge, oven, dishwasher, and microwave in a single unit, the squeaker fondly calls it his "house." So before we go, he busily cooks up some waffles and oatmeal, sets it all out on his little table, and then asks me to sit with him. We're getting all settled when he suddenly says, "Newspaper! Mama, newspaper please!" I've trained my boy well. Because of his mother's attachment to the ritual of reading the newspaper at breakfast, this kid thinks no breakfast is complete without some newspaper. I gave him the Sunday comics, of course.