Monday, November 28, 2005

Listening to the man upstairs

I am going to break down and say it: I hate the man upstairs. No, not God. The guy whose choice in dance radio is throbbing just above my head right now.

I have avoided posting about this guy -- he just turned it up as I am typing this -- in case there is litigation. The rest of the group has seen an attorney for other reasons. Which is why he's blasting the music right now, cause he's mad at us. This man is 40 years old. I kid you not. I just heard him come home from work, heard his footsteps on each individual stair, then heard him walk across the length of his apartment to the stereo. I knew just when it was going to come on.

Just move away. Please ... go ... away. Why aren't you getting my mental messages, obnoxious upstairs man?

On a brighter subject, if you ask Nutmeg how her diaper is, she always answers "Good," even when the contents are decidedly not. She has figured out that any question that begins "How..." can be answered with "Good."

How cute is that?
Good.

Nothing to See Here

Spoiler: At the end of this anecdote, Nutmeg is just fine.

We took Nutmeg to the emergency room tonight. Our 19-month streak of never having to take her to a doctor except for a scheduled check-up is broken.

It was actually very low-key. We weren't at all panicked. At about 9:30 this morning, Epu was cooking breakfast and I was here at the computer. Nutmeg was in the kitchen too. She got quiet for a few minutes, and instead of being very, very suspicious as we should have been, Epu and I were both glad she'd quit whining and was letting us alone for a few minutes. Suddenly I heard Epu shout, "No!" and "How long have you been eating that?"

Obviously, it was time for me to get my butt in the kitchen. By that time, Epu had already confiscated the infant Tylenol drops. He told me Nutmeg had been sitting there dipping the dropper into the bottle and sucking out the medicine. She does like the taste of Tylenol, and asks for it frequently by name. Epu told me that you have to turn the cap hard, until it clicks, to close the child safety lock on the cap. Thanks for the timely heads up, Epu! Actually, I have no idea which one of us last closed the bottle. I had brought it out to the living room earlier that morning, when Nutmeg had been crying and sticking her hands in her mouth, where her canine teeth are making their painful arrival. But -- fortunately -- she turned down the Tylenol at that point. I left it on the wooden box that serves us as an end table, and apparently later she decided to help herself.
She cried because Epu had yelled at her, then she calmed down. I looked at the bottle and saw there was a little left. There hadn't been that much left to begin with, and I knew that a double dose or so of infant Tylenol won't do any harm, so I figured, no big deal.

But then, in the middle of her nap, at around 1:30 p.m., we heard Nutmeg coughing, then crying, and went in to see she had barfed all over her crib sheet. We got her out and I held her on my lap in bed for an hour or so as she alternately cried and heaved. To tell the truth, I still wasn't concerned. I figured, if she got a little too much Tylenol, it's out now. Eventually she fell back asleep and I propped her up on pillows and left her sleeping on the bed while I worked on my grad school submission, just outside the bedroom door. Occasionally she woke up and barfed a little bit more. She looked so pale, sleeping with her head on our pillows, and a little agitated in her sleep. I started to wonder if I should be worried. I did some Google searches and read that she would need something like 58 milligrams per kilogram of body weight to pose a problem. She weighs about 10 kilos, which meant, I figured, she would have to drink nearly 600 mg for it to be considered risky. That's nearly 8 droppersful. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have the coordination and speed to squeeze out 8 droppersful and feed them to herself within the few minutes no one was looking at her. Besides, the bottle had been almost empty, and there probably hadn't been 8 droppersful in there.

Still, I read a few Internet anecdotes about children who seemed ok and then died from severe liver damage a week later. The early symptoms? Nausea and vomiting. I decided to call the medical advice line at her pediatrician's office, even though I knew, with a sinking feeling, that the doctor would just tell us to go to the emergency room, to be safe, because no one wants the liability of being the doctor who told some parent not to take a kid to the emergency room. And who wants to go to that place at the end of a FOUR-DAY WEEKEND? I was sure it would be full to the gills with people who had been trying to wait until their doctors' offices opened Monday morning but just coudln't make it.

And yes, the doctor on call said that she probably hadn't taken enough to worry about, but since I coudln't be sure how much she had taken, we had better go in. But she told us to call poison control first to see what they thought. Poison control talked to me for a long time, having me do such things as refilling the Tylenol bottle to where I thought it was last time I used some, then measuring it out into a half teaspoon. Generously, I thought she could have gotten 2 and a half teaspoons. She told me to go in, although she also casually mentioned that the antidote was only effective if given within 6 hours of the overdose. At this point it was about 4:30 p.m., so the 6-hour window had just ended.

Great, Epu and I told each other as we lifted our peacefully sleeping baby out of bed and carried her to the car. Way to go, parents. Why not just procrastinate life-saving medical attention for your only child?

Still, we drove to the hospital pretty calmly, remembering taking the same drive a year and a half ago to give birth. And the people at the emergency room, although they got us right into triage, took their time too. I thought about having a little tantrum, asking them if they knew we were almost -- or maybe actually -- too late to administer an antidote. But I just really didn't buy that Nutmeg had OD'd on this stuff. We were just here to get a blood test so we could go home and relax.

We talked to a triage nurse, then an ER nurse, then a resident, all of whom thought we had no reason to even do the test. I told them all -- some of them, repeatedly -- that Nutmeg had taken infant Tylenol drops, which are more concentrated than children's drops. The resident left and said she would have to "present us to the attending" before sending us home. Then she came back a few minutes later and said she had gotten a fax about us from Poison Control. See, she didn't realize we were talking about infant drops. And now she thought we should test the level of the drug in Nutmeg's blood.

Nutmeg cried every second that any medical person was in the room, periodically saying, "All done!" and "Wanna go out other door," pointing in the direction from which we had come in. And of course, "Go home!" When they left, she'd settle down and lie on one of our chests lethargically, or nurse.

The nurse had a hard time getting enough blood out of Nutmeg's heel, as I held down her arms and Epu held down her legs. I told her nearly the entire story of "Curious George Flies a Kite." Poor kid, when you've been puking all afternoon, I guess your blood doesn't flow so freely.

Then we hung out for an hour, maybe an hour and a half, waiting for test results. I was glad we weren't leaving without getting the test. Yet I was feeling chagrined by the doctor changing her mind about whether the test was necessary. Now, I guessed, it would be OK to worry a little. Nutmeg was so adorable, even crying, and especially when she sat up on Epu's lap in the middle of everything and wanly sang the ABCs. Had we ruined everything with our carelessness? We were obviously unworthy.

Finally, at around 7 p.m., the resident came back with a grayhaired doctor, and they were laughing. They grinned at me as they came in, and I knew everything was fine. They said Nutmeg's Tylenol level was "less than 1," whatever that means, and they joked that maybe she had only licked the bottle. The vomiting was probably just a coincidence, which I also suspected, because we went over to friends' house last night and these friends have been suffering from the stomach flu recently.

"This was a false alarm -- but a good lesson," the grayhaired doctor told us.

I bowed my head a little. "Yeah, I know."

To tell the truth, the whole episode was a little too painless. I feel like we should have suffered more. Not that something more should have happened to poor Nutmeg, who just woke up in bed and puked again and necessitated one of those lovely late night sheet changes. Everyone was just so nice to us at the ER, it was just not enough of an inconvenience, to tell you the truth. I should have been fined, or sent to parenting classes, or something.

Or at least Epu should be fined. He's the one who taught her -- over my strenuous objections -- to unscrew caps. Ah, that feels better. Move on, people -- there is no negligent mother to see here. It's all Dad's fault.

By the way, Epu has started talking back by posting comments on my blog entries. To which I say, "Get yer own blog!" Can you selectively ban commenters? ;-)

Sunday, November 27, 2005

do me a favor?

If anyone wants to help me choose material for my latest grad school submission, I just posted the draft of a story I wrote today on my fiction blog, at http://carriepurins.blogspot.com/. It's either that, or "Photocopy," which is also posted on that blog a few entries down, or some excerpts from my novel-in-not-very-much-progress. I get to send in 30 pages.

Please send me any feedback directly or post it here, since i am not reading the comments on the fiction blog. they're all spam.
I wasn't going to shop much for Christmas until I get back to Wisconsin, yet somehow I managed to buy two Christmas presents for Nutmeg this week. We saw this wooden zoo set marked down from over $100 to $40 at Flax, and we just had to get it:

http://www.sritoyseurope.com/play_sets.htm

And I wanted to add to her collection of Sesame Street puppets, even though she has not showed much interest in them so far. Happily, last night she started playing with her Bert puppet, so there's hope that she'll be delighted with her growing Sesame Street crew.

She doesn't really need us to buy her anything, and we really don't plan on going overboard, but since we hardly buy her anything new all year, I like to take the opportunity to get a few toys and clothes that I like at Christmas. I actually rarely see toddler toys that I really like both aesthetically and funwise.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

The Sincerest Flattery Comes From Those Who Are Incapable of Being Insincere

After our turkey feast, which came off beautifully by the way, we watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's." The highlight of my Thanksgiving came the moment that Audrey Hepburn left for Sing Sing, wearing the hat with the white scarf on it. Nutmeg was watching.

"Like Mommy," she said, as soon as she saw her in that hat. She remembered my Halloween costume in which I dressed as Holly Golightly, wearing my best imitation of the hat.

She repeated it several more times, just to make sure we got it.

Thanks, Nut. *Anytime* you want to say that any aspect of Audrey Hepburn (except her deadness) reminds you of mommy, just bust on out with it. No matter where or when it occurs to you. Mommy is always happy to hear that.

Thanks

Oh yes, and I'm also very, very thankful for this husband and daughter that I just dispatched to the park. Honestly, very, very, very very thankful.

Let's talk pavo

It is only 10:25 on Thanksgiving morning and I have already sent my husband and daughter out to the park because they are driving me crazy. Nutmeg has been needy and high strung for days now, so that's no surprise. But Epu started getting me mad when I found an awesome Christmas present for a relative in the Friday sale papers. I know someone else who has this thing, and it has turned out to be a wonderful solution to a nagging technology frustration. I was excited to see that I could get one very affordably. Epu, of course, was not at all excited by it and pointed out about 10 potential problems, none of which were actually serious drawbacks. I think we have fallen into competition over who can be less excited about things that interest the other person. For example, he tells me something that he read on Slashdot; I yawn and change the subject. I tell him that I found a great Xmas present for a relative, he totally ignores the value of it and instead digs deep into his brain to come up with any possible criticism he can find.

Then I get out the turkey, which as prescribed has been defrosting in the fridge for 3 days. It's still frozen, not solid, but hard. I'm supposed to put it into the oven in an hour. I get ready to fill the kitchen sink with water, and Epu is standing over my shoulder with a million ideas for other, better places to defrost this turkey which will probably still be defrosting when we are supposed to eat at 4. My favorites: One of Nutmeg's plastic drawers that hold her toys, and the bathtub. I don't know what's grosser, taking a bath somewhere where a raw turkey has been sitting, or soaking my food somewhere where I just hosed Nutmeg down after an extra poopy diaper. Then I go into the kitchen and Epu has just finished washing Nutmeg's hands in the sink over the turkey. The turkey -- still wrapped in plastic, but still -- is covered with soap suds. As I angrily drain the sink and rinse the turkey off to start over, he says, "Well, I had to wash her hands, she was touching the garbage."

Don't you wish you were eating turkey at my house today?

Fortunately we're only having one guest and he's pretty laid back about food. I'm sure he wouldn't care if we all end getting Chinese take-out.

Nutmeg, on the other hand, is not mad at anyone or feigning disinterest. She woke up this morning, and I told her it was Thanksgiving, and she joyfully shouted, "PAVO!" That's Spanish for turkey, according to La Nanny, who helped her make her first trace-my-hand turkey a couple weeks ago.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

How Do These Planes Get Full?

I am good at finding cheap airfares. I help friends and family out with it from time to time because I am so good at it. But the downside to being good at it is that I cannot just book a likely looking flight and be done with it. I have to exhaust every possible flight combination to find the cheapest and most advantageous itinerary. Which is why I just blew a perfectly good baby-free afternoon booking our Christmas flights. Epu and Nutmeg left for the park before 3, and suddenly it's dark out, after 5 p.m., and I'm just now done.

Don't laugh. There were many conditions to be met. I won't bore you with all of them except to say that I succeeded in getting the whole Pu family to MKE at around the same time my mother will be arriving there from DC, meaning that we can all share a ride. I got me home in time for my return to work, got Epu a different flight a few days later, yet managed to get us both on the same outgoing flight. All this for less than I had originally planned on paying.

I'm that good. Sadly, holiday prices being what they are, this journey will still cost us to the tune of $800. But at least we won't have to rent a car the way it's arranged now.

Time to make dinner and mourn my "afternoon off."

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Now You'll Have the Song Stuck in Your Head

For possibly the first time in her life, Nutmeg has a song stuck in her head. We know this because she sings it ALL DAY LONG. The song is "Baa Baa Black Sheep, Have You Any Wool." She has done the straight version, the shouting-out-the-words-with-no-melody version, and the other night she did a charmingly syncopated version -- she was clearly jamming. All this despite that she gets a little confused in the "one for my..." part and by the end is really just mumbling.

Tonight we made carrot muffins again, with her up on a chair helping me at the counter. When we got to the baking soda, I realized we were out. I searched the cupboards, then concluded that we needed to borrow some. She looked intently at the paper I was reading the recipe from, and said, as if reading, "Need borrow baking soda." We went downstairs and borrowed some, Nutmeg happily petting Neighbor Glenn's dog while he put 2 teaspoons of bicarbonate soda in a Baggie. Then, as we were leaving, she casually says, "Thanks for the baking soda."

There was a flurry of inter-sibling communications this weekend on Epu's side of the family, planning Christmas. His sister eloped about a month ago, and his other sister is engaged, and his brother has a steady. So suddenly there are 5 couples celebrating Xmas together, if you count his parents. Plus Nutmeg. With everyone having different arrival and departure dates, there was much e-mailing about how to fit in many fun holiday activities. I'm already getting excited. Thanksgiving, on the other hand, is going to be kind of a dud, since we decided not to fly home. We have one lousy friend coming over for dinner. Oh well, at least he's bringing us a DVD copy of "Breakfast at Tiffany's."

Monday, November 21, 2005


here's the photo
I caught her in an introspective moment -- but I want to show off her cute winter outfit. She got so excited when we put this on this morning, despite the fact that warm, sunny weather will probably force me to change her after naptime.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Hug, hug, hug

I was cuddling with Nutmeg on the couch tonight, reconnecting her after the having nearly 3 days apart. And she did the most amazing thing. She asked to sing the "Bus Song." I started it out, but then she took over. She wanted to make up all the verses. Here is what she sang:

"The Nutmeg on the bus go nurse nurse nurse, nurse nurse nurse..."
"The Daddy on the bus go read read read..." ("read 'George,' she added for clarity)
"The Mommy on the bus go hug hug hug..."
Then she looked around the room a bit. And once she got some inspiration, it got really good:
"The shapes on the bus go in, in in..." (looking at the shape sorter)
"The letters on the bus go click click click..." (looking at her alphabet puzzle)

Have I mentioned that I love this baby? I'm like the guy in the De Beers commercial. I ... LOVE ... THIS ... BABY.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

unbelievable

it worked, at least once. after reading her new book with great interest about 10 times, Nutmeg went all night without nursing. she stirred and cried out a couple of times, but i just reminded her from bed to go to sleep, and she did. i did have to get out of bed to settle her down once -- at 5:30 a.m.!

we'll see how she does tonight, since the 3 of us are staying at a hotel because i'm at a journalism workshop across the bay. she and epu have been conked out onone of the beds since at least 10 p.m. without a peep.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

The Life of Nutmeg, Volume I

Epu and I made a book for Nutmeg last night. It's called, "Nutmeg Can Sleep All Night!" Illustrated with photos of Nutmeg, the book tells a stirring tale of personal growth, wherein Nutmeg progresses from "tiny baby" to "big girl" and along the way gains the ability to go all night without nursie. I took her to Office Max today and bought a report cover and page sleeves for it to make the loose pages into book form. She quite enjoyed reading it again and again, and at least the words have sunk in, because when she went to nurse tonight before bed, she said, "lights on." (In the book, she learns that when it's light she can nurse, but when it's dark, nursies are sleeping and so is she.) But she has another cold, and that never bodes well for a good sleeping night.

Fortunately, Nutmeg's daytime life is coming along nicely. At library story hour today she actually did some of the hand motions in imitation of the librarian, including putting her hands on top of her head to simulate a rocket.

Have I mentioned that her favorite book these days is none other than "Fun With Dick and Jane," that primer of her grandparents' generation? Today I was encouraging her to go up our building's stairs, and I told her, "Up, up, up."

"Said Jane," she chimed in.

Oh, I loves me some Nutmeg.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Cranky monkey

Nutmeg has been kind of crabby lately. She apparently had a mild adverse reaction to her last MMR shot, with a fever for 3 days and then a rash across her cheeks and stomach. Epu said, "Basically she's got the measles." I told him to look up what children went through when they really had the measles, then to let me know if he wanted to revise that statement.

When she's not crabby, she's taken to reciting lines of Curious George, especially in her high chair. "It's also easy for a monkey to get out of trouble," she told me yesterday. Today, she said, "All of the puppies got out of the cage."

She's also a tattle tale now, which is actually good since it will help protect her from nasty marauding babysitters. The other morning, when she was babbling and carrying on in the early a.m. while we tried to sleep, she said several times, "Shut UP!" When I finally opened my eyes and gave up on sleeping, Epu was on me, wanting to know just where she'd learned to say that. I try, people, I really do try to be all patience and kindness, but when it's still dark out and I just want to finish 7 hours before playtime begins, well, the phrase may have slipped out.

Today was the free day at the Bay Area Discovery Museum, so we went with Keith and Kay and Eliot. This time, Nutmeg's new thing was that she enjoyed wearing the costumes they have there of skunks and ladybugs and bees. Now that she's done the Halloween thing, she gets costumes. She even buzzed when we put the bee costume on her.

Songs Nutmeg can sing at least a few lines of now:
"Moon on the Meadow"
"Twinkle Twinkle"
"ABC..."
"The Wheels on the Bus"
"Old Macdonald"

And hey, I don't have to be back at work for 2 weeks. Yay! Next week I have a workshop at Berkeley, and the next I have vacation for Thanksgiving. Which we're spending right here, thank ya, for some much needed "catch up on our out of control lives" time.

Monday, November 07, 2005

One Risk of Extended Breastfeeding ,,,

... is that you may find yourself, when your child is a great big 18-month-old, still tearful when the groups sings "You Are My Sunshine" at the library story hour. This is one of many songs that had zero emotive content for me before I had Nutmeg, yet now gets me every time. It starts with "You'll never know, dear..." Because she will never know! And she'll never love me back as much as I love her! And I am not even allowed to complain about that, or I'd be laying my emotional needs on my child.

Fortunately, there are no rules in the childraising books about laying your emotional needs on your blog readers. I can see it now, though: All of you on your psychiatrists' couches, 15 years from now, saying, "It all began with the Nutmeg News..."

But back to the song, the last line is the kicker. Today was the first day we tried going to the story hour after our first attempt, a couple months back, when she wouldn't even stay in the room but kept wandering off in hopes of another elevator ride. Today she stayed in the right area, but instead of docily sitting on my lap -- the event is called a "lapsit" on the library schedule, but she can't read yet -- she was standing practically right in front of the children's librarian, spinning around in circles and singing along and grinning at her audience from below her freshly washed, sun-colored hair.

And I'm singing, "Please don't take my sunshine away." And hoping that all the normal parents in the room will take it for allergies when I sniff and wipe my eyes. And wanting to ask the other parents if they're made of stone or what, because didn't they hear that? Someone might take their sunshine away! CPS, estranged spouses, the gypsies, who knows?

Fortunately, they don't do "Sunrise, Sunset" at story hour.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Ogled by my baby

Today Epu and Nutmeg were looking at some family photos on the computer, one of her favorite activities. They came to one of us hiking in Yosemite this summer. In the picture, Erik's wearing a sweaty t-shirt, I'm wearing a snug tank top, and Nutmeg is riding on one of our backs.

"Look at Daddy's fat belly," Epu told Nutmeg.
"Look at Mommy's nursies!" she replied with gusto.

I had a look myself, and I must admit, the tank top did showcase them quite nicely. Thanks for the props, kiddo.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

We have Baby Gap, why not Baby OfficeMax?

Nutmeg to her daddy, while he works from home and we head out to Costco:
"Have fun computer!"

Nutmeg this morning, after hearing me complain about the contents of a conference call: "Blah blah blah blah! BLAH BLAH BLAHHHHH!"

Tell me about it.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Manners

Eliot: (throws his pudgy little arms around Nutmeg and gives her a big kiss on the cheek)
Nutmeg: Thank you, Eliot Smelliot.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005


Dragging sleeping baby home from Halloween party.
Preschool study finds bright side, dark side It helps language, math -- can hurt social development
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/11/01/MNGG3FH6VD1.DTL&hw=carrie+sturrock&sn=001&sc=1000

This is a very interesting study. It says that the wealthier the family, the more children's "social development" suffers from going to pre-school. That makes the universal pre-school advocates' claim that any shortcomings for the children are due to low-quality care very hard to buy. Surely the wealthier people have access to the best preschools, I mean, come on.
I thought it was very strange that, in this article, the only explaination the researchers could come up with was that kids who weren't in preschool were getting taken to fancy classes, like dance and music lessons, instead of preschool. It never even occured to this guy that maybe family life -- like helping parents care for siblings, learning at home -- could be benefitting kids socially more than preschool? Nope, apparently it's got to be the dance classes.
And by the way, I'm not hatin' on the preschool people. I'm totally in favor of free preschool available to all -- heck, we should even have free daycare available to all from birth on. But I think of that as more of a parents' rights issue, as in minimizing the crushing financial and career sacrifices brought on by parenthood.
The study's just more food for thought for Epu and I on when Nutmeg will start preschool, and how much of it she'll go to. I'm thinking no more than 3 mornings a week, starting no earlier than 3.3 years. Because hey, she has the rest of her life to be institutionalized. And according to this study, Nutmeg has the most to lose and the least to gain than kids in other demographics.
To all you moms and dads whose kids have or are attending way more childcare or preschool than that, more power to ya. Obviously they are far from having the whole cost/benefit analysis figured out, and I don't know anyone who's walking around purposely making anything but the best possible choices for their own families. Except maybe me, because the photo I am about to post shows just how unfit Epu and I are to have responsibility over another human being. Really, a hamster would probably be too much responsibility for us.

Boo!

It is no longer Halloween. It's 12:09. Yet I must ... stay ... awake. I just watched "The Exorcist" with Kay and I have no idea when Epu is coming home from work. Yes, he's working late even on Halloween. In fact he missed Nutmeg's first rudimentary attempts at Trick-or-Treating. Which were glorious and I am so exhausted. Yet ... must stay awake. I have to admit that after watching that woman's sweet, beloved 12-year-old go all growly-voiced, doing unspeakable things with a cross and crab-walking down the stairs (it was the re-released version from a year or so ago) I'm a wee bit nervous about sharing a room all alone with my own innocent child.

First this morning Nutmeg saw her pediatrician, who she greeted with a friendly "Hi!" The examining room had one of those wire bead-chaser toys, and Nutmeg used it to show off how she knows her colors. That was awesome because normally, of course, children are brilliant in front of you but as soon as someone else comes along they clam up. Nutmeg is no exception. Nutmeg is 21 pounds, 15 oz., which means she is still in the 10-25 percentile and holding steady. We thought she had gained more, but the doc is cool with it. Said she is way ahead, especially verbally, which of course we know. And, the doctor told us that when Nutmeg comes in for her 2-year-old appointment, she'll be on maternity leave. I think there's another pregnancy pandemic starting. My GP is also on maternity leave.

Nutmeg was getting tired on the bus ride home, maybe because she got up at friggin' 3:30 a.m. (after going down for a nap at 5:30 p.m. the night before from which our half-hearted efforts could not rouse her). She slept at home from 11 a.m. until nearly 3 p.m., at which time it was time to get ready for Trick or Treating!! We both suited up, and Keith dropped off Eliot and Kay at our house, because he was going to a concert. I took Eliot along in the double stroller and Kay hung around on our couch for a few hours. First we swung by my office, and I am truly sorry to say that I stole some of Nutmeg's thunder with my slightly sexy outfit. My co-workers were just a little stunned to see me out of a frumpy sweater and slacks, I guess. Still, Nutmeg melted hearts right and left by saying, "meow" on command, as well as telling each person "Hi" with their name (after I prompted her). Then we met up with another mom from our babysitting co-op, whose condo building was having trick-or-treating through the halls. While I was calling this friend from the lobby, I let Nutmeg out of the stroller and she pulled a huge, very heavy vase down on herself. It could have hurt her really bad, but somehow it just seemed to push her down gently and she barely cried. I almost did, however, since there was water and little berries from the display all over the place. Oh well, maintenance was called.
Nutmeg was delighted to see little Noah, who was dressed as a monkey, and we 2 moms set out with 3 babies to paint the halls red -- with blood. Just kiddin'.
Oh jeez. I just thought I heard Nutmeg crying, but when I went in the bedroom, she was sound asleep. So I'm looking around the bedroom, wondering, what mimicked her voice to get me in here? I really hope Epu gets home soon.
The units all had doorbells that glowed, and the main event for Nutmeg quickly became pushing the doorbells. She caught on quickly that we were only supposed to ring the bell if the door had a paper pumpkin stuck to the outside. About one in five units was participating. Lovely how neighborly people are these days, no? However, if all those condos had been giving out candy, we never would have made it through the first floor. Nutmeg often raced ahead, looking for pumpkin doors, but sometimes she decided to empty her little treat bag onto the carpet, for fun. Then when I was gathering up her candy, Eliot would decide to wander back up the hall toward the last door we visited. And once Noah got some candy he chewed through the wrapper and walked very slowly, enveloped in the amazing sensation of his first sugar binge ever. Nutmeg got the idea that she was supposed to grab these little brightly colored packages from people's bowls, and she even said "trick-or-treat" and "thank-you" occasionally. But once it was in the bag, she showed no further interest in the candy, thankfully. Eliot tried to waddle right into many of the apartments we visited. He also rang a couple doorbells, although he needed a little boost and some help applying an adequate amount of pressure.
Can I wring anymore anecdotes out of this trip? Because it is 12:30 and I really don't want to go to bed. And I'm sure my husband will be walking in the door anytime in the next two hours.
Have I mentioned how fed up I am with unrestrained American capitalism and the fact that some -- nay, most -- companies get away with demanding twenty or so hours of unpaid overtime whenever they deem it necessary? Now that's scary -- the case of the time snatchers.
12:32. Wonder what's on tv.
He's here! I just about jumped out of my chair when I heard the key turn in the lock. Good night, and Happy Halloween.