The Life of the Wife...

I've made a new discovery, for which I'm very grateful. Arthur has a new fun thing. He thinks it's the funniest thing ever when I lean over him and say, loudly and clearly, "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain." He'll look up at me, his eyes will get very wide and he'll start to giggle. I can say "The rain in Spain..." for about five minutes without loss of amusement factor.

I can tell you that I'm being sure to ennunciate very carefully.

Yesterday, Mark made the Savoure girls cry when he shook their hands goodbye. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with my Wednesday mornings.

The Library is an OK place to go... except that Mark is convinced that if I take Arthur there too many times one of us will catch consumption. There are some times when I agree with him; the other day one of the patrons at their cafe sounded like she was going to cough her lung out.

I could go to Sweet Life... they've got nice pastries. But only so-so tea. At least they're not as loud (or expensive) as Cafe Zenon. Marche would be OK, but it's a bar; and I can't very well bring an infant into a bar, can I.

I've thought that maybe I should simply have the full moon days be days when I have my own tea salon and cocktail hour. With eurdite subjects like

• The use of griffin imagry from Babalon to England
• The alure of intelligent design
• Short presentations of music and poetry
• Why can't downtown Eugene support tea salons?

Hmmm. It's tempting. And I suppose it would motivate me to clean the house a bit more.

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In an only slightly different direction, I was reviewing the pictures I've taken to my various visits to the MET and I've noticed something. As I looked at the pictures, I had a sense of pleasure that seemed, well, a little odd. I mean, sure, it's nice to see pictures of old artefacts and dead people's jewelry and tombstones; and Mark would chime in at this point that having pictures is a whole lot nicer than cluttering up our house with acheological knick-knacks. But I felt a little like a safari hunter reviewing animals heads as I looked at my MET pictures for the hundredth time.

And, I'll admit it; I would like to wear the golden diadam of Hyksos Princess (Dynast 15 (ca. 1640-1540 BCE) Gold, carnelian, amethyst, lapis lazuli, sard, rock crystal, steatite, and faience) with the little ibex and gazelle heads and flowers. But what about the other stuff -- you can't wear an insense holder or a
hieroglyphic inscription or a statue.

And then I looked a little more closely; I relized that a lot of the art that I like in the MET has something to do with processionals and feasts. Even the Christian art; the expulsions and assumptions are movements from one place to another. Those insense holders and
funky bronze quadruped ritual items from Anatolia, the rhytons, the Proto-Elamite kneeling silver bull; they're all props for a grand entrance to a party. Even the sundials and clockworks measure the processions of the heavens.

Maybe "procession" as the ultimate expression in all art can be another cocktail hour topic.

Eugene to loose Savoure

Well, there goes the neighborhood.

Savoure, the Tea Shop of Suburban Tea Fags, is moving ten blocks from Broadway and Charnelton up to Willamette and 15th. But more importantly they won't be serving tea there!!!! This is a major bummer. With the closure of the tea salon, it will be harder for me to pretend that I'm not living in a town which is stuck somewhere between a Grateful Dead concert, a dormatory, and a rodeo.


Now I won't be able to push Arthur in the pram as part of my morning consitutional and tea. And when I teach him the proper, polite way to take tea and scones, I'm going to have to do the dishes afterwards.

OK... OK... I know... I'm going to have to teach Arthur how to do the dishes afterwards.

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In other news, since we've returned from Megan's, Mark's sister's, wedding, Muriel has been extra needy. Either that or it's gotten colder and she's more desperate for body heat.

Mark, Arthur and I were in New York for a week for the wedding. Megan's (and Morgan's) wedding went well. They got the ceremony they wanted, and it looked like everyone was having a fun time.

• Thursday, 9-15: We flew to NY; Arthur was the best baby on the plane.


• Friday, 9-16: Pre-wedding part at Uncle Matt and Aunt Joanie's house. We met many relatives, including the Zeffs from Florida.


• Saturday, 9-17: All-day wedding preparation and festivities at the Joseph Campbell Center for Symbolic Studies.


• Sunday, 9-18: We said good-bye to various out-of-state Dwyers.


• Monday, 9-19: Mark, Arthur, Mary and I go to the Rockafeller Estate for a house tour.


• Tuesday, 9-20: I ditched everyone and go to NYC; en route to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I got on the wrong train and ended up at 152nd Street, in Harlem. Once I got to the Met, I had a great time. If you had told me that I would be navigating the NY subway system ten years ago, I would have laughed. Mark and Arthur visited the newlyweds in New Paltz.


• Wednesday, 9-21: The return to Oregon. We nearly missed our connecting flight in Seattle and Arthur was only the second-best baby on the trip back home.
  

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OK. Everyone I've visited with in the last month has had one thing to say about this blog: "More Pictures of Arthur." I had kind of hoped that my writing would be interesting to some folks... but it looks like I'll just have to accept that infant photos will always trump personal essay. Who was it in Shakespeare in Love who said to "put a little dog in it"?

Doctor Stats

Here are the stats from Arthur's last doctor visit:

Date: August 15, 2005
Weight: 15 lb 0.08oz. This places Arthur over the 95% in weight for babies his age (nine weeks, at that time).
Body Length: 24.2 inches long.
Head circumference: 41 cm. I don't know why our doctor's office uses English measurments one moment and metric the next.

The doctor says that Aurthur is "in perfect health." ... And then proceded to look at us suspiciously, as if we had been feeding Arthur a pound of butter every week. Through a funnel.

Dr Jimmy: "And how do you know when he's had enough to nurse?"
Mark: "He lets us take the bottle away."

Arthur next got a series of shots. Which he hated.

In the three weeks since Arthur's visit, I think he's gained about two more pounds and Mark thinks he's gotten longer.

Mark has been back at work for about a month. When we're not walking around outside, Arthur's usually sleep or feeding.

I've discovered the Eugene Library's DVD collection, so Arthur and I have been watching The Avengers (wow, those plots are slow), Upstairs Downstairs (1905 soap opera), Star Trek: The Original Series (I've heard that a star ship captain has to be a paragon of virtue. I've never met a paragon before.) , and The Pirates of Penzance (Faithless woman, to betray me). Mark was especially horified that I got a hold of Cher's Farwell Concert (Do you believe in life after love?), and we both agreed that Troy was so terrible that not even the cool costumes and sets could help (Honor the gods, serve your city, and love your women).

Arthur seems to like the Star Trek red alert music and will go to sleep to it when we hum it.


We've also been listening to books on CD. This is helpful, because I'm realizing that I forget to speak to Arthur as I go about the house. Alice in Wonderland seems to be a hit, and I'm hoping that Arthur gets an English accent from it. When we're in the car, we listen to The da Vinci Code. Maybe Arthur will get an outrageous French accent from that.

Love For Sale

Scene: Mark and John (wearing Arthur in a sling) exiting the Lane County Fairgrounds after submitting cookies and photos for judging. They stop at the traffic light.

Mark (looking down the road at two cars speeding towards them): There's the car I want.
John: What? The station wagon?
Mark: No! Not the station wagon. The Triumph TR6.
John: We can't afford that; we're poor.
Mark: Listen to you, Mr. Tea & Scones.
John (singing): Love for sale.
Mark (also singing): Middle-aged love for sale.
John: (still singing): Love that's only slightly old. Love who says his feet are cold...

If you squint a little...

Tuesday morning when I woke up and looked at the crib where Arthur slept, I thought I saw him levitating above the crib. Since my glasses were off, and because the perspective looked wrong, telekinesis was not high on my list of explanations for this apparent floating behavior. I fished for and found my glasses; when I put them on, what I had mistaken for Arthur's head turned into a pale green gift bag, and his body resolved into the bug net which was stuffed into a storage pocket on the crib. I took my glasses off; levitating baby. I put them back on; nothing odd looking here, no reason to be alarmed.

While I'm on the subject of weight, we weighed Arthur last weekend; he's up to fourteen pounds. He started out at over seven, so that means that he's been gaining a pound a week.

Speaking of feeding. I had just finished feeding Arthur his lunch Wednesday when Muriel jumped up on to the couch. Muriel is handling the transition to a household with a child nicely, but there are moments when she will insist on coming up to suck all of the oxygen out of the room.


This was one of those times. Muriel pressed up against Arthur with some kind of cat notion of occupying my lap. My hands were kind of full burping Arthur at the time. The nurses at the hospital showed us a way to burp babies while the baby is sitting in your lap. So I was leaning Arthur over a little when a bit of white spit-up and baby formula drooled out of his mouth and only Muriel.

I started laughing. If I hadn't been holding Arthur I would have fallen off of the couch. Muriel couldn't figure out what I was laughing at, but I think she knew it was about her.

Wednesday morning on my way to Savoure, I looked across 10th street, and there was a stout man with long gray hair pushing a shopping cart the opposite way. I was only slightly better dressed and I realized that my clothes and the fact that I was pushing a baby instead of my belongings were really the only differences between us (OK, I was skinnier and my hair wasn't quite so gray).

I think that's one of the weirder things about being a stay-at-home dad. There don't seem to be many of us guys about, so we stick out when we're on the street. Then of course my writer's imagination took over and I thought, what a great spell to have if you were a street person magician -- the harassing cops are closing in on you, so you cast your spell and poof! Instead of a homeless person with a shopping cart, you're a stay-at-home dad pushing the pram; nothing odd looking here, no reason to be alarmed.


We got a magazine in the mail today. Actually, it was addressed to Arthur, which made me suspicious that this was actually propaganda sent out by the Baby-Military-Industrial Complex. I was right; the articles were written by Pod People Parents.

I nearly died reading one article about gross babies; the author goes to a fancy dinner party at a friend's house when, right in the middle of the dinner, the hostess whips out a port-a-potty for her two-year-old daughter to use in full view of the guests and just inches away from the dining room table. The author is horrified, but three years later, after becoming a Pod Person Parent, laughs at her earlier notion that small children should learn to have bowel movements in, say, a bathroom. I am not making this up.

Fear sells these kinds of magazines, so they are filled with "your baby will die or become an underachieving bum pushing a shopping cart unless you act now and often" articles. Acting now and often usually involves purchasing enrichment toys or programming your cell phone to dial 911 the moment you sense that a bum with a shopping cart might be following you.

I'm holding out for a parent's magazine that tells you how to teach your child telekinesis.

Getting Things Off My Chest

This morning I made the mistake of having a large cup of tea before plunking The Child into a Baby Bjorn pack and walking to the library. The result is that three blocks away on the return trip home I had to pee really badly.

Have you ever tried to pee with a child hanging in front of you? First of all, you can't see anything below your chest. Second of all, you can't be entirely sure of your aim. There's always that little bit of doubt in the back of your mind as you peer around the child's bulk: am I actually delivering the stream to the bowl, or am I doing some kind of rim-shot and is it half splashing onto the floor? I guess I'm going to have to practice, because I think it's profoundly weird to have a floor length mirror next to the toilet reflecting your every movement.

What I want to know is do the !Kung people of the Kalahari Desert have this sort of problem?

Luckily, The Child was asleep in the Baby Bjorn pack during all of this.

It's a toss up in our house which we like better; the baby sling or the Baby Bjorn. The sling is pretty easy to throw on and take off. The Baby Bjorn is a little more consistent in terms of how The Child is positioned against us. The baby sling offers more sunlight protection. To make sure The Child doesn't get too much sun, Mark typically drapes him with receiving blankets. The overall effect is that he looks like Ambassador Kosh the Vorlon from Babylon Five. Or Mother Superior from The Sound of Music.

Speaking of The Sound of Music, we're slowly discovering his taste in music. He likes older Annie Lennox, but doesn't seem enamored of her latest release, Bare. He likes Wendy Carols' recording of Switched on Bach, and the New Koto Ensemble of Tokyo's recording of Vivaldi's Four Seasons and Handel's Water Music. Last I checked Anna Russell was not a big hit. The B-52's seem to be OK, and so are They Might Be Giants. There were mixed results for Yma Sumac.

Moving on to the visual arts, The Child likes black and white objects. I used to think that all those black and white baby toys were some kind of marketing trick, but I made a bunch of high contrast Lamaze cards. He consistently chooses the black and white graphics over the ones with color. So it looks like we're in for an Art Deco period at our house.

In other baby related news, we're trying to make sure that we have some skin contact with The Child. We've been commanded by the Baby Police. "Skin on skin time," they said, "make sure you spend time in skin contact with him."

You want to know how that usually works? One of us take off our shirt and plunks The Child down on our chest. He lays there for about twenty seconds. Then he hears our heartbeat or something and starts rooting around for a nipple. Mark and I don't have milk producing nipples; he's known this his entire life, but he still hasn't caught on. Rooting happens for another twenty seconds, and then he grabs a fist full of chest hair. And pulls. I really have to hand it to baboons who run around the savanna for months with an infant baboon hanging from their chest hairs without a baby sling or Baby Bjorn. Maybe that's why they screech. I know I'd be hoarse after ten minutes.

Toys

Today (Sunday) Mark took Arthur out and so I had several hours of baby free time.

I suppose that I'm supposed to feel guilty, but it was great. I got some writing done without having to wear a sleeping small person around my neck. It was nice to be able to leave the house for a moment and not worry about Arthur, and being released from the two-hour Feed me, Seymour cycle was fabulous.

We seem to have a million baby clothes. I think about a half-million of these we can give to other new parents, as Arthur is already getting too big for the newborn stuff.

It seems like every other day he's bigger. A few days ago I realized he's taking up about half the length of the cradle; now he's taking up almost half. His crib seems a little smaller, too.

We might be raising a tank.

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OK. I admit it. We made our first baby toy impulse buy. Small wooden blocks with numbers, letters, and animals on them. I'm not sure what we were thinking.

That's a lie. Mark was thinking, "Look, wooden toys that were made in America." I was thinking "Oh! How cute!" and secretly planning photoshoots with baby and blocks.

Up until then, we were secure in the knowledge that Arthur's happy with several books to look at. He really likes Animals on White, a huge photo book by Pete Dine (he liked the Irish Wolfhound and the bull); and Tiaras Past and Present by Geoffrey Munn. The Tiara book was the first book Arthur turned the pages of all by himself: he seemed to prefer a neo-classical tiara made up of diamonds and emeralds owned by Dame Ellen Terry and later by Dame Joan Sutherland over a tiara of rock crystal made by Cartier for Baron Pierre de Gunsburg, 1912.

It was only after we had paid for the blocks that we realized that the only thing Arthur's going to do with the blocks is suck on them for the for the next eighteen months. Then he'll probably throw them at us (or the cat). I had about consigned them to the shelf of misfit toys when I realized that they would give me something educational to wave in front of Arthur as he sucked down another six ounces of organic baby formula.

John (propped up on the couch within reach of baby blocks and a Pepsi): (Picks up block): "See Arthur, this is a swan. This is a swan."

Arthur (in the manner of Maggie Simpson): "Suck suck."

John (rotating block 90 degrees in the X axis): "And this is the letter A. This is an A."

Arthur: "Suck. Coo....coo. Suck... (eyes roll upward into head before closing).

John (discarding block, grabbing Pepsi): So much for higher education.

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Mark has re-discovered rubber-band driven airplanes.

We took Arthur to the park to fly them. The rubber-band on Mark's plane broke, and after a few crazy flights, my plane got stuck in a tree.

Arthur was completely unimpressed. So we made him wear sunglasses.

Counting Rhymes

Thursday morning I was able to get Arthur to Savoure all by myself. I'm proud of this achievement, because it demonstrates that I've gotten far enough out of the baby-haze to be able to string more than three thoughts together.

After pushing the pram to Savoure, I parked it next to a small table and began to write. I managed to get some notes and scenes down for a short story involving busses when I noticed a very small spider dangling from the pram. Twenty minutes later there was another one on the other side. Arthur's pram seemed to be a kind of spider heaven. I managed to snag both spiders by their webs. With them hanging off of my pen, I delivered them to the bushes outside the tea shop.

I'm sure there's a significant message here. Spiders hanging from my pen... is the pen my tool for weaving webs of words? Ideas taken from the cradle to the bushes? What else does one take to the bushes? Or possibly the spiders are part of some sort of Old English counting rhyme.

Counting spiders in a crib;
Arachne's daughters will not fib.

One is for colic,
Two is for sleep.
Three is for jaundice,
Four a diaper heap.

Five is for showers,
Six is nursing time.
Seven is a stranger,
Eight is pantomime.

Nine is for in-laws,
Ten is a test.
Eleven is a doctor's bill,
Twelve's a spider's nest.


I wish I could say that I found the rhyme in an old book, or possibly a picture book by Heidi Holder, but I made it up. It does have the advantage of being an accurate divinatory rhyme, because Arthur managed to sleep through both Savoure spider visitations.

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I realize that I've been slightly remiss in not reporting the results of the last doctor visit, which was about a week ago. Arthur's weight on June 28 was 4183 grams or 9 lb., 3.5 oz. Mark and I are pretty sure that Arthur's up to 10 lb. by now. His height was measured at 21.4 inches; but do you know how hard it is to accurately measure a squirming baby? Arthur's head circumference is 37.2 cm or 14 and 5/8 inches.

Arthur's very healthy. He's also more or less ravenous when he's not sleeping. I've watched him suck down 6 oz of formula in one sitting. The doctor says that if he consistently devours more than 36 oz in one day to mix rice into the formula.

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I find that I'm developing a little more sympathy for what I call "Pod People Parents." You know the type of parent who has redecorated the entire house with Fisher-Price, and can only talk about baby poop, the baby, toys, the baby, formula, the baby, their play group, the baby, car seats, the baby, the baby and the baby? Extreme cases are only able to have adult conversation for no more than ten seconds.

I used to blame Pod People Parents for being weak-minded or misguided. Anyway, I realize now that it's not the parents' fault. It's not just that their baby has put them into a sleep deprived state. It's not just that the baby exudes pheromones as a kind of mind-control. It's that no matter where they go, all about ninety percent of other adults want to talk to them about is the baby.

In some cases, it's not so much a conversation about the baby as it is a kind of monologic aria. The other day I was trapped under Arthur while a woman I had met moments before launched into her twenty minute solo of "What a Beautiful Child." At least I think that's what she said. I was a little sleep deprived at the time, and what attention I did have to spare from feeding Arthur his formula was spent grunting, "Uh huh."

I know I should be more gracious about everyone's excitement. After all, Arthur is being raised by two gay dads. One is a baby, raised by two dads; there's a counting rhyme for you. It could have been worse. She could have been telling me horror stories about spider bites.

Chivalry is not Dead (Yet)

I think I've discovered a new baby superpower. The ability to affect traffic patterns at a three block distance.

Either that or there's something in the Eugene water that is similar to Northfield, Minnesota, water. When I lived in Northfield, it was dangerous to cross the streets. Not because of any traffic, but rather a case of what I used to call "Terminal Niceness." This is where two or more car drivers spend five minutes using hand signals (this was in the days before cell phones) to try to urge the other drivers to be the first ones through a (usually uncontrolled) intersection.

The Eugene twist is that someone in a car several blocks away will see me standing on a street corner with the pram and slam on the brakes and then use head and hand gestures to try to get me to cross the street (thank the gods they don't have my cell phone number). I think I need to write a letter to the local Eugene rag:

"To all automobile drivers in Eugene:

How wonderful it is that you want to help me out as I wait to push my infant son around the downtown area of Eugene. May I suggest that when you see me with the pram, waiting at an uncontrolled intersection, devoid of crossing signal or pedestrian crossing that, instead of slowing down or stopping in the middle of the street, you continue to drive your car in a regular, controlled and predictable fashion? For those of you wishing to show support, a simple wave and a thumbs-up as you drive by would be great.

I know when you slow down, you mean to be helpful; but every time this happens I wonder several things: A) is that driver lost? B) is that driver waiting for me to step into the street so they can speed up? and, C) is that driver going to get rear-ended by the driver behind them? It's great that Chivalry is Not Dead in Eugene; but as it's been more than ten years since my last CPR class, I'm afraid if you keep this sort of thing up it soon will be.

Gratefully Yours, John Burridge"

I suppose if they do print it, I'll be able to tell who's from out of town; or at least Northfield.

Rejection by Mail

I just got a rejection for my short story Corporate Samurai. I also made semi-finalist (again) in Writers of the Future for my short story The Colossus of Rhodes; while it's nice to make honorable mention, it would be nicer to actually win (and sell) a story for a change. I'm waiting for the critique that I'll receive as the prize for recieving honorable mention. The other short stories that have made honorable mention are Briallen Dreaming of Myrmidons and Skies of Dreaming.

Anyway, all these rejections brings my number of manuscripts in the mail down to two. My writing group's wisdom is that if you have ten stories in the mail at once, chances are good that you'll sell one of them (you don't get to pick which one, however). So it's time to get cracking and put manuscripts into the mail.

Civilized Baby

I'm very proud of us.

Today we took Arthur to his first tea at Savoure. The visit went without a hitch.

Well, almost. The bottle of formula leaked. Luckily, we discovered this before Arthur did, so there wasn't a big scene. We parked the pram right next to our table. Mark had Willamette Morning Blend. I had Earl Grey Blue. We shared a plate of (high cholesterol) scones. Arthur slept through most of the tea (although there was a minor break for a diaper change).

We decided that Monday is French day, so when we got home, we put on Edith Piaf.

Yesterday Arthur met my parents. They were very excited. Arthur also met Vaal.

Only in Eugene

I'm pinned under a child. I'm amazed that I can type this, as I am holding Arthur in my right arm. At any moment we expect a Guatemalan baby sling to arrive in the mail. This will be a good thing, as it will free both of my hands. I'll admit that the stick the finger in the baby's mouth to trick him into thinking it is a nipple has lost its appeal (for me at least) because Arthur's sucking reflex is strong enough to take off fingernails. I've gotten to the point I sometimes look down at Arthur and think, "Augh!! There's a parasite latched onto my index finger!"

Last night (Wednesday) was Arthur's First Full Moon and the First Full Moon of Summer. We thought we might be able to see moonrise. Mark and I put him in his pram and were pushing him down a street near our house, minding our own business, when we walked by a mother and her six-month old. The mother was watering her front yard garden. The six-month old rode in a pack on her mother's back.

We got to talking. "What formula are you using?" she asked. The next thing we knew, she was offering to pump milk for Arthur. Her partner thought she was a little crazy as she wrote down her name and phone number for us. It was sweet, but at the time I must have had a odd look on my face.

We knew it was only a matter of time before the Secret Society of Mothers Who Pump Breast Milk would contact us.

Happy Solstice

Each new day with The Child seems to last forever. Maybe that's something to do with the 2 hour feeding schedule. Or maybe it has something to do with the goofy sleep schedule that is creeping into my days.

Mark continues to be a sweetie; he's become a laundry demon, whisking soiled clothes to the laundry facilities next door. He's also been sure that we each take some baby-free time each day.

The Child looks bigger today (Tuesday) than he did a few days ago. It's a relief; given all the food he eats I was beginning to wonder where he was putting it all. His solstice event was loosing his umbilical cord. It was pretty gross the night before solstice, hanging on his stomach in a red bloody paste. I found the umbilical bit in the morning. As a proper pagan parent, I suppose I need to sew up a bag and put the cord into it for him.

(Cue drumming)
John (dressed in ritual robes): "Oh my son, several hours after your first Summer Solstice, the umbilical cord that sustained you inside your mother's body fell away."
Teen Child (rolling eyes): "That's nice; can I have the car keys?"
Mark (stops drumming): "If we're done, can I stop drumming? It's hurting my wrists."

---

Yesterday (Monday) Mark and I put The Child into the baby Bjorn carrier thing and I carried him on my chest to the Eugene Library. The Library had a book on the Summer Solstice on hold for me. Of course I had to sing Sensitive New-Aged Guys by Christine Lavin as we walked. We hadn't gotten a half-block away from home when one of our neighbors pounced from her porch and wanted to see The Child. Once we got to the Library, we put him into the pram and pushed him back home. A different neighbor pounced as we returned home. I think I need a T-shirt that reads, "It takes one child to raze a village." The Child was out like a light by the time we got back to our house. I can tell that the pram is going to be my very good friend over the next few months.

One of our other very good friends is a heartbeat bear we got at a recent shower. It's a stuffed bear with a recording of a heart beat in it. It will play a whooshing rhythm for about twenty minutes and then turn itself off. It's kind of strange to me because it sounds a bit like the engine room from Star Trek. It's also oddly compelling because after a while, the relentless pounding noise starts to work its voodoo on my libido.

Heartbeat Bear: "Thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh..."
John (entering the bedroom where Mark has put The Child to sleep in the cradle): "Man, that bear really puts him to sleep."
Mark: "Yeah. He's out."
John: "It's odd; it kind of makes me want to do it."
Mark: "Everything makes you want to do it."
John (indignant): "Nuh-uh! Ancient Assyrian Art does not make me want to do it."
Heartbeat Bear: "Thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh..."
Mark: "But Ancient Egyptian Art does. (Takes classic Egyptain arms out stance) I don't see what the difference is."
John: "Assyrian Art is too militaristic; the Egyptians had a good eye for the human form. I still don't understand why this bear does what it does."
Mark: "That's because it's like mommy's heartbeat; Freud didn't get everything wrong, you know."
Heartbeat Bear: "Thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh..."
John: "What? Pound-pound-pound equals mom equals sex?"
Mark: "Yep; why do you think drumming is such an integral part of religion?"
John: "Mommy's heartbeat? Eeuw!!"
Mark: "It's primal; it's the first thing you heard for the first six months in the womb."
John (runs out of bedroom): "Mommy's heartbeat?"
Heartbeat Bear: "Thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh..."

---

Mark and I have been splitting up dad-duty. During my watch Monday, I decided to take The Child on another pram trip. I did a quick walk around the block. I was pulling the pram behind me in our front yard when I thought I heard The Child make a very odd clacking sound. I stopped the pram and I heard the sound again, only it wasn't coming from Arthur; it was coming from a crow perched on the power lines in the alley over our house. Traces of white frosted its black wings and its eyes glittered like hemetite beads. It inclined its beak as if trying to look into the pram, so I pushed back the cover for the crow to see. The crow peered down from the power line, then got interested in something else.

(cue drumming)
John (whisking aside his ritual robes to reveal a box): "And for your sixteenth birthday, I have made you this."
Teen Child (muttering): "It's not another mobile, is it?"
John: "What?"
Teen Child: "What is it?" (opens box) "A cloak of crow feathers?"
Mark (stops drumming): "Eeuw; so that's what you did with that carcass. I hope you washed those feathers before you sewed them together."

First Fathers' Day

Our first Fathers' Day is over.

Our house is getting back to normal; we moved furniture around and now our bed is back in our bedroom and Arthur's cradle is at the head of our bed. It will be nice to sleep in our bed in the bedroom.

Arthur's a little fussy today. Mark thinks one of my secondary super-dad powers is bouncing Arthur to sleep. We think his embilical cord is bothering him. Maby tomorrow we'll take a picture of it and post it. It sort of smells like Pickle's ears did and in general looks like a small shred of dead flesh. I suppose that we'll have to make up some sort of ritual with lots of drumming, lots of fathers, encase the cord in lucite when it falls off, and read passages from Robert Bly's Iron John.


In other news, I finally finished the mobile.

Well, OK. It is missing an octahedron. But as someone said yesterday, we can leave the mystery of the octahedron as a special treat of discovery in eight years. Arthur really loves looking at the mobile. I'll admit, it is neat, but I'm not sure that I'm as mesmerized by it as Arthur is.

Maybe for his birthday I can add some blinking LEDs.

More Pictures

Hello.

Since I know someone will want to see a picture of Arthur's placenta, here's the link to it:

http://www.peak.org/~burridge/Arthur/P6110055.JPG

It was actually kind of cool. I think it looks like a tree, and I imagine that I'll have to meditate on it before I go to bed tonight and see what fun dreams or poetry I come up with. The OB turned it inside-in and showed us how it connected to the inside of V's womb and how Arthur had been floating around in the amniotic sack (and where he broke through).

Since we've had about a million phone calls a day and tons of e-mails asking for pictures, pictures and more pictures, you can see other pictures in the directory
http://www.peak.org/~burridge/Arthur/