Lawyerish

Curiouser and Curiouser

I was walking on my block one rainy evening last week when a young woman approached me and asked me to please stop and help her.  Now, I have been in New York long enough that I have been approached like this dozens of times, and most of the time I simply apologize and continue on my way.  (Lest I appear totally cold-hearted, I do sometimes give money to panhandlers and I have given food to homeless people on the street or subway. Most of the time, though, I am not comfortable stopping to chat with someone who is clearly begging for money.)  But something about this woman made me stop. 

She told me that she'd just been released from inpatient treatment at an eating disorder clinic out of state (which I had heard of) and she was staying with a friend and doing outpatient rehab here.  She said she had gotten locked out of her friend's apartment without her wallet or phone with her (this part of the story was a bit disjointed) and she was having a panic attack because she was afraid she had eaten too much (she asked me several times if she looked fat, and I assured her she didn't). She asked me if I would call her friend for her, so I dialed the number she gave me but got someone's voicemail. 

Then she asked if I could give her cab fare to get downtown.  I tried to think of another option to help her, but my mind was fuzzy (I was kind of in Strange Situation Paralysis; I later realized I could have walked her over to the subway and swiped her fare; but I think she was too panicked to deal with public transportation anyway).  So I put her in a cab and gave her $30 (she was going far and it was rush hour).  She said she only felt comfortable taking the money if she could reimburse me, so I told her I would text her friend about it.  I didn't intend to try to get the money back; I just wanted her to feel okay about taking it.

I later texted the number that she had given me for her friend and explained what happened.  I wanted to know if the woman was okay.  I never got a response. 

I do not care about the money.  Clearly, this was someone in need, in one way or another, and while that was more than I would typically give in a spur-of-the-moment crisis, at the time I found that I couldn't say no.  And it's not like I was giving her my ATM card and PIN and sending her on her way.  On the other hand, I do care about the story and I care on a human level about the person herself and whether she is okay. 

On a more self-absorbed note, I have been wondering if there is a lesson hidden in this somewhere.  Am I someone who is gullible and easily taken advantage of (or do others perceive me that way)?  Or do I appear harmless and therefore approachable (because I really do get approached a lot, even just by tourists asking for directions -- which, I should note, I am always happy to give)?  More importantly, do I have good judgment?  Did I have "good" instincts about this?  How can I know, unless I know the whole story? 

I found that as this was unfolding, I was not thinking very clear thoughts.  I was on edge because there is always the chance that someone has stopped you because they're going to snatch your iPhone or wallet, but also because I flat-out wasn't sure what I should do.  I didn't make any really conscious decisions while it was happening, but in the end I helped because it seemed like it would be wrong not to, in this specific instance.  Because unlike seeing a random person going down Broadway asking every passer-by for spare change or hearing the guy tell everyone on the 2/3 train -- as he has for ten years -- that his house just burned down, this felt like I was personally involved.  Once I had stopped and heard the story, whether or not it was true, I felt responsible and I couldn't just say, "Oh, sorry.  Best of luck," when I was asked to give a dollar amount that was discomfiting but wasn't hugely significant to me. 

(Hey, look at that!  I just discovered the bystander effect!  I am a walking social psychology experiment.)

There's no tidy way to wrap this up; I'm just thinking about it, still.  I don't feel badly about it, nor am I patting myself on the back for doing anything particularly good.  But ambiguity, moral or otherwise, is not my strong suit.  I prefer endings, not ellipses. 

************************************

Aaaand, then we got two inches of snow before Halloween.  It has been an odd few days, indeed.

 

 

 

First Haircut

When you're faced with an unfamiliar situation, it's good to bring along a friend.  Be sure to also scrutinize the environment -- know your surroundings and get a sense of the exit options.

Try not to be distracted when someone turns on a magic box filled with sound and moving pictures.  Remain alert.

Seek comfort from your caregivers as needed.

And find solace in the written word.

Even if someone approaches you with sharp instruments, take deep breaths.  Stay calm.  Don't let them sense your fear. 

Keep it together, keep it together.  You can do this!

It's almost over.  Don't lose hope now.

Wait, how much is she taking off?  STOP!  STOP!  ABORT!  Don't you SEE that this is my crowning glory!?  Good God, woman! 

Alright, fine.  It's cute.  Can we go now? 

I'm Okay, You're Okay

I feel like we've talked a great deal around here about being recovering overachievers.  So many of us have been high achievers for much of our lives, and as we've discussed on various occasions, as adults we can find ourselves adrift without the validation of grades or other tangible, immediate metrics of success.  And with our busy, over-scheduled lives, in some areas we have to settle for being GE: Good Enough.  GE is a good place to be, actually; when you come to accept those areas in which you're not even going to try to be perfect or to lead the world, it saves you so much fretting, not to mention so much work. 

Here are five of the (many) things I do that are rated GE:

1. Housekeeping.  We have a neat home and it is not squalorous or anything (we do love to vacuum a great deal), but it's not going to win any white glove awards any time soon.  We have a cleaning service come every other week, but between those sessions I only do the things that MUST be done -- loading and emptying the dishwasher, pulling the covers up on the bed, wiping up the kitchen when I'm cooking, sweeping the food out from under Felicity's chair, occasionally running a wipe over the bathroom vanity, taking out the garbage EVERY. DAY (we produce SO much damn trash and recycling for a small family, JEEZ).  Everything else (scrubbing, dusting, mopping, laundry) is left for the cleaners.  I like to think I'm just getting my money's worth, but really it is something I choose not to think about in favor of other stuff. 

2. Cooking and meal-planning.  Thank God I married a man who is (a) not a picky eater; (b) highly appreciative of what I cook; and (c) willing to eat the same meals OVER AND OVER again.  I have a bunch of weeknight stand-bys for dinner (many of which rely heavily on the slow cooker) and I pack almost the same lunches every day, so while we eat a balanced diet and I make an effort to be healthy about food choices, I cannot be bothered to whip up a gourmet something-or-other after a day of work or to try out new recipes for fun! lunch! ideas! or family-style dinners or whatever.  I am TIRED and HUNGRY, and I am JUST FINE with having pulled pork and broccoli AGAIN.  On the weekends, I try to cook at least one new thing, but even that is almost always something quite simple. 

3. Healthy eating.  Relatedly, I am never going to be a person who eliminates specific ingredients or whole categories of food from my diet.  I completely get that some people find that that works for them, and that's terrific.  I have become more aware as I've gotten older how certain things, like caffeine and sugar, affect how my body feels or what my mood is like, so while I might not scarf down a cupcake the size of my head every day, I do adhere to the "everything in moderation" approach -- I derive pleasure from eating a wide variety of things, and I don't feel guilty about eating or drinking anything.  I know food and diet can be a Loaded Topic, and that moderation/omnivorousness doesn't work for everyone.  But for me, it is GE. 

4. Clothing/make-up/hair.  I am not a fashion plate.  We know this.  I do care about how I look to a normal degree, and I do like how a nice outfit or a new shade of lipstick gives me a little boost.  But I am a function over form person in this regard, and I have no driving ambition to be otherwise. 

5. Running.  Sometimes I run long distances because I find it enjoyable to do that every now and then, but I don't care about my time and I have never felt compelled to try to be faster.  Maybe one day I will be struck with a sudden urge to do speedwork and to try to PR in some big race; but until then, I am very content just loping along, getting out there a few times a week for a few miles at a time. 

As a bonus, #6 for me would be eco-consciousness.  We recycle.  We buy Seventh Generation and Method products.  We use a "green" dry cleaner (whatever that means) and a "green" cleaning service.  I use vinegar and baking soda to clear out a tub clog, instead of Drano.  We don't own a car and I take public transportation every day.  I use a Camelbak instead of buying bottled water.  AND SO ON.  But I also use disposable diapers and paper towels and we still have a lot of incandescent light bulbs and at work I grab a plastic spoon for my yogurt.  GE.

What about you?  In what areas are you fine with being Good Enough?

Buggin'

The other morning, I had just woken up and staggered to the bathroom when I saw something dark and unsavory scuttling into the corner. 

It was a very large roach. 

I was still feeling dull from having just gotten up (I believe we have established that I am Not a Morning Person, and I prefer not to have any conversation until I've been up for at least half an hour; this is problematic because I am married to a Morning Talker, who likes to dive RIGHT into the day and chat immediately upon waking), so it took me a moment to figure out what to use to kill the roach.  It was sort of like that scene in Pulp Fiction when Bruce Willis goes through the hammer, the baseball bat, the chainsaw, and finally the samurai sword, before heading into the dungeon to kill Zed and his...colleague. 

Finally, not wanting to defile any of our shampoo bottles with roach remains, I settled on a section of the newspaper.  I folded it up -- and somehow, the roach had remained motionless this whole time -- and went about bludgeoning the disgusting interloper with the New York Times Real Estate pages.  Naturally, I screamed with each hit, because the thing started to run around and I was grossed out, and screaming is just what you DO when you are in charge of killing a gross insect.  Then I left the paper on top of the corpse, because I can be the bug-killer if necessary, but unless I absolutely HAVE to, I cannot be the dead-bug-picker-upper.  In my household, that is the man's job, and since Joe was then back from walking the dog, he came and disposed of everything for me. 

I want to note here that we don't get roaches all that often, but on occasion during the fall they crawl up THROUGH OUR SHOWER DRAIN and present themselves in our bathroom, where they are decidedly unwelcome.  I guess technically they are some sort of water bug; I really cannot research anything insect-related for fear of the Google images I might come upon (I did a search for house centipedes once, years ago, after coming upon one in our bathroom, and I will not be doing that again ever ever ever).  Fortunately, unlike the HUGE-ASS Southern cockroaches I grew up with, the New York water bug things cannot fly and are fairly torpid.

Writing about this reminded me that sometime in about sixth grade, my brother had to do a bug collection for his science class.  As in, he had to go out and find bugs, kill them in a non-smushed way, pin them to a display board, and label them appropriately.  I remember him and my mom going out in the yard and in the woods behind our house with jars to catch bugs every evening for what seemed like WEEKS, and he had to have some ABSURD number of different types of bugs, and the whole thing is just making my brain scream, NO NO NO!  Why would a teacher inflict that sort of agony on kids and their parents?  WHYYYYYY?

I am never going to be able to be the parent that is all, "Oh, bugs are so COOL!  Look how NEAT that beetle is that's climbing up your arm!  Isn't nature WONDERFUL?!"  I like my nature to be contained.  Preferably behind glass in a museum, if at all possible.  And even then, half the time, I am all, "GROSS.  What IS that thing?"  So.  Someone else can nurture Felicity's interest in entomology, should she happen to develop one.

(And yet, strangely, I had no problem dissecting stuff in biology and physiology classes in high school.  I actually really enjoyed that -- except when we dissected a fish, because fish are generally gross and the smell almost killed me AND the one I got had a GIANT egg sac in it, which was SICK.  We dissected frogs and CATS, even, and that did not bother me.  But anything insect-related makes me feel creepy and crawly for DAYS.)

My Weekend in List Form

Here is a smattering of things that happened over the weekend.

1.  We passed Paul Sorvino on the street.  I am fairly certain he has not aged in my lifetime.  I am going to guess that I first saw him in either "Oh, God!" (it's tough to beat George Burns and John Denver mixing it up onscreen, am I right?) or in his single-episode turn on "Moonlighting" as David Addison's father. 

Incidentally, I watched "Moonlighting" with my parents every week when I was 10 to 12-ish, and it often scared the pants off me, even though the mysteries were kind of beside the point.  Does anyone else remember the woman whose husband had thrown acid on her face, so she had to wear this creepy mask all the time?  Jeepers.  The only non-scary episode I can think of from that show (look, I got scared from "Murder, She Wrote" so we are talking about a very sensitive soul, okay?) was the take-off on "The Taming of the Shrew" that they did that one time. 

I cannot believe that I have this much brain space devoted to "Moonlighting" but it certainly explains a lot about my ever-increasing failures of short-term memory.

2.  We went to two fall fairs thrown by preschools in our neighborhood.  You know that scene in "You've Got Mail" when they go to a little autumn festival in that park by the 72nd Street subway station and it makes it look like New York is this quaint small town, all face-painting and bake sales and beanbag tosses?  Well, these fairs were actually kind of like that, except with the occasional bum strolling through and a lot more screaming kids.  I really do love where we live.  We have all the city stuff at our disposal, but our neighborhood really does have a village-like feel, just with a crapload more people.  And no Meg Ryan.  But hey, we've got Paul Sorvino!

(Felicity in her "spooky house dress.")

3. Perhaps detracting a bit from the celebratory seasonal mood, we took Felicity from one of the schoolyard fairs to an adjacent playground, and moments after we arrived, an air-conditioner FELL OUT OF A FOURTH-FLOOR WINDOW INTO THE PLAYGROUND from the neighboring apartment building.    Thank GOD no one was injured (or worse), but that sucker fell within FEET of one of the play structures and every parent there pretty much simultaneously crapped our pants.  Holy MOSES. 

4. After that excitement, we absconded to the bucolic suburbs to visit with our friends and let Felicity run amok in a back yard (so exotic!).  She had a grand time, as you can see.  (If you have any desire to watch me run like a fool, here is your chance.)

In that last picture with her pal Murphy, you can see Felicity working on her sharing.  Her current technique is to shove a toy in another child's face and say, "SHARE IT."  It's a bit forceful, but the spirit is there.  She also said "Murphy turn!" after she took a ride in that sweet car from the video.  But when he hesitated too long, she said, "Bish-tee turn!" and got back in.  She is evidently quick to grasp the concept of "you snooze, you lose."

5. We visited no less than four playgrounds in the course of three days.  On Friday, I took Felicity to one that has a large sandbox.  She clambered in (out of the blue, she became okay with sand -- too late for all those beach vacations, but whatever!) and made friends with a curly-haired girl who is two.  Felicity kept saying, "Sandbox!" and the other little girl would say, "YES, sandbox!"  Then they would shove their toys at each other and say, "SHARE IT."  I just love when kindred spirits find one another. 

How was your weekend?

Hidden Talents

I think a lot of people (especially women) have trouble touting their own skills and abilities; many of us are quick to downplay our achievements or brush off compliments because we've been conditioned to be modest or we feel unworthy of praise or we've absorbed some other crappy message that tells us not to appear overly confident or boastful.  Well, those messages are a load of horseshit. 

I don't think we should all walk around acting like the sun rises and sets solely for us or treating others like our minions all the livelong day; but I DO think we should each recognize the unique things that we bring to the table.  Regardless of what you do with your life, you have a lot to contribute -- to others, to your family, to the common good, to whomever and whatever you damn well please. 

Here are five things I know that I am good at (and then I want to hear about YOUR talents, whichever ones just pop into your mind when you think about it):

1.  Writing.  I can put words into sentences, and sentences into paragraphs, to convey ideas and information.  I'm never going to be the next JK Rowling -- I'm not a big idea-generator -- but in theory I could be a good memoirist or a novelist who heavily borrows from experience.  I am good at organizing thoughts into a logical sequence and using language to make them understandable to others.  I can also use the written word to argue the shit out of something persuade, without being overly argumentative.

2.  Giving advice.  I love to hear about other people's quandaries -- whatever someone's current family/work/friend dilemma is, I want to listen, dissect the issues, learn more about the personalities involved, delve into the emotions, and think about possible solutions.  I think at my core I am a counselor; in whatever setting, I thrive on helping people untangle problems in their own lives or figure out some complicated issue.  To some extent, I get to do this in my professional life, but it's also fun to do in other contexts (someone give me an advice column, STAT!).

3.  Getting to know shy people.  I am sort of smack in the middle between introvert and extrovert; I love spending time with people and can chat until the cows come home, but I also need a fair amount of alone time to recharge.  In social settings, I am a bit shy, especially if it's a large group thing and I don't know anyone.  I am kind of a load at a big event like a wedding, because if I know only one or two people there, I will cling to them like grim death.  But I also have the ability to spot others who are like this -- those who are reserved and who might be passed over as being standoffish, awkward, or hard to get to know.  I can get them talking and make them feel less alone, in part because I know how many times I've felt so glad that someone else did the same with me.

4.  Being organized.  Oh, LAWD, how I love to organize.  I love to organize objects, spaces, ideas, people, closets.  I make lists with sub-lists and pros and cons when I'm facing a decision.  I write everything down.  I have ongoing to-do lists and I get an almost sick satisfaction out of crossing items off as I complete them.  I use a paper calendar because I like to see everything laid out before me, in my own handwriting.  I love to pare down, clean out, purge -- I throw out old crap from my drawers and closets at least two times a year, and every time I manage to find many trash bags' worth of clothes, books, and other detritus around the house that needs to stop taking up space.  My desk is so neat you could serve dinner for four off it without needing to move anything. 

(Maybe what I need to do is to offer to come listen to people's problems while cleaning out their closets and organizing their workspaces!  And then I will write a book about it.)

5.  Keeping a consistent routine.  See, this could be written as "doggedly adhering to a rigid, anal retentive schedule," but I am spinning it as a positive.  I enjoy predictability and comfort; I am soothed by knowing what's going to happen and when.  This has been particularly handy with Felicity -- since she was a few months old, she has thrived on a schedule.  It's not like we have anything tacked to the wall, dictating that she have her breakfast no later than 7:30 or that she nap at 1pm on the dot.  Rather, we have created a certain structure to her day, but within that the exact times differ (within narrowish margins) and of course what she does from day to day varies as well.  She doesn't FLIP OUT when we stray from the routine, but she knows when the required things are supposed to happen, and this has (so far) meant that she happily runs to the tub (yelling "NAKED BABY ON LOOSE!") when it's bath time and goes to bed without a fuss.  And for myself, while I leave room for variation, many of my days proceed along the same general structure (waking time, breakfast, shower, commute, etc) and this works very well for me. 

I could go on -- these were the first five things that popped into my head as I was writing, but I can think of plenty more (sleeping, for one; doing things in moderation for another; also, writing thank you notes, planning trips, doggedly chipping away at formidable tasks, and tuning out annoyances). 

And now I must know:  what are five things you're great at?

Mah Accent, Y'all

The whole accent vlog thing has reached a critical mass and I can no longer resist joining in.  I am not made of stone, after all.  I filmed this with an iPhone propped on top of a box of printer toner, and the angle wasn't quite right so my chin is cut off for much of the action.  Also, it appears that I am just a floating head; but I think there is sufficient photographic evidence elsewhere to prove that I possess a full human body, so I'm just going to let that go. 

From watching this back, I am now painfully aware that I have an alarming amount of wrinkles setting up a colony on my forehead and around my mouth.  I usually think of myself as reasonably dewy-skinned and youthful, but nay.  The evidence is right there for all to see.  I am haggard. 

Nonetheless, I have no shame and I am always preaching about women aging gracefully and all that crap, so here you go.

(It may show up teeny tiny in Reader; but I edited it to post it a normal size so if you click through you can actually see it without a microscope.  Sigh.)

For your reference, here are the commands I was following:

Say these words:
Aunt, route, wash, oil, theatre, iron, salmon, caramel, fire, water, sure, data, ruin, crayon, toilet, New Orleans, pecan, both, again, probably, spitting image, Alabama, lawyer, coupon, mayonnaise, syrup, pajamas, caught

And answer these questions:
What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that curls into a ball when you touch it?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

Books of 2011: Part Two

The books I read in the first half of the year are reviewed here.  I realize we're not at year-end, of course, but I've gotten through a bunch of books recently and wanted to blather on for a bit about what I thought of them.  As always, feel free to weigh in on anything you've read recently, too.

Ten Thousand Saints by Eleanor Henderson.  This got a lot of accolades in the press when it came out, but I didn't love it.  I can't place exactly what bothered me about it, and I did want to keep reading it so something about the characters and plot were reasonably compelling, but it didn't set me afire. 

Silver Girl by Elin Hilderbrand.  Total beach reading.  This novel is loosely based on the Madoff scandal and follows a fictionalized version of Madoff's wife as she escapes to Nantucket to get away from the press and all the foofaraw after her husband was arrested.  Some parts strained credulity or were kind of hackneyed, but overall I liked it.  I thought the characters were well-drawn and their emotional lives seemed both real and realistic. 

Daughters of the Revolution by Carolyn Cooke.  This was another one that got a fair amount of attention when it came out, and once again it didn't bowl me over.  I actually disliked this one even more than the other one; I kind of couldn't wait for it to be over.  The plot synopsis described the book as being about the first women to attend an elite, all-male private school in the 1960s.  It...wasn't really about that.  I can't even articulate what it was about, honestly.  I couldn't connect with the characters and sometimes I was like, wait, WHO are we talking about now?  What's going on?  Meh.

Imperfect Birds by Anne Lamott.  I have no idea why I have made it this far in life without reading Anne Lamott, but this book made me want to read everything she's ever written.  I realized after I finished it that this was the THIRD book in a series of three, and I HATE THAT.  I hate reading things out of order, and I think the Kindle Store needs to be much clearer about this sort of thing.  Like if you look at the synopsis, it should link you to the first two books in the trilogy so you can read them IN ORDER.  Sigh.  However, this did not dampen my enjoyment of this particular book.  It is just gorgeously written, and it's not trying too hard or being all complex for the sake of some grand literary idea.  It's just about people who seem as real as you and me.  And it made me DREAD the teenage years, for me and for Felicity.  Oh, dear.

Rosie by Anne Lamott.  Obviously, after reading the LAST book in the series (can you tell I am not over this yet?), I had to buy the first two, and this one, inexplicably, is not available on Kindle so I had to order a hard copy and SWEAT through the three days it took to arrive from Amazon.  It did not disappoint, though, and the only reason I didn't weep inconsolably when it was over was that I had one more Rosie book to go. 

Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott.  As you may have guessed, this is Book Two of the Rosie series.  It was also terrific.  I will say that Imperfect Birds was my favorite of the three, and I really hope that Lamott goes on to write more, because I miss these characters and want to see what happens with them next. 

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.  I KNOW.  I told you, I wanted to read the entire Anne Lamott canon, but I stopped after this one.  This is a book about writing, and I loved it.  Reading it felt like flopping onto the couch with Anne Lamott and having her pat your hand and say, "Listen.  Here's how it is to be a writer.  And you can do it."  I underlined a lot of it and laughed a bunch, and it made me realize that a lot of my hang-ups about writing are COMPLETELY normal and in fact almost universal to writers.  Though the difference, of course, is that writers actually WRITE, whereas I just dither about writing and tell myself I'm worthless.  So that's fun. 

This Year You Write Your Novel by Walter Mosley.  This writing how-to was a bit sterner, but it also had useful advice.  When I stop dithering and procrastinating, I'll have it nearby to consult as needed.

Still Missing by Chevy Stevens.  Oh, you guys.  I have very STRONG, and rather negative feelings about this book, so if you loved it, please skip to the next book -- we can agree to disagree!  It's cool.  I HATED the narrative voice and I HATED the ridiculous plot (especially the second half) and I HATED every character in it.  The concept seemed intriguing and suspenseful -- a woman gets kidnapped and taken to a remote cabin by this creepy dude -- but I just didn't believe any of it, from the way the narrator spoke to the way everything unfolded to the absurd plot twists.  The first third or so was kind of gripping, in the way that many books seem to be these days -- that is, the writing is not good and you're not 100% buying what's going on, but somehow there is something that keeps you turning the pages.  But after that I just kept reading so I could periodically exclaim, "Wait.  WHAT?  What the...WHAT?"  My RAGE kept me going.  And then when I was done I seethed with anger about how this book got culled from some literary agent's pile of submissions and made it all the way to publication and it is supposed to be SO HARD to get published.  (I believe you've heard me rant about this before.)  So. 

Maine by J. Courtney Sullivan.  This was what I would call intelligent beach reading; it's another novel that's exploring people and family dynamics and whatnot, but it's not going out of its way to be impressive with schmaltzy language or overly quirky characters.  It was writing without tricks, and I liked it.  However, I will say, and this is not really a spoiler as it's brought out early on, that I am growing a bit WEARY of books in which women become accidentally pregnant.  This happened in SEVERAL of the books reviewed here, and it's kind of a cliche at this point, and here in 2011 we have many effective methods of birth control, so ENOUGH ALREADY.  Find another way for female characters to discover something about themselves, mmmkay?

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett.  I LOVED LOVED LOVED this book.  I did not want it to end, possibly ever, and when I finished it I was bereft to have to leave those rich, believable, complex, flawed characters behind.  Swistle wrote an excellent review of this, which is what made me disregard the kind of lame book jacket synopsis of the plot and read it.  And I would highly recommend you do the same. 

Nineteen Months

This month has been more of everything -- more verbal explosions, more hilarity, more energy (if such a thing is even possible), more gregariousness, more exploration, more climbing, more singing, more jumping, more "no," more "okay!"

Felicity can express lots of her own thoughts and observations, and she is more of a parrot than ever (undoubtedly some of the gems she has picked up from us in our less censored moments will come out at inopportune times, such as in her preschool "interviews").  She's starting to understand manners (please and thank you) and, thanks to some etiquette/empathy lessons from Joe, she likes to say, "Be nice to people.  Be nice to babies.  Be nice to everyone." 

She has committed pretty much every book she owns to memory and can rattle off the names of animals I didn't know existed (largely from the collected works of Matthew Van Fleet (zorilla, anyone?)).  She busts out with songs from her music class at random times (her latest favorite is "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain," which comes out as "Comin'! Round mountain! Comes! Toot toot!"), and when asked to count objects she always goes from one to ten, no matter whether you've shown her three or seven or twenty of whatever it is. 

She is somewhat maddeningly fickle when it comes to food; while I wouldn't call her picky, she can be...exacting in her mealtime choices.  Some days, cheese is the best thing in the world (a position with which I take no issue); others, she expresses her revulsion for all dairy products by hurling them summarily on the floor.  Yesterday, she wanted pepperoni at every meal; tomorrow, it will be chicken. 

I can't really complain, as she still embraces vegetables and eats a reasonably varied diet (enhanced with fruit-and-veggie pouches, which she still demands at every meal and snack and pretty much every minute in between).  Still, you never know if the carefully prepared quesadilla that she specifically asked you to make ("quesadilla, 'kay?") will be devoured with a happy hum, or if it will be dumped onto the floor with a baleful, withering gaze. 

Perhaps the most-heard refrain around our house is "again!  Again!"  Anything novel or remotely amusing must be repeated hundreds of times until one's petite audience is helpless with laughter.  But then the next time you do it, hoping to inspire a similar fit of giggles, you'll be lucky to get a courtesy smile.  Certain activities, such as Bag of Baby!, remain high on the request list, but for the most part Felicity's brand of comedy is to run a bit into the ground and then never speak of it again.

The pictures in this post were taken this past weekend, during our spate of August weather in October.  After an outing to the High Line was cut short thanks to about fifty busloads of tourists cramming their way into the narrow elevated park, we headed uptown to the AMNH terrace to have lunch al fresco.  Thanks to the warm day, they had the sprinklers going, and Felicity chose to ignore the calendar and go straight for the water. 

All the other parents in the vicinity were steering their kids away from the spray, hustling after them to make sure their pants didn't get wet.  But after a moment's hesitation (it is October after all -- and frankly, she was wearing a crazy adorable outfit), I let Felicity go.  She ran and shrieked and laughed and got soaked to the skin, head to toe.   It was a glorious day, mid-70s and not a single cloud in the sky.  She was bold and joyous, and she didn't care one bit what anyone else was thinking or doing.  She just went for it.  And I was not going to stand in her way.