“Charlie, what should we get Daddy for Father’s Day?”

“A fire truck!”

Thursday after a snack of yogurt (half on the chin and half in the mouth), Charlie was a good sport in my video. He counts to eight and sings Old MacDonald, who has a “little, bitty piggy.” Then, he points out the “minnow” where a fire truck blares.

With all of our spring showers, Charlie finally knows what rain is.

It gets him wet, keeps us indoors, and forces us to use the “rain bubble”—our plastic stroller cover. (Though I think the cover is cool, Charlie doesn’t always care for it. “No raining! No raining!” he says. I tell him to talk that over with Mother Nature.)

But this morning, after a poop accident that smeared yuck all over Charlie’s lower half, I turned on the shower for him.

“Mama!” he called, pointing at the water. “It’s raining!”

Harper’s Index says:

The number of nations that do not legally guarantee women any paid maternity leave: 4

Average annual per-capita income in the three other than the United States: $1,226

Our per-capita income according to census data from 1999: $21,587.

Recently, our representatives were considering a four week paid maternity leave for federal employees. Any paid leave is better than none, but…four weeks? Really? At one month post-partum, I was still physically—and emotionally—a wreck, plus I was having visions from lack of sleep.

The issue of paid parental leave, especially for mother’s who have to physically recover from birth, is a big one for me. (As are plenty of other “social” issues—universal and affordable health care, anyone?) But during the course of daily life, I tend to lose sight of just how terrible our government is at providing the services people need. It often seems that our leaders would rather spend billions on subsidies for big business and war than on education, health care, and little things like roads and bridges.

Keep the money at home and make our communities stronger.

Paid maternity leave would be a good start.

Mommys can do tricks. They can pretend not to notice angry strangers while trying to calm their crying babies. They can heave 50 pounds of stroller/baby/diaper bag up and down subway stairs. They can (sometimes) usher toddlers between playground and home without inciting a tantrum.

No one ever seems to acknowledge these miraculous feats.

But I do have one trick that everyone seems to notice.

Charlie eats vegetables.

And by eat, I mean he asks for them. Then, when he gets them, he gobbles them up as if they will soon disappear from his bowl.

It started with the mashed up stuff I made myself. Now, he eats everything I cook plus some raw veggies. Zucchini, peppers, broccoli, spinach, beans—add some seasoning and that boy chows down. Since I will eat chocolate and cake before any veggie, CW must get this preference from his father. I don’t question; I just go with it. And often give him veggies as snacks. This is especially fun on the subway.

People stare in awe. Their eyes say I am a miracle worker.

“He eats peppers? He eats broccoli?! That’s…amazing!

Cooking veggies that taste good—the best mom trick ever.

Now that we live in Brooklyn, spending a long afternoon exploring Central Park is a “day in the city,” rather than just what we always do for fun.

On Earth Day weekend, we took the train to the Upper East Side to see the free concerts. We ended up throwing coins in the fountain, feeding the turtles, and rolling around in the Sheep Meadow. (We missed you chasing all the squirrels, Cecil!)

The sky was blue; the sun was hot; the wind was cool. There was music and laughter and spring greenery and flowers. We had such a beautiful, wonderful, sweet day that I told Jesse (only half-jokingly) that I knew where we should live next: Manhattan. (Of course an evening in our crowded, expensive old neighborhood reminded me why we left in the first place.)

I took a few photos, including an attempt at a self-family portrait.

A few weeks ago our first bike ride of the season was on a foggy Saturday. Charlie and I followed an out-dated map through Brooklyn, from Windsor Terrace to Bay Ridge. It only took about an hour to make it to the playground at 92nd and the water. (We got lost only once, when the bike path disappeared and the road we wanted was across an interstate. It only took four or five wrong turns to figure out how to get over all the cars.)

We met some of Charlie’s friends from Fedkids and they had a great time slopping in puddles, swinging, and climbing up the slide. Plus, Charlie and I loved the ride. We had so much fun, we convinced Jesse to bike back to Bay Ridge on Sunday, to Owls Head Park. Here are the photos.

The best thing about living in Brooklyn is riding bikes. Since spring began, we’ve ridden twice to Bay Ridge, twice to the farmer’s market and once to a playground down near Ave M. Today’s bike stroll through Ditmas Park put us at the magic number 16. Happy mother’s day!

Charlie has peed in the potty several times now, but on Wednesday he pooped in the potty!

It was just a tiny bit–he thought it looked like a Cheddar Bunny–but we were still excited.

Do you have a favorite letter of the alphabet? I’m personally fond of S, because it begins my name. I also like J, which makes me think of my hubbie. But these relate to personal history, which a toddler doesn’t really have. So how does a two-year-old pick a favorite letter?

Whatever the process, Charlie has picked W.

It’s in his middle name, but I don’t think he knows that. Maybe it’s that he can recognize it, although that came after he insisted on inserting W into the alphabet song between every other letter.

A and B have their uses, I suppose, but W has stolen the show.

Yesterday, as we walked home, we passed a wine store.

“W! W, Mama!” Charlie said.

Sure enough, there was a big W in the sign for wine. Then later that evening I gave him a New York magazine to peruse. He likes the pictures—or so I thought.

“W! W, Mama!”

Yes, he was pointing to the title of the magazine, in the masthead. It was tiny type! But he found the W.

Maybe Charlie asked for the magazine because he wanted to read it!