Here are a couple of recent Miles videos.  They’re both short.

Today Miles crawled into the bedroom and shut the door behind him, leaving me out in the hallway.

I was all, “Dude, are you 13 already?”

Dear Miles,

Today you turn ten months old.  It’s your first day in the double-digit months; I should have comemmorated your last day in the single-digits last night, but I was distracted by the extraordinarily daunting task of keeping you from eating power cords.  Seriously, I know we’re a digital kind of family, but I wish the taste you have acquired for all things plug-in-able were metaphorical instead of literal.

But, as is typical of kids your age, you chew first and think later.  Your dad was feeding you dinner last night, and you bit him, accidentally but very hard.  You see, you will no longer eat mushy food from a spoon.  Oh no; you’re much too advanced for that.  You’ll only eat Big Boy Food (e.g., chunks of fruits and vegetables, as well as the omnipresent Teddy Poofs and Star Poofs).  You also prefer Big Boy Water to water out of your sippy cup, and it’s pretty hilarious to watch and listen to you slurp out of a regulation-sized glass.  But anyway, the reason your dad got bitten was because, while you prefer to feed yourself chunks of food out of your little fist, sometimes your accuracy is a little off, and you’ll deign to take food from our fingers.

As he is wont to do, your father made a loud yelp, which scared you and launched a truly sad cry-fest.  I’ve known your dad for quite a while, and if someone had asked me a year ago whether he was a person prone to shrieking and hollering, I would have said, “Pish, posh.  Goodness, no.  He is even-keeled and soft-spoken.”  You should feel proud of yourself, Miles, that you have influenced your father to such a degree that he now shouts rather often.  It’s not out of anger, it’s more out of shock at the amazing (and sometimes disgusting and/or painful) things you can do.  You’re an empathetic little fellow, and anyone’s dismay becomes your dismay, so before the bite marks had even faded from your dad’s fingers, we were working on making you feel better.

Today we went to Book Babies, a weekly storytime at the library for kids your age, and after it was over, the leader came over and complimented you on how engaged you were and how much fun it was to watch your facial expressions.  You are definitely an expressive little dude.

You really love all the songs and games we play at the library, and you are crazy about books.  You’ve started to respond consistently (though sometimes inexplicably) to the books we read to you.  We have a book about animal sounds, and on the last page, the author asks what noise you make.  At that moment (or a little before; I guess you just get excited), you let out a shriek.  I don’t know if you really understand the question/answer nature of it, but it’s fantastic to watch you learn and develop.

This may be the one and only Halloween in which I get to choose your costume, so I picked one of my favorite crustaceans, the lobster.  You had fun visiting some neighbors and watching the big kids come to our door, and the next day you and your cousins visited Grammy and Pop-Pop and showed off your costume to them and the other residents of their assisted living complex.

I would be remiss not to mention the most important event of the last month, arguably the most important event of the decade:  the 2008 presidential election.  If you and your empathetic nature noticed your dad and me nervously chewing our cuticles early last week, it’s because we were worried about what the next 4 years held for us.  As it turned out, America made the choice we hoped it would, and we’re very excited and optimistic about the future.

I’ve always cared about politics, but never before has it seemed so crucial that our nation make a good choice.  It’s not just about me anymore.  It’s never been just about me, of course, but this time around I really, viscerally understand why we need a leader whom you can respect, who will lead our country and the world in a smart, sane, and kind-hearted way.  Right around your first birthday will be President Barack Obama’s inauguration, and what a wonderful gift that will be.  Sure, you have plenty of presidential role models already, what with being a white male and all, but I hope you understand that President Obama (oh man, it makes me smile to type that) represents more than just a person of mixed ethnicity.  He represents a changing world, a world in which people are willing to put aside their prejudices and fears and move forward.

I hope that’s a value you embrace as you grow up, Miles:  just because something is different doesn’t make it bad; it just makes it different.  Without difference, there is no growth.  New things can be scary, but they can also mean the difference between a staid, dull life of the status quo and a life worth remembering.

Now, will you please try another garbanzo bean?  They’re really very tasty.

Love,

Mommy

Let’s work toward solutions.

Let’s bring an end to the war and our dependence on oil and honestly work toward alternative energy resources.

Let’s work toward rights for everyone—let’s embrace diversity of race, sexual orientation, gender, ability, and more.

Let’s quit the mudslinging and name-calling whenever possible.  If we want to solve the problems that our country faces, we’re going to have to do it with mutual respect and humility.

But today, let’s celebrate.  I’ve never seen more tangible evidence of the American Dream.  I couldn’t stay up late enough last night to pop the champagne, but we’re having it tonight.

At what distance are you supposed to do the “acquaintance smile”?  I’m talking about when you’re walking in a public place, and someone you kind of know but not really is approaching.  It would be polite to smile or say hi or acknowledge the person somehow, but when do you do it?

That happened to me the other day.  I saw this guy, friend-of-a-friend, we’ve been at the same parties but never really had any one-on-one conversations or anything.  I noticed him from probably half a block away, and I planned to acknowledge him pleasantly at a distance of around 10 feet.  I looked around at other stuff until I got to the 10-foot mark, at which point I looked up.  However, at that point he was looking around at other stuff.

Did I miss the moment?  Was he looking at me, ready to be pleasant, at 15 feet, then assumed I either didn’t see him or was too stuck-up to say anything because I was looking at other stuff?  Or is HE the one who’s stuck up and he totally dissed me?

This sort of thing happens to me a lot, and I think maybe I just wait too long for the contact.  It’s weird if you do it too soon, though, because then you’re walking toward each other for so long, looking at each other, and there’s too much build-up for such a small interaction.

There really needs to be some kind of rule book for this sort of thing.

I got a bug up my butt to cook a fancy dinner last night.  It turned out pretty well, except that it’s hard to nibble the flesh off tiny quail with a grumpy baby in the high chair.  Don’t ask me why he wasn’t satisfied with mushed-up peas and Teddy Poofs.

Here’s the recipe, adapted from Gourmet (and epicurious.com). I didn’t take any pictures of this because it was my first time making it and I wasn’t confident about the beauty aspect.  I did, however, make a key lime pie for dessert, so the photo you see is evidence of that process.

QUAIL WITH ONIONS AND RED GRAPES (serves 2, can be doubled)

• 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1 tablespoons honey
• 2 teaspoons dried bouquet garni blend (could also use fresh thyme)
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1 medium yellow onion (I like Peru Sweets), cut into bite-sized chunks
• 4 whole quail (5 to 6 ounces each), cleaned and necks and feet removed  if necessary
• 1.5 cups red seedless grapes
• salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 475°F.In a small saucepan boil vinegar, honey, and bouquet garni over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until reduced to about 1/4 cup, about 5 minutes. Pour glaze through a fine sieve into a small bowl, discarding herb solids, and reserve. In another small bowl stir together 1 tablespoons reserved glaze and 1 tablespoon melted butter.

Heat a flameproof roasting pan (I used my cast iron) in oven 10 minutes. In heated pan toss onions with remaining tablespoon butter, remaining teaspoon bouquet garni, and salt and pepper to taste and roast in upper third of oven, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes.

While onions are roasting, prepare quail. Rinse quail and pat dry. Season inside and out with salt and pepper. Brush quail inside and out with about one third glaze-butter mixture and tie legs together with kitchen string (I didn’t do this and I wish I had, because they looked a little pointy).

Add grapes to pan and toss with onions. Arrange quail, breast sides down, over onions and grapes and roast 15 minutes. Turn quail over and baste with about half of remaining glaze-butter mixture. Roast quail, basting with remaining glaze-butter mixture, 10 minutes more, or until juices run clear when fleshy part of a thigh is pierced (I suggest checking them a little sooner, as mine came out a bit dry).

Discard string from quail and transfer to a platter. Arrange grapes and onions around quail using a slotted spoon and keep warm.

You can use the remaining glaze to drizzle around the plate; I also used some to make a little vinaigrette salad dressing.

It has been a downright crappy year for tomatoes.  We had those pesky floods, then the rest of the summer was cool.  We also got our plants in late, which didn’t help (don’t blame Denny; every time he headed out to do yard work/gardening I said, “No, stay and help me with the baby!”).  We got lots of green tomatoes, but I was afraid we were going to get to fall with no red fruit.

This saddened me deeply.  It seems like tomatoes are a popular food to dislike; tomatoes often show up on people’s most-hated foods lists.  Why?  Why?  They’re like sunshine in your g.d. mouth.  They’re the basis for our two national condiments, salsa and ketchup (and can I mention how delighted I am that tomatoes are contributing to our changing demographics?).

Fortunately, a mild fall with some nice warm days yielded a small but pretty tomato crop.  Last night Denny and I had panini with tomatoes, garden basil, fresh mozzarella, and bacon.  I also scrounged up enough to make one big pot of tomato sauce.  Making tomato sauce is one of my favorite early-fall rituals.  I’m not brave enough to try canning it; the sauce spends the rest of the year in our chest freezer, and I get it out now and then to make pasta sauces, tomato soup, chili, or whatever else seems like it would benefit.

The “recipe” isn’t much of one, and it’s very simple—just big chunks of onion sauteed in some olive oil, garlic, lots of tomatoes (skin, seeds, and all), basil, and a little sugar and salt.  I blend it into oblivion with my handy stick blender:  the skins get pulverized to nothingness, and I’m not offended by some seeds in my sauce.  If you want to go to the trouble of blanching and de-seeding your tomatoes, be my guest, but I find it’s not worth the effort.  When I make soup, I strain it; if I’m going for a chunky sauce, I might throw in a can of Muir Glen diced tomatoes; if I’m making pizza sauce, I’ll reduce it way down.  Obviously additional seasonings go in on a dish-by-dish basis as well.

I’m so glad I got to make sauce this year, even just one smallish batch.  It would have been like summer didn’t count otherwise.  Now, what to do with all that remaining basil?  Pesto party!

Nine months.  Wow.

Nine months is the fictional length of a pregnancy (because 40 weeks is really closer to ten months, and you were born early anyway, so it doesn’t really apply to you).  We can officially say that you’ve existed on the outside longer than on the inside.  Is it nice to be free from prison, Miles?  Is the food better?  The air more gaseous?  You are certainly taking advantage of your freedom these days.  While you can’t quite crawl, you’re awfully close; you get up on all fours and rock and scootch, and you can roll just about anywhere you want to go.  You also love—love—to walk while holding on to someone’s hands.  When you do it, I can just feel the glee emanating from you.  It’s like you’re thinking, “I knew I was a biped all along.”

Right now you’re lying on the floor of your play room with one red sock in your hand and zero socks on your feet.  I don’t know where the other sock went.  This is the way it goes.  We’re going to have to get some socks that are harder to get loose now that the cold weather is coming, though you really don’t ever seem to get very chilly.  I credit your fat layers.  Your thighs go on for consecutive hours.

This has presented a bit of a problem for your dad and me.  For those people who regularly read this blog, we’ve gone back to (mostly) co-sleeping.  You’re not nearly as much of a flaily ukulele as you used to be, and we’ve found it’s just the best way for us all to get good sleep.  Typically we put you to bed in your crib, then when you wake up in the night, I haul you into our bed and we all hang out together until morning.  This is mostly good; you do kind of crowd me over to the edge, but your dad is nice about pulling you over to him now and then.  The problem I referred to above is one of temperature.  We’ve had some cool nights, but you refuse to sleep with any kind of blanket or sheet on top of you, even if you’re not wearing pants or socks.  What I need to do is invent a V-shaped comforter so your dad and I could both be covered up while you chill out in the middle.  You’ve gotten so snuggly lately, which is probably how you keep warm with no blanket.

One of your best new tricks this month involves recognizing people and getting excited to see them.  When I hear your dad’s bus go by, I hold you up to the window.  It’s obvious the moment you catch a glimpse of him, because you start wiggling like a trout on a hook.  When he gets up close to the house, he taps the window, and you give him a huge grin.  Something similar happened this morning.  You had a doctor’s appointment, so your dad stayed home to go to it with us.  You and I were in your room where I was changing your diaper and clothes, and you heard a sound in the bathroom.  You jumped and started wiggling, so I took you over to where you could see your dad getting ready.  The thrill you got out of seeing him at that unexpected time was adorable.

A couple of weeks ago, your dad had to go out of town, so we went to stay with Mubby and Skittergramps.  Your dad’s flight got in late, after you and I were already in bed, but you woke up when he came in.  It took you a couple of minutes to figure out what was going on, but even in the dark I could feel it dawning on you.  “What’s going on here?  This is unusual.  Who’s that?  Wait, could it be?  Is it?  Omigod omigod omigod it’s DADDY.”  You squealed and wiggled and bounced, and it took us another hour to get you back to sleep.  I think it was worth it, though.  Your dad told me later that he counts that among the most heartwarming moments of his life.

You’re like that—you just get so excited about things.  Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, you just give a shriek of delight, like you remembered something wonderful, or all your little excitement neurons got together and blasted at once.

You’re also so curious.  Everything grabbable ends up in your hands, and sometimes in your mouth.  You have four teeth that are good at chomping, and I think more are on the way soon, given your recent fussiness and increased desire to chew (toys, books, zippers, table edges, human chins).  You enjoyed visiting Uncle Tyler in Nebraska, and you were even quite well-behaved on the long drive, thanks largely to Mubby’s entertainment efforts.

Most of the time I end these notes with some kind of weepy note about how I can’t believe you’re so big and I want you to be my baby forever, and that’s still true, but right now I’m getting really excited about your advancements.  You are turning into such a little person, with your own interests and likes and dislikes (the noise and face you made when I put some sweet potatoes into your mouth were pretty outrageous).  You love to videoconference via iChat AV, play with balloons, and bounce in your command station:  bouncing triggers the music, and we have a game in which I dance for you when the music is going and freeze when it stops, and then you bounce again to start me dancing.  I always get tired before you do.

The look in your eyes is sometimes so knowing that I feel like any minute now you’re going to open your mouth and give me your opinion.  I’m betting it’s going to be something like, “Mother, I do appreciate the switch you made to the apple-cinnamon Teddy Poofs.  They really have a more elaborate flavor profile than the original variety.”  I would also accept “mama.”  Either way.

Oh, gross.  You just licked the bottom of my bedroom slipper.

That’s okay.  I still think you’re a genius.

Love,

Mommy

Denny joined Miles and me for Book Babies at the library on Friday.  It was lots of fun.  We sang songs and listened to the leader read books and danced.  There were some super-cute kids there.  One thing caught my attention, though.  There was one really adorable little girl who I think would have been more adorable if she didn’t have pierced ears.

Piercing an infant’s ears is such a bizarre thing to do.  For one thing, it hurts.  I remember getting mine done at the mall when I was 9 or 10, at a place called Jewelry Hut (I swear).  After I got the first ear done, I wasn’t so sure I wanted the second one.  And I remember the aftermath being a giant pain.  My earring holes got all crusty and painful and gross, and my mom had to swab them with alcohol every night.  I hear that if you get it done by an actual piercing specialist with a needle, it’s not as traumatic to the tissues as with an earring gun, but it was guns all around at Jewelry Hut.

I was a pretty responsible kid, even.  I don’t know how you would keep a baby from grabbing at her earrings and getting them all infected, or how the parent would effectively keep them clean.  It’s all I can do to keep Miles’s fingernails under an inch long, he’s so wiggly; it must be a hundred times worse when the kid is wiggling away because the process is actually painful.

It just creeps me out to perform a painful cosmetic procedure on a baby for no reason other the parents’ entertainment.  It’s different when the kid is old enough to grasp the concept and request it—I’m not casting any aspersions on people in that situation, and it was fun having pierced ears in the 80’s when I got to amass a giant earring collection (both giant in terms of numbers and in item size; after all, the earrings had to be proportionate to the bangs).  I don’t know if it’s a gender identity thing or what.  Are parents so worried that people will think their little girl is a little boy that they have to stab through her flesh to prove her femininity to strangers?  People think Miles is a girl all the time.  Just today he was wearing a blue shirt with brown trim and a lion on it, and a person in a restaurant called him she.  It doesn’t really concern me.

I shouldn’t be too critical, though.  I did, in fact, order a Halloween costume for Miles that he will probably not like wearing.  But I don’t think it will cause him any physical tissue damage, unless he looks so cute that I actually munch him.

Pictures forthcoming, of course, so that he may be exploited by all of you as well.

I love making food that I neither planned for nor shopped for; I just got in the mood for it and I happened to have the ingredients.  It’s like Antiques Roadshow for me:  I had these treasures all along, and I just had to arrange them into something wonderful.

Case in point:  quick and easy individual apple crisps.  These are good for so many reasons.  First, anything served in an individual dish is better than the analogous thing served out of a big pot.  When you dig into an individual ramekin of something, it feels like someone cared enough to make it just for you.  Also, they cook faster that way.  It’s prime apple season, fall is just beginning to hint around about its chilly presence, and there’s just enough vanilla ice cream in the freezer to top two servings.

This sort of confluence of events thrills me.  Also, the VP debates are tonight.  What better way to celebrate being an American (and let’s remember that patriotism doesn’t have a political party; you can be proud of your country and anxious to improve it even if you lean toward the blue side) than with something apple pie-esque.

Individual Apple Crisps

Serves 2, but can easily be doubled or tripled or whatever.  In fact, the topping made more than I needed.

1 apple, peeled and cut into smallish pieces (I actually used 1.5 apples because gluttony is a family value)
.25 cup AP flour
.25 cup quick-cooking oats
.5 cup brown sugar
some cinnamon and/or nutmeg and/or apple pie spice and/or cloves, maybe 1/2 tsp total
a pinch of salt
a small handful of coarsely-chopped nuts if you like them.  I used pecans.
about 1/3 stick of butter

Preheat oven to 350F.  Put the apples into 2 ramekins or other single-serve oven-safe vessel.  Mix the dry ingredients, then cut in the butter.  Sprinkle generously on top of the apples. Bake for 30 minutes or so.  Top with ice cream.

I just downloaded (and am writing from) Stainless, the Chromey new browser for Leopard (thanks, Jack). I decided to try Flickr on it.

It automatically logged me in.

How did it know?

Also, either I really need to upgrade Wordpress or Stainless doesn’t support it very well. I fear the former.

Hi, everybody.

Does anyone have tips on how to get a baby to extend his naps?  Miles has no trouble going down for a nap, but he wakes up 30 minutes later, almost exactly on the dot.  Sometimes if I catch him right away, I can ease him back down again and he’ll sleep for another 30-45 minutes, but that doesn’t always work either.

Also, I want to do something to help the Obama campaign, but it’s hard for me to physically get away and do anything.  I will not make phone calls; I hate getting political calls, so I’m not going to be a part of that.  However, I want to do something.  Do they need envelopes stuffed or something that I could do from home?

I suppose I could call my campaign headquarters and find out, but you guys are smart.

I never got around to making the cookies (though I still might some time soon), and now I don’t have time before we head to Nebraska to see Tyler and his sports team.  Actually Miles and I are going to visit Tyler at his workplace and then chill out at a bed and breakfast.  He and I are not big football fans.

Anyway, I wanted to make the cookies to bring on the trip, but since that didn’t happen, I’m going to make a batch of brownies instead.  These brownies are super-awesome.  Denny’s coworker brought us a pan of them after Miles was born, and they were so good I demanded the recipe.  Here ’tis.

I’m skipping the frosting recipe, because I made it once and it was gross.  The ones Denny’s coworker brought had some kind of glaze on them that was good, but I’m not sure about the recipe for that.

Super-rad Brownies

• 1/2 cup butter
• 1 cup white sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour an 8 inch square pan.
2. In a large saucepan, melt 1/2 cup butter. Remove from heat, and stir in sugar, eggs, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in 1/3 cup cocoa, 1/2 cup flour, salt, and baking powder. Spread batter into prepared pan.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes. Do not overcook.

I plan to double this for a 9×13 pan, because there would not be enough for 4 people with the original recipe.  My brother probably won’t eat any because he’s a health nut.  This is why he has like 1% body fat.  Oh well.

I want to make that New York Times cookie recipe that’s been going around.

It calls for 8.5 ounces cake flour and 8.5 ounces bread flour.  Cake flour is about 7% protein, and bread flour is about 13%.  All-purpose flour is around 11%.

Can anybody think of a good reason why I shouldn’t just use 17 oz of AP?  Is a 1% difference in protein really going to have a big impact?

…a low-profile rotisserie.

Growing up, I remember my dad had (has?) a free-standing electric rotisserie.  It was pretty bare-bones; the food item just rotated above an exposed heating element.  It made great food, though, and I especially remember how good it made the house smell.  I always wanted to chew the strings that he’d used to wrap the meat (kind of gross in retrospect, but they were soaked with roasty goodness).

Now when I search for “rotisserie” on cooking.com or where ever, I see lots of grill accessories and some free-standing toaster oven type thingies.  I’d rather not get an additional appliance to hog up space in my kitchen, and I don’t want one for the grill.  What I like about my dad’s is that it’s easy to stash when not in use.

An exposed heating element like that might be unsafe with a kiddo around (although my brother and I emerged unscathed), but I’m just researching options here.  Any great ideas?

Here’s a Miles Minute in the tub.  I tried to edit so the modesty towel remains in place, so I’m pretty sure this is rated PG.  Sadly, there was a lot of cute footage I had to cut as it was not appropriate for the wild, wild web.  We all know there’s no nudity on the Internet!

Why do some fruits sound appetizing on ice cream and others don’t?

Good:

• Peaches
• Strawberries/raspberries/blueberries
• Cherries
• Pineapple

Bad:

• Apples (unless in pie form)
• Grapes
• Oranges (maybe mandarin oranges, but it’s still iffy)

My little Miles, today you are 2/3, aka 8 months old.  We just got back from a trip to the library with Mubby; you had so much fun listening to the books at story time, doing the chicken dance, and staring at the big kids.  You yourself are looking a lot like a big kid lately, especially since you have three teeth.  They all came within a few days of each other; first a bottom one and then two top ones.  Surprisingly, teething didn’t seem to upset you a whole lot.  You’ve even been sleeping pretty well lately, overall.  Last night was a notable exception.

Your pattern lately has been that you sleep in your crib until about 2 a.m., waking once or twice between bedtime and 2.  Then I haul you into our bed where you sleep soundly until 8 in the morning.  Yes, I know, we thought we had quit with the whole co-sleeping thing, and you still do a great job napping in your crib and spend the first half of the night there.  But six solid hours of sleep are wonderful, and that’s what we generally get once you’re in the big bed, so that’s what we’ve been doing lately.

Last night, as I mentioned, didn’t work out quite so well.  We’ve heard that sometimes babies practice their new skills in the night, and that must have been what you were doing, because at 5 a.m., all you wanted to do was roll around and squeal.  Those aren’t new skills, exactly; your newest skills involve fine-motor work, especially with your hands and fingers.  You were probably communicating very eloquently in sign language early this morning, only it was dark so we couldn’t figure out what you were talking about.  You didn’t go back to sleep until 6:20, which would have been pretty brutal on a normal day, but luckily Mubby and Skittergramps are here to visit, so I am able to rest and recover today.

One of the most exciting developments of this month is your improved ability to recognize people.  When we iChat AV with Mubby and Skittergramps, your eyes dart back and forth at them and you shout with glee.  Another of your favorite things to do is stand at the window and watch your daddy walk up to the house when he gets home from work.  As soon as you see him, you start kicking and smiling, and he always gets a huge grin out of you when he taps the glass and puts his face up close to yours.

You’ve had a lot of exciting adventures this month.  You’ve enjoyed swinging at the playground, and running errands is getting easier all the time since you’re so good at sitting in the front of a shopping cart.  We went to the Co-op the other day and you charmed all the employees.  I had a moment of horror at the Co-op when they didn’t have any organic blueberries.  Blueberries have emerged as your favorite food, followed closely by squash, and I knew you wouldn’t want to live in a world with no blueberries.  Luckily, we found some in the frozen section.  I hope you aren’t too big of a fresh fruit snob.

You are only allowed to have blueberries on your bath days, and then only immediately before said bath, and then dressed only in a diaper, and not a fresh diaper.  You still think your food is about 75% for eating and 25% for spreading around your environs.  This is not such a big deal with bananas, but blueberries not only stain, they stick.  Once a week or so I take a chisel to your booster seat and try to make it look a little less like a car parked under a mulberry tree.

You like to take your food and do a wax on/wax off movement on the chair tray, sweeping your right arm in circles.  We noticed you doing that at other times too, along with some rhythmic smacking, and we were mildly concerned that something weird was going on with you neurologically.  I did some Internet research, and about the only thing it could be (besides, you know, a baby whapping his arms because that’s what babies do) is seizures.  Luckily, you don’t show any other signs of seizures, so we’re pretty sure it’s just your body trying to sort itself out as you grow.

I think my favorite of your recent tricks is your newfound interest in hugs and kisses.  Up until now, you were always more of an explorer than a cuddler, but lately, particularly (but not exclusively) when you’re sleepy, you’ll wrap your arms around your daddy’s or my neck and put your head on our shoulders.  You also like to dive mouth-first into my face, and you usually have two handfuls of my hair at that moment, so I can’t escape.  It’s slimy and it tickles and your breath is always sweet, and I don’t hurry up too much to extricate myself.  It can get awfully loud, though.  You’ve taken to shrieking at an outrageous volume when you get excited, and sometimes that happens when your mouth is right by my ear.  One time when it’s guaranteed to happen is when I change your clothes and diaper.  All I have to say is, “Miles, you’re nude!” and you start kicking and screaming with joy.  It’s fun to watch you so excited, but it makes your dad nervous because he’s been on the wet end of a between-diaper spray more than once.

Sometimes when things like that happen, he forgets that loud noises startle you and yells.  Just the other day, I heard him yell from the other room, and then I heard you crying. I was about to go scold him for upsetting you when he came in and showed me the source of his yelling.

As I mentioned in my description of this photo on Flickr, it’s moments like this when I know your daddy really loves me.  More than the diamond ring, more than the dozens of roses, more than the thoughtful cards and romantic dinners, the fact that your daddy did not immediately wipe off his face, but rather came to show me because he knew it would make me laugh—that’s love right there.

Thank you for that, Miles.  Thanks for reminding us that vomit can be hilarious, that there are worse things to do at 5 a.m. than hang out with our baby, and that super-slimy kisses are wonderful.  Please enjoy your nude time now in your youth, while a squealing naked guy is more likely to get kissed than pepper-sprayed.  I think you can still get away with it.  Your two front teeth make you look very mature, but you could still pass for a seven-month-old otherwise.

I love you, my big boy.

Mommy

Most nights, Miles wakes up around 11:00 for a feeding.  I generally go to bed around 10:00 but stay in a kind of semi-sleeping vigilance until after he’s eaten.  Last night, however, Miles slept straight from his bedtime of 8:00 until about 1:30, then he ate and slept again until 7:30.  In our house, this counts as a Very Good Night.

Last night at around 11:30, I found myself standing next to the bed.  I listened for Miles and heard nothing.  I said to Denny, who was either still awake or awakened by my actions, “Why am I standing up?”

He said, “The dryer buzzed.  Are you planning to nurse the dryer?”

I decided not to.

Follow up:

Last night, after Miles was safely asleep in his crib, Denny and I decided to watch some Tivo (the Bones premiere) and have a snack.  As I opened the ice cream, the lid came off with a loud thwacking noise.  Denny shushed me, as we both live in fear of waking the sleeping tyrant.

I listened and heard him stirring.  I made a very apologetic expression and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Denny looked at me weird and said, “Why?”

“For waking him up.”

Denny laughed.  “That’s the dryer again.”

Seriously, why am I feeling so maternal toward the dryer?