Last night, GTB reminded me that October 21 is the anniversary of Elliot Smith’s death. I then reminded him that the 22nd is the anniversary of the day my brother, Matt, died.

“Was Matt an Elliot Smith fan?” GTB asked.

“Um, no,” I replied.

“I know he liked the Carpenters,” GTB said, referring to the legendary family story of a two-year-old Matt who disappeared from the house, causing my mother to panic, later to be found in the backyard singing “On Top of the World” into the garden hose. “What other music did Matt like?”

So now I’m sitting here trying to remember what music Matt listened to. Here’s what’s coming to mind:

The songs Dream Weaver and Electric Avenue
The Village People
Stevie Wonder

I’m sure I’ll remember more as today brings a flood of Matt memories. For now, I’m smiling, remembering how many times he listened to Dream Weaver on his record player.

As most mothers do, I truly believe my kid is a genius. I was just reading an article about how to tell if you are raising a “gifted” youngster. The authors listed examples like “does your child show compassion for animals?” and “does your child seem intersted in numbers and math?” Signe spends equal time swatting at and using “gentle” pets on our cat, and I’m not sure she even knows the concept of numbers yet. But then, the article said these examples only apply to kids who are at least two years old. (Sig is not quite 14 months.)

Regardless, all the proof I need of Signe’s brilliance is in her newfound ability to whistle.

Shit you not: the kid can whistle.

Given that I couldn’t whistle until I was fourteen, and my little sister had to teach me, I think Signe is off the charts brilliant.

Course, the paragraph above might say more about me than it does about my daughter.

Me: Do you think it’s in poor taste to publish the headline “Def Leppard cancels third leg of tour”?

GTB: No. Why? Oh, because the drummer only has one arm?

Me: Yeah.

GTB: No. Maybe if they’d said “Def Leppard cancels mangled second arm of tour.”

Here’s how I spent my Friday night:

I went to Babies R Us to buy Signe’s new carseat. The only thing more pathetic than a formerly cool mom shopping at Babies R Us at 8:30 on a Friday night are the parents shopping at Babies R Us at 8:30 on a Friday night with their melting-down kids. What time are two-year-olds supposed to go to bed? Most of the toddlers I ran into clearly needed an earlier bedtime.

Oh wait, I just thought of something more pathetic: a woman who grew up in cow country and vowed to never own anything with a cow print on it who bought this car seat

because she knew it would make her husband giggle.

I haven’t given up yet. Please be patient.

Late last spring, GTB fantasized about long, warm, summer days spent on the river. We have a couple of friends who have boats and GTB was determined to milk some invites. As he waxed poetic about fishing, tans, and how cute Signe would look in a life jacket, I grew more and more fearful that he would find a way to turn it all into a reality.

One day, he noticed I wasn’t sharing in his daydreaming and he asked me why. I told him I was never a big fan of water (despite my insistence that we always live near it, sorry, Austin, TX) and that boating is too dangerous to do with a little baby. He showed me pictures of friends with their kids on the water. They all seemed fine and healthy, he pointed out. We have never personally known anyone whose kid has fallen out of a boat and drowned, he reminded me. We would only go out with responsible, non-drinking boaters, he pleaded.

To no avail. I would not be convinced. Try as he might, he couldn’t make me see how safe it was. Probably because it took me a long time to be perfectly honest with him about what my fears really were.

I grew up on the Columbia. I have known lots of men and boys who went fishing and never came back. I know that drowning is a real risk, even in a life jacket. That would be enough to deter most moms.

But my real fear was far less rational, far more embarrassing, and far more paralyzing. My fear, friends, was sturgeon.

Columbia River sturgeon grow to be enormous. And though they are bottom feeders, I am certain there are some that swim along near the surface, just looking for a morsel about Signe’s size to snack on. Gulp.

When I finally revealed my true fears to GTB, he, like the supportive husband he is, laughed, caught himself, and then tried to talk me down off this particularly ridiculous ledge.

When I told my mother of this new phobia, she agreed that I was within rights to fear the mighty sturgeon. Then she assured me that I have attained true motherhood. After all, what is motherhood if not a constant state of finding the next irrational fear. She might not have used those exact words, but that was the gist of it. (Right, mom?)

We haven’t once been out on a boat this summer. With or without Signe. And I can now say with some small amount of vindication that I made the right decision for my family.

My friend Julie posted this article on her Facebook page today. You can quibble all you want about “Florida,” “placid fish,” and “that’s on the other side of the country, you ridiculous woman!” But I know the truth.

Thank goodness I listened to my motherly instincts.

I already know that on the day Signe leaves for college, this will be one of the pictures I look at as I sob.

God damn I love this woman!

I’m starting to understand why parents buy only wooden toys for their kids. I’m not overly concerned with the phthalates in plastic, I just get tired of watching my daughter chew the paint and paper off of everything she plays with.

She has this really cute set of cardboard stacking blocks that Auntie Karin got for her. They have pictures of animals from an Eric Carle book on them and Signe is learning to roar like the lion and hiss like the snake (much to my chagrin). For the moment, they are her favorite toys, which means they are chewed beyond recognition.

Greg was hanging Sig upside down while he was playing with her the other day and noticed something small and black behind her top teeth. Once I wrangled it out of her mouth, I figured out that it was a piece of the fabric that is made to look like the cheetah’s fur. Gross.

The smallest block is purple and has a marble or something in it that makes it rattle. When I just picked it up to make a stack, it was soaked clear through and you can hardly see the pretty outer coating anymore. I don’t know if she’s trying to get at the creamy filling or what.

Signe does have some wooden blocks our neighbor boys loaned her. She chews on those, too. I’ve had to take away a few because she has chewed the paint right off of them.

I probably shouldn’t worry about her ingesting all that paper and paint. I mean, they wouldn’t make a kids’ toy dangerous to ingest, right? (Yeah right.)

Still, I’m fighting the urge to throw away (or at least set aside) all these chewable toys and replace them with nice, old fashioned unpainted wooden blocks.

Signe has a little hand-me-down toy that is a little like a jack in the box, but it’s soft and the thing that pops out is a dog. You don’t crank a wheel to get the dog to pop out either, it’s just a little flower held down by a magnet and if you flip the flower, out pops the doggy. Sig loves when I hide the dog and she gets to make him spring up by prying the box open.

The other day, she was fussing about something so I handed her that toy and when she made the dog pop up, I said “Ta-daaaaaaaaaa!” in a sing-songy voice. She looked at me puzzled. When I hid the dog again and she again made him pop up, I again sang “Ta-daaaaaaa!” The next time she made him appear, she looked at me expectantly until I said it.

Today, we were playing with the pop-goes-the-puppy and when it popped up, Signe said “ta da.” It was kinda whispered and certainly not sing-songy, but adorable no less. I think the toy’s new name is “Tada.”