I Swear I Had a Legitimate Post for Today

That post? Lost forever in the swampy gray bits of my brain...

So, to celebrate the albeit murky, thunderstormy first day of June, I give you cuteness in turtle jammies and sparkly flipflips!



You're all very welcome!

Pancakes, Wind Turbines, Audiokinetics, & Barbeque

Yesterday, we spent the day playing tourist in Cambridge and Boston, which is ironic, since we used to live and work there, and were somewhat mocking of the tourists. Turnabout is fair play and all that, I'm sure we were mocked at some point. I'm okay with that.

I can't speak for Mark, but when I used to mock tourists, is was the gentle mocking reserved for family, because yes, they might be taking photos of the T signs (it's a subway! who cares?), but they thought my home city was cool enough to vacation in! Right?

We drove into the city and parked the car near my former "office" and took the T across the river into Cambridge. We had breakfast in Kendall Square, Mark's old neighborhood, at this kitchy, yummy place called The Friendly Toast, and then walked to the Museum of Science.


Felix has been there before, on trips with the Boss kids, but never as the star of the show. It was hilarious! He raced around, checking out solar powered cars, newborn chicks, a large scale model of a firefly. His favorite things? The George Rhodes audiokinetic sculpture, wonderfully titled Archimedian Excogitation, the running track at the Science In the Park exhibit (of which he put himself in charge for a good long while), and the Catching the Wind exhibit.


Along with trains, emergency vehicles, construction machines, and race cars, this kid capital-L Loves wind turbines. If he were old enough, he'd totally be campaigning for Cape Wind. He sat in front a computer terminal, clicking through turbine specs and photographs for about fifteen minutes, each time crying joyfully, "Mama! Look! Anoder turBINE!"

So far as I can tell, the fascination was born when we noticed a giant turbine on the hill east of route 146 in Worcester. We discovered it was erected by Holy Name Central Catholic Junior/Senior High School as part of their Green Initiative. Cool, huh? Subsequently, the new SuperWalMart down the hill, adjacent to 146 on the west side, built a mini-windfarm of Skystream Turbines atop the lights in the parking lot. I'm not a huge fan of WalMart overall, but this move is certainly a good one. Now, he notices them everywhere. He observes whether they're spinning, and if so how fast. We've talked about how the turbines use wind energy to make electricity, which he understands as the driving force behind the television and the stuff Mama tells him not to waste when he gets caught flicking light switches. It's a start.

We ended the day with a trip along the Harbor Walk, and another ride on the T, before collecting the car and heading back out to the 'burbs, with a stop for take-out barbeque at Blue Ribbon.

It was an excellent family day.

Mama, Do You Need This One?

I don't know about other mothers of toddlers/preschoolers out there, but when I'm with Felix, I don't have a lot of privacy. He likes to "help" when I go to the bathroom, which means handing me toilet paper and flushing the toilet for me. He keeps me company while I dress. He follows me pretty much everywhere.

This has also been the case with the three toddlers who preceded him. I tell people I haven't peed alone in a decade.

Yesterday, I'm in the master bedroom, getting dressed--I was most of the way there; underwear, bra, capris, and pulling my head through my purple tee-shirt. As my vision cleared of purple stretch cotton, there's Felix, holding out my favorite lace bra like a ceremonial offering.

"Mama, do you need this one?" he asks, all helpfulness and sunshine.

"Nope, honey," I respond, stifling a giggle. I gesture to the bra I'm wearing. "Mama's already got one on."

I set about getting my arms into the sleeves of my shirt. Felix brings my lace bra over, and, vary carefully, stretches up and applies it across my stomach, upside down.

"Here, Mama."

Big Boy Bed

Last Friday we made the transition from crib to bed, and I was, to say the least, apprehensive. I underestimated my little munchkin, not to mention my own parenting skills. I know how to transition. I've been there before, and the the tee shirt is old, stained, and holey.

He took to it beautifully, even "helped" the delivery guys set it up (and by "helped," I mean he played with his GeoTraks on the floor nearby, and chatted with Jackson, the truck driver, and his assistant). He's slept in it happily for a week, and has been on the phone to both Memere and Gramma to tell them the news. He even brought our friends upstairs to see it when they were over for dinner this past weekend.

From a design perspective, it's a little big for the room, and should be oriented with the headboard against the wall, but until I'm sure he won't hurl himself out, one side stays against the wall. I only want to buy one bed rail.

Things I love? The robot sheets I found at Home Goods, and the cars & trucks duvet from IKEA. The quilt and bed skirt came from Circo by Target. The bed came from Bob's Discount Furniture. Nothing fancy, no Pottery Barn, no Land of Nod, no pricey theme. Oh, and storage drawers? In a room with a teeny closet, those are a godsend!

So, here it is. The Big Boy Bed:

I love his 80's stylin one leg up on the jammies. Also, it took him less than two minutes to start using it for trains. Kid is seriously a vehicular junkie.!

Homonymous

Due to the constant remodeling of our house, my husband's line of work, and the frightening grasp my 2 year old has on words, Felix can label a fair amount of carpentry and home improvement items that you don't find on Handy Manny.

So, we're in Home Depot yesterday, buying tomato seedlings, cages, seeds, peat pots, stakes for marking deck footings, citronella torches for the backyard, and caulk.

Say it out loud, now, and allow yourself the giggle. Caulk.

Felix is riding in the race car cart (best. invention. ever.), which Mark is holding onto while he inspects different kinds of stakes. He's absorbed by the choices. (Cedar? It's what I've always used... Aluminum? It's resuable! Plastic? Ick.) He's physically holding the cart, but his brain is already on tomorrow's job site.

I am about six feet away, contemplating pulleys and line for a clothesline.

"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"
"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?"

Felix is straining out of the seat, reaching backwards into the cart for the two tubes of caulk.

A guy between myself and the cart, picking out some kind of hardware, is trying not to snicker. So am I. I have the sense of humor of a fourteen year old boy.

I, who have been around little kids making gaffes in public for a decade, am not easily embarrassed, but Felix is getting louder and more insistent with every repetition, and I'm shocked Mark hasn't answered him.

"Hon!" I say, just a little louder than conversationally. "For the love of Pete, will you just answer the child?"

"What?" he says, looking at me, genuinely puzzled.

"Dad? Can I hold the caulk?" chirps Felix.

Then I lose it. I give over to the giggles.

Mark turns about fourteen shades of embarrassed, then busts out laughing, meanwhile grabbing the two tubes from the cart and handing them to Felix, who brandishes them like batons.

"Mama! Look! Two caulks!"

Hugs (Non) Receivable

Let me start with this question: Who could resist a hug from this kid?

A few salient points: I nannied for the same kids over 10 years. Felix was with me for nearly 2 of those years. Mrs. Boss's Mother never really cared for how I did things, and was never more than cordial and often less than polite to me, and worse, dismissive toward my toddler. She stole my job in a well-played caregiver coup d'etat. I am now going on my seventh month of being unemployed.

So, I mentioned that I took Felix in to see Big Brother J's Little League game on Wednesday evening. As one might expect, she was there supervising O. I politely said hello (my Mom raised me right, after all), and then settled in to watch both Felix and the game.

When it was time to leave, Felix was doling out hugs, to J, to O, to Mr. Boss, to my former colleague, and then to Mrs. Boss's Mother. After all, he knew her, and she was there.

Let me reiterate: He hugged her. Voluntarily.

She didn't even so much as look down at him. The kid pictured above hugged her, out of the goodness of his heart, and she didn't even acknowledge he existed. What kind of heartless beast does that?

Would a pat on the head have been so goddamned hard for her?

I should get a medal for not slugging her.

You Can Visit, but You Can't Go Back

Did you know it's Marine Week in Boston? If so, you're one up on me.

I drove into the city last night with Felix to see Big Brother J play Little League baseball, and to give Felix the opportunity to run around with O. The weather was scrumptious, the traffic awful, everything that is familiar about Boston in spring.

What shocked me was coming up out of the parking garage under the Common to see half a dozen military vehicles (four massive Marine helicopters), a trio of event tents, and a motherload of people milling about on the emerald turf of the parade grounds.

Did I mention that my traveling companion is a 2 year old with a vehicle obsession?

We watched J play centerfield (and hit a runner home, even if he was tagged out at first), Felix played with his erstwhile brother-figure, and I got the chance to catch up with a former colleague whose company and conversation I'd always enjoyed.

After the game, we went to look at the helicopters, and Felix discovered that the carousel is back on the Common. There was no avoiding that, so I shelled out the $3. After our ride, on the walk back to the car, we met a French Bulldog puppy, who was enthusiastically pleased to meet us.

So, to sum up: his idol playing Little League, running around with his friend, giant military helicopters, a carousel ride, and a puppy. He won the preschooler lottery.

So why then, did I come home feeling so utterly crappy?

Because, in part, you can't go back. When they decided to let me go last fall, I left with a lot of unresolved hurt and bewilderment, not to mention a healthy dose of resentment. It was all made more complicated by the fact that I genuinely like and respect my former employers. Then there's the fact that I love their kids, and so does Felix. He's missed them so much.

I hated being on the outside. I hated having to be polite to the woman who stole my job, and now looks like she's sucking a lemon whenever I see her. I never knew why she didn't care for me as a caregiver for her grandchildren, and since I'll never have the opportunity to ask her, I try not to dwell on it. She doesn't look happy to be the one in charge, but then, I rarely saw a smile reach her eyes, so I might not recognize it if she did look happy.

My former colleague was chatty, but we don't have as much in common now that I'm not a daily part of the neighborhood, so that was weird.

And of course, I'm still unemployed, which is a large purple elephant following me around.

When I left before, it was my choice, and it was planned for, and everyone got what they needed. I never felt like an outsider when I visited. This time has been different. And not in a good way.

Blog Post, Interrupted: A Breakfast Tale

I fired up Blogger Dashboard this morning feeling al kinds of post-y (postal? no... that's wrong), but then life happened.

Felix wanted yogurt for breakfast. Okay. He only likes lemon and vanilla yogurt, so I ask him which one.

"What kind of yogurt, sweet pea?"

"Reg-ler kind,"

"Which flavor is regular?" I ask. I am foolish sometimes, despite this not being my first time at the toddler rodeo.

"Reg-LER!" he bellows at me, as if I am am inbecile.

I choose the vanilla cup. I show it to him.

"No-OHHHHH-oooooo-OOOOOH!" he wails, tearing up and grimacing like a Carnivale mask.

"Ohhhhkay, then. Lemon," I offer tentatively.

"Lemon," he says with a sunshiney smile. He climbs into his booster seat, grabs the proffered spoon and digs in. Between bites, he says, "Can I have my bite-min?"

I pause at the cabinet, hand on the Berkley & Jensen gummy-vitamin bottle.

"Please, Mama?" he asks, still shoveling Stonyfield's lemon into his face.

I give him the vitamin, grab a yogurt to have with him, and sit down.

"Can I have a waffle wif my wohgurt?"

What blog post?