Thursday, February 26, 2009

Hedonistic Adventures

"Okay, ready. Let's go. Now!"

I swear we did not put him up to this. This is 100% Ari...we're very proud.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A fly on the wall

A couple days ago...

Scene: Sascha and Wendy are loading up the dishwasher one night.

Sascha (chuckling and shaking his head as he rearranges plates): Did Ari help you load the dishwasher today?

Wendy (strange look): No, that's where I put those plates when I want to make room for something bigger. (beat) Whaddya mean "did Ari help you"?

Sascha (deer in headlights look): Oh. Sorry. Nothing.

Wendy (you're not foolin' me look): Mmmhmm. Nice, honey.
This morning...

Scene: Wendy walks by as Ari is watching PBS.

Wendy: Whatcha watching? Clifford?

Ari: Yeh. Cool guy.

Wendy (pauses): Did you just say "cool guy"?

Ari: Yes!

Sunday, February 8, 2009

30 Weeks

(for those of you not on Facebook...:)

Sometimes You Gotta Be Grateful


The walking trail behind our condo complex. It's become my early morning quiet time.

The rain over the past couple days. It washes things.

Ari's cuddly, sweet and loving moments. They ensure his survival. And mine.

My cats. And their 6am alarm clock meowing. I'd never get my morning walk otherwise.

Ikea. For its $4 pillows, $10 comforters and 99 cent Mac & Cheese. And its ability to entertain a two year old for 3 and a half hours.

My husband. Who does the dishes and the vaccuming if it needs to be done.

Craig's List. And the fact that I can buy a year's wardrobe for my daughter for under $75.

Peanut Butter M&Ms. Enough said.

Sunday night Pizza Night.

George at the Saturn Service department. I will never entertain the thought of a different car.

San Diego weather and the ability to get a tan on your arms in February simply by walking to the park.

A couple of good girlfriends, some coffee and Java Mama.

Holding my temper during those rough moments at the dinner table.

Being okay with sitting on the couch and wasting two hours on the computer. where are those M&Ms?

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Ban This Book

Our financial advisor's family got Ari this book for Christmas: Don't let the pigeon stay up late.

It's all about this pigeon that tries to finagle a later bedtime. He doesn't succeed but, boy, does he work it. It's hilarious for adults and, we're finding, quite influential on the two-year-old wheedling process. For example, this evening:

I tuck Ari into bed and as I walk out the door...

Ari: Wait, Mom. Wait, wait.

Me: Yes, Ari?

Ari: Um, um, um, um, um, um. Choo choo book.

Me: Yes, we'll read it together in the morning.

Ari: Wait. No. Choo choo book here. (pointing at the mattress next to him)

Me: Okay. (retrieving the choo choo book from the bookcase)

Ari: No. Wait. Not that.

Me: You want the Toby book?

Ari: Yes.

I swap out the choo choo book for the Toby book.

Ari: Wait. Wait. No, not that.

Me: (with growing fatigue) Ari, I'm going to give you one more book and that's the end of it.

Ari: (quite cheerfully) Okay!

I add one more train book to the crib, say good night and begin to walk out the door.

Ari: Wait, wait. Wait, Mom.

Me: Yes, Love?

Ari: Um, um, um, um, um, um, um, um. Sixteen.

Me: Sixteen?

Ari: Yes!

Me: Sixteen, huh? Okay, I'll see you in the morning. I love you.

I close the door to the muffled sounds of more random numbers.

Pancakes and Toe Jam

During breakfast today, Ari determined that his toe fuzzies needed to be examined. This is a normal occurance as he likes to remove the sock fuzz from between his toes. He ripped his socks off and started picking between his toes. "No fuzzies, Mom." Bear in mind, this child has not been bathed in an undisclosed amount of time...He then started to pick at some accumulated toe jam. Even after I warned him that those feet may be a bit stinky, he put his fingers to his nose, made an awful face and proclaimed, "Oh! Grrghak! Yucky!"

I told you.

My Wish List

To awaken in the morning, not to the sound of dramatic whining from a baby monitor or loud breakfast-demanding meows from the hallway...but to the cheerful sound of birds chirping...during daylight hours. Please, cats, about the 6am. You have got to be kidding me.

To shower and dress for the day before leaving my room and walk downstairs to prepare breakfast on my own terms. Without the pajama-bottom-losing effects of toddler-induced gravity. Please, with the pulling down of my pants while I'm preparing a meal.

To drink a cup of coffee in the morning. The whole cup. Over a reasonable amount of time and not having to re-heat it in the microwave several times over a four-hour period.

To leave the house for the day quietly, quickly and gracefully, without 15 minutes of shoe-application, explanations and convincing enthusiasm or loaded down with kiddie coolers, water bottles and diaper bags. Pack mule, I am not.

To schlep through errands and daily work efficiently and completing the list of intended things to do. Without back-up plans, Cheerios crushed into the bottom of my purse and stuck to my sweater, throwing toys into the back seat or listening to the Wiggles on the car stereo.

Oh, to stop multi-tasking, even while driving.

To finish a thought.

To remember I used to be an intelligent adult capable of holding deep conversation.

To just do things. Without making it all a game or thinking 10 minutes ahead of every moment or explaining why. To just do it.

And despite my losses and my learnings from those losses...Oh for the pre-people-in-my-house days when I could decorate as I liked, cook what and when I wanted, write when I wanted, come and go as I pleased and when my career plans were my career plans and didn't have to take into consideration the well-being or convenience of three other people.

Oh for the days when I could be selfish, self-absorbed and completely oblivious to the needs of a spouse and children.

...I miss that sometimes.

But then...who would I kiss good morning and good night? Who would I laugh with over silly Thomas the train faces on TV? Who would give me a pat on the shoulder and a "hi Mom" at the oddest of times? Who would chastise me when I drop the f-bomb or let the s-word slip? Who would tell me I'm doing a good job and scrape me up off the floor when I fall? And what on earth would I write about? Yes, life would be all about me...but would it be nearly as full?