Backyard Candids

In for it

Today I arrived at Owen's school to pick him up at 5. As is usual in the late afternoon, his class was playing outside on the playground. It took me awhile to see him at first - I was distracted by the knot of well behaved toddlers climbing up and sliding down the plastic dinosaur slide with one of the teachers' assistance. I spotted Owen finally, in the far corner of the playground playing by himself in what appeared to be a giant pile of mulch, supervised by one of the other teachers. I called "Owen!" and his little red head whipped around, and he came charging towards me grinning like a maniac. Friends, when I tell you this child was filthy, I mean I've rarely seen the likes. He had dirt clinging to his nostrils and in his hair, and his clothes were soaking wet to boot. I looked again at the other, notably non-disheveled kids, still playing near the slide. I looked back at my child, who I then noticed was not wearing the clothes I sent him to school in that morning. The teacher, in the meantime, had gathered up Owen's things for me and sheepishly handed me a plastic grocery bag along with his diaper bag. The contents of the plastic bag were an equally filthy set of clothing, the same he had worn in the door that morning. She said somewhat apologetically "well, when he wants to do something, we just can't stop him!"

I smiled, did the figurative equivalent of picking up my toddler between my thumb and forefinger, and cheerfully waved goodbye. I couldn't help thinking, however, "you just can't stop him? He's sixteen months old". I am in trouble. 

As we were leaving, the teacher continued to give us the report about his day. The last thing she said to me was "he ate a lot today! maybe he won't want his dinner. He had all his lunch, three big snacks and three glasses of milk". 

When we got home, he ate more than half a package of buitoni 4 cheese ravioli (that serves 3. adults.), a package of chocolate bunny grahams, a whole peach, and over a cup of milk. 

Summer Fun

We took Owen to the Blue Hills state park in Canton on Sunday. It's actually a really nice place to spend the day, because they have hiking trails, a huge playground, and a sandy beach with a swimming area. We didn't get too many photos, but some of the ones we did get are cute. You may notice that I am in none of them; this is intentional and will remain the case until roughly next February because I have a personal rule disallowing photographic evidence of me pregnant. (since approximately 5 people read this blog regularly and all already know I'm pregnant, I figure we can dispense with the big announcement.) Some women are all into documenting the growing belly; I personally like to maintain the illusion that I fit into my favorite pair of jeans at all times. Without evidence, you can prove nothing.

All right, well, I'm not sure what's going on, but blogger is for some reason giving me a very hard time about uploading photos tonight. So, while this post was largely going to just be photos from our day at the state park, that will have to wait. So I'll tell you a funny story instead. Today, I had to work all day (which is unusual for a wednesday). So Owen stayed at his school until 5 instead of noon, which is when I usually pick him up on Wednesdays. When we got home, the second we walked in the door Owen was in a state I'd never seen him before. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, hitting me, throwing himself on the floor, banging his head on the floor, running full on into walls, and I was freaking out. I seriously considered bringing him to the ER because I thought the circuits were misfiring in his brain. I kept trying to soothe him by picking him up, hugging him, speaking to him softly, but all I got was more screaming, flailing, and a bright red bite mark on my left arm that is still there as I type this. I had NO IDEA what the problem was. While I was looking for my phone to call Andy at work to tell him we were going to the hospital, Owen ran over to the fridge and started throwing himself against it. I thought - could he be hungry? He doesn't usually eat dinner until quarter to 6 or so, and it was only 5:10, and supposedly he gets a snack at school at 3:30....but I decided that before I showed up at Faulkner ED with a raging case of "crazy toddler" I'd try food first. Well, clearly, food was the problem. Or not the problem, the answer. Owen ate: Almost a full cup of cottage cheese, two doctor praegers spinach pancakes, an adult sized serving of cheerios with milk, 5 saltine crackers and (when andy got home) a full slice of pizza. I've never seen the kid eat so much. He was so hungry that he was using both hands to get cottage cheese and spinach pancake into his mouth at the same time. I have no idea what happened at school today. Every time we pick him up, we get a little report and Owen ALWAYS gets "ate all his lunch". He had a solid lunch today: A cheese sandwich, a banana, and a pack of Annie's bunny grahams. Plus, they give them the snack I mentioned earlier. So, maybe he hit a growth spurt? Maybe he didn't get his snack? Maybe he hid most of his lunch in his diaper? Who knows. All I know is that the kid had a full on low blood sugar episode. Note to self: In the future, keep a snack on you at all times. I shudder to think what would have happened if we had gone to run errands straight from school instead of going straight home!

Uh, thanks.

Sigh. While straightening up some papers, I just came across an (unopened) package of "first birthday" thank you notes.

Since Owen's first birthday was 4 months ago, and I currently have no other child who is either imminently celebrating or just celebrated a first birthday, you can do the math. I assure you I had the best of intentions, and I think that I may have even convinced myself that I actually sent and wrote them. Which I clearly did not. And quite honestly, the chances of me at this point ever doing so diminish by the second.

I'm not ruling out the possibility. If you attended Owen's first birthday you may at some point in the future receive a kicky, sports themed thank you note. But it probably won't be soon. Or before Owen can sign his name himself. So, I apologize profusely for my rudeness - don't hold Owen accountable, he's just slightly too young to commit major social faux pas. And thank you very, very much for coming out and celebrating with us and bringing Owen a gift, if you did. We all enjoyed seeing you and are as always, touched by your generosity.

Mother of the Year

When I was still a few weeks away from having Owen, we put him on a waiting list at a daycare center that was extremely conveniently located to where I was (at the time) working. They cheerfully took our $100 deposit and informed us that there would VERY likely be a spot for him "sometime in the spring or at LATEST early summer of 2009." This sounded great, since Owen was due in March. Until I thought about it driving home and realized he was due in March of 2008. bummer. It was just as well though, because once I found out how much full-time care there was (an astronomical amount that I'm pretty sure only neurosurgeons and celebrity dermatologists could afford) I wrote them off. But, the fortuitous intersection of him FINALLY getting to the top of the waiting list and me reducing my hours to a point where I really only needed a small amount of childcare meant that I could actually start sending him there this summer. He goes for a half day on Wednesdays and a full day on Fridays - and it would not be any kind of exaggeration to say that Owen LOVES IT THERE. In fact, it would be pretty safe to say that he loves it there way more than he loves me.

Case in point: today. We get there at drop-off time. All the other toddlers are busy clinging to their mother's power-suited pantlegs, wailing and gnashing their teeth. Owen, however, as he has done since the moment he laid eyes on it, made a beeline for the sand table. (He loves that sand table so much that I briefly considered getting him one for Christmas this year. Then I realized, SAND TABLE in my house? AM I HIGH?) The daycare teachers chirped "say bye to mama! have a good day mama!" Owen barely looks up as he pours a container of sand mixed with glitter onto another little girl's head. Yep, that might be my cue to go. I return at noon, because Owen only gets to go a half day on Wednesdays. He was happily seated at the table with all his little turtle-room buddies, eating his lunch and swiping food from slower eaters when he thinks he can get away with it. When he saw me come in, he was initially excited. He stopped feeding himself his yogurt (which he is more than capable of doing) and demanded I let him sit in my lap and feed him the rest. Aw, sweet. makes me feel appreciated. We finish his lunch, and I start to gather his things up. Owen spies me holding his bag and freezes. I can see him doing the math in his head: "Why's she holding my bag? Why's she putting my lunch bag in there? Wait a minute. Why is she HERE, anyway?" He immediately broke eye contact and ran over to the shelf of plastic dinosaurs and started to play with them very pointedly. "Oh, that lady? Yeah, I know her, but I really don't have the time to be bothered right now because as you can see I'm VERY busy." Unfortunately (actually, very fortunately), 15 month old mind tricks usually don't work, so I went over to pick him up. When he realized my intentions, he started to throw the mother of all tantrums. I was pretty embarrassed. the preschool teachers were all "don't worry, Owen! You can come back Friday! we'll see you friday and you can play all day!". Meanwhile, I slunk out of there with my screaming toddler, trying to telepathically communicate that my house is not actually a dungeon of spikes and lashes.

The whole point of me working less was so that Owen would benefit from being home with me. Turns out all he wants to do is go to daycare. Figures.