Sunday at the Zoo

This Sunday morning, Noah donned his giraffe tee shirt and packed his mom and dad off to the zoo. Following the precedent set at the Academy of Natural Science, Noah took to the ducks, especially, and even engaged in a little ducky dialog with a few fledgling quacks at the swimmers below.Noah also made friends in the Children's Zoo barnyard, but seemed a little uncertain when a nice lady gave him some pellets to feed to the hungry goats. They say that you should provide your child lots of different sensory stimulation... goat tongue on hand is not Noah's favorite feeling.
Noah enjoyed lots of the bird life at the zoo: he was excited to see a peacock, a colorful crane, and the pink flamingos, which he watched from his daddy's shoulders.
No exhibit captured Noah's attention more than the otters who wrestled underwater right in front of him.

At the end of the day, though, Noah's favorite species at the zoo: Homo sapiens. Nothing compared to watching other kids and their families enjoy the animals and the gorgeous weather.

Goo Goo Ga Joob

Who's my favorite Beatle? You ask it like it's such a simple question, Dad. I mean, are we talking before or after 1967? Do you think I'm going to fall into this Paul versus John nonsense, like an overwrought girl about to faint at Shea Stadium? I should say Starkey just to rile you up. Or Clarence. Meantime, I'm going to ponder more important questions, like who was the Eggman, and how many holes it took to fill the Albert Hall.

Now That Uncle Michael's Here...

...It's time to climb the entire flight of stairs.

A long while back, Noah climbed three or four steps. This was a first. He repeated it a couple times and we got the idea that nothing would ever be the same. Then he lost interest. And for two months neither regained nor even searched for it.

Saturday morning he woke up at 6:15. Played with Liz for a couple hours. Played with me for a couple hours. Then Uncle Michael arose. Noah put in about five minutes with him, then positioned himself at the foot of the stairs. Looked back to make sure his unc was watching. Climbed one step. Climbed another. "That's about as far as he'll go," I said.

He heard this. Climbed two more. Then the pausing was over. He beelined all the way to the landing, paid a quick visit to a pile of papers and a bag of beer at the top, then made the turn and climbed the rest of the way to the third floor.

We brought him down. He did it again. Enormously pleased with himself. Liz woke up.

And the little bugger hasn't even ventured toward the stairs since.

Babies Will Be Boys

NOAH: Ta Ta Ta Ta.

DAD: Hey Noah. Guess who's coming today.

NOAH: Ta Ta Ta Ta.

DAD: Michael! Your uncle Michael!

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Can you say "Michael"?

NOAH: Cock!

DAD: How about "Mike"? Can you say "Mike"?

NOAH: Cock!

DAD: That's not a charitable way to talk about your kin, Noah. How about "Hi dad"? You just did that one. Try it again. "Hi dad!"

NOAH: Cock cock cock.

DAD: Good talk, Noah.

**

It's a recurring conversation. Last week we had it in the park. Sunshine, loads of people lazing on the lawn. My spelling is a little misleading -- "kak kak kak" would be more just -- but seeing as Noah had launched into it after hitting me in the face for thirty seconds, there's no telling how it sounds to a bystander.

Plus, he was clearly protesting. Doesn't like grass, the city kid. Here we've been waiting all these months for spring, and then you put him down on the greenery and this look of "why the hell are you smiling when you put me in this stuff?" takes over his face. Doesn't want to touch it. Doesn't want his knees on it. Not even through his pants. So he pulls himself to his feet, hits me in the face until I stand, grabs the legs of my jeans, and toddles around me in a circle yelling "Cock! Cock! Cock!"

Good thing, then, that to maintain balance he has to grip my denim well below the knee.

Birthday Boy

Noah turned one today. His mom and dad grinned and giggled, and felt a little shocked to think of how fast he has grown. Noah moved through the usual pleasures of a Tuesday: watching the garbage truck, napping and playing, free from any awareness of time or change.

Then we brought out the funny hats, Noah had his first cupcake, and discovered the sweet, sweet pleasure of being the birthday boy.