Shannon Phillips

Robin’s added a new word to his vocabulary, and mastered a new skill.

The word: “Poopy.”

The skill: Nose-picking.

Isn’t it interesting how fingers and nostrils remain exactly the right size for each other through all stages of development?

Robin just totally busted out with a perfect “uh-oh!” when I dropped a strawberry on the floor. I was pretty stunned but recovered quickly enough to give him an enthusiastic “That’s right! Uh-oh! Smart boy!”

Now he is running around the house calling “uh-oh! uh-oh! uh-oh!”

It seems like the floodgates have opened on this “language” thing.

When I’m at the computer and Robin wants my attention, he’ll climb into my lap, place his hand at the side of my face, and turn my head away from the screen and towards himself. When he wants a cuddle, he’ll grab my hand and draw it firmly around himself.

I just think that’s really great, how at this stage he knows his own desires perfectly, and he expresses them in the most direct manner possible. He is so wholly without artifice.

In addition to dancing, Robin has discovered that he likes to sing. By which I mean, he’ll sort of tunelessly vocalize whenever music he recognizes comes on. He gets upset when I try to sing along though. Which maybe ties into another of his little tics: Nanita saw this one. He gets very angry whenever two people sing at the same time, or even when Sam and I accidentally say the same thing in chorus. Seriously, he’ll start screaming loudly. I can only guess that it causes some kind of sensory-processing error in his little brain?

But in related news, his favorite book is “Where the Wild Things Are.” Now if you remember your Sendak, you’ll know that there are three wordless pages that come after the line “And now, cried Max, let the wild rumpus start!” When Sam and I read the book we do “rumpus music” as we turn those pages. My rumpus music goes like this: Arooooo boom boom boom! Aroooooo boom boom! Well, Robin has started singing along during the rumpus. He gets pretty close too: “Oooooo boo boo! Ooooo boo!” This doesn’t seem to bother him. So it’s hard to tell what to triggers the auditory overload.

I’m guessing that a quarter of what he says now is meaningful content. Unfortunately we can only understand about five percent. Language, at least for Robin, hasn’t really been a process of acquiring words one by one. It’s more that he babbles steadily, and that this initially amorphous babble is gradually taking on the cadences and contours of actual speech. Which makes sense, because after all he’s not just picking up words. He’s learning tones, contexts, the rhythm of conversation. It’s not so much that he’s building vocabulary up through discrete steps, but that he’s sculpting his stream of vocalizations into speech and song. It’s getting clearer every day.

I got a call from a concerned Pops and Mo yesterday, wanting to know if I was aware that swine flu has hit the Bay Area.

Yes. I’m aware. I went through a period of kind of freaking out about it, made a checklist of things to buy, read all I could about it, and ultimately calmed down. In 1918, which was a terrible flu pandemic, the mortality rate was 2.5%. In other words, most people didn’t die. Swine flu is, so far, doing an even worse job of killing people who are in good health and receiving quality care. (This is a very interesting article tackling the discrepancy between deaths in Mexico and deaths in the U.S., with the final conclusion that the swine flu is either highly virulent or spreads easily, but probably not both.)

So my top priority is being prepared to treat a mild flu case at home, so as to avoid overburdening a stressed medical system. I’m stocked up on electrolyte drinks and over-the-counter cold/flu medication for both children and adults. I also bought surgical masks and gloves, but I don’t think I can get Sam to wear them on the train. He has agreed to wash his hands upon entering the house, and I’m doing the same when we get back from the park and shopping trips.

I’m kind of sorry now that Robin is weaned. When he was sick in Reno breastmilk was the first thing he could keep down. Plus there’s the whole system where antibodies can be shared through breastmilk. But there we are.

The worst-case apocalypse pandemic scenario is not so much that everybody drops dead and the bodies pile up in the streets, but that enough people are badly ill that hospitals are totally overwhelmed, nobody goes to work, basic services like water and electricity go out, and we get about six weeks of post-Katrina style anarchy. It’s really hard to be prepared for this. Because we live in an earthquake-prone area we try to be prepared for 72 hours without water or electricity: I, quite fortunately, recently won an emergency preparation kit from Wendolonia.com, which is even now winging its way towards me, and on top of this we have some basic stores of water and canned goods and first-aid supplies.

But six weeks and 72 hours are vastly different critters. We just can’t plan on staying inside for six weeks. What I really want to buy for the worst-case scenario—the single piece of equipment that would keep us safest throughout a long emergency situation—is a gun.

I know my liberal family is probably gasping in horror at this, and believe me, I’m aware that having a gun in a house with small children introduces day-to-day risks much larger than the risk of fending off looters in a post-apocalyptic San Francisco. But responsible storage (keeping the gun and the ammo locked up in separate safes to which only we have the combination) can largely eliminate those risks, and a gun would protect us in all kinds of long emergency situations, from pandemic to devastating earthquake/tsunami to zombie attack to Peak Oil.

It’s something we’re thinking about. And meanwhile, we’re washing our hands a lot.

Updated to add: A lot of people seem to be worried about the effects of swine flu on the economy. I think it’s only fair to note that I dropped $120 at Rite-Aid on my huge bag of anti-swine-flu supplies. They were decked out to capitalize on this thing too. They had a big shelf of flu meds and Airborne/immune boosters out front and center. Smart of them.

Another light box this week, I think because of the nuts. We got walnuts again, a big bag of them, along with strawberries (yay!), lettuce, asparagus, carrots, chard, a bulb of green garlic, and two shoots of what look like young onions.

We at the strawberries last night for dessert and this morning for breakfast. Last night we also had halibut steaks, pan-seared and finished in the oven, served with garlic-anchovy butter, and green beans on the side. I liked the fish okay but Sam and Robin were really enthusiastic. Unfortunately halibut is expensive: I was so distracted by the fact that it was deeply on sale, a discount of $5 a pound, that I sort of failed to notice it was still really expensive. So I don’t think we’ll be having a lot more of it. Still, since it was an indulgence I’m glad the boys liked it so much.

Tonight we’ll have penne with chard and leeks in a walnut cream sauce, and I’ll also pick up everything I need to make a quick asparagus carbonara after we get home from house-hunting tomorrow night. Saturday I’m out with friends, so dinner will be take-out or scrounged from the fridge. Sunday we’ll have another roasted chicken because I’m out of stock, with a salad of the veggies that are left.

Monday I want to try this recipe for chicken giouvetsi. It’s chicken two days in a row but I don’t think Sam will mind. (Yes I did just discover the Closet Cooking blog, why do you ask?) And Tuesday I’ll set aside as Leftovers Appreciation Night.

Yesterday my debit/credit card was stolen. I left it in an ATM and when I realized this and doubled back, it was gone. I called the bank immediately and they canceled it, but not before several fradulent purchases had been made.

Also yesterday I had sort of a testy conversation with our real estate agent, who in general we like. Unfortunately the High Street offer has fallen through, due to complicated and annoying circumstances. Basically there are two different banks holding mortgages on the property, and they cannot agree on terms between themselves. The second bank wants five thousand dollars more than the first bank is willing to give them. If it was only a matter of increasing our offer by five thousand dollars, we would simply do so. Unfortunately any amount we offer goes through the first bank, and no matter what our price is, they are still only willing to pass a set amount to the second bank.

What the second bank wants is an extra payoff, one that won’t show up on escrow or on the sales records. This is illegal and basically constitutes tax fraud—because the payment doesn’t show up the sales record, the house isn’t taxed at its full value—but according to the listing agent, the other people who have made an offer on the property are willing to do this. So, they are probably going to get the house, even though our offer was for a higher amount.

This is not why my conversation with the realtor was testy. She worked hard on the deal, calling both banks directly to negotiate, and we’re grateful for her efforts even though they proved fruitless. She’s testy because we now want to look at a house in the same area that’s being offered at half the price of the High Street property. It needs some obvious repairs (it has scuzzy carpet and some damage to the interior walls) but if there’s nothing structurally wrong with the place (which is something we’d only find out after doing our own inspections) it would be an amazing deal. It’s also a bank-owned property rather than a short sale, so presumably it’d be a lot easier to buy. Of course this would cut our agent’s expected commission in half, which is why I think she’s unwilling even to look at it. Meanwhile I’m antsy because properties at similar price points have shown up on the MLS and been snapped up before we had a chance to see them.

I’m not the first to observe this, but the real estate agent system is truly effed up. When the person who is supposed to be representing your interests has every personal incentive to inflate your offers and steer you towards overpriced properties, that’s effed up. I can’t help but think that this system has contributed to the housing bubble: how many people were counseled by their agents to buy properties that they couldn’t comfortably afford? Our agent has a maxim she likes to trot out about “buying the most house you can” and every time she says it I just nod and smile, because it’s not in my interest to pick a fight with her.

But yes, we’re going to see the $75,000 place on Friday (along with a few others), even though our agent got kind of passive-aggressive about it on the phone (lots of little comments about how we “really need to focus” and she’s been “disappointed that our time hasn’t been put to better use”). Thanks, hon! We are focused. We’re focused on homes that will save us money, not the ones that will pad your commission.

Whether it had anything to do with arguing with our realtor and stressing about our stolen ATM card or not, last night I was struck by a splitting headache. In fact, I don’t really know, but I’m going to call it a migraine because it was centered sharply behind my left eyebrow and accompanied by a strong desire to lie down in the dark. Sam was really great about keeping the boy distracted while I did just that. All night.

Anyway, I hope today is better than yesterday.

I just thought of something else funny/weird/sweet about the boy that I’ve never posted here. Sometimes when he wants to cuddle he’ll come up to me and push aside some of my clothes so that he can lay his cheek on my bare skin. He’ll do this with whatever’s handy: if I’m sitting down and wearing a skirt or a dress, he’ll push it up and lay his cheek on my thigh; if I’m wearing a shirt he’ll pull it up and cuddle against my side; but his very especial favorite cuddle to get is the one where he’s sitting in my lap and he can lay his cheek against my chest. If my top’s not low-cut enough for him to get some good skin-to-skin contact he’ll tug it down first. I think I know why he does this—skin-to-skin contact provides an oxytocin rush—but it’s still a funny little quirk.

Robin now says “wheeee!” when pushed on the swings or going down the slide. He also says “mmm-MAH!” when giving kisses, which he does frequently, both directly and by proxy. What I mean by the latter is that he’ll often come up to us with a stuffed animal (or sometimes the fuzzy pig slippers that The Anti-Sara gave him) and press them into our faces while making the kiss noise. He isn’t satisfied until we kiss them back.

He can also imitate most of the animal noises in his talking farm toy, and when we make the sounds he can press the right (corresponding) animal.

He’s working on “hi!” and “bye.” He never says “bye” but he knows what “bye-bye” means: sometimes he’ll wave if he doesn’t mind leaving or being left by the person in question; otherwise he’ll start crying. He usually only says “hi” when Sam gets home, but then he’ll run to the door gleefully shouting “hi dada!”

I never get a “hi, mama!” He still almost never says “mama” at all—only when he’s tired or or hurt or wants something. It’s obvious that daddy is a source of fun and excitement, while mommy is the source of comfort and solace. And most of the time I’m just there, so there’s no need to refer to me by name.

Most of what he says is still baby babble, but he understands quite a bit. He can follow simple instructions, like “bring me your plate” or “give that to your Daddy,” and yesterday at the park when I asked him if he wanted to swing, he turned at once and trotted off to the swingset.

But his best new trick isn’t linguistic, it’s his “jazz hands.” When he likes the music he’ll start dancing by waving his hands around in the air. It’s unutterably cute.

Robin’s Elmo obsession continues unabated (he is as I type these words watching Sesame Street with his Elmo doll clutched close, occasionally crooning small remarks to the doll). So I end up watching a lot of Sesame Street, and I have to say, with the perspective of adulthood a lot of the muppets take on a different cast than they held in my hazy childhood memories.

Take Ernie. I came out of my own Sesame Street watching days having formed the impression that Ernie was an awesome dude, and Bert a huge prissy stick-in-the-mud who was basically lucky to have someone like Ernie to bring some fun into his boring life.

Now I find Ernie almost intolerable. He’s so mean to Bert! He thinks he’s so funny, always laughing at his own jokes with that smug little snigger, but actually he’s just tremendously self-involved, inconsiderate, and rude. Ernie is literally the kind of guy who will invite a bunch of strangers over to the apartment and then bail, leaving his roommate alone to manage the chaos. Ernie is the kind of guy who will wake Bert up just so he has someone to talk to, and when he’s driven Bert to sleep in the kitchen with his unreasonably loud activities, he’ll roll over and enjoy having the whole bedroom to himself. Ernie will come up to Bert when he’s trying to read, distract him repeatedly, and finally end up reading the book himself.

My point here is that Ernie is not a cool fun-loving dude, Ernie is a jackass. Bert, on the other hand, is a really sweet guy with unexpected depths of sensitivity and compassion. Sure he’s a little cranky sometimes. If you had a roommate from hell like Ernie, you’d be cranky too!

And I’m not even going to address the whole gay thing, because frankly that takes Ernie from “roommate from hell” to “emotionally abusive boyfriend,” and Bert deserves so much better. So that’s all I have to say about Bert and Ernie!