Thalexicon

Since you know me and Bryan, you know that we're extremely fond of neologisms. We're downright compulsive about creating our own, remixing, back-forming, homynymizing (our way of harmonizing) and otherwise mangling the English language, with help from Yiddish and popular culture.

Here's a sampling of the ones that come to mind right now. But seriously, these are so much part of our conversation that I'm not conscious of it anymore. If we're not careful, Squid, I mean Thalia, is going to grow up speaking an alien language.

BATCH
A lot of baths. As in, "Thalia, you need a batch. You are covered in peas."

CHUCK
See May 8's post.

THE OOZ
We keep planning to take Thalia but never make it, since one has to travel backwards to get there. The Prospect Park Ooz is remarkably improved since I last went there in 1988. Gentrification kicked out the bobcat who used to pace in his cage.

SQUID
A squishy kid. That was Thalia, right after she was born. Remember this?

Yes, that's Squid, also known as Squiddo, kiddo.

THE VET
Where Thalia goes for medical care. This a flub Bryan and I make consistently, and we've done so starting with her very first visit to the lovely Dr. Aviva Oppenheim, who is assuredly not a veterinarian. I think Bryan and I are feeling guilty that we haven't taken Django or Pearl to the vet in a good five years. Culpable. Wrong. Completely miserable failures as pet parents.

Thalia, meanwhile, knows what to do with words. She eats them. Lately she has taken to chewing on The New York Times, showing special interest in the City and Styles sections.






I leave you with 17th Street playground, Memorial Day:

Chuck

Okay, everyone's been very polite (well, almost everyone), but it's time to talk about Thalia's hemangiomas.

Hemangi-what? You know. Those red blotches, one on her nose and the other on her lip.



Let's set the record straight. Hemangiomas are not permanently disfiguring. They are not malignant or otherwise scary. They're just clusters of would-be blood vessel cells that got lost and didn't know where to go.

They'll eventually turn kind of purple-gray, and then start fading away. Docs even have a formula for it: 30 percent are gone by age 3, 40 percent by age 4 and so on. If a kid is in the 10 percent that don't disappear by age 9, then the cosmetic surgeon brings the laser out. Done.

No one knows what causes them. For a while there was a theory, since discredited, that hemangiomas were stray cells left over from the placenta. Another time they were the subject of intense study by cancer researchers, who wanted to understand why these tumors only started growing a few weeks after birth. If we could figure out what triggered them, maybe we could figure out what caused cancer cells to reproduce. No go; the scientists found another explanation.

We call Thalia's hemangiomas her "chucks," as in "Chuck Mangione." For those of you too young to have lived through the glorious summer of '77, Mangione was the bearded and behatted trumpeter who had a hit with "Feels So Good," an easy listening instrumental.


He looks nothing like Thalia's chucks. Hers are much cuter.

But like her birthmarks' namesake, Thalia has also been making pleasing and loud noises lately. I'm too busy/lazy to get audio tracks on here, but rest assured we have professional-quality recordings of our daughter singing along with Debbie Harry.

She grabs. She laughs. IT'S ALIVE!!!

A visit from grandpa

Grandpa Bill came by for a visit over the weekend, bearing lox and mini bagels. The latter proved perfect for Thalia to teethe on, and Dr. Bill pronounced our drooly delight ready to bust her lower incisors any moment now. Not that she needs them to eat rice or barley cereal, but hey, they'll be fun to chew fingers with.

Much baby-flipping ensued. For your viewing pleasure:









Bryan is doing flipping duty. I've been busy getting started on my book. Yes! I'm thrilled to tell you that I have a deal with Bloomsbury USA for "Our Lot: How Real Estate Came to Own Us." You'll be hearing lots more about it.

Here's what Thalia wants to tell you: "Ahohooohahowowahaaathwwwhwwwhwwwthww."



Alas, we neglected to take a picture of Bill. Take our word for it, he's looking great. Thank you for the awesome photos, Bill! Thalia was glad you came (ditto from me and Bryan).

At last: the long-in-demand Katz Swirsky family portrait. Enjoy.