Critical mass with disambiguation bonus

While 'critical mass' is first and foremost a scientific term having to do with nuclear fission, I've always used it in the social context, to designate that arrival at a sufficient level of jollification which is achieved by any number of independent factors. In reference to a party, for instance, critical mass would occur with the arrival of whichever guest really kicks things off. It may not be a characteristic specific to that particular guest, but rather an inevitable happening considering the other guests present and that particular concatenation of events. (I've just begun reading the Foundation Trilogy aloud to Michael, so I'm feeling rather psycho-historic, vague, and inevitable these days.)

On a far grander scale, I'm beginning to realise that we are in the process of achieving critical mass within our own family, and it's a thrilling and delightful discovery. For many a day after the arrival of Jane, the avoidance of collapsing into a blue funk of drudgery and boredom was a chief concern, to which end I sought out adequate outside activities sufficient to divert us without running us ragged. The logistical difficulties of pursuing such interests with three children in tow had been a bit of a worry, but I'm finding more and more that Jane and Ella provide their own diversion, both to me and to each other. Their activities are more independent and self-contained than ever, their conversations infinitely more amusing, their intellectual rapport growing ever more engaging. If I go for days without experiencing much adult conversation, as the cliche goes, my psyche hardly suffers anymore, because the precocious child conversation is almost as stimulating. Food, money, and other economic considerations prevent us from dropping out of society altogether, but it's nice to know that we're well on our way to forming what could be, in a pinch, an independent and self-sustaining society for rainy days.

(On a side note, I couldn't remember whether the term 'critical mass' had to do with nuclear fusion or fission, so I popped onto Wikipedia to find out, and found myself on some page describing a cycling movement. The 'critical mass' term that I was after was found on a different page, all such pages tagged with the appellation 'disambiguation.' I love reading interesting articles with lots of hyperlinks, for this led me down a charming rabbit hole of rhetorical metonymy, Naive Bayes Classifiers, and Yarowsky Algorithms. This is as close to mathematics as I get.)

Six years ago today

(We actually found we had no digital pics of the day itself, so this was staged two weeks later. But you get the idea.)

A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings

Look! She's smiling!

As Katy neared two months, I almost canceled her check-up. I wanted to delay her shots a bit (I managed to buy both Jane and Ella an extra month), I wanted to stall her records on the growth chart to keep the doctor from marking her as FTT, and I absolutely detest going to any appointments with three young children in tow. There is invariably a wait that leaves me fuming and muttering about how the airlines can get away with overbooking because they're prepared to offer you some compensation if you get bumped, but I have yet to receive any sort of gratuity from a professional office to make amends for having wasted my time as a result of their greedy presumption. And even though our pediatrician's office has a sick and well waiting room, I just know there are germs lurking on every surface in the consultation rooms. I hate getting sick.

So I was fully prepared to chuck the whole thing, but then I read Dr. Sears' The Vaccine Book, which made such reasonable good sense that I resolved to follow his alternative vaccine schedule. Thus, Katy received the DTaP shot and the rotavirus dose. She didn't even have a fever following, and the ironic thing is that her spit-ups, which before were rather explosive and excessive, have pretty much stopped. I'm sure there's no connection, but I thought it a funny side effect for a weakened live-action virus that is supposed to cause vomiting.

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We harvested all of one tomato, one yellow squash, and one picking of green beans from our garden. It is unfortunate that the only good fenced spot is also in the shadiest part of the backyard. Rabbits chewed up most of the green bean plants before I figured out that the culprits were not bugs, but I did have a small triumph: I saved a few of the bean pods, dried them out, and planted the seeds again in hopes of a second harvest. We shall see if our survivalist skills ever pan out.



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Thanks to this lovely post, on a lovely, lovely site that I love to read whenever I am hungry, or at any other time, I have two mason jars of vanilla extract brewing in the back of my pantry. It was quite the quest to find the alcohol, as grocery stores aren't allowed to sell anything other than beer or wine (???) and package stores are illegal in all but three cities in our county. Also, people under 21 are not allowed into said rare packages stores, so I was limited to hunting for vodka, brandy, or rum on the weekends. At last I emerged with a bottle of rum (what a pity they don't sell that at CVS), and ordered 25 vanilla beans from Madagascar, with 10 from Tahiti thrown in for good measure. I intend to buy some brandy as well, stew each variety of vanilla beans in a bottle of that, and compare the final products. Possibly I will give away tiny extract bottles for Christmas presents, or I may just use it all up in baking, dispensing with the nasty imitation vanilla once and for all.

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Speaking of blogs that I love to read, this gem makes for great late-night giggles over ice cream or Special K bars. Just priceless.

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Jane: Oh! Katy scratched me!
Me: Well, hardly.
Jane: No, she was gentle.

(Yeah, I had to think about it, too.)