When favoritism is not really favoritism

August 24, 2011

This afternoon I picked up Maeve from school and took her home. When I got her in the door, I put her down and walked her to my room to get out of my work clothes. As soon as I was changed, she put her arms up toward me, and I picked her up.

I put some music on the ipod and walked her around the house, just chatting with her and pointing out things. At some point I stopped in the living room and just rocked her a bit while we watched a storm approach from outside the window. She snuggled in and we were both very content.

A few minutes later I heard Shawn and Reilly outside. Reilly was crying because of some slight from her gymnastics teacher, and Maeve was very concerned about all the emotion her sister was displaying. While Shawn was explaining the whole incident to me, she reached out her hands for Maeve, but Maeve didn’t budge. This is quite unusual.

I said to Shawn, “Maybe I’ve got a daddy’s girl now?”

Maeve stuck with me for a while, and I enjoyed the attention. I should have known that her unusual attention meant something.

I finally handed Maeve off so that I could get dinner ready, and Shawn gave her a bath. As Shawn got her out of the tub, Maeve began to throw up.

Poor baby.

And poor daddy – she wasn’t and isn’t a daddy’s girl, she was just sick.

Growing up

Maeve recently had her 15 week appointment, complete with SHOTS. Like her big sister, she handled it admirably.

Her stats:

Height: 30.25 inches - Percentile: 34%

Weight: 20lbs 12 oz - Percentile: 14%

Head Circumference: 17.5 inches - Percentile: 11%

Reilly's stats at the same age are here, if you want to compare.

For Reilly's part, she was both 18% for height and weight, which I didn't even need to know. She is the shortest (and second youngest) in her class of 1st graders. But she is also very bright and super-intuitive for her age, and fits right in.

P.S. I'm proud of her.

Maeve gets hers

August 18, 2011

This evening my mom was over to serve up some kosher dogs on hot dog buns she carefully returned home to Florida from Cape Cod. She had also made potato salad from a handed down recipe, a recipe that, it turns out, is identical to my mother-in-law’s.

Following the rule of threes, my mom also brought along some honeydew melon. I normally avoid honeydew because it is never good. I remember recently posting on Facebook that in every fruit cup are a few pieces of honeydew melon, and in every case, without exception, the honeydew is unripe.

The honeydew my mom brought over tonight was ripe, sweet, and probably because of my past experiences with said melon, was about the best I’ve ever had. Maeve thought so too. When my mom offered her a bite, Maeve gobbled it up without hesitation, then went over to a drawer, pulled out one of her bowls, and then offered it to my mom.

My mom dutifully filled it with little bites of melon and then handed it down to Maeve. Maeve beamed, held the bowl of melon out, and then walked proudly to the dining room with her prize.

Overcast Family vacation: the mountains, Summer 2011

Brace yourself: family vacation photos ahead.

The Bachelor

Shawn and the girls are away this week in North Carolina and I am here at the house in Florida playing the bachelor. It is quiet without them. The normal activities of my day are dictated by sound, and so it is odd to notice parts of my routine -- softly closing doors, creeping into bed, laughing with restraint -- which remain even when there is no need to be quiet.

In short, I don't have to worry about not waking the baby. I don't have to worry about the creaking hardwood floors or my cracking joints. I have only myself for which to be responsible, and I take this opportunity to be somewhat irresponsible.

Of the sounds around me, I hear myself most: with all of the music of my daily life stripped away, all I have left is to think. I enjoy, and do not enjoy, the time to think.

There is more lack in the house than life, so to fill up the absence of the girls, I find ways to make noise -- I turn up the radio, I shut the doors with abandon, and I create noise where it is normally organic; I manufacture the sounds of a full house and I drown out the silence of an empty home.