Pictures and Pizza

One problem with Teddy is the fact that, frankly, he's not terribly photogenic at this point. He's a bit spotty these days and just doesn't have the ability to work the camera the way that his sister does. Admittedly, he's only 6 weeks old, but the lack of a smile, or really any interesting face other than a slack-jawed, tongue-out blank gaze, is really holding back his presence in our photo collection. But it is tough when you're the second kid (we have tons of slack-jawed, tongue-out photos of Margaret) especially when your sister is so dang photogenic. (I went into a colleague's office the other day with a picture of Margaret that I'd printed and said, "You know, people are naturally biased towards thinking that their kid is cute. But you can't deny that this is one cute kid!" Naturally, he agreed, although I suppose he didn't have much of an option. We're currently trying to figure out from whom she inherited her smile. From me - ha! From Abby - more likely.)

One clear part of my genetic code that Margaret has inherited is a preference for olives. Currently, olives are one of Margaret's favorite foods. My family universally likes olives. Abby's family universally (I believe) does not. My sister and her kids all like olives. Her husband's family does not. Or at least doesn't show the obsession with olives that infects my sister, her kids and my extended family - put out a bowl of olives, preferably black olives not the high falutin' kalamata kind, and they'll be gone in five minutes whenever anyone from my side of the family is present. Consumption of olives literally involves strategic actions by me and my siblings (and now, our kids) - you don't want to seem like a glutton by eating too many olives, but if you place yourself correctly relative to the bowl of olives and are discrete enough, you can surreptitiously get 20 or so olives. This is a longstanding source of family competition which, it so happens, is especially relevant around Thanksgiving when olives invariably make an appearance.

So it seems clear that there is a gene in my family that leads to a fondness for olives even in the presence of conflicting genes from those who aren't as fond of them. Margaret likes them so much that she'll plead for more during dinner whenever they make a brief appearance.

But she calls them pizza. Don't ask me why, but when Margaret has a craving for olives, or spots even one of them, she cries "Pizza! Pizza!"

She also calls "Elmo" "Neemo." And a hippo is a "bippo." Given these persistent vocabulary problems, it's good that she's got that photogenic smile going for her.

One last thing: Teddy and I hung out for around 30 minutes this evening while his mom read books to his sister and put her to bed. The entire time, he just lay there and looked around with big eyes as I held him while reading the newspaper. At a similar age, his sister NEVER would have done that. So even if he currently doesn't have the photogenic smile (or vocabulary, however flawed) of his sister, he's a really pleasant kid to have around.