Owen is just like Paris Hilton

In that they have the same favorite word: Hot!

Unlike Paris, though, Owen doesn't use it to describe someone who is particularly attractive romantically (I hope), rather he uses it to describe things that are non-metaphorically hot. He first learned the phrase on Christmas day when B was explaining why he couldn't crawl into the oven as dad was cooking Christmas dinner. Now, he correctly uses the word to describe food which needs to be cooled. In fact, he can know identify wavy lines over pictures of food as representing hotness, as he does when we read him a delightful book he received for Christmas from his Aunt Sue and Uncle Mike, I like it when.

He also used it last night in the tub to describe the hot water. I'm very impressed with how well he's applying the concept in lots of different contexts.

Owen and the panda

One of Bridgette's lawyer friends always gives the new kids of his friends a panda doll from the zoo and asks that he be given a picture of the baby with the doll. Apparently he's been doing this for years has a large wall in his office with kids, some of whom are now grown, posing with their pandas. Owen loves his, and this is the photo we sent with the thank you card. 

Mommy's back!

This picture wasn't taken this morning, but it sure could have been. B finished her billing for the year and Owen and I are really looking forward to spending a whole three-day weekend together. This morning we had brunch with some friends and went to the park; tonight, I'm making a special dinner for B and we're going to watch a true American cinema classic. 

Howl

I know this photo has been emailed around a fair bit, but someone requested that this go up again, so, voila!

If there are photos that you'd like to see, please do feel free to email me. 

Owen's birthday

I know Owen's birthday isn't near, but I love this collection of pictures from it. The cake made by his godmother, Linda, his first tentative bites of cake, and then his descent into being "both happy and angry," as Ralph Wiggam would say. 

Aster!!!

This is a picture of Owen with Aster, his day care provider.

Some of the more savy/obsessive of you may note that I'm blogging at 4 in the afternoon on a work day. Why, pray tell, aren't I at work? Well, because our office closed early today (I actually am still sort of on duty; I have to keep my cell phone on me in case there are any new arrests today, but it seems unlikely that I'll get called). Why, you may ask, did I not pick up Owen early if I'm off work? The answer to that question, is that Owen doesn't like it when I pick him up early. The last time I did it he pitched a fit for about 2 hours. He has his schedule and, damnit, it includes a certain amount of play time at Aster's, and he'll thank you not to mess it up.

Though I'm a little dissapointed, it does indicate that he's in a good place while I'm working. 

It's off to work we go . . .

B took this one as Owen and I prepared for a hard day's work. It's still one of my favorites. 

Upcoming blog topics . . .

Sorry for the lack of blogging today. Last night was the game and I couldn't watch it at home (we don't have cable and it was on ESPN), so I saw the first half at the gym (it's quite taxing to work out for an entire half of a football game) and the second half at a sports bar near the gym. By the time I got home I was just too tired to blog, and I knew Owen was going to be up 5 short hours later.

Today I had to drive out to Maryland's Eastern Shore to visit a client and just didn't have access to a computer until Owen had gone to bed. But, as a teaser for tomorrow night, in addition to more pictures of Owen, I'll be updating you on:

Owen's new favorite word
Owen's culinary tastes
Owen's great day care provider

Of course, if there's a topic you're interested in hearing about, feel free to drop me an email.

Cheering lessons

Sometimes I think there's little I can really teach Owen; he's already got me beat for cuteness, ability to learn new words quickly, and fashion-sense (though, in fairness, that's largely because his mom picks his clothes).

So I was very happy when I realized I could teach him to cheer! Here, I was trying to get Owen to learn to yell using his hand as a makeshift megaphone. He still needs work, but, hey, there's always next season to practice. 

An oldie but goodie

This one is from shortly after Owen was born. Wow has he changed!

(Doesn't B look tired? My God I can't believe we're doing this again) 

Hey, good game

Here, Owen offers his hand to the defeated Michigan fans of the internet. "Good game, Michigan fans." he says, "I thought you almost had us at the end of the game with your play-of-many-laterals. You were worthy opponents."

Owen, of course, did not actually watch the game, or the play-of-many-laterals, since it was almost five hours after his bed time. His connection to Nebraska is so strong, though, that he was able to intuit the play as it was happening in his dreams. (I think that's what he meant when he said "bott[le]" this morning. I was with him, so I gave him a bottle of milk as a sign of solidarity.). 

Go Big Red

Nebraska beats Michigan! Whoopie! In celebration of Nebraska's win, I'm posting photos of Owen in Nebraska gear tonight.

Go Big Red!

Alamo Bowl tomorrow!

As every thinking person knows, tomorrow night is the Alamo Bowl. Sadly, it's only on ESPN, so I'll have to go to a sports bar to watch the game, and I won't be able to watch with Owen. But, in the spirit of the game, please answer the following poll:

What will happen in the Alamo Bowl?
	Nebraska will win by more than 12 points.
	Nebraska will win by less than 12 points.
	Michigan will win by less than 12 points.
	Michigan will win by more than 12 points.
	The game will be cancelled when Mexico tries to retake the Alamo.
	Other (please explain in the comments section).
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Very funny webpage

Here's a very funny webpage that I found recently, much like McSweeney's lists. I won't say checking these out is a good use of your time, but it's probably better than rechecking this blog for updates between 9 and 5 EST.

They're fake Craig's list postings by a Chicago comedy group. I'll put a sample in below, just, please, don't tell my grandmother about this. I don't want her to know I know some of these words.

Here's a (clean) favorite:

Want to start bottle cap collection

---

Reply to: info@kasperhauser.com
Date: 2005-12-17, 10:23AM PST

Need advice on how to get started –
just get some caps and get goin’, or what?

Guest photo!

My mom sent me this picture, from her visit out this fall. Check out that happy walker!

Again, if you've got a photo you'd like to see on the blog, email it to me.

Yams!

I told Owen we were going to have yams for dinner. This was his reaction. 

Clean boy!

Bridgette and I have complicated relationships with housework. I tend to think that I would have a better attitude about doing it if my parents had raised me better; Bridgette thinks would have a better attitude about doing it if I'd stop blaming my parents as a way to procrastinate cleaning.

Happily, Owen seems to love housework! He'll go get a broom on his own, and start sweeping in the kitchen. And, apparently, the child labor laws don't apply to unpaid chores in the house. Everyone wins! 

A hard day's work

Imagine the sense of accomplishment Owen must feel when he looks under the Christmas tree and can see that he has thrown every ball he owns there. Time to relax with a nice sippy cup of milk and take pride in an afternoon's work. 

It's Not (Necessarily) a Boy!

I got an email today that asks an important question:

We are enjoying your blog and all the great pics of O. but here's my question--do we know that the new baby is a boy?? I only wonder because you refer to him or her as Baby Y--I don't think I know this if so....

We have no idea if Baby Y is a boy or a girl (actually, someone had to explain to me the Y chromosome thing that the question implies; I get confused about such things). Before Owen was born, my brother him Baby X, and when Baby Y came along, Andy started calling Baby Y Baby Y and the name just stuck. So, no hidden message is meant to be communicated; unless Andy knows the sex of the baby and he's just messing with us (which is something I won't rule out).

The Wiederspan Weblog

Hey, my cousin Jess has a new blog! It's got a much slicker look than this one; I'm feeling a little pressure to up my stylistic game over here. I think I need to spend some time with an html book.

Rest

Running in a circle, chasing a cat, throwing a ball, and dodging parental interference with a Christmas tree can be exhausting, particularly without coffee. Here, Owen takes a well-earned rest. 

A Ball!

Of course, any time with Owen involves his favorite ball. 

Which ornaments can I eat?

Owen has been intrigued by Christmas trees since we put ours up right after Thanksgiving. He demands that the lights go on whenever he's in the room, and he tries to pull any ornament he can reach off. But I think he's really freaked out that other people have the same strange tree in their houses too. Here, Bridgette tries to encourage appropriate interaction with the tree, but returning an ornament to it, after Owen had taken it off. 

Something to chase

Of course, it's no fun running if you have nothing to chase. Owen, eventually, was very good with the cat, but there was at least one tail pulling incident. I don't think the cat had seen this much exercise in it's whole life. Owen, of course, was mystified by any living creature that didn't naturally gravitate toward him. 

Running!

Dad's house has a lot more space than ours, and Owen took full advantage. For every waking hour over the past three days, I'd bet he spent at least 50 minutes running in the circle made by going into the kitchen, then living room, then dining room, then back to the kitchen.

From the smile on his face you could tell what he was thinking: You can run a whole circle in a house! Too much fun! 

Coffee for me?

Someone decided that Owen should have coffee a few weeks ago. Apparently the Seattle blood runs think in his veins; he's been on a mission for the stuff ever since. In this photo he's trying to get some out of Mary. 

Early in the Christmas Unwrapping

We opened many of Owen's presents at our house on Christmas Eve day, then drove to my dad's in Pennsylvania. This shot was early in the process on Christmas Eve, as Owen plays with a wooden toy boat given him by Andy. 

Owen's trip to PA

Owen took the car ride very very well.  He slept the first two hours or so, then was awake and playful for the next two.  All things considered it was a great drive.  He played happily with his beloved red ball for a long time, and really wore himself out.  Dad gave him an early Christmas present; a ball the plays the Michigan State fight song when thrown against the floor hard, and a football with a MSU logo on it.  I'm a little worried about his collegiate football loyalties, but I suppose there's nothing wrong with having a favorite Big Ten team (provided he knows who to cheer for when there's a conflict).

But, Owen ran out of gas early, so I'm off to church without him (or B, who'll keep guard in case he wakes up).

Was there no Christmas spirit?

Here's a link to an article I thought was interesting about the Christmas story. It's kind of the short nonfiction version of the Da Vinci Code for Christmas.

I don't know that I know enough to have a meaningful opinion about all this, but on one version of this theory it at least makes sense of the start of the book of Matthew. Without some kind of background theory like this, it just seems strange to spend that much text giving the ancestory of Jesus's step-father.

I doubt it really matters though.

A programming note

Baby Y, Owen, Bridgette, and I are going to my dad's place in Kittanning tomorrow for Christmas. While I know dad has internet access (as strongly suggested here), and I'm sure I'll have access to it, I'm not sure loading photos from my camera is going to go so smoothly, or that we'll have tons of time for blogging. So, while I'll try to get some pictures up from Owen's second Christmas promptly, the real flood of photos may come on Monday when we're back in Maryland (though, to be honest, on Monday I'm hoping to spend some time here).

Have a very Merry Christmas (unless you're a member of the religious right, in which case, Happy Holidays)!

First bus ride

Owen is obsessed with buses, as I intimated here. Tonight, we went on Owen's first bus ride! My office closed early for the holiday, so I got to pick him up early, and we went to downtown Silver Spring. We were watching the busses go by on Fenton Street, and Owen was really working himself into a fit over them, yelling "A Bus!" as they'd go by. I didn't have exact change, and wasn't sure if I could use my metro smartcard on a Montgomery County bus, so I went to Adega for some of their eggplant fries and to make some change (Owen wasn't really into the fries). Then we came out and a Van Go was going by (the Van Go is a free shuttle that runs around the greater downtown Silver Spring area every 15 minutes). Cheapskate parent that I am, we hopped the free shuttle and took it for a lap.

I was kind of worried that the bus driver wouldn't take kindly to us basically using him as an amusement park, but Owen was in such a great mood that he really charmed the guy and three women who were on the bus with us. First he'd point around the bus and say "a bus" very quietly so as to not let the other passengers know this was a big deal for him (he wanted to be seen as an experienced bus rider; not a novice). I would assure him that it was, in fact, a bus (though quietly, I didn't want to out him as a first-timer). He was just beaming through the whole trip. Then it turned out the bus driver's daughter is only a month older than Owen, so he and I had a great conversation about our kids while Owen, growing bolder, started to savor the thrill of pointing out other buses, while on a bus.

Sadly, I forgot the camera, but I think we may try to ride a bus on Monday, so perhaps I can post pictures then.

All for Owen!

Owen has some very generous friends and family. I'd say he's got about a 6 to one ratio of his presents to anyone else's under our tree.

You're a generous lot.

Applesauce

Applesauce tastes pretty good, but it tastes even better when you lick it off your hand.

A quiet moment

When you need to slow down, sometimes you can't be too choosy about where.

And now for something completely different . . .

Here are some pictures of our Christmas tree.

A Christmas Story

I was just emailed this, and I thought I'd pass it along. It's a little sappy, but 'tis the season.

An adventure with Grandma
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm.

Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!"
she snorted. Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous, cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at
school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat
in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas. That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and write, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it -- Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.

Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I
was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down
the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,
beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.

Things My Brother Has That I Don't

As you all doubtless know, Bridgette and I are expecting a sibling for Owen in April. I've been thinking a lot about how to parent in such a way as to minimize sibling rivalries. I'm a little obsessed about it in the abstract.

For example, I was recently talking to my dad about the name of this blog, and he proposed I change the name from Kaiserstrasse to The Owen Blog (actually, owenblog is already taken, but it doesn't look like it's really going gangbusters - the last post was in July 2004). But, aside from that, I don't want to have this blog called the Owen Blog because, of course, in April when Baby Y is born, I don't want to have to start a new blog, and it just seems unfair to blog about the other baby on a blog called the Owen Blog. That sends a horrible message about the status of the Baby Y.

And yes, I realize the new baby won't be reading any blogs at birth, but still, in 20 years do I want someone saying that I blogged about the Baby Y on a blog named The Owen Blog? It doesn't seem right.

Similarly, I'm going to have to change the subtitle of this blog to include Baby Y. But do I change it to "Much like my life, it's pretty much all about Owen and Baby Y."? It makes Baby Y seem tacked on at the end. Do I put Baby Y first? That seems to preempt Owen. Tough calls will have to be made. Maybe I could change it to "Much like my life, it's pretty much all about BOawbeyn Y." (or whatever the equivalent would be for Baby Y's real name). But that has other problems.

This is just a very long way of saying, I read this very funny thing on the internet, available at this link. I'm just really glad that doesn't describe my relationship with my brother, and I hope Baby Y will be able to say the same in 30 years.

Update: "The Owen Blog" is also taken.

Owen's vocabulary

Lots of folks ask what's up with Owen these days. The biggest development lately has really been in his vocabulary. This list won't be complete, but, here are some of Owen's favorite words (and their circumstances of utterance):

When he sees the appropriate object:
Clock
Bus
Door
Ball (although always with the indefinite article "a" preceeding it, as in "aball")

To express an emotion:
No
Mine
Nanananana
Done (assuming being finished with some of a meal is an emotion - he says it with gusto, so I'm willing to roll with this)

When he sees the person:
Mama
Dada
Aster (his daycare provider; they're very close)

Actually, that's a little inaccurate; he also uses Mama and Dada to refer to, respectively, Dada and Mama.

Also, he uses "done" to refer not only to his own activities, but to states of affairs generally. For example, he blew out a candle recently (yes, I let him play with lit candles) and said "done" although he wasn't nearly done playing with it. Normally, however, he uses "done" to mean that he's finished with something and B or I should remove it from his reach or he'll throw it (yes, this does sound wrong, but it's better than him just throwing stuff without warning, so we'll take it).

Unlike his father . . .

Owen has excellent posture.

A cuddle moment

This one was from this morning; Owen and B had a quiet moment before we all had to leave the house.

Disdain

I don't know, but I'd bet he's feeling pity for the person he's looking at, because that person is not quite Owen.

Method acting

For Owen, it isn't enough to ride a toy tractor. He needs to express the ennui of the American Farmer, despairing over the disappearance of his way of life.

New photos coming soon

We took a series of photos this morning and last night; I'll be putting them on the blog just as soon as I get them off the camera and into Picasa.

French Owen

Mais oui! I don't know why, perhaps it's the obvious lack of a recent bath, the complete disregard for the approval of the photographer, or the way his lips are pursed together, but Owen, to me, looks very French in this photo.