OMG!

Our friends who observed this new trick Wednesday night (for the record he first did it on July 29), say we have 48 hours before Lincoln matures from an infant to a toddler. They also offered us their four baby gates. I think we're gonna need 'em!

Sleep aid

I got home last night about 9:30. Opened the door quietly, as always, and made sure not to slam it behind me. Tiptoed into the dining room and turned on the light. Looked up the stairs and who do I see? Carey and Greta! Greta's in her nightgown, looking at the floor, hair covering her face. Carey is standing next to her, hands on hips.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not talking," says Carey.

"Hmmmph. Hmmmmph. Daaaaddy!" says Greta.

I suggest Greta let me tuck her in.

"Goodnight, Greta," says Carey, as she walks, a bit louder than normal, down the stairs.

Greta climbs into her bed and pulls the covers over her face, whimpering.

"What's wrong, honey? Why aren't you sleeping already?"

"BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T HOME!"

Is it bad that that response made me feel so good? I curled up next to her, told her everything was going to be all right, and stroked her hair. For at least 10 minutes. It was the best part of my day.

Great Grandma!

Lincoln finally got to meet Great Grandma Manguno during our trip to the North Country last weekend. This was the woman responsible for his new blue silky blanket... of course he had cuddles for her! Greta quickly warmed up to her as well. All it took was some serious corn-husking and backyard bubble blowing before the two were thick as thieves. Plus, Great Grandma gave her a very sweet stuffed animal Greta now calls "Bunny Puppy," which has slept with her every night. Thanks, Great Grandma, for such a nice visit (and thanks, too, Aunt Chris, for such a yummy cookout!).

Four generations

I think I posted a picture like this last year, but I don't feel like digging for it to link. Here are the Merrill men, born in 1914, 1942, 1972 and 2007. Note the similarities between the youngest and oldest in particular. More about that in a future post.

Family portrait

Pictured, clockwise, left to right: Pat Merrill, Peter Girard, Esme Girard, Jerry Merrill, Greta Merrill, Rob Merrill, Lincoln Merrill, Carey Merrill, Max Girard, Sara Girard.

Reunited

Carey and the kids met me at Syracuse airport this evening. After a day at the zoo, both kids were napping. At 6 o'clock. Now it's 10 p.m. and everybody's finally asleep but me. It's only 7 in L.A., after all. We long ago decided that bedtime routines go out the window when traveling. Usually if the kids are in one place for a couple nights they adjust. But Lincoln's cutting another tooth and Greta envies the attention he gets. So both of 'em were pretty whiny before going to bed. In my head, reunions are more like a scene from a silent movie -- I run toward Greta as she runs toward me, then I scoop her up and twirl around.

It's off to Rodman tomorrow for a day and a half with my folks. Cousins Max and Esme join us on Saturday. We'll post pics then. For now, here's the best shot of Greta and her 3 Santillanes cousins.

Thank God for Audrey Penn

Rob's departure yesterday was particularly tough on Greta. She worried about where he would sleep, what he would eat, and whether he would know how much she missed him. I tried to lighten her mood with backyard sprinkler and pool fun, but, as you can see in this post-play pic, she remained forlorn.

Bedtime came, and she refused to go to sleep. She reminded me that since it was Sunday, daddy was supposed to help tuck her in. Fortunately, I remembered that Rob had shared a kissing hand with her before he left. I reminded her, and she immediately pressed her hand to her cheek.

"Do you think daddy's kissing hand is singing 'Greta loves you' to him?" she asked me. "Just like yours sings 'daddy loves you' to you," I assured her. And with that, she rolled over in her bed, with her hand against her face, and didn't make a peep until 7:30 this morning...at which time, her first words to me were, "I miss daddy." Me too, sweetie, me too.

Blog silence

I'm in L.A. this week teaching AP colleagues the A-Z of digital video. Carey's driving to Syracuse on Tuesday with the kids, where I'll fly and meet them on Thursday. She may or may not post before Tuesday or during her trip upstate, but I certainly won't. Still, we will be checking on your blogs, thanks to the handy-dandy time-stamped Blog List we've created (thanks for activating the feature first, Lici!). Here's how we'll do it, huddled around the digital hearth.

Independent play

It was a hot one here in Jersey today. The mercury flirted with 100, making the 25-year-old central air conditioning in This Old House very welcome. We spent a good bit of time lounging around, playing whatever tickled our fancy. I gravitated to Yankees/A's on TV, while Greta decided to play something she called simply, "Baby." At one point in about the third inning, I glanced over and she was pretending to breastfeed one of her dolls. She even asked for assistance to remove her halter top so baby could get a better "latch." Are you freakin' kidding me? Grow up soon, Lincoln, I'm waaay too outnumbered!

Schroeder, eat your heart out

I've given friends grief for misuse of the Baby Bumbo in the past (the recalled Baby Bumbo, natch), but we keep ours in the playroom and let Lincoln have his way with it. Today Carey caught him using it, against the instruction manual, to find the perfect seating position to play piano.

Summer concert series

We attended our first South Orange Summer Outdoor Concert this evening, held on the town's version of Strawberry Fields. Red Molly, a trio of female Jersey musicians, were the featured act. Think Shawn Colvin with a touch of the Indigo Girls. Carey fed and bathed the kids while I caught a 715 train out of the city. They were all settled on a blanket by the time I arrived. Greta ran to greet me on my bicycle.

That's our friend Drew behind Lincoln and looking at the camera. He's Duncan's Dad. When I tucked Greta in tonight, she asked me if I knew Drew. I said, yes, he's Duncan's Dad. And she said, he's nice. I said, of course he's nice. And she said: He doesn't steal bikes. True story. In honor of it, here's a shot of the honest-to-goodness McVety family.

Nest, variation

Building on her previous experience as a bird, Greta emptied half of her plastic toy bins this morning so she and Lincoln could play a new game -- one she calls Babies in the Nest. After a brief squabble over who got the pink bin (resolved by emptying more pink bins so they could each have one), Greta found the baby bottles so that neither bird would go hungry.

Bobby Murcer, 1946-2008

Take heart, Yankees fans. Looks like the Bombers will only have to wait until about 2028 before they have another Hall-of-Famer in centerfield.

Lady Libs

That's the nickname Greta gave the Statue of Liberty Saturday. We toured it with Aunt Kathy, Uncle Kevin and his two kids, Tyler and Anthony. It was also Carey's first visit to the statue. I was the old pro -- having visited a couple times, once with nephew Max.

Anyway, it was a banner Big Apple day. We took the train in to Penn Station, then decided we had 2 hours to make it to Battery Park so why not walk? 5 miles later, we arrived, exhausted, at the ferry terminal. The kids had a quick snack, then we joined the reserved ticketholder line for the 12-minute ferry ride to the middle of the Hudson.

The lady was on her best behavior, her copper now resplendent in its near-emerald old age. Bought a bunch of postcards that half of you who read this will see soon. We skipped Ellis Island and went back to Battery Park City for a wet 'n wild romp at Rockefeller Park. Ever-thoughtful Mommy brought along a change of clothes, so we had a dry train ride back to South Orange. Both kids were sound asleep at 9:30 and slept until 7:40 this morning. We should exhaust them more often.

What the house looks like every afternoon

To Carey's everlasting credit, it's usually a bit cleaner when I get home. She says photos like this show just how healthy and active the kids are.

Beating the heat

Lincoln and Greta invited friends Jack and Emma over this afternoon to chill out in their central air-cooled home (a rarity in these old South Orange houses, we've found). Once the kids tired of the playroom and the adults were ready to brave the heat again, we filled up the kiddie pools and hooked up the sprinkler for some outside fun.

A good time was had by all: Greta and Emma decided that using pool water for the thirsty plants was a great idea, Lincoln and Jack really liked playing with the wheelbarrow and mower, and Elin (Emma and Jack's au pair) and I enjoyed getting two hours closer to dinner with little effort on our part!

Toothsome

This happened weeks ago, but I don't think we chronicled it. Greta saw the dentist for the first time. She was a little unsure about it at first, despite repeated readings of The Berenstain Bears Visit the Dentist, Show Me Your Smile: A Visit to the Dentist and Usborne First Experiences: Going to the Dentist.

But after Dr. Fried told her her teeth looked fantastic and gave her a new toothbrush she was all smiles.

Fifth of July

Arguably even better than the Fourth! Another leisurely morning, featuring the Williams' sisters smackdown at Wimbledon, then a 30-minute drive up the Maine coast to Kennebunkport. No offense to our hosts or the residents who proudly proclaim "Live Free or Die" on their license plates, but Kennebunk's beach was superior. Cleaner sand, bigger waves, nicer vista. Of course, we weren't prepared for much of a beach afternoon, so you will not be treated to any shots of me in my swimsuit. Instead, it's mostly two beautiful children frolicking in the sand.

Happy Birthday, America!

A lovely Fourth of July here in the cradle of the country. The Yankees lost, but everything else was pretty great. We relaxed at home in the morning, waiting out a thundershower, then strolled downtown for lunch and a little shopping. Came home around 1 to watch the first couple hours of the aforementioned Yankees/Red Sox game, then hit the beach in New Castle, N.H. Amy forgot the hamburgers, but the hot dogs (organic, but not tofu!) were tasty, as were the potato salad and Ghiardelli brownies. Lincoln enjoyed his first taste (and I do mean taste) of sand and Greta collected a substantial haul of beach rocks and shells. (She called them "her marvelous treasure.")

Queen of New England

We arrived in Portsmouth, N.H., just 3 hours ago and Greta's already set up her backyard pool and lounged in it for an hour. Tonight, it's fireworks over the water, followed by a beach BBQ for the Fourth. Saturday, maybe a trip to Kennebunkport, Maine. It's a nice life.