time change, schmime change

The baby sleep book that we read has advice on everything: getting your child to sleep, keeping them asleep, even how to handle the time change. Their helpful advice for ending Daylight Savings Time? Simply ignore the time change and your child will adjust automatically.

Ha!

Ignore the time change, my arse.

IGNORE IT AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about having kids, it’s that they always do exactly the opposite of what you want them to do. If they sleep until 7:30 a.m. on Friday, whatever you do, don’t start hoping that the same thing will happen when Saturday morning rolls around. In fact, if experience is any guide, you should assume that the child will actually wake up several hours earlier just to spite you. Toddlers are sneaky like that.

So as I reset my clock on Saturday night, I went to bed thinking that Evan had been sleeping until 7 am pretty well for the last couple of weeks so maybe we’d hear from him around 6:00. In my dreams!

Instead, I was awakened at 4:30 a.m. Sunday morning to the sounds of Evan happily talking about what he wanted to do that day.

“Go walk” he said clearly, over and over.
“Go walk!”

He also threw in some discussion of Elmo (“Melmo”).

After ignoring him for an hour we were finally forced to get up and mainline coffee until the bleary-eyed state cleared up at, oh, about 3 pm.

Grrrr.

welcome to the linguistic parking lot

My hub forwarded this to me and I almost died laughing. Below is an email he received with "helpful stock tips" (aka spam) that was a tad heavy on the spam filter avoidance language. Enjoy…

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Most people believe that a satellite falls in love with a loyal tape recorder, but they need to remember how ostensibly a load bearing burglar wakes up. The inferiority complex thoroughly secretly admires the power drill. A frustrating briar patch satiates a boiled recliner. An overripe blithe spirit is muddy.

Most people believe that a chess board seeks a bartender about a cowboy, but they need to remember how almost a particle accelerator goes to sleep. A skyscraper finds subtle faults with the food stamp. Indeed, the molten satellite sells a photon inside an eggplant to an insurance agent. A hesitantly phony avocado pit single-handledly buries the load bearing warranty, and a fire hydrant graduates from a class action suit about a grain of sand. Furthermore, the fractured tuba player earns frequent flier miles, and an insurance agent toward a line dancer lazily finds lice on the inexorably imaginative movie theater. Now and then, a stoic bullfrog conquers a most difficult cheese wheel. A load bearing plaintiff sweeps the floor, because a cargo bay recognizes a cashier. Furthermore, the class action suit related to a microscope hesitates, and the familiar senator accidentally negotiates a prenuptial agreement with an avocado pit. Most people believe that a chess board seeks a bartender about a cowboy, but they need to remember how almost a particle accelerator goes to sleep. A skyscraper finds subtle faults with the food stamp. Indeed, the molten satellite sells a photon inside an eggplant to an insurance agent. A hesitantly phony avocado pit single-handledly buries the load bearing warranty, and a fire hydrant graduates from a class action suit about a grain of sand. A spider over the cashier organizes the girl scout. If a non-chalantly incinerated insurance agent plays pinochle with an often fat tornado, then a scythe inside a dolphin gets stinking drunk. Furthermore, a wrinkled polar bear feels nagging remorse, and an overwhelmingly highly paid umbrella dances with the cashier. Any tape recorder can recognize an avocado pit, but it takes a real blithe spirit to plan an escape from a linguistic parking lot some buzzard toward a pig pen. The surly cargo bay requires assistance from a spider.

one crazy roommate

It happened to coincide almost exactly with turning 18 months old: my child may now be certifiably insane. One minute he’s happily playing with his toys and the next he is HOWLING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS because we won’t let him hold a pumpkin while he gets his diaper changed. Or, we leave for the park without his balloon and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.

Those things actually happened last weekend. It’s actually kind of funny how the slightest thing will set him off. Take for example the Pumpkin Incident.

We had just arrived home from some errand. Evan was reaching for the pumpkins that were sitting on our kitchen island, so I handed him a miniature one. He kept repeating his word for pumpkin (which happens to be “maniss” for reasons I don’t begin to comprehend) and a few minutes later we needed to take him upstairs to change him. I took the pumpkin and put it back on the table (a critical error) and my husband took him upstairs. He started crying on the way up the stairs and the tantrum escalated sharply upon realizing that the pumpkin was not accompanying him. “MANISS” he yells in between sobs, “MANISSSSSS!!!!” Dave laid him down amid much writhing and screaming. After a couple of minutes he realized it was a losing battle and said “Get the pumpkin! Get the pumpkin!” I ran downstairs, retrieved the pumpkin, then ran back up and handed it to Evan. He started smiling through his tears and saying “maniss” in this soft happy voice. From then on? He was absolutely fine. Until the next day, when we tried to get him in the car without his balloon and endured 15 minutes of screaming in the car. Good times.

I mean, I knew toddlers weren’t reasonable, but the violent reaction to things that aren’t that big a deal has surprised me. And maybe taken a year or two off my life.

opposite

Ahhhh… the weekend. What a relief! I will be engaging in activities such as getting the baby a haircut and going to the park. Not sleeping in, because although Evan has been sleeping until 7 am lately, tomorrow is Saturday and therefore he will wake up at 5:30 am. In fact, he often enjoys doing the opposite of what I think he should do. Like instead of eating his green beans, he throws them on the ground. And when I give him a spoon for his applesauce, he promptly turns it upside down and dips the handle in instead.

However, he has picked up a helpful habit recently. At night before it’s time for his bath, we say “time to clean up!” and he starts rushing around picking up his toys and putting them away. He’s very focused on it and it’s absolutely hilarious.

If only I could say “make mommy some coffee” and he would obey. I guess he’s still a bit young to be operating the grinder. I’ll give him another year or two on that.

morning of chaos

Some days, going to work feels like a vacation. Today was one of those days. Case in point:

4:15 a.m. – I hear Evan crying on the monitor. He quickly stops crying but then starts talking. I hear words like “Momo” (which means “Elmo”) and “nose.” (yes, it’s random, but he has recently learned those words).

4:20 – He’s back to sleep.

5:30 – More crying. More talking. Elmo and nose again bandied about.

5:35 – Back to sleep.

6:40 – I get up, shower, get ready for work, wait for Evan to wake up for good.

7:30 – He’s still sleeping.

7:45 – Mr. Crankypants wakes up on the wrong side of the crib. Fusses. I change his diaper and get him dressed amid protests.

**Then, I make the critical decision. Since he woke up so late, do I feed him at home or take him to daycare and let them feed him? I decide in favor of the former because it allows me to spend a few more minutes with him.**

7:50 – we go downstairs and I attempt to get him settled in his high chair. In the process, I accidentally pinch his finger sliding the tray. Screaming ensues. I spend the next 10 minutes soothing and patting. Finally he calms down once I promise him a banana (“m’nana”).

8:05 – He is happily eating his m’nana and some Fruity Cheerios. We’re out of milk.

8:20 – He appears to be done eating so I start cleaning him up. I put him down and he stands in front of the TV watching Curious George while I wash his high chair tray. Finally, I’m ready to go and go over to pick him up. However, he is standing in a suspicious position, sort of a slight crouch. I do a quick check and sure enough… diaper is dirty. He helpfully says “poo-poo!” and I haul him upstairs to change the diaper amid much kicking and screaming.

8:30 – we are finally clean-diapered, fully dressed and ready to go. We say bye-bye to Daddy, then I strap him in the car, at which point it occurs to him that Daddy is leaving, so more tears ensue. We drive away, he calms down and talks my ear off all the way to daycare.

8:40 – I drop him off and proceed, exhausted, directly to the coffeemaker at my workplace.

o canada

I just got back from a business trip to Ottawa. It was my third trip to Canada and also my third work-related trip to Canada. Which means, although I have been there three times, I have yet to do any meaningful sight-seeing. In fact, I might as well have been in Chicago, or Dallas, or San Francisco, save for the fact that I had to show my passport.

It was cold, though. Canada's definitely got that going for it.

it's monday, all right

My baby is full of snot.

My house is full of ants.

My inbox is full of work-related emails that I can't answer (see "my baby is full of snot" above).

And this is why I felt completely justified in eating cookies for breakfast today.

and the hits just keep on coming

It must be the Weekend of Overhearing Ridiculous Things. Yesterday I was stepping off the escalator in Nordstrom and saw a woman holding a small dog wearing a sweater over its pink fur. This woman had run into an acquaintance and greeted her, then said "And this is my son, Playboy!" while holding up the pink-furred, sweatered dog for her to see.

I did a double-take to ascertain: was she actually talking about the dog? And since I couldn't see any other person who she could possibly be referring to when mentioning her "son," I had to draw the conclusion that she was.

Hmmm. Whatever.

reason #1 why evan will NEVER AGAIN go to a birthday party or grace the seat of an unprotected shopping cart

The scene: Target, Friday evening at approximately 5:30 p.m.

The players: One (1) annoying lady with two (2) small children sitting in a shopping cart five feet away from us.

What went down: With my back turned I hear a disturbing noise, then the woman's voice saying "In the bag! In the bag! In the FRICKIN bag!" We turn around to see the older kid hurling violently into a Target bag.

We quickly turn back in horror (nothing makes me nauseous faster than hearing or seeing someone throwing up) only to hear her then say, "You can't go to a birthday party covered in throw-up!"

Um, excuse me? How about now that you're throwing up you might want to SKIP THE BIRTHDAY PARTY????? Help a mother out over here.

Oh, and by the way, this kid then proceeded to fill at least two (2) bags with his puke.

It's times like this that I wish Target featured a handy haz-mat decon chamber at the door. Yuck.

plum plum

I just got back from a quick trip to Kansas for my husband’s grandfather’s funeral. I guess it went as well as a trip to Kansas for a funeral could go, but I just want to say, if any of you out there have an almost 18 month old and want to take him on a two-hour flight followed up by a four-and-a-half hour drive: don’t. But if you do, rent a car with a DVD player so you can keep said almost 18 month old quiet with four and a half hours of the Wiggles. Then, by the end of the trip, your sister-in-law, who allegedly hates the Wiggles, will be singing the Wiggles songs nonstop even after you have exited the car (“and she looks like a sugar and a plum PLUM PLUM!!!”).

And to think I used to think DVD players in cars were a bad idea.