Nursery Rhyme Time

One Misty Moisty Morning




Jack Be Nimble

Here She Comes!

Apple Core! Baltimore.

Remember that childhood ditty? I lived it today. Particularly the "cored" part. Not to get too graphic, here, but it seems I've developed a sort of ... spotty rash ... uh, all over, well ... you know....

The grandmotherly nurse handed me a tissue-thin hospital gown. "Sorry it's so cold," she apologized. I clutched the teeeny tiny robe around me (when did they get so small?) and explained to the wide-eyed Talmage and noninterested Sydney what was about to happen.

The lanky, grey-bearded dermatologist whipped out a magnifying glass, just like a real detective, peered at a few spots, then ponderously said (and I quote), "Thaaaat's unusual." Hmh! To which I have to say, "Thaaaat's reassuring." He thinks it might be an allergic reaction to something. "But we'll have to do a biopsy." That's where the coring part comes in.

The accommodating receptionist watched Talmage and Sydney while I was whisked to another room (the operating room, I guess). The nurse flipped on the radio to calm my chattering nerves, and layed a thick blanket on top of me to still my chattering teeth. She chattered about upcoming Christmas plans, her fiance (!), whilst gathering supplies. I listened to her with one ear and listened for Sydney out front with the other.

The dermatologist entered and peered again at the spots, choosing his favorite two and circling them with a purple "pen". He showed me the biopsy tool aka coring device. Really. A small metal, hollow cylinder that he punched into my ... and removed a foot-long tube of skin layer. He reaffirmed that this could be an allergy and asked that I think really hard about any changes in my diet, etc. during the past week or so (just so you know, I am drawing a blank).

We won't know the results until after Christmas vacation - so stay tuned. But I tell you what, if I had a choice, I hope I'm allergic to sugar. Wouldn't that be great? I think a deathly allergy would help me kick my sugar addiction.

If you had a choice, what allergy would you prefer?

And 12 Makes Half-way There

The advent calendar (an Airie Craftie) is a highlight of each morning for us. It is especially fun now that Talmage is old enough to be excited to see what is in each pouch and to anticipate the next day.

"Suzy Wants a Doll"

The Best Seat in the House

Holiday Music Group

Today Talmage participated in his first performance. For the past 10 weeks, he has been attending Stephanie's music group. One hour a week. No parents allowed. I'm not sure if Stephanie swore the kids to secrecy, but Talmage was decidedly mum about all the songs they were learning. "What did you learn in music class today, Talmage?" I'd ask when I picked him up each week. "Itsy Bitsy Spider" was his standard, matter-of-fact reply. In fact, Stephanie did not teach them Itsy Bitsy Spider. She taught the kids, like, 14 songs for the performance. To a group that had a 2 1/2 year old. I was impressed. Steph did an awesome job not only teaching them new songs to sing, but also with teaching them rhythm, listening, music theory ("quarter note") and instrument recognition ("oboe"). The performance was very entertaining and endearing, and you can watch all 30 minutes of it. Just ask.

With Teacher Stephanie :)

Small Sampling of the Singing

A man works from sun to sun...

...but a woman's work is never done.

Hello, Mr. Mud Puddle,

How are you today?

Me? My ears feel fine. In fact, they're up for some splashin'!

Video: The Mud Puddle Shuffle:

Saturday Sickness and Sunset

From midnight onward, Talmage cried off and on because his ear hurt. In the morning we took him to Urgent Care, where he was (surprise) diagnosed with a double ear infection. Last year at exactly this time, he was taking antibiotics for an ear infection. It's like, a tradition. Anyway, he's been feeling pretty lousy today, as you can tell:
Later today, Briton was out doing yard work and enjoying a fantastic, fiery sunset. This pic doesn't quite capture the colors, but check out the shapes of the clouds:
Goodnight, mush. Goodnight, adult ward Christmas party. Goodnight, everybody.

And so, Lafawnduh...

... we say farewell to you.

Ever since she lost her roosting companion, Fraulein Biff, Lafawnduh has been a lonely, lonely bird. Is there any thought more chilly than a chicken alone on her roost during the winter? This has bothered me. A lot. To her small coop, however, I was dubious about introducing another young bird. Lafawnduh, as you know, has a sketchy past, and is certainly skittish and aggressive enough that a new companion would have doubtful tenure. I’ve been thinking it was time to give her up.

This morning when I broke the ice in her water trough, I let her know that she was bound for, if not greener pastures, at least more pasture. And more fowl-lowship. Harnessing my chicken-catching acumen, I waved my arms around, trying to corner the freaked out bird, since she was not totally getting the idea of entering the Size 3 diaper box on her own free-range will. Once inside, however, she hunkered down for the slippery ride out to the farm.

Lawfawnduh In A Box and A Farmer Leg

We were greeted by the sight of several chickens pecking around the yard. I knew Lafawnduh would be much happier at the farm ... as soon as she finds her place in the pecking order. I wonder what went through her head when she, after months of winging it solo, was suddenly dumped into a huge pen chockablock full of fowl. She dashed for an open spot in the run and soon after was accosted/welcomed by a rather large, fluffy white chicken. Their scuffle reminded me of the Mother Goose rhyme: the fighting cats of Kilkenny. They had no sooner broken things off, when Lafawnduh turned on an unsuspecting guinea. At least it looks like she will be able to hold her own. And maybe even get a spot on the roost tonight.

Giving up Lafawnduh brings me to another point. Ever since starting in on the fresh egg venture, I’ve been the recipient of a diverse collection of chicken paraphernalia. Friends and family have bequeathed such things as a motherly ceramic hen that sits atop our stove, a flashlight chicken that makes a “lovely” cock-a-doodle-doo whenever you turn on the flashlight, and a maniac chicken that drives a battery-powered car with the radio turned onto some hard rock station. Probably my favorite piece is from my in-laws (not to diminish the others). I really like it: Cute, huh? However, now that Lafawnduh is gone, I'd like to take this chance to announce that I'd like to put the acquirement of chicken items behind me. It’s just too (gasp, sob, sputter) painful to receive chickenware. It reminds me of a much gentler, free-ranging time.

So, really, I appreciate the stuff and, even when some items were given in jest, I appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the chicken-themed gifts. Really. But now, it's time I move forward. Chicken-free. Will we ever get chickens again? Maybe. Will I ever want to take up collecting chicken items? Nah.

Zoo Lights

Train ride: "Hi, Sonya. Fancy meeting you here."

Christmas lights illuminated various animals (not real). The cockroaches (real) scuttled around, the polar bears kept out of sight, Mama elephant nudged baby Sam awake, K&C reminisced on their proposal, the crocodile jaws squeaked, Africa and her bats were off-limits, and we munched on warm, heavily sugared Elephant Ears (mmmm!), under the glow of a gingerbread house pumping out a Nutcracker tune. See you next year, ZooLights!