MommyBlog

He may not feel well, but he’s still a charmer!!

I actually find myself at a loss of what to write.   Kenny is still not quite himself, Dudley is still a shadow of his normal crazed whirlwind, and I still can’t seem to shake my cold.   Today was fine; nothing to note, nothing to complain about.     It was one of those rare days where I found myself staring off into space in the middle of reading, “Swim, Duck, Swim!”  

Is it ok to admit that being a housewife is somestimes boring?   Corporate types can admit that they sometimes tire of their jobs, why can’t a Mommy?   It doesn’t mean that I don’t love everything about raising my son and running my household, but some days it just isn’t as fun as I think it should be.   I love Kenny more than I ever thought it was possible to love a child, and yet…

…well, sometimes it’s boring staying at home.   Sometimes I look at the clock, certain that it must be time to start dinner, and I find it’s only two o’clock.   Sometimes I get tired of playing legos and strolling around the block and doing laundry and washing sippy cups.     Sometimes I wish I could get up and stretch and go to the water cooler and talk about the elections or Britney Spears or the sale at Nordstroms.     Sometimes I wish I had a lunch break where I could order a nice salad instead of eating the crusts off of Kenny’s toast and the rest of his pear and the little pieces of cheese that he didn’t manage to get into his mouth.  

Maybe I just need to go to bed.   As I sit here staring at the screen, I can suddenly think of 99 super-adorable things Kenny did today and  I remember how wonderfully blessed my life is.     So please don’t read this and think I’m ungrateful.   I love this life, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.   Maybe I need a night out.  

Note to Husband:   Date Night Needed!!

I mentioned a while back that Kenny had a mild obsession with balloons.   What kid doesn’t?   His  balloon radar is  s keen that he will even start earnestly calling, “BOON!   BaOON!” from the backseat of the car when we pass a car dealership having a sale.   Going through the grocery store is a wild symphony of, “Boon!   BaaOOOON!” and “Cracker!”   as we go up and down the aisles.   Yesterday, he finally noticed the red balloon in “Good Night Moon” and it has nearly replaced dancing to Rodney Atkins as the most popular activity of the day.

Everytime he saw the book today, he picked it up, brought it to me and sweetly said, “Boon?”    Then we would walk to the couch where he would say, “UP!” an we would snuggle in for a good read.   Actually, he only lets me read the pages that the balloon actually appears on.   We worked on saying “Balloon” and “Moon” quite a bit though, and by the end of the day, he was able to point to each and say both, “BaOON”  and OON!”   He was quite pleased with himself.  

The poor little guy still doesn’t feel well, and had no appetite today.   He ate nothing but a few crackers and a half piece of cheese.   I tried to sneak some Pedialyte into his sippy cup, but I was chastized with a look from Kenny that told me what he thought of that stuff.   He wouldn’t even touch his favorite pizza at dinnertime.     It’s hard to watch him push the food away, as if there is something he would eat, if only I could think of it.

He seems to be sleeping peacefully so far though, and I hope that a good, long night of sleep will make him as good as new in the morning.   He’s so sweet.   The way his little body melts into mine when we hug and when I hold him.   The way he lays his head on my shoulder with all its weight.   The way he smiles even though you can tell he doesn’t feel well.   I love that kid.

In other news, I’ve signed myself up for a 15-K.   In January.   In Maui.   Now that’s incentive to train!   More on that to come…

I took Kenny to his first gymnastics class today (not Gymboree, but a little different, a little better in my opinion), and he had the most fun that I’ve ever seen in his precious fourteen months of life.   He was in his glory ~ endless safe, soft things to climb on, obstacle courses (that he surprised me with by his incredible agility and coordination!) and a trampoline runway which he actually jumped all the way down.   I was amazed.   This kid is a natural athlete, and the best part was witnessing his boundless joy and happiness through it all.   We ran, we jumped into a pit of nerf blocks, we hopped over the beam, we climbed a ladder, jumped on a moon bounce and then did it all over again.   Gymnastics rocks!

And I have to admit that I had a blast, too, getting to do it all alongside him and the twenty other kids there with their moms and dads.

Unfortunately, we we piled back into the car, all smiles and giggles, he lasted about four minutes before projectile vomiting everything he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours all over himself, the carseat and his sippy cup.   I shuttled him home and we snuggled and cuddled and he seemed fine the rest of the day, other than having no appetite.   I put him to bed early (he wouldn’t eat any dinner), and not twenty minutes later, when I peaked in on him, I found him and his bed covered in vomit.   I actually put him on the floor, cleaned the bed and changed the sheets, cleaned him off and got him back in without him waking at all.   The doctor said that he most likely caught a virus on the plane this weekend.   My poor, sweetest little boy!   My heart hurts to think of him not feeling well today and managing to be so sweet through it all.

Hopefully we’ll get over this virus soon… it’s a veritible infirmary around here between Dudley’s pink eye, my vicious cold and now Kenny’s virus.   Now that he’s sleeping soundly, I think  this calls for some ice cream.

We do not usually kennel Dudley when we travel.   In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times that we have put Dudley into boarding (and we go out of town at least twelve times a year).   Unfortunately for this past trip though, we were unable to find anyone who was availible (and willing) to stay with or keep Dudley, and we were forced to send him off to Happy Tails Pet Resort, the best of  an awful situation.

As I write, Dudley is curled into an impossibly small ball next to me on the couch.   He has barely looked me in the eye.   And no wonder: when I picked him up, his right eye was nearly shut with sticky mucus, glazed and swollen.   The staff of the kennel claimed ignorance.   The Vet pronounced Pink Eye ~ yes, the dreaded, ultra-contagious, only disease that can be passed between man and canine in the entire scope of the medical manual.     But the fact that Dudley has caught a baterial infection that Kenny and I are now in danger of contracting is only the outward expression of the indignity that I have subjected Dudley to.   And so, the apology:

 

My Dear, Sweet Dudley:

You are not always a perfect dog, but  your heart is always in the right place.   You are not always at the right place at  the right time, but you are always willing to spoon in the big bed.    You are not always obedient, but you always do a perfect sit/stay when bacon is involved.     You do not always hear me say, “Dudley, Come!” but you always hear the glass top come off the cookie jar, and come running.   You  do not always “drop” when you trot by with expensive shoes or Kenny’s favorite toys  in your mouth, but you are always willing to drop the dead bird that you caught on the doorstep just for us.

You are the most loyal, protective and comical dog I’ve ever known.   And you did not deserve to be left behind in a lonely  cage-free (except at night and  on  Sundays)  doggie camp, which I know was not even close to the “pet resort” it promised to  be.    While we were  snuggling into a deliciously soft feather bed in one  of the few  five-star resorts in the US, you were trying to sleep while curled on the  cold hard  mat with only your blankie (which those MEAN kennel people LOST!   Oh, I promise I’ll order a  new one from LL Bean for you online tonight!) to keep you warm.

Will you forgive us?   I know that words cannot  make up for the trauma.   Some chocolate chip cookies, perhaps?     An extra lap around the block on our walk tomorrow?    A new red blankie?    You can sit on my lap the rest of the night, ok?    We can discuss letting you sleep in  the big bed.   I know that this is  no small matter.   I hope you can forget about it soon… how long do dogs remember things like this, anyway?   You don’t seem to remember that  you aren’t allowed to eat food off of Kenny’s high chair, or remember that stilletto heels are not chew toys.   But you are a good boy, most  of  the time, and we love you.    We really do.

Tonight was the black tie dinner for the RZIM conference “we” are attending.   And I was suddenly so jealous that Casey was going without me, as I watched the gorgeous couples arrive in their gowns and tuxes, that I burst into tears in the lobby and had to wheel Kenny out for a hasty exit.   There are few things I enjoy more than an opportuity to put on a ball gown and eat exquisite food with beautiful and interesting people.   I hate to even admit my childish woe, but woe it was as I looked at the fashionable dresses and dapper gents walk into the ballroom lobby, I in my “business casual” attire and Kenny in his stroller.  

We walked slowly and sadly back across the grounds to the casual restaurant for our own dinner, and I had to work hard to keep the tears from flowing down my cheeks as I greeted people I knew walking briskly by in their finery.   Kenny and I were the first to arrive at The Tavern and I ordered a cheese pizza for him and a glass of merlot and a steak for me.   Halfway through that peppery glass of vino I cheered a little as Kenny made a glorious mess of his face and the tablecloth.   When the steak arrived, I daringly ordered another glass of wine, this time a mertage, and went ahead and requested the biggest piece of chocolate cake and ice cream they could find.   After the pizza and a bit of my steak, Kenny ate all of the ice cream, focusing so intently that I had to scrape up a bit for myself in haste before he devoured it all.

As we left the restaurant, big tip and sweet “Nigh, Nights” to the waitress, we ran into one of the RZIM staff wives on the elevator.   I had another brief pang as I took in her elegant hairdo and flowing gown as we bid her goodnight.   Kenny was all too ready for bed, and I all too ready for another long bath once we got into the room.   He is now sleeping soundly, and I am wired from the chocolate and pondering what I can do to occupy myself in the dark hotel room for the next few hours until Casey returns.

So here’s the hard part of being  “Mommy.”   I’m thrilled to stay at home, to take on Kenny as my number one job 24/7, but suddenly thrust into  being left behind  for one of my favorite social nights of the year has hit me hard.   Kenny has been a dream on this trip,  all considering; we dragged him across the country and two time zones  for a mere  two and a half days, and he has been an absolute trooper.   Tonight he was the miniature Life of the Party at the hotel restaurant, flirting and cooing at all the  waitstaff and shyly smiling at the pretty bartender.   He is a joy and always will  be.  

But tonight is one of those rare nights when I suddenly feel  like my  role as a Wife and a woman has been somehow reduced to Dowdy Suburban  Mommy.    After all, how many black tie nights does  a girl  get to go to in a year?   And if anyone reading this knows anything about RZIM, you know that the guests here are brilliant  and facinating.     I’m going to get over this, just give me time.   For now, though, I am content to be a little melancholy and wistful.

If only the Fairy Godmother could come over here and babysit for a few hours…

I just had a glass of Malbec, a room service dinner  and a long, hot bath.  Am I on a solo vacation?  No – we are at a conference with RZIM in Colorado Springs, CO, staying at  The Broadmoor, the  most beautiful resort I’ve ever been to in the States, and Casey has gone to the Ballroom for a five course gourmet dinner and a session with a phenominal speaker, and I am here in a room to rival all rooms with a sleeping Kenny and a mug of hot tea, wrapped in a spa robe, and relaxing.   Though I wish I could have joined Casey for what will no doubt be an incredible evening, I didn’t exactly get the short end of the stick.

We had a wonderful day here before the conference kicked off.   We visited the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, where we fed the giraffes (no joke – we were in a tree house and they were nose to nose with us), watched deer swim in the mountain lake in the center of the resort, and Kenny, the apple connoisseur, ate his first three dollar apple from the hotel coffee bar.   We’ve seen old friends, made new ones, and learned what happens when you take a jet-lagged toddler to the white-tablecloth breakfast buffet.   We even met several dozen secret service agents, K-9 dogs and local police… it turns out that Dick Cheney is a guest here tonight as well.   But I think Kenny’s favorite part of the day, second only to playing in the floor of the massive ballroom with twin boys five weeks younger than him, was taking a bath in the over-sized tub here in our room.   I was so jealous of his obvious good time, and the fact that we could have easily fit another seven people in there with him, that I took a twenty minute bath myself as soon as he fell asleep in his crib.  

Oh, the crib.    It’s the  only thing not five-star about this place.   It’s a vintage (read: hopelessly old and not quite safe) metal crib, about half the size of a pack-n-play, with bars perfectly spaced for a toddler to stick his legs through and get stuck.   Kenny is sleeping now, thank goodness, tired enough not to voice opinion about the thin mattress, nor renew his efforts to squeeze his little thighs through the bars.

I am still hoping to attend at least some of the sessions of the conference this weekend, but  our little guy will have the last  word on that.   For now, I’m content to put up my feet on this luxurious feather bed and read an  Amy Tan  novel with no interruptions, no Dudley trying to sit on my lap and lick himself silly and no dinner dishes crying out to me from the kitchen.    Definitely not the short end of the stick.   Now if only I could figure out how to have an in-room massage without Kenny waking up…

There is no such thing as traveling light with a one-year-old.   As I put Kenny’s things together to pack for a three and a half day trip to Colorado, I realized that half his suitcase was toys, a quarter was diapers and the rest as many outfits and sweaters as I could smash in.   He is packed with not a centimeter to spare in a suitcase that I could take on a two week trip to Europe, and still have room for souveneirs on the way home.

But any angst I had over packing entertainment and cleaning supplies for the little guy cannot compare to the adventure that it will be to have him on my lap tomorrow for four hours in the middle seat on a plane.   This is the kid who won’t even sit still to eat, much less sit in my lap for more than two pages of a book.   Oh, help us all.   Too old to just sleep through it, too young to be entranced with a DVD.   Do you think the flight crew will let him run laps around the plane?   Do you think they’ll let him help push the drink cart?   My palms are sweaty just thinking about it.   Last time I flew with him, I swore it was the last time without buying him  a seat.   And that was before he learned to walk.   And here we go again…

 

We took Kenny to our next-door-neighbors’ houses on both sides for his first venture into trick-or-treating.   One of our neighbors was actually ready for him with a Starbucks bag and biscotti (which they figured would be good for teething!)  

  Kenny wore his cow costume, and really enjoyed going visiting in the dark.   He was all smiles and happiness about picking candy (which Casey and I have already consumed much of) from big baskets and all the attention from our neighbors.   He even liked the biscotti!

Earlier today, we played “let’s clean house!”   I sang “Let’s Tidy Up the Nursery” from Mary Poppins and handed him the feather duster, which he gleefully patted on all the furniture he could reach while I followed behind with the Pledge and dust cloth.   Then I put him in his highchair in front of Sesame Street (for the second time ever), which he roundly ignored, and vacuumed the downstairs.   He was so thrilled with a morning with the merry maid, that he promptly fell asleep and took a real nap.   I celebrated by mopping that same downstairs floor and windexing our Wall of Glass (four very large sliding glass doors that face the water and let in enough light to show every particle of dust on the Pergo and every fingerprint on the furniture).   When he woke up, we both celebrated by eating chocolate chip cookies and playing with the pumpkins we never carved:

 

 

Kenny continues to pronounce more words clearly everyday.   Today it was “Aaplane!” while we were playing at the park, obviously beneath a flight pattern from BWI.   He’s learning to climb, too.   At the park, the steeper the steps the better, and climb he did.   At home, he always seems to want to be on top of something.   I understand him wanting to climb up on pillows or large boxes.   What I don’t get is his insistance on standing on things that test his balance and threaten to topple him over.   Why does he pull magazines off the coffee table and then stand on them?   I watch the top glossy start to slide away and  watch his little feet start to slip, yet when I try to pull them away, he loudly protests and stands on them all the more defiantly.   He will also try to stand on the corner or his playschool barnyard.   I have no idea why.   He will stand there and bend over to play with the animals while his ankles wobble and his knees buckle.   Last Friday at our weekly home group Bible Study, he insisted on standing on one of the poor gent’s feet and holding onto the coffee table for the majority of our time there.   He fell over several times, but always wanted to go back for more.    I guess there are some mysteries about being a thirteen month old that I will never understand.   Like, why does he beg for crackers when I serve up grilled new york strip steaks?   Why does he kick me in the head when I change his diaper?   Why does he push the dining room chairs across the room?   Why does he take his cheerios out of his cup, put them on the floor for three seconds and put them into his mouth?     Why?   Some things are better left a mystery, I guess…

Tonight, just before shuttling Kenny off to his bath, Casey found a video of Kenny from March 26.   Doesn’t sound so dramatic, but I couldn’t believe my eyes at the little Wiggler that was on the screen.   He had no teeth.   He could strenuously roll himself over, but not yet crawl.   He was barely eating rice cereal.  He had a bald spot on the back of his head.   As I watched the video roll, my mouth gaped open.   I see him all day, every day…   I had no idea how much he had changed!   To be honest, I almost didn’t believe that it was really baby Kenny I was watching on the screen, that he really used to be that small and immoblile.   The only thing that was the same was his wild cackle.   His laugh hasn’t changed a bit.. it just got bigger.

It started me thinking on all the things just this week that he has learned.   He has started repeating whatever I say, however garbled it might be.   “Waffle!” “Ouusside!” (outside), and “BaTiiiii” (bathtime) are pretty clear as new words.   The rest of what he repeats is mostly just vowels with haphazard consonants thrown in.    

He’s also been  mimicking my actions more.   I was dusting earlier today and, noticing that he was watching, started singing, “Dust, dust dust” as  I skimmed the furniture with the feather duster.   Kenny reached for it, then spent ten minutes “dusting” every bit of furniture he could reach, singing, “Da, da, da!”   When I got out of the shower, he hopped  in (after opening the sliding door himself), and grabbed the squeegee and started wiping down the walls, just as I had done moments before.   I am already formulating a plan to play “Let’s clean the house!” in the very near future…

He is also starting to do what I tell him to, when I simply state what I want.   It’s a little amazing that he reacts and does what I say.   A good reminder that he understands more than I give him credit for.   Thank goodness he hasn’t learned how to say, NO! yet…

My favorite new skill he has acquired is that he’s learning to give hugs and kisses.   My heart melts so, I swear I can see it in puddles on the floor.   And he really squeezes, too.   Tonight as Casey took him upstairs to bed, I asked for a hug and he reached for me and wrapped his little spider arms tight around my neck and nuzzled in.   He really is a little kid.

And he is almost fully weaned.   We’re down to one or two nursing sessions a day.   I didn’t expect it,   but the one that he’s not letting go of is mid-morning. He’s fine going to bed (as long as it’s someone other than me!), fine waking up (as long as there’s an eggo in the toaster pronto!), but there’s something about the mid-morning that sends him over to our living room couch where he looks up at me with those huge brown eyes, smiles, and signs, “milk?”   I had said that November 1 was my goal, and we may not be more than a week away.   I’m going to miss it, I have to admit.   He’s so kinetic that nursing is the only time I can guarantee that he’ll relax in my arms and let me snuggle with him.     But I guess Boys will be Boys.  

I need to find the charger for our video camera so that I can film Kenny as he comes down the stairs every morning, so I can post  it on this blog.   He  toddles straight to the stereo, bangs it with his innocent exuberance (because we all know that banging  on the stereo  is the best way to make it come on), yells, “MA!” (which means either, “Music please, Mommy” or “Hey Lady – Gimme my Rodney!”) and then, once Magic Mommy makes the music start, turns to face the wall (where he can watch his shadow) and does these slow, deep knee bends to the beat of music.   Then, about thirty seconds into the song, he turns around, smile so wide it covers his whole face, and continues this “dance” as if inviting me to join in.   If Casey is at home, he will reach for him and wait to be picked up, where Casey never fails to hold him up high and bounce him to the beat.

This has been going on every morning since we vacationed in the Outer Banks during the last week in September.   That’s five weeks, my friends.   Mr. Atkins must owe me royalties at this point.   Or at least ear plugs.   He can’t even have listened to his CD as much as we have.

But what’s a girl to do?   It’s one of the favorite parts of my sweet little boy’s day!   I’ve tried substituting plain old country radio, other cds, even Sesame Street, but all  I get is a hurt frown.   He loves other music in the car, or upstairs, or in other people’s homes.   But in our living room, it’s got to be Rodney Atkins, and nothing else.   Seriously, could you say no to this face?