Last 4th of July, Luke was small and hungry and McMoose's mom and sister and nephew were visiting and since we didn't want to go to our town's fireworks display with two young children, we decided instead to do our own little fireworks show in our parking lot. In the end, Luke, being small and hungry, decided that he would rather spend the evening eating, so the two of us sat by the window and listened to the fireworks while he nursed for oh, about two straight hours.
So this year, I was excited about getting to go to the big fireworks display in a neighboring town. We figured out where the festivities were held. We checked the time. We got directions. We picked up food and packed a blanket and made sure to put sunscreen on Luke. In other words, we thought of EVERYTHING.
Except for this: websites lie. So when the website said the fireworks would start at 7:30 pm, we took it at its word. We got there at 7, figuring that would give us time to eat and for Luke to run off some energy before the fireworks. We ate. Luke ran. And collected pine cones. And pulled pieces of bark off nearby trees. And tried to "clean up" all the pine straw on the ground. And then, he ran some more. Because the fireworks that were supposed to start at 7:30? Yeah, they started at 9:30. Which, oh by the way, was about 30 minutes after Luke should have been asleep tonight.
Luckily, he was in a pretty good mood and by the time the good mood was fading, kids around us had started lighting sparklers and one family even gave him a glow stick, all of which served to hypnotize him for just long enough for the fireworks to start. The fireworks were dazzling and impressive and after his initial uncertainty, he loved them. (In fact, he spent the entire Very Long Walk back to the car pointing to the sky and saying "Boom!") So all in all, the night was a success. And now, we know that next year, we should just wait until sunset and THEN head out to the park instead of relying on some ridiculous website.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
My Very Own Oscar
Dear Luke,
Could we talk about your current interests for a minute? You have a bazillion toys. Literally, a bazillion. I counted. (Did you know your Mama could count to a bazillion? Pretty impressive, isn't it?) We take you to parks and playgrounds and pools and restaurants. We sing to you and read to you and make funny noises to you and generally act like buffoons to entertain you. And yet, you choose to play with trash.
Trash at home. Trash at the park. Trash on the sidewalk. Last week, in Maryland, I took you to a playground, where you ignored the other children, the slides, the swings, the various climbing structures, the walking trails, the large grassy hills--all so you could pick up five candy wrappers. And carry them around. And guard them with your life. And once you felt you had sufficiently showed them off to everyone, you carried them home and put them in the trashcan. Kid, I gotta tell you: this isn't normal.
Today, you have come to me no fewer than ELEVEN times with some scrap of paper of piece of string or clump of dog hair. (By the way...did you actually pull the dog hair OFF THE DOG? Because I notice he's been avoiding you and he looks a bit traumatized.) And then, you lead me to the trash can, where you stand and bounce until I put whatever you handed me in, which is apparently the FUNNIEST THING EVER.
The only thing that's better than me putting something into the trash is when I let YOU put something into the trash. Oh, man. That's the instant cure-all. Bumped your head? Why don't you go throw away this piece of carpet fuzz. Cat clawed your hand? Here's a bottle cap you can put in the trash. You're hungry and tired and bored and you just got word that the apocalypse is coming TODAY? Here, let's go throw out this stick that you insisted on dragging into the house. And all of a sudden, the sun is shining and the birds are singing and life is wonderful again.
The problem, of course, is that you seem to have a "What goes in must come out" kind of mentality, which is probably why I found a banana peel on the floor yesterday. And even worse, you seem to believe that things like shoes and keys and cell phones also belong in the trash. THEY DON'T. And if I have to fish through the trashcan ONE MORE TIME to find the dog leash, I'm duck-taping the thing closed FOREVER.
Could we talk about your current interests for a minute? You have a bazillion toys. Literally, a bazillion. I counted. (Did you know your Mama could count to a bazillion? Pretty impressive, isn't it?) We take you to parks and playgrounds and pools and restaurants. We sing to you and read to you and make funny noises to you and generally act like buffoons to entertain you. And yet, you choose to play with trash.
Trash at home. Trash at the park. Trash on the sidewalk. Last week, in Maryland, I took you to a playground, where you ignored the other children, the slides, the swings, the various climbing structures, the walking trails, the large grassy hills--all so you could pick up five candy wrappers. And carry them around. And guard them with your life. And once you felt you had sufficiently showed them off to everyone, you carried them home and put them in the trashcan. Kid, I gotta tell you: this isn't normal.
Today, you have come to me no fewer than ELEVEN times with some scrap of paper of piece of string or clump of dog hair. (By the way...did you actually pull the dog hair OFF THE DOG? Because I notice he's been avoiding you and he looks a bit traumatized.) And then, you lead me to the trash can, where you stand and bounce until I put whatever you handed me in, which is apparently the FUNNIEST THING EVER.
The only thing that's better than me putting something into the trash is when I let YOU put something into the trash. Oh, man. That's the instant cure-all. Bumped your head? Why don't you go throw away this piece of carpet fuzz. Cat clawed your hand? Here's a bottle cap you can put in the trash. You're hungry and tired and bored and you just got word that the apocalypse is coming TODAY? Here, let's go throw out this stick that you insisted on dragging into the house. And all of a sudden, the sun is shining and the birds are singing and life is wonderful again.
The problem, of course, is that you seem to have a "What goes in must come out" kind of mentality, which is probably why I found a banana peel on the floor yesterday. And even worse, you seem to believe that things like shoes and keys and cell phones also belong in the trash. THEY DON'T. And if I have to fish through the trashcan ONE MORE TIME to find the dog leash, I'm duck-taping the thing closed FOREVER.
Monday, June 28, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
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.)
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.)
Monday, June 21, 2010
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:
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.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, June 14, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)