Whit maun A dae for tae tak lak yins in Norlin Airlan?

Well, for starters, check this out. (It'll learn ye how tae vote there tae.) :)
(Thanks to Andrew Stuttaford from The Corner.)

For an Ulster-Scots dictionary, and more information than you could possibly ever want to know about this fun dialect-made-language, visit Tha Boord o Ulster-Scotch.

If only my Alma Mater had a linguistics program! I love this kind of stuff. Mr. Pickles found it amusing how interested (one might say obsessed) I was in looking up the correct words for this post.

Dave Barry on Babies

When Miriam was a tiny tyke her G.A.M.E. sent to us some great Dave Barry quotes on parenting. We recently rediscovered them and found these to be so relevant now:

I just want to take a moment here to get down on my knees and thank whoever invented our current biological system, under which the woman's job is to have the baby somehow go from the inside of her body to the outside of her body, in clear violation of every known law of physics, and the man's job is to stand around looking supportive and periodically, no matter what is actually happening to the woman, say, in an upbeat and perky voice, "You're doing great!"

When a woman gets to approximately her fifteenth year of labor, she begins making noises that you rarely hear outside of nature documentaries, and her husband edges back a little bit in case she gets her hands on a scalpel. But then it happens, the Blessed Event, the timeless miracle that makes the whole thing worthwhile: The woman has a baby via a process that makes what happened in Alien look like an episode of Teletubbies.
[That reminds me: Katie's birth story coming soon... -Mrs. P]

Having a baby causes your IQ to drop, as we see from these quotes:
Albert Einstein shortly after the birth of his son: "To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms--this knowledge, this feeling, is at the center of true religiousness."
Albert Einstein shortly after the birth of his son: "Daddy's gonna EAT THESE WIDDLE TOES!"

Babies do not believe in sleeping at night. When my daughter, Sophie, was two months old, she felt that the nighttime hours were best used for making loud, inexplicable, Exorcist-style noises. At 3:30 AM, her bassinet would suddenly start shaking like an unbalanced washing machine and erupt with a wide range of squeaks, gurgles, chirps, snorts, snuffles, grunts, and so on. It did not sound like there was a lone baby in there. It sounded like the entire Barnyard of the Demons. (Which would be an excellent name for a band.)

When my daughter Sophie was a brand-new human being, she naturally explored the mystery and magic of the world around her, by which I mean she was always trying to get her hands completely into her mouth. This was her primary goal in life. Her arms and legs constantly waved around in a random manner, and every now and then, whan a hand happened to land on her mouth, she became excited and started sucking on it like crazy. But then, without warning, the arm would yank the hand away, which made Sophie VERY angry. Whoever was operating her arms was going to get a piece of her mind, as soon as she figured out how to talk.

Katie also loves to give high-fives to the baby-in-the-mirror while we're changing her diaper, but that mean uncomplying baby-in-the-mirror keeps taking her hand away and won't play. Katie has had several heated arguments with her reflection about this.

John Paul the Evangelizer

This is just too awesome. (note: you must be very familiar with Homestarrunner and Trogdor to appreciate this)

John Paul the Evangelizer

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey and the Pickles present...

...Adventures in Mommyhood!

I just wanted to share with you my experience at Ash Wednesday Mass earlier this week. Those of you whose children are grown will sigh and say, ah yes... and Grandma K. will be laughing and repeating to herself the prayer, "Oh Lord, please bless our grandchildren, because they are our last hope for revenge against our own children."

I almost didn't make it to Mass at all -- Tues. was not a good night for sleep (too much Mardi Gras partying, I guess!) so we slept through morning Mass. I planned to take the girls to noon Mass, but as we were getting ready to leave Katie had a hysterical screaming fit for 10 minutes (I almost called her pediatrician, I was so worried) followed by a diaper explosion all over my lap and a living room chair (then I was glad I didn't call her pediatrician). Scratch noon Mass. Last chance, evening Mass. We actually made it into the car in a reasonable amount of time, supposedly allowing us an extra couple minutes before Mass started -- but it took me 5 minutes to get through one bad intersection, and the church parking lot was jam-packed. Carrying my purse, the diaper bag, Katie's car seat, and holding Miriam's hand, I huffed and puffed my way into the church during the first reading. A kind usher found me a seat, mercifully towards the back, although he had to ask a few people to slide over to make room for us. Miriam was entertained watching the rest of the rowdy kids in the pews behind us. She kept asking me in a stage whisper, "Mommy, what's the kids doing?" I couldn't tell you what any of the readings were.

During the homily Katie let out a fragrant bodily blast that made the people in front of us do a double-take -- I'm sure you could hear it halfway across the church. I red-facedly high-tailed it to the bathroom to change her. Then it was time to receive ashes. Miriam thought it was cool to get "Jesus on my head!" So up we go, back we come, Katie grunting & chewing on my knuckles the whole time b/c she's decided it's time for dinner. The deacon who blessed her with ashes just grinned at her attempt to devour my thumb (God bless him -- he understands cuz he's got 6 kids himself & oodles of grandkids). When we returned to our pew, there was the usual frantic activity trying to keep her quiet (ha) while I discreetly got myself ready. For a while all was peaceful in her quarter until the middle of the consecration, when she decided she was done RIGHT NOW, MOM, and there was more frantic activity trying to juggle getting myself put back together and keeping a ticking spit-up bomb happy. Fortunately she kept her dinner down, and didn't emit any blasts from her North Pole during the Eucharistic Prayers. Meanwhile, all this time Miriam is sliding back & forth along the pew or trying to climb into my lap, staring at people behind us, and talking in stage whispers. Finally she decided SHE had to use the bathroom [stage whisper: "Mommy, I have to go potty!!!"], so back we go again to the bathrooms, returning just in time for Communion. Finally I had about 30 seconds of peace to pray, and then it was time to leave. I went to bed at 9:30 that night.

In sum: three ring circus. I just have to laugh. Taking children to Mass requires infinite patience and a sense of humor, as well as extremely low expectations -- for one I don't expect to get any real praying done (except in 5-second increments). Some might ask, why go then? To which I respond, well, I don't usually (but that's only b/c God has blessed us with a baby who sleeps late!), but when I do, it's mostly simply to present myself and my children as an offering. My 5-second prayers usually consist of, "Well, Lord, here we are!" I remember my mother once telling someone about a time she was at Mass and was getting really frustrated because her kids were acting up (it must have been one of my brothers, of course -- it couldn't have been me, b/c I was always a perfect ANGEL at church) :b and she couldn't concentrate on the homily or prayer or anything. Finally she realized that taking care of her children was the most important thing for her to be doing at Mass. God gave her us children, and she was serving Him best by being a good mother. That thought has carried me through many difficult times at church with Miriam, and especially now with the two of them. I'm content just to go to Mass and be there, and offer my presence as my prayer. I can't help but feel that Our Lord is pleased.

However, I feel sorry for the people around us! I know we're a distraction. Fortunately I've never been given The Evil Eye by anyone when the kids are acting up -- at least, I've never noticed if someone has -- but I can't tell you how much it means to have others (especially the little old ladies) smile at me and my children at church, when I feel like our very presence is a nuisance!

What is your Medieval Personality Type?

What is your Medieval Personality Type?

According to the quiz I'm almost an equal split between melancholic and phlegmatic, although I think I have a pinch of sanguine too -- basically, I'm a shy, lazy optimist. :)

This quiz is really cool, b/c it has very detailed descriptions of the personality types, with their particular faults and strengths, as well as things to look out for in one's spiritual life and the training of children.

Pictures courtesy of Cute Inc.

The shirt says it all.



One nice thing about being a stay-at-home mom to kids under 4 -- family naptime! I just couldn't pass up this cute photo op.



On Sunday one of my friends from church (who's only a couple years older) called Katie -- who had a serious kaboom head that day -- "Monchichi". Does anyone else remember these characters? I think I was just a little too young for them to make a lasting impression -- their heydey was the early 80's I think. After a quick Google search I came up with this image, as well as an old memory from when I was 5 or 6 of my best friend (who had an older sister) singing a song about them.

Monchichi

See the resemblance? (Her hair has gotten SERIOUSLY fuzzy lately! It's like perpetual bed-head.)

Monchichi Katie

Mr. Pickles Nerd Score

As requested from my cousin-in-law-in-law (?), here is my nerd score.



Actually, I really wanted to know anyway. I am definitely more nerdy than my wife, but that's to be expected. I thought that I would be more nerdy than my score predicted, though I figured that I was about average before taking the exam. I wish I knew how the questions ranked me.

I think that the determining question was "What kind of OS (wo)man are you?" Anybody who puts Unix/Linux is probably automatically shoved into the upper quartile. My answer of "Windows" probably knocked me a few rungs down the ladder of nerdiness.

For the real math geeks in the family...

From John Derbyshire, National Review:

For this month, chew on the following little rhyme from the Greek Anthology, attributed to a 6th-century Byzantine Greek named Metrodorus. (The translation I have given here is by Denise Davidson Greaves.)

This grave contains Diophantus. What a great wonder!
For the gravestone cleverly tells the length of his life.
God granted him the fate to be a child for a sixth of his life.
Then, having added a twelfth part, he put down on his cheeks.
After another seventh part, Diophantus grasped the wedding torch.
Five years after his marriage, God granted him a child.
Alas! Late-born wretched youth, who only reached half
the length of his father's life when cold death took him.
Diophantus, after soothing his grief for four years
by this science of numbers, brought an end to his life.

What can you deduce about Diophantus's age at various points in his life?

Sorry to disappoint my family...

...except biology

a quote from my daily calendar for Moms:
"There is nothing to suggest that mothering cannot be shared by several people. -- H.R.Schaffer"

What annoys me about statements like this is that it seems to say that mothers are replaceable -- that there's not really anything so special about the mother-infant bond that can't be duplicated by just about anyone else. When Miriam was a baby I somehow got a free subscription to American Baby magazine (which I dubbed "American Fluff Baby magazine" -- it never really had anything terribly new or important to say -- mostly just advertisements). In one issue there was a breastfeeding vs. formula debate article, wherein the woman on the formula side was trying to argue that parents ought to share equally in all aspects of parenting. Supporters of breastfeeding like LLL often point out that Mom breastfeeding doesn't exclude other family members from helping to take care of the baby -- Dad or Grandma can diaper, dress, burp, bathe, snuggle and play with the baby -- the only thing they CAN'T do is breastfeed. But this woman dismissed all that, saying the one who does the feeding is really the only one that matters to a baby. Therefore, she chose NOT to breastfeed her son so that both she and her husband would have equal importance in baby's eyes.

There just seems to be something so wrong-headed, and confused, about this. Mom and Dad can't be equal in baby's eyes: they're too different. They look different, they sound different, they smell different, they feel different. No amount of denial by an androgynous society can alter that. I wish I could say to this woman, don't try to sell yourselves short: don't deny your son the experience of mothering and fathering, or yourselves the experience of motherhood and fatherhood. And who says that it's a good thing to try to be totally equal in baby's eyes? For one thing, this is his first exposure to the differences between maleness and femaleness -- don't try to confuse him by pretending there aren't any. In my experience, moms are good at snuggling, dads are good at playing. That doesn't suggest that each can't do the other, but that this is what they're best at. Relish your roles.

In a sense, Schaffer is right that some of the duties of motherhood can be shared by others, and in fact, they must in order to keep the mother from going insane! But a baby only has one mother. Don't insult her by saying she's replaceable. Six months is so short -- let Mom relish the precious time she has to be the most important person in the world to her baby.