You've never really been wished a happy Mother's Day til a horde of three-year-old tee-ball players has shouted it at you in what passes for unison among three-year-olds.
We had a lovely day. After tee-ball, we came home, made muffins, and played lots of Go Fish. Tip for those who need to include a younger sibling not old enough to play - make them the custodian of the matched pairs. They'll end up scattered on the floor, but cleaning them up is a good project for the older child, giving you time to zone out for a moment or two. Zzz.
The spousage had to work this afternoon, so Pop Phooey and I took the boys out for an early dinner. #1 was his usual well-behaved self, but finally ran out of patience while we were waiting for our server to bring us the check. Fortunately, he burned off his excess energy by circling our table and wishing me a happy Mother's Day each time he reached his own chair.
We went through the car wash on the way home (#1 loves the car wash), and realized how filthy the insides of the windows were, so we got the Windex out and cleaned it together. He announced that "Cleaning is fun, Mama!" so we proceeded to clean all the first floor windows, and a few on the second floor for good measure, plus a mirror. He was ready to keep going, but by that point I was ready for some quality couch time.
Where he succumbed to a haircut. It's short and choppy and punky. At least, that's what it was meant to look like. If it looks okay in the harsh light of day, I'll post a pic. If it doesn't, we'll have to make time in tomorrow's schedule for a professional fix.
Mom Phooey's in Pittsburgh for a few days, so I'm on vacation. From my paying job. Because goodness knows full-time parenting is much harder work than work!
Rather than take him over to the field only to be disappointed, Mom Phooey went over and hung around til someone who knew what was going on showed up. Though all they knew was that he had yet to be assigned to a team.
Last evening, just as I'd resolved to call and harangue them this morning, they called. There was so much additional interest, they've formed a new team altogether.
He's a Glow-worm!
And his first game is this Sunday morning.
He continues to be an incredible child. Sensitive and caring well beyond his years, but boyishly playful and joyous, too.
He loves cupcakes (but not chocolate ones), and giving and receiving presents. He loves Brio trains. He loves sharing his room with his brother.
And I love him. I can't imagine my life without him. I'm so thankful.
Today's new thing? That #1 loves gefilte fish.
We've just caught it - the season began two weeks ago, but I didn't realize they had a program for 3-4 year olds. Fortunately they had space.
This is gonna be fun! The aunties bought him an inflatable tee-ball set recently, and it's been his favorite pastime.
He was so tired he fell asleep in the car on the way to Target, and was varying degrees of cranky for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I tucked him in and kissed his forehead and started listing all the nice things he might dream about. He was asleep before I ran out of ideas.
#1 had been right behind me, but somehow when I reached the first landing, he wasn't there.
Since I was so laden down with heavy items, I continued down the stairs.
That was my first mistake.
He burst into tears when he realized I'd gone ahead without him. Even though I was precisely 8 stairs away.
I suggested he hang out upstairs while his daddy took a shower, and he headed back into the bedroom. I continued to the second floor, where I went into his room to pickup clothing for both boys for the day.
With those added to my burden, I stepped back into the hallway. Where I encountered #1, who burst into tears again.
Because he had wanted to be in his room with me.
I dutifully went back in the room.
That was my second mistake.
"No!" he shouted, and burst into tears once again.
I'd had about enough of both tears and pack muledom, so I walked purposefully out of the room and down the stairs.
I'd barely reached the first landing when I heard the door slam.
It's been an eventful week. His first ear infection, and now his first door-slamming.
I ended up parking #2 in the pack-n-play and going back upstairs for #1, carrying him down the stairs. He was fine after that, even took his antibiotic with relatively little fuss.
I knew we'd gotten through the terrible twos with remarkable ease, but are we to be punished for that with the terrible threes?
This is his first one, though, so that's pretty good.
At 11 last night, I was lying in bed thinking how odd it was for there not to be a tiny boy there in the middle. The spousage was in his usual spot, and I was in mine (right at the edge of the vast king mattress), with a moose-of-a-baby-sized space between us.
I fell asleep wondering when we'd start sleeping closer together again, and was awakened at 1 AM when #1's Motrin wore off. I didn't want him to wake his brother, so I offered to bring him upstairs for the night. No fool he, he jumped at that.
He wanted to watch a program, so I turned on Sprout. Silly me, I thought he'd fall asleep.
Not only did he not fall asleep, he kept up a running narrative, with frequent questions, so I couldn't fall asleep, either.
At 2:30 AM, he declared himself ravenous, so I woke the spousage, who fetched some leftover pasta, the boy's favorite whole wheat penne with pesto sauce. He ate the whole container, minus a few bites fed to sleepy mummy, and by 3:30 we were finally all asleep.
Until 7:30 AM, when he decided it was time to go downstairs and play.
That is decidedly NOT enough sleep.
Ah, well.
He loves to tell jokes:
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Ya!
Ya who?
I didn't know you were a cowboy!?!
He laughs and laughs.
He loves his brother far more often than not, these days. He's gracious about sharing toys with him, and taking turns. He appreciates that his brother's starting to push back a little - I think he respects it.
He loves Mr. Rogers. Stupid WHYY only airs it once a week these days, in the wee small hours of Sunday morning, so Mom Phooey's been acquiring DVDs. Which we have all seen a million times now. But there's something peaceful and reassuring about Mr. Rogers, so it's okay.
After much reluctance on his part, I finally managed to wean him away from his beloved moti. When I finally put my foot down, for fear of dental consequences, it really only took a day or two, and no tears, just rational discussion. He's so grown up, sometimes.
He loves strawberries and pumpkin bread and honey toast. He loves welcoming Shabbat with candles, whole wheat challah and cranberry-pomegranate juice instead of wine.
He loves to bake and eat muffins of all kinds, most recently banana muffins made with orange juice. Most of all, he loves to share them with others, from family to caregivers to friends. He has a wonderful, generous spirit, that boy.
I realized I was hearing someone falling down the stairs.
I thought it was Mom Phooey, who has the bad habit of carrying too much laundry up and down.
I turned my head just in time to see a blur of striped sleeper.
#1, who I'd last seen snuggled up in the grandparental bed watching his bedtime PBS Kids Sprout program, had wanted one last moment of play, and had come downstairs clutching his beloved giraffer and his sippy cup, leaving no hand free to hold onto the railing.
He fell more than halfway down the stairs.
Words cannot adequately express the horror I felt.
Or the relief when I was sure he was okay.
We built a very tall tower, and knocked it down with glee. I carried him back upstairs, tucked him in, read him not one but two stories, and showed him how his bedside flashlight made a pattern of stars on the ceiling when shined through his blanket.
I tried not to hug him any harder than normal. It was all I could do not to climb into bed with him and hold onto him
I'd been counting my many blessings all day, after hearing a rebroadcast of Fresh Air with a man who lost his son to cancer.
I'm counting them again now.
Too bad about the stain on his shirt. And the residual mark on his lip from when he fell headlong in class a few weeks before.
( The class photo is truly priceless. )
At 5 PM, Pop Phooey fell down. He has the same cold #1 and I have, and was tired. Nonetheless, he came downstairs because #1 was anxious for them to watch the new Wiggles DVD together. On his way back upstairs, Pop Phooey used the last of his energy getting to the first landing, and then could go no further, nor even remain standing. Fortunately he didn't hurt himself when he sank to the floor. I cabbed it home ASAP, and managed to get him upright, but his weary, 79-year-old legs just weren't going anywhere. He ended up scootching down the stairs to the ground floor, where a friendly policeman helped me get him up and into an armchair. After a second failed attempt at the stairs, we opened up the sofa bed, and he and Mom Phooey camped out in the living room for the night. As of lunchtime today, he was up and about, though just on the ground floor. He'll attempt the stairs later, if he's feeling stronger.
It makes me wonder how much longer a three-story house will be suitable for him. Will we need to move? All of us, or just Mom and Pop Phooey? Thinking about this makes my head hurt, so I'll stop.
#1 was most solicitous, checking in on his beloved Grandpa and bring him water and little drawings. Such a tender-hearted fellow. Some girl (or boy) will break his heart one day. And then I'll be forced to kill them.
ETA, 2:15 PM: He made it up the stairs, and is now resting comfortably in his own bed. Yay Pop Phooey!
Er, yesterday. BAD MOMMY AGAIN!
He's a great kid. And I'm not just saying that because he's mine. (At this point, he's old enough that I can no longer take much credit.)
He's thoughtful. He's kind. He's unfailingly interested in things - what they are, and why. How they work, why they (sometimes) don't.
He loves to help out in the kitchen, whether it's measuring, shaking, stirring or loading the dishwasher. He bakes muffins with only a little adult assistance, and then generously shares them with everyone - grandma and grandpa, mummy and daddy, even his beloved music teachers.
A current favorite food is a sandwich of scrambled egg on toast. He also had for the first time, and loved, a lemon poppyseed muffin.
Oh, and buttered noodles. (Can't think where he gets his fondness for those. No, sirree.)
He kisses his little brother with infinite love. And then pushes him over.
He's a typical boy. A typical, wonderful boy.
It's Junior Jazz Month at the Please Touch Museum!
#1 enjoyed the free concert of classical and flamenco guitar in the Kimmel Center plaza this afternoon. He was especially intrigued by the pipa (Chinese lute) the musican played on a couple of numbers. He was also thrilled by the glass elevator.
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