Choose Your Own Adventure

Let's say you decide to take your kids home from your child's afternoon class on the bus because daddy needs the car.

Let's say you unexpectedly have a chance to have daddy drive you home, but a certain 3.5 year old says he would prefer to take the bus.

Now imagine that that 3.5 year old reneges on his decision and wants to go with daddy.

But daddy's in a rush and driving away.

Get this, now that 3.5 year old starts crying. Wailing. At the bus stop. There's snow, there's cold, there's a crowd of people gaping at your child as he screams, "Daddy! I want Daddy!".

The bus comes. It's FULL. You are a 10 blocks from home. Again, it's cold. It's snowy. You only have the single stroller.

Care for a 10 block walk with your crying toddler...who would be walking? Oh, and it's getting dark. In Hyde Park. Think fast.

You board the bus. Easing your stroller through the crowd. You spot a friend's husband on the bus who seems understanding and willing to help. Now you fully understand tender mercies.

That 3.5 year old is still crying. Still. And every other word is daddy. You're feeling awesome.

Your friend's husband gets off at the stop before yours. You see a nice Asian couple across from you. They are getting off at your stop. You realize..."I have to get this stroller through all of these people!!!"

This couple makes their move half a block before the stop. You pop up and tell them you'll get off of the bus in their wake. You let the 3.5 year old down off of your lap and assume, assume that he's standing next to you. (Oh, you fool!)

You slowly start to poke the stroller a foot forward.

The bus stops.

The bus lurches.

The entire bus gasps.

Your 3.5 year old (while you were panicking about getting off of the bus) got onto your empty seat and kneeled on it.

When the bus lurches, guess who flies.

Gravity catches him right at the spot between the seat and the front of the bus.

You turn.

Oh. No.

You run to him.

EVERYONE on the bus holds their breath.

He is wedged in so tight you wonder if you'll even be able to get him out. The metal handle on the seat is in his mouth like a bridle.

You ease him out, anxious to get off of the bus.

Then, wait for it, the lady a few seats down gasps and loudly proclaims, "He's bleeding!"

Oh. No.

You assess. It's just a nick on his forehead. It's OK.

You look up. The Asian couple is getting the stroller containing the 1.5 year old off of the bus for you. You look at your fellow passengers. Disgust and shock are truly etched on their faces.

You know your child is fine. But you feel like they need to know. So you make a joke. Because you really are that cool. Something about how the drama's over because you're leaving. (Remember, the show's been going on since you boarded with the wailing 3.5 year old and a stroller.)

You expect someone's face to soften at your weak gesture (cry for help). Or to say, "Hope he feels better". Or to give you a look that they understand that these things happen.

You see no one move a muscle. And you see someone. A guy standing at the back. Who has the textbook definition of horror written on his face.

You will never forget his face.

You bolt. You assure the Asian people that it will be OK. Your 3.5 year old is crying. Screaming.

You're shaking.

Your apartment building is half a block away. The Asian couple insist on taking you home. You don't resist. The lady says, "I have the regret, I should have held him!". You let her know that she holds no blame. The blessed calling of "guilt bearer" rests with mother.

You carry your shaken 3.5 year old home. The lovely couple take you to the door of the building. Nay, into the building.

They bow multiple times as they leave you. Wishing you well. Being kind and understanding. Tender mercy.

You get upstairs. You look at your child. He has spread the blood all over his face. He looks like he's gone through a windshield. Or two.

You cry. You wipe him up. You call the nurse help-line to determine if stitches are needed (they're not). You call your friend to come look at it. You cry some more.

Now it's time to make dinner! Oh, and daddy won't be home until well after bedtime!

Are you wondering who the 3.5 year old is?

Here is the "after" picture (I have to show the "after" first because the "before" is horrific).

Taken 1 hour after the accident. Happy and well.














Now, brace yourselves.

We all need a happy place

And trust me, Nico's found his. I find him like this at his most peaceful moments.

And like this at his most victorious!














He's a winner, through and through, that kid.

The Nativity

I'm trying to post from the unending backlog of pictures and memories residing in my hard drive. To say nothing of my need to blog about our recent trip to Alabama. (So warm and fun...did I mention warm?)

But let's dig a little deeper into my archives. Get ready for some joy.

As many of you know we spent Christmas in Chicago this year. We missed being with extended family but enjoyed not traveling. We also felt how special it was to begin our own little Christmas traditions.

Christmas Eve equals a reenactment of the Nativity for me (a tradition from my side of the family) and as we weren't interested in reinventing the wheel we gathered our costumes and had us a pageant. We "performed" about a 15 second Nativity, as attention spans were short, and it was delightful.

Here's to our cast:

Mother and child (I hope this is obvious).














And (you won't be disappointed) Joseph/Shepherd 2 (Matt) and Shepherd 1 (Jacob). Note the shepherd's cane.














Merry Christmas in February!

Oh blogger

I started a post last night and just finished it. But it was out of order with the post about Jacob using the computer. I'm not in the mood to recreate it just to put it at the top of the blog. If you'd like to read about (of all the exciting things) radiators then scroll down or go here.

You've been warned.

Mom, I've got work to do!

My friend Mardee does a great "Jacob voice". Top shelf imitation. I only wish you could hear the title of this post in her voice.

Since you can't I'll just say that it is such a cute, insistent, little man voice. And very much in the back of the throat.

He typically says he has "work to do" when he really just wants to play games at pbskids on the computer. I pushed back on computer games for a long time for various reasons. It's been a good experience despite a few reservations.

Guess who initially opened that can of worms...














Please say a prayer for my Mac.


















Um, yes, they do look alike.














Click.

Radiators: For anything you want to keep...warm

Our apartment is heated with radiators. They are found in every room and give very toasty warmth. Unless they are set to come on too infrequently by the leasing office. Oh, did I mention we have no control of our heat?

Because they are hot to the touch ours all have covers. The radiators themselves aren't masterpieces like the above picture, but they have their own coolness by the sheer fact that they look, um, cool. The covers un-cool them pretty quickly.

Despite their looks, the covers get pretty piping hot themselves and so we have started using them for a variety of purposes. Some of them accidental. I took all of these pictures on the same day and didn't stage one of them. If it were summer (I'm afraid of my clutter starting a fire) there would also be a picture of the one in my room covered in papers. A natural and lovely extension of my desk.

And so I give you, our well used radiators!

A wipe warmer.














A drying rack.














Best of all...a towel warmer. So warm and delightful.


















And lastly, they are also the backdrop to touching scenes of occasional sharing. Very occasional.

Laundry Day!

This stuff is reeeeally dirty!




































And oh, so cute.


















And just so you know, I wasn't fishing for photo ops. He did this on his own. I'm sure he was thinking, "This would be a good blog post!"

Thanks Nick. It was.

Carrots and Books

My Grandpa often recited the following:

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead;

And when she was good

She was very, very good,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

-Longfellow

Change "girl" to "boy" and "curl on the forehead" to "shaggy blond hair" and THAT IS JACOB. (As an aside, I was always really confused by the "curl on the forehead"...I didn't know it was hair. Like what does a forehead curl look like?!)

Anyway.

Here's an example of my very, very good boy. I'll save the horrid for another day. (I've got pictures...and they're gruesome.)

One Leg at a Time

My cares and worries are all over now that Jacob puts his own pants on.






































Well, almost over.

Morning Practice

First Position