Hurst Street

Good Clean Geek Fun

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 21:48:00 +0000

About 1.5 minutes of "WTF?" Then. The rest is magical genius. I love L.A.

Dialog

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 02:46:00 +0000

[While watching Independence Day.]

[Yes, again. What of it?]

Iain: If I was in Independence Day, and the aliens came and shot up my Go-Jeep, I'd...that'd...be EXTRA bad.

Me: MmmHmm...

[Iain makes a fort under the covers and watches from there.]

Let me point out that this film is educational in nature. Iain can identify the White House, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the Grand Canyon, and the Lincoln Monument thanks to Independence Day. He also knows about Marine One and Air Force One.

I'm planning to teach him key lines of dialog. Example: "I'm going to give it a virus. A computer virus." Ooooo...that'll show those pesky aliens.

Iain Takes the Camera - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 19:09:00 +0000

First, there was this visit. Iain was wee. Check out his dimpled thighs.

Then there was this visit. Devin brought Iain foam swords and they spent a happy day chasing each other.

And then there was 2011.

These days, Iain can take his own picture of his biggest, silliest, and definitely strongest friend.

For days after Devin left, Iain demanded "Throw me at the ceiling!!" and we had to admit that we cannot.

OK, Not Bragging But...

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 02:30:00 +0000

"Take a picture of my head!!!" he demanded. Charles complied.

Cooking is fun. When Charles's oldest fried and his friend Lucia visited last month they reminded us of the old, good advice that when kids cook they're more likely to eat new foods. Iain helps me bake, but convincing him to try cookies don't take much work.

Other foods? Much, much more challenging. But their comments lingered in my noodle. So tonight Charles and I made pizza. We invited Iain to join us and he rolled out his very own pizza. I sprinkled on cheese and crisped it on our pizza stone. Eh, voila! Pizza for one.

Only he said, "No!" He underestimated his father. Charles said, "Oh, ok. Time for bed, then."

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Iain took a bite. Then another. Eventually, with a few reminders, he finished about 50% of the pizza.

ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION? HE ATE PIZZA. Granted, it was melted cheese on pizza - no tomato sauce, no pepperoni, no nothing - but still. That's a new food.

Attack of the Space Aliens

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 15:02:00 +0000

This guy's a space ranger, see? And he's after the aliens. The bad aliens. They broke things [I was watching Independence Day] and they need to be put in a Time Out.

Then we're going to have to re-build. Like, we need to rebuild the trees and the leaves and the cars and trucks and buildings. Bad aliens. I'll shoot them with my double flashlight. Grr.

Stinky

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:27:00 +0000

Hi. Mom's classroom smelled like feet. And not, like, recently-pedicured feet, either. Sooo...

I made her a clove pomander. It's a space ship. With a face. And doors and windows and landing gear. Other stuff, too. But mostly a face.

She made a couple of them, too. Hers are boring. Bore. Ing. Seriously. But they smell good, so I guess it's ok. She's doing the best she can. I know that.

-Iain

Juno 1998-2011

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 03:13:00 +0000

We are now a one-dog household.

Iain Takes a Picture

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 07:21:00 +0000

The Mom, making the cake. Mmm...cake.

I Can Has Slippers?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 06:13:00 +0000

Please note the total destruction of Chez Grandparents. I think we know who is to blame:

That's right: rocket man.

Every time we handed out a present, he would say, "Is it for me?" and "I LOVE IT." And we would say, "Open it!" Anything flat elicited, "I hope it's a book!"*

This is really the first year he's been fully aware of the Christmas concept. He recognizes Santa, he wants lights on the house (we told him he can have lights if he'll eat chicken and french fries. He said no.), and he actually went to sleep last night and tonight because of the promise that when he wakes up there will be special gifts. Also, he learned to rip off gift wrap this year.

*Proof we are good parents. Yes, I'm smirking. What of it?

College Plans

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 02:28:00 +0000

Me: "Iain, where are you going to go to college?"

[Pause]

Iain: "Dragon Mountain."

Me: "Is it hard to get in there?"

Iain: "Yes, a dragon lurks inside."

...

Iain: "You're my pet." [He pats me.] "You're a bad cat. A bad girl cat."

[Iain exits stage right.]

What Happens When You Get Up At 635am

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 02:03:00 +0000

Asleep in his snack.

Checking In

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 16:58:00 +0000

This morning, 635am:

I am sitting at the counter in the kitchen, reading the interwebs and drinking tea. Everyone else is asleep, or so I assume.

Iain appears, in his jammies, and says, "Everything ok here?"

Uh....yeah? And you?

He then played Legos for half an hour before breakfast.

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 02:29:00 +0000

I showed one of my students this.

He replied with this:

Ice Cream

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 04:28:00 +0000

So Iain disappears into his bedroom and reappears without his shirt. He eats dinner shirtless.

After the meal, the usual entreaty: "Can I have some ice cream?"

"Yes, but wait until Miss Olivia [who will be babysitting] arrives. You can have some with her."

"Oh. No. No."

"Why not?"

"Ice cream is private."

Oh.

Do You Think We Need a Downstairs Fridge?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 05:29:00 +0000

So we take Iain out for dinner. Breakfast, of course.

He eats:

One large pancake, with butter and maple syrup
One large strip of bacon
Two scrambled eggs
A large pile of fried potatoes
Two orange wedges
A very large mug of hot cocoa

On the way home, we hear this from the backseat:

"I'm hungry."

And sure enough, he proceeded to drink a glass of goat milk, eat an entire large orange, and drink a glass of diluted cranberry juice.

We're doomed. Doomed, I tell you!

Preliminary Thanksgiving Menu

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 02:48:00 +0000

Ok.

Turkey. Naturally.

Dressing (not stuffing. Eww.)

Wild rice (alternative for those who don't like dressing)

Haricot Verts (tiny, skinny green beans)

Creamed spinach

Roasted sweet potatoes

Meyer lemon curd with something. Because.

So that's two starches, two greens, and a betacarotene infusion. Plus lemon curd!

That's my plan. For the moment. Iain, of course, will eat scrambled eggs and toast. Or a grilled cheese sandwich. Or noodles.

The What?

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 04:25:00 +0000

Iain's class had a "Friendship Feast." I presume this is a replacement for Thanksgiving (which is next week, anyway). We contributed turkey. Rolled up, deli-sliced turkey. Iain, of course, ate none of that.

Tonight at dinner we asked him about the feast. "The French Fry Feast?"

Yes, that one, son.

"I was invited by 3 Pre-K, actually."

Actually.

"It's nice to invite people."

In other news, it's snowing cats and dogs. We're forecast for a little accumulation (2 inches? 4 inches? Hard to know right now.), but it's so warm (40s!) that we imagine the snow'll melt away like magic.

It better. Tomorrow morning Iain's scheduled for another birthday party. This one's up a steep hill in a garden. Yes, a garden.

Scary Stories at Bedtime

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 04:51:00 +0000

Here's Iain's story:

There was a fishbear. With a turtle, racing. Then, they had pizza and cake (shaped like Cookie Monster and Elmo). Bearfish had cookie monster and the turtle had Elmo. And they were having a good time.

Then they played with a dinosaur. He grew really big. They blew party sticks. See below.

Then it was time for presents. The fishbear got a tire, a glue gun, a paintbrush, some pliers, cable, and a sander. Out of this, he built 2 racecars.

They raced around the world.

The end.

Sledding!

noreply@blogger.com (Charles) — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 18:30:00 +0000

Today Iain saw the snow, asked to go outside to play in it, put on his boots, asked to sled, went sledding in the yard, and then went with us to sled in park. And he had fun. What a difference a year makes.

Insane. Holy Crap.

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 02:39:00 +0000

This.*

Ummm....yeah. We made this tonight and served it to friends for Halloween (as in: they brought their twins plus their baby, we provided dinner and then all the kids toddled out to trick or treat).

Amazing. One trick or treater, probably 8 or 9, said, "What's that smell?" I said, "It's pork. Is it good or bad?" "Good. Real good." Well thank you, young man. More candy for you!

Iain ate nothing (ok, he ate some jam, pulled off a bun with his fingertips, plus some golden kiwi), but he collected some nice candy - a pixie stick, a couple of little chocolate bars, an M&Ms bag, and a PEZ dispenser shaped like Spider Man. He refused to wear the fireman outfit (again), but agreed to wear a pair of Wall-E glasses Charles printed off the internet and cut out for him. He wore them for about 2 houses, but still. That's a step up from last year.

*Recipe: buy a pork shoulder about 3-4 lbs. Mine was labeled a "picnic" roast, but apparently shoulder is the same thing as Boston Butt, too. Mix up a rub with 1T plus 1t salt and the same amount of sugar per pound of pork. (since a tablespoon is 3 teaspoons, this means 4 teaspoons each of salt and sugar per pound of meat) plus some black pepper (ground). Rub this into the meat, then refrigerate overnight.

The next day, plop it into your cast iron skillet and roast in the oven at 250F for 6 hours. Let it rest 20-30 minutes, then pull it with forks. It's ridiculous. Hot, salty, and perfectly seasoned for eating with a warm bun. Crisp on the outside, tender on the inside...the most dangerous thing is the crispy pork fat on the outside. Better toss that, quick, or you'll stand there at the cutting board and ... I've said too much. You try it.

Halloween Maturity

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 03:14:00 +0000

I buy ten tons of candy and bring it home. Charles says, "Do you think we ought to put it where Iain can't see it?"

"Oh, no." I say, "I don't think Iain's ever seen this stuff. He won't know what it is."

Iain, ten minutes later:

"Candy!"

Autumn

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 02:28:00 +0000

Yo. Welcome to hiking, y'all. Until recently, I always "hiked" in my BOB, letting other people take care of the actual walking. But no more!

That's The Mom. I like to take photos sometimes. You know - when the staff's busy making my lunch.

This picture implies that I let The Dad carry me up Millcreek Canyon, but no. I actually walked my own little self up there.

Check it out:

Yep. That's me. And The Dad. We enjoyed the fall colors, walked a bit along a pretty trail, and otherwise experienced the great outdoors. Nothing like a little fresh air to make me hungry for pancakes (and bacon) (and pancakes) (with blueberries).

Utah in autumn. Not bad, even compared to New England.

Epic Fun or Horrible Nightmare? You Decide

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 02:08:00 +0000

Yes, that's Iain in a real, actual, authentic, not made up helicopter. It's an "exhibit" at a children's museum here. He LOVED it.

Gotta check your switches and buttons before you fire up those blades. Fuel? Check! Feet that reach the pedals? Uh...captain we might have a problem there.

Grr! I'm Iain and I'm going to fly this baby ALL NIGHT LONG!

So we went to a birthday party. Except that when I say we "went" to a "party," what I mean is that we spent 45 minutes trying to figure out how to access a party (25 minutes to drive across town at rush hour, 10 minutes parking, then 10 minutes walking across the Gateway only to look out and realize we'd walked in a huge circle), then encountered Iain's absolute and intractable refusal to participate.

He wanted to play with that helicopter, by God, and was not going to have any pizza, or cake, or costumes, or crown-making, or obstacle courses, or silk parachute flipping, or anything else. It was helicopter or freakout. Period.

Eventually, Mother and I convinced him to look at the rest of the museum, where he played with balls, a crane, a playhouse, a pretend farm, a Jeep (that you can gas up and whose tires you can inflate), and a water feature.

But when it was time to go? Howls. Screams. Wails. Protests beginning with the assertion that playing with the helicopter was "good for me!" and ending with demands to return "right now!!!"

He threw this fit all the way home. That's another 45 minutes, in case you're counting. Charles finally talked him down off the cliff, using orange segments and a firm but gentle insistence on quiet. Then Iain said, "I think I'll take a little nap."

Sweet silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

At Kyoto

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 20:49:00 +0000

What the twins (and their little brother) ate:

California roll
Rainbow roll
noodles
ginger
tempura shrimp
Salmon
Eel
Ikura (eggs!)
Miso soup

What Iain ate:

Two orange wedges
Part of a lemon wedge

It's hard even to remember the baby who ate any old green/brown/red/orange/yellow thing I put in his mouth, so long as it was properly tarted up with cream, parmesan, or brown sugar.

Because I'm the Oldest

noreply@blogger.com (Fiona) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 02:06:00 +0000

So we're driving to REI (20% off! I got boots, finally.). Iain's in the backseat.

[I chat with Mother]

Iain: "Can you be quiet? I need to make an important phone call."

[We giggle.]

Iain [into the phone]: "Hello? Are you there? Hello?"

Me: "IAIN! HEY PAY ATTENTION TO ME! DON'T MAKE THAT CALL, TALK TO ME PLAY WITH ME MEMEMEMEME!!!"

-pause-

Iain: "Mommy, I'm making an important call."

Me: "Yes, and you never let us make calls undisturbed. Why should I let you do so?"

Iain: "Because. I'm the oldest."

Oh.