For the Grandmas

To satisfy a hungry, albeit small, audience, here are a few videos of Elizabeth and her latest feats.
#1 Super Swimmer

This has become a nightly thing: Elizabeth LOVES bath time.

#2 Talking with Mom and Dad

These days, she can be heard oo-ing, aah-ing, and squealing at all hours, including when she's supposed to be sleeping. We love it.

#3 Rolling Over. No video for this one. Yesterday, I left her on her tummy on the couch while I finished doing my hair. When I got back from the bathroom, she was completely on her side. Then, with a little kick, PLOP! She was on her back! When she starts to do it consistently, we'll post a video.

Vote 2009: Is Adam a Hipster?

He's been accused of it before so I decided to open it up to the blogosphere.

Arguments for:

1. Facial Hair. He's been known to grow the goat and now he has a full-on, Fleet Fox-esque beard.

2. His favorite bands. All indy and all darlings of Public Radio. Think Vampire Weekend, Santogold, The Decemberists, She and Him, etc.

3. His residence: Brooklyn, NY

4. His occupation: Graphic Designer, designing book covers. Hello!

5. Family: he has one and only one adorable baby and a beautiful (thank you) wife.

6. His attire: form-fitting sweater over button up shirt or Threadless t-shirt with expensive jeans and dress shoes, all pulled together with an iPod Shuffle and argyle scarf.

Arguments Against:

1. He's kind of a goof. See above picture. Not too worried about looking cool.

2. He's Mormon. But the entirety of the Park Slope Ward negates that argument. However, that does nix expensive coffee and cigarettes.

3. His diet: no preference whatsoever for organic/vegetarian/vegan food, though he has read Fast Food Nation and occasionally preaches about buying local.

4. His humble background. Trailor park in Mallory, NY. Yeah, try finding that one on the map.

5. His thrifty ways. Though he loves sushi and Thai like any good hipster, he'd just as soon save the money and eat soup and cheesies at home.

Make your voice heard. Comment.

Bubbies

Our trip to California gave us the opportunity to re-acquaint ourselves with our nephew, Isaac, AKA Bubbies. I've loved him since the day I first saw him but this trip solidified his status as the cutest, most lovable little boy ever to walk the face of the earth. Sorry, Garret ;)


He has his moments, though. Rebecca would put him to bed, and about ten minutes later, he'd emerge from their room, saying, "There's no problem!" At that point we'd usually discover he'd locked himself out of the door—a door that only Rebecca knew how to jimmy open. One particular night, Rebecca was out and I was babysitting. I heard the tell-tale, "There's no problem!" and rushed to the stairs that leads down to Isaac's room. He was standing in the doorway with one hand snaked around the door, holding the handle. "No, no, no!" But it was too late. Looking me right in the eye, he smiled, turned the lock, and shut the door. "There's no problem!"

But how can you stay mad at someone who plaintively tells you, "I can't, honeybunny," or who prepares to bless the food by folding his arm and asking each person at the dinner table, "And can you pray and can you pray and can you pray?"

Here's solid proof that he's pretty much the cutest boy ever: Isaac singing "Slippery Fish."






And Isaac doing the Davis Family War Dance:

Elizabeth's new dress from Grandma Giovo. Thanks Grandma.

Cabin Fever

This year for Christmas, my parents gave us the gift of time together. They rented a cabin in Fazier Park for a weekend. We played a ton of games, including Fox and Geese (snow game), It Came to Pass, and Speed Scrabble. The best was "playing" Catch Phrase with Isaac, who's 2 1/2. He'd take the game and say with incredible enthusiasm and anxiety, "Okay! Okay! What is number one?" to which you would say, "Number one!" and then he'd pass it to you.

Here are some pictures of the cabin.

The living room. We never did figure out how to get the flu open on the wood-burning stove.

BJ in his Napoleon Dynomite shirt.

Stairs up to...

...the loft.

Our tiny bed.

Rebecca and Isaac and The Wolf Who Cried Boy.

And what mountain cabin would be complete without the scary Chucky doll that wakes up in the middle of the night and prowls around wielding a butter knife? This one's head turns all...the...way...around!

Our family Christmas photo and a little fun with fotoshop.

Christmas Traditions

Christmas Eve, we revived the old Davis tradition of reenacting the Nativity.

Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, swaddled in an IKEA blanket. I believe Adam grew his beard just for this.

Christmas morning, we start with the stockings, with gifts overflowing onto the floor.

Stocking gifts usually consist of toiletries (I never have to buy a toothbrush), specialty food items (cheese, chocolate, olives, etc.) and of course, an orange.

Baby Cousin Elizabeth, as she was known, with her first stocking stuffer.

Isaac helping Uncle Doug unwrap his gift (probably a toothbrush.) Isaac helped everyone open their gifts.

Including Mumpa (Grandpa.)

Christmas wouldn't be complete without BJ's sometime girlfriend, Nina. She really just comes so she can have a Hannakuh and a Christmas ;)

Then, after a breakfast of German Oven Pancakes, we move to the tree to open the family gifts. I think if you zoom in enough, you can see an ornament of me in elementary school.

The gift-giving extravaganza goes on well into the afternoon. It drives Adam nuts. But he put on a good face this year.

Here's our little elf wearing Santa Snoopy's hat that's probably as old as I am.

Where We Spent Our Christmas Vacation

Thanks to Uncle Sam's stimulus package last year, Adam, Elizabeth, and I got to go to California for Christmas. Elizabeth and I flew out a week before Adam, who joined us a few days before Christmas. On the flight to Burbank, I looked out the window at the palm trees and freeways and waited for the feeling of nostalgia and homesickness to kick in. But it didn't. Home was in Brooklyn with Adam. Yet, here I was, back home. Me and Neil Diamond, I guess—stuck between two coasts. But I'd switch it: New York's fine but it ain't home; LA's home but it ain't mine no more. (Of coures, unlike Neil, I would never use such bad grammar. Like, never.)

So the next two weeks were spent with my family where they live in a little neighborhood east of Dodger Stadium called Mt. Washington.


Mt. Washington is a far cry from a mountain, but as you drive up the hill to my parents' house and your ears pop, and the road keeps going up and up and up...you start to wonder.
Here's the surrounding environs from the 110.


And the house.
Thank you, Big Brother Google for taking the picture I forgot to. And, yes, my father is the Consulate General of Guyana.


We get out of the city often enough to not be overwhelmed by the spaciousness of everything not NYC, but I still loved driving 80 on the freeways (FREEways. No tolls!) and turning right on red lights. And no trip to California would be complete without a trip (or two or three or four...) to In n Out Burger.


The night we flew back to NYC, we were greeted by bitter cold, rude people, and no way to get home. Our car was parked at the church (to avoid a weeks' worth of parking violations) and we ended up taking a taxi driven by a man with a lead foot (on the brake) who did not deserve $60 for the 24-mile trip. Hrumph. Welcome back. Adam kept saying for days afterwards, "I hate New York!" But does that mean he'd ever leave his beloved east coast? I'm not holding my breath. Instead, I'll take what smog, fish tacos, and vitamin D I can get, when I can get it. Hey Obama, how about another stimulus package this year?