Fight Club

Stressed. Standard operating procedure of my current week. I've come to the conclusion H and I don't know how to fight.

There are very few things that we really disagree on, and the biggie reared its' ugly head this past week. Details, details... I won't say they're unimportant. I'm just too exhausted to hash them out here.

I wish I were a screamer, a thrower, a blow-my-stack tantrum-er. We might actually get a resolution to this issue... Instead we both withdraw to our separate corners and the tension is permeating, deafening. Can you learn to be a yeller?

I wish this was a drooly post over Brad Pitt, but... there you go.

Dear Daniel

Three years ago I had hauled my pregnant self out to the couch, unable to sleep in my bed for the aching of all my joints. I had just begun to doze off to the last dregs of a 2am MASH episode, when I felt a strange Whump. Turns out you had just head-butted me. It would take 12 more hours, but you finally made your long-anticipated appearance - three years ago today.

We treated you a bit like a porcelain doll in those first days as I learned to breastfeed, and your Dada and I got used to the sleepless nights. It's hard to reconcile those days with the three year old who is constantly whacking me in the knees (if I'm lucky) with foam swords, driving race cars through the kitchen and flying Spiderman or the Hulk across the table.

Where did three years go? That question keeps jumping out at me as we've done things this summer, like the swimming lessons with your best bud Marisa. Birthday #3 is turning into a birthday month: a little mini-celebration last week with Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Andy in Wisconsin. Hanging out with Mama and Dada and your new tank and Star Wars soldiers today... and another party with Gram and the rest of the New England family (and Marisa) in a week or so when Auntie June is free from her singing gigs.

You've grown up so in just three short years. I certainly realized it this week when you walked into our bedroom one morning at 3:30am and turned on the light. Way to use your stepstool, but Dude - rude awakening. It's also been the best times of our lives. Happy Birthday little man!

Smooth is Smooth Baby

Summer TV can seem like a bit of a wasteland. And not only ain't there much to escape into on the Tube, but many of my favorites (LOST, Battlestar Galactica) have vanished for awhile and have already projected their series end dates.

A glorious exception is USA network's Burn Notice. Jeffrey Donovan plays Michael Westen - a former spy, under a "burn notice" - for all intents and purposes pink slipped out of the business. Stuck in Miami with no credit, no job history and not much information to go on he spends his time helping people and chasing down who did this to him and why. Season 2 recently started, and I am thoroughly enjoying this little Thursday night jaunt into sun, sexy scenery, engaging characters and witty dialogue.

Relishing the Dirt

My little review site is back up and running again. Head on over to Relishing the Dirt via this link, or the tabs above. Today I'm checking out a new planner, and hoping to up my Mom-organizational skills just a bit.

More to come!

Sand in my dryer

Daniel has decided that he loves the water. Well, make that the beach as not only do you get to splash in the water, but dig in the sand to your heart's content.

We've had several trips to York, Maine. It's a wonderful area and a great beach. I'm always left a bit nervous around strong waves and undertow and the like, but the kid is jumping right in. The favorite headgear of the moment is his army helmet. I've seen more than a few grins as my pint-sized soldier has run screeching across the sand looking for all the world like he's storming the beaches.

The local Memorial Beach has been the scene of some "Tiny Tot" swim lessons this past week. They play games and work on getting used to the water... no problem there, although I occasionally have to do a redirect if he decides to head for some digging in the dunes when he should be listening to his instructor.

I'm trying to shake everything out, but a fine coating of sand seems to be coating everything. Any tips for getting it out of a clothes dryer?

Priceless? I think not!

Hmm. Let's see. Car back in the shop? Check.

Computer intermittently on the fritz? Check.

H coming down with the flu? Right - o.

Off to buy a big container of hand sanitizer/lysol disinfectant and try to keep the kid from getting too close to Daddy. Regular blog entries to follow...

Apologies

...to my downstairs neighbor for the late night clothes washing noise. It feels like there are few alternatives when the little guy barfs on the blankie that he can't sleep without.

Looking to exchange my "Grumpy" hat...

Sleep drama continues at the house of Dirt Makes Fat. Daniel has begun fighting his nap, and he is one persistent kid. After a few days of struggling to get him down for the nap, I finally picked a day to just... go without. Maybe he doesn't need it anymore, I reasoned. He got a tot crabby and frustrated, and we were butting heads more than usual. He also crashed around suppertime which made bedtime more of a bear.

The next two days he napped of his own accord at 11 and 11:30am, setting up a nice amount of space to get him off to bed in the evening at a reasonable time and without too much ado. The next day a nap struck at 2:30pm, and today held off until 1:30pm. Once he goes down, the kid also power-naps until I decide enough is enough and I start trying my darndest to wake-im up.

No matter what time he gets to bed in the evenings, he is up at 6/6:15am. Lately I'm woken by him draped across my bedroom doorway, kicking his feet against the jamb while he waits for his parents to rise.

I am starting to give up on the idea of schedules for him.
****************
In the car report, after replacing the fuel assembly and spending much moolah, the frakkin' light was off on the dashboard of my frakkin' car for almost exactly 48 hours. And it's baacck! I suspect there will be additions to this report very soon. (Stupid deer.)

Mired

Remember our encounter with Bambi? Turns out when a deer smacks your car the ripple effect lasts LOONNG after.

A month after the accident and my lovely red jeep is finally in the shop for repairs. Much haggling has ensued with the insurance over just what is really covered. There is the $500 deductible (naturally)... the remanufactured bumper that the insurance has insisted we use (can't make the car better than it was - just back to it's pre-accident state) even though the body shop says that the insurance people know that no such "remanufactured bumper" exists for my model car. And we're supposed to eat 25% of the difference in cost.

Once the car was in the shop and being deconstructed they found an additional $1k worth of damage. Good news - covered by insurance. Bad news - it means ordering new parts, and not getting my wheels back until middle of next week instead of Friday. Which means out more money on the rental car unless I take it back and do without for a number of days. With a 2.5 year old to wrangle.

And none of the above includes the new light on my dashboard (vapor leak) and the squeak from the front suspension. Insurance is of course insisting that this has nothing to do with hitting a deer. Funny thing, though. None of this came about until we smacked into the *(&^&%(_*! thing in middle of the road.

SuperMommy - 0, DestructoKid - 1

Our condo can be a tight space. It has been great for a couple, and even worked pretty well for a couple plus baby. Now that we have a 2.5 year old in our midst I despair over ever catching up with the clutter cleaning.

How is it that toys can be strewn from one end of this place to the other, and the only help I can muster up from the little one is if it's a "grown-up" chore? Move the laundry from washer to dryer, and I've got a little assistant. Sweep the kitchen, and I've got an extra pair of hands. Don't get me wrong, I love that "little helper" part! But the rest of his time is spent leaving toy bits in his wake as he moves from room to room. I've started working the ol' vanishing act on some particularly pesky items. So far we are missing one set of legos and several Little People sets. The tool bench went MIA for a few weeks, only recently reappearing - and is in danger of going poof once again. Nothing seems to work about picking up toys, so I'm resorting to a little Mama Magic.

If only that could have saved our kitchen screen. Three weeks to get the re-done frame back from the local hardware store. It does make for a convenient way to get rid of any toys that Daniel decides to drop through the hole in the door...

Toddler Fashion

So my hair is finally long enough to be put into a real pony tail this summer. This has resulted in screeches from the toddler of: No Hair! NO HAIR!! ...until I pull the pony tail holder out.

And the kid who spent all winter taking everything off his body now hands me the following assortment of items when he wants to get dressed: sweatpants, long-sleeved tees, sweatshirts, his fireman rain coat. Stand back! Commence with the meltdown when I try and talk him into something just a tad bit on the cooler side.

And the kid who wouldn't wear a hat all winter now won't leave home without one. I'm a little more relaxed on this, as at least it gives him some sun protection. I do try and talk him out of the plastic Fireman helmet, however. The last time he took it off his head he looked as though he had gone swimming. Grandpa's fishing hat looks very cute!

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

H's family has a cottage up in York, Maine. York has beautiful beaches, although the water is just too cold for me. I grew up dipping my summer toes in Michigan and Wisconsin lakes (not the Great Lakes!) that are bath water compared to York. The cottage has been in need of some attention, and so several weekends so far have had Sundays devoted to heading up there to work. Today's excursion was combined with Uncle Bruce's birthday. It made for a generally happy chaos of yard and house work, cousins chasing each other through the yard and a cake and ice cream celebration.

It is also a big tick area, which makes it very hard for me not to get a little paranoid. Between skeeters and potential ticks I was finishing up the day itching and smacking at bugs. And Daniel is as twitchy about an inspection for ticks as he was about the splinters in his feet. We finished up our evening with showers and baths for the whole family. Begone bugs!

Mama's New Challenge

We went to a small barbecue yesterday afternoon, hosted by a friend at her parents' place. Everyone had a grand time, especially Daniel. Our friend's parents have grandkids of their own, so it was a new space full of all-new toys and even a yard to explore. There was good company, and hamburgers and hot dogs never taste better than hot off a grill.

I love that Daniel is a sociable kid. When he wasn't occupying himself with all the new trucks and cars he was getting pushed on the swing by our friend's father or hopping up on the porch swing to sit next to her grandmother or showing her fiance something in a book.

Unfortunately his habit of removing his shoes at every possible opportunity has caught up with him: splinters in his feet. We got home late last night and he was completely exhausted. Any attempt at removal of the splinters only got me a shrieking, thrashing kid. I finally left it alone, and he crashed in his bed. I'm off to try a warm bath (for him, although I may need one later...) and another attempt. Wish me luck!

Mommy Doesn't Ride Again

This weekend was reminiscent of those early-baby days of endless feedings and diaper changes - I dipped a toe back into the pool of sleepless nights courtesy of Daniel and his severely stuffed/runny nose. He wasn't shy in letting me know just how unhappy he was about the whole deal. Any tricks for teaching a 2.5 year old how to blow his nose?

Saturday night, er, Sunday morning at 4am found the two of us out in the living room watching Herbie Rides Again, which was preferable to listening to the screaming about My Nose! My Nose!

The attack left as quickly as it came on, so unless there is a 24-hour cold I am now pondering the idea of allergies for the poor little guy.

You've done it again, Mr. Magee

We got back from a trip to a local farm/ice cream place yesterday afternoon, and Daniel was chattering on at the dinner table after H got home. He was talking about statues and flags and I realized he must still be thinking about our long weekend trip to Wellsboro, PA. There was a small park with lots of cool statues and fountains to look at and grassy areas to run on and tulips to see. Then he popped out with: John Magee, and I about fell off my chair.

The first time through the park we saw the monuments to soldiers, and the fountain with Winkin Blinkin and Nod as the centerpiece. We missed the bust statue, and went back to it on our next go-round to the park. To no one in particular I remember reading the name John Magee, and a small piece about his founding a railroad.

Apparently my kid is even more of a little sponge than I thought.

Deer, Interrupted

H loves to travel. Make that H LOVES TO TRAVEL. With company or without, near or far... it seems the gears are always turning for him about planning some sort of trip. I like to travel too - it's something we have in common. But that "gear" is not so much in the on position for me since Daniel's arrival.

Our most recent outing involved a trip to Wellsboro, PA. It's beautiful country, and a prime fishing target for people like my father and brother. My parents and brother met us out there for a little fly-fishing down-time for the guys, and lots of togetherness planned for everyone to see Daniel and all. The trip began with a bang when our car met a deer about 6 miles outside of Wellsboro. We're all OK, and that's the important thing. But my car has a damaged front driver's side grille, the left front fender clean off the car and a busted front left turn signal. A little prayer of thanks that we're all OK. But damn, this was my first rather nice car...

Daniel basked in the family time. It makes me happy that he is so excited to see my extended family since there are large gaps between visits. We ate in restaurants like the Wellsboro Diner and Timeless Destination, mostly successfully since getting Daniel to sit still is sometimes a challenge. Adjoining rooms meant extra space to roam, and while Daniel's sleep schedule was pretty much a haphazard-whenever-you-feel-like-slowing-down bedtime, it was still a fun/successful trip. And we seem to be getting back to normal routines without too many bumps.

Now, on to fixing my jeep so I can stop muttering stupid deer under my breath.

Not a Wonderful Thing...

Daniel and I spent a good chunk of yesterday with some friends. They are having their flooring redone, and so it was a perfect excuse to get together and let the kiddos chase each other around town. Their kitchen is pretty much out of commission, and so we accepted the invitation to a local restaurant for dinner. This restaurant is trying to get more kids/families to stop in, and on Wednesday nights there is a roaming magician, a guy who does balloons... and a guy in a Tigger suit.

We weren't there five minutes when Daniel spotted the Tigger - and freaked - big blue eyes welling up, face scrunched, mouth open in sobs. Lots of folks have stories about their kids and their first experiences with the animal-suited characters. Surprised the heck out of me, though, as Daniel has been pretty fearless. He's even started watching (and requesting) The Wizard of Oz lately, complete with the scary witch, the flying monkeys, and in my opinion the pretty fearsome looking floating-head Wizard.

I briefly debated staying, but decided that there was no way he was eating a meal in that state. When I asked: Do you want to go home? He nodded vigorously and said in a meek little voice: Yes. Go home. We were outta there. I think there aren't any trips to Disney in the near future for us...

Living Large

H and I are, um, dare I say it? Quiet people. We're much more at home traipsing through old New England graveyards than boogie-ing on an earsplitting dance floor.

My sister-in-law likes to chuckle about how we've been blessed with a little guy on the opposite end of the spectrum. I still remember the first trip to the Midwest to see the grandparents, and the delighted shriek of Ma-MA! when Daniel spotted me through a crowded rest stop plaza, as I returned from the restroom. Feeding Tilly the Bunny some cheerios at the local Family Network is bound to produce similar delighted shrieks of laughter, Daniel fairly dancing on his toes with happiness.

The din around our place lately has had an opposite tone as well when Mama thwarts his quest for More Juice! or his plan to carpet every square inch of living space with the pieces-parts of various toys. Or the tooth-brushing wrestling match we engaged in tonight.

I think there's a little lesson here for me somewhere, as I realize that I don't want to constantly be the "No-Stop That!" person. I'd like to soak up a little of my baby's "living large spark" in the time to come. As exasperating as it can be - I do admire that about the little guy.

Dear Daniel

When you were born, I never thought that I might be measuring you in the state of your hair. You arrived with a bunch of the stuff that was sort of dark and a little wavy, and it had your father and I scratching our heads and saying: Huh? Where did that come from?

We stumbled through those sleep-deprived first weeks and months, and I don't really remember you losing hair, but suddenly it seems there was a new crop. Early pictures show a grinning blondie with an initial strip of hair focused in the center, prompting at least one email from Grandpa saying: Who gave the kid a mohawk? The mohawk filled in and kept going, and we all marveled at your cherub curls. I occasionally got a scissors to your bangs, to make sure you could see, but we left your lion's mane to bounce behind you as you ran on your many new adventures.

I never thought that it would be at 2.5 years old you would be getting your first official hair cut. You were a trooper, only really crying when the lady got out her spray bottle full of water to wet down your hair. It was time. The weather is getting hotter, and I know that you certainly won't miss brushing the hair out of your eyes or pulling it away from your mouth when you're trying to eat (or my trying to comb a knot out of the back of your head). We think fondly of your long locks... but seeing our new big boy come padding into our room (yes, even at 6am) makes us smile.

Love,

Mama

A night on the town...

As a teenager I can recall spending weekend after weekend at Pine Knob in Michigan on outings, just seeing whomever was playing at the time: Huey Lewis and the News, oohh there was that double bill of The Thompson Twins and Berlin... yep, even the Pointer Sisters! (OK, looking back I'm a little agog at that one...)

Even before the baby, and in the days of ever-climbing ticket prices, I'd gotten a lot pickier about an evening out. It just has to be someone I really want to see if I'm going to make that effort.

H decided to splurge for my (ahem) milestone birthday this year and nabbed us some tickets to see Jerry Seinfeld when he breezed through town. I didn't quite anticipate heading into Boston with the rest of the Red Sox faithful last Friday. We made it on time, but the jockeying for position at the **&^%$! tollbooths made me a little nervous. Thanks MBTA. Jerry was in fine form for a (mostly) family-friendly show. Refreshing to have an outing holding hands with my guy and not keeping one eye peeled for: Where did the 2.5 year old just go?

It must be a measure of my TV addiction however, that I kept half-expecting to see George, Elaine and Kramer pop out on stage as well...