Pink Prickly Pear

Ikebana Fail.

That whole Montessouri-esque "Put a small arrangement of flowers on their own child sized table" thing?

Not really working out for us.

 

He knows where the sugar is.

 

In which I am fucking awesome.

Oh sure, little old Estonian ladies could probably knit lace like this standing on their heads, but just let me toot my own horn a minute...

 

I can see Mexico from here.

Sometimes the desert just sort of calls me.  Or maybe it's these totally scary...uh...scarecrows hiding out in this creek bed.  I almost drove off the road when I saw them!  People who live in the desert start doing weird things.

 

It wasn't terribly hot, but I don't think we appreciated the overcast skies enough.  

At Desert View Tower, we climbed up the lookout and scrambled around the boulders and carvings.  Mini-Pear loves climbing and caves, but from my claustrophobic "the cool kids hang back" vantage point, all I could hear out of D'anjou was a rather petulant series of "No!"s.  At first I thought he was scared, but "No! No!", he just didn't want any help.  At all.  

I'm all about perceived freedom for little ones, but the desert in rattlesnake season is not the best place to put it into practice.  D'anjou did not particularly appreciate, nor share, my concern.  He just wanted to investigate every last crevice, befriend the mangy desert dogs and run pell mell down precipitous billy goat trails.  I aged some yesterday, but he did not get bitten by rattlesnakes or fall head over heels into a cactus.

 

 

Everyone in our family has longer, prettier hair than me.  I wore a baseball hat this morning on my beach walk, and it left me with Lesbian Cop Hair all afternoon.  I'm thinking I might want to grow my hair back out again, not that I will end up with hair as pretty as theirs...

I was talking about the desert though...

Basically, we drove to the end of the road, and this is what we found there...

 

And baby birds!

 

Not to mention the International Border Fail.  I like how it just stops half-way up the hill, like no one would bother to climb up and around it.  Too much of a hassle.

 

And when it was all over, we needed ice-cream and naps.  

 
 

  

Oui, oui!

I'm not about to wax on about why I dislike the term "potty training", but I do have the following things to say:

Whoever invented wall to wall carpet (hate! gag!) obviously didn't have a toddler (or a husband whose morning grogginess includes a propensity towards spilling coffee).

Also, this bilibo thing may have won every toy award under the sun, not to mention the accolades of design conscious hipsters (who may or may not be parents) everywhere, but my boy has trouble distinguishing it from his $5 potty from IKEA.  

Just sayin'...and you know he's wicked smart, so it's not him.

While we are not on the subject (of "potty training"), may I say that big sisters who change their little brother's diapers are the bees knees.  I didn't even ask her!  

I love my thoughtful girl.  Ten minutes ago we had this exchange:

Me "Awww.  We're out of milk for the mashed potatoes!"

She (not missing a beat) "That's okay.  Let's just invite Luke [friend with dairy allergies] over for dinner!"

In which I am sort of nostalgic...

 Yesterday morning, we met some friends down at Miramar (the Flying Leathernecks Museum - it's free!) to see some big military planes and 'copters.  I'm not into military anything, but I thought my boy might be into their size, plus it was an open air thing, and I'm all about open air things where I don't have to shush him or wait outside with him.  But it was hot, and he's been napping earlier and earlier, so he was tired and very much wanting to be quiet and "in arms" - it would have been a perfect morning for an introspective wander about an art museum, but one can't really predict these things, so I carried him, mostly, and it turns out Mini-Pear is even less enthusiastic about big military vehicles than I am.  It was a bit of a wash, but we did pick up a flyer for "Open Cockpit Days" and I think that might be a more fun weekend trip with Mr. Pear, who is also not really into military anything, but appreciates the engineering and the history.

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Did you give my blog up for dead?  I almost did. 

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If I had my druthers, I'd stay in my pyjamas all day.  Not that I actually wear pyjamas, so it would look more like yesterday's now-very-wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of I-don't-actually-wear-these-to-yoga pants, so I suppose it just more how I'm feeling.

Not depressed (don't call! don't send flowers or inspirational literature!), but feeling very much like I'd like to put my house in order.  It is, however, a typically beautiful Southern California day, so a compromise (mostly for the sake of my children who are brimming over with energy this morning) is in order.  I'm driving Mini-Pear out to a slumber party late in the afternoon.  It's a good distance away, so I think we'll head out early, stop for a little hike at a favorite park along the way, break up the drive for d'anjou, spend some time under actual trees.  I've got a hankering for trees lately.  Must be all the photos of the cherry blossoms back in DC getting posted on Facebook...sniff.  I miss our annual perambulation around the tidal basin, the pale pink "snow" swirling down, picnics in the dappled shade.

Oh.  Sniff.  Sniff, indeed.  

In which he is a resourceful little fellow.

 

Here he is at the park; having elbowed the dogs out of the way, he helps himself to the spigot.  

Something about being at home brings out the little baby bird in him though; this afternoon he kept bringing me the tiniest little doll teacup to fill with water.  Tablespoon by tablespoon, slow and steady wins the race.  I am cursing the day I cooed, "How cute!" and filled it up for him, because now it is 2 sips and "Mama!" and 2 sips and "Mama!" and 2 sips and...