Saturday, November 10, 2007

November Creeps In


I call this photo "Angry Noodle." Note how company on the floor does not make her any happier about tummy time.

In an attempt to make a long Saturday less tedious with a child who sounds like he's about to go round two with winter colds, I offered him paints, something I prefer to offer outside. This bought me at least an hour of happy time after lunch. My real stroke of brilliance, however, came when I gave him his father's tool catalog. Full out bliss. I should be alarmed that he knows the name of so many tools. Including what a circular saw blade is.

This evening I was feeding N downstairs as Q went potty, yet again, after being put to bed. Since this was the third time in about 5 minutes, I was starting to get impatient with his delay tactics (which are crafty since he really does use the potty on some of the trips). I was ignoring him when I realized he was singing a song to the tune of Raffi's "Shake my Sillies Out." It went, "Help, Help, Help, My Help, Help."

Little N is starting to really bloom. She hasn't resembled a troll in months, and her impish grin is winning her admirers wherever we go. Friday we went to the library during Story Time and after children's madhouse hour, I packed her and Q up to go home. As I put Q into his jacket, two small girls admired her in her car seat as their mother watched on. Then N let out a scream of rage. Apparently the two year old had given into that small child urge and simply bopped N on the head. Her poor mother. N was fine, of course, and I earned some serious parenting karma by not flipping out. Or even getting upset. There but for chance, go I...


In case you've not heard, J is starring in a play which is being performed this week, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. He's been working hard and I'm really looking forward to seeing it all come together. Website for details: http://www.themainstreettheater.com/

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hey, Terry. Just want you to know that I really enjoy reading your blog. -- Dad