I wish there were some trick to help me remember what "mnemonic" means

Crazed

Scott and Carlie describe Liliana as being "crazed" when she's up too late relative to a nap or bedtime, and she starts getting all frantic and manic when she's, in fact, tired. Her cousin, Owen, sometimes gets crazed at night, getting all riled up, wanting to pull every book off his shelves, squirming and fighting mightily against the clean diaper, crawling about the crib as if the PJs were a swarm of bees after him, flipping switches on his music box, then collapsing into sleep.

With Kerry away, I've realized that I'm susceptible to the same thing. Being old, I don't express it quite so physically, but in spite of being tired and knowing myself to be tired, I find myself avoiding going to bed. It may be doing a bit of work, doing some chores around the house, or maybe writing a quick blog post. (OK, the (in)frequency of Hollerer posts puts the lie to that claim.) And then when I finally head upstairs, maybe I'll just read a bit. Just like that an hour or more goes by and, surprisingly, I still feel tired.

Birthday surprise

Kerry was back from Venezuela for the long weekend. This wasn't really a surprise to me, but it was to everybody else (maybe even to you, now, dear reader). I kept it on the DL because I didn't want to jinx it. Also, I thought it would be fun to surprise Grandad, AP and Dad in Belpre when Owen and I showed up for a visit, and Kerry popped out of the car. Don't know if I was right about the jinxing, but I was right about the surprise.

It was very good to see Kerry, and of course she was thrilled to be here for Owen's first birthday. I had been thinking that he would now be a toddler, but notwithstanding his age, he's not actually toddling, just crawling and cruising, so I suppose he's an ever-bigger baby for now. (Please, no need to comment about not worrying about milestones. I'm not. I only mention this because it was funny to me that I was thinking of "toddler" just as a title, not as a descriptor. Like an "ensign" in the navy - used to be the guy who held the flag; now is just the juniormost rank of officer.)

Owen had a good time on his birthday. He had the obligatory piece of cake, which went all over his face. (And in his face - stand by for pictures of blue frosting boogers.) And AP got some sparklers, so he was able to enjoy so extremely short-range pyrotechnics. He had slept through the neighborhood fireworks on the Fourth, but he liked the sparklers, as well as some relatively impressive amateur fireworks set off by another neighbor on the fifth.

Kerry is now at BWI, waiting to head back to Caracas. I was pleasantly surprised at how fast the first part of her trip went. This round is only a few days longer; hopefully it will pass at least as quickly.

Crash

Owen likes to sleep on his face. Not his stomach, like a big person might, but with his feet tucked under, butt high, and arms at his sides, leaving the face as a load-bearing member. He doesn't stay this way all night, but he'll start out that way as often as not.

Last night the young gentleman had a crying jag around 2245, so I got to comfort him and watch him go back to sleep. He was agitated, so there was a good bit of wiggling around, sitting up, and trying to get comfortable. Owen's move from sitting to lying in the crib was pretty hilarious. He would sit almost cross-legged, then tip forward. His arms were pre-occupied with holding Brownie to his chest, so he would just fall onto his face like a defective Weeble Wobble. Of course, that put him in the preferred sleeping position, so it wasn't a bad move.

This was funny to watch, but I also empathized. I know the feeling he was experiencing, of being dog-tired, but so tired that you just can't get comfortable. You toss and turn, and in a final fit of frustration throw yourself flat on your face, convinced that you'll never sleep again. Lights out.

Reach for the sky

This weekend, I noticed Owen reaching upwards with one hand. It's not a wave bye-bye up high, nor a reach like you reach when you're jumping trying to touch the rim of a basketball hoop. His palm is turned somewhat upward, and his hand - almost always his right - is a bit of a claw. It's as if he were going to pluck an apple. Or if the hand were lower, as if he were a Marvel villain, indicating his strength and plan for world domination with a simple gesture.

I had no idea why Owen was doing this. Carla pointed out that he does this when he hears a plane go overhead. (When he's outside, he'll also look up for the plane.) But that's not the only time he does it, so I think there's something else going on, too.