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This reporter was granted an interview with the elusive superhero who goes by the name of "Mr. Incredible". The interview was a little difficult to conduct, since Mr. Incredible was zooming around the room, in a Super Speedy way, complete with sound effects.
What is your name?
Mr. Incredible.
What are your superpowers?
Like, um, I carry my house.
Then what do you do with it?
I put it right here. It doesn't hurt my hand though, because I am a superguy.
What else can you do?
I don't know, what else am I going to do, for my superpowers?
Can you run really fast, or fly?
Yeah!! (pushes button on shirt and takes off around the kitchen- dining room -living room for 3 laps)
Is there anyone faster than you?
Yeah, Ellie is.
Who's your favorite superhero?
Erf Ace! (Earth Ace) He flies on that board. Ok, bye-bye now.
I am hoping that Mr. Incredible will be able to locate N, as he has been missing for the past couple of days.
Our baby is 8 months old!
Some random notes about her:
-She squeals with delight when her big sister and brother pay attention to her, she shrieks to get our attention, and will carry on "conversations" with us in this manner :
"Hi K!"
"Aaah!"
"Are you such a big girl?"
"Aaah!"
"What are you doing?"
"Aaah!"
"Who's our girl?"
"EEEE!"
-I also call her my fierce little one, because she is so growly. She loves to growl with this low grumbly "grrr". It's actually quite funny to hear this sound coming from such a sweet looking little baby, and often causes surprised looks and laughter.
-She has two rows of little teeth (8 in all) that she loves to grind. This drives Ed crazy, as he worries they will become exposed nubs of nerve endings. He spends a lot of time trying to distract her from this happy pastime. Her top front teeth have an endearing little gap between them, that I love, but will probably close as her mouth fills with more teeth.
-In keeping with proud family tradition, she remains firmly planted on her backside. She has been getting down on her belly, and through a funny rocking/rolling motion will reach for toys and make her way across the room. It is done very slowly though, so if you are watching her, you don't actually see her move from point A to point B but suddenly you realize she is under the coffee table, and you aren't exactly sure how she got there.
-She likes music, and has recently started to "dance" along to it by bobbing her head up and down, as well as a start of a clap as she pats her legs in response to our claps.
-She is happiest when we are interacting with her, and playing with her, but will tolerate solitary play for short periods of time.
All in all, she is a little sweetie, and well loved by all of us. We are so blessed to have her in our family.
I highly reccommend the book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I had heard about it earlier this summer, and just checked it out of the library. It is about a family who decided to try to eat locally for an entire year, which meant buy only food grown in their neighborhood, grow it themselves, or learn to live without. It is "part memoir, part journalistic investigation", and it is fascinating. Although parts can get a little tedious and preachy, it is definitely an education in the US Food industry. It has made me think more consciously about the food choices I make, and made me question my responsibility, not only as a fellow living creature (her take on why she doesn't eat CAFO animals), but as a Christian. We have dominion over the animals, and are given the choice to eat them, but what does that look like? Is it ok to eat animals that have spent their short lives suffering in confinement, eating food they are not meant to eat, including other animals' waste and by products? Or should I be eating animals that have been treated respectfully, given a chance to enjoy the sunshine, grazing, foraging, in their short, but happy life. Yes, God gave us animals to eat, but where is our responsibility? I have to think about this some more, but I feel a definite pull to buy beef and chickens that are not only "free range" (which can be a deceptive title), but "grass finished". It has also made me want to start my own garden, as well as continue in our CSA membership. I need to check out local Farmer's Markets as well. This week, I think I will start my new efforts by buying one of the chickens offered by my CSA, and maybe some eggs.
She sharply inhaled, suddenly awake and aware of a noise that cut through her dreams and demanded her attention. There it was again: her baby's cry. The mother waited, wondering if the child would go back to sleep, but no, the cries were getting more insistent, echoing through the darkened house. Her husband lay beside her, the baby's cries not even registering a break in his deep, even breaths.
The mother rolled out of the warmth of the bed and half stumbled through the darkened room and down the stairs to the nursery. As she entered the baby's room, she flicked on the hall light, her eyes involuntarily blinking against the harsh glare before opening on the stilled and quiet form of her baby, who had been startled to quiet by the sudden light. The next second, the child looked up at her mother, and her arms and legs began moving again in earnest, as she made soft grunting noises. The mother scooped the baby up and then lay her across the changing table, quickly unzipping the fleecy sleeper to get to the sodden diaper beneath. The baby was incensed at this unwanted turn of events, and bawled angrily, her fists clenched alongside her reddened face. Even in her groggy state, the mother was able to make short work of the diaper change, placing a fresh one around the baby's bottom, and expertly stretching the tabs across the child's body in under a minute. Making quiet shushing noises, she carried the baby over the rocking chair and dropped down while simultaneously lifting her shirt and pulling the baby towards her. Immediately the cries were replaced with gulps as the baby hungrily nursed. The mother settled more comfortably in the chair, and rocked gently for several minutes. Outside the world was slowly awakening and she could hear the distant rumble of trucks along the highway. Now and then the soft swooshing sound of tires on the wet street below followed the sweep of headlights across the wall and ceiling. Lulled by the soft patter of rain against the windows, the mother's head dropped and her eyes closed as she tried to piece together the fragments of the dream from which she had been awakened. Drowsily she realized that the baby was finished and was now sleeping with her mouth open, a glimmer of milk in the corners. The mother drew the baby close and breathed deeply of her scent, warm, milky, and a touch of lavender from the bath the night before. Crossing the room, she kissed the downy fuzz on the side of the baby's head before placing her in her crib. The child startled briefly, and cried out, protesting the loss of her mother's warm arms and body. Again, the mother shushed quietly as she laid her hand across the baby's back and tucked the blankets closer, before slipping out the door and switching off the light.
Once in the hallway, she turned towards her older children's room checking to make sure they were covered against the chill of the house. Her son had characteristically kicked off his blankets earlier in the night and was now in a hunched ball on top of his pillow, his thumb planted firmly in his mouth. She drew the blankets up around his neck, kissing his cheek that once was as soft and round as his baby sister's, but in the past year had lost most of the baby fat and was lengthening into the face of the boy he was becoming. The mother then turned to her daughter, also in a ball, but this time, hidden in the tangle of blankets and the various members of her precious stuffed "kitty family". The mother stroked the long silk of hair that lay tumbled across the pillow and kissed her on her forehead, the only visible part poking out of the covers.
Moments later, she was at her own bedside, pulling back the comforter and feeling the puff of warm air that greeted her as she sank into the softness of her pillow and bed. As she had woken earlier to the baby's cries, her husband now instinctively turned toward her, drawing her chilled body against his own before settling back into slumber. She tried to calm her mind, to keep it from racing towards what needed to be done in the day ahead. Morning would come soon enough, with children to be dressed and fed, lunches to be made, and later laundry, shopping and household chores to be completed. But now, in the last two hours of "night" she forced herself to think only thoughts of sleep, knowing that she would need the energy and strength for the day ahead. She shut her eyes against the weak light starting to outline her window shades, nestled deeper into the covers and her husband's warmth, and exhaled.
5 minutes ago....
I was down in the laundry room cleaning out a paintbrush when I noticed an unfamiliar windbreaker on the floor. I asked Ed where it had come from, and he said he found it in the corner behind our freezer, and had wondered if it were mine. As I answered him, saying that I had never seen it before, I picked up the jacket to inspect it further. It obviously had something in the front pocket so I unzipped it and pulled out a lighter, and... "What's that?" Ed asked.
"Um," I replied, as I picked up the cylindrical object and examined it to try to figure out what it was.
"Is it a flashlight?" Ed said, as he grabbed it from me.
Well, it was a metallic purple color, and it did have batteries, which I had discovered while unscrewing the top. But strangely, there was no light part. At that instant we both realized what it was, and Ed dropped it like a hot potato,"Aaaghh!" while I was left fumbling with it, trying to stuff the batteries back in and screw the lid back on. I then went to the sink and scrubbed my hands under hot water for the next five minutes, using lots of soap. I then threw in a splash of bleach for good measure (I was in the laundry room) and went back to scrubbing.
Just our luck, while other people find piles of coins in their homes, we find this.
Eeeewww. That is all I can say. Eeeewww.
This year was the first that N got really excited for Halloween. He remembered from last year, and couldn't wait to wear his Buzz costume. Fortunately, we got a couple of chances to dress up with a trick or treat night in town, as well as a mini-church party.
Halloween evening was beautiful-clear and crisp, perfect for an evening out. My parents and sister came over for dinner, since they wanted to see the kids in costume. After eating a delicious (although rushed) meal together, I set off with the kids, Cara, and a couple of other moms and their kids. E and her friends raced from house to house, having to be called back a couple of times, and reminded about Halloween etiquette-- saying "Trick or Treat!!" and "Thank-you!" I followed a little more slowly, since I was carrying the baby on my front (was my back killing at the end of the night!), and pulling the wagon. I got a chance to chat with the neighbors I knew, and introduce myself and the kids to the ones we didn't. About halfway around, N decided he had enough and climbed into the wagon. There he sat like a little prince ruling over his domain of candy, and me the horse of his carriage. He happily munched on candy and when asked if he wanted to go up to the next house, he held out his pumpkin and ruled, "No, you can get my candy for me." Ah yes. I forgot, not only was I a lowly beast of burden, but also the collecting agent, gathering the prince's dues. I did oblige him a couple of times, but then refused on the grounds of not needing any more candy. So we continued on, each of us enjoying our evening in our own way- E with her friends, N in his wagon, K hanging out, taking it all in, and me talking with a couple of other moms who were walking with us. When we got back the kids poured out their candy, counted and surveyed their loot while Ed and I surreptitiously sampled a few pieces.
Now there is candy everywhere. This is not good for my efforts to lose baby weight, especially since we are well into the dieter's Bermuda Triangle of holidays. But I can't let it go to waste, can I?
In a recent post I wrote about going back to GCC for homecoming. After registration everyone received a nametag to wear that identified them to old classmates (which were very helpful to in remembering names to go with faces that had changed or been forgotten). My name tag said "Tango (1) 328". "Oh yeah," I thought to myself, "I went by '1' in college, I had kind of forgotten about that". You are probably wondering how I could "forget" my maiden name. Well, you see, I have had a very complicated name history. Let me try to explain the name difficulties that have kind of plagued me my entire life, or at least my life starting at school age.
I was born "mango tango 1". Since I was born in a foreign country, and at the time my mom wanted to go with the buddhist flow and name me traditionally, I was given mango as my first name, and tango as my middle name. The problem started here. My parents decided to to call me tango instead of mango, which is fine, but they would have really spared me a lot of grief if they had reversed the two names. Because, you see, we now had the difficulty of my legal first name, and my middle name that I used for a first name. I remember distinctly my mom walking me through the doors of school and asking me if I preferred to me called mango or tango. I was completely confused and thought, "Why would anyone call me mango? My name is tango! " I of course knew what my first name was, but it was long, foreign looking, and no one used it. So I went by tango 1 for the next 4 years, until my mom remarried.
When she did that, my parents (that is, my mom and stepdad) thought that in the interest of family unity, my siblings and I would all go by the same last name, "2". That was perfectly fine with me, although they hadn't changed it legally, so I now had a new problem that I didn't realize I was agreeing to take on for the next 12 years. For you that are keeping track, my legal name was mango1, but the name I wrote on all my school papers was tango2. So life went merrily along until anything official popped up, and then I would have to write mango1 on those documents.
That was fine in elementary school, when I didn't have to deal with anything official very often, but when in the last couple of years of high school I was applying for colleges and going to interviews, getting part time jobs-- all things that I would have to fill out mango1 on the form, with no place for tango. So invariably, the person interviewing me would either butcher my name trying to say it, or ask how to pronounce it before addressing me. Then I would explain that I didn't actually use my first name, that I really went by tango. They would sigh with relief before quickly covering up with a compliment on how pretty my name is, and what did it mean, and how do I pronounce it again? Gah! I longed for simplicity in my name, but it was not to be.
Once in college, I faltered in introducing myself. I would start with "My name is tango tw--, I mean one." That of course would bring strange looks as people wondered how I could forget my name. I eventually got used to it, and called myself tango1, but my close friends had heard the story, and called me tango2. This didn't help anyone who was actually looking for me in the college directory though, because there I was still mango1. (I am sure that is why I was dateless that whole first year-- interested parties just couldn't find my number and call me) I even had a friend from high school who wanted to surprise me with a visit, and couldn't find my number, so gave up and left!
So you can imagine my relief when I got married. I couldn't change my name fast enough-- now I would no longer have two last names, but one legal one. In retrospect, I should have switched my first and middle names so that my new name read tangomango328. But I didn't think of that in all the excitement of name changing.
As a result I still run into problems at the doctor's office, with credit cards, or anything that I have to sign up using my first name. Or with new friends. They wonder why I sign my name M Tango 328, and I explain. And so it goes. I guess it is something I have gotten used to, and something I will continue to deal with for the rest of my life. So if you take nothing else away from this, parents, please, please, name your child what you want him/her to be called for the first name. Do not saddle them with a lifetime of explaining their name woes with every receptionist, check out clerk, and random blog readers.
That being said, I do not blame my mom. She could not have known the implications at the time of my naming. It is a pretty name, with a pretty meaning, and it is unique, something I have grown to appreciate. I can say with confidence that I am the only mangotango328 on earth. No one else has my name combination. On a practical note, another positive is that I know right away if the person calling me is a telemarketer. A dead giveaway is when they ask, "May I speak with M-m-mian-joo 328?"
