Concert Review: China Rider ->Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

We got there a little early because we'd heard they had a crazy parking lot scene, and we were not disappointed. The lobby was packed. People were jumping up and down (peaking too soon maybe?), crying, laughing, one or two were already throwing themselves on the floor -- you could tell it was going to be an awesome concert.

The doors opened and we rushed into our seats and immediately everyone broke out some munchies. Mostly organic whole grain goldfish snacks. I had a short moment of panic as I rummaged through my bag for my munchies, but thankfully found a small packet of biscuits wedged in the back. Milo would not have to go hungry for the entire hour-long concert, thank god.

As the band took the stage half the audience got up and rushed to the front of the theater, screaming, dancing, some tears every now and then. They rocked the house for a good half and hour, but then things started getting ugly. A few concert-goers were carried out in tears. I saw two more passed out cold, slung over shoulders and hustled out the door. Someone near me started trying to eat his own seat. Someone else complained that it was his turn to hold the ticket stub.

We approached the 45 minute mark and things picked up again. The band brought out bongo drums, tap dancers, rappers -- the works. The mosh pit at the front of the stage got so crowded that people were standing more than they were moshing. Milo stuck his thumb in his mouth and asked if he could sit on my lap.

"What was the last concert you went to before this one?" Steven asked.

I thought for a moment. "A baroque harpsichord concert in France?"

"Not counting that one."

"Um. I saw Lyle Lovett at Lincoln Center. Also the Allman Brothers at the Fillmore."

"I saw Elliot Smith in Seattle."

It occurred to us that we had not gone to a concert since we'd started dating, which means we hadn't been to a concert since 1999.

"Oh wait, didn't we go see some Armenian rock band?"

"Right," said Steven. "That was it."

On stage the band was approaching the finale. Milo had was ready to go home. All around us people picked up their tired concert-goers and plopped them down into strollers. I walked out the door of the theater humming the last song they'd played: Georgie Porgie (featuring Father Goose). Yes, it had been a kid's concert, but make no mistake: Dan Zanes rocks the house.

New Lows in Parenthood

"Milo doesn't smell so great. He needs a bath."

"I'm too tired to give him a bath. Can't we just spray him with air freshener or something?"

You Hear The Ocean

Listening to the sound of the ocean in a conch shell, originally uploaded by HAVANA19.

This was one of my favorite moments of the trip. I showed Milo how to listen to the sound of the ocean in a shell we found on the beach, and from then on he was hooked.

"Want to tell Dad about the ocean," he said, running over to show Steven the shell.

Then he tried listening to the ocean in little shells and big shells. In the end we took the shell home with us so we could hear the ocean even when we're in our apartment. Milo seemed to like that idea.

Full set of vacation pics is now up on flickr.

Shipwreck Beach

Shipwreck Beach, originally uploaded by HAVANA19.

Housekeeping at 27 Months

Dear Milo,
So, the funny thing about writing these entries is that I'm more aware of what you're no longer doing than I am of what you've just started doing. Maybe this is how life works.



For example, you used to stick close by, always underfoot, hanging out at knee-height next to Mama or Dad. But now you go off and play by yourself, sometimes even in a different room, sometimes for 20 minutes at a time, like a real person. I can call out, "Milo, where are you?" And you'll respond, "I'm in the playroom." Which is, like, what a regular person would say, so it's not that notable. Except that for you it's new.

We also don't get much anymore of "What that noise?" which you used to say all the time. Instead it's the more mundane "What is that sound?". And you also now have the ability to find things. Like, if I say "Where's your hat?" and you then leave the room, the odds are as high as 60% that you might actually come back with the hat.




You have started affixing long strings of words together in some strange ways. For example, all pasta is now referred to as "special tortellini from the dentist" because after you went to the dentist I soothed your residual tears with a bowl of buttery tortellini. Last night you gave us a cooking demonstration which involved the other thing you now love to do: explain how things are done, even if you don't know yourself. This usually sounds something like "So first you take this and then you take that and then you need the cheese and like that on Tuesday and and twenty-four and there you go, we're ALL done."

You've also got a wicked sense of humor, which sometimes involves sticking things onto your face:


You still have some funny mis-pronunciations: "dickerish" for licorice, "neminnems" for M&Ms, "dinosaurus" as a blanket word for any type of dinosaur, the lid to the wok which for some reason you insist is called a "dong" (Because, you explained, when you hit it it makes a sound like donnnn-gggg. True.) But alas we don't get to hear "longtime soup" for Won Ton soup anymore. Also a backpack is no longer a "packpack" and the cat is no longer "Ahkah," but the more mundane "Oscar."

In place of the toddler who caouldn't walk down the front steps alone we now have a child who can hang up his coat all by himself, who says things like "I want to do it myself," and who then sits down and draws a picture on the stoop. "Is that a dinosaurus?" I asked hopefully. "It's a triceratops," you replied.



Love,
Mama

Life with the Terrible Twos

Me: You do not push people in this house. Understand?
Milo: Only push people outside.