Surely I should have had a better comeback than, “Uh, yeah. Ta.”. Disastrous.
So, in an effort to recover gracefully from that cultural abyss, I intended to bring you Inigo singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. It was going to be a creative triumph, an adorable child, singing a note perfect and season appropriate carol, with gorgeous lighting and the perfect accessories.
But after two days of trying, I bring you this instead.
It’s beginning to get ugly.
Since his feet are growing at an amazing rate, we had a quick visit to Target last week where I found precisely three pairs of shoes that both fit, and didn’t send me into paroxysms of horror at the thought of dressing my two year old as a miniature soldier or advertisement for the wiggles.
One pair was lime green (my preference), one was orange, and one was hot pink. Of course, Inigo HAD TO HAVE the pink ones. And absolutely refused to countenance the green ones. But I was allowed to also purchase the orange ones. He may even deign to wear them one day, but for now, it’s all about the pink. And the Hawaiian hat.
The Martha Stewart Wedding Magazine’s current issue features a same sex couple – a beautiful, stylish, quirky wedding. And that’s the focus of the piece, with no fuss or fanfare about their gender, but a look at the lovely details of a day that was uniquely theirs. Everything I love about a wedding is seeing a reflection of two lives, two personalities coming together in a celebration that speaks of who they are as a couple, and sharing the ritual of commitment before those that are important to them.
And Martha Stewart isn’t the worlds only tastemaker, but this sort of exposure, this normality, is a wonderful sign of great things to come.
See The Other Andrew, and Web Goddess for related coverage!
A few years ago I admired Kate’s version of this pattern, and a few months ago I bought the pattern. On Friday I bought some yarn that might do (it needs a 10 ply cotton on 5.5ml needles), and on Sunday (with expert help – thanks Pom Pom and Gussetting!), I cast on a sleeve as a swatch.
Today, I got out the measuring tape, and what seems obvious to the eye was well and truly proven by the tape. Its huge. My gauge is perfect, but the size of the thing is enormous. The sizes are for a 40, 48, 56 or 64″ bust. I have a bust that is a shade shy of 50″, but the pattern suggests going up a size for wearing as a jacket, so I cast on the 56″ size, which would mean the upper sleeve would have a positive ease of 4 full inches. Perhaps a wee bit too big.
So I’ll knit the 48″ instead, and happily I don’t have to frog my swatch, just rewrite my pattern notes.
Using a coconut shell as armor – and running! Watch the videos.
Being two is probably different for everyone, and of course I can’t know exactly what it’s like for Inigo. But as the person who spends the most time with him, I have made a few observations, that I would like to record for posterity. For me when I am old and can’t remember Inigo at two, for him if he ever wants to know.
Being two means saying “Iggy do’d it” at every opportunity. He now has to feed himself, brush his teeth, water the garden, climb into his car seat, open the fridge, turn on (or off) the light, climb the stairs, stir the dinner, press the button to make the coffee, choose the book, and turn the page.
It also means LOSING. HIS. SHIT. whenever something doesn’t go his way, and flinging his head at the nearest hard object, wall, or floor, and often kicking or punching the nearest person, usually me (especially since I am apparently supposed to hold him while these rages happen!). This then leads to physical pain on top of the wild emotion storm he is riding. Needless to say, this is NOT. FUN. for the primary caregiver, who has been known to LOSE. HER. MIND. when dealing with the ferocity of these episodes, especially on days like yesterday, when he averaged about one every 45 minutes.
And speaking of pages. When I was very little, my dad taught me how to care for books, to turn the pages carefully from the corners, not near the spine. Consequently, I am a little obsessive about caring for books, and having a kid who likes to drool all over them has been a personal challenge for me. So it is with immense gratification that I can report that Inigo is now carefully turning pages. From the corner.
Being two means a fascination with shoes, his own, or anyone elses. He is getting quite proficient at walking down steps in shoes that are much too large for him.
His father is thrilled to note that not only is Inigo singing songs with actual words (and he gets surprisingly many of the right), he also sings in tune. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” is a favourite, but we also get “Open, Shut Them”, “Incy Wincy Spider”, and “The Alphabet Song”.
Climbing is really fun, and falling over is even more fun. It doesn’t require an actual fall, often it’s just sitting down gracefully and then lying down to great effect, and telling anyone in earshot that he “fall down”. Which he then will repeat, ad infinitum, until someone repeats what he says.
He is getting quite definite ideas about what he will and will not wear, and I can see multiple changes of clothing per day are in our future. For the past few weeks (since we had a swimming lesson with Aunty Josephine and Cousin Owen), he’s been wanting to wear his swimmers all the time. I think this may correspond to a desire to go swimming more often, so we are looking forward to summer. This past weekend we spent at Pearl Beach, and Mark and I took Inigo into the ocean for the first time. It was a little chilly, but he was a trooper, and I can see us enjoying a lot more swimming at the beach during the summer, particularly our annual Pearl Beach pilgrimage between Christmas and New Year.
Being two means identifying shapes and colours, and counting. Big and little, circles, squares, triangles stars, every symbol must be observed, and talked about, and enthused about. One of his birthday shirts has a peace symbol on it, and when he wears it he has to say “BIG CIRCLE” about eleventy brazillion times.
Being two means sharing your breakfast with a toy, always taking a rock with you on car trips, and happily going out with Nanna and leaving Mama at home. Or even slamming the door in Mama’s face when she went out at night a few weeks ago.
Another clothing change has been the lack of undergarments, preferring to be as naked as possible for quick potty trips. We introduced him to the potty when he was very little, and again while we were in Bali, but in the last few weeks it’s been warm enough to go pants free, and we have had remarkable success. He’s even been out of the house in undies a few times, with only one or two accidents. And today he even stopped playing when he realised he needed to go and asked for the potty. * Update – He’s been in undies (apart from naps) full time since Monday.
And we’ve said goodbye to a faithful companion. When Inigo and I went to Tweed Heads to visit Josephine and Owen, I decided to see if we could do the trip dummy free. The first night was hard, the second night better, and by the third night he didn’t even ask for it. Of course he expected for it to be back when we returned home, but we decided to tough it out, and now, a few weeks later, he is sleeping through the night a few times a week, and hasn’t asked for a plug in ages.
When I look at him, I still see my little baby. But all these changes mean he’s growing up.
And today, we introduced him to Scrabble.
So the plan was to eat some cow. But I’ve stalled, due to the lack of a dining companion, and a restaurant that is open on a day when I have no child.
Mumu is Crows Nest used to be open on a Tuesday, I’m sure, but when I went there yesterday they were closed. Fe couldn’t make it, but promises to be with me next week. But now I can’t find a restaurant that sells grass/pasture fed beef and is open on a Tuesday.
Here is an article from the SMH about the differences in producing different bits of cow. In case anyone is interested in why I insist on grass fed cow.
Apparently, the Government White Paper on airline safety has been released, and apparently they have listened to the radical crazies like me that sent submissions supporting allowing knitting needles on planes.
What’s next? Making beating children illegal?
Article from Babycenter here. It is really great that the mainstream media is tackling this issue. According to a book I read (Nurture Shock), it’s not enough to expose your kids to people from different races, you have to talk to them about it. Kids in mixed race schools who haven’t had the conversation with their parents are more likely to join social groups comprised of kids of their own race, and will reinforce racial stereotypes and divides.
But if you talk to your kids about race, about how we are all the same, despite differences of skin colour and cultural practices. Stupidly, I thought that Inigo wouldn’t have the opportunity to grow up racist if he is surrounded by kids of many different ethnicities.
I suppose it’s not just one conversation, and we’ve got all that to look forward too.
Or Iron continued….
I’ve found (through the ABA mafia) an excellent dietitian that is going to help me negotiate this minefield. Apparently, humans are born with at specific transporter in the gut for haem (blood based) iron, and that eating vegetable sources of iron metabolises in a completely different way. So this means that eating meat will boost my iron levels in combination with and complementing my iron supplements. Which is actually much better news than I was expecting, and she is going to guide me in eating the right amount to get me out of this situation without going overboard. She is also going to look at my overall diet, and make sure I keep a good balance – useful for someone who hasn’t eaten red meat in a long time. I’ve also got to make sure I’m still taking care of Inigo and Mark’s dietary needs too.
I was going to respond to the comments on the previous post in the comments section, but it got unwieldy, so here we are.
Thanks everyone!
Ali – I remember having a bit of tandoori chicken about 8 years ago, it it came back up rather violently. I shall heed your sage words of warning!
Steph – I cannot tell you how much I appreciate having an econometrician (did I spell that right?) in my life. I shall be consulting you for the spreadsheet, flow chart and venn diagram of my next decision 🙂
Emma – I am still unable to walk into a butcher shop, so I am doing my research on the internets (of course). I am unable to look into the meat cabinet at Woolworths, so talking to a butcher might actually explode my brain. Also, I don’t think I could cook meat in the house – the bunnies, who are very sensitive people, freak out at meat cooking smells, and I don’t think it’s fair to make Mark and Inigo live with it either. But restaurants – that is another question entirely 🙂
Min – After about a decade of vegetarianism (though still loving the taste of meat), I have found that I can salivate at the idea of salami, (or pate, or bacon, etc.), but when it comes to the crunch, the thought of actually eating said delicacy actually turns my stomach. So while I like the idea of pate, I looked at it in the supermarket today, and read the ingredients, and as soon as I read “animal and vegetable oils”, the magic was gone. And I know I can’t eat a factory famed duck liver. And I still kind of hold on to the idea that if I am prepared to eat an animal, I ought to be prepared to kill it. I reckon I could kill a cow (with years of therapy), to save myself and my child, but I am still doubtful about killing a chicken or a duck. But then, I am a weirdo.
Ginevra – you’re right. And it’s such a cliche, but I don’t think there is anything else on this planet that could convince me to do this, except that little guy.
Fe – thanks for your support. Nothing like going carnivorous with an ex vegan for company!
Disco Knitter 