Tuesday, December 18, 2007
We made it to Salt Lake - and just in time. We headed west just as the winter storm that paralyzed the Midwest and Northeast headed east. Luckily we flew through Dallas and avoided the 250 delayed flights at O'Hare. Zoe's preferred mode of travel is now the airplane. She slept longer and more peacefully in a crammed airplane at 30,000 ft. than she ever has in her car seat around town. Admittedly, we were a little anxious about air travel and a four-month old, but things went very smoothly. One incident, however, is worth reporting though it doesn't involve Zoe. On our way to Dallas I had to relieve myself of a little pre-flight hydration. As frequent travelers of all stripes know, airplane lavatories are, without a doubt, the place to avoid. They invariably appear on lists of "germiest" places and frequently feature sights and smells of which nightmares are made. Anyway, I walked all the way down the aisle under the gaze of the other passengers and entered the vacant stall. Turbulence didn't make it easy, but it was, in the end, uneventful. Immediately after returning to my seat, the flight attendant's voice came blaring, rather incoherently, over the loudspeaker: "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats, the toilet is clogged." Needless to say, I turned bright red and watched with surprise as the captain emerged from the cockpit and rushed down the aisle toward the restroom. He was either in dire need of a pitstop or pilot training includes a course in unclogging airplane toilets. So, we're still debating whether the pilot couldn't wait and needed a clear path to the washroom, or if I have magic urine that clogs toilets. My guess is the former, but I think the crew on American Airlines flight 327 could have concocted a more tactful plan to get the captain to the bathroom.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Ice was the story this morning. For those not familiar with ice storms or freezing rain, it's a meteorological phenomenon nearly unsurpassed in resplendent charm. I found the best way to survey the effects is on one's back. The return to consciousness cast a glittering aura around the heavy, ice encrusted tree limbs; and it was there, at the bottom of our slippery stairs, that I thought of the blog. We bundled up Zoe, who suffered from a bit of snowsuit paralysis akin to Randy Parker in A Christmas Story, and took some pictures for our faithful readers.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Since we recently discovered Zoe's intolerance to both soy and dairy-based formula, we've been considering other options. One suggestion we heard frequently from both friends and medical professionals was goat's milk. Zoe seemed to like it. After all, despite the odor, the can claims it has a "gourmet taste" and that it's easier to digest than cow's milk. After finishing her first bottle, she took special notice of the goat picture in her flip-a-face baby animal book. Interestingly enough, the goat makes a "maa maa" sound, which made us wonder whether Zoe was getting a little confused about her true progenitor. Two days later, after a few bottles of premium goat's milk, we noticed a suspicious lack of dirty diapers. "What are you feeding me," she said? Well, soon thereafter, we discovered that goat's milk was not the solution to Zoe's eating woes. After returning from the pediatrician, we became aware that Zoe needed to be changed, and it was, naturally, my turn. Unzipping her hoodie, I detected something out of the ordinary up around her chest. POOP! Jenny later said it looked like a 24 oz. jar of peanut butter exploded in her diaper. It took 16 wipes to scrape it off. I considered taking a picture, but two things stopped me: I couldn't let my daughter wallow in her own filth and I feared the repercussions of posting inappropriate content to blogger. Anyway, the verdict on goat's milk: STAY AWAY!