He’ll sit in the car, parked in the garage, for 20 or 30 minutes at a time. Content to push buttons, he always insists on having the keys with him so the radio can actually play. He attaches the seatbelt and crawls in and out as he sinks to the floor to push the pedals, then hops back on the seat to steer. He yells “Bye!” And Buster is nearly always along for the ride.
It’s such a drag when you get a cold – especially after going for so long without one. But it hit me hard on Tuesday, and at several points I thought I might faint.
Does anyone else do this? Go in for physical activity because it seems the lesser of available evils? I took Charles and Buster for a walk on Tuesday afternoon, fever, chills, dizzy spells and all because I thought that if I hung around the house with them, the mayhem would be uncontrollable. After all, Tony was out that entire evening for a meeting, so I had to have some way to live through the chaos of a rambunctious almost-two-year-old and a crazy dog. It’s not so much that they’re all over the place (they are), tearing down toys, throwing stuff, begging for more food (dog and boy), it’s that Charles is getting big, and I just can’t handle picking him up all that much anymore. He weighs something like 33 or 34 pounds and my back hasn’t been in good shape for a long time. And he wants up ALL THE TIME. Up to look on the top shelf of the fridge, up to open the microwave for you, up to sit in your lap for a story. Up because I can’t get him to come my way for something and I need him to so he must be picked up or risk being dragged bodily across the pavement. And if he doesn’t go up when he wants to, or does go up when he doesn’t want to, the tantrums ensue. Totally normal, I’m told, as he tries to assert his will on the world. But a tantrum involves a time-out, which involves me picking him up and putting him in a timeout (I know some people have children who voluntarily go to time out. Charles is not one who submits to just punishment easily), which sort of defeats the purpose of not picking him up, you know? In the end, staying home = exhausting.
So I took them on a walk. And that’s when I realized that I probably shouldn’t have even driven to pick Charles up from the daycare, because man, was I drunk on cold virus. Was that walk a stupid thing to do? Probably, but the cold had moved from being a vile portent of doom to a lesser annoyance involving massive amounts of snot and a funny voice by the next morning. So my W/L record with mild exercise when sick is 1-0. We’ll see how this works out the next time I am sick.
Incidentally, my W/L record with exercise while hungover is 0-1. As a senior in college, a couple of friends and I lived off-campus in a nice little house in an old neighborhood with wobbly, old sidewalks, bulging with 50-year-old tree roots underneath (one of which ate into our sewer pipe within a month of us renting the house, causing the sewer to back up into the basement – it had apparently happened before, but the previous tenants didn’t see fit to report it to their landlord. I guess they liked living with the smell of the muck? And these people went to Whitman?). So, it was winter, and I’d partied the night before, likely at The Green or the Sig House, and I decided I needed to go for a run. Long, blue spandex under shorts (the blue spandex later had a second life in my Supergirl costume for the Beer Mile later that academic year), a sweatshirt, and a hat and I ventured out into the 25-degree weather. Only to bite it on the sidewalk a few blocks from the house. The gouge in my knee took four weeks to heal and went through an awful pussy, green stage that my poor mother had trouble looking at when I was home for Christmas break. I finished the run, though, because you don’t bleed very quickly when you’re freezing and dehydrated (the hangover cloud has its silver lining, too). I still have a scar.
So, yeah, I’ve been trying to get back into the fitness thing since Tuesday, but when my alarm rang at quarter to six this morning, I just turned it off. After all, I’m still recovering, right? The snot production part of my body seems to agree. But then I read this, and that part about endangering future children if I don’t get back to pre-pregnancy weight really has me freaked. I know I complain about my weight a bunch, but I have one of those bodies that is not very nice if it isn’t truly skinny – the weight I gain goes directly to my hips, butt, thighs, face, and now (thanks, Charles) stomach, leaving my boobs looking even punier by comparison. But besides the vanity (which I was totally able to forget while I was pregnant, only to learn from this article that Charles will probably battle obesity his entire life because I gained a bunch of weight during the first two trimesters, which you’re not supposed to do, and kept gaining for a total of 50lbs weight gain, OMG), now I have to worry about my future children? How unfair. I am currently researching diets. And motivators, because I truly lack the drive to get up any earlier than 7 am. What motivates you to get out of bed early? How did you lose the baby weight (if weight retained two years after the birth of said “baby” can even be classified as such)?
Also, I read this today, and it is something I feel strongly about. Think before naming your children! For goodness’ sake, at least check what the top ten names for the year are and try to avoid them… and please, please, please don’t name them after a Twilight character unless you are a 13-year-old girl whatiswrongwithyou!
There are a lot of parentheticals in this post (sorry about that).
I have seen a lot of the world, and every place has its own beauty. But I think I would be hard pressed to find a more beautiful, more spectacular place than Western Washington. Beaches, mountains, valleys… we really have it all.
Sometimes, I wish I lived back in Long Beach. It sure is nice to have a great excuse to visit every couple of months, though.
Magnificent.
On an equally fantastic note, I ran that 10k. And I mean, I really ran it. The whole thing. Without stopping. My time was 62 minutes. Now I know that many of you can do much better than that, but let’s remember that I am quite chubby and have very little time to train. So I’m calling this a win. Even if no one was there to see me finish.
Perhaps that was better, though, because the sweat had mostly dried by the time Charles got there for his hug.
It’s been an animal-filled couple of weeks for Charles. First, we visited his friend Ethan (and my and Tony’s friends Brandon & Deanna) in Puyallup and went to the Fair. Charles learned how to say “no” and “mine” from Ethan. He now uses these words frequently. Thanks.
Trying desperately to get closer to the cows at the Fair.
The Fair was packed. It took us 45 minutes to drive 5 miles. And another 20 minutes to find parking. I do not recommend going on the last day of the Fair. But! We all enjoyed ourselves, even with the crowds. The best part was watching the pole bending in the arena. Charles would shout “YEAAAAAHHHH!!!” at the top of his lungs when a new horse/rider came into view. The arena was usually dead silent at these times, so he got a lot of looks and giggles from the crowd. One lady even took video of him cheering on a rider on her iPhone.
By the end of the afternoon/evening at the Fair, I thought the boys would be so tuckered out they would sleep instantly. Instead, full of sugar and glee, they raced each other around and around Brandon & Deanna’s house for at least an hour, shrieking madly. So that was good.
Today, Charles and his daycare class (well, part of them, since the proprietors of the daycare are smart enough not to take a 15 kids at once) went to a local pony farm for a ride. He was a champ at riding! And so cute in his little helmet!
His pony was named “Moonbeam” and he was older than I am. By several years. He was quite gentle, though he nudged my pockets frequently, looking for treats.
The kid’s a natural. And he has no fear, which will undoubtedly lead to many gray hairs for me and Tony later in life.
It’s a beautiful day here, as you can see… I’m heading outside!
I dragged myself out of bed at six this morning. Not to go on a run, which was my initial plan, but to pull a bleating toddler out of his crib and bring him into bed with us. Without changing his diaper, because one word he has learned in the past week and uses frequently is “no.” So, he didn’t want a clean diaper, he just wanted to sleep with Mommy and Daddy.
Then, at 6:20, I pulled myself out of bed again to go on that run. Because I’m not getting any faster, more in shape, or skinnier lying in bed. Even though that is truly where I want to be because Charles has relapsed into bouts of shrieking at all hours of the night.
We’re consistent with our “sleep training,” but he doesn’t let up. Tony and I take turns entering his room, reassuring him that we’re there and it’s okay, and then leaving to the sound of his terrified cries. We flop into bed, but putting the pillows over my ears doesn’t keep out the sound of him retching as he works himself up so hard he barfs. Usually only the air he has sucked into his stomach from crying so hard, but still.
I know I was a crier, but I seem to recall that it was at a much older stage in my life… around age four, when I was pissed off that Leland got to stay up late and I didn’t. I was articulate, I know that much, as I screamed at my parents things like, “You can make me go to bed, but you can’t make me sleep!” Little did I know that my mom probably wished with all her heart that she could change Leland’s infant schedule and get him to bed earlier, too. Would I have been satisfied if he had to go to bed at the same time as me? I don’t know.
And I don’t know what’s eating Charles. It seems as though this is just another in a long line of nighttime sleep problems we will have to endure. He can’t tell us what he needs, so he just cries, shattering my visions of tucking my son into bed after reading a story and having him sleep soundly until the sun rises. Oh, he goes to sleep okay the first time, but after he wakes up in the middle of the night, it can be a good hour before he calms enough to hiccough his way back to dreamland.
Tony and I have been subsisting on a very few hours of sleep for a long time. And truly, the five hours I get now are so much more than the two or three I would get when Charles was younger, sick, or actively teething. It sure throws me into a tailspin, though, as my emotions are much closer to the surface and every daily task seems like slogging through thick, ankle-deep mud. These are not rose-colored glasses I wear, but rather foggy lenses peering out only a world that is moving too quickly for me to keep up.
The bright side? Charles wakes up happy, babbling, and excited to eat his toast and waffles come 7 am. The little stinker.
Our lawn underwent a huge transformation in the space of about 5 hours yesterday. Here it is at about 5 pm:
And here it is this morning, when it was light enough to take a photo:
Amazing, isn’t it? Tony worked his ass off last night, with Leland’s help for a couple of hours. When he was finally finished, he took off his pants, cracked a beer, and told me he was ready to sleep.* I leaned in for a kiss, wrinkled my nose, and told him I thought he was ready for a shower. He worked so hard and I am so proud of the end result. Thank you, Tony!!!
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We celebrated our 5th anniversary in Bellevue at The Melting Pot and it was delicious. If the pricetag wasn’t so extraordinary, I would want to go every night. I’ll settle for requesting a fondue pot for Christmas so I can make my own.
Tony ordered some dessert first.
Self Portrait!!! (I promise I wore clothes to dinner, even if it doesn’t look like it right now)
Oh, yes, he’s as good as he looks. Wait! I mean, the dinner is as good as it looks!
Oh, fondue, how I love you…
Dessert~ chocolate s’mores fondue and complimentary Champagne
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This guy:
I’m pretty sure there’s a photo of me at his age eating cereal out of a box on the floor, too.
Clearly, the main reason we had a child was so that he could help with household chores.
Banana!!!!
*Isn’t that always the first thing guys do when they want to get comfortable: take off their pants?
Tonight, Leland and I are going for a four-mile run. My brother does this every damned day (he has stopped biking and taken up running, don’t ask me why), but I don’t. I did go on one other four-mile run this summer, a grueling trek up a long hill with my friend Megan, and I’m pretty sure my heart almost exploded. And poor Buster. I didn’t think I would be able to get him into the car!
But anyhow, I’m now training for a 10k. Tony and his mom, aunt, and cousins do the bridge run every year, and this year I’m joining them. Sure, I could walk the 6.4 miles, but what fun is that? Besides, I guarantee I would have to pee before the end, so if I run, I’ll get there faster. Also, I like a challenge.
But on the other hand…
The last time I ran a race this distance was the last time I ever ran a race. Come to think of it, it was also the first time I ever ran a race. And I distinctly remember saying that I would never, ever do it again. So much for that. Running long distances screws with my digestive system (I’ll let you imagine the gruesome details there). Also, it takes a lot of time. Tonight, Leland and I will devote an hour to running. Next week, we’ll go farther, and the week after, farther still. Time away from my family, time away from dinner, time away from other fun stuff.
It’s probably worth it. I’ll feel a sense of accomplishment if I meet my goal of no walking. Maybe I’ll lose those 5 lbs that have been plaguing me for months. Or, if I don’t lose weight, at least I won’t gain it as I stuff my face with goodies; seriously, I have had the biggest sweet tooth lately. Perhaps it’s my body hunkering down for winter or something.
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It’s our anniversary on Friday. Five years. Five Years! We’re planning a trip down to the greater Seattle-Metropolitan area for a romantic meal at a national chain restaurant. Well, it’s not so unglamorous as Applebee’s… no, we are going to The Melting Pot because I love fondue. And I’ve never been there. And have you seen their menu? Divine. Tony, I love you like food. But better, and more. But I still want food.
This little break will shepherd in a weekend of hard work on the backyard and a very busy week next week. The backyard is thisclose to being done, but then, I’ve been saying that for awhile. You see, we are busier than most folks, I think. Tony has started his master’s program (in taxation, clearly the world’s most fascinating subject) and he still sits on the Habitat for Humanity board and executive committee, whilst I try to keep house (not so easy when your backyard is comprised of dirt and more dirt), keep up the shopping and the laundry and the meals and the rest of the household chores, sit on the Rotary Board, co-chair the Rotary Live Auction, and run my own business (thankfully, Leland does the brunt of that). We don’t have time to finish the backyard. We need to get six more yards of topsoil before we can roll sod, and then we have to figure out how to roll sod over the whole backyard in one day! I am amazed at our neighbor, who had time to completely rebuild the fence between our two properties over the course of one week (we paid for the materials, he did all the work. All of it). That kind of project would take us two months.
Thankfully, as an anniversary gift, we decided to buy ourselves a full day of Merry Maids service. As soon as there is grass in that backyard, someone else is going to come in and clean up all the dirt in my house. Thank God.
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That kid. That beautiful, energetic, crazy kid. Charles is all over the place, wildly enjoying his 22nd month, which makes me think, holy shit, he’s almost TWO. Time flies when you’re having fun. Or are sleep-deprived, a state with which Tony and I are intimately familiar.
Charles has begun a rather annoying bedtime routine wherein he must be tucked in just so in order to sleep. As with most people, his sleeping is pretty light for the first little while after the lights go off as his little brain winds down. So if the blanket gets messed up? Bam! We’re back to the beginning of the routine, with Charles standing in his crib calmly but insistently asking on of us to “Da?” (Charles speak for “come tuck me in again, please). This routine can take a full 30 minutes, but he’s not crying, so we just deal with it. It makes me think that we are headed towards a toddler bed pretty quick because then we’d have the ability to really tuck his blankets in. Although, after typing that, I realize that there isn’t much stopping me from getting some larger blankets and tucking them under his crib mattress, too.
He’s waking up early again, too. We bring him to our bed, where he flails or settles, apparently depending on the position of Venus and the tide level. The dog gets up around 4 to go outside.
Is it too much to ask for a full, straight seven or eight hours? Vacation spoiled me.
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I’m restless. I need new book recommendations (again). I need to start working on Christmas gifts. I need to get winter clothes out of their storage bins. I need to go to the gym.
I want to do more cooking. More gourmet cooking, instead of the kind that involves looking in the refrigerator, hastily cobbling together ingredients to make a passable meal, and getting it on the table before Charles breaks out in bleeding pustules and then dies of starvation (kid is dramatic, yo). I have hundreds of recipes I want to try, but I need more time, MORE TIIIIIMMMEEE!!!! Perhaps I should get up at four am with Buster?
Also, O.M.G., Halloween is right around the corner. What are you going to be? What should I be? What should Charles be? I am now considering all ideas.
