It

Cannon is a really cute baby. Whenever I go out in public, I am constantly being stopped so people can admire him. "Oh, he could be the Gerber baby!" is a fairly common refrain. "Those cheeks! Those legs!" is another. When Kemper and Rowan were babies, they stopped a fair amount of traffic, but that was the twin thing. People just can't help themselves around twins, it seems. I figured with one baby, it's just a baby and not any big deal.

I would estimate that Cannon gets about twice as much attention as his brothers did. I was not expecting this. I figured if everyone else thinks he's so cute, maybe I should take him to a modeling agency and see if he could cash in on those good looks.

I did some poking around, and eventually went to the baby open modeling call at a local agency that a friend uses for her kids. They gave us a brief talk about the industry in general, and the agency in particular. We saw pictures of some of the kids they represent. Then each child/parent couple went up, photos in hand, for a brief (really brief, as in 10 seconds) one-on-one with the owner. This was on a Wednesday morning, and we were all told that if they were interested, we would get a phone call by 5 p.m. on Friday.

Apparently Cannon doesn't have "it", whatever "it" is. We didn't get a call. Oh well. He's still the cutest baby ever in my book.

One

I am constantly amazed and surprised at how much fun it is to have a baby around. Being able to see the wheels spin in Cannon's brain as he learns new things is just great. Even when the new skills are not particularly useful or desirable, I find it fascinating. For instance, we have one of those corner cabinets in the kitchen that spins open. Just yesterday he figured out he could open it himself. After that great accomplishment, he then proceeded to remove the various boxes of pasta stored in there. Which, of course, led to the dumping of an entire box of spaghetti all over the floor. He just grinned and giggled, then started whipping my leg with one of the noodles. (His big brothers have already begun instructing him in the fine art of swordplay, and he uses every opportunity to practice.)

I cheerfully cleaned it up, taped the box shut, and took a quick look at the other boxes to make sure they were safe. I deemed them to be so, and let him continue his exploration. Within 2 minutes, he had dumped an entire box of angel hair all over the floor. He had managed to remove the tied plastic bag that the box was in.

Now, 5 plus years of sleep deprivation have not made me the most patient mother in the world by any stretch. Had one of the older boys done this, I would have been mad. But not with Cannon. I'm sure part of it is that he doesn't know any better, but I still manage to feel guilty that I'm not as patient with the twins.

As I watch Cannon's progress, I try and remember similar moments from when Rowan and Kemper were this age. They are pretty hazy, and while I can vaguely recall being excited about various milestones being reached, I just can't remember being as patient or really taking the time to enjoy those moments. I have to believe that this can mostly be attributed to them being twins and therefore way more work, though it makes me kind of sad to think of what I might have missed as a result.

I love all of my boys, but for now the joy of just having one baby is really amazing.

Po' Boy

Wow. While searching the web a few weeks ago for ways to use up a leftover pot roast that wasn't very good, I came across a recipe for a roast beef po' boy with debris gravy. I kept it in my binder of recipes to use the next time I had a roast to cook, and today was the day.

If you haven't had the pleasure of eating one of these in New Orleans, your life is not complete. The po' boy is more than just a sandwich. If you get it from the right establishment, it can seriously be better than sex.

I have to say the meal we had this evening came pretty close to the real thing. If I had been able to find better bread, it would have been incredible. Sadly you just can't find New Orleans french bread here in Boston, and the bread really is the key to the sandwich.

It still amazes me that we survived without the Internet for so long. Cooking has become much less intimidating and a lot more fun for me now that I can search for recipes and cross-reference them with several cookbooks. I still probably spend more time cooking than I really should, but I'm getting more efficient. It's the one thing I feel like I can really do for myself amid the never ending childcare duties, since we all have to eat. And though I do have a few things I keep on hand for those days when I simply don't have the time, energy, or whatever to cook dinner, I'd much rather cook a full meal that we can eat as a family. Most nights I succeed. The house is a wreck, but hey, the eating is good.

Mobile

Several months ago, our pediatrician predicted that Cannon had a pretty good chance of being an early walker. This was somewhat surprising, given that he is a sturdy, plump little guy who apparently is built very much like his uncle. Said uncle has been described as having been "too fat to crawl, he just went straight to walking", but that he didn't do that until kind of late.

Well, Cannon isn't walking yet. He's working on it - he can do many of the things necessary to walk, and seems to be working on them pretty hard. I expect he will be early on this. However, he's a whiz at the stairs. I didn't give it much thought until his 9 month check up yesterday. "Cannon can climb all the way to the top of the stairs already. Is that normal?" I asked innocently. "Um, no!" was the response. "He should be cruising, but not climbing stairs." This was followed by concerns that he always be supervised while on the stairs, as well as eliciting promises from the big brothers that they'll always tell one of us if Cannon is headed up the stairs.

This morning I was reading an email about "your baby this week" and found a chart on what babies do when. Climbing stairs? That isn't supposed to happen until 16 months. Yep, I'd say he's a bit early on this.

Love You Too

Well, I've finally done it. I'm such a bad mommy that Kemper announced this morning, "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back!" as he left for school. You might be wondering what awful thing I did to prompt this. Well, I *gasp* asked him to clean up all of his Playmobil stuff from the living room floor so Cannon wouldn't eat the tiny pieces. I know, I'm a mean, horrible person. What was I thinking?!

(Rowan, by the way, had this to say in response: "Well, I guess we'll just be four again." How's that for brotherly love?)

But Kemper is so funny when he's really mad. He can make the most hurtful comments or the meanest faces. Of course, if we laugh at him, he goes through the roof. What was really funny this morning, though, was that as he was fastening his seat belt in the carpool car, he gave me his meanest scowl and in his deepest, grumpiest voice said, "Have a good day. I love you forever." I know he meant it, but part of it was simply that he is a creature of habit. A couple of months ago he got started on this "I love you forever" business at bedtime and when saying goodbye at school or when he leaves the house. So I know that the primary reason for the comment this morning was that if he hadn't said it, he would have been even more upset for breaking his routine.

Eating Disorder

I made the mistake of mentioning at dinner the other night that hot dogs are among the most dangerous foods for small children because they could be a choking hazard. Kemper now is completely paranoid about choking, refused to eat another bite of his hot dog that night, and now worries about every bite he takes. Last night he took one bite of his hamburger, chewed it for at least 10 minutes, then went and spit it out in the bathroom trash can. When I asked him why, he said he was worried he would choke on it.

Now, this kid loves meat. He particularly likes hamburgers. I'm not sure if it's because I served it on a hot dog bun (the burger ones were moldy), and that made it too similar to a hot dog, or what. And never mind that he has actually choked before and thought nothing of it after the fact.

Of course, there's always the possibility (probability?) that this is all for my benefit. He seems particularly interested in pushing my buttons these days, so this wouldn't surprise me. And he's eating lunch at school, so he's not starving or anything. Then again, all I know for sure is that the lunch box is coming home empty and he says he ate it all...

Fundraiser

Out at school there are nearly daily fundraisers for one group or another, mostly the music corporation. They sell hot dogs and sodas, ice cream, and, once each week, lunch. Occasionally there will be a student selling baked goods, and I'm told by a staff member that at least one of these kids is trying to raise part of her tuition.

Rowan and Kemper asked one day if I would make them cookies to sell at school so they could have more money to buy Gormiti (their current toy of choice). "Sure", I replied. Then I didn't hear anything about it for a handful of weeks. It came up again recently, so I decided to do it.

First, I calculated the cost for all the ingredients. Then I made the boys help measure, mix, and bake the cookies. We talked at length about how the whole operation would work, that they would first have to pay me the $6 for the ingredients before they got to keep anything, and that every cookie they gave away to their friends was one less quarter for their piggy banks. "We understand, mommy. We aren't going to give any of them away." I reviewed the process with them several times, and even gave them 8 quarters in case they needed to make change, then piled them into the carpool car with good luck wishes.

About 6 hours later, I picked them up from school. Normally the kids are all waiting for me up near the parking lot, but on this particular day they were still playing outside so I walked down to help them get their things together.

"So boys, how'd the cookie sale go?"

"Mommy, we only sold 3 cookies."

"So where are the rest?"

"Oh, we ate them."

I sent them to school with 48 chocolate chip cookies. I guess I wasn't terrifically surprised, but must confess I had higher hopes for their success. When I asked them where the money was, they didn't know. We found it the next day in the office, and the container had 9 quarters in it - the 8 I had given them plus one they had been paid. Neither could tell me what happened to the other $.50 they had earned the day before.

Kemper said, "Mommy, I don't ever want to sell cookies again." But he's mostly mad that they still owe me the $6. Which, of course, I have already told them they didn't have to pay. What a sucker.