I took Kato in for his six-month checkup yesterday morning. The good news is, he is bigger than he was before. He weighed in at 14 lbs, 7 oz, and is now 26 inches long. The less good news (depending on how you look at it) is that he is growing more slowly than he was. He dropped from the 10th-25th percentile to the 5th-10th percentile in both weight and length. In this respect, he is exactly like his sister, who was, some of you long-time readers might remember, declared “failure to thrive” at her one-year checkup. You may read about that episode by clicking here, but Alden’s general reaction to the diagnosis is best summed up by the following.
Alden has enthusiastically gotten her thrive on almost every day of her life. Her diminutive frame has in no way lessened the vigor with which she conducts her affairs. Watching him eat and lurch about in search of things to grab and gnaw, it seems that Kato is bound for the same fate. If he does turn out to be a small fellow, hopefully he will be able to weather it gracefully. I think it’s easier to be an undersized woman than an undersized man. Not that I’m speaking from actual experience as a member of either category.
Unlike his sister, who is generally content to lie on the scale looking mischievous, Kato refused to be weighed without a fight. He took out his frustrations on the sheet of white paper meant to protect him from the rampant cooties that must cling to every surface of a pediatrician’s office.
Kato’s doctor was at the hospital tending to a newly delivered baby, so Kato and I had to wait for a long time for his checkup. The little dude blitzed his way through about ten sheets of paper before Dr. Ramirez showed up.
But eventually he did, and Kato got a clean bill of health–along with four injections (two in each plump thigh) and an oral vaccination of some sort. It’s hard to be a baby at those first few checkups. It’s a wonder that we’re susceptible to any disease in the wake of that heartless battery of preemptive intervention.
Any good scientist will tell you that an experiment is as much about the things you learn during the experiment as the things you learn in the final outcome of the experiment. (Actually, I don’t know if this is true or not. I don’t actually know any good scientists, but it sounded like one of those kernels of wisdom that wiser folks like scientists often bat around.) Unfortunately, nobody told this to the judges of my 6th grade science fair, when I killed a bunch of lima bean seeds over the course of a month of “experimentation”. I learned a lot of things not to do to lima bean seeds if you want them to live, but my discoveries went unrewarded and my experiments were deemed “failures”. Sigh.
So, today when Alden wanted to feed Kato, I said, “Sure!” knowing that #1 her hand is about as steady as a liferaft crossing the Bering Sea, #2 Kato has a tendency to forcefully grab anything in arm’s reach and shove it violently towards his mouth, #3 Matthew just cleaned the high chair, and #4 Kato was wearing the brand new custom-embroidered bib he received in the mail from Matthew’s mom.
And so Experiment #1 began.
Things actually didn’t go too badly. Kato seemed willing to eat, and Alden tried to be careful. However, her rapid-fire feeding technique soon proved to be too much for Kato (and his bib), and he looked to me for help.
The only way I could get Alden to slow down was to tell her to look at the camera right when she put the spoon in Kato’s mouth. I have about 32 pictures just like this one, each with the same concerned look on Kato’s face and varying amounts of food on his bib.
Though the bib and the floor suffered terribly, nothing was irreparably damaged, including Alden’s pride (of which, frankly, she has plenty). The experiment was considered a success. Kato might beg to differ.
Experiment #2 was more of an investigation. Thursday, Friday and Saturday of this week are Chestertown’s “Crazy Days,” in which all of the local stores put deeply discounted items out for sale on the sidewalks. It turns out that Eastern Shore Tents and Events, located just across the street from us, had SnoCones that were so deeply discounted they were free. Alden insisted on trying one.
She started out pretty disappointed at the size of it.
I must confess, I had secretly signaled the SnoCone girl behind Alden’s back to make it a small one. There’s only so much Blue Razzberry aftermath a mom can handle.
What I hadn’t understood was how frustrating eating a SnoCone can be if all of it sits well below the rim of the cone. While I was busy mugging for the camera, Alden was trying her best to figure out how to eat the damned thing.
She finally demanded my help.
I ended up having to mash up the SnoCone with my fingers and hand her bits of it. In between times, she would demand the SnoCone back, try to eat it and only get bits of paper cup, shove the SnoCone back at me, and roll over and pout on the steps. It took a long time, and thankfully used up a lot of her new influx of sugar power.
After all the ice was picked over/melted, she finally got to down the syrupy delight at the bottom of the cup. It was perhaps the only redeeming thing about the experience.
When I asked her how she liked her first SnoCone, she gave it the thumbs up.
Slightly disappointed, I suggested it might have been worth two thumbs up. She grudgingly agreed, but really, only grudgingly.
Experiment #3 has been a long time in the works. We have many members in our family, you see, and Kato is just starting to realize that he is only part of a complicated web of relationships. On the family totem pole, I am above Alden, Alden is above Lily, Lily is above Oscar, Iggy is usually above Oscar but sometimes below, Matthew is sometimes above Alden, but then sometimes he’s below Oscar, who, if you haven’t figured it out, is almost always pretty much down towards the bottom. Kato, being a relative non-entity until recently, is trying to jockey his way into the line-up in what I consider a pretty gentlemanly way – starting at the bottom.
Today he made several overtures to Oscar, hoping to establish a strong foundation with the lowest rung of the ladder. It’s a lot easier to move up the ladder when the folks you’re moving past are happy to help you up.
Things started out pretty well. Kato and Oscar shook hands, sized each other up, and Kato somehow convinced Oscar that he wasn’t that much of a threat.
They chatted awhile, and they were feeling pretty friendly. Unfortunately, Kato accidentally let slip that he hadn’t been neutered at his 6-month check up. Oscar was astounded.
“But they’re going to do it sometime, right?” Oscar asked, starting to feel a bit defensive.
Kato assured Oscar that there was no such talk at his appointment, and that, in fact, the doctor had had a look to make sure his parts were all still there.
“Hey man, we can still be friends, though, right?” Kato asked, hopefully.
Oscar wasn’t going to open the door on this one until he absolutely had to.
Oscar figures he’s just not going to deal with the little rat until he’s big enough to chase him around and pull on his tail. Until then, he’s not open for negotiations.
Kato is, after all, just a baby. And a baby is still easy to break, even for a castrated 13-year-old cat.
Who can say what inspired Robbi to draw a frog juggling bowling pins while riding uphill on a bicycle with backwards handlebars?
Did it have something to do with the Tour de France? To assume so would, I believe, be giving Robbi too much credit. She pays no attention to sporting events of any sort, especially not those happening in other time zones.
Is the illustration instead a visual metaphor for Robbi’s frenzied mental state as she was trying to finish up her various loose-end projects in the waning days before departing for the tundra? Perhaps. But what, then, is the frog to represent? Was she feeling cold and wet? Did she feel like jumping in a pond? Or bathing on a lily pad? There are so many possible interpretations.
Or does Robbi just want to go bowling, and this is her roundabout way of letting me know? It seems like the most plausible explanation. Luckily, there is little that delights me more than bowling. Where else in life is it socially acceptable to hurl a heavy object at other heavy objects? Is there anything more satisfying than the frantic explosion when the ball hits the pins just so? (Question not rhetorical.) Robbi and I each have our own personalized balls, gifts from one another one fateful Christmas long ago. It has been far too long since we’ve taken them out into the world. An outing will be planned in the near future, and photos will be posted in the aftermath.
Regardless, if you’re interested in owning this colorful projection of Robbi’s muddled mindscape, you may do so by clicking here.
Matthew and Alden have just set out on a run. Matthew goes running pretty much every day. The heat is enough less intense today that he decided to bring Alden along – the extra ballast (slung as she is between three well-oiled bicycle wheels with excellent suspension and action) will hopefully not undo him. As a safety precaution, he has enabled his run tracking software, a pretty cool app called Runkeeper, through his iPod.
This way, I can watch him as he progresses, and if the little blue running man icon stops moving in the middle of the road somewhere, I will know that he has either passed out from exhaustion or has stopped to talk to some of the more fetching ladies residing on the other side of the Chester River.
Either way, I’m hopping in the space van and retrieving him.
Back in 7th grade when I was reading Nineteen Eighty-Four, I never thought that it could be me. Another dream realized. Check.
We’ve just been notified that a recent video interview we did for the Chestertown Spy is up for public consumption. We happen to think it turned out great. You totally can’t tell from the video that it was filmed the day before I left for Alaska, when I was in a frenzy of getting things done and the bags under my eyes weighed two tons. Thank god for the hours they spent on my hair and make-up. Matthew, of course, looks just scraggly enough to be thought of as a legitimate writer, while not being in a brawl (Hemingway) or drinking himself under the table (everyone else). Even Kato makes a cameo (though he really suffered from those ten pounds that the camera adds). So, all things considered, we give it an A+. They also chose not to include the many, many, many stupid things we said.
Without further ado, have a look:
Many props to editor Dave Wheelan for getting us to say the few things we said that weren’t stupid, and to Kurt Kolaja for putting it all together so deftly.
Also, have a look at the Spy and see what’s up in Chestertown (occurrences as well as disturbances, though I prefer to heavily browse the latter) – and (the best!) check out the Osprey Cam. They do it right here in C-town.
Hello all.
It’s me, Robbi, and I am still alive.
Which means many things:
#1: I survived the 21-hour trip up from Chestertown to Coffee Point, with two babies, a monkey, a frog and a hippo.
#2: I survived another fishing season (albeit a lackluster one).
#3: I survived the 27-hour return trip (though not without breaking down and getting a hotel room in Seattle for my 9-hour layover).
#4: I survived the searing shame of my husband completely ignoring me at the baggage claim while he instead scooped up his two babies and cried copious tears of joy.
I would have had great pictures to share of any and all of these things, except that I didn’t bring my camera along, what with the traveling with two babies, a monkey, a hippo, a frog, a backpack full of diapers and treats, a stroller and a bouncy chair (not to mention the two coolers and the cardboard box that I checked). People stared at me as I walked through the airport with one baby strapped to my chest and the other in the stroller (with Monkey, Stinky Hippo and Frog) – awestruck at either my audacity or my stone-cold foolishness.
The photos that I took up in Coffee Point are still in Coffee Point on my mom’s camera. They will be shared when the elder Behrs return in early August. With the photos will come a longish post about what-all we do up there, but I promise it won’t be as epic as Matthew’s South Dakota post (it took me two and a half whole days to read it, if you count the many long naps that occurred en route). Though, Matthew has already posted rather exhaustively on it here, here and here (search for “alaska” at thebarnstorming and you will find a-plenty more).
To whet your appetites, I will post an old favorite – Iggy demanding to be let back in, and Bob refusing to leave the best snoozing spot in the house.
I sure missed having her up there this year, but couldn’t possibly have added her to the traveling party.
My family has returned, and I am a happy man. The reports of Kato’s expanding appetite were not exaggerated, and Alden is, in fact, even more of a moving wall of will than she was a month ago. We’ve had a fine time catching up, even if the family spent more hours this weekend sleeping than awake.
I have no news or humor for you this morning, just proof of the return of my prodigal tinies.
Apparently, the thing Alden missed the most about life in the lower 48 was not her Papa, but Dunkin Donuts.
I’m sure that Kato would cite distance from me of late among his foremost complaints, but he still lacks any means of communicating such complex ideas, and so I’m left to wonder.
How does one interpret the inscrutable?
Robbi has returned, too, of course. I’d post a recent photo if only she’d stay awake long enough for me to take one.
To the first point, humility. My mother called today, outraged at the fact that there is no auction this week. All I can say is that I tried. Robbi did an illustration for this week before she left. She slid it carefully in an acid-free archival sleeve and placed it lovingly in the Priority Mail envelope so that all I’d have to do is add an address and drop it in the mail. She left me careful, detailed instructions as to how to post the auction in her absence. I tried. I really tried. But I was defeated by Ebay and its endless menus. Now you have twice felt the scourge of her absence, as I have been feeling it every day since June 26. First with a bungled Matthew Draws and now with the indignity of no illustration to bid on this week. If my technological shortcomings have had a detrimental impact on your happiness, I heartily apologize. All I can say is that Robbi is due back on Friday. Hopefully her return will signal a resumption of the technological standards to which you have become accustomed, and which you heartily deserve.
As for the happiness, a mere 42 hours from now, I will be reunited with my family. They fly into Washington in the heart of rush hour on Friday, but traffic and is constituent hassles will be the farthest thing from my mind. All I can think of right now is a four-way bear hug. Likely Alden will have different ideas, but a father can dream.
Apparently, Kato still lacks the motor skills to thwart my plans. He still does not sit up or crawl or have any teeth, but four weeks on the tundra have transformed him from a tiny baby into a huge, fat lump of eating frenzy. Robbi suggests I might not be able to lift him. Good thing I’ve been doing all those push-ups.
So in addition to functioning auctions and proper Matthew Draws survey mechanisms, you will soon be freed from my perpetual moping about missing my people. I wonder which development pleases you more.
A few years back, we struck up a wonderful creative partnership with the folks at Tor.com. Working with them, we created the One-Page Wonders series, which is still available for download and construction (all you need is a printer and some scissors). Then, last spring, we produced the illustrations for the online release of Cory Doctorow’s novel, Makers. If you’ve somehow missed this in spite of our endless rambling about it, take a moment to play the Flash game that lets you mix and match (and rotate) the illustrations online.
I have not been following Tor.com with my usual diligence of late. If I had been, I would have been quicker to let you know that our most recent commissioned work was published on that fine website this past Tuesday. Our friends at Tor.com asked us to come up with some fitting commemoration of their two years in business. Since we happen to live with someone who is almost exactly the same age as Tor.com, we decided to do a comic that compares and contrasts the ways and inclinations of the average two-year-old and Tor.com’s spirited rocket mascot Stumpy.
To whet your appetite, here are the first two panels.
But there are many more, for your enjoyment, to be found by clicking here.
