Once upon a time, in the little house of young Logan the mean mommy crept into the nether regions of the little house to retrieve a handful of 'baby toys' for the little princess. These toys, young Logan quickly realized, had once been his. In fact one of them, the annoying mooing cow on wheels, had been his favorite.
But all that was ok. He knew he was a big boy now and his little sister, baby Megan, was still just a little tiny girl. He showed her how to work the annoying cow. He tutored her in the art of fishbowl that no longer played music when you stuck your hand in to retrieve the balls. He hugged her. He kissed her. He told her he loved her.
Then he went to bed.
The next morning he awoke with a shout and some tears. "MY BEAR!" he cried out. "MOM! MOMMY! MY FAVORITE BEAR IS MISSING!"
Mommy came running.
"What bear?" she asked, still rubbing some sleep from her eyes. "Honey, what is missing?"
"My bear! My most favorite bear is gone! We lost it on our walk." he cried.
Now Mommy was confused. Logan, you see, never had a favorite bear. He had a hippo he named "Baby", he had a lot of trains and various 'big kid' toys. He had stuffed toys - but none of them, other than that hippo, a favorite, least of all a bear. But instead of questioning the logic of missing a favorite bear he never had, she decided to pursue a different route.
"What walk, Logan. When? Did Daddy take you for a walk yesterday?"
And Logan wailed "No." No, Daddy didn't take him on the fateful walk. Mommy had. They were out with the 'great big stroller' - the bear in tow. They saw garage cans and trucks that day. Logan dropped the bear from the side of the stroller and instead of handing it back to him, Mom tucked it up atop the lid of one of those great big Robocans the garbage truck comes along to "scoop it, lift it, dump it, put it back."
Mommy was confused. Not only was there not a bear that he ever labeled "favorite", she knew for certain that she'd never throw out a bear while they were walking just because it fell off the side of the stroller. She told him this as she climbed into his bed and cuddled him as he wept.
"My Grandma gave him to me," he cried.
As far as Mommy could recall, Grandma had not ever given Logan a teddy bear. Lots of Rescue Heros and trucks. Some trains and Hot Wheels. . . but not ever a bear. Instead of challenging him on that point she instead asked him to describe the bear. It was rapidly becoming clearer to Mommy that Logan had had a nightmare, most likely sparked by the entire "hand-me-down" scenario the afternoon before.
"It was brown and furry and I loved him so much," Logan said as he sniffed and rubbed his now runny nose with the back of his hand.
Mommy sighed and grabbed a tissue. "Should we look for it? I'm positive it didn't get thrown out on a walk sweetheart." And Logan agreed to go on a bear hunt. Before they left Mommy held him close to her and spoke to him in soft tones about what dreams were. "I'm sure this was a just a dream honey, just a very bad dream. I know your bear is around here somewhere."
And Logan cried out "ITS NOT JUST IN MY HEAD! I WANT MY BEAR!"
They hunted in Logan's room, gently removing toys from the basket near his door. Nope. They hunted in the porch - pulling out abandoned stuffed toys from a basket perched high above the floor. Nope. They emptied out the toy box in the living room. Nope. They called for Daddy to retrieve a now awake baby Megan from her crib. Once he did they ventured into Megan's room.
And there it was. There on the floor, in a basket of rarely played with stuffed toys was the little, brown bear of Logan's dream.
"It doesn't want that gold ribbon!" he yelled. "Take it off. Cut off its tags!!" And so Mommy did without making a fuss. Logan has a thing against tags on toys ever since they became Megan's most favorite thing in the world. She didn't tell him that this bear was most likely Megan's. She didn't tell him that it wasn't from Grandma but some unknown origin. She just let it all slide. Megan hardly knew there were "mine and yours" flavor of toys. She hardly paid attention to the stuffed beasts in that basket. It was easier to just put an end to the wild bear hunt by allowing the hostile take over of this item.
Logan sat on the floor cuddling his "most favorite bear" closely. He eyed his sister with caution, but she was too busy beating up on her 'new' rolling cow to notice.
Later in the day Mom asked Logan what the bear's name was. He thought about it for just a minute and then he said with a laugh "Cocofoosus!"
"Co-co-foo-sus?" Mom said slowly. "Can we just call him Coco?"
And Logan agreed.
5.31.2005
5.29.2005
Smiley stuff
Eight years ago today my in-laws started arriving in town. The first batch stayed in the hotel. The second grouping would arrive a day later and squish themselves into Bruce's meager one-bedroom apartment that would become our first home together.They were coming in for something that still makes me smile this many years later. On May 31st we'll celebrate our 8th wedding anniversary. It didn't occur to me how long we'd been together until my birthday. Someone at the office asked me how old I was. When I told him I was 32 it suddenly sunk in that I had met Bruce just prior to my 22nd birthday and began dating him a few months later. 10 years is a long time and yet hardly any time at all.
--
I thanked Logan for something he had done yesterday. He placed his hand on my arm and waited until I turned to look at him. Then he said "Sure thing Mom. Its my pleasure."
I guess modeling good manners is paying off.
--
Meg woke up early this morning. She and I wound up falling back to sleep in the recliner. She awoke a few hours later, grabbed hold of my face and planted a big, sloppy, wet, open mouthed baby kiss on my face - repeatedly.
--
I thanked Logan for something he had done yesterday. He placed his hand on my arm and waited until I turned to look at him. Then he said "Sure thing Mom. Its my pleasure."
I guess modeling good manners is paying off.
--
Meg woke up early this morning. She and I wound up falling back to sleep in the recliner. She awoke a few hours later, grabbed hold of my face and planted a big, sloppy, wet, open mouthed baby kiss on my face - repeatedly.
5.27.2005
We've got a mover and a shaker
When Logan was 6 months old he figured out that he could walk if he held onto both our hands. He wanted nothing to do with crawling, though. He'd rather yell until someone took pity on him and let him find his balance on his feet by holding our hands. If that wasn't an option he'd content himself with log rolls. At 10 months old he got brave and let go of our hands. He was running with confidence a month before his birthday.
Meg found her feet around 5 months old. By 5 1/2 months she was cruising around holding hands the way her brother once did. She began to sit on her own around the same time and within a month she had figured out how to scissor her legs in and out as a way to spin herself in circles. She still does this now only she's added the ability to lean forward onto her knees in order to reach something that formally sat safe out of her radius of attack. A month months later she was crawling backwards. She inches herself forwards now - although not quite with her belly fully off the ground. She'll roll from place to place.
She also figured out around 7.5 months old that she could stand without our hands if she had something else to hold onto. She likes the coffee table and the front door.
Today, Megan Rose has figured out how to stand herself up. She's been practicing for weeks now using the adults around her. With no help from us beyond sitting within her reach, she'd grasp hold of us and stand herself upright. She might hold your shirt, your arm, your shoulder, your leg. Didn't matter.
Well now she uses inanimate objects. Today it was the red wagon. She was sitting in it. Logan and I were watering our newly planted veggies. I turned to see her standing hunched over in the wagon because the wagon side wasn't nearly high enough to allow her to stand upright as she held on. She saw me catch her in the act of figuring out her next move, lowered herself to the bottom of the wagon again and laughed. Needless to say she was removed from the wagon promptly.
She's happily cruising around tables and miscellaneous furniture. She holds hands and walks around with glee. She's even been known to attempt to take her own stroller for a walk. Megan is on her way to being a hellion on two feet. Look out!
--
New sounds - Megan recently began toying with the dog's name. When she sees her beloved Tasha come nearby, Meg whispers softly "Ta! Ta!" Stand her at the front door at her grandparents and she joins the chat for the man with the big hugs and grin "Pa! Pa! Pa!" She knows very well who Papa is because she'll look right at him if you ask her where he is. She's also been heard saying his name when he walks into rooms - although she won't play nice enough to say it when he's around to hear it.
Meg enjoys her food so much it also brings about a new 'word.' As she gums up Cheerios and banana pieces she says LOUDLY "UM! UM! UM!"
Meg found her feet around 5 months old. By 5 1/2 months she was cruising around holding hands the way her brother once did. She began to sit on her own around the same time and within a month she had figured out how to scissor her legs in and out as a way to spin herself in circles. She still does this now only she's added the ability to lean forward onto her knees in order to reach something that formally sat safe out of her radius of attack. A month months later she was crawling backwards. She inches herself forwards now - although not quite with her belly fully off the ground. She'll roll from place to place.
She also figured out around 7.5 months old that she could stand without our hands if she had something else to hold onto. She likes the coffee table and the front door.
Today, Megan Rose has figured out how to stand herself up. She's been practicing for weeks now using the adults around her. With no help from us beyond sitting within her reach, she'd grasp hold of us and stand herself upright. She might hold your shirt, your arm, your shoulder, your leg. Didn't matter.
Well now she uses inanimate objects. Today it was the red wagon. She was sitting in it. Logan and I were watering our newly planted veggies. I turned to see her standing hunched over in the wagon because the wagon side wasn't nearly high enough to allow her to stand upright as she held on. She saw me catch her in the act of figuring out her next move, lowered herself to the bottom of the wagon again and laughed. Needless to say she was removed from the wagon promptly.
She's happily cruising around tables and miscellaneous furniture. She holds hands and walks around with glee. She's even been known to attempt to take her own stroller for a walk. Megan is on her way to being a hellion on two feet. Look out!
--
New sounds - Megan recently began toying with the dog's name. When she sees her beloved Tasha come nearby, Meg whispers softly "Ta! Ta!" Stand her at the front door at her grandparents and she joins the chat for the man with the big hugs and grin "Pa! Pa! Pa!" She knows very well who Papa is because she'll look right at him if you ask her where he is. She's also been heard saying his name when he walks into rooms - although she won't play nice enough to say it when he's around to hear it.
Meg enjoys her food so much it also brings about a new 'word.' As she gums up Cheerios and banana pieces she says LOUDLY "UM! UM! UM!"
5.26.2005
Pet Peeve #28
Yes, its true. There are little things that irk me. The latest one? People that make poor choices in life and then get pissy when the "system" won't bail them out. I could elaborate but I'm sure my rantings would offend someone that favors a more socialistic approach to life. Instead I'll just sit and roll my eyes while I wait for my evil twin to get her butt back on AIM so we can be all catty like together.
5.25.2005
TT2BC
or Too Tired To Be Coherent.
Last night was the big event - the one I've been planning for all of six weeks. The one that invovled 160 people eating dinner and pretending they could dance on a big ole' boat up the Hudson River. The day prior I spent 12 hours of my birthday working on last minute details. Yesterday, between the event itself and the prework that led up to it I worked for 16 hours straight.
I had gotten bossman and his boss to agree that Moi was not working that sort of day, pulling into headquarters on the giant rented bus at 11pm or even midnight-ish and then drive 40 minutes home just to return to the office by 7:30am to set up for today's follow-on event for "elite" customers. I was going to stay at the hotel across the street from HQ with all the other overnight guests.
As we pulled into HQ, boss of boss leans over to me and says "I'm paying for you to stay up here tonight, right?"
Me - Yes you are.
Him - Then you have no excuse not to go out with us now.
And so I went. My cohorts tend to close down bars. I'm not a drinker. I played designated driver and spent the time laughing at the drunken exploits with a friend who's ulcer prevented him from imbibing. When we returned to the hotel - sometime around 1am - bossman invited myself and two others to hang with him for a bit. So hang I did...until 3:30 this morning. I hulled my half-asleep rear-end up to my room, fell into my bed and groaned when the alarm went off just before 7. Mommy needs a nap folks.
But about the good stuff - the event was a HUGE smash hit. Bossman must have thanked me at least a dozen times since the boat pulled out yesterday through this morning. I even got a hug, an invite to have dinner out on him (enjoy yourself and just expense it) and a public kudos tossed about here and there. Got to give bossman credit - he is more than capable of making you cry, but he's very good at recognizing good work too. He's more than willing to publically applaud and give credit when its due.
--
The other stuff
We played at Grandma's for an extra hour when I went to pick up the kids earlier this afternoon. Logan located a 2 pound hand weight, held it above his head and then did a few curls with it. When he lowered his arm he said "Gosh! I am getting really strong! I'm impressed!"
When we left Gram's we hit the drive-thru at Dunkin' Dounts to get Mom a much needed injection of coffee. Many moons ago Logan began telling the lady at DD that Daddy likes his coffee cream, no sugar because sugar makes him choke. When I ordered today the man asked if I wanted sugar. I said yes: black coffee = icky.
Logan - Mom. You get sugar? It doesn't make you choke now?
Me - Honey sugar makes Daddy choke. I like sugar.
Logan (after a moment of deep reflection) - You get strong muscles now so it doesn't make you choke?
Me - Yup, sure. That works.
Logan (after some more thought) - You want Daddy to get some big strong muscles too?
Last night was the big event - the one I've been planning for all of six weeks. The one that invovled 160 people eating dinner and pretending they could dance on a big ole' boat up the Hudson River. The day prior I spent 12 hours of my birthday working on last minute details. Yesterday, between the event itself and the prework that led up to it I worked for 16 hours straight.
I had gotten bossman and his boss to agree that Moi was not working that sort of day, pulling into headquarters on the giant rented bus at 11pm or even midnight-ish and then drive 40 minutes home just to return to the office by 7:30am to set up for today's follow-on event for "elite" customers. I was going to stay at the hotel across the street from HQ with all the other overnight guests.
As we pulled into HQ, boss of boss leans over to me and says "I'm paying for you to stay up here tonight, right?"
Me - Yes you are.
Him - Then you have no excuse not to go out with us now.
And so I went. My cohorts tend to close down bars. I'm not a drinker. I played designated driver and spent the time laughing at the drunken exploits with a friend who's ulcer prevented him from imbibing. When we returned to the hotel - sometime around 1am - bossman invited myself and two others to hang with him for a bit. So hang I did...until 3:30 this morning. I hulled my half-asleep rear-end up to my room, fell into my bed and groaned when the alarm went off just before 7. Mommy needs a nap folks.
But about the good stuff - the event was a HUGE smash hit. Bossman must have thanked me at least a dozen times since the boat pulled out yesterday through this morning. I even got a hug, an invite to have dinner out on him (enjoy yourself and just expense it) and a public kudos tossed about here and there. Got to give bossman credit - he is more than capable of making you cry, but he's very good at recognizing good work too. He's more than willing to publically applaud and give credit when its due.
--
The other stuff
We played at Grandma's for an extra hour when I went to pick up the kids earlier this afternoon. Logan located a 2 pound hand weight, held it above his head and then did a few curls with it. When he lowered his arm he said "Gosh! I am getting really strong! I'm impressed!"
When we left Gram's we hit the drive-thru at Dunkin' Dounts to get Mom a much needed injection of coffee. Many moons ago Logan began telling the lady at DD that Daddy likes his coffee cream, no sugar because sugar makes him choke. When I ordered today the man asked if I wanted sugar. I said yes: black coffee = icky.
Logan - Mom. You get sugar? It doesn't make you choke now?
Me - Honey sugar makes Daddy choke. I like sugar.
Logan (after a moment of deep reflection) - You get strong muscles now so it doesn't make you choke?
Me - Yup, sure. That works.
Logan (after some more thought) - You want Daddy to get some big strong muscles too?
5.17.2005
That no rules stuff. . .
It occurred to me that several babblings ago I tossed out this idea that the only rule to parenting was that there weren't any rules. I said I'd pontificate on the notion later but never did. And so, since I sit here with a pile of work I'd rather procrastinate my way out of doing for the moment, I'll spew forth my very own non-PhD approved theory on parenting.
Of course there is one rule we must all abide by - no abusing the kid. Yet what constitutes abuse is sometimes one of those "grey areas." Sure, we can all agree on the real horrid stuff, but then there are those that would consider letting your child whimper a moment too long to be abusive. I will confess that I've yet to figure out how to keep both kids whimper free (or at the very least keep them attention laden) when they coordinate their tantrums to commence at the same moment.
But back to the nitty gritty of my hypothesis. There are an awful lot of books out there by a whole lot of self-proclaimed and peer-endorsed experts. New and experienced parents alike sop up these guidelines like a dark colored shirt attracts spit-up. When it comes time to apply all these life-saving tenets, however, reality hits. There is no one-size-fits-all solution to child rearing.
Its got very little to do with you. Its got everything to do with them.
Potty training is teeming with examples of the "no rules" theory. Every one and their toilet-flushing-brother has a suggestion on what works. Not just what works, but what unequivocally is the be-all-and-end-all of potty training practices. Do this and your kid will be utilizing the commode in just one day. Get that kid out of diapers in just 12 easy steps. But its not that simple. Even the shiny-topped Dr Phil falls prey to the broad-brushed approach to diaperfree existence. "I guarantee this will work!"
But it may not.
We tried a whole lot of theories when it came to freeing Logan's bottom of Pampers. We tried Dr. Phil's ideas. We tried bribes. We tried underwear. If someone could promise success, we read it through and gave it a whirl. In the end what worked was a little of this and a little of that. What worked was understanding our son and finding the pieces of everyone else's theories that fit best with his own unique style. In short, we had to customize our own potty training plan.
Yet, I'll bet you a buck when the time comes we won't find this plan useful in teaching Megan. Nope. She's got her own ways of doing things and so we'll have to head back to that chalk board to X and O up a game plan that suits her best.
The problem with rules is that having them makes its easy to judge others. Believing, for example, that the basic tenets of [insert style] parenting are the only real, honest way to be a good parent means that all parents not abiding by every tenet can not possibly be good. The truth is that there is no truth in such a notion.
In reality, there are rules to parenting, just not a roadmap on how to abide them. The rules are simple:
- Love your child
- Respect your child
- Respect your child's mother/father
- Be the best role model you can be, which means when you do screw up (because you will) be honest with the kid. Say you messed up and apologize if appropriate.
Where we get confused is thinking the actions we undertake as parents in following those rules are locked in the concrete of right and wrong. I believe helping my child (at the appropriate age)learn to self-soothe is actually a good, loving, respectful thing to do. Others don't. I believe that disagreeing with my husband in front of our children can be a good thing if its respectful in nature (as long as its not about them - unified front and all that good stuff). We can role model the RIGHT way to handle conflict. We can illustrate that you can love and respect one another even if you don't always agree. Others don't agree with this practice.
The wars between "theories" emerge when we grow so wedded to one way of parenting that we lose sight of the real rules. We forget that our children aren't made from molds. They aren't cut from the same dough with the same cookie cutter. What works for your kid, may not work with mine. The only theory that matters is the one that best suits your kid's own individual personality quirks and meshes with your own style.
So feed your kid what you want. Dress him the way you see fit. Sling her. Use a crib. Swear by your co-sleeper. I don't care. Leave me to my theories and I'll leave you to yours. Let's just agree that the so-called rules and guidelines don't really mean a whole heck of a lot. Stick to the real rules and we'll be just fine.
Of course there is one rule we must all abide by - no abusing the kid. Yet what constitutes abuse is sometimes one of those "grey areas." Sure, we can all agree on the real horrid stuff, but then there are those that would consider letting your child whimper a moment too long to be abusive. I will confess that I've yet to figure out how to keep both kids whimper free (or at the very least keep them attention laden) when they coordinate their tantrums to commence at the same moment.
But back to the nitty gritty of my hypothesis. There are an awful lot of books out there by a whole lot of self-proclaimed and peer-endorsed experts. New and experienced parents alike sop up these guidelines like a dark colored shirt attracts spit-up. When it comes time to apply all these life-saving tenets, however, reality hits. There is no one-size-fits-all solution to child rearing.
Its got very little to do with you. Its got everything to do with them.
Potty training is teeming with examples of the "no rules" theory. Every one and their toilet-flushing-brother has a suggestion on what works. Not just what works, but what unequivocally is the be-all-and-end-all of potty training practices. Do this and your kid will be utilizing the commode in just one day. Get that kid out of diapers in just 12 easy steps. But its not that simple. Even the shiny-topped Dr Phil falls prey to the broad-brushed approach to diaperfree existence. "I guarantee this will work!"
But it may not.
We tried a whole lot of theories when it came to freeing Logan's bottom of Pampers. We tried Dr. Phil's ideas. We tried bribes. We tried underwear. If someone could promise success, we read it through and gave it a whirl. In the end what worked was a little of this and a little of that. What worked was understanding our son and finding the pieces of everyone else's theories that fit best with his own unique style. In short, we had to customize our own potty training plan.
Yet, I'll bet you a buck when the time comes we won't find this plan useful in teaching Megan. Nope. She's got her own ways of doing things and so we'll have to head back to that chalk board to X and O up a game plan that suits her best.
The problem with rules is that having them makes its easy to judge others. Believing, for example, that the basic tenets of [insert style] parenting are the only real, honest way to be a good parent means that all parents not abiding by every tenet can not possibly be good. The truth is that there is no truth in such a notion.
In reality, there are rules to parenting, just not a roadmap on how to abide them. The rules are simple:
- Love your child
- Respect your child
- Respect your child's mother/father
- Be the best role model you can be, which means when you do screw up (because you will) be honest with the kid. Say you messed up and apologize if appropriate.
Where we get confused is thinking the actions we undertake as parents in following those rules are locked in the concrete of right and wrong. I believe helping my child (at the appropriate age)learn to self-soothe is actually a good, loving, respectful thing to do. Others don't. I believe that disagreeing with my husband in front of our children can be a good thing if its respectful in nature (as long as its not about them - unified front and all that good stuff). We can role model the RIGHT way to handle conflict. We can illustrate that you can love and respect one another even if you don't always agree. Others don't agree with this practice.
The wars between "theories" emerge when we grow so wedded to one way of parenting that we lose sight of the real rules. We forget that our children aren't made from molds. They aren't cut from the same dough with the same cookie cutter. What works for your kid, may not work with mine. The only theory that matters is the one that best suits your kid's own individual personality quirks and meshes with your own style.
So feed your kid what you want. Dress him the way you see fit. Sling her. Use a crib. Swear by your co-sleeper. I don't care. Leave me to my theories and I'll leave you to yours. Let's just agree that the so-called rules and guidelines don't really mean a whole heck of a lot. Stick to the real rules and we'll be just fine.
5.15.2005
Building excitement
Its been quite some time since I've gone away on a vacation. I have taken a few long weekend jaunts that didn't include inlaws or my brother, ones without kids in tow. We haven't packed up as a family and headed out of town for more than a day trip that didn't include a destination to aunts or uncles. In just a little under a month though, we'll do just that - well three of us will. Megan will stay behind for her first sleepover at the grandparents.
We're taking Logan to ride Thomas the Tank Engine. What could be more thrilling for a young fanatic than to actually "meet" his idol? What could be more exciting for a train freak than to see a train musuem, ride the King of all trains and THEN ride what he's dubbed "the Polar Express" (which is really just another old black steam engine.) "When I see Thomas. . ." starts many a sentence. Its almost all he talks about lately.
Add to it, its his first memorable night in a hotel. The last time Logan stayed in one he was 3 months old and slept in the bassinete of the Pack-n-Play. This time he'll be just weeks shy of 3 years old. He's got plans for this big event too. He adores his monthly sleepovers with his grandparents and he sees the big hotel adventure as a chance to have a real sleepover with Mom and Dad. For now he's laid claim to a bed of his own, but I'd almost not be surprised to see that change. At
least until he gets drowsy and starts to drift. Given the chance, the boy is a cuddler.
As if that weren't enough, it'll also be his first camping trip. The first night is at the hotel; the second night at the campground. We've already pitched the tent in the yard (see!:)
Logan, as you can see, has tried out a sleeping bag. This weekend we bought him one of his own - a navy blue one with a stuff sack that has shoulder straps so he can tote his sleeping quarters around on his own back. He's so thrilled with this new item, especially since the set also included a flashlight and a squirt bottle. It was all we could do to talk to little guy out of pitching our tent in the yard last night
for a trial run. The threat of pending thunder storms made us think twice about giving into his pleas. Instead he slept in his bag as it lay on top of his bed last night. And in the morning he thanked us for it.
"I just love my bag! I can't wait to camp." he said.
And that's the thing. He can't wait for any of it. He's so excited it reminds me of the way we both get right before Christmas. The butterflies of anticipation in our stomachs. The giddy pleasure that comes from making our plans. The smiles we share as we cross off another day on the calendar - one day closer. The biggest thing though,
is just like the holiday, he's not the only one waiting impatiently for this trip. I am too. I'm not sure what thrills me more about it - the idea that its a real trip out with my family (even though we're headed off without Meg because I, frankly, am too chicken to juggle an over-excited 3 year old, thousands of crazed kids and their parents...and my infant.) OR the fact that my kid is just so darn besides himself with joy already.
I honestly can not wait. I don't think I've looked forward to a trip this much since my own childhood...well ok, maybe a few of them. But not in a long time.
We're taking Logan to ride Thomas the Tank Engine. What could be more thrilling for a young fanatic than to actually "meet" his idol? What could be more exciting for a train freak than to see a train musuem, ride the King of all trains and THEN ride what he's dubbed "the Polar Express" (which is really just another old black steam engine.) "When I see Thomas. . ." starts many a sentence. Its almost all he talks about lately.
Add to it, its his first memorable night in a hotel. The last time Logan stayed in one he was 3 months old and slept in the bassinete of the Pack-n-Play. This time he'll be just weeks shy of 3 years old. He's got plans for this big event too. He adores his monthly sleepovers with his grandparents and he sees the big hotel adventure as a chance to have a real sleepover with Mom and Dad. For now he's laid claim to a bed of his own, but I'd almost not be surprised to see that change. At
least until he gets drowsy and starts to drift. Given the chance, the boy is a cuddler.
As if that weren't enough, it'll also be his first camping trip. The first night is at the hotel; the second night at the campground. We've already pitched the tent in the yard (see!:)
Logan, as you can see, has tried out a sleeping bag. This weekend we bought him one of his own - a navy blue one with a stuff sack that has shoulder straps so he can tote his sleeping quarters around on his own back. He's so thrilled with this new item, especially since the set also included a flashlight and a squirt bottle. It was all we could do to talk to little guy out of pitching our tent in the yard last night
for a trial run. The threat of pending thunder storms made us think twice about giving into his pleas. Instead he slept in his bag as it lay on top of his bed last night. And in the morning he thanked us for it.
"I just love my bag! I can't wait to camp." he said.
And that's the thing. He can't wait for any of it. He's so excited it reminds me of the way we both get right before Christmas. The butterflies of anticipation in our stomachs. The giddy pleasure that comes from making our plans. The smiles we share as we cross off another day on the calendar - one day closer. The biggest thing though,
is just like the holiday, he's not the only one waiting impatiently for this trip. I am too. I'm not sure what thrills me more about it - the idea that its a real trip out with my family (even though we're headed off without Meg because I, frankly, am too chicken to juggle an over-excited 3 year old, thousands of crazed kids and their parents...and my infant.) OR the fact that my kid is just so darn besides himself with joy already.
I honestly can not wait. I don't think I've looked forward to a trip this much since my own childhood...well ok, maybe a few of them. But not in a long time.
5.12.2005
And one more thing. . .
Since she manages to move bits and pieces one way or another let's just say that Megan Rose is mobile - to a degree. No marathons yet. No finding her in the next room after putting her down, but the girl can move when she wants to. I came in here to check in with the office. At her wiggly instance I placed Miss Thing on the floor, a safe distance from the dog's toy basket. Its something Megan is fascinated with because really, who doesn't want to chew on a big rubber, spikey ball.
She busied herself playing with the toys we've left for her in this office/playroom. She grabbed at a few odds and ends that go along with big brother. And then she spied the forbidden loot apparently. My back was to her but her giggling made me turn around. She was scissoring her feet in and out at a rapid pace and wiggling her butt - a combined move that made her turn in a circle and inch forward. She did this until she hit the jackpot. She looked up at me, her little round, deceivingly innocent looking face full of pride, and she nearly dove head first into the dog's toys.
Having been removed from her grasp and safely stowed, Megan has now moved on to bigger and better things. She's now scissor kicking again trying to retrieve Spencer the train - at least when she's not attempting to use Logan's toy pliers. Wait, I take that back. Another new trick. . .she can go from sitting to belly without bonking her head. :)
This one is going to give me grey hair.
She busied herself playing with the toys we've left for her in this office/playroom. She grabbed at a few odds and ends that go along with big brother. And then she spied the forbidden loot apparently. My back was to her but her giggling made me turn around. She was scissoring her feet in and out at a rapid pace and wiggling her butt - a combined move that made her turn in a circle and inch forward. She did this until she hit the jackpot. She looked up at me, her little round, deceivingly innocent looking face full of pride, and she nearly dove head first into the dog's toys.
Having been removed from her grasp and safely stowed, Megan has now moved on to bigger and better things. She's now scissor kicking again trying to retrieve Spencer the train - at least when she's not attempting to use Logan's toy pliers. Wait, I take that back. Another new trick. . .she can go from sitting to belly without bonking her head. :)
This one is going to give me grey hair.
Doctors here, doctor's there - 8 months and Wry
Normally when I lug a kid to the doctor I'm lucky enough to have the other hang out with Grandma or Daddy. Not today. Grandma was slated to take big brother to his art class while Megs and I went to the specialist for her latest check-up for the wry neck. But Grandma is also wrapped up with all that is my uncle right now and today she had to take care of business for him. Logan went with us instead.
Based on our last two appointments this shouldn't have been a big deal. Check-in. Be seen. Talk for 5 minutes if that. Leave. In and out in less than 15 minutes. Figures that today's appointment would be different.
In terms of the Torticollis itself, Megan has progressed enough that her condition is noticeable only to someone studying her movements very carefully. She doesn't tip her head to the left full-time any longer. She can turn it any which way she pleases - but the doctor did feel that she had a preference to turn her upper body to the left instead of just her head.
The doctor, honestly, infuriates me at times and if he wasn't the only pediatric specialist within an hour of us and IF I didn't expect any other to be similar, I might just ask for a new referral elsewhere.
"How is PT going?" he asked me.
"You never prescribed PT for her," I said.
"OH yes, that's right. Minor changes and some simple stretches at home. Ok, how about the harness to keep her from moving her body instead of just her head?" he asked.
"You told me we didn't need to go that route," I reminded him.
"Oh, well. I. Well, I just mean, like when you put her in the high chair the sort of 5-point harness you use in carseats so she has to turn her head to the side for you to feed her," he mumbled and then went off on explaining how as an older infant she would be harder to manipulate without a fight.
He then wanted to rule out bone damage. She's come a long way, he felt, but wasn't 100% and so now its time to check her bones. X-Ray. Baby had to be x-rayed. Have you ever taken your infant to be x-rayed? Its horrible.
Babies, you see, don't like to be posed and held down. Babies, at least mine, hate that. They hate it so much they squirm and scream bloody murder. As Mom, your job is to don the heavy apron and hold down the screamer as some cranked up tech snaps at you to keep the screamer's head still. Yeah, ok lady.
An X-ray also meant that Logan couldn't stand with me. He came in the room with us but he had to stand behind the little wall with the techs and just listen to his sister cry. It scared him. When he hears me tell people that now he denies it. "I wasn't scared!" he snaps at me, "I just wanted to be with you." But his face told me the truth. He emerged from behind the wall scanning the room for Megan and biting his lip. His eyes were red rimmed and brimming with tears that he was fighting back. He reached up a hand to Meg's foot as he wrapped his other arm around my leg. "She ok?" he whispered. And with that little scared face and tiny question I wanted to cry. My poor kids.
The xray showed no bone damage - so we're just dealing with soft tissue. And then the doctor, who was setting us in panic mode earlier, said with a simple smile, "Well it really takes a good 15-18 months to fully heal. Looking at her pictures from just 4 months ago its clear how far she's come. She's almost there."
See, I don't like the guy. Another appointment with very little outcome. More of the same - feed her, play with her, lay her to sleep in ways that force her head to the spots it doesn't want to go on its own often. Stretch her. And then come back in 3 months. A lot of tears for what feels like nothing.
And this was our 2nd doctor visit in as many days. The day prior we, Logan-less this time, headed out to Meg's 8 month Well-baby visit. By the numbers, she's now 20 pounds even and 27 1/4 inches tall. The doctor declared her perfect in every way and was most pleased to see a great big smile and a full arm wave as she bid Megan "bye-bye." She encouraged us to start introducing 'real' food to Miss Thing now, which is good, because we have. Megan, if you're keeping track for some odd reason, loves butchering real bananas and she makes this awesome old lady face when she gets those Gerber Veggie puffs in her mouth. The appointment was your typically mundane well visit - which is the kind we like the best.
Based on our last two appointments this shouldn't have been a big deal. Check-in. Be seen. Talk for 5 minutes if that. Leave. In and out in less than 15 minutes. Figures that today's appointment would be different.
In terms of the Torticollis itself, Megan has progressed enough that her condition is noticeable only to someone studying her movements very carefully. She doesn't tip her head to the left full-time any longer. She can turn it any which way she pleases - but the doctor did feel that she had a preference to turn her upper body to the left instead of just her head.
The doctor, honestly, infuriates me at times and if he wasn't the only pediatric specialist within an hour of us and IF I didn't expect any other to be similar, I might just ask for a new referral elsewhere.
"How is PT going?" he asked me.
"You never prescribed PT for her," I said.
"OH yes, that's right. Minor changes and some simple stretches at home. Ok, how about the harness to keep her from moving her body instead of just her head?" he asked.
"You told me we didn't need to go that route," I reminded him.
"Oh, well. I. Well, I just mean, like when you put her in the high chair the sort of 5-point harness you use in carseats so she has to turn her head to the side for you to feed her," he mumbled and then went off on explaining how as an older infant she would be harder to manipulate without a fight.
He then wanted to rule out bone damage. She's come a long way, he felt, but wasn't 100% and so now its time to check her bones. X-Ray. Baby had to be x-rayed. Have you ever taken your infant to be x-rayed? Its horrible.
Babies, you see, don't like to be posed and held down. Babies, at least mine, hate that. They hate it so much they squirm and scream bloody murder. As Mom, your job is to don the heavy apron and hold down the screamer as some cranked up tech snaps at you to keep the screamer's head still. Yeah, ok lady.
An X-ray also meant that Logan couldn't stand with me. He came in the room with us but he had to stand behind the little wall with the techs and just listen to his sister cry. It scared him. When he hears me tell people that now he denies it. "I wasn't scared!" he snaps at me, "I just wanted to be with you." But his face told me the truth. He emerged from behind the wall scanning the room for Megan and biting his lip. His eyes were red rimmed and brimming with tears that he was fighting back. He reached up a hand to Meg's foot as he wrapped his other arm around my leg. "She ok?" he whispered. And with that little scared face and tiny question I wanted to cry. My poor kids.
The xray showed no bone damage - so we're just dealing with soft tissue. And then the doctor, who was setting us in panic mode earlier, said with a simple smile, "Well it really takes a good 15-18 months to fully heal. Looking at her pictures from just 4 months ago its clear how far she's come. She's almost there."
See, I don't like the guy. Another appointment with very little outcome. More of the same - feed her, play with her, lay her to sleep in ways that force her head to the spots it doesn't want to go on its own often. Stretch her. And then come back in 3 months. A lot of tears for what feels like nothing.
And this was our 2nd doctor visit in as many days. The day prior we, Logan-less this time, headed out to Meg's 8 month Well-baby visit. By the numbers, she's now 20 pounds even and 27 1/4 inches tall. The doctor declared her perfect in every way and was most pleased to see a great big smile and a full arm wave as she bid Megan "bye-bye." She encouraged us to start introducing 'real' food to Miss Thing now, which is good, because we have. Megan, if you're keeping track for some odd reason, loves butchering real bananas and she makes this awesome old lady face when she gets those Gerber Veggie puffs in her mouth. The appointment was your typically mundane well visit - which is the kind we like the best.
5.10.2005
Boys will be boys?
Today Grandma needed some time to take care of business related to moving my uncle into his newest digs. And today I couldn't afford to take a day off of work to manage the lack of child care. So, today, B took a day off of work and played Mr. Mom.
The three of them packed into the "Mommy-van" and went to the boardwalk. When I got home I was greeted quickly with this exchange:
Logan - Mom! We went to the boardwalk and I played skee-ball and I played the water game!
Me -Water game? You mean the game where you shoot the water into the clown mouth to make the little thingy go up and ding the bell?
Daddy - That's the one.
Logan - I put water in the clown's mouth!
Daddy - He did. At first he had a little trouble and was getting the water stream all over the place, but then he got it right on the target.
Logan - AND I WON!!!
Daddy (over Logan's head points to himself and mouths) well, really I won.
The three of them packed into the "Mommy-van" and went to the boardwalk. When I got home I was greeted quickly with this exchange:
Logan - Mom! We went to the boardwalk and I played skee-ball and I played the water game!
Me -Water game? You mean the game where you shoot the water into the clown mouth to make the little thingy go up and ding the bell?
Daddy - That's the one.
Logan - I put water in the clown's mouth!
Daddy - He did. At first he had a little trouble and was getting the water stream all over the place, but then he got it right on the target.
Logan - AND I WON!!!
Daddy (over Logan's head points to himself and mouths) well, really I won.
5.09.2005
Waning moments
My uncle is dying. We can't say when other to say that we hope, for his sake and ours, that its soon. If you wish to pass with dignity, pray you avoid brain cancer.
Its hard to watch someone die. Its harder when its someone that challenges you so very much. My uncle wasn't a nice guy. In fact, although he'd not lay a hand on anyone, he could be downright abusive - emotionally and verbally. In addition to every thing else, he grew-up been burdened by the influence of my Grandmother. At her knee he learned to lie. He learned to hate others for what they had. He learned to be spiteful and to be judgmental. He learned how to bad-mouth those he loved.
Yet he's still my uncle. He was generally good to me and regardless of that, we loved him because he was family.
Just over a week ago the kids and I went to visit him at his new apartment. The one my mom moved him into last month so he'd be nearby because it was clear he couldn't be totally on his own any longer. He was his usual self. He was complaining to me how he had talked poorly about my mother and it got back to her. The problem, to him, wasn't that he had called her a list of bad things or was seemingly ungrateful that she was the only one around that gave a damn what happened to him - no the problem, as he saw it, was that the people he talked to told her. He was making his own lunch. He was walking around on his own, although it was clear by the way he sometimes had to stop and catch his balance on something that he should have been using the walker he was told he should use every thing he was standing up!
Four days later I was taking a day off of work at the last minute as my mom rushed to meet his ambulance at the hospital. He had fallen several times during the night. He was loosing use of his left side. As of Friday, and another ER trip because he fell, its clear that he's completely paralyzed on the left. He now exists in a rented hospital bed back in his apartment under the care of a full-time nurses aid until hospice can get him moved into a nursing home.
Although in retrospect we'd still be where we are today if he had stayed in bed Thursday night, its still hard not to be angry that he required that trip to the ER. He got up when he was told repeatedly NOT to get up and he fell. Maybe he did get out of bed because he couldn't remember not to - the tumors are impacting his memory. But, having known him for all my nearly-32 years, it also crosses my mind that maybe he got out of bed because that's just like him. If he had broken his leg 10 years ago before the tumors were an issue and you told him to not get out of bed without help, he'd get out of bed with the attitude of "Screw you. I can do it. I'll show you. No one is going to tell me what to do." So that makes it hard, you know, to blame this on his cancer, because all the cancer has done is intensify his bad attitude. It makes it hard to not be mad at him for falling again because its easy to think that perhaps his getting up was a spiteful, stubborn thing and not a memory thing.
So now, we're watching someone that we've loved in spite of himself die without dignity. I saw him on Saturday and it was terrible. He's praying for death. He's pleading for it to come. And that's a good thing because in the past he was set on denying he even had cancer. If you dared refer to his tumors in his presences he'd bite your head off "I don't have that. I don't have tumors. I don't have cancer. I'm going to beat this." Except of course unless it got him sympathy or something then he'd practically introduce himself by saying "I'm M and I have tumors in my head."
You also watch him cry - a lot. He cries over every thing and I can understand it, its just hard to see. He had such low comprehension skills to start and now its just worse. My mom referred to the spiritual counselor Hospice was sending over to see him and he broke down in tears. I can only think that he's associating the visit with administration of last rites - and he's not ever set foot in a Catholic church. All I can think of is that his last girlfriend was fiercely Catholic so he at least had some exposure to its practices/beliefs.
Now we sit and we wait to see what the cancer will take from him next. He's otherwise healthy and that, in and of itself, is a bit scary. He could linger for months where he is now - without ability to feed himself or even roll over on his own. We are here, he is here, waiting for the brain to shut down something vital to his existence. Until the tumors find the switch to his kidney's or his heart we just sit and watch and wait.
Pray that it comes soon. He wants it. He needs it. We all do.
Its hard to watch someone die. Its harder when its someone that challenges you so very much. My uncle wasn't a nice guy. In fact, although he'd not lay a hand on anyone, he could be downright abusive - emotionally and verbally. In addition to every thing else, he grew-up been burdened by the influence of my Grandmother. At her knee he learned to lie. He learned to hate others for what they had. He learned to be spiteful and to be judgmental. He learned how to bad-mouth those he loved.
Yet he's still my uncle. He was generally good to me and regardless of that, we loved him because he was family.
Just over a week ago the kids and I went to visit him at his new apartment. The one my mom moved him into last month so he'd be nearby because it was clear he couldn't be totally on his own any longer. He was his usual self. He was complaining to me how he had talked poorly about my mother and it got back to her. The problem, to him, wasn't that he had called her a list of bad things or was seemingly ungrateful that she was the only one around that gave a damn what happened to him - no the problem, as he saw it, was that the people he talked to told her. He was making his own lunch. He was walking around on his own, although it was clear by the way he sometimes had to stop and catch his balance on something that he should have been using the walker he was told he should use every thing he was standing up!
Four days later I was taking a day off of work at the last minute as my mom rushed to meet his ambulance at the hospital. He had fallen several times during the night. He was loosing use of his left side. As of Friday, and another ER trip because he fell, its clear that he's completely paralyzed on the left. He now exists in a rented hospital bed back in his apartment under the care of a full-time nurses aid until hospice can get him moved into a nursing home.
Although in retrospect we'd still be where we are today if he had stayed in bed Thursday night, its still hard not to be angry that he required that trip to the ER. He got up when he was told repeatedly NOT to get up and he fell. Maybe he did get out of bed because he couldn't remember not to - the tumors are impacting his memory. But, having known him for all my nearly-32 years, it also crosses my mind that maybe he got out of bed because that's just like him. If he had broken his leg 10 years ago before the tumors were an issue and you told him to not get out of bed without help, he'd get out of bed with the attitude of "Screw you. I can do it. I'll show you. No one is going to tell me what to do." So that makes it hard, you know, to blame this on his cancer, because all the cancer has done is intensify his bad attitude. It makes it hard to not be mad at him for falling again because its easy to think that perhaps his getting up was a spiteful, stubborn thing and not a memory thing.
So now, we're watching someone that we've loved in spite of himself die without dignity. I saw him on Saturday and it was terrible. He's praying for death. He's pleading for it to come. And that's a good thing because in the past he was set on denying he even had cancer. If you dared refer to his tumors in his presences he'd bite your head off "I don't have that. I don't have tumors. I don't have cancer. I'm going to beat this." Except of course unless it got him sympathy or something then he'd practically introduce himself by saying "I'm M and I have tumors in my head."
You also watch him cry - a lot. He cries over every thing and I can understand it, its just hard to see. He had such low comprehension skills to start and now its just worse. My mom referred to the spiritual counselor Hospice was sending over to see him and he broke down in tears. I can only think that he's associating the visit with administration of last rites - and he's not ever set foot in a Catholic church. All I can think of is that his last girlfriend was fiercely Catholic so he at least had some exposure to its practices/beliefs.
Now we sit and we wait to see what the cancer will take from him next. He's otherwise healthy and that, in and of itself, is a bit scary. He could linger for months where he is now - without ability to feed himself or even roll over on his own. We are here, he is here, waiting for the brain to shut down something vital to his existence. Until the tumors find the switch to his kidney's or his heart we just sit and watch and wait.
Pray that it comes soon. He wants it. He needs it. We all do.
5.05.2005
I shouldn't laugh, but. . .
Well he laughed. And if he laughed than I can laugh right? I mean I hope so since I laughed a whole lot.
See the thing is that Logan is built like all the males on both sides of our families - at least the way they were as young men. String bean-like. He's about average height for his age (now in at 3ft even as best I can tell) but I'm not even sure he's breaking 29 lbs yet let alone 30.
Now as noted previously, he's master of the potty. He's got it down pat. We only have that small issue of a tiny rear-end that measures in much smaller than the average opening of a public restroom. He's happy enough to stand at the bowl at home - but he does so with his stool, stools that don't exist in the Ladies rooms. And so we've invested in a portable potty seat. A cheap, flimsy, portable, bend up and fit in my bag, potty seat. Today we dragged it along to art class because I actually remembered we had it.
Well shortly after lunch at Friendly's he decided he had to use the bathroom. We ducked in. We pulled the magic seat out. We got him all situated. And then he rocked himself backwards - leaning just far enough to the back of his seat to feel comfortable. But it was too far. It happened so fast, (and luckily before he peed!) but it seemed like it was going in slow motion. He leaned back. . .the seat started to tip and suddenly both the back half of the seat and Logan's bottom where planted firmly in the toilet seat bowl, almost wedged in. His knees were pressed together and his feet sort of stuck straight out before him.
I pulled him out quickly but the damage was done. His t-shirt was damp from the splash. His butt was dripping. The portable, bendable, potty seat was soaked. We dried him off. We dried the seat off. He bravely climbed up and tried again - this time careful not to lean backwards.
He looked at me seriously for a moment and said "Mom, that was cold." And then he giggled. And so I finally let it out - the big laugh that was pushing itself against my windpipe. I laughed. He laughed harder. We both had tears running down our faces, tears that matched the droplets of water still dripping from the seat.
We've been signing songs about it all day. His favorite part is when we get to the chorus "Logan leaned to the left. He leaned to the right, then he leaned back. . .KERPLOP! Logan fall into the potty bowl!"
See the thing is that Logan is built like all the males on both sides of our families - at least the way they were as young men. String bean-like. He's about average height for his age (now in at 3ft even as best I can tell) but I'm not even sure he's breaking 29 lbs yet let alone 30.
Now as noted previously, he's master of the potty. He's got it down pat. We only have that small issue of a tiny rear-end that measures in much smaller than the average opening of a public restroom. He's happy enough to stand at the bowl at home - but he does so with his stool, stools that don't exist in the Ladies rooms. And so we've invested in a portable potty seat. A cheap, flimsy, portable, bend up and fit in my bag, potty seat. Today we dragged it along to art class because I actually remembered we had it.
Well shortly after lunch at Friendly's he decided he had to use the bathroom. We ducked in. We pulled the magic seat out. We got him all situated. And then he rocked himself backwards - leaning just far enough to the back of his seat to feel comfortable. But it was too far. It happened so fast, (and luckily before he peed!) but it seemed like it was going in slow motion. He leaned back. . .the seat started to tip and suddenly both the back half of the seat and Logan's bottom where planted firmly in the toilet seat bowl, almost wedged in. His knees were pressed together and his feet sort of stuck straight out before him.
I pulled him out quickly but the damage was done. His t-shirt was damp from the splash. His butt was dripping. The portable, bendable, potty seat was soaked. We dried him off. We dried the seat off. He bravely climbed up and tried again - this time careful not to lean backwards.
He looked at me seriously for a moment and said "Mom, that was cold." And then he giggled. And so I finally let it out - the big laugh that was pushing itself against my windpipe. I laughed. He laughed harder. We both had tears running down our faces, tears that matched the droplets of water still dripping from the seat.
We've been signing songs about it all day. His favorite part is when we get to the chorus "Logan leaned to the left. He leaned to the right, then he leaned back. . .KERPLOP! Logan fall into the potty bowl!"
5.04.2005
A tale in three parts
by Megan
Its bad enough that Mama thinks I need to sleep during the day, but this is crazy. I know I'm tired. I know I yawn and rub my eyes with the back of my hand, but still, I much prefer to play. I ate a little and then turned my head making raspberry sounds. That's usually what I do when I want to tell Mama that I've had enough. So what does she do? She gets up and puts me in that crib! Well, slow down there lady! I'm not ready to nap! I yelled to tell her so. I yelled 'Ahhhhhhh Mama! MAma! MAMA!" But I heard her in the potty with "Boobah", which is the way I say brother when I want Logan to look at me.
Ok, then fine. I'll take care of it myself. I turned over onto my belly and I tried to crawl my way out. It didn't work. No matter how hard I try to go straight, I end up going backwards. I crawled myself right into a corner at the foot of my bed. I got into the corner so well I didn't have room to flip over onto my back. I was stuck. So then I cried. And I cried. And then Mama came and got me. I ate a little more which made my eyes so heavy I couldn't keep them open. And then she dropped me in the crib again. I keep calling out now and then, but its too hard to fight it. Maybe I'll just nap.
by Logan
We went to Target today and I got a new mini-Rescue Heros plane that I'd rather call a space shuttle if you don't mind. I'm playing outside in my yard with it by myself because Meggie won't stay napping. I even yelled at her, which Mommy said wasn't a good thing to do. I yelled "MEGGIE! GO TO SLEEP!!" I just want Mommy outside to play wif me and my new toy.
My sister is getting to be a big girl and I really love her a lot, but sometimes I don't like her very much. Like now when she's getting in the way of my fun. We're going to a pop-sicle party with my friends in a little while. Megan-Rosebud (which is what I prefer to call her) better not mess things up.
by Mom
You remember those commericals for Calgon where all a gal had to do was step into a bubble bath and suddenly be whisked away from life as she knww it? Well let's just say that this week between the boss, the uncle, the husband, the dogs and the kids I could use a bubble bath.
Its bad enough that Mama thinks I need to sleep during the day, but this is crazy. I know I'm tired. I know I yawn and rub my eyes with the back of my hand, but still, I much prefer to play. I ate a little and then turned my head making raspberry sounds. That's usually what I do when I want to tell Mama that I've had enough. So what does she do? She gets up and puts me in that crib! Well, slow down there lady! I'm not ready to nap! I yelled to tell her so. I yelled 'Ahhhhhhh Mama! MAma! MAMA!" But I heard her in the potty with "Boobah", which is the way I say brother when I want Logan to look at me.
Ok, then fine. I'll take care of it myself. I turned over onto my belly and I tried to crawl my way out. It didn't work. No matter how hard I try to go straight, I end up going backwards. I crawled myself right into a corner at the foot of my bed. I got into the corner so well I didn't have room to flip over onto my back. I was stuck. So then I cried. And I cried. And then Mama came and got me. I ate a little more which made my eyes so heavy I couldn't keep them open. And then she dropped me in the crib again. I keep calling out now and then, but its too hard to fight it. Maybe I'll just nap.
by Logan
We went to Target today and I got a new mini-Rescue Heros plane that I'd rather call a space shuttle if you don't mind. I'm playing outside in my yard with it by myself because Meggie won't stay napping. I even yelled at her, which Mommy said wasn't a good thing to do. I yelled "MEGGIE! GO TO SLEEP!!" I just want Mommy outside to play wif me and my new toy.
My sister is getting to be a big girl and I really love her a lot, but sometimes I don't like her very much. Like now when she's getting in the way of my fun. We're going to a pop-sicle party with my friends in a little while. Megan-Rosebud (which is what I prefer to call her) better not mess things up.
by Mom
You remember those commericals for Calgon where all a gal had to do was step into a bubble bath and suddenly be whisked away from life as she knww it? Well let's just say that this week between the boss, the uncle, the husband, the dogs and the kids I could use a bubble bath.
5.01.2005
For the Record
It did rain most of the morning. It did not rain by noon. By game time it was sunny, breezy and cool. It was warmer at home, which is ok. As long as the sun did not hide behind a cloud we were comfortable in our long sleeve shirts and spring jackets.
The game - well it was good up until the 7th inning. Then it stunk.
My boys need some arms that can really pitch - like consistantly.
The game - well it was good up until the 7th inning. Then it stunk.
My boys need some arms that can really pitch - like consistantly.
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