Now call your mother.

I'm currently hanging out with my mother, so I don't need to call her. We can bicker in person!

I kid.

Because I love.

Lots of love to you and yours.

xoxo,

Susie 

(video coming later today...once bambini is asleep) 

The title of this post comes from a conversation I was having with the man tonight over dinner (oh I made a fantastic dinner!).  It was about an old saw in publishing about what sells books: golf, cats and Nazi's.  I found it hilarious and hope the title has enticed a whole new slew of readers into the Toddler Tube fold.  If you are new, welcome.  Sit a spell.  Put down your 9 iron, stroke your cat and enjoy this Jew girl's wandering prose...

First off, it's Friday.  It's the freakin' weekend.  But since you're here, it probably means you're like me: not willing to sell your kid to afford the babysitter.  So, since we're all stuck in the house, here's a fab Web video I thought you'd enjoy:  The Children's Guide to the Apocalypse.   

What else? Well I'm so very sleepy.  I worked mega hard today, hoofed into the city during today's Manhattan monsoon (except monsoons aren't as cold, right?) and I nearly kissed Hugo to death this eve.  His new game of giving me a naughty smile before running headlong into my arms and laughing on impact, is a scene I keep replaying in my mind.  

Unfortunately, I've no video of it as I was too busy living it.  Like the dog walk we took in the pouring rain, there are some moments that can't be captured, not without a union film crew, at least.

Many apologies and I be back this weekend with a video of excitement.  In the meantime, why not make your own magic and upload it to motionbox?  Also, I've an idea... if you do that, please let me know and if it's under two minutes and features yer baby I'd love to embed it right here on this here blog. First/cutest come first served.

I leave you with this.

Can you scold dog for being on couch 

 

... when baby is parked in his dog bed?

 

That's it for now Web.  Stick a fork in me, I'm done!

xoxo,

Susie, who is sleepy and not just saying that to be cool. 

Is the title of this post perhaps about Hugo's early intervention assessment?  No, not really.  I'll tell the whole early intervention story soon, but the long and short of it is that:

#1 I liked the women who showed up this morning much more than I expected.   They were kind and they were pros.  Until recently I had forgotten that I was in speech therapy from age 5-12 and somehow couldn't get sprung from it once in.  So I've bad memories of being trapped against my will, missing regular class in a land of dull dittoes and dull children, "taught" by sincere speech teachers I wanted to run screaming from even then. And due to this I've a chip on my larynx about the whole speech business, ya dig?

#2 I liked them speech ladies even more when I found out that Hugo is advanced in most areas, and just has a "33% speech delay." What exactly that means I'm still not sure.  But I've a piece of paper declaring him a social and developmental star and that's nice.  The fine motor skills of a 28 month old?  The social/emotional skills of a two year old?  The cognitive skills of a 33-year-old genius?  Well slap me with a flounder, and call me Cedric!  Thats fantastic!  Oh and that last one was a bit of an exadggeration, but only slightly.

Speaking of balls, Hugo is obsessed with them.  Here's two days in a row of ball kicking action. The first soccer ball you see wasn't his, he simply swooped in and stole the ball from a group of sweet Hispanic kids.  The kids were really kind and also distracted by the dogs who had joined us in the park.  Ever since the basketball net broke, the park has blossomed with all ages and genders and species and sports.  We're all hoping the net doesn't come back.  When the basketball net went up, this little park became for men 18+ only and there was no room for little girls, kids skating, playing handball, playing with their dogs, playing soccer, etc.  Note to self: Call the Mayor's office tomorrow to request the net not be fixed...

G'night Internet. Lotsa love. xoxo, Susie

It's late right now.  At night.  I had a rare night out with an old friend.  Bouley Bakery.  Fantastic.  The company, if not the grub.  And this friend so tender and genius-y and fun, recently got a book deal based on her This American Life story that aired on the radio and was so good I had goosebumps and kept driving around and around the block (with Hugo in the back) just to hear the whole thing. 

And I'd love to tell more but it's near midnight and -- oi -- the NJ early intervention team is (finally) coming tomorrow way early to stare at Hugo and listen and take notes on his talking and/or lack of it.  

I know this is a big issue because my first post about this has gotten many search engine hits with things like: http://www.google.com/search?q=my+son+does+not+speak+at+all+and+he+is+18+months 

Also "speak 18 months boys" and "how many words should child speak at 19 months" and "my baby is 28 months but does not talk full sentences" and on and on and so the site stats reveal the full neurotic spectrum.  Stuff a parent might've silently worried about now gets poured out to the all-knowing oracle that is the internet.  And the interweb sends them to me?  Poor things.

I'm a bit peeved because even if he isn't using a lot of words, I know he's normal and smarter than normal and I'm not saying that because he's mine.  He understands everything, he's delightfully social and ever since he turned the babble back on, the fact that he's got his own language doesn't bug me.  However it's the early intervention folk I'm worried about.

I had to call them the other day.  This 34 second video will explain all or some, or my annoyance. 

Awesome, ya? Ya. OK pals. More on this fun tomorrow.

For now, xoxo & I remain,

slightly cranky and also,

Susie

Going out to dinner with a baby is hard. This is probably why we never ever did it until recently. You never know when you might suddenly need to stop sipping your Shiraz and slip out the back door if -- nay when -- Jr. starts making enough of a fuss to make the other patrons hate you. And as I was someone who wasn't so fond of the babies before having one, I feel Hugo's every public peep like a thunderclap.

But now, with the nice weather, outdoor cafes are calling.  Dining al fresco, you needn't worry about baby's squeals bouncing off of the walls.  The occasional piece of bread that flies?  Well it's not a scandal, it's a pigeon's repast!  And if there's a diaper smell, it's a cinch to blame it on any one of the homeless lads that waft by.

But seriously, the very bestest part of eating on the sidewalk, is the free floor show.  Because for Hugo, nothing beats vehicles for pure entertainment and as you can plainly see, he's a bus groupie.  Please note how he literally stops breathing -- stops mid-cough -- when I mention the word "bus." 

Note: I'm thinking this bus and car worship might not work for little girls.  Am I right?

In other news, Hugo is having his early intervention assessment on Thursday.  Actually, it was to be last Thursday, but they cancelled on us that morning.  I know fellow Babble blogger Rebecca can relate. I'll tell you and show you more on this NJ state-sponsored speech nonsense tomorrow. 

And in other other news, I may be doing a little something something exciting in the comedy/performing world next week.  Sorry to be vague but I guess I'll report more on this when it actually happens.   

All the best Babble friends and big xoxo,

Susie