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...

A pet peeve, and something stupid...

Our cable service has that lovely on-demand feature. Perfect for when Daniel insists that he really wants to watch Thomas, and Mama really needs to take a shower. My pet peeve is this: When the programming is over, the screen reverts to a menu with a "preview screen" up top. And some of the stuff they are previewing is scary! I can remember points where the Harry Potter films were in pretty heavy rotation, for example.

So yesterday the above scenario happened. And hearing Daniel start to get pretty upset I lunged for the couch where I had last thrown the clicker. And completely crunched my right foot. Life sometimes has ways of asking you to slow down. I'd just prefer they not come with a puffy turning-purple toe and a pronounced limp.

Spice of Life

Me - (a trifle, um, indisposed in the bathroom)

Daniel - (barging in, holding out his hands) I spilled it!

Me - (Examining indecipherable dusty substance on hands) ???

Come to find out he had been occupying his time figuring out how to unscrew the top of the salt/pepper grinder and there was salt (and peppercorns) everywhere...

Strength

I am a bit of a hovering Mom. Can't seem to help it really, it's a natural tendency that kicked into overdrive when I became one. I try to keep it tempered, but the stay-at-home gig means no daycare, and we haven't done preschool yet so the little guy and I are fairly constant companions. Thank goodness Daniel is pretty outgoing and more times than not will launch himself into whatever class we are doing, park we are visiting, etc. Just stand back and watch 'im go!

I've been spending some time the past few months helping the local family network arrange their annual family fun fair. The event was this past Saturday, and with H working it meant that Daniel spent the morning at his Gram's house sans Mom or Dad. Everything went beautifully, of course, both with the event and with Daniel. He played and played with Auntie, an Uncle, Gram, one of his cousins and was pretty much zonked on his feet from all the activity and no nap by the time I got there. High five for me!

We spent Monday with feet firmly planted in tantrum city. Hauling a shrieking, struggling 30+ pound 2.5 year old into a car and then up two flights of stairs to our condo was an interesting way to end my afternoon. All kinds of strength needed in being a Mom, eh?

Well, that was new!

The toddler wake up call has been averaging around 6am lately. He used to give me until 8am or so, so this has been an adjustment on my part to say the least. While we are still in PJs, and he is settled in with breakfast and Curious George I try to collect myself and get a start on my day.

Yesterday, just a bit into the morning, I found him rolling around on the carpet saying: My leg hurts. My fogged, pre-caffeinated morning brain interpreted this as: pay me some attention Mommy. I murmured something appropriate and kept doing whatever it was that I was doing. When he repeated this a few minutes later, I took a closer look. Why did one leg of the feetie pajamas look all puffy? Further investigation revealed that the diaper had detached, but only on one side, and slid down one leg to puddle around his ankle! Thank goodness that (ahem) puddle was all I really had to deal with at the time.