The Quest for the Holy Ale

In honor of my brother the screenwriter, I present to you a three-minute short:

FADE IN

INT. LIVING ROOM -- AFTERNOON

A small body squirms, belly down, on a dirty carpet floor. Colorful toys surround BABY ZOË, six months old. She wears a stylish hoodie, pink terrycloth "skort", and shoes too big for her little squat feet. She chews on a crinkly STAR TOY.


She catches sight of herself in the mirror.


She is looking gooooood.

The voice of her mother, BETH, interrupts the reverie.

BETH (O.C.)
Zoë! Zoë, look over here!
(whistling)
Hey, boogie!
Squirt!
(odd duck noises, squeeks, etc.)

ZOË turns to her mother, flashing a dimpled grin.

Soon her attention turns back to the STAR TOY.


With one last glance at her mother...


ZOË attacks.




She gnaws all five points of STAR TOY, drool coating her hands and hoodie. BETH continues to make embarrassing animal noises in hopes of catching ZOË'S attention, but to no avail.

Suddenly, ZOË freezes. Something on the coffee table catches her eye.


She studies it, cheeks full of contemplation.

ZOË
(high-pitched shriek)

BETH retrieves the forbidden object - a half-consumed BOTTLE of GINGER ALE. She places it on the carpet just out of reach of ZOË, who is panting with excitement.

ZOË finds this incredibly frustrating and unfair.


But soon ZOË'S determination - and the lure of shiny plastic - propels her forward. She shimmies and stretches for the GINGER ALE, slowly creeping her way across the rug. She is just about there...


When gravity foils her plan.

ZOË
(angry crying)

Exhausted, ZOË faceplants.


At which point BETH scoops her up and carries her upstairs for a nap.

FADE OUT

to appease zoë's demanding fan base...

a few pictures from Easter, courtesy of my sister-in-law. More later.

six months ago today...

I looked like this.

And this.



And then...

everything changed.

a poll: REVISED

Editor's Note: I've been accused (by more than one reader) of rigging the poll based on the two pictures I selected as Exhibits A and B. An independent committee has selected a new photograph for Exhibit A, which you can now find below.

During pregnancy, I was met with two questions at least once a day: "When are you due?" and "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" Fortunately, I had an answer at the ready: octobereighteenthyesit'salittlegirlwe'resoexcited!

Now that she's arrived, the questions are just as predictable but not as easy to answer.

You: Is she a good sleeper?
Me: Yes, she's really easy, or I mean, she WAS, until this week, I guess, because now she's waking up at midnight, and three, and six, and sometimes also four in there, and she's never really been a good napper, but I guess I'd rather have a better night sleeper than a napper, you know, and she has always been a good night sleeper, like 8:30 to 5, which is great, but this week has been rough and maybe she's teething?

The other is "Who does she look like?" Frequently people will skip this one, though, and just say, "Oh my goodness she looks EXACTLY like Tim!" or "Oh my goodness she looks EXACTLY like you!"

What do you think, dedicated readers? Leave your answer in the comment box and I'll tally the votes!

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit Z

a poem.

Zoë wears...

polka dots in pink and red,

an oversized daisy on her little bald head,

half of the rice cereal she was fed,

purple pajamas, and eyelids of lead.

The End.

as it turns out...

photographing a baby becomes more difficult when she can move.

marching on

I have been clobbered in the face by a particularly nasty cold.

It set up camp last Saturday and has yet to leave. Every time I get a cold, I find I've forgotten just how terrible they really are. Now I've passed it on to Zoë, which leaves me with all sorts of guilt. It was inevitable, really, given our proximity and the trajectory of my constant sneezing, hacking, sniffling, and, oh, BREATHING.

I know that babies get sick, and we've been lucky that she's been healthy all winter, but STILL. Babies are supposed to get sick from daycare and strangers and older siblings and baby gym classes and NOT their MOTHERS, who are supposed to keep them SAFE and HEALTHY and not infect them with Rhinoviruses and other potentially life-threatening illnesses. Maybe not life-threatening, but at least awful enough to make you want to crawl in a hole and die, which is exactly what I've wanted to do all week.

Clearly, she's tougher than I am.

Thank you for letting me whine for a moment. I needed it.

Moving on. March is here! What is it they say about lions and lambs and spring months? I can't recall, but what I do know is that this March is BRINGING IT. We started with 4+ inches of snow Sunday night and another day off of school. Of course, the winter wonderland melted before I could get the camera battery charged. (BTW: Tim found the charger plugged into our bedroom wall. Go figure.) But I did get two pictures of Zoë inside.

Here she is bundled up for a trip to Granci's for dinner:

I can't imagine what she's thinking.

Here she is wearing her lovely snowflake dress, courtesy of her fashion-forward cousins.

She calls this pose "Blue Steel."

I recently stumbled across a blogger who is taking daily pictures of her five-month-old's outfits. My initial reactions: What a ridiculous idea. Can you GET any more self-indulgent? Who has that kind of time? Who cares what your kid is wearing? However, seeing as I keep checking that blog to find out what the child is sporting today - and I must admit, this particular kiddo is one haute bebe - I have decided that taking pictures of Zoë's outfits is exactly what I'd like to do. At the very least, perhaps this will force the issue on this whole posting thing, because I sure can't seem to make it happen by myself.

Zoë, however, continues to breeze through her New Year's Resolutions. The little booger.

Movin' on up!

Recent accomplishments:
-Rolling from back to front (Valentine's Day)
-Sucking her thumb (SO CUTE... for now)
-Playing with her feet (though she can't seem to hang on for long)
-Watching Otis (she'd like to be able to grab him, but he's wary of those little hands)
-Sleeping sans swaddle (ALL NIGHT)
-Giggling (apparently Tim is the most hilarious thing on the planet)

And Sophie the Giraffe is de-lish.

The two skills she has not yet mastered are taking a bottle and napping in her crib. X + Y = Zero. As in zero time away from baby during the day. The only way I can get her to sleep for more than 20 minutes is to snuggle up with her in our bed and nap with her. FOR TWO HOURS. On the one hand, a two-hour nap! On the other hand, a two-hour nap? I don't have that kind of time to burn.

Especially when my baby-free evenings are jam-packed with important matters such as American Idol and Lost. And The Biggest Loser. On second thought, maybe that nap is the most productive two hours of my day, after all. I mean, I AM battling the Rhinovirus. And it's not pretty.

But these two are.

Makes me feel better already.