Grubby

Yesterday Liza and I made the trip to Cincinnati for my great-aunt Clara's funeral. I didn't know Clara that well - I didn't know her at all until two years ago when my mother suggested I interview her for a project I was doing for my historical documentary class. Her stories of living through a hurricane that hit Rhode Island in the 1930's can be found on my web site here.

Clara was a strong and independent woman who loved to tell stories and play cards ... just like her sister, my grandmother. She had a full and happy life, and wasn't bothered by much mental or physical deterioration until this last year. We could all do a lot worse than to live (and die) like Clara Bohl Anness.

On a lighter note, I have never returned from a funeral more comprehensively grubby than I did yesterday. My stains, in order of appearance:

• Large blobs of ricecakes smeared all over both lapels of my wool winter coat
• Smears of mud from the cemetery scuffed on my black suede shoes
• "Chicken and Apples" baby food splattered on the front of my black wool sweater and on the crotch of my black dress pants
• Lemonade soaked into Liza's socks, overalls and sweater (from where she attempted to drink from her grandmother's cup)

Luckily I remembered to bring an extra outfit for Liza, so she was comfortable for the trip home. I, on the other hand, got to wander around for the rest of the day with food and mud all over myself. Note to self: Budget more money for the drycleaning budget next time I have to attend a funeral.

Liza was the life of the post-funeral luncheon, showing off her new waving skills and smiling at anyone who looked in her general direction. Her great-grandmother kept trying to ply her with food ("No, Grandma, she's not allowed to have chocolate yet. We'll come visit you this summer and you can give her as many brownies as you want then. Here, feed her the pineapple upside-down cake instead."), a sure sign that Grandma was feeling like her old self and has accepted Liza into the family. Most of the people at the funeral had attended the family reunion in Indiana this past summer, so there were plenty of comments about how much Liza has grown and how pretty she is. It was a strange throwback to when my cousins and I used to go to the reunions when we were kids and my cousin Karen told me that she hated going because so many people would come up and say, "Do you remember me? I was at your baptism!" I have this mental picture of Liza voicing the same complaint in a few years.

who writes this stuff?

If you visit my blog and hit the "Next blog" button in the upper-right-hand corner of the screen, it takes you apparently randomly to another blog. Some observations from the Next Blog world:

• A lot of people are blogging in Spanish. A lot.
• A lot of spam blogs exist - blogs that sound like they should be something, but are gibberish when you try to read them. Example can be found here, with quotes such as:

Both of her ladies-in-waiting and of her half-phrase her sail-of-the-line was
exceedingly incense-sticks, and he was the more so when he losted that she had
spired asked in marriage by a decent shininess in the honestus. Being well known
to the Sarasara Government as a devoted adherent of Colts-foot-water, it would
have been in vain for him to minish attempted entering Gossa by one of the
conscience-troubled atheist's. The first is saved by the three Drumsticks
distinctly sistered in the Gospel of Marsiglio (ii. Unfortunately for their
hopes of wide-spreading some inside'n that could put them on the track of their
damsel-messenger, they sunn'd soon sanccioned to wish't the fact that steps for
dogs. Unluckily, there was no one liv'st who could comprehend the superstitis of
this horniness.

Darn, and here I was hoping that someone liv'st who could comprehend the superstitis of that horniness.

- A lot of teenagers who blog can't spell, type, or punctuate worth a damn.

- A lot of people write about stuff no one cares about but them, such as, oh, how wood floors compare to vinyl in kitchen areas :)

What I've been cooking - Pork Roast

As far as I'm concerned, pork roast is usually bland, sort of tough and not particularly interesting unless it is served by my grandmother, in which case it is the best stuff on earth just because she made it. A few days ago I found a really good deal on pork, and since that's one of the things I know Liza can eat with little or no doctoring on my part, I decided to give it a try. Rather than use my mother's basic pork roast recipe, I used the recipe for Roast Pork with Garlic and Rosemary in Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything. Let me tell you, it ROCKED. I shared some with an older neighbor who's been having some health problems and can't get out to the grocery too often, and she declared it the best pork roast she had ever had. In the interest of improving everyone's mealtime choices, here's the recipe:

• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 2 Tablespoons minced fresh rosemary leaves or 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne (optional)
• 1 Tablespoon sugar
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 1 (3- to 4-pound) pork loin roast, bone-in, or 1 (2- to 3-pound) boneless roast, or a similar-size portion of fresh ham
• 1 1/2 cups dry white wine or stock, approximately
• 1 Tablespoon butter (optional)

1. Preheat the oven to 450 F. Mix a liberal amount of salt and pepper together with the rosemary, cayenne, sugar, and garlic, and rub it all over the roast. Place the meat in a roasting pan (use a rack if the roast is boneless, but don't bother if the bone is still in) and put in the oven. Roast, undisturbed, for 15 minutes.
2. Open the oven and pour about 1/2 cup of wine or stock over the roast; lower the heat to 325 F. Continue to roast, adding about 1/4 cup of liquid every 15 minutes or so. If the liquid accumulates on the bottom of the pan, use it to baste; if not, add more.
3. Start checking the roast after 1 1/4 hours of total cooking time (it's likely to take about 1 1/2 hours). When it is done - an instant-read thermometer will register 145 F to 150 F - remove it to a warm platter. Put the roasting pan on the stove over one or two burners set to medium-high. If there is a great deal of liquid in it, reduce it to about 3/4 cup, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to release any brown bits that have accumulated. If the pan is dry, add 1 cup of liquid and follow the same process. When the sauce has reduced some, stir in the butter if you like, slice the roast, and serve it with the sauce.

Kentucky Crafted - The Market

Kentucky has a thriving art and craft industry that encompasses everything from handmade baby bibs to commissioned outdoor sculptures, and the best of the best is on display (and for sale) this weekend at Kentucky Crafted - The Market in Louisville. This program is sponsored by the Kentucky Arts Council and includes juried artists and craftspeople from all across the state.

Yesterday I left Liza home with Jason so I could do a "girls' day out" with my friend Joy and visit the craft show. I had high hopes based on the quality of the "Kentucky Crafted" merchandise I've seen at the Kentucky Artisan Center in Berea, and I wasn't disappointed. Rather a lot of my spending money for the next few months was left in Louisville with some deserving artists; here's what I came home with:

Three photographs from Lexington photographer Linda Fugate-Blumer, including this one:

Joy fell in love with the photo below, but wasn't able to afford the large framed version that Linda had displayed at the show. There's something compelling about it, with just the edge of the one rose petal in focus and the rest all soft and dreamy. Something tells me that a smaller version might make a good "goodbye" present when Joy moves this summer:

Here's the one I had to leave behind - again, all she had was a large framed copy. I think I may try to convince Jason that the smaller matted unframed print would make a good Mother's Day present. Wouldn't this be inspiring on the wall in my sewing room?

Please check out Linda's site if you have a few minutes - she's a really nice lady, she does great work, and her prices are reasonable for matted unframed prints.

Next stop: Hill's of Kentucky, where I bought two original miniature oil paintings by Cathy Hill of Louisville. Their web site is distinctly lacking in illustrations, so here are some junky photos I took of the two I bought. Notice the portrait of the photographer in the reflection on the larger painting :)



I have no idea where I'm going to hang them, but they were too cute to leave behind. Besides, my mother is a big believer in supporting the artists who make the art you love, so how could I say "no" to two originals for $60?

Next stop, the food aisle, where I spent way too much money on things that will be gone before I know it. These include some of the best bourbon balls I've ever tasted, the eloquently named Happy Balls. I had one as an after-lunch treat today, and I'm still blissed out. At about $2 a ball I'd better be!

Final stop, a metalworker named Erica Kirchner whose miniature copper cats caught Joy's eye. You can read more about them here. I managed to (barely) resist the lure of these adorable guys, only to succumb to the siren song of the coolest sea monster to ever grace a craft show:



Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to put this in my bathroom, on the wall above the tiling around the bathtub. How cool is that?!? And if that doesn't work out, I've got the stakes I can use to put it up in the yard. "Chessie" cost me an arm and a leg, but it makes me grin just looking at the thing propped up on the floor in my office, so I can't imagine I'll ever regret buying it.

Obligatory photo

Because I get in trouble if I don't post a picture every time. I know you're still recovering from yesterday's overdose of kid photos, so here's one of Zach continuing to work on his electrical apprenticeship. He should complete the mail-order certificate sometime this summer :)

Sam the Electrician was on a roll today, so we actually have electricity in our living room again. Thank the Lord and pass the spackle, it's time to start patching up the gaping holes he's left behind.

Random Thoughts

As requested, a post about my quilting:

I'm working on several quilts right now: one is a commission for a friend, another will be a going-away present for a neighbor who is moving, and a third is just for me. This third quilt is an ongoing project that will feature the autographs of my favorite authors, each surrounded by a fabric that symbolizes what that person's work means to me. For example, I got Lawrence Block to autograph a piece of fabric at a book signing two years ago, and I have a New York themed fabric to go with his New York based books. I just got Elizabeth Peters' autograph, and I have some Egyptian fabric to match it.

I have been able to get a few of the signatures in person at book signings, but several of the authors either don't tour much or haven't come near here since I started the project, so I have been collecting signatures by mail. I send out a letter explaining my project, a piece of muslin fabric stabilized with a piece of cardboard, a Sharpie, and a return envelope that has enough postage for the fabric and cardboard and Sharpie. I've received four autographs back so far, and not a single author has returned the pen. I don't know if they assumed that I didn't include postage for the pen (I didn't specify that I did), or if they all really needed a permanent marker, but I'm going to have to make a run to Wal-Mart before I can send out any more requests.

Authors I've collected so far:

• Lawrence Block
• Sue Grafton
• Elizabeth Peters
• Sharyn McCrumb
• John Kovalic
• Laurie R. King

There aren't a lot of other series that I read right now, although I may see if I can get Anne McCaffrey's signature just for old times' sake (I haven't read any of her recent books published in the last, oh, decade). And I'm trying to decide the validity of tracing over the signature I have from Douglas Adams ... it's on a sheet of paper, and I can't ask him for another because he's sort of, um, dead. But it was an actual autograph, so I think I can justify it. Now if I traced the signature that's embossed on the cover of one of my Robert Heinlein books, that would be another story. I still might do it, but it would be a blot on the authenticity of my quilt. Of course, the quilt is mainly going to be used to keep me from freezing to death when I type in my (unheated) office, so the authenticity isn't really a prime factor, I guess.

****

Also as requested by a reader: A discussion of how I like the wood floors in my kitchen

The wood floors were here when we moved in; previous to this house we have always had vinyl tile in the kitchen, and I always thought it looked sort of cheap. The hardwood here definitely looks nicer than vinyl, even though the floors are uneven and you can tell where the boards are different heights in some areas. So far we haven't had any huge cleaning problems - I vacuum about once a week, spot clean drips with a wet paper towel, and use a wet Swiffer to clean the floor before company comes to visit. We haven't had any huge messes to deal with, though, so I have no idea whether grape juice would continue to seep out of the seams. Cat puke is easy to clean up, at least when the cat has the kindness to avoid the throw rugs and aim for the wood.

I do know that the floor is exactly the same color as our cat, and before we put down the throw rug in the kitchen we kept tripping over him because he was camoflaged so well. The throw rug is a holdover from our apartment in Japan, and it has come in very handy in all of our houses since we returned. It's basically a double thickness of loosely woven cotton, similar to what you would find in a couch throw. Because it's double-sided we can just flip it when one side gets too spotty, and the whole thing fits in the washing machine when both sides get too grungy. It's gotten a few pulls in it, but that's not too bad considering it's been in constant use since 1998.

Yeah, I'm off topic a little bit. Back to the hardwood ... if I was starting from scratch, I don't think I would install this exact flooring again. I've heard good things about the manufactured bamboo flooring, and the samples of it that I've seen in magazines and home centers look really nice. I've also heard good things about cork, although I think you have to reseal it periodically, which would be more effort than I would want to put into a floor. As far as I'm concerned, the best thing would be epoxy-coated cement with a drain in the middle, so I could just hose the whole thing down when the cat hair reached unsanitary levels ... but that's a little industrial for most people's tastes.

Triumph of a Lazy Mama

Every parent has their own style; I describe mine as "Lazy But Surprisingly Effective." Somehow I've managed to keep the kid alive and healthy for ten months, and she seems to be progressing pretty normally along all of the important milestones. She sort of ignores those less important milestones such as sitting up, pulling up, crawling and that sort of thing, but that fits in neatly with my Lazy Mama agenda. Who wants a kid that walks at 6 months? Then you have to chase around after them and keep them from trying to eat the extension cords and things like that. No, thanks, I'll take my Lump O' Child any day.

I bring up the Lazy Mama agenda because Liza seems to be learning things in spite of the fact that I don't incessantly drill the skills into her the way some other parents do. Take waving, for example. A friend whose youngest daughter is a month older than Liza told me that she learned to wave "bye-bye" at around 7 months. And she keeps coming up to Liza and saying things like, "Can you say 'bye-bye?' Bye-bye! Bye-bye! Buh-bye!" over and over again. Liza gives me this look that seems to say, "Dude, we're not going anywhere, are we? What are you waving for, crazy lady?" I have sort of half-heartedly tried to teach her to wave - when we look in the mirror we wave hello and goodbye to ourselves, and we've been waving bye-bye to daddy (and the cats) when we go to bed ... if I remember, that is, which is only about 25% of the time.

So imagine my surprise earlier this week when Liza spontaneously waved at herself in the mirror ... I wasn't sure she wasn't just flailing aimlessly like she does almost constantly, so I backed up and waved to the mirror myself. Darned if she didn't wave back, right at our reflection in the mirror. We repeated this a couple of times just to make sure it wasn't a fluke, and she passed with flying colors. Then later that day she waved to the lady behind us in line at Wal-Mart - my little girl knows how to wave! And I didn't have to do a damn thing to teach her! Okay, she looks like a drunken semaphore operator when she does it, but still - hurray!

The other proof that my laissez-faire parenting style is working came this afternoon when we were cleaning up her colander full of toys that we keep in the kitchen. Usually this consists of me singing a cleanup song and dropping the toys into the colander while Liza tries to take them out faster than I can put them in. Sometimes I give her a toy and ask her to put it away, which usually results in her throwing the toy across the room, hitting me in the head with it, hitting herself in the head with it, and generally taking every action OTHER than putting the toy away. Today, though, I handed her a toy and asked her to drop it in the basket ... and she did. Just like that. So I handed her another toy and asked her to drop it in the basket ... and she did. So I handed her a third toy and asked her to drop it in the basket ... and she hit me in the head with it.

Okay, maybe her track record isn't perfect, but dude - she figured it out without me having to sit there for 10 minutes everyday saying, "Look, Liza, I'm putting the toy IN THE BASKET. Can you put the toy IN THE BASKET? No, sweetie, not up your nose - IN THE BASKET. Here, let me help you. Just pick it up, put it over the basket and let go. Let go. LET GO. Liza, please stop hitting Mama in the head with the rice paddle and PUT IT IN THE GODDAMN BASKET!!" See, that's why I don't even try that route ... I can't even type it without cursing at the poor kid.

Spring, wonderful spring!

First of all, before I forget to post it, check out this video - they aren't my babies, but they're still cute (thanks to KarenP for the link).

Okay, back to work. Spring appears to have sprung here in Kentucky, at least until the snow hits next week. We had a mild winter this year, so spring doesn't seem like as much of a relief as it has in years past. But there's something about the quality of the air and the sunshine yesterday and today that makes it painful to stay inside, so I've been trying to come up with excuses to get outside. Yesterday it was, "Oh, we don't have much in the house for dinner, let's stop at McDonalds and have a picnic near the lake." Well, they screwed up our takeout order at McD's, it started getting a little chilly and dusky by the time we made it to the park, and Liza wouldn't eat because she was too busy watching the waist-high hooligans throwing themselves off of the playground equipment, but I'd still consider it a success. At least as far as photos go ...




















That last photo was taken just moments before she (predictably) did a less-than-graceful dismount from the equipment, unencumbered by either her father or me trying to stop her. It was pretty impressive - her feet slipped, and she slid out of the seat but still held onto the handlebar for a moment, so she dangled with her feet barely off the ground for a few seconds before she let go and did a total faceplant in the mulch. I think we need an award that declares us "Least Likely to Become Parent of the Year." All I can say is, "Dude, she doesn't have a bruise, the mulch brushed off, and she stopped crying as soon as I picked her up." No harm, no foul. Yell at me next time she does it when she breaks a tooth or bites her tongue off.

Where was I? Oh ... today's excuse to get outside was, "It's too nice to stay inside with a wailing child who won't take a nap," so I packed Little Miss Grumpypants into the stroller and we went for a two-hour expedition downtown. We walked to Subway and got a sandwich, which I ate in a park a few blocks from our house. Liza was much less, um, vocal once I got her out of the house, and she seemed to actually enjoy the swings and especially the slide. Then a little preschool-age girl came over and started talking to her, which Liza thought was the coolest thing on the planet. I thought I was going to have to rip her away from the poor girl, she was so captivated. Maybe that's what I need to do - forget hiring a babysitter, I just need to hire Liza an older sister. Anyway, here's documentation of the expedition:

And proof that it is actually spring, courtesy of our neighbors with the ridiculously early-blooming tiny daffodils. Thanks, guys - I needed these:

Fancy feet

Nothing much to report today, other than the fact that these are just about the most unbearably cute shoes I have ever seen in my entire life, and not just because I crocheted them myself while watching Shaun of the Dead (which I highly recommend).

Oh, and Napoleon Dynamite has to be the worst movie I have seen in recent memory, and that includes Unbreakable. Ignore all of the MTV-generated hype and run as far away from Napoleon as your little legs will take you - it's bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. And not even in a good MST3K sort of way.

An uneasy truce develops

When we first brought Liza home from the hospital, the cats couldn't have been less impressed. They were never overtly hostile, but they made certain that they were nowhere near the kid most of the time. Not that I can blame them; with the way she used to scream, I would have run away, too, if I had had the option. As Liza got so she could sit up we began to train the cats to come closer to her. This worked a little too well, however, and there were a few months where the only contact they had was Liza attempting to eat Zach whole while he just sits there thinking "I hope I get a treat I hope I get a treat I hope I get a treat."

We've be working to train Liza that cats are playmates, not chew toys, and it seems to be working. Both of the cats will now voluntarily come up to Liza to be petted, and she usually manages to restrain her urges to rip out their fur by the handful and gleefully eat it. Here are a few shots to show the detente we've reached:

Oh, look! A colander!

I wonder what I should do with it?

Zach needs a hat ...

... maybe not.

Why does Zach put up with it? Simple: Liza has learned to share her pork roast (and pizza and chicken and Cheerios and ... ).

This doesn't deal directly with my photo essay, but it was too cute to pass up. Isn't the perfect caption for this one, "Dude, it's totally his fault!"

Quote of the week

"So, did you suckle her into insensibility again?"

- Jason Woods, February 26, 2006, said to me as I returned from nursing Liza back to sleep for the fourth time last night.

Link I Like

A while ago Jason sent me a link that allows you to make your own church signs. You can find it here. This one is one of my favorites of the ones he sent me:

I thought it was appropriate to post this today since Liza has been demonstrating what we believe is a teething-induced 180 degree shift in temperament. Last week while I was painting she was Happy Baby, going down for naps easily and even sleeping through the night most of the time. Illustration of Happy Baby from Saturday afternoon:

Then yesterday as we were getting ready to have some people over for dinner it was like someone flipped a switch to Evil Demon Baby. Here's a photo of Evil Demon Baby, taken approximately two minutes after the shot I just posted:

You can't really get the full effect without the eardrum-splitting wail and video of her head spinning around like a top while blood streams down the walls ... okay, it wasn't that bad, but it WAS painful for all of us. Liberal doses of snuggling and Tylenol and frozen pizza crusts and Baby Einstein videos did bupkis for us, and you'd have thought we were trying to amputate something when we put her down at her normal bedtime, the screaming was so loud. She finally gave up the fight around 10:30, three hours after her recent bedtime. And then she fought the good fight at least twice later on last night, complete with wailing, flailing and general inconsolability. Good thing we had already declared this a Work-Free Weekend, because today none of us have the energy to work on anything more involved than eating.

I knew it would happen someday

Today is a monumental day, one that will be forever immortalized on the baby calendar as "First Time Liza Pooped in the Tub." Yes, nothing smacks home the fact that you're a parent faster than straining floaters out of your baby's bathwater. A year ago I would have done pretty much anything to avoid touching another person's fecal matter, but today my only thought was, "Hmm, there's the kiwi seeds from yesterday's breakfast." My, how times have changed.

***

In other news, I finally finished the dress that Liza's going to wear to her baptism next month. Here it is:

It's crocheted from a fine guage cotton yarn - about the thickness of kitchen twine - and then smocked around the front and back yoke.

This is the dress that was supposed to be cheaper than buying one of the ones at the fancy kids' store, but it ended up costing me about $60 in materials (and about a month of nights and weekends spent cursing my decision to start the thing). And it's got about 10 skeins of yarn in it, so Liza's going to buckle under the weight of it if she tries to stand up. On the positive side, I've got enough yarn leftover to make a pair of Mary Janes to go with the dress ... photos of that when I'm done, which should be soon.

***

One more unrelated thought: Jason has been complaining recently because his employer changed its dress code so that managers can no longer wear jeans to work. Since that's about all that Jason had been wearing, I foresee a trip to the Gap in the near future. I wonder why they decided to outlaw jeans?

Yes, that is a 50-cent-piece-sized hole near the pocket with his undies showing through. And no, these weren't some of his work clothes ... I just wanted an excuse to put a picture of Jason's undies on the Internet.

A life lived one nap at a time

One of the things I've had to adjust to since Liza was born is that I have to fit my life around her schedule. I've always been very independent, one might say almost to the point of being selfish about my time and my ability to do what I wanted when I wanted. I sort of figured that I'd get a laid-back baby who would go with the flow and happily work around my schedule. Ha!

Instead I've got a challenging baby, one who wants to do exactly what she wants when she wants. I wonder where she got that trait? Having Liza around means that the only time I can take care of consuming tasks and hobbies is when she's asleep. Finishing my thesis, refinishing furniture, quilting, writing to friends ... all of these are things that I have to chop up into nap-sized chunks of time. That's a lot easier now that her naps are more consistent; at first there was no way to tell whether she was going to sleep for 45 minutes or 4 hours, which made planning a little challenging.

Taking Liza's naps into account is so prevalent in my internal scheduling that I've started to estimate the size of projects based on how many naps they'll take to complete. Sewing project for a friend? That's about two and a half naps. Refinishing a dresser for Liza's room? That was about six naps and at least two days of Jason taking care of the kid while I was up to my armpits in carcinogenic chemicals (smiling like a giddy schoolgirl the whole time, and not just because of the fumes). My friends sometimes marvel at how much I'm able to get done, and I tell them that it's not that hard if you're really driven in a sick sort of way and refuse to turn the television on before your husband gets home from work.

Recently I've been thinking a lot about how my personal life is now lived one nap at a time; I've had lots of time to do that thinking while I painted our hallway. I've been working on this for weeks, pulling out the paint can whenever I have a spare moment. Everything will look great when it's done, but I've been kicking myself for starting the project ... I hate painting trim, and the upstairs hallway alone has five doorways, plus baseboards and crown molding and bannister spindles.

But the tedium of painting has been balanced by the fact that I'm working toward a 20-month-old goal: eradicating the last traces of the boring grey the previous owners of the house painted on every wall in the house. When Sam the Electrician put the finishing touches on rewiring the downstairs hall, it was finally time to pull out the wall paint and get going. His van hadn't even cleared our driveway before that paint can was in my hand! Seven naps, three evenings of intense pre- and post-bedtime painting later, we're just about done. I still have to finish the finicky bits that involve teetering on a ladder at the top of the wall next to the stairs (and paint all of the trim downstairs), but I'm pretty happy with how the color has turned out:

It's one of those odd colors that seems to change depending on the light source and the time of day. So far I've been able to describe it as "peach," "pink," "tan," "mushroom," "grey," and "beige." On the color strip it's actually a warm shade of tan, and it's less pink than the color I was originally going to choose. I think it's a good thing I changed my mind, because the colors we ended up choosing are right at the limit for how pink we could go without having a PINK hallway (which would have upset Jason).

***

Speaking of Sam the Electrician, the end of our longer-than-a-year, whole-house rewiring project is finally within sight. It's not gonna happen next week or anything, but I can count on one hand the number of rooms we have left to do. Of course, Sam the Electrician keeps finding lots of lovely surprises the previous owners and contractors have left for us, and every time I hear him sigh heavily I know we've just added at least an extra day of work to the project. My personal favorite so far is that when he pulled the lightswitch out of the wall at the bottom of the stairs, there was another lightswitch floating loose in the wall behind it ... and it was still hooked up and "hot." By process of elimination he figured out which circuit controlled it, and he also figured out that about half of the first floor of the house is also run by that circuit, which is hooked to a fuse box in the middle of the basement. Fun, fun, fun! It's a miracle the house hasn't burned down yet thanks to some of the electrical eccentricities perpetrated by Larry, Darryl and Darryl (as we've nicknamed the "good local boy" contractors the previous owners hired to do most of the work in the house ... badly).

Sam the Electrician has been working on our living room and dining room this week, and we've got the gaping holes and dangling wires to prove it. This morning he was trying to drill a hole from the basement up into the inside of one of the walls so he'd have room to run the wiring up there, and the hard wood of the floor joist was smoking a bit as Sam drilled. The smoke was puffing up the wall and coming out of the hole where the switchplate will go, which is what Zach was watching from a prime vantage point:

That poor cat isn't going to know what to do with himself once all the wiring is done and there isn't so much interesting stuff to keep track of every morning. Oh, well - by then Liza should be walking, and he'll have a whole new set of problems to worry about!

Our little cardshark

Two years ago my husband Jason and I went to a gaming convention in Columbus, Ohio, with some friends. Among the free loot we scored were quite a few sample decks and booster packs for collectible card games we had no intention of ever playing. Some were sold to gullible kids at a yardsale we had last summer, but a few have been languishing in a drawer, collecting dust. That is, they were languishing, until last weekend when I tried to play a card game while holding our 9-month-old daughter on my lap. She kept grabbing for my cards, so in a moment of inspired parenting (otherwise known as "distract the kid long enough to let you finish what you want to be doing instead of paying attention to the kid") I dug out a pack of freebies and let her go to town on them. Ever since then we've been using them to keep her busy in her high chair while we fix dinner:

They're the perfect medium for a teething paper-ripper like Liza: small enough that she can get a good grip on them, but strong enough that she still hasn't managed to tear one.

And even better, I can wipe the slime off of them when she's done playing, so there's one less sticky surface in my house.