The Day I Microwaved Ice Cream

In my freezer, I currently have a lime green Ikea kids bowl containing a very high quality ice cream sandwich that has been microwaved -- by me, none the less, and then refrozen.  The short version: Jonathan fell asleep at a strange time for a nap, slept way too long and not enough, and was not a friend of the laws of physics.  The longer version: in this house, as in most, mommy is the great comforter, but even I am not enough for Jonathan when he wakes up in a funk, and last night's was a doozy.  At times such as that, he just cries and cries and cries until he reconciles himself to being awake, and no amount of mommy-hugging helps.  Sometimes, though, I can offer him the right thing to break through a bit and help jump-start rational thought, always a good thing in a toddler.

So yesterday, it went something like this, "Do you want a cookie?"

(Through the wails,) "No cookie."

"Do you want water?"

"No water." (Still sobbing)

"Juice?"

"No juice."

So since that wasn't getting me anywhere, I decided to try a different tactic.  "Do you want an elephant?"

"No e'fant."

"An alligator?"

"No a'gator."

"Ice cream?"

"No ... yes i'cream."

Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel, or so I though.  I went to the freezer and pulled out two nice Costco organic ice cream sandwiches -- one for me and one for him.  I had debated splitting one with him, but past experience has taught me that he really likes "big" pieces, so I decided to forego that conversation and got us one each.  I led him to his little kid-sized table and chair, sat him down, and opened his sandwich for him.  He set it on the table without touching it.  I started eating mine and encouraged him to do the same.  He seemed content having it, but I knew it was going to melt all over everything.  So, I got him a bowl and tried to put it in it.  He obviously was still not over his funk and insisted, "No bowl, no bowl, table, TABLE," in a way that suggested he wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.  I wasn't sure if I had gotten it right, because, of course, ice cream comes in various sizes and shaped and locations, so maybe he thought I was going to give him one of those juice popsicles, or a bowl of scooped mango ice cream or even take him to McDonald's.  I figured I must have gotten it wrong, so I picked up the untouched, melting sandwich while it was still somewhat salvageable to put it in a Ziplock and stick it back in the freezer.  Apparently, this was NOT what Jonathan had in mind.  He apparently liked his sandwich sitting melting on the table, as evidenced by him racing to the kitchen to stop me from putting it away, yelling "i'cream -- i'cream."  So I tried to explain to him that it was going to melt, but I found myself at a bit of a loss because he just doesn't have all the requisite vocabulary for that conversation.

But evidently, he understood enough of it, because when I told him that I was just going to put it in the freezer to let it get cold again, he said, "No, hot.  Hot," getting all weepy again.  I tried explaining to him that you just can't have hot ice cream, but the word "impossible" is both literally and figuratively not in his vocabulary.

Then, I made the mistake of saying, "So, you want me to microwave the ice cream and make it hot?"  This was exactly what he wanted me to do.  I thought about it, and figured he was in a mood not to be messed with.  Besides, it dawned on me that just because my adult brain has been wired to think microwaving ice cream is daft, doesn't mean that microwaved ice cream might not taste yummy.  So, out of the wrapper and into a lime green kids Ikea bowl this poor ice cream sandwich went, already looking rather soupy.

I micowaved it 20 seconds or so and pulled it out and presented it to his royal grumpjesty.  "There," I said triumphantly.  "Hot ice cream."

Oh no.  The lip.  The whine.  What was it this time?  "No boowwwllll."


Epilogue: The boy went on to wake up sufficiently just about the time we would have loved to put him to bed, bouncing off the wall happily for hours having forgotten all about the ice cream fiasco.  The mom went on to sooth other babies that night, to varying degrees of success.  And the ice cream in the lime green bowl still sits in the freezer until I can figure out what to do with it or decide to throw it away in a week or so.  Poor ice cream.

10/10

Thursday was Taiwan's Independence Day (October 10th -- 10/10) so Stephen and I were both off work.  We decided to take it easy, for the most part, but I did convince him to come with me and the kids to the Cultural Center in the late afternoon/early evening.  I like them running out their energy in big open places from time to time as opposed to jumping on parents and each other and off furniture, etc. in the living room.  I also like taking pictures of them playing somewhere a bit more interesting/with better light.  I've been taking lots of outdoor photos recently, in part because I really do want to improve my photography skills and in part because I missed a month or so of outdoor photos staying in with David when he was first born.

In the basket of recently rediscovered clothes, I found this white dress handed down from my bosses' daughter.  It's pre-stained but really pretty, so perfect for a day of play.  I had actually tried it on Vivienne once when she was really little and got some good pictures with that classic old fashioned baby feel to them, but then I put it aside until it actually fit.  When I found it last week, I decided we had better try it out or we would miss wearing it entirely.

It's crazy how grown up my baby girl is now!

So, I dressed the kids up, nursed the baby and put him to sleep in the stroller, got myself going, and three hours later we were out the door. (OK, maybe it didn't take quite that long, but that's how it feels most of the time.)  In trying to get everyone ready, I didn't remember to order my coffee from across the street (oh, how I'll miss that place when we leave Taiwan!), so once we made it to the Cultural Center (less than a block away), I settled with the big kids on the wall/bench there and off Stephen went to get my coffee.  (I love that man.)  Vivienne discovered a bad of freeze dried apples straight off, so she started snacking on them.

While Vivienne snacks on dried apples,
Jonathan snacks on his fingers.  Ay-yo!

Annnddd ... by the time Stephen got back (all of five minutes after getting out the door) there were already a few big drops of unforeseen rain, and of course, we hadn't brought the umbrellas.  He opted for going home, but I convinced him to hurry over to the Cultural Center's building where there are a lot of covered outdoor spaces.  First we hung out underneath for a bit outside the art exhibit where Vivienne finished her apples

For not having much hair, this girl has some crazy curls.

and Daddy and Jonathan had a game of tag.

Stephen was nobly trying to help me get some shots with Jonathan smiling,
a notoriously difficult task.  Someday, I'm going to have to learn a thing or
two more about photographing moving targets.

Here's some proof that mommy was there, too.

We  then took the elevator up to the upper courtyard, where several different groups were honing their hip hop skills in front of the large practice mirrors there.  The cacophony that hit our ears as soon as the elevator doors opened almost send my husband Stephen running for the hills (or home, at least), but I convinced him to get out of the elevator and follow me through to the back of the Cultural Center where there was no music blaring.  The rain let up a bit, so on the way, we paused for another game of daddy/Jonathan tag in the big, open courtyard in the middle of the building.

We then went through to the back where the rain held off long enough for some step climbing adventures.

The real "Stairmasters."

Daddy used this opportunity to find a vending machine and stock up on some liquid energy of his own, which he was nice enough to share at the request -- read, instance -- of the little people.

We tell Jonathan "Just a little," so he passed that 

advice along to his sister.  Vivienne isn't too

 skilled at drinking out of cans, though, and

 most of her first sip ended up down the front of her 

dress, so daddy helped her with sip number two.

  Jonathan got to drain the bottom of the can.

And once, the Coke was finished, the real fun began.  Those corridors were made for chases!

To the victor goes the empty Coke can!

Catch me if you can, Jonathan!

By this point the rain had begun again, so we watched it a bit
from the safety of the overhang.

Of course, there's only so long you can stand
around and watch the rain.

Vivienne did occasionally stand still to see and be seen.

Vivienne is studying up on how the big girls play.

I have no idea how I am going to teach this child that the
world does not revolve around her, as my father would say.  Ay-yo.

Although the rain didn't stop, it did let up a bit so we made a run for home.  I then went to the stationary store (by myself) to pick up some mini whiteboards for the Crayola whiteboard crayons and markers we have at home.  While there, I found some cheap, decorative tape.  Jonathan is a bit obsessed with "tape tape" and I am pretty much resigned to living with tape on my walls, doors, chairs, and tables, so coloring, cutting, and taping were a perfect way to end the day.

While Jonathan was actually pretty good at cutting and
sticking, Vivienne didn't actually ever figure out how to
use those scissors.  She sure had fun trying, though.
(Eventually we just gave her stickers.)

Jonathan and mommy both drew suns.  I bet you can tell
whose is whose even without the label.

The End.

My Big, Sweet, Not-So-Baby Boy

So what is going on in the life of almost-three-year old Jonathan, one might ask.

Well, right now, Jonathan has just gotten up from a nap and is screaming at me because his iPad app isn't working the way he wants it to.  It wants him to match the red balloon with the red balloon -- a concept totally within his grasp -- but he's being an ornery little guy and getting upset that it won't accept the green balloon.  What has caused this crisis?  Waking up.  Both in the morning and after naps it takes him a while to reconcile himself to being awake, though at other times, he's usually a happy kid.  His sister, on the other hand, usually gets over the trauma of waking up quickly and is her cheery self within minutes.  I definitely am looking forward to getting her up for school more than I am getting him up down the line.  (It reminds me of when my bosses' oldest daughter was young.  They used to tell me that they would take turns waking her up because she would get angry with whichever parent woke her up and would want to cuddle with the other one.)  On the up side, even if I am the parent that wakes him up, what he really wants when he's sad is snuggle with mommy.  It's nice to be needed, and I enjoy the cuddling, too, most of the time (as in, when he's not screaming.)  Tonight, however, even mommy is not enough.  He needs to disagree with something.  I'm just glad that it's his iPad app and not his sister.

As I wrote a little bit ago, we started sending Jonathan and Vivienne to a local nursery school/day care for a few hours every day.  It helps break up their day and gives them lots of exposure to Chinese.  It's a little odd sending children that young to school because they aren't quite at the linguistic developmental stage where they are able to tell you what they did there.  Additionally, I can't really communicate with the teachers/directors because it's limited by my Chinese, and the nanny is usually the one to pick them up and hear about their day.  Sometimes she tells me stories that they passed on to her -- like how neither of them really eat the school snacks (no surprise there -- I'm not actually sure what my kids DO eat, but they keep growing).  The other week, Vivienne came home from school with this tiny ponytail in her hair.

It's not much of a pony tail yet, I have to
say, but it's cute!

The teachers/aunties at her school put it in her hair and kept saying "Swee, swee," which is the Taiwanese (not Chinese) word for "pretty."  (I'm pretty sure she's the baby doll of the school.)  Now, in this house at least, all ponytails and rubber bands holding them and bows and flowers added to them are called "swee"'s, much to Stephen's chagrin since he's trying to get us to use "proper English" with them.  The first day, it was just Vivienne who came home with a "swee" in her hair, but the next day, Jonathan came home sporting one, too.  Apparently, he wanted one and cried until they put his hair up, too.  At home, he refused to let daddy take it out until bedtime.  So yes.  My son's been walking around Kaohsiung with his hair in a ponytail.

Why should girls get all the fun of getting
their hair done?

I guess it was our fault, really, for not getting around to that
much-needed haircut.

Mommy took this boy to get a haircut this week.
Let's see them try to ponytail that!

Jonathan is beginning to figure out the difference between English and Chinese, sometimes with hilarious results.  Today he insisted on "reading" me a book in "Chinese."  It went something like, "Sha fa sh fa she pa..."  Nope.  For those wondering it was neither real Chinese nor real reading, but it sure was real cute.  (The English teacher in me is cringing at the grammar of that last sentence.)

Ever since he started going to school, he has become more polite -- in English, mostly, so I'm not sure how they are related.  He is always saying "Thank you" for things, and if you say "You're welcome," he'll often repeat that back to you, too.  He also says "Sorry" at times -- like right after he's accidentally soaked you with water from the shower hose.

He loves to count things in English.  I'm pretty sure he can get up to about 14 or so.  He used to refuse to count in Chinese, but he's doing it more and more these days -- at least up to 10.  He also marches around saying "yi-er-yi-er," Chinese for "1-2-1-2."  I've heard his nanny do it with him, but I am guessing they do it at school, too.

Recently, I have begun to brave taking all three kids out and about on occasion by myself since some days I'm the only one around to get the older kids from nursery school.  Last Tuesday we made it all the way to the MRT (Underground/Subway/Metro/etc.) near the department store that's about a ten minute walk from the house since they have a cheap haircut place.  While there, Jonathan learned another important lesson: While mommy is feeding didi (little brother) and not paying attention, it's not a good idea to push the red button in the handicap restroom.  And I learned that, thankfully, the $50,000 NT (over $1,500 US) fine for pushing the button is not applied to almost-three-year olds.  The sounds of the alarm reverberated throughout the station and the speaker went on and on in Chinese, but no one seemed phased by it, except my kids who were all crying in the hallway by the time to workers got around to checking it out.  (I'm pretty sure didi - a.k.a. David - was just crying because his nursing session was cut short and he was still hungry.)

Last Saturday, I convinced Stephen to take the kids and I to Kaohsiung Harbor to see the giant, yellow rubber ducky (as seen in my last post) since a parent to baby ration of 2:3 is really nicer than 1:3 for trips afield -- especially in a land without cars.  I really wanted to get some good pictures with the giant duck, but we didn't get there for the best light, and the kids were really more interested in looking at the duck and the boats than turning around and looking at mommy.  When I finally did get Jonathan up on a box in front of the ducks (and the girls behind him to sit down), all the pictures I managed to get were like this:

He tells his didi (little brother) "Don't eat
hands," but he is incapable of following his
own advice.

The rest of the photos were all along this line,
accompanied by a soundtrack of "Cam-a, cam-a,"
by my budding little photographer/technophile.

Thankfully, I managed to get at least one or two decent shots of his sister with it.  After braving the crowds at the stalls set up nearby to get dinner, we ended the evening with a merry-go-round ride at the request (read "insistence") of his sister.  Although perfectly fine with it at first, Jonathan was not too sure about the horses once they got going.

There's a face that says, "Um, I'm not too
sure about this up/down thing..."

... so this is how he finished out the ride.

He's my cautious one, just like his Uncle Jonathan was as a child.  It must run in the family -- or go with the name.  But what a joy that little boy is, and we wouldn't trade him for the world.  God knew exactly what he was doing by blessing us with him.

As for tonight, a batch of churros definitely helped cheer up our little blessing, and though the nap threw off bedtime (again), at least he's happy (until tomorrow when I have to get him up for school, at least!)

Churros=happy.
(Though this is borrowed from an earlier churros evening,
evidenced by the long pre-haircut bangs/fringe)

And now, some bonus pictures from our day of the duck, just because I can't leave these two out entirely:

Vivienne chose this cookie herself, and
boy did she enjoy it. 

This little one has none of her brother's caution.
It wasn't easy getting her off after her ride.

Even though David slept through the actual giant duck part,
he still ended up with a souvenir of the evening.

Microfashion, cosmology, theology ... This post has it all (without actually saying anything)

Proof of my pathetic (but wonderful) life ...


I'm so excited. Tonight, Vivienne wore her pretty pink dress to church ...

We made sure to get a picture of the dress
a week ago while it was still crisp and clean.
The chances of mommy ever ironing it so it
looks this good again are slim to none.

... AND HER LITTLE BLACK CARDIGAN. Yes, I'm excited over a sweater. Pathetic, I know ... but before you judge too harshly, let me explain. (I don't expect you to be excited by the end but hopefully you'll understand why I am.)

I am a bit obsessed with baby clothes. I have been ever since I was a little girl and my practical mother wouldn't let me buy expensive baby clothes for my baby dolls. Therefore, in my baby-filled house, I'm livin' the dream -- especially with a baby girl sandwiched between my boys. It's probably a good thing I'm not living in America during Vivienne's baby years because it takes a little more effort to find cute clothes at reasonable prices, but by now I've scoped out every day market and night market and everything in between and I am a baby-clothes-shopping pro. Still, there are some quirky things about baby clothes in Taiwan that I've had to work around. For one thing, despite the fact that it never gets below freezing, it's difficult to find girls' winter clothes that don't involve quilting or fur at times. It's also really hard to find unadorned, solid colored things, which you want from time to time. Therefore, last year when I was home in America, I was overjoyed to find a solid black cardigan in one of the winter clearance sales.

Because you really wouldn't want to pair
a dress like this with polkadots.

We also found a great navy blue one (albeit with a fairly bright yellow flower) at Old Navy, so I figured I was set for this year.

When Stephen's parents came in July, I packed both these sweaters as well as her little navy polka dotted jacket because a typhoon was coming and I didn't know how cool it might get near the water.

Vivienne making good use of her jacket
at the beach.

When we got home, I remember very clearly folding up the cardigans while unpacking the babies' clothes in their bedroom, and then ... they, along with the jacket, disappeared into the clothing black hole that exists somewhere in our house. Yes, we have a black hole with a taste for fabric, apparently. I first noticed it when Jonathan was a baby. I bought him a few onesie/pants sets from Costco. One of them had a pair of camo pants with a white shirt. I cut them off the hanger at the same time and put them in the drawer -- and never saw the shirt again. Same with two long sleeved onesies I bought a bit later. I took them out of the bag at the same time and never saw the yellow one again. He wore the blue one at times, but that has since gone MIA, too. Over the years, an increasing number of articles of clothing have vanished in dribs and drabs. Sometimes, of course, they are lost in the Clark family chaos. Occasionally, they turn up again. But quite a few items (many not-yet-grown-into) seem to have vanished completely, and I have been through most corners of the house since the early ones went missing, so if they are still here, they are in some really strange and unused nooks and crannies. (It's a smallish city apartment. As cluttered as it is, there aren't really that many nooks and crannies.)

Over time, I have grown accustom to losing a certain percentage of the children's wardrobe over time, but it confuses me.  I have several theories as to why this happens, the first being that Jonathan periodically throws things in the trash that we don't notice. Now, this would be an excellent theory except that he only really has access to one or two trash cans which I peek into from time to time, and the clothes started disappearing before he could crawl. Then there's the theory that the nanny is a kleptomaniac with a secondhand baby clothes business on the side, because really, little else goes permanently missing from the house. My last non-blackhole theory is that some day, when we finally get around to packing everything up and moving, we will find a colossal pile of outgrown, never-been-worn baby clothes in some corner of the house we never knew existed and we'll have to have a couple more kids just so we get some wear out of them.

And then there's the blackhole theory, but I had not yet resigned myself to that in this case. For one thing, I knew they were together and things rarely disappear as sets. And so, I've been tearing apart the house searching for them ever since getting back in July. It really annoyed me because I knew they made it back from vacation and because that was basically all of Vivienne's fall-weight sweaters/jackets except for her fancy little white one. But, I had no luck finding them. So, when the wind from the typhoon (that didn't hit) cooled things down this week, I had to bring out that white sweater. Two wearing later and half a bottle of stain pre-treat, it's sitting ready to be washed. Let's just say, little white sweaters are adorable on toddlers; toddlers stains -- not so adorable on little white sweaters. They should definitely be saved for Christmas, Easter, and the occasional photo shoot or Sunday, not be worn to nursery school.

Yes, yes, that is a giant duck in Kaohsiung Harbor.  And a
little white sweater.

And then, yesterday I found a bag with our Christmas stockings and went to put them with the other Christmas stuff under the top bunk in a cabinet behind Vivienne's bed (let's just say not a very high traffic area). What should I find but a whole basket of random clothes put up on a shelf there -- including both cardigans and the jacket. I know it was NOT Stephen or I who put them there but a little elf named Jonathan. I have been losing the battle of the disappearing baby clothes for years. It's nice to have a victory from time to time.  It's totally my modern-day equivalent to Jesus' parables of the missing coins/sheep (and proves my life these days is rather dull).

So tonight, Vivienne wore her black cardigan to church, and I was excited. What was really, really nice was sponging off milk tea at least twice from Vivienne's cardigan and knowing that I could go home and hang it right back up in the closet. Even nicer? Knowing that it will never, ever need a stain stick applied to it!

On a related note, I was going through Vivienne's clothes drawer tonight when Jonathan walked up, pulled out a shirt, and clearly and distinctly said "trash can" while headed for the diaper trash behind me. Yeah. I really, really want to nanny cam the closet.