Walker loves his carrots.
For the past few days, he’s been very interested in being a part of the carrot eating process. Yesterday it was all about his bowl. Today it was all about his spoon. We had to maneuver the full spoon around his spoon if we were going to get anything actually into his mouth. So this video goes out to all y’all on the East Coast and in Italy. We attempted to catch a glimpse of the little teeth but it was not to be, just got a shot from the spoon’s perspective.
Yesterday was a good day. It was one of those odd San Francisco days — cool but not cold and some people wearing short sleeves with others all bundled up. Walker, Daddy and I took a walk along the path at the beach in our off-road stroller while we waited for Granddaddy to make his way to see us. (Going was slow due to the downed trees, flooding and other nonsense between The Sea Ranch and Petaluma. He had to take all sorts of back roads and ended up being a guide to a bunch of city folk who likely would have simply parked and drank wine at a cafe until the roads opened.) Walker was wearing his weekend shoes — cute little Robeez moccasins with dragons on them. He doesn’t wear them during the week because despite the manufacturer’s claims that they are “stay-on” shoes, Walker manages to pull them off more frequently than Sofiya and Lisa would like. So, during the week he wears lace-up boots or his footed pjs. Anyway, each weekend I try to see if his feet have grown enough where the darn things will stay on (and you might asky why and I’d reply, “the shoes are just so amazingly CUTE that it’s worth all this nonsense.”) Yesterday was no exception so on his shoes went and out we went for a walk. We figured we were pretty safe given he’s in his stroller and his feet are not easily accessed.
Larry and I are walking and chatting and I casually peer down at Walker, and he has his shoe in is mouth. One little bare foot is peeking out from under his blanket. About 40 feet behind us on the path is a lonely sock. We retrieve the sock and securely replace the shoe on the foot. About 20 minutes later we turn around and head for home. We’re taking our time and we mention feet and again, I casually look down to see two little bare feet peeking out from under the blanket. One shoe/sock pair is caught above the wheel on the stroller. I look down the path just as a man about 30 feet behind us is removing a small leather shoe from his beautiful golden retriever’s mouth. The sock is about 10 feet in front of them.
Walker finds this game very amusing. And he does have such cute feet.
Granddaddy finally made it down to San Francisco and we had a nice day of Baby TV. Uncle Thayer finished his shift making calls for Obama and joined us at the Park Chalet for a Linner. (I’ve always thought the 3:30 meal should have a name like Brunch — I suppose it would be correct to call is Supper but I have always equated Supper with Dinner so I’m making up a new word because I can.) I may have mentioned that my father has a new dog, (American) Bart, (the “American” is silent but is part of the pedigree as to distinguish him from (Italian) Bart who is my sister Hilary’s doggie). (American) Bart is, well, a bit untrained, and my father is doing an amazing job of teaching him. He’s reading up on all the books and is taken with the Dog Whisperer’s approach to training. One issue for (American) Bart is that he is QUITE active and requires many, many energetic walks per day. So, when Cesar has a canine with a similar issue, he straps on his roller blades and is able to give the doggie more of a work out. Now my father is in his mid-sixties and is in very good shape. He takes many walks with said doggie, walks 18 holes regularly, periodically runs and even makes it to the gym in fits and starts. But I wouldn’t think of him as the most athletic (or logical) guy in the world.
A few days ago my phone rings. “Do you or Larry have any roller blades I can borrow?” Having had a few calls of this nature, I know I must inquire as to the problem we’re trying to solve rather than respond to the direct question. “Um, what do you need them for?” My father exuberantly explains his plan to which I reply, “Have you ever BEEN on roller blades? You know they have no brakes (and I don’t believe (American) Bart has any either).” We go down the logic path with a conversation about how it would be similar to walking the dog while ice skating (which my Maine-born father does have experience doing) and given his lack of experience, the lack of brakes, and (American) Bart’s unpredictable nature (e.g. running after moving trucks until he’s sucked under the tire and spit out like a little rubber doggie toy — stunned but not hurt), we decide something with larger wheels and brakes might be more appropriate. So, yesterday my father borrows my brother’s bike and takes a test drive. As we waited, Larry and Thayer discussed girls, Walker dozed, and I made sure I knew where Dad’s health insurance card was and planned what I’d do with (American) Bart when we had to take Dad to the hospital. A few minutes later Dad and dog return, muddy, somewhat exercised, and in one piece.