10 (or so) of my Favorites

I'm just gonna go through our pictures for the last four months and post five...let's say ten......errr, uhh make it twelve of the best ones:

Do I look like I was born yesterday?!...oh, wait...

The good ol' days...when Rye had a full head of hair.

I kind of don't remember her being this small.

This outfit looks like a wetsuit on her now...seriously.

Wha..!?  Oh, okay, sure.  Just snap the picture and let me get back to my sweet sweet nap.

I'm not wearing anything under this towel...and I just pooped.

Seriously...DO NOT take a picture of my bare ass!!!

Maybe the best picture ever.

This is like the 175th picture we took of her on Christmas.  It is exactly what it looks like.

He does this to make me stop crying.  It works because drooling on his arm is more fun than crying.

Rye visits the Botanic Gardens.

OH! HI!  No frog-eating happening in this area.  Why do you ask?

Bullfrog Blues

The Little Girl has her first cold.  She's got a cough like a 6o year old Virginia coal miner...who smokes Pall Malls...and also has a cold, along with this sort of pathetic look in her eyes that makes her dad want to resign from his current position as senior cat-herder in the attorney general's auto-theft unit in order to stay home with her indefinitely.

The interesting thing is that her untainted infant heart has not figured out the intricacies of self-pity.  She's all-smiles whether she's enduring a sneeze/cough one-two punch or not.  I'm quite certain that she doesn't even know she's sick.  Your humble narrator, on the other hand, has been imagining symptoms of his own and preparing for several days of unmitigated woe-is-me style whimpering and avoiding responsibility.

I don't have any "sick baby" shots to go along with this post, because who really wants to see a picture of a sick baby?  So, here's a video of Rye trying to eat a plush-toy frog that did absolutely nothing to provoke her.

What's in a Name (II)

Before she passed away in April, 2010, my grandmother had lived for 92 years and seen the passing of her husband, her oldest son (my father), and her only daughter.  She had raised four kids, the bulk of which was done as a single parent.  She worked as a seamstress to support herself and her family until she was physically unable.  And to her, physically unable meant impossible, not uncomfortable.

To me, she was the prototypical grandmother; an expert at everything important to a little boy.  Examples include making pies, making jello and whipped cream desserts, making other pies, and making life seem safe and warm.  We were very close when I was younger, as first grandsons and grandmothers tend to be.  But until I heard my uncles eulogize her at her funeral, the reality of who she was had somehow taken a backseat to the simplistic view of her as a symbol of love and warmth.  The reality is that she was an exceptional person before she was ever my grandmother.

Opal Virginia Pilmer was loved dearly by her family and her friends.  She lived a beautiful and unselfish life.  Rhoda and I can only hope that Rye Opal will carry some of her great-grandmother's spirit.

Opal Pilmer (before she was a grandmother; with my grandfather, Gordon)

Opal Virginia Pilmer, the grandmother

Opal, the namesake

The EAOD Onesies

Most people likely to read this blog know that I was in a band called Everything Absent or Distorted (a love story)...also known as eaod...for about five years and that we played some shows and made some records.  Those of you who know me well know that it was a fun time in my life during which I got to pretend to be a rock star and go on an honest-to-goodness tour.  Those of you who know me really well, know that being in eaod was extraordinarily meaningful to me and that it was more than just a band.

Rhoda and I, and now Rye, are fortunate to be members of the eaod family and we are everyday-grateful for the the other members and their contributions to our lives.

One such contribution (of the material sort) is a collection of hand-made eaod onesies that Andy M. originally made for the first eaod baby, Bosley.  Bosley's little brother Hayes then became the beneficiary until he outgrew them and they were passed to Rye.  She wears them proudly.

If you are interested in hearing eaod, I put together another little blog that has all of our work...downloadable for free here.

Dad Defends the Fort

Rhoda went back to work Thursday.  Or, as we've taken to saying around here, she went back to her stupid job.  For any colleagues reading this, her job is not stupid.  It just feels better to say that as you walk out the door and away from domestic bliss each morning.  I know from experience.

But I digress.

I have taken a few days off to stay home with the little girl before we start her in day care.  Over the last two days, Rye and I went on four long walks, went to target, listened to records (the most recent Broken Social Scene album was on heavy rotation...Rye likes the song about the art house director, which happens to be my least favorite on the record), hit the grocery store for stir-fry ingredients and coffee, drank breastmilk from a bottle, played with a stuffed frog (Mr. Frog...I know, it's like naming a cat "Kitty"), danced around the house, tried to eat a rubber giraffe named Sophie (see below), napped (see below) and thought about Rhoda.

 
Oh, and I introduced Rye to the hilarious concept of making fart noises on her stomach.

Sorry for the shoddy camera work.  There was kind of alot going on.

Valentine's Day Tradition

No, not the tradition where Jody and I would exchange the cheesiest Valentine's Day gift we could find (usually purchased at a Walgreens). The tradition that my Mom did when I was a kid on Valentine's Day.  She would always give me a new pair of pajamas, one year even a matching pair for me and my cabbage patch doll. I am hoping to continue this tradition with Rye. Here is Rye's Valentines outfit:

The Sleep Negotiation

The last couple of nights have been a little rough.  Rye has been experimenting with the idea of sleeping only while being held.  We're trying to discourage this little exercise and there have been lines drawn in the sand and ultimatums (or is it ultimata?) issued.  The current score is:

Infant: 3
Parents: 0

But we are resolute.  And we are trained litigators with lots big words at our disposal, so we've begun the process of negotiation.

This is a photograph of what I saw as I explained to Rye that even though she was sleeping comfortably in my arms, I was awake...and so it did not make alot of sense when considered in the context of me needing to sleep maybe just only slightly fewer hours a day than her.  I thought she looked receptive to my arguments...if not slightly distracted.

Then I started talking about how I expected more from a three month old and that we also needed to discuss the number of diapers she was burning through in a given week, and I lost her...

Then I went on to say that maybe we should talk about why we needed so many toys all over the place and suggested that she perhaps choose 3 or 4 that she really liked and we could give the rest away...and I really lost her.

So, I gave up and decided we could talk about whatever she wanted to talk about.  I think she was telling me about the awesome dream she had while I calculated how many minutes of sleep I could fit into the remaining 5 hours of nighttime.