String of pearls
Oct. 22nd, 2006 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radegundHigh time for another Oyster Report, I think.
1. External validation - hurrah!
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niallm, Oisín and I were in a café this afternoon meeting kulfuldi and glitzfrau, doing our usual Oyster-wrangling thing. When we got up to leave, a middle-aged gentleman sitting at a table on his own beckoned us over and began to speak, earnestly but perhaps somewhat blurrily. "Can I stop you?" he may have begun. (La Glitz and La Kulf carried straight on out the door at this point and waited for us on the pavement.) "I just wanted to say," our accoster went on, "The clinic is closed now [*Radzer thinks OK, nutter; what's our exit strategy?*], but I used to work in child psychology [*Radzer thinks hmmm, did you, indeed?*], and your" - gesturing at Niall and me - "interaction with him" - Oisín - "is just beautiful [*Radzer thinks gosh, it's so lovely to meet someone of such obvious intelligence and discernment; truly, there are no strangers in this world, just friends we haven't met yet*] - absolutely spot on. Tell me," he leant closer, "are you computer literate?" Niall confessed that he might be. "Because he has, you know, a hard disk inside of him, and what you're putting in now - you can smash the disk with a hammer and it'll do no damage..." I don't remember the rest. The gist I gathered was that he thinks we're good parents. So, um, thanks for that, strange man.
2. Words, words, words
I love Oisín's vocabulary innovations. Recently, we've had dhal bowl (soup ladle - we eat quite a lot of dhal), noiser (food processor) and soap milk (steamed milk, which he gets fed with a spoon from a parent's cup in cafés). I now use "knitting noodles", because that's just too cute not to reinforce. This morning, he watched me taking off my nightdress and said, "Mama taking off her blue nightmare", which I may also have to adopt. Favourite phrase of the week is not awockiating! (not co-operating), exclaimed when physical objects thwart his will. (Also, occasionally, expressed as "neh-neh-neh-neh-neh-NOT WORKING!") [ETA: Forgot to mention two other memorable pronunciations - bigots (biscuits) and mummens (mushrooms) - that have passed into our household vocabulary.]
3. Focla, focla, focla
I realise I profess delight and amazement at pretty much every action the Oyster performs - and obviously, I'm only partly joking when I say, every five minutes, "Genius! The boy is a genius!" (you do know that, right?) - but yesterday he genuinely impressed me: he went and got his big book of Irish words and brought it over to my brother, who was visiting. "Irish book! Irish book!" he said. (I hadn't known that he knew it was an Irish book, for starters - I've never made any big deal of it when I read to him in different languages - but I assume Niall's mentioned it at some point.) Then, as my brother read, Oisín was making remarks like "chair is called cathaoir", "jumper is called geansaí". See? Genius.
4. Poem!
He composed his first poem last month! I swear to you - no lie. We were driving to Dundrum, and it was the first time he'd been aware of going there, and he loved the name. "Dumdum!" he said, over and over again. Then a pause, and very deliberately, "Go wum-wum a-Dumdum." (On the offchance that it needs spelling out, "wum-wum" = "vroom-vroom".)
5. Where babies come from, and where they go next
Yesterday, we happened to be driving past the National Maternity Hospital in Holles Street, and I came over all nostalgic. "You know what?" I said (and I may have been guilty of a honey-sweet, rose-tinted tone of voice), "This building here is where Unny was born. Because Unny used to live in Mama's tummy, when he was teeny-tiny-teeny-weeny, and then one day, Mama and Niall went to the hospital, and Mama got up on a bed, and Unny came out of her tummy." Oisín thought for a few moments, then said, "Now he in the car seat." Which, fair enough, accurate. He seemed taken with the information, though - he suggested about a minute later that he had been living in Mama's navel. No, we agreed after a bit of discussion, he'd been living near her navel, in her womb. "Womb" is a very amusing word.
6. Eat your heart out, Lacan
He did the Mirror Stage! About two weeks ago, he started getting agitated by mirrors. There was something about them that wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He wasn't able to explain what, but it had to do with what happens when you touch the glass. Then one day we were looking at Unny-and-Mama-in-the-mirror, and I noticed he had a small red mark on his cheek. Because I am a heartless parent intent on subjecting my child to ruthless experimentation, I said, "Look at the red spot on Unny's cheek," and waited for his response. Like the angel he is, he raised his finger to his own cheek, proving that he has achieved self-consciousness! (Roll on, the post-infantile angst...)
7. Lateral thinking
He's very into tools at the moment. He learnt about levers when we were digging up the back garden (mmmmmmm, five-foot crowbars): he experimented with the broom handle and some kitchen chairs. He loves measuring things with rulers and the measuring-tape (everything is apparently "twenty-two metres"), timing things (books, Mama's trousers, etc. - which are also all "twenty-two metres"), and checking things on the calculator (e.g. when dinner will be ready). He's been sanding floors with whatever is to hand since we had our living room floors done earlier this month. He also suggests innovative approaches to problems: of a pain in his tummy, "maybe a hammer take it away", of a broken bucket handle, "maybe Calpol fix it".
8. Greatness
He continues to be entirely, unspeakably great. I love him.
1. External validation - hurrah!
niallm, Oisín and I were in a café this afternoon meeting kulfuldi and glitzfrau, doing our usual Oyster-wrangling thing. When we got up to leave, a middle-aged gentleman sitting at a table on his own beckoned us over and began to speak, earnestly but perhaps somewhat blurrily. "Can I stop you?" he may have begun. (La Glitz and La Kulf carried straight on out the door at this point and waited for us on the pavement.) "I just wanted to say," our accoster went on, "The clinic is closed now [*Radzer thinks OK, nutter; what's our exit strategy?*], but I used to work in child psychology [*Radzer thinks hmmm, did you, indeed?*], and your" - gesturing at Niall and me - "interaction with him" - Oisín - "is just beautiful [*Radzer thinks gosh, it's so lovely to meet someone of such obvious intelligence and discernment; truly, there are no strangers in this world, just friends we haven't met yet*] - absolutely spot on. Tell me," he leant closer, "are you computer literate?" Niall confessed that he might be. "Because he has, you know, a hard disk inside of him, and what you're putting in now - you can smash the disk with a hammer and it'll do no damage..." I don't remember the rest. The gist I gathered was that he thinks we're good parents. So, um, thanks for that, strange man.2. Words, words, words
I love Oisín's vocabulary innovations. Recently, we've had dhal bowl (soup ladle - we eat quite a lot of dhal), noiser (food processor) and soap milk (steamed milk, which he gets fed with a spoon from a parent's cup in cafés). I now use "knitting noodles", because that's just too cute not to reinforce. This morning, he watched me taking off my nightdress and said, "Mama taking off her blue nightmare", which I may also have to adopt. Favourite phrase of the week is not awockiating! (not co-operating), exclaimed when physical objects thwart his will. (Also, occasionally, expressed as "neh-neh-neh-neh-neh-NOT WORKING!") [ETA: Forgot to mention two other memorable pronunciations - bigots (biscuits) and mummens (mushrooms) - that have passed into our household vocabulary.]
3. Focla, focla, focla
I realise I profess delight and amazement at pretty much every action the Oyster performs - and obviously, I'm only partly joking when I say, every five minutes, "Genius! The boy is a genius!" (you do know that, right?) - but yesterday he genuinely impressed me: he went and got his big book of Irish words and brought it over to my brother, who was visiting. "Irish book! Irish book!" he said. (I hadn't known that he knew it was an Irish book, for starters - I've never made any big deal of it when I read to him in different languages - but I assume Niall's mentioned it at some point.) Then, as my brother read, Oisín was making remarks like "chair is called cathaoir", "jumper is called geansaí". See? Genius.
4. Poem!
He composed his first poem last month! I swear to you - no lie. We were driving to Dundrum, and it was the first time he'd been aware of going there, and he loved the name. "Dumdum!" he said, over and over again. Then a pause, and very deliberately, "Go wum-wum a-Dumdum." (On the offchance that it needs spelling out, "wum-wum" = "vroom-vroom".)
5. Where babies come from, and where they go next
Yesterday, we happened to be driving past the National Maternity Hospital in Holles Street, and I came over all nostalgic. "You know what?" I said (and I may have been guilty of a honey-sweet, rose-tinted tone of voice), "This building here is where Unny was born. Because Unny used to live in Mama's tummy, when he was teeny-tiny-teeny-weeny, and then one day, Mama and Niall went to the hospital, and Mama got up on a bed, and Unny came out of her tummy." Oisín thought for a few moments, then said, "Now he in the car seat." Which, fair enough, accurate. He seemed taken with the information, though - he suggested about a minute later that he had been living in Mama's navel. No, we agreed after a bit of discussion, he'd been living near her navel, in her womb. "Womb" is a very amusing word.
6. Eat your heart out, Lacan
He did the Mirror Stage! About two weeks ago, he started getting agitated by mirrors. There was something about them that wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He wasn't able to explain what, but it had to do with what happens when you touch the glass. Then one day we were looking at Unny-and-Mama-in-the-mirror, and I noticed he had a small red mark on his cheek. Because I am a heartless parent intent on subjecting my child to ruthless experimentation, I said, "Look at the red spot on Unny's cheek," and waited for his response. Like the angel he is, he raised his finger to his own cheek, proving that he has achieved self-consciousness! (Roll on, the post-infantile angst...)
7. Lateral thinking
He's very into tools at the moment. He learnt about levers when we were digging up the back garden (mmmmmmm, five-foot crowbars): he experimented with the broom handle and some kitchen chairs. He loves measuring things with rulers and the measuring-tape (everything is apparently "twenty-two metres"), timing things (books, Mama's trousers, etc. - which are also all "twenty-two metres"), and checking things on the calculator (e.g. when dinner will be ready). He's been sanding floors with whatever is to hand since we had our living room floors done earlier this month. He also suggests innovative approaches to problems: of a pain in his tummy, "maybe a hammer take it away", of a broken bucket handle, "maybe Calpol fix it".
8. Greatness
He continues to be entirely, unspeakably great. I love him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 07:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 08:51 pm (UTC)No, I hope not :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 07:18 am (UTC)Gnome suggests that we should go to Dublin on an aeroplane, by the way, to see Oisín. She often asks what he's doing. I shall read her the Oyster Report. Gnome is, however, now bored with the notion that there is a tiny baby in Mummy's tummy, and that she was once such a tiny baby. She thinks this is one of Mummy's more boring enthusiasms, which she indulges.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 08:53 pm (UTC)Heh. She knows this pregnancy thing is just a phase - you'll grow out of it soon enough if she plays along.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-24 11:14 am (UTC)And, well, she's right, of course.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 07:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 08:53 pm (UTC)twenty two metres!
Date: 2006-10-23 09:05 am (UTC)Sorry to miss you yesterday, but I did carry out EXTREMELY satisfactory deconstructions and reconstructions of the waistband on La Glitz's skirt, which I had made a gigantic mess of on Saturday night. It turns out that doing things slowly and methodically by daylight is better than rushing them in the hour before you go to the cinema - who knew? See you on Thursday, though!
Re: twenty two metres!
Date: 2006-10-23 03:37 pm (UTC)On a vaguely related note, if you were me, tee em, do you reckon you would
(a) risk making the living room curtains without washing the fabric and lining first,
(b) on no account wash the fabric and lining first because curtains should always be drycleaned to avoid uneven shrinkage,
(c) risk washing the fabric and lining first, very gently, because at least then you'll know how washable the fabric is,
(d) risk washing the fabric and lining first, even though that entails cutting the drops beforehand because it won't all fit in the machine at once, very gently etc., or
(e) wash it one way or another, because sewing with unwashed fabric is a mug's game?
Sorry, that turned out to be a rather more complex set of alternatives than I thought. But I'd be very interested in your opinion.
Re: twenty two metres!
Date: 2006-10-23 04:35 pm (UTC)My instinct would be that the curtain fabric is unlikely to be machine washable, but the lining is, so it depends on whether we're making the linings detachable or not. And that depends on ... whether we make the linings detachable or not. I know of detachable linings, and I think I can see how to make them, but I don't know whether they count as a good idea or not. Although even if we do make the linings detachable, I still wouldn't wash them beforehand because you don't need to and it's not the end of the world if your curtain linings lose an inch in length.
I would definitely lean against washing the curtain fabric unless you know it's washable, not so much because of shrinkage but because lots of them have coatings on them that might be destroyed by machine washing. Of course, I haven't seen the fabric yet so that might not be relevant.
Actually, I think I will ask me mum, for she is the fount of all curtain knowledge and will tell me how linings work!
Er - are you losing confidence in me?
Re: twenty two metres!
Date: 2006-10-23 05:06 pm (UTC)I think you're probably right about the washing - not least, I confess, because it means I don't have to go through the hell that would be washing and drying eleventy billion miles of cloth. I don't think the curtain fabric is coated - it's a straightforward woven design, direction but no nap, mostly cotton as far as I remember - but I could well be wrong.
As for linings, I appear to have acquired from somewhere the belief that a detachable lining is separately hemmed and then hand-tacked to the heading tape and side hems (i.e. not sewn in at the heading), before the pleats are put in. It feels as though the attachment at the heading should be stronger than mere tacking, is the only thing - but then how is it detachable? I suppose tacking might be enough - lining isn't that heavy.
On the other hand, realistically, this is me we're talking about, and I am NEVER going to untack linings, machine-wash linings and have curtains drycleaned, then retack linings. Just. Won't. Happen. If I fool myself into thinking it will, then the curtains will just never get cleaned. So I reckon we're doing anchored, fused, stuck-on-tight, limpet, till-death-do-us-part linings - which I suspect are easier.
Hmmm. Ask yer mum anyway, see what she says.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 12:45 pm (UTC)I am so going to start using this.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 08:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 03:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-23 09:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-24 05:05 pm (UTC)I just realised that this only rhymes if you are Irish. This makes me very happy.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-29 11:50 pm (UTC)