Ridin' The Rails

Ok, now that we're all back home, safe and sound, let's finally talk about the train ride to Maryland, shall we?

First things first: did you know you're supposed to get to the train station an hour before your scheduled departure time? Yeah, we didn't know that. Know WHY we didn't know that? Because instead of posting a note about it, say, on the registration confirmation page, they posted notes about it IN THE TRAIN STATION. Because THAT'S helpful.

And as it turns out, if you don't get there an hour early, you don't get to check any luggage. This actually ended up being the best possible outcome because if you have a baby, a backpack, a large-ish duffel bag, and a very large carseat and you can't check any of it, it all ends up getting piled in the seat next to you. End result: FREE SEAT. On behalf of all the slackers of this world: You rock, Amtrak.

So on the plus side, we didn't have to worry about bothering the passenger in the seat next to us. On the not-so-plus side, we had to worry about bothering the passengers IN THE WHOLE REST OF THE TRAIN. Because Luke was not pleased about the fact that the ground was moving. Or that he couldn't go play with everyone he saw. Or that he couldn't take the banana that belonged to the lady across the aisle. (By the way, Dear Lady Across The Aisle: The kid is ONE. I can pretty much guarantee that your lecture about personal boundaries and respect for other people's property was completely lost on him. Furthermore, he never actually even TOUCHED your precious banana, so not only was the lecture aimed at the wrong audience, but it was also COMPLETELY UNWARRANTED.)

And when I finally got him to go to sleep, the man (and by "man," I mean "probable drug dealer") in the seat behind me started talking very loudly on his cell phone about how some woman owed him money and the BILLIONS of Bad Things he was going to do to her if she didn't pay him back. So after about an hour of that, we decided to head down to the dining car.

People, the dining car is AWESOME. Okay, we never actually made it to the dining car, so let's amend that statement. The SNACK car is awesome, so I'm guessing the dining car would have been doubly so. We spent a good two hours eating an orange and a hot dog and a turkey sandwich. Mind you, I almost had a heart attack when, at the end of those two hours, I thought to look at the ingredients on the turkey sandwich and they were "Turkey, Corn Starch, Artificial Turkey Flavoring." ARTIFICIAL TURKEY FLAVORING???? Just let's not even go there. (Also? Let's not talk about the fact that the turkey was kind of...spongy.)

So all in all, the trip was...okay. In that we got there in one piece. (In a manner of speaking.) But next time, I am TOTALLY paying the extra $200 to get a room so that I don't have to worry about neurotic old women or loud drug dealers or people who are trying to nap on the train and are (justifiably) unhappy at being interrupted by a curious toddler. And I'm bringing our own lunch.

Relaxing Vacation Fail

I was going to write about our train ride today. But then, today went wildly off-course, so instead, I'll write about how I lost my purse this morning.

Did you know that most mistakes happen when you stray from your routine? So since we're out of town, we have, of course, strayed far from our routine. This morning, I set my purse on the hood of the car while I strapped Luke into the carseat and then, I got in, turned the car on, and drove off. Without ever retrieving the purse from the hood of the car. End result: after several minutes of panic and backtracking, the purse is gone. Along with three debit cards, a passport, a checkbook, a day planner, my driver's license, my social security card, and my green card. Oh, and $100 in cash. (I'd like to point out that (a) I never EVER carry cash and (b) up until this morning, my purse and wallet were in two separate places, but I put them together in order to "Make life easier." If I had just left well enough alone, I would've been out the cash, but I'd have everything else. Sigh.)

As a result of all this foolishness, I spent the morning on the phone with various banks, canceling debit cards and putting up warnings on my accounts and closing out old accounts and opening up new accounts. Did you know that you could do all that over the phone? Because I certainly didn't. And then, I filled out an online police report...did you know you could do that online? Again, it was news to me. (Did you also know that the list of items that you could choose from for the report included such things as "Keepsake mementos," "Mobile home," "Tree," and "Food items--meat?" I mean, really? Who's going to steal your meat? How's someone going to walk off with your TREE? *Shakes head in consternation*)

And since I lost my driver's license, I can't go anywhere and the thing that bothers me the most of this situation is that before I lost the purse, I was on my way to Target to get a bicycle pump to blow up an inflatable pool for Luke and now? He doesn't get to play in the pool. The rest of it--the lost bank account information, the lost social security card and related potential for identity theft, the fuss and bother of replacing all this nonsense--I can deal with all of that, but the loss of the pool is about enough to make me cry. (Ok. So I might not be fully rational at the moment.)

Portrait of a Monday

Luke and I are visiting my mom and stepdad for a week BY OURSELVES. We took the train here on Saturday BY OURSELVES. That, by the way, is another post for another day, but here's a spoiler: if you're taking the train with a 1-year-old, book a room.

So far this morning (and let me point out that it is currently 10:55 am), we have:

• Walked up the stairs 39 times. THAT IS NOT AN EXAGGERATION. What that means, of course, is that we've also walked DOWN the stairs 32 times, but Luke has decided that going up is way more fun than going down, so he just kind of...jumps. And then, it's my job to catch him, carry him the rest of the way down, and set him down so he can go back up again.
• Eaten breakfast. I ate half a banana. Luke ate the other half, as well as a bowl of oatmeal mixed with mango juice, which he thought was the greatest thing EVER. (The amount of sugar in this juice, by the way, was almost criminal and could probably account for at least 38 of our 39 trips up and down the stairs.)
  
• Gone to the playground, where we met Gigi. Gigi is a Jack Russell terrier. Gigi is 8 months old. Gigi is hyper. Gigi's favorite activity is going down the slide. More accurately, Gigi's favorite activity is going down the slide when there's a child trying to go down it. Gigi likes to bark and jump and scratch and although Gigi's owner swears she does not bite, I know for a fact that this is a lie. ASK ME HOW I KNOW.
• Tried to eat a berry on the walk back from the playground. Tried to eat a twig on the walk back from the playground. Tried to eat a rock on the walk back from the playground.
• Tried to pick up a USED CONDOM on the walk back from the playground. Let's pause for a minute here, shall we? Let's try to get past the sheer grossness of the fact that there was a used condom lying on the sidewalk so that we can examine WHY there was a used condom lying on the sidewalk. I mean, it's not like it's a wrapper from a hamburger that someone was eating as they walked down the street. Any activity that requires a condom is, by convention, not an activity that is performed while taking a leisurely stroll. Let's just say that I've spent way too much time this morning thinking about the scenarios that might result in a used condom being left lying on the sidewalk.

I'm excited to see what the rest of the day brings...

A Plague Upon Our House

Have I mentioned how odd I find little kid illnesses? Because even if I have, I think it bears repeating. I mean, adults get sick with a cold. Maybe the flu. Maybe strep throat. Kids? Kids get all kinds of nonsense. Sure, there's the cold/flu/strep thing. And then, there's the weird high fever followed by some kind of skin issue thing--hand, foot, and mouth disease, roseola, chicken pox, etc. And then, there are the ubiquitous ear infections. And then, lurking in the back of your mind and making you wonder if maybe you're just turning into a hypochondriac-by-proxy, there's the all-encompassing "teething."

So a couple of days ago, Luke came down with a fever. McMoose and I looked at each other and said, "Oh, he's teething." And then, he refused to eat. Well, that could be teething too, right? I mean, if I had sharp, calcified protrusions trying to worm their way up through my gums, I might lose my appetite too. And then, he got fussy. Again, I say: Sharp. Calcified. Protrusions.

But then, the fever got higher. And then, the fussiness turned from "I'm kind of grumpy, but if you just let me do whatever I want, I'll be mostly happy" to "Ugh, I hate life. Just give me a beer and leave me alone." And since giving him a beer and leaving him alone would have been considered bad parenting, we instead tried holding him. Rocking him. Singing to him. Reading to him. Feeding him. Making the Dog do crazy tricks for him. All of which served to irritate the living daylights out of him. In fact, for a while there, the only thing that made him happy was watching Lady Gaga music videos on YouTube. (Yes, I know, that could also be called bad parenting, but it seemed to be preferable to selling the kid to the circus, which was our other option at the time.)

So eventually, after a lot of hemming and hawing, we decided to take him to the doctor, only to be handed a diagnosis of Hand, Foot and Mouth. Now, considering that his hands are fine, his feet are fine, and I'm pretty sure that the "blister" on his tongue is actually a result of him biting his tongue a couple of days ago, I'm kind of questioning this diagnosis. But the other option, apparently, was to catheterize him for a urine sample and to take lots of blood for tests that may or may not have revealed anything useful. So. We're running with the Hand, Foot, and Mouth diagnosis for now. And we're watching a lot of YouTube videos.

Toddler Time

When Luke was much smaller (and much more easily, um, containable), we went to lots of new mom groups. We had coffee with moms and their babies every Thursday. We went to a La Leche League lunch meeting every Friday. We met a Mom's group at the mall every Monday. And it was great. It got us out of the house, it let us mingle with other human beings, and it was oh-so-helpful to talk to other people who were in a similar place in life.

And then, he started being able to go from Place A to Place B by himself. And then, he felt that he should ALWAYS be moving from Place A to Place B and then back to Place A and then to Place C and it became impossible to sit for long enough to drink a cup of coffee. Or have a conversation. Or do anything requiring more than, oh, 3 seconds of stillness or focused attention.

Plus, Other Baby started coming over, so it felt like we were getting some outside interaction every day anyway, so we just stopped going to things. No more coffee chats. No more mall walks. And we manage to go to La Leche League about once every six weeks and I spend the entire time trying to keep Luke from licking the little babies. (Why, oh why must we constantly LICK everything?)

But it's starting to occur to me that instead of bemoaning the fact that my not-so-much-a-baby-anymore is unwilling to sit still for social interaction, I should maybe, I don't know, seek out social situations that are more appropriate for TODDLERS? And now that it's summer and Other Baby is mostly at home with his mom, we can actually do some of this stuff. I'm very excited at the possibility that I might actually be able to have adult conversations with people other than McMoose and my mom, not to mention the possibility that Luke might find Small Humans to play with instead of always having to socialize with Small Animals. Because let's face it, the Small Animals are probably the reason he goes around licking everyone in the first place.

Summer Is...

...the milky smell of sunscreen wafting through the 100-degree interior of the car. The air conditioner, turned up to the highest setting, spews warm air, clearly staging a protest against these inhuman working conditions. The baby, trapped in his plastic and foam prison, issues similar protests until he is handed a sippy cup filled with tepid water. Soon, the only noise from the back is the contented slurping of a thirsty child.

...a giggling, splashing, kicking child who wiggles and slithers away in a wading pool, slipping away in a crowd of similarly splashing children. A moment later, he has decided to immerse himself completely and, heart beating wildly, I pull him back up. He turns to me with a grin, knowing all along that I'd save him.

...the dappled sunlight of a park trail marked with white arrows to show us the way. The hard, packed dirt stirs beneath our feet as we stomp our way through, keeping our eyes peeled for poison ivy and errant snakes. Squirrels chatter at us in irritation as we interrupt their mid-morning nap.

...the sweet, sticky, drip-drip-drip of redness down our arms as we bite into a newly cut watermelon. The baby, caught up in the moment, eats through half a rind before we think to stop him and when we finally do, he laughs uproariously, stopping to chatter his beaver teeth at us.

...the sweet weight of a sleeping child, exhausted from his sun-filled adventures. As I lean in to kiss his neck, I get a whiff of the milky smell of sunscreen.

To-Do List

I'm not so great at the whole housekeeping thing. As far as I'm concerned, everything I clean and organize today will just get dirty and disorganized again tomorrow, so why bother to fight entropy? This, by the way, is a philosophy that more or less works when you're single because you just don't have a whole lot of stuff to get dirty or disorganized in the first place. So I'd tidy everything up once every couple of weeks and it would largely stay that way. Then, I got married and we had a little bit more stuff, so we had to clean and organize a little bit more often, but it was still doable. But now! Now, we have so much STUFF, specifically brightly colored STUFF designed to entertain small children, that we find ourselves cleaning and organizing on a daily basis. Heck, an HOURLY basis.

So I decided to come up with a cleaning schedule of sorts. On Monday, I decided, I'd clean the bathrooms and kitchen. Tuesdays: Living and dining rooms. Wednesdays? Bedrooms. Thursdays: vacuuming. Friday through Sunday: Laundry. Because yes, laundry DOES take three days. And everything was chugging along until I came to the realization that the more I clean, the more there is LEFT TO CLEAN.

In the past, I'd move things from disorganized, messy piles into slightly better stacked, well-mannered piles. But now, I've gotten all ambitious and actually started putting things AWAY. In FOLDERS. In the FILING CABINET. And today, I ran a load of laundry through the washer and dryer, and then folded it and put it away. All. In. The. Same. Day. I don't even remember the last time that happened. Except as I was putting away the last of the load and starting to feel all accomplished and whatnot, I looked up and realized that my wedding dress has spent the past TWO YEARS sitting on a shelf, waiting to be taken to the cleaners. Clearly, a few minutes of superficial cleaning and organizing isn't going to do much to remedy the ridiculous level of, um, entropy in this apartment.

Jabberin'

Luke and I totally have conversations nowadays. And by "conversations," I mean this:

Luke: Mama. Mama, Mama, Mama.
Me: Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke.
Luke: Maaaaa-Maaaaa.
Me: Yes, Luuuuuuuuuuke?
Luke: Arf. Aaarrrrrf.
Me: Toto's under the bed.
Luke: Mmmmmeow. Mmmmmmmmeow.
Me: The cats are sleeping somewhere.
Luke: Mama.
Me: Yes?
Luke: Yeah.

And then, he walks off, all happy and fulfilled because he managed to communicate something to me and I'm left sitting there wondering at what point my definition of "conversation" changed to include this type of exchange.

Mama Will Gladly Buy You a Mockingbird If You Would Just GO TO SLEEP

Luke is a good sleeper. Was. Luke was a good sleeper. First of all, I should qualify that statement by saying that in my book, good sleeper = a child who falls asleep easily and who wakes up at a decent hour. He didn't sleep through the night until close to his first birthday and I was fine with that. He has never put himself to sleep without help of some kind (nursing, rocking, patting, whatever) and I was fine with that. Because up until last week, I could nurse him, and then put him in the crib and pat him and within about 15 minutes, he'd be asleep. And I could do this at 10 am, 2:30 pm, and 8:30 or 9 pm and expect him to take 2 90-minute naps and get a total of 10 hours of sleep (even if it was somewhat interrupted) at night. All of these things were fine. All of these things worked.

Then, we traveled last weekend. Now, we've traveled before with him and he has done just fine, but last weekend, there was no crib and the bed in our room was kind of tiny and so we thought, "Hey, we have a good sleeper. Let's just put him on the floor." Ha. Hahahahahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

So all weekend, he kicked and yelled and fought sleep. And then, he got a cold when we got back home, so he kicked and yelled and coughed and fought sleep some more. And now, he seems to be over the cold, but the kicking? The yelling? The fighting sleep? Yeah, that's still happening.

Last night, he went to sleep at midnight, after 2-and-a-half hours of the kicking and the screaming and the fighting. So I thought, okay, maybe that means he'll sleep until 9 or 10 this morning. People, he was up at 6. And then, I thought okay, maybe THAT means he'll go down more easily for his morning nap. People. He kicked, screamed, and fought for over. an. hour. And I tried EVERYTHING. Nursing, rocking, singing, patting, bouncing on and exercise ball, putting into baby carrier and walking around. In fact, I tried everything TWICE. And still, he kicked. Screamed. Fought. And I'm pretty sure that at one point, the fool bit my shoulder.

I'm totally thinking of skipping his second nap today and pawning off bedtime to McMoose, just because the thought of doing this TWICE IN ONE DAY is enough to make my soul want to shrivel up and die.

2 Down, A Lifetime Left To Go

McMoose and I got married in the same town where we met (and where we attended college), so we had talked about going back there to celebrate our first anniversary. As it happened, we had a 3-week-old baby on our first anniversary, so all we really managed to do was go out to a very quick dinner a week after the fact. (Looking back, by the way, I don't know WHAT I was thinking, leaving a three. week. old. baby, but at the time, it sounded like a great idea and McMoose's dad was in town and offered to keep him and the baby slept the whole time. McMoose and I, on the other hand, imagined all kinds of crazy scenarios, which is probably why we didn't leave him again for a good three months.)

In any case, the going-back-to-where-we-got-married plan got deferred for an extra year, so we went there this past weekend to celebrate our second anniversary. I should take a second to mention that I love this town. I mean, I LOVE it. It soothes my soul just to be in this town and I am constantly envious of everyone who gets to call it their home. So needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip. We got to go to our favorite restaurants, we got to drive around the campus and go through the litany of "Hey, I lived there," or "Man, I had the craziest class in that building," or "Geez, remember waiting there in the dead of winter for the bus to come and it was always late?" We took Luke to the duckpond where McMoose and I got engaged and we had a (kind of) picnic and fed the ducks. We went to playgrounds, we took long walks, we enjoyed staying with some friends of ours.

And then, McMoose got sick. On our anniversary. Of course. So he spent the whole night sniffling and sneezing and then, he spent the whole day sleeping and feeling miserable. And I spent the whole day being on solo-baby-duty in a VERY open concept house (ie-no possible way to confine said baby to a single room or even a set of rooms). So I'm starting to think that maybe we should just stick to celebrating our dating anniversary because this paper-signing anniversary (or WEDDING anniversary, as it's more commonly called) just doesn't seem to pan out for us.

(But it was still a pretty great weekend.)

((Except that now, Luke and McMoose are BOTH sick and I'm sitting here, waiting for the first signs of a sore throat.))