Like cracks in an eggshell, with the egg in the frying pan and this, this is your brain on drugs.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
You fell asleep a couple minutes past 7:00 tonight while I was reading a story to you. This past weekend has been one of our busier ones, with actually ZERO laying on the couch and vegging, our normal favourite pastime.
On Friday, Dad was supposed to stay home with you but decided to go into work so Nana came and took you for a morning of games and cotton candy at Chuck E. Cheese's. By noon, Dad had had enough of the week and took the afternoon off to spend it with you. You guys took me back to work, went to an Imax movie about mummies, went on an exploring trip along the paths by the lake, then spent the rest of the afternoon at Wonderland (nothing like Alice's Wonderland) going on coin-operated rides and playing coin-operated arcade games before bringing me home from work.
Our Saturday mornings of late have been filled with a new activity - gymnastics! And it's a big thing for us. An organized activity outside of going to work...it was hard to decide to do, but it's been great. You just go off with your little class and do your ladder climbing, balance beam-walking, somersaults, trampoline-jumping circuits with nary a thought of where your dad or I am. And you really like it. The pace could be a bit quicker at times, more jam-packed, but it's good for you to have to learn to take turns and wait and all that stuff that make up social niceties. After your class and after some playing in the big play area, we usually head out for lunch. Yesterday it was Montana's, but only because they give you cheese toast with your creamy noodles. After that we hit a couple retail stores before heading home.
The weather was lovely, warm enough but not hot so we found ourselves immediately in the back yard despite your parents' desire to nap. Well, Dad actually pulled a chair from the garage and slept for an hour while we set up your tent, complete with picnic blanket, and took as many items out of your outside toy box as we could. Dad finally got up when I told him you'd just crawled in the suitcase and said, "Let's pretend I'm dead." Uh, no. I think you've been watching too much true-crime drama on A&E...do they even play that stuff anymore? (Oh, and the suitcase was left by Uncle Nigel the previous weekend who sold his house and was in town to clean and prepare for the movers - and ditch anything they could no longer fit or that they no longer need.)
Anyway, being well-rested, Dad finally brought the two sets of twin mattresses and box springs we've had in our basement forever outside to (eventually) go to the dump and to make room for all the storage shelves Nigel left us. Suffice it to say that the mattresses became trampolines which became a wrestling ring. Hilarity ensued. Oh my.
After all that excitement we had a bit of supper before you and I headed out for a walk around the neighbourhood. It was then I realized how wonderful it is to just hang out with you, no computer games, no fights to brush your hair, no arguing over the music we'll play in the van (you always want Mutha, Mutha, aka Mother Mother while I currently prefer Metric). We walked slowly, or at your pace, you picked up almost every rock you saw and put them in your pocket. We each held Baby's hand as we walked, much as your Dad and I walk with you. (I can't believe how much you love and need your baby these days. She goes everywhere with you. To Amy's, to the grocery store, and obviously for walks.) You're very cautious as we walk, stopping if you think you hear a car. You stop to see a robin who comes unusually close. "He likes me," you declare. When we get to the grass park (which is what we call a park without playground equipment), you immediately take off into a patch of trees to hide. We play hide and seek, taking turns hiding and seeking. I hide behind trees mostly. You put on a good show as I hear you say, "I can't see Mom. I guess I'll just go home..." I giggle when you find me and run away squealing so we begin playing tag. It's short-lived with only the two of us so I ask if you want to keep walking. Apparently you need a short respite so I carry you through the park until we reach the road where you start walking again. You stop and pick a few rocks from someone's rock patch. At the corner, you bend down and ask 'what's this' of the storm sewer. We look in, then I give you a twig to drop. "Water!" you conclude, then proceed to drop every rock around you on the ground and half of the rocks in your pocket down the sewer to hear that plink, plop sound I remember so well from my youth. We cross the street and you see the number 5 on a house. You then tell me which windows belong to which rooms, like the living room, the bedrooms, and the downstairs. Before we made it home, you found a thick green elastic like the one to hold broccoli together and you ask if we can shoot it to the moon. Despite many tries by both of us, we decide it cannot be done. Then you said, "If I really did shoot it and it landed on the moon, I would have to take a rocket to go and get it back."
Sunday morning, this morning, was filled with grocery shopping and a trip to the Home Depot before getting home and playing outside. Nana and Skye stopped over for a bit. There was chalk, there were tears and an increasing tiredness. You took off all your clothes, except for your panties, and jumped on the mattresses. Soon, it was time to eat lunch but you wanted to play hopscotch. You explode into a tantrum, hurt yourself and I scoop you up and into the house. My nude daughter eating noodles. I name you the noodler. Perhaps that could be your new wrestling name. After hopscotch, it was time to get ready and head over to Creeson's. Of course, you almost fell asleep on the way over. After a couple hours of playing with that active, little boy, you were beat. But not enough to turn down a quick romp at the playground after supper.
No wonder you fell asleep while I was reading.
I bet you'd like to go hiking...'cause you're bigger now. With longer legs, longer hair, a more proportioned body and more stamina. Two years apart: