We are in Miami. Without the boys. It’s nice. So far we’ve run a race (and both placed in our age groups), taken a nap, walked all over Miami Beach, eaten fast food, and spent way too long at a real live grocery store. We let a 5-mile evening run turn into 6 miles, and we took pictures at the beach. We keep telling ourselves it feels like Hawaii and thinking maybe we should invest in a timeshare or a summer home in some warm climate. You know, when we’re rich.
We also passed a park full of kids and slides and wood chips, and we thought, “Wouldn’t the boys love this?” We saw some statues of elephants and I had to suppress the urge to say, “Oh, look at the elephants? Do you see the elephants over there?” And as we were picking out our groceries, we took turns making each other laugh by saying things like, “I have never tried ‘chilled juice’ before,” and laugh and laugh and laugh. Simon, Oliver, we miss you.
What do you do when Disney sends you an envelope full of stickers? Put them all over your face. And your mom’s face, too. (She’ll probably wear them all afternoon, just so she can make your dad laugh when he comes home.)
Then moan for the rest of the afternoon about how there aren’t enough stickers for Dad and Oliver. Talk incessantly about how we need to go to the store to get more stickers. Not the grocery store, because they don’t have stickers, but a different store, a sticker store. When it’s time to take them off, be sure not to rip any of the stickers, because that would be tragic. And just for the heck of it, leave one on your face. Wear it to the gallery opening that is the FHE activity. Fall asleep on the way there. Be so sleepy that when your mom picks you up out of the stroller and then sets you down on the floor, you stand there for a second, then slowly crouch down, and then be about to fall over before anyone realizes that you have literally fallen asleep on your feet.
Such is the exhaustion after the excitement of stickers.
ps I know I’ve done this before, but it really doesn’t get old, does it?
Would you believe me if I told you that I just about cried a few weeks ago because I lost one of Simon’s Christmas presents? It was a watch. If you have spent any time with Simon during the past few months, you might understand why the loss of the watch brought me to the brink of tears. The boy is obsessed with time. He’s always asking what time it is, what time I want to leave, what time I want to get there, what time is bedtime, you get the idea. And I was so excited to get him this little blue watch for Christmas because I thought he would love it. He did love it, but he didn’t love wearing it, so it spent a lot of time in the diaper bag. Then one night he asked for it after we put him to bed. It wasn’t anywhere. I assumed it had come out of the diaper bag when I was reaching in to get something else and blamed myself for the tragic loss. And even though I knew the chances of finding it somewhere in the city were exactly nil, I continued to scan the sidewalks and the snowpiles whenever we went out, on the off chance it somehow materialized.
This morning we walked into Child Watch at the gym and one of the staffers, before we even had a chance to take our hats off, handed Simon the watch. I was nearly giddy that it had actually turned up. It seriously made my day. I’ve been asking Simon to tell me what time it is all day and I get excited every time he looks at that thing.
But that’s not all. As we were sitting on the couch this afternoon, Simon started pulling stuff out of the diaper bag. Somehow he magically pulled out Oliver’s pacifier, which I lost a few days ago. Or at least I thought I lost it. I remember it falling on the ground outside our apartment as we were on our way inside. I remember picking it up. I remember putting it in the diaper bag and telling myself to sterilize it before I let Oliver have it again. And then it disappeared. Micah and I both checked the diaper bag several times when we were looking for it without success. Oliver graciously consented to sleep without it that first night, but resorted to the spare in the morning. It’s good to have it back. And to know that I’m not a loser. Not really.
At this rate I expect to find that DVD player remote we lost back in Hawaii by Sunday.
After reading this article and reliving Simon’s febrile seizure in my mind, I’m more confused than ever about how to handle such things. Fingers are crossed that the fevers are few and far between.
I locked us out of our apartment last week. It’s one of the hazards of living in a place where the doors automatically lock behind you. It was, surprisingly enough, my first time doing such a thing. The moment I closed the door I realized that I should have had my keys in my hand, rather than leaving them in the bag, and when I realized they weren’t in the bag, I immediately started to blame Oliver. He had taken my wallet and my phone out of the bag while I was getting us ready to go this morning, so I assumed he’d gotten the keys as well. They were probably on the floor, just barely beneath the couch. In fact, I could practically see them there in my mind’s eye. Why hadn’t I picked them up? How could I have let him do that?
Oliver Oliver Oliver. Mischievous child. Always hiding things from me. Always getting into trouble.
We stayed the afternoon at a friend’s house, and came home well after dark. I walked in and looked for the keys. Which were sitting on the bookshelf, where I usually put them, well out of Oliver’s reach. Just like when I lost me keys for a few days and assumed that Oliver had misplaced them, and then I found them in my drawer. Two feet above his head.
Forgive me child. I have much to learn.
It’s nothing special, of course. A little on the smallish side, but isn’t everything in Brooklyn?
Don’t mind the fact that the greenery is a little overgrown.
And please ignore the car up on blocks . . . we’re converting it into an airplane. Clearly.
But I dig the tiered look. And the privacy. Good fences make good neighbors, right?
If nothing else it gives us a place to play during these cold winter months.
It used to be “When I was 20 years old . . . .” Now it’s “When I was a little baby . . . ” OR “When I am one hundred thousand years old . . . .” I think that’s progress. Maybe.
I was going to write a back-tracking post about all the fun things we did last week after it snowed and snowed and snowed. Like how the whole family went out and made snow angels, and how we finally made it to the Natural History Museum (Simon was in love with the North American mammals), or maybe about how we celebrated our 6th anniversary and managed to get our yearly trip to the cinema in a scant 3 days before the end of the year. (It was definitely worth saving our pennies to see HP7.1. Agreed?) Or maybe about how we rang in the new year in no special way, except by being ridiculously happy that we managed to follow the plot of Inception, which we watched as we waited for 2011 to arrive.
I was going to write about all that. But then I got distracted by my spam filter. It said there were 41 spam comments. That’s really not too many. But 34 of the 41 were for this post. And they made me laugh. Because they were trying so hard to be sincere when they clearly had no idea what the post was about.
“You are not right. I am assured. I can prove it. Write to me in PM.””The authoritative point of view, curiously..”
“I perhaps shall keep silent”
“What necessary words… super, a remarkable idea” (Well, thanks!)
“I agree with you, thanks for an explanation. As always all ingenious is simple.” (Yes, as always. I’m so glad for the reminder.)
Maybe next time I’ll have a good back-tracking post for you all. Sorry to disappoint.
The biggest difference between Simon and Oliver so far is that Simon is cautious where Oliver is fearless. Simon started jumping off things soon after Oliver was born. Oliver started last week. Simon has rarely had bumps or bruises. Oliver has a new one each week. (He’s currently sporting a rug burn over his right eyebrow.) Let’s hope he makes it to his second birthday without stitches, broken bones, or trips to the ER.
I suppose this is what happens when you have a big brother to show you how it’s done. Although, I’m amazed at how frequently Simon is inspired by what Oliver is doing. Amazed and a little bit annoyed. But just a little.