Remembering Grandma Asya

My Gradma Asya (my mom's mom) died ten years ago today. She was born in a village in the Ukraine, lived most of her life in Moscow, and immigrated to the US with my Grandpa Senya in 1992. Because they arrived in Andover just as I left for college, I never got to spend all that much time with her -- but I (and the whole family) remember her as an upbeat, no-nonsense person, just plain and decent, totally impervious to ideology and "big ideas" (famously, she was one of not very many people who didn't cry when Stalin died in 1953). Her life centered on her family, and she was never happier than when everyone gathered together for a cheerful meal. Which is what we did last night. After dinner, the guitar came out, and the camera. L to R: My uncle Paul and aunt Sophia, and Asya's nephew-in-law Victor.

The faces look serious, but that's probably because everyone is singing along to a minor-key song by the "bard" Okudzhava. (There are some funnier songs in the repertoire too. Since Ana Paula has joined these gatherings, we always sing is the Russian translation of Kipling's "I've never sailed the Amazon, I've never reached Brazil...")

Henry took a bath but then came downstairs to listen. Maybe someday he will learn to sing along.

For now, he just claps to the beat.

Belly painting!

With apologies to those who may feel this post is too graphic...
What better way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon with a severely pregnant lady than to paint her belly?? Our friends Sean and Gretchen gave us this kit they had received as a gift but, because they are obviously more dignified than we, never used. It's surprisingly fun. Who but a marketing genius could have thought of this? You take a set of cheap non-toxic watercolors and package it with a solemn little pink booklet on the artistic potential of the convex female form (Our friend Ari, on the phone, when he heard what we were doing: "It's like painting the Sistine Chapel. No wait, it's like the opposite of painting the Sistine Chapel!"), various "design suggestions," the bonding to be achieved thereby, the valuable memories, etc., etc.

As you can see, Ken took this task very seriously -- just like refinishing that dresser. He did the big shapes, I contributed the little bird designs (half of them upside down until I figured out the viewer's perspective thing), and Ana Paula chipped in the face on the sunshine.

Henry put on the little temporary tattoo... then tried to paint some stuff... then wasn't much interested for a while, went off to his room to play with trucks... then, of course, came back demanding that his belly be painted as well. He wanted "a picture of rain." Which was perfect, because by then all four colors were pretty much mixed together into an indistinguishable purple-gray. (That happens to our Play-Doh too -- anyone know why?)

But anyway, there it was: my huge kicking inconvenient belly, feeling valued and appreciated at last.

Someday, many years after our little girl has been externalized and given a decent name, I will show this to her. She will be mortified.

Dump truck

We got this excellent dump truck a year ago from our friends Zahr and Andy - Layth didn't need it anymore. It's been a favorite ever since. Our favorite, too, ever since Ken took it apart and removed the noisemaking mechanism from inside. I think that made it go faster, too. (Aren't Aaron's pictures amazing?)

It's also the case that Henry gets more interested in a particular toy when he sees it in an unexpected location, e.g., when you try to reorganize his room and find a new, tidy place for it to live. I bet all kids are like this. I've just never noticed before, because I so rarely try to clean or organize anything. Now it's a little urgent -- we'll soon need some floor space in his room for the crib and second dresser. So one bookcase worth of fiction went out to other rooms or to my office; the emptied shelves were carefully filled with neatly arranged games and toys. I did this on Saturday morning while Henry was with my parents. Any wonder he got home and promtly went on a little spree?

See that box in the background? It's one of two. Guess who filled them up and put them there. Quoth he: "This is the new place for my toys to live, okay?"

Late-summer projects

It was very hot last Friday, and we had no child care, so we fled to Andover. Ken did a lot of work refinishing an abandoned oak dresser my parents had found; it will be for Henry (when Sock gets his old one, with the top exactly big enough for a changing pad). Henry was pretty excited about this. Actually he wanted to glue some wings on it and turn it into a "dresser airplane that can fly," unclear where he got that idea. Since he's currently not all that thrilled about the baby sister thing, it seemed like a nice thing for him to see Daddy so hard at work on a present just for him.

Leaving Ken in the garage, the rest of us went swimming. Henry can now float pretty comfortably with his armband floaties, and he can kick his feet and sort of move his arms. Enough to go a few meters, anyway.

He's not scared of the water at all, has no idea he should be. Sometimes he gets a mouthful but just spits it out and keeps right on going.

Look, Grandma, I'm swimming!

Henry Jonah with (and without) the whale

Fun with cheap camera phones. At the pond yesterday...

On the Merrimac River with my parents today (watching my dad sail, while I get a little work done).
The great thing about little kids is how serious they can be.

The Pants family turns five

Tomorrow (technically today now, I think) is our fifth wedding anniversary. Just thought I'd take a few minutes to reminisce. This is how Ken and I looked that Sunday morning as we picked up our marriage license at the town fire station. Ken, of course, looks exactly the same five years later. Maybe he's got a portrait of himself aging quietly somewhere -- we'll find it if we ever try to finish insulating the attic. Meanwhile I am considerably heavier -- 37 weeks pregnant! She's due on Labor Day, ha ha, get it? At 144 pounds I have hit a lifetime record. (Quoth Henry: "You are carrying three heavy things: one Sock, and two breasts full of milk." Yes, he calls her Sock.) And did I mention I sprained my ankle walking in the woods last weekend? So, a beached whale with a limp. It all starts with that marriage license, folks.

Today, as it happened, we spent the day with our respective birth families. Ken and his mom and sister are in Arlington: Ann and Kate flew in to help him restore the old counterweighted windows in Henry's room (which will soon become Henry and Sock's room). Meanwhile I spent the morning at the pond in Andover with Henry and my parents, the afternoon snipping away at the manuscript I badly want (but may not manage) to wrap up before the baby comes. Nice day, actually. In water and prose I can still approach a modicum of grace.

My Ken, ladies and gentlemen: isn't he adorable?

Too many pics to post, but we're thinking of you all.

Henry's poem

We were talking about poems tonight (somehow Dr. Seuss' "My hat is old, my teeth are gold, I have a bird I like to hold," etc. etc., came up) and then Henry went off to the bathroom. He called me in... not because he was done, but because he wanted to tell me his new poem. Here it is:

The lights are out.
I say good night.
I close the door
and fly my kite.

Staying out of the fruit

Henry was riding his bike in the driveway tonight and I told him to be careful to stay clear of the street.
"What?"
"Be careful not to go in the street."
"Oh! I thought you said be careful not to go in the fruit!"
"Oh! Why would I say a funny thing like that?"
"Like, for example, if there was a piece of orange on the ground and someone was riding his bike and his mommy were to tell him to stay away from the fruit."
Oh.
Kid never ceases to amaze me. He is so goshdarned reasonable. Then 30 seconds later he'll be screaming, calling me a "yucky mommy" because I want to give him a hand dragging the bicycle up the back stairs. And this is even before the baby comes.

Haircut

My parents kept Henry at their house this weekend -- Friday afternoon to Sunday noon -- which was amazing. He was skeptical about having a sleepover at anyone's house (I think I had scared him out of a friend's-house sleepover by telling him most kids go to bed earlier than he does... which is true) but then agreed to go and seemed to enjoy it fine. They went swimming in the local pond, ate buckwheat kasha, watched Russian cartoons on DVD, etc. Fun.
Except, maybe, the 15 minutes documented below?

In sending them off I told my dad I'd be happy if Henry (then very shaggy-haired) came back with a haircut, but I'd also be happy if he came back without a haircut. When the said haircut was duly proposed, Henry quoted this line back to my parents, verbatim! ("Well, my mommy said she'd be happy if I came home without a haircut.") They found it pretty funny. Still, my dad's persuasive powers managed to triumph somehow. Now he's supercute and much better prepared for the August heat.

Ashfield, MA, July 25

Farmer's market near Lina & David's house in Plainfield. Nice folk band.

Henry spent most of the time sitting in the shade with me, gorging himself on blueberries (I think we ate a pint).

But then I said, "Could you go ask your dad if he wants to buy some cucumbers?" And he said, "No, I'm going to go ask him if he wants to dance."

More from that baseball game

Ana Paula sent these. Any wonder Henry is still playing "pretend baseball" several weeks later?

When we want to motivate him to do something, we've been known to resort to lines like "Real baseball players always keep their nails nice and short."

To which he has learned to respond: "But I'm a pretend baseball player!"

Note the umbrellas above & Ken's wet hair. Which did nothing to dampen the excitement of the experience.