In which we pay homage to the Queen(s).
What makes Robin and I such good partners is that we have complimentary strengths. I, for example, can get lost in my own home. Robin, on the other hand, can locate the nearest public restroom in any foreign city without the aid of a map.
In my favor, I'm a passable cook while Robin. . .
Well, okay. Since being home with Owen, Robin's become an incredible cook. (She made this scallop dish that would curl your toes with its goodness. I burned some bacon.)
As you may have begun to guess, I'm contributing less and less to this partnership. I guess my work offers good health benefits... oh, wait. We use Robin's health plan. Well, I'm sure I contribute something. We'll think of it later.
In the meantime, we've spent the past eleven days in celebration of many things maternal. Sort of a pre-Mother's Day, if you will. This included yet another Owen party at Robin's parents' home (you can see the welcome banner, left) and trips to visit great aunts Ora and Viona.
Great Aunt Ora has perhaps given us the most blunt perspective on parenthood:
"Owen sure smiles a lot," she says.
"Yes, he does," Robin says.
"He seems a happy boy," she says. "Is he always this happy?"
"Pretty much," Robin says. "He's a good boy."
"Well, then, you know: If that changes, it's YOUR fault."
That's the down side of adoption. You can't blame anything on those pesky skips-a-generation genetic flaws. Abuelito Paul and Abuelita Pamela say it this way:
They mess you up, your Mum and Dad.
They don't mean to, but they do.
They give you all the faults they had
And throw in extra just for you.
Fortunately, all these charming things are being said about us after the adoption referrals were needed. Sheesh!
Still, I have few worries, at least on the maternal side of things. Robin's inner librarian has kicked in full tilt. She's in total research mode and relying on the Baby Whisperer's E.A.S.Y. (eat-activity-sleep-you) and Pick-up/Put-down recommendations. It may sound hokey, but I'm telling you Owen fusses about 1/10th as much for Robin as for me. The woman can also hear the difference between a wet diaper whimper and a sleepy whimper with the vacuum running in the background.
Beyond the Baby Whisperer and Aunt Ora, Robin's other family has given us plenty of good advice. Cousin Mark suggests enjoying the sweeter things in life. You can see him above, left feeding Owen his first taste of powdered sugar from the end of a strawberry. (And we wonder why the kid turned his nose up at peas when we got home...)
Mark's also offered to take Owen bow-hunting for deer. I'm not one to get in the middle of a family dispute, but I'm pretty sure that would be a good way for Mark to get himself an arrow wound from cousin Robin...
Meanwhile, Cousin Christine and her daughter Chelsey recommend Dora the Explorer for an afternoon's entertainment. Christine also claims she's made more emergency room runs with her children than any two other mothers combined. While we appreciate her medical guidance, we don't plan to challenge her claim.
And, of course, Uncle Mike has promised to teach Owen "everything he'll ever need to know in life." As we've yet to find a problem Uncle Mike couldn't mend, I don't doubt he'll deliver. I just hope he throw a few more pearls of wisdom my way. Gotta keep up with the kid, you know.
Aunt Viona, however, was so wise as to be beyond advice. You can see her with Owen at left. They simply enjoyed one another's company. Viona lost her long-time husband George while we were all still in Kazakhstan. Robin said his presence was still felt there. His things remained right where he'd left them and his dog, Rovere ("Rover" pronounced with a French accent), mourned him by refusing to come into the house or ride in George's car. It's a pity Owen never had the chance to meet George.
Before becoming too maudlin, though; and lest you think the matriarchy is all one-sided, the last week and a half also saw Owen's first two late-night babysitters. We did trial run number one with Nannies of Kansas City sitter April. April was very nice and, if you ask me, she got a really sweet deal. We didn't have her come until Owen was sound asleep. How many other jobs pay you $40 bucks to watch t.v. and drink Diet Coke while your bosses wolf down a plate of pasta and hurry home to relieve you?
My mom was late-night sitter number two. She came at five and got the real deal: Bath time, bottle, poopy diaper and coaxing to bed. It hardly seems fair-- her rates are so much better than April's and she had to do so much more! Still it seems that nearly 40 years have not diminished her skills. The boy survived with nary a scratch.
Finally, speaking of scratches, the pets are beginning to miss their mother's full attention. Betty clamors constantly to be held. Toonces, as you can see at left, has resorted to more desperate means to get Robin's attention.
Anything for an audience with the Queen.
