sleep sleep

A Goodnight
William Carlos Williams

Go to sleep -- though of course you will not --
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady
car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls' cries in a wind-gust
broken by the wind; calculating wings set above
the field of waves breaking.

Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests,
refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food!
Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white
for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild
chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices--
sleep, sleep . . .

Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby.
Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders,
hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings --
lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles,
the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks:
it is all to put you to sleep,
to soften your limbs in relaxed postures,
and that your head slip sidewise, and your hair loosen
and fall over your eyes and over your mouth,
brushing your lips wistfully that you may dream,
sleep and dream . . .

word of the day

I don't care if today's word, roborant, is pronounced "ROB-uh-ruhnt." In my mind, and when I actually get a chance to use it today, it will be "ROH-bo-rant," conjuring to mind an artificial life form gone crazy.

"Between cramming in as much work as I can before the end of the quarter during the day and quick, unfilling dinners and broken sleep during the night, I am in much need of a roborant."

Double Digits

Double Digits! Happy 10 month birthday, ZP! Finally, FINALLY, you pay close attention to the stories we read you rather than try to yank the books and test your teeth against them. When I pull out The Very Hungry Caterpillar, your eyes light up, you smile so widely that your paci falls out, and you scramble into my lap. You wait patiently with your hands in your lap through the introduction to the little egg that lay on the leaf in the exposition. As soon as that first apple appears, your finger jabs into the hole with unerring accuracy. You enjoy the rising action as the caterpillar, and your tiny, chubby finger, makes its way through the pears, the plums, the oranges. After the gastronome's adventures are complete and post-tummy-ache, you eagerly await the climax by twisting around to look at me, look at the book, look at me, look at the book as if to alert me that something delicious is about to happen. Not having given a spoiler alert, I don't want to give away the ending, but suffice it to say that you greatly enjoy it each and every time. The denouement involves me pointing out various colors, closing the book, and announcing "Theeee Endddd" while you pick at the sticky label that is peeling off of the back of the book.

You are standing, cruising, and crawling with ease these days and have been quite mobile and independent. The other day, TP was making some breakfast and you were playing quietly in the living room which we have surrounded with a large, plastic gate. After a while, TP realized that you were TOO quiet. He went to investigate and found out that you had pushed aside the unsecured gate, escaped your prison, and were hanging out in the dining room picking stuff up from the floor and most probably putting said stuff in your mouth. Sneaky Parker!

About once every week and a half or so, you grace us with a full night sleep. Otherwise, you are still prone to waking up at least twice, once at midnight and once at 4:00 a.m. and require us to pat you or rock you back to sleep. Although you've been a pretty good eater thus far, you've been a little more tight-lipped - literally - these last few days. The only way I could get some food into your mouth last night was to dip the spoon in a jar, hand the spoon to you, and run for cover as fast as I could. Even then, the majority of it ended up on your hands, hair, tray, clothes, the box of CDs next to the high-chair, pretty much everywhere except your mouth.

You've been extremely patient about the winter and now that spring is making its slow arrival, you are reaping the rewards. You still enjoy dining at Udupi and now have added Meze and Peacock Cafe to your repertoire of restaurants. Apparently, you've already gone to the zoo twice without us, which kind of saddens me (because I was not the one to take you) but also pleases me (because I know how much you love to be outside). Some excursions into the fresh air and sunshine still knock you out. Others result in playful giggles and wide, beautiful smiles.

mmm mattress

This is yet another example of the interesting things I am forced to learn for work:

The history of the word mattress is a small lesson in the way amenities have come to Europe from the Middle East. During the earlier part of the Middle Ages, Arabic culture was more advanced than that of Europe. One of the amenities of life enjoyed by the Arabs was sleeping on cushions thrown on the floor. Derived from the Arabic word taraha, “to throw,” the word matrah meant “place where something is thrown” and “mat, cushion.” This kind of sleeping surface was adopted by the Europeans during the Crusades, and the Arabic word was taken into Old Italian (materasso) and then into Old French (materas), from which comes the Middle English word materas, first recorded in a work written around 1300. The Arabic word also became Medieval Latin matracium, another source of our word.

Reading Aloud

TP settles ZP into his lap and opens up a book.

TP (in a lecturing kind of voice): "Girl. Boy. T-shirt. Pants."

Me: "TP, you have to add some flavor to it."

TP: "Car. Beep beep! Truck. Beep beep! Boat. Umm . . . Beep beep!"

Me (laughing): "TP!"

TP: "Leaf. Do you know what kind of leaf that is? It's English Ivy. Flower. Do you know what kind of flower that is? It's a daffodil. Duck. I think that's a female mallard. We'll just say it's a female mallard."

Our son is going to be a brainiac.

I think this should be the theme song to my new layout.