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| Light and Dark |
I had aspirations of compiling an awesome video montage of all of Linden's new moves (he started "crawling" literally the day after my last post, just to prove me wrong), but my movie application is currently on the fritz. So instead, I'll post some recent pictures, and offer a little (unrelated) peek into our day-to-day around here. Disjointed, or just really avant-garde? You be the judge. I call this post: "sitcom mom".
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| At the end of our day-trip to Economy Falls |
As I'm sure many moms of small children can relate, my days are often spent feeling like I am co-starring (or at least playing an important supporting role) on a relatively hilarious sitcom. One of those sitcoms that, were you watching it instead of living it, you would simultaneously guffaw and cringe inwardly, thankful that it's not happening to you.
This is especially true these days, with a very curious, newly mobile 8-month-old, and a cheeky, creative, much-too-smart -for-her-own-good (soon to be) three-year-old. A three-year-old with - I kid you not - her own catch phrase. Much like Bart charmed his way into our hearts with such gems as "Don't have a cow, dude", and "I didn't do it", Juniper is always quick to remind us all: "that happens sometimes".
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| Hiking at Hemlock Ravines |
Scene: Juniper is filling up the kiddie pool on the deck.
Clark: Juniper, did you just pee your pants?
Juniper: Yup.
Clark: Why on earth would you do that?
Juniper: I was filling up the pool, and I had no place to put the hose. That happens sometimes.
Scene: I hear a loud "thump", followed by Linden crying, as I leave the room for (literrally) 5 seconds to put some clean towels away.
Tara: (picking up Linden) Juniper! What just happened?
Juniper: I was jumping over Linden, and hit his head a little bit with my foot. That happens sometimes.
As for Linden, you would not believe the havoc he's been able to wreak - especially in the last month or so. I'm not sure if it is that he is particularly curious and adept at getting into things, or if I'm just rusty on how to baby-proof a house at this particular stage, or if there are new and wonderful things to get into since Juniper was this age, or that I just have no time whatsoever to clean and tidy. Surely it is some combo of all of the above.
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| Sporting a shiner from his attempts to pick something up off the floor after having pulled himself to standing at a coffee table |
Scene: It's the end of a long day. I'm trying to make supper.
I leave Linden in the living room with an entire basket of toys to play with, or dump out, or throw around at will. He is playing happily, until I hear a relatively foreign-sounding (and therefore suspicious) "ka-thunk, wham! wham! wham!", followed by delighted coos and babble. I peek my head around the corner to find Linden on his back, proudly waving Juniper's (now empty) potty around. He has covered himself, the floor, and surrounding walls with pee and toilet paper. If I remember correctly, after cleaning up that mess, Linden and I had a nice long shower together, and we all had sandwiches for supper that night.
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| Visiting with a duck. Public Gardens. |
I also can't count how many times I have found a trash can completely dumped on the floor, with Linden munching contentedly on a dirty tissue, or entered a room to see Linden licking the bottom of particularly disgusting shoe. Consequently, you'll now find interesting decor at our place - a potty on top of the tv cabinet, a garbage can tucked in a corner on top of the (now mostly inaccesible) coffee table... all highly inconvenient, but currently necessary measures.
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| The boys, talking politics, and discussing the virtues of green (l-r: Ewan, Aven, Linden) |
Back to Juniper. Besides being able to justify all of her actions with a knowing nod of her head and a confident "that happens sometimes", Juniper is also at the stage where she watches and listens to everything, like a freaking hawk. And then - you guessed it, she finds a way to mimic. I am not nearly careful enough - not yet, anyway. For instance:
Scene:
We are trying to get out the door. I am responsible for getting snacks and lunch together for everyone, to take with us (seriously, one of my most daunting daily tasks). I realise that I need to make hummus (trust me, yes I do, in fact, NEED to make hummus). Not a problem - I have everything I need on hand, including the pièce de resistance - a bowl of carefully roasted garlic that I keep in the fridge for just such occasions. I look in the fridge. There is no garlic.
Tara: (shouting up the stairs) "Clark, do you know where the roasted garlic is?"
Clark: "was it in a little bowl in the fridge?"
Tara "Yes".
Clark "I threw that out".
(Dear god, that's annoying.)
So, yes, I was more than a little put out, and not paying attention to the nuances of my reaction to the wasted garlic. Juniper, however, was with me for that entire scene, and then suddenly she was gone. "Where", you may ask? She quickly made her way upstairs, and found her father in the office. Mimicking me almost exactly, she then proceeded to stomp her foot, put her hands on her hips, "growl"(so says Clark), and demand, "Clark, why did you throw out the roasted garlic?"
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| Taking a dip, Economy Falls. |
And then, the next day, I found a container of raspberries in the fridge that I had JUST bought, covered in mould. I was, perhaps a little dramatic in my reaction to the mouldy raspberries. Juniper walks in, looks at me, and says "oh no. What did Clark do to the raspberries"? I had to explain between snorts of laughter that the mouldy raspberries were, in fact, not her father's fault at all, and moreover that she should probably refer to him as "dad" or "daddy" instead of "Clark". Clearly, I need to censor myself a bit more :)
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| Hanging tree and water feature, Public Gardens |
And while we're at it, what sitcom is complete without an ongoing theme about the hilarities of sleep deprivation? Don't even bother asking me if Linden sleeps through the night yet - I might involuntarily slap you. Like all things baby, however, nothing is consistent. There are good nights and bad nights. On a good night, Linden will nurse himself into a very dozy state, and then drift happily off to sleep after I put him in his crib. He'll wake maybe two or three times during the night, nurse, and go directly back to sleep each time. He'll decide to get up for the day at a very reasonable 6:30 or 7:00 am. I'm never what you would call "refreshed", or "happy to spring out of bed", but I can make it through the day and function at a level consistent with that of most other human beings.
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| Our "nature hunt" art project |
Then, there are the bad nights. Let me walk you through a recent example.
Scene:
7 pm: Linden is visibly exhausted: yawning, rubbing his eyes, and making deliberate smacking sounds with his mouth, to indicate that he wants to nurse, NOW. So we lay down as usual, and he nurses until he just can't possibly stay awake another moment. By all accounts, he is deeply asleep. I pick him up, and gently transfer him to his crib. His eyes pop wide open. More quickly than you can imagine, he's whipped himself to standing, and is bouncing from the crib rail, complaining loudly. I lay him back down, pop a soother in his mouth, and try to hold him in a prone position. Being incredibly strong and agile, however, he wriggles free of my grasp, quickly brings himself back to standing, and then looks me in the eye as he very deliberately tosses his soother over the edge of the rail. We play this game for a whole freaking HOUR, until he is just so tired that fusses himself to sleep. Meanwhile, I have successfully refrained from tossing him out the window. Things are looking up. I go down to start cleaning up after supper. It is now 8pm.
8:20 pm: Linden wakes up and cries loudly until I lie him back down and put him back to sleep.
8:45 pm: same thing.
9:15 pm: same thing.
9:30 pm: Linden has woken up for the fourth time. I decide to give up on cleaning or tidying or having even the smallest hint of time to myself in the day. I whip a toothbrush across my teeth, throw some pjs on, and bring Linden into bed with me, in hopes that at the very least, perhaps we'll both sleep.
9:45pm -12:30am: Linden enters this weird state of half-sleep, where he isn't awake, but can't for the life of him lie still. If he was in his crib, he'd continue to stand up and cry every 20 minutes. But beside me in bed, he inches his way forward until he smacks his head against the wall and wakes himself up. Then he rolls over and over until he smacks his head against the side wall and wakes himself up. Then he rolls and rolls until he hits me, and then proceeds to crawl his way up on top of me, and then head-butts me, so hard that we both cry out. This cycle repeats itself ad nauseum.
12:30-1:15am: I think we maybe both sleep?
1:15 am: Party time. Linden is now awake, and wouldn't lay down if his life depended on it. We start this awesome game where Linden tries various different ways of launching himself off the side of the bed. Most of these ways involve crawling over me. I am trying to simultaneously keep my eyes closed, and monitor his escape attempts. I finally find a way of mostly blockading him beside me, so he changes tactics, and bites my nose. I give him a harsh word or two, and roll over so that my back is to him. Without missing a beat, he grabs huge fistfuls of my hair in his strong, pudgy little hands, and yanks for all he his worth. We go back to game #1, which I suddenly find preferable.
3am-5am: I think maybe we both mostly sleep again. Linden is still restless, so I wake up every 20 minutes or so, but I don't have to intervene. Luxurious.
5:15am: Linden is now up for the day. I, however, cannot even fathom dragging my sorry self out of bed, so we repeat "party time" antics (see 1:15am). Desperate to have Linden go back to sleep, I try nursing him again, even though he just ate. Maybe it will lull him back down? He happily slugs back a bunch of milk, but instead of drifting off into slumber, he pulls off my breast, grabs my nipple and gives it a good hard (very painful) tweak, and then pulls himself to standing on top of me, and starts bouncing. With a tummy way over-full, this vigorous bouncing leads to the inevitable: one nice big huge projectile vomit all over me, Linden and the bed. He squeals with delight, and bounces victoriously, as he knows full well that he has finally won. I can no longer ignore him.
5:45am: Our day begins, with me cleaning fresh vomit off various surfaces.
End scene.
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| Waterfall reflection |
This is, I'm sure, the part of the blog post where I should really give some witty sitcom-mom one-liner to sum everything up. But to tell you the truth, I'm too tired. So instead, I'll leave you with the promise that as soon as I get my video app up and running, you can see little Linden and all of his new moves.
