My mom, Ivan and I were looking at a our framed wedding photo, which includes both sets of parents. Despite my profligate picture taking, it's one of the rare framed photos in the house. Occasionally, we (all of us on separate ocassions) look at that photo and tell Ivan who's who. A while back he's started recognizing people in the photo, and as of recently, the first person he points to in that photo is Mimi, or Andy's mom.
She must have made an impression on him, as Andy said. I'm surprised he remembers her considering he's doesn't see Andy's parents that often. He did spend a week alone with them on two separate ocassions--around July 4 and in September--and we've gone up to seem them maybe once a month or so. I didn't think his memory would already be so good.
So this morning he first pointed to Mimi's picture and said Mimi. He wasn't sure who Papi was (Andy's dad) nor would he say his name when I pointed at his likeness in the photo. He identified Dadda without a problem, as he did Didi, Ivan's word for my dad (or Dida--it's a new word we just figured out he knows last week). Neither one of them were present in the room so it was easy for him. But when we asked him where's Mamma instead of pointing to my likeness in the photo, he turned around and pointed at me. when we asked him who's that pointing at my mom's photo, ivan didn't say anything. Nor did he really answer to where Baka (my mom) is. He must have been confused--why would he point to a photo of Mamma or Baka, when we were both standing there with him.
But my mom was hurt. She tried to joke about it, but I could tell it bothered her that Ivan identified his other grandma without a problem, whereas he stalled at the photo of my mom. I found it curious as well, considering that my mom sees him and takes care of him much more and much more often than Andy's mom.
I guess as Andy said, his mom must have made an impression on him.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Impending Daycare
Ivan starts day care next week. I‘m actually in denial that it’s already next week. Until I wrote it now, I truly didn’t realize it is so soon. I’m operating on this illusion that Thanksgiving is really a long holiday weekend.
I’m getting cold feet about sending him off. I know I have to and I know it will be good for him in the long run, but I wonder and fear how he will adjust. I fear the adjustment period. I fear the tears and I know there will be some crocodile tears. I don’t want him to feel like we’ve abandoned him. (I know it’s what all parents fear.) The last few weeks, he’s gotten more sensitive than he used to be. He cries “mama, mama” even when I go to the bathroom and close the door. He cries for us when we leave to go to work in the morning, even though he’s left with my parents whom he knows and loves (and for whom he cries when they leave). I know it’s the stage. But starting daycare at this stage will be so more difficult.
I fear how he'll do around other kids. He seems to be rather gentle and likes to explore things on his own. Big, loud groups of kids seem to scare him and intimidate him a bit. He gets serious and frowny instead of being his smiley, playful, performing self. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and have his space (as I've seen him in the music class and playground play, about both I yet have to write about).
Then I also fear the morning logistics. Right now, it’s easy. Ivan runs around while we take turns getting dressed and taking care of him. There is no need to get him dressed or ready, which is good, considering that a diaper change can take me up to ½ hour of chasing him around the house. Changing him out of his pajama top into a shirt often doesn't even happen, because I give up after some 15-20 minutes of trying. And now, starting next week, we’ll have to dress him in the morning as well. Not to mention feed him. Not to mention prepare his lunch and all other things he’ll have to take with him (I’m not sure what other things there will be, but I’m sure there will be some.) And not to mention all of us leave the house in a decent time to drop him off at daycare and settle him in and still go to work.
But ultimately what I fear the most is whether I will be able to cut it as a mom. A part of me feels that everything so far has been a rehearsal; if it’s been too easy. I think this because Ivan’s been really healthy. He’s been sick only once (when we ended up in the ER.). He’s never thrown up (except when he gagged on food at Ana’s birthday party). He’s had a slight fever maybe two times. He’s never really had diarrhea. Or any sleepless nights, except for some minor toothaches.
But now he’s bound to get sick in daycare. A bug every week, someone told me. I don’t know if and how I’ll handle this. I know I’ll have to. I can’t not handle it. But I fear how difficult it will be and how capable and sturdy and loving of a mom I will be through all of that.
I also feel sad because this means that Mariposa will be home alone on those days Ivan is at daycare. And that breaks my heart. It’s true that she’s not as rambunctious and playful as she was when she was a puppy but I know that she’s much happier when we’re at home with her, even if she’s napping all day long. Since Ivan’s arrival, we’ve been slowly but surely neglecting her. She doesn’t get as much attention as she used to, she’s walked less than she used to be, and we don’t play with her as much as we used to in the evening. I guess it’s partially a function of us being tired and getting used to her. I guess it’s like any relationship. After the initial fireworks fizzle out, it settles into a comfortable routine. I just hope that she’s living her life to her full doggy potential and that she’s not sad and that she doesn’t feel abandoned because we all adore her.
I’m getting cold feet about sending him off. I know I have to and I know it will be good for him in the long run, but I wonder and fear how he will adjust. I fear the adjustment period. I fear the tears and I know there will be some crocodile tears. I don’t want him to feel like we’ve abandoned him. (I know it’s what all parents fear.) The last few weeks, he’s gotten more sensitive than he used to be. He cries “mama, mama” even when I go to the bathroom and close the door. He cries for us when we leave to go to work in the morning, even though he’s left with my parents whom he knows and loves (and for whom he cries when they leave). I know it’s the stage. But starting daycare at this stage will be so more difficult.
I fear how he'll do around other kids. He seems to be rather gentle and likes to explore things on his own. Big, loud groups of kids seem to scare him and intimidate him a bit. He gets serious and frowny instead of being his smiley, playful, performing self. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and have his space (as I've seen him in the music class and playground play, about both I yet have to write about).
Then I also fear the morning logistics. Right now, it’s easy. Ivan runs around while we take turns getting dressed and taking care of him. There is no need to get him dressed or ready, which is good, considering that a diaper change can take me up to ½ hour of chasing him around the house. Changing him out of his pajama top into a shirt often doesn't even happen, because I give up after some 15-20 minutes of trying. And now, starting next week, we’ll have to dress him in the morning as well. Not to mention feed him. Not to mention prepare his lunch and all other things he’ll have to take with him (I’m not sure what other things there will be, but I’m sure there will be some.) And not to mention all of us leave the house in a decent time to drop him off at daycare and settle him in and still go to work.
But ultimately what I fear the most is whether I will be able to cut it as a mom. A part of me feels that everything so far has been a rehearsal; if it’s been too easy. I think this because Ivan’s been really healthy. He’s been sick only once (when we ended up in the ER.). He’s never thrown up (except when he gagged on food at Ana’s birthday party). He’s had a slight fever maybe two times. He’s never really had diarrhea. Or any sleepless nights, except for some minor toothaches.
But now he’s bound to get sick in daycare. A bug every week, someone told me. I don’t know if and how I’ll handle this. I know I’ll have to. I can’t not handle it. But I fear how difficult it will be and how capable and sturdy and loving of a mom I will be through all of that.
I also feel sad because this means that Mariposa will be home alone on those days Ivan is at daycare. And that breaks my heart. It’s true that she’s not as rambunctious and playful as she was when she was a puppy but I know that she’s much happier when we’re at home with her, even if she’s napping all day long. Since Ivan’s arrival, we’ve been slowly but surely neglecting her. She doesn’t get as much attention as she used to, she’s walked less than she used to be, and we don’t play with her as much as we used to in the evening. I guess it’s partially a function of us being tired and getting used to her. I guess it’s like any relationship. After the initial fireworks fizzle out, it settles into a comfortable routine. I just hope that she’s living her life to her full doggy potential and that she’s not sad and that she doesn’t feel abandoned because we all adore her.
New Words
New words
Ivan’s vocabulary and comprehension are definitely increasing. He battles nonstop. And we’re beginning to understand what he’s saying.
Last week, he learned to say “tutu” for turtle. Why he picked out to learn that word, I don’t now. Turtle is not easy to say, nor is “kornjaca,” its Croatian equivalent. He has a stuffed turtle and turtle lamps, but why he honed in on turtle as opposed to other stuffed menagerie, I don’t know.
But he was really cute about it. As soon as my mom comes in, he rushes to the turtle to show her he knows that word. Two days into knowing turtle, he rushed to Andy one morning (he hadn’t seen him for two days prior due to Andy’s work schedule when he went to work and returned home when Ivan was already a sleep).
He also constantly points to “ab, ab, ab” which stands for bus, and “da” which apparently means a light.
For months now, he’s been pointing “avi, avi, avi” when he hears a plane go by.
He’s also learned that “bi” stands for biljka, or plant.
“Pi, pi” is also piti, or drinking, which is a very important concept to tell us. I’m not sure what hungry is. Maybe “am, am.”
Last week he got fascinated with “moo, moo” which stands for moon. As a result of that he’s been pointing to a moon in all his books.
“Ne, ne” has become “nem” for nema or no more.
And most importantly, he’s now aware of peeing. The other day, while he was in diapers he pointed to himself and told me “pee, pee.” I didn’t think anything of it because how could I really tell that he was peeing in his diapers. But then a few days later, while he was naked taking a bath, he looked at me, said “pee, pee” and then peed. I was really proud of him.
:-)
Ivan’s vocabulary and comprehension are definitely increasing. He battles nonstop. And we’re beginning to understand what he’s saying.
Last week, he learned to say “tutu” for turtle. Why he picked out to learn that word, I don’t now. Turtle is not easy to say, nor is “kornjaca,” its Croatian equivalent. He has a stuffed turtle and turtle lamps, but why he honed in on turtle as opposed to other stuffed menagerie, I don’t know.
But he was really cute about it. As soon as my mom comes in, he rushes to the turtle to show her he knows that word. Two days into knowing turtle, he rushed to Andy one morning (he hadn’t seen him for two days prior due to Andy’s work schedule when he went to work and returned home when Ivan was already a sleep).
He also constantly points to “ab, ab, ab” which stands for bus, and “da” which apparently means a light.
For months now, he’s been pointing “avi, avi, avi” when he hears a plane go by.
He’s also learned that “bi” stands for biljka, or plant.
“Pi, pi” is also piti, or drinking, which is a very important concept to tell us. I’m not sure what hungry is. Maybe “am, am.”
Last week he got fascinated with “moo, moo” which stands for moon. As a result of that he’s been pointing to a moon in all his books.
“Ne, ne” has become “nem” for nema or no more.
And most importantly, he’s now aware of peeing. The other day, while he was in diapers he pointed to himself and told me “pee, pee.” I didn’t think anything of it because how could I really tell that he was peeing in his diapers. But then a few days later, while he was naked taking a bath, he looked at me, said “pee, pee” and then peed. I was really proud of him.
:-)
Quiche and Crepes
It’s even way past my bedtime but I’m still up on a Monday night, a work night. Granted it’s a short work week, Thanksgiving week, but still.
I’m up because I’m making my “signature” quiche for the second time tonight. It’s for Andy’s work. They’re each supposed to bring a Thanksgiving dish tomorrow to work. Not that a red-pepper quiche is really standard Thanksgiving fare, but it’s one of the few dishes in my recently discovered baking career that I’ve perfected. Andy got a choice—a quiche, blueberry muffins or a pumpkin pie (which I last made a year ago, so I was relieved that he didn’t chose that one)
I made the quiche earlier tonight, but because I tried to cut corners by using a different dish than the one I usually use, the crust kind of fell in, the quiche top got a bit too brown than it really should be and the dish itself, although dishwasher clean, sports some broiling residue that should’ve really been scrubbed by hand.
In all the times I’ve made variations on this quiche over the last few months, it’s never looked that bad. It tastes just fine, but since presentation is part of the dish as well, I thought I’d give it another shot. So it’s 2 a.m. and I’m waiting for the pie crust to thaw so I can assemble the quiche and bake it.
The only thing is that this new quiche probably won’t taste as sweet as the one I’ve already made because the red pepper I had left didn’t seem as ripe and sweet as the previous one. Oh, well, Andy can decide in the morning.
I’ve made different variations on this quiche theme: it’s always 4 eggs, fat-free cottage cheese and grated parmesan cheese (yes, I could use better cheeses, but these are always readily available and easy), the varying ingredient is sautéed spinach, broccoli or red pepper. Apparently, the red pepper version is the winner, according to Andy.
I hope this work mates think the same tomorrow.
The quiche, muffins and some other dishes I’ve been regularly making are part of my expanding cooking and baking endeavors.
I’ve been mesmerized and intrigued by baking for a long time. It seems so hard and exact and so easy to screw things up. So I thought it’s high time to master it. It’s also strangely creative and relaxing, especially when I make several different dishes at the same time. Then it’s fun. I hate it when I feel like I need to make a meal every night (not that I have to because Andy and I evenly split cooking duties and try to cook in larger batches so that food lasts us a few meals).
We’ve also had to up the ante on cooking because of Ivan. The days of popping a yummy pizza in the oven have largely gone away, mainly because we need to cook good healthy food for both us and Ivan.
Hence my quiche solution, except Ivan doesn’t seem to like it. I think it’s the eggs. He must not like scrambled eggs because I yet have to see him actually put something of the yellow consistency in his mouth.
It’s also about tradition. Since I come from a family of non-cooks and bakers (although there were some attempts on my mom’s part to bake when I was little), I thought I would create some baking traditions of my own. I know I’m not cut out to become a “milk and cookies” mom, I just don’t have that in my veins, but I could pull off making baked goods on weekend mornings. For example, making muffins or pancakes or waffles. Waffles are actually Andy’s specialty. So far, I’ve perfected the muffins—blueberry or apple muffins. I love them, Andy likes them and Ivan seems to scarf them down as well.
About two months ago, I was set on making crepes. Except I had no clue how to make them. So one evening, I phoned my mom for help. I recall her making crepes when I was little, but when I called her to ask about the recipe, she indicated that it’s really hard to make them, that it’s tricky to get the dough right. (I think her complicated attitude toward baking is probably why I have this feeling that baking is hard and complicated and not for novices.) But she offered to look up the recipe, in a Croatian cookbook, non-the-less. She read me the recipe. It seemed simple enough, except the measurements were in milliliters and dekagrams. Now, I’m more at ease with milliliters and dekagrams than ounces and cups, (and I still have to learn to determine what’s a fever in Fahrenheit, after 20 years of living in the US), but remembering conversions was above my head.
But I was determined to make Ivan pancakes for breakfast. Our internet was out that evening due to a storm that knocked it off, so I couldn’t Google the information. TI remembered an old high school Trapper binder that had conversion rates on its sides. I dug it out. I eyeballed the conversions and measured out the ingredients.
The following morning I was in business. I made the crepes. I must have had novice’s luck because they came out perfect and were easy to make.
I triumphantly spread the jam on them and folded them in triangles, which is my preferred crepe folding shape, not the roll one.
This was the breakfast and desert of my youth. I wanted to pass it on to Ivan and start regular crepe weekends. I offered Ivan a bite, the juiciest fold of the triangle, bursting with jam.
Ivan took a bite, considered it for a second in his mouth, and then opened the mouth to let the crepe fall into my hand.
I was devastated. He didn’t like it.
Later in the day, he ate a few bites but it just wasn’t the same.
I haven’t made crepes since. I’ve stuck to the muffins. They’re easy and mastered and liked by all.
Crepes still have this aura of being difficult to make hanging over them, and I’m gathering strength when to attempt them again.
I’m up because I’m making my “signature” quiche for the second time tonight. It’s for Andy’s work. They’re each supposed to bring a Thanksgiving dish tomorrow to work. Not that a red-pepper quiche is really standard Thanksgiving fare, but it’s one of the few dishes in my recently discovered baking career that I’ve perfected. Andy got a choice—a quiche, blueberry muffins or a pumpkin pie (which I last made a year ago, so I was relieved that he didn’t chose that one)
I made the quiche earlier tonight, but because I tried to cut corners by using a different dish than the one I usually use, the crust kind of fell in, the quiche top got a bit too brown than it really should be and the dish itself, although dishwasher clean, sports some broiling residue that should’ve really been scrubbed by hand.
In all the times I’ve made variations on this quiche over the last few months, it’s never looked that bad. It tastes just fine, but since presentation is part of the dish as well, I thought I’d give it another shot. So it’s 2 a.m. and I’m waiting for the pie crust to thaw so I can assemble the quiche and bake it.
The only thing is that this new quiche probably won’t taste as sweet as the one I’ve already made because the red pepper I had left didn’t seem as ripe and sweet as the previous one. Oh, well, Andy can decide in the morning.
I’ve made different variations on this quiche theme: it’s always 4 eggs, fat-free cottage cheese and grated parmesan cheese (yes, I could use better cheeses, but these are always readily available and easy), the varying ingredient is sautéed spinach, broccoli or red pepper. Apparently, the red pepper version is the winner, according to Andy.
I hope this work mates think the same tomorrow.
The quiche, muffins and some other dishes I’ve been regularly making are part of my expanding cooking and baking endeavors.
I’ve been mesmerized and intrigued by baking for a long time. It seems so hard and exact and so easy to screw things up. So I thought it’s high time to master it. It’s also strangely creative and relaxing, especially when I make several different dishes at the same time. Then it’s fun. I hate it when I feel like I need to make a meal every night (not that I have to because Andy and I evenly split cooking duties and try to cook in larger batches so that food lasts us a few meals).
We’ve also had to up the ante on cooking because of Ivan. The days of popping a yummy pizza in the oven have largely gone away, mainly because we need to cook good healthy food for both us and Ivan.
Hence my quiche solution, except Ivan doesn’t seem to like it. I think it’s the eggs. He must not like scrambled eggs because I yet have to see him actually put something of the yellow consistency in his mouth.
It’s also about tradition. Since I come from a family of non-cooks and bakers (although there were some attempts on my mom’s part to bake when I was little), I thought I would create some baking traditions of my own. I know I’m not cut out to become a “milk and cookies” mom, I just don’t have that in my veins, but I could pull off making baked goods on weekend mornings. For example, making muffins or pancakes or waffles. Waffles are actually Andy’s specialty. So far, I’ve perfected the muffins—blueberry or apple muffins. I love them, Andy likes them and Ivan seems to scarf them down as well.
About two months ago, I was set on making crepes. Except I had no clue how to make them. So one evening, I phoned my mom for help. I recall her making crepes when I was little, but when I called her to ask about the recipe, she indicated that it’s really hard to make them, that it’s tricky to get the dough right. (I think her complicated attitude toward baking is probably why I have this feeling that baking is hard and complicated and not for novices.) But she offered to look up the recipe, in a Croatian cookbook, non-the-less. She read me the recipe. It seemed simple enough, except the measurements were in milliliters and dekagrams. Now, I’m more at ease with milliliters and dekagrams than ounces and cups, (and I still have to learn to determine what’s a fever in Fahrenheit, after 20 years of living in the US), but remembering conversions was above my head.
But I was determined to make Ivan pancakes for breakfast. Our internet was out that evening due to a storm that knocked it off, so I couldn’t Google the information. TI remembered an old high school Trapper binder that had conversion rates on its sides. I dug it out. I eyeballed the conversions and measured out the ingredients.
The following morning I was in business. I made the crepes. I must have had novice’s luck because they came out perfect and were easy to make.
I triumphantly spread the jam on them and folded them in triangles, which is my preferred crepe folding shape, not the roll one.
This was the breakfast and desert of my youth. I wanted to pass it on to Ivan and start regular crepe weekends. I offered Ivan a bite, the juiciest fold of the triangle, bursting with jam.
Ivan took a bite, considered it for a second in his mouth, and then opened the mouth to let the crepe fall into my hand.
I was devastated. He didn’t like it.
Later in the day, he ate a few bites but it just wasn’t the same.
I haven’t made crepes since. I’ve stuck to the muffins. They’re easy and mastered and liked by all.
Crepes still have this aura of being difficult to make hanging over them, and I’m gathering strength when to attempt them again.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Mariposa's Got Ivan's Socks
After a battling with Ivan for most of the day to have him allow me to put his socks and shoes on, I finally gave up. By the same token I left him the entire day in his pajama top because he absolutely refused to let me take it off. The only clothing item I managed to change twice (because it got dirty after lunch) were the pants, and even that took me half an hour each time.
And it's like this every single day. He gets very picky and peculiar about letting me take off a shirt (or put on one), socks and shoes. He absolutely refuses to have shoes on, and I don't think it's because they're too small for him. (I've tried measuring his feet with the Striderite's printed shoe ruler but with no luck.)
This reminds me of a recent Baby Center email I got, which I can no longer find, about how toddlers like things "just so." Another thing he likes just so, is tidying up and returning things to their proper place. I obviously welcome this activity.
Today, after I gave up on putting socks on Ivan, I left them on the chaise lounge, where Mariposa was sleeping, of course. Sometime later when I looked at her, she took one of Ivan's socks under her paws and was chewing it. Out of love, I assume.
She does the same thing with my socks, scrunchies, etc....tries to steal them of me to chew them.
It really warmed my heart when I saw her do that. To me, at least, it meant that she loves him just like she loves me.
And it's like this every single day. He gets very picky and peculiar about letting me take off a shirt (or put on one), socks and shoes. He absolutely refuses to have shoes on, and I don't think it's because they're too small for him. (I've tried measuring his feet with the Striderite's printed shoe ruler but with no luck.)
This reminds me of a recent Baby Center email I got, which I can no longer find, about how toddlers like things "just so." Another thing he likes just so, is tidying up and returning things to their proper place. I obviously welcome this activity.
Today, after I gave up on putting socks on Ivan, I left them on the chaise lounge, where Mariposa was sleeping, of course. Sometime later when I looked at her, she took one of Ivan's socks under her paws and was chewing it. Out of love, I assume.
She does the same thing with my socks, scrunchies, etc....tries to steal them of me to chew them.
It really warmed my heart when I saw her do that. To me, at least, it meant that she loves him just like she loves me.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
"My Name" Not Taken
Lisa, a friend of mine, who was giving birth to a baby girl a few weeks and was considering naming her daughter Klara, opted for a different name.
I guess the baby didn't look like a Klara but rather like a Lilian. A pretty name, I agree. And it's not Klara.
I guess the baby didn't look like a Klara but rather like a Lilian. A pretty name, I agree. And it's not Klara.
Ivan's Diet: Dips, Sticks, Balls and Meat
A while ago, I complained about Ivan being a picky, sparse eater, and even wondered how can he grow when all he seems to want is milk rather than food.
Well, lately, in the last few weeks, his appetite has picked up. Except he knows exactly what he wants to eat and when. I find this rather funny. He's so little and new, what does he know about preferences!
His food preferences, in addition to a specific taste, seem to center around the food shape and how easy and fun it is to eat.
His food groups can be divided into: dips, sticks, balls and meat.
Dips
He's crazy about hummus--all varieties of hummus, including those spiced up with garlic. I give him a little cup of hummus, some bread or crackers and a spoon. While I'd prefer he eats the hummus with the bread, he usually licks it off the bread and take another dip. Or he just eats it with the spoon without any bread.
He'll also eat yogurt or sour cream, spooning it out of a cup. Tapioca pudding, which my parents give him, also fall into this category. (It never crossed my mind ot buy it because I don't like tapioca pudding.)
Then there is oatmeal. He didn't like it at first when I introduced it about a month ago. But lately, he loves some warm oatmeal in the morning. I just need to make sure it's not too warm, otherwise, he'll keep saying "hot, hot, hot" and not eat it. (Hot is a recent word acquisition, which he's been practicing any chance he gets.)
Sticks
These are mainly bananas and cheese sticks. He loves them. It must be fun to hold them and have control over them. I assume this because he always brings me a banana when he wants one, and tries to peel it, and then insists on holding it while eating it.
Balls
These are mainly legumes and fruits.
He's crazy about beans--cooking beans, warmed beans, Mexican restaurant beans, beans from a jar, even Trader Joe's Marinaded 3 Bean Salad, which I wouldn't have pegged as a baby food. But he loves it.
He's equally crazy about peas. I like to sautee peas in some oil and onions and tomato sauce. Last time, I added a few sliced carrots as well. He ate the peas--first with a spoon but then gave up and just used his fingers. He systematically ate all the peas but left the carrots.
And finally the blueberries and grapes. He spent a whole month this past summer living off blueberries. I hadn't bought them since (because they're pricey now) until today when my parents bought some. He went nuts and ate almost the entire 14 oz package. He was thrilled to see the blueberries and kept calling them "bub, bub." I was shocked. I didn't think he'd remember that far.
Meat
Lately it appears that he's becoming a carnivore---he loves chicken, he loves beef. He ate cooked brisket for dinner last night (courtesy of my parents) and insisted on eating "me, me," which we've learned today means meat as well as milk, this morning for breakfast. Some cooked brisket and bread!
And he's crazy about bread, unless it's served with hummus (or jam or cream cheese) in which case he'll just lick the dip of the bread and ask for more. This is when I step in and insist he bites and chews and eats his bread too!
Well, lately, in the last few weeks, his appetite has picked up. Except he knows exactly what he wants to eat and when. I find this rather funny. He's so little and new, what does he know about preferences!
His food preferences, in addition to a specific taste, seem to center around the food shape and how easy and fun it is to eat.
His food groups can be divided into: dips, sticks, balls and meat.
Dips
He's crazy about hummus--all varieties of hummus, including those spiced up with garlic. I give him a little cup of hummus, some bread or crackers and a spoon. While I'd prefer he eats the hummus with the bread, he usually licks it off the bread and take another dip. Or he just eats it with the spoon without any bread.
He'll also eat yogurt or sour cream, spooning it out of a cup. Tapioca pudding, which my parents give him, also fall into this category. (It never crossed my mind ot buy it because I don't like tapioca pudding.)
Then there is oatmeal. He didn't like it at first when I introduced it about a month ago. But lately, he loves some warm oatmeal in the morning. I just need to make sure it's not too warm, otherwise, he'll keep saying "hot, hot, hot" and not eat it. (Hot is a recent word acquisition, which he's been practicing any chance he gets.)
Sticks
These are mainly bananas and cheese sticks. He loves them. It must be fun to hold them and have control over them. I assume this because he always brings me a banana when he wants one, and tries to peel it, and then insists on holding it while eating it.
Balls
These are mainly legumes and fruits.
He's crazy about beans--cooking beans, warmed beans, Mexican restaurant beans, beans from a jar, even Trader Joe's Marinaded 3 Bean Salad, which I wouldn't have pegged as a baby food. But he loves it.
He's equally crazy about peas. I like to sautee peas in some oil and onions and tomato sauce. Last time, I added a few sliced carrots as well. He ate the peas--first with a spoon but then gave up and just used his fingers. He systematically ate all the peas but left the carrots.
And finally the blueberries and grapes. He spent a whole month this past summer living off blueberries. I hadn't bought them since (because they're pricey now) until today when my parents bought some. He went nuts and ate almost the entire 14 oz package. He was thrilled to see the blueberries and kept calling them "bub, bub." I was shocked. I didn't think he'd remember that far.
Meat
Lately it appears that he's becoming a carnivore---he loves chicken, he loves beef. He ate cooked brisket for dinner last night (courtesy of my parents) and insisted on eating "me, me," which we've learned today means meat as well as milk, this morning for breakfast. Some cooked brisket and bread!
And he's crazy about bread, unless it's served with hummus (or jam or cream cheese) in which case he'll just lick the dip of the bread and ask for more. This is when I step in and insist he bites and chews and eats his bread too!
Sunday, November 9, 2008
First Haircut
Ivan got his first haircut today.
If I don't count the two times that Andy trimmed his back--the first time about six months ago he chopped off the cute little lock he had on the nape of his neck while he was giving him a bath. Luckily he kept the lock. That was actually how I found it. I found a lock of blond hair on the dresser next to my jewelry. Andy couldn't understand why. I was really upset about it, about the fact that he did it with me being present and about treating it like it's no big deal. Then a few months later, he again trimmed the back of his hair--it was getting too long, he said, and Ivan was beginning to look like a girl--during bath time.
But now, it was high time to get a real haircut because his bang had gotten too long and were falling into his eyes.
We didn't really know where to go, so we settled on Cartoon Cuts up in Rockville. (In the meantime, several playgroup moms suggested local, random barbers/hair salons, but they all agreed that the first haircut has to be special and that Cartoon Cuts was a good place to go.)
First we went last Sunday around 1 p.m.--basically after the playdate--but the place was a zoo. It took me 5 minutes to get the attention of girl at the check in/register to ask how long the wait would be. She said about 45 minutes. We gave up and went back home.
Today, however, we left the playdate early, around 10:30 and went straight to Cartoon Cuts. It was busy but much less hectic than last Sunday, The register girl said the wait would be at the most 15 minutes. Well, a minute after that, one haircutting lady was free and called Ivan's name.
Except he was fast asleep in the car, snoring and all. He had fallen asleep in the car on our way to Rockville. And he seemed to have been in that deep sleep, with his head slumped forward. When we pulled into the mall's parking lot, I was actually even beginning to reconsider whether to wake him up for the hair cut. But since we were there on a specific mission to get his hair cut, I went in to inquire about the wait while Andy and Ivan stayed in the car. I was hoping the wait would be longer, so that Ivan would have the time to wake up gradually on his own. But Andy had to wake him up.
When they walked into the place, I was surprised that he didn't seem cranky, a bit confused but not cranky. The haircut went surprisingly well. He sat in Andy's lap who sat in a barber's chair. At first Ivan fussed and cried a bit. I think it was more because of having been abruptly woken up than the haircut.
The haircut took a few minutes, and yes, Ivan was his serious self but he didn't really protest. He was too busy looking around and watching Sponge Bob on the little TV in front of him.
He got a little trim. Nothing drastic. Andy says the haircut is a dorky Camelot haircut, but that's fine with me. I think Ivan is still too much of a baby, my baby, to get his hair fully cut with shaved, razor trimmed back. One day, but not now.
Actually, with his lush blond hair--especially before the hair cut--Ivan reminds me of a little surfer/skater dude.
At Cartoon Cuts, we got his hair collected in a little enveloppe attached to a hair cutting certificate.
If I don't count the two times that Andy trimmed his back--the first time about six months ago he chopped off the cute little lock he had on the nape of his neck while he was giving him a bath. Luckily he kept the lock. That was actually how I found it. I found a lock of blond hair on the dresser next to my jewelry. Andy couldn't understand why. I was really upset about it, about the fact that he did it with me being present and about treating it like it's no big deal. Then a few months later, he again trimmed the back of his hair--it was getting too long, he said, and Ivan was beginning to look like a girl--during bath time.
But now, it was high time to get a real haircut because his bang had gotten too long and were falling into his eyes.
We didn't really know where to go, so we settled on Cartoon Cuts up in Rockville. (In the meantime, several playgroup moms suggested local, random barbers/hair salons, but they all agreed that the first haircut has to be special and that Cartoon Cuts was a good place to go.)
First we went last Sunday around 1 p.m.--basically after the playdate--but the place was a zoo. It took me 5 minutes to get the attention of girl at the check in/register to ask how long the wait would be. She said about 45 minutes. We gave up and went back home.
Today, however, we left the playdate early, around 10:30 and went straight to Cartoon Cuts. It was busy but much less hectic than last Sunday, The register girl said the wait would be at the most 15 minutes. Well, a minute after that, one haircutting lady was free and called Ivan's name.
Except he was fast asleep in the car, snoring and all. He had fallen asleep in the car on our way to Rockville. And he seemed to have been in that deep sleep, with his head slumped forward. When we pulled into the mall's parking lot, I was actually even beginning to reconsider whether to wake him up for the hair cut. But since we were there on a specific mission to get his hair cut, I went in to inquire about the wait while Andy and Ivan stayed in the car. I was hoping the wait would be longer, so that Ivan would have the time to wake up gradually on his own. But Andy had to wake him up.
When they walked into the place, I was surprised that he didn't seem cranky, a bit confused but not cranky. The haircut went surprisingly well. He sat in Andy's lap who sat in a barber's chair. At first Ivan fussed and cried a bit. I think it was more because of having been abruptly woken up than the haircut.
The haircut took a few minutes, and yes, Ivan was his serious self but he didn't really protest. He was too busy looking around and watching Sponge Bob on the little TV in front of him.
He got a little trim. Nothing drastic. Andy says the haircut is a dorky Camelot haircut, but that's fine with me. I think Ivan is still too much of a baby, my baby, to get his hair fully cut with shaved, razor trimmed back. One day, but not now.
Actually, with his lush blond hair--especially before the hair cut--Ivan reminds me of a little surfer/skater dude.
At Cartoon Cuts, we got his hair collected in a little enveloppe attached to a hair cutting certificate.
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