A Journal of Urban Living

Here are some more photos of Duke and Sally enjoying their newest grandkid. Plus some shots that Sally took of an intense conversation between Simon and his daddy.

Our family has an odd tradition of eating celebratory “picnic” dinners of tapas-like, quick prep foods. It’s a festive meal at the coffee table in the living room while sitting on the floor. Aunt Joanna was in town again this week, detoured during a business trip to NorCal because of Hurricane Irene. She’s the keeper/enforcer of the family traditions. So for all you Dillons out there, here’s Simon’s first.

Simon has received some exquisite hand-knit gifts, a hand-assembled straw star sculpture and lots of other adorable presents.

But this one, from Peter’s friend in Colorado, stands alone. Maybe Nate was just showing off his alliums, but it came all the way from Boulder in a box addressed to Simon Oscar Stemwedel.

Simon has outgrown his first article of clothing, a onesie that he wore in the hospital. Peter like it because it says “Forest Fun,” and features a mushroom and small woodland animals.

It was quite snug on him when he wore it last week. As you can see, he wasn’t happy about it. Do you know any babies who need unisex hand-me-downs?

Simon outgrows his first onesie.

Joanna and Gabe offered to Simon-sit last night while Peter and I went to LQ@SK for dinner. Jo called after about an hour… The conversation went something like this:

Peter: Hello?

Joanna: Hey Peter. Sorry to bother you guys. Can you tell me where the bottles are? I can’t find them.

Peter: Bottles?

Joanna: Yeah, the bottles.

Peter: I’m sorry. What did you say?

Joanna: Bottles! I can’t find them.

Peter: What do you need a bottle for?

Joanna: To feed the baby? He’s hungry.

Peter: Oh! Right. The baby. I didn’t know what you were talking about… Bottles are in the dishwasher.

Any trip in which we completely forget that we have an infant at home is a successful outing. Peter claims he thought Jo was trying to make flavored vinegar or something…

The meal was really interesting. Laurent Quenioux of Bistro LQ and Nguyen Tran of the Starry Kitchen put on an amazing show on the plate. That pea triptych was truly memorable. The oenophile sitting next to us was chatty and poured us a taste of his 2002 Burgundy. While Peter is my favorite dining companion, it’s always a pleasure to discuss such a unique meal with neighboring tables.

After the Jo’s gentle reminder of our status as parents on a rare night out, we kept thinking about Simon and how he would’ve enjoyed the meal. Any time we take him out to a loud restaurant, he snoozes straight through dessert in his car seat. So far, it’s the best way to get him to sleep. To me, Starry Kitchen’s generic dance music soundtrack didn’t fit LQ’s unique and fabulous food, but Simon would’ve loved it!

Much like his parents, Simon would eat out every night if he could. But he always orders the same thing: momma’s milk.

• Oysters
• Limes
• Figs
• Peaches
• Grapes
• Shallots
• Frisee
• Salad Greens

While the East Coast got soaked, we’ve been in a beastly heatwave that was lethal to the poultry population at the Dilwedel compound.

Wyandotte the chicken succumbed to the 103 degree heat yesterday. After only five chickens emerged this morning, I found her under the roost.

I feel terrible and neglectful. We’ve had a lot going on and didn’t check on them during the midday heat yesterday. It was crazy though. Sally and John departed in the evening. Joanna arrived unexpectedly — a hurricane-related detour after her trip to NorCal.

Maybe if we had checked on them we would’ve spotted Wyandotte’s symptoms and been able to rehydrate her and or take her inside to cool her off. The rest of the flock is fine and they had plenty of water. Chickens are delicate but she seemed too young and healthy to be done in by the heat. I never thought that we’d lose a chicken in her prime. It seems so random and wasteful. As I told Peter tearfully this morning, “I didn’t want her to die! I wanted to kill her and eat her!” Though given how much I cry when our flock is culled naturally, we’ll have to see if I can actually pull that off.

We will remember Wyandotte fondly. She was a beautiful hen and a good layer. I loved the dark green sheen on her black neck feathers. She was the first to give us eggs. I remember how happy we were when Peter picked her up and found that first light brown egg in a little grass nest that she scratched behind the compost bins. When she was just a chick, we couldn’t tell her apart from Barred Rock. They both looked like balls of black fluff with yellow bellies. She liked to boss around the rest of the girls but she will be missed by her friends, Australorp and Barbara the Barred Rock.

A brief memorial service was held this evening and attended by Jo, Gabe, Raquel, Peter and Simon, who screamed the whole time. She was buried under the fig tree in the front yard.

We haven’t been able to catch him in the act for a photo yet, but he’s been doing it for about a week now. He grins at me, laughs at Peter and smirks at the ceiling fan. He’s especially smiley in the wee hours of the morning after nursing when I’m bleary-eyed and exhausted and in the morning before breakfast when no one can resist playtime.

The best was when he was hanging out on a blanket on the floor next to my desk. When I glanced down to check on him, he looked up, caught my eye and beamed. I almost forgave him for all the late nights…

Hair: Red, as previously noted. Spikey on top, widow’s peak in the front. Fluffy after a bath, greasy after a couple of days.

Eyebrows: Invisible blond.

Eyes: Lively. Blue at the moment. Left eye is currently red, puss-y and infected with bacterial conjunctivitis. He’s barely 6 weeks old and already we’re dealing with pinkeye. Adorable little disease vector.

Ears: Perfect.

Nose: Typical baby chata nariz de gata.

Mouth: “His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.”

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Simon met his Grandparents last Saturday.  We’ll post a photo retrospective after they leave us to visit more northerly grandchildren this weekend but here’s a taste:

Clockwise from bottom-left: grandson, grandmother, grandfather, grandsquash