I can get this done

Hugo voting ends in three days, and all I have left to read are six novelettes and six short stories.  I’ve read five of the six novels (there’s one I can’t get my hands on), all six of the novellas, five of the six YA nominees, four of the six nominees for best series, a sampling of the best new writer nominees, and I’m not even going to try with the other categories.  I had to draw the line somewhere.

But I can read six novelettes and six short stories by Wednesday night, right?  I can.  I can and I will, but I really need to get off the internet!

Deception

We’ve mostly been doing really well with naps lately, but these last few days have seen a couple of bumps.  Three or four days ago, I was trying to get Jack to go to sleep, but he kept saying “Poop” and “Poo dada”.  I thought he was asking me to sing the poopy diaper song (“Poopy diaper!  Poopy diaper!” to the tune of the Hallelujah chorus), so I sang it quietly for a little bit and a while later he fell asleep.  I did sniff his diaper at the time – didn’t smell anything.  When I changed his diaper after that nap, I discovered that he had pooped.  Whoops.  So the next day when he told me “Poop.” while I was trying to put him to sleep, I believed him.  I picked him up out the crib (and he giggled – that should have been a clue), turned the light on, and checked his diaper.  No poop.  Back into the crib.  He insisted he had pooped for the rest of the time it took him to fall asleep, but I wasn’t falling for it (and I couldn’t smell anything).  He eventually fell asleep.  Post-nap diaper change: no poop.

During our attempts to fall asleep yesterday, when he said “Poop!” several times right after I put him in the crib for his nap, I believed him.  I picked him up (no giggle) and changed his diaper (there was poop).  Back into the crib, where he immediately yelled “Poop!” at me.  Not a chance.  But after about 10 minutes of insisting that he pooped, which is a not-at-all-fun constant barrage of “Poop.  Poop.  Poop!  Poop.” in increasingly tearful tones, I figured I should check again.  He giggled when I picked him up, I checked his diaper, and there was NO POOP.  Back in the crib, back to the “Poop” chorus, and he never fell asleep.  No nap yesterday.

Today, I got the “Poop.  Poop!” plea pretty soon after I put him in the crib again.  I stood up, leaned way over to smell his diaper (to giggles), didn’t smell anything, and refused to pick him up.  He eventually fell asleep.

Jack: The Boy Who Cried Poop.

Mother of the year

Okay, so obviously I shouldn’t let Jack watch TV all afternoon, especially not on a warm sunny day.  I had a meeting, one I couldn’t just pretend to listen to (I don’t seem to have many of those anymore), so I got him his lunch, strapped him into the high chair, and turned on the TV.  He was happy, I was working, and all was well.  When my meeting ended, I cleaned him up and put him down on the floor. Before I even reached my hand out to the remote to turn off the TV, Jack ran across the living room, grabbed the armchair pillow, dragged it into the middle of the rug, and plopped himself down, giggling excitedly.

It feels cruel to turn the TV off when he’s so adorable and into it.  I mean, I did it anyway, and we all lived to tell the tale, but he was so happy.

His memory is better than mine

Months and months ago (time has no meaning and I don’t remember exactly when this was), Jack learned to say baby and when he combined it with his love of emergency vehicles, it reminded me of a certain song.  We sang it to him for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, and then forgot about it.

The other day, I had Jack on the changing table, and he indicated that he wanted me to sing and he said, “Oowee.  Baby.  Oowee.  Baby.”  Over and over.  After a couple of minutes, it clicked.  “You want me to sing Oowee Baby?”  “Yup.”  You got it, kid.  Sea Cruise coming right up.

Another toddler mystery

Jack didn’t nap today, so our afternoon was a little rocky.  I pulled a toy out of the closet as a fun surprise – for him, not for us.  It was that piano toy shaped like a cat that plays the WORST versions of kid songs with cat-related lyrics.  We had hidden it for our own sanity.  He loved it, though, and giving it to him worked for a while, but then he got this really sad look on his face, mouth turned down at the corners like he was about to cry, and said “Dada me!  Dada me!”  Was he looking for Dada?  Asking for Dada to play with him?  That seemed unlikely.  He doesn’t know pronouns and has no idea how to use “me”.  He’s doing the Gaby thing of answering “You!” when we point to a picture of him and ask him who’s in it.

Still, we found Dada, but that did not solve the problem.  “Dada me!” in increasingly sad and tearful tones.  FINALLY I figured out that he wanted to hear one of the terrible songs on constant repeat.  It was “Partridge in a Pear Tree”, but the lyrics were something like, “In the month before my birthday, my daddy gave to me…” and “In the week before my birthday, my daddy gave to me…”  Ah.  Dada me.

So I’d help him play the song, and then cycle past all the other bad songs so we could hear this one again.  And again.  And again.

John has taken Jack up to bed, so my mission is to hide this worst toy ever somewhere new.  Somewhere Jack won’t find it.  Maybe…the basement.

Short on time, as usual

I just used up my blogging time recommending books to online friends, and that makes me happy.  Hopefully those recommendations will make them happy.  But it means this is all I can write in the time I have.  (Also, I had to spend an unexpected 45 minutes putting Jack to sleep after John tagged me in.  Jack was NOT sleepy.  We gave him a few bites of custard and a bite of brownie after dinner, so I’m blaming the sugar high.)

I am out of time!  Good night!

A big day

Today was full of firsts.  Well, two firsts.  But some days there are no firsts, so I’ll call two in one day a full day.

The first first was a first for me!  (I am reading WAY too much Dr. Seuss.)  I made custard!  For no reason and prompted by nothing at all!  And it’s good, if maybe a bit eggy.  I have no idea what made me think of it, but then I googled a few recipes, discovered I already had all the ingredients, found a recipe that did not assume I own custard cups, and boom.  An hour later, we had custard.

The second first (same as the – no, that doesn’t work) was a first for Jack.  I think he’s learning empathy!  Finally!  We went to the beach today with Emily and fam, and McKenna gotten bitten or stung by something.  It got her finger, and she was very upset for a while.  When she started crying, Jack looked around and said, “Baby!  Baby!” I may be projecting a little, but he sounded concerned.  Tonight, while reading before bed and then as he was falling asleep in the crib, we repeated this routine probably ten times: “Baby! Baby?” and he’d hold up his finger. “You mean McKenna and her finger?” Then a plaintive “Yup.” “She’s okay, I checked. Everyone is fine.” Then a satisfied “Yup.”

He cares! Or he’s at least remembering it and thinking about someone other than himself.  Still a first!

Cuteness overload

Jack is the sweetest cuddliest toddler ever.  Evidence:

  • He kisses everything.  Me, my toes, my hands, his toes, his toys, birds he hears…  This morning, we were walking back from watching trucks, and he heard a bird.  “Peep!”  He swiveled his head around in all directions, trying to see it, and then said, “MAH!”
  • When we read The Poky Little Puppy, after we count the four puppies and they find out one is missing, he says, “Oh no puppy!”  Every time.
  • Grammy got him an Elmo doll, and he LOVES it. He’s had it for three days now, and he hugs it, kisses it, and keeps it in sight while he’s eating.  The only time he doesn’t look for Elmo is when the TV is on.
  • If I’m on the floor, he’s likely to be on top of me.  Across my stomach, behind my back, sprawled across my legs, or using my legs as a slide.  I’m his jungle gym, but I always get hugs out of it.

Best baby in the world.