Time off, with penalty

B and I have this weekend to ourselves. It's been long talked about and much anticipated, and it is very nice to be able to, say, go out at 2:00 in the afternoon or sleep in until 8:00. But the planning of such a weekend weighs heavy on my mind, and rightly so.

Just before K's babymoon, we were playing with M at the park when a slide mishap broke his leg. Seriously. Just a little crack, but he wasn't walking, and we weren't about to callously dump him on Oma and Opa, especially considering it was our fault. What bad luck.

We planned another weekend alone a couple months before K was due, just a quiet thing at home. Then my grandmother died. Babysitters quickly whisked off to a funeral I couldn't attend because I was so pregnant. Bad luck times two.

The next chance to get away came a few weeks later. And then the contractions started. That's right--K surprised us Friday morning, three weeks early, and as such ended up in the NICU for eight days. The time we should have spent having a relaxing, romantic break turned into a week-long vigil. Bad luck my ass--that's officially a curse.

So when we planned to have another weekend off, some eighteen months after our last one, I held my breath all week. I drove more carefully, limited activities, hovered a little more cautious. Surely, surely I was wrong about it being a curse.

And then K fell down the stairs.

It was one of those slow motion moments, one where the air turns to sand and you fight to pass through it, inches away from a tiny little hand. She was there one minute, standing to wave, so proud of herself for following me up, and then she was gone, tumbling and rolling and scaring her mother half to death. I was at the bottom in seconds, scooping her up and shushing her cries, anxiously running my hands over every inch of her oh-so-vulnerable body.

Thankfully, no damage. Praise God for her slight build and a baby's flexibility and carpet on the stairs. And here I am, finally a free weekend. But as I add them up, the penalties seem so steep, the free time hardly free. I hate to say I'll be glad when Monday comes, but I will be nonetheless. I mean, sleeping in is fantastic, but after births, deaths, hospitals, broken bones, and bad falls, it makes it a little hard to get sleep in the first place.

The First Day

Today was M's first day at preschool. It's actually just the morning, two times a week, but when you've never left your kid in the care of anyone else (with the very rare exception of a relative or very close friend), it's a big deal.

Or maybe I just think it's a big deal. I see so much of myself in M--the shyness, the hesitation--that I sometimes superimpose my responses to situations over his own. I don't think that I push him in a certain direction, but I do know how I would respond and immediately work to counteract that, when in reality he might have a different response altogether.

This is why getting him a little time in someone else's care is a very good thing.

Still, you rehearse the big day over in your head, feeding in all the little horror stories you've heard along the way. And then you put on a brave face, take that little hand inside the big bad door, and steel yourself for the worst.

And, lo and behold, you are so very pleasantly surprised.

No tears on M's part. A little bit reserved, of course, but big boy took it all in stride (I can't say the same about Mom). When we picked him up, I prepared myself to console him, much as I'd been consoling myself the whole morning. Instead, there were bright smiles and big hugs.

"Did you have fun at preschool?" we asked cautiously.

You betcha. We heard about trucks and art and all the kids that M liked and how nice his teacher was.

"So you'd like you go back again on Thursday?" we said with a sigh of relief.

"No! I want to go back every day."

And the sadness remains, but oh how it's overshadowed by pride.

Talk about disappointment

Try explaining this one to a three year old who's just discovered how mazes work. And, believe it or not, it wasn't the only unsolvable maze in the workbook. They must have one bitter person working in that department.

About the stomach flu

I've come up with a few observations during our (continued) bout with this flu:

• No matter how many sets of sheets you have, it's not enough.
• When no one gets dressed during the day, you run out of pajamas very quickly.
• Just because kids are littler doesn't mean that they barf any less.
• Throwing up doesn't wake your child up nearly as much as the bath they have to take to get the vomit out of their hair.
• The best place when you're sick is on Mommy's lap. No exceptions are made, even if Mommy needs to be sick herself.
• You can go through an amazing amount of dishes for not eating anything.
• There are lots of ways to combine white bread, applesauce, banana, and rice, but none of them make them any less boring.
• You can only watch so much Bob the Builder before you start referring to family members as Scoop, Muck, and Dizzy (Roley, too... hum along if you'd like).
• Men's Handball, broadcast in Korean, can be riveting when you're still awake at 4am.
• Just when you let down your guard, they'll throw up again. Guaranteed.
• By the end of the week, you start saying things like, "Just give her the french fry, cause she's gonna throw it up anyway," and "I don't care what happens as long as I sleep through it."

It ends, right. I mean, someday? Please?

Hungry ducks, not so hungry everyone else

We were on our way to feed ducks Sunday afternoon when there was an unpleasant gurgling sound from the back. "Uh, K spit," M commented nervously.

And so began our week with the stomach flu.

On the plus side, we're saving a lot of money on groceries, since we're mostly living on white bread, applesauce, and jello (even those who haven't yet got sick, because it's only a matter of time that what goes in will all come out). Then again, we're spending a lot of extra money on endless loads of laundry.

I keep thinking we'll get back to those ducks, but that requires the kids to reliably keep things in at all ends and me to be able to walk more than three feet without faltering. All of this sounds like a job for next Sunday.

Public Service Announcement

Even when you have the cell phone keypad locked, you can still dial 911. Which is apparently not as hard for a one year old to manage as I anticipated. On the plus side, 911 is familiar with these calls and relatively understanding. K is not so understanding about no longer playing with my cell phone.

The windup of a really good bath

B: Who do you want to rinse you off: cup, lion, or duck?
M: Lion and duck.
B: Okay (awkwardly uses both animal washcloths for the final rinse). Now which towel do you want to use?
M: Lion and duck.
B: You want both towels?
M: Yeah.
B: Which one do you want first?
M: Lion, then duck. This is gonna be good. This is gonna be really good.

You're very welcome, always

Months and months and months ago, I reported with lamentations that M was in an "Uh-oh, Mama" phase, repeatedly pointing out my mistakes with his characteristic simplicity. I hoped, at the time and with considerably chagrin, that it would soon be followed by the "Way to go, Mama" phase. This is not what I define as soon, but it works all the same.

We've been in the "Thanks, Mama" phase for several weeks now (read, about to enter a different, much more critical phase any second). For example:

"Thanks, Mama, strapping me into the car seat."
"Thanks, Mama, driving me to Vons."
"Thanks, Mama, buying me bananas."

And so on. I know--gratuitous kid cuteness. But seriously, the boy deserves some props for recognizing his mama. And this mama know that when recognition comes around as sparingly as it often does, you better believe she's recording it for all it's worth. Which is a lot.