The New Digs

The townhome we’re renting was built in 1968 and in some ways looks it. We can tell it’s been remodeled and changed from its original, but it has great square footage, lotsa closets, and good natural light. According to the neighbors, though, the previous tenants were none too kind to the place and didn’t report issues. So a lot of repair has recently been done, as well. After our first week, we had a list of 15+ items that still need some attention.

One of those things is the oven. We knew it wasn’t quite up to snuff when a good friend brought us dinner one of the first nights we moved in, something we needed to stick in the oven and heat up. After 15 minutes at (supposedly) 350 degrees – not much going on. I could have easily stuck my head in the oven without problem. It was warm, but it wasn’t 350 warm. The management company in charge of the property is great and the repair guy is good, but he’s a bit flighty, so we’re still waiting to get this fixed.

So this weekend we had a few friends over to break in the charcoal grill Michael bought (yay grill!). And, momentarily forgetting our oven issues, we got some break-n-bake cookies for a quick, easy dessert (because seriously, who doesn’t love break-n-bake?). One of our friends also happened to bring dough for chocolate chip cranberry scones (yum!). Which naturally only then reminded me, can our oven make it to the required 400 degree temp for the scones? Oh, dear.

We had gotten an oven thermometer so we’d know the actual temperature vs the temp setting, but had not yet tried it out. So the break-n-bake went in first. I set the oven at its highest setting – 550 degrees. All said and done, the oven got to a whopping 275 degrees and the cookies, which normally take 9-11 minutes, were in there for close to 30. They managed to get fully cooked, but they were hard as rocks and superglued to my baking stone.

We wound up baking the scones a few at a time in the toaster oven. I feel like I maybe should have been a little embarrassed, but decided I really didn’t care.

Like Father, Like Daughter

One of these things is like the other. The delay on the digital camera prevented me from getting a picture of her full cheezy grin, so I went for "serious face" which she does readily because she sees it gets laughs. The brow is common, but this one even has the extra lip.

Home

Yesterday evening, Camille and I took a walk through the neigborhood to the sound of thunder while Michael went and picked up some dinner - much loved TexMex. Then we opened the garage door and ate while watching the rain. A real Houston downpour. Camille ran out into the rain several times and we had a fun game of chase on the driveway. Then a bath and bed for her and a movie and bed for us. Hmmmm.... It's good to be home.

My New Favorite Word

So Camille is talking. Not complete sentences by any means, but she has lots of words, lots of names for things, and it’s so amazing to see.

My first favorite was 'excuse me.' We taught her to say ‘excuse me’ when she wanted us to move our feet while she was playing, and she does actually use it correctly. Of course, she’s usually trying to push you out of the way when she says it, or she’s walking sideways between her pack-n-play and a stack of boxes during the move. So she’s polite to the boxes. Her version: “mee mee.” She sounds like the Road Runner. I love it.

My new favorite word of hers now, though, is ‘nipple.’ In the evenings, Michael would lay on the floor with the throw-pillows and play with her. (I’m pretty sure sitting Indian-style on the floor for any period of time is fairly uncomfortable for most guys.) She would jump all over him, steal his pillows, and pull up his shirt. So he taught her “belly” and “belly button.” Now any sort of button is a ‘be bu,’ and she’s rather merciless as she crams her little finger down into your stomach.

In these romping and naming sessions, she would push Michael’s shirt as far up as she could and was always fascinated with his nipples. So he taught her that word, too. Her version is “mee-moo.”

The other night most of her dinner managed to miss her bib. So while I’m stain-removing tomato sauce from a white onesie and she’s milling around in just a diaper, Michael tried to explain to her that, look!, she has mee-moos, too! She just looked at him like, “Okay, whatever.” and walked away patting her belly.