Pint Size Favorite Tree

Okay, Okay, I promise I'll only bring it up one more time.

Ham and I went for our walk today. It's been so hot outside so I have been getting him ready for bed with pjs on and then loading him up in the stroller to make the rounds while the sun goes done.

That's the only time when it's actually cool enough outside that you almost forget that it was 100 degrees just a little while ago.

So as we normally do, we cut around the corner to our favorite tree.

The last time we checked it out - all of the flowers and most of the leaves were gone leaving only the pea-pods dangling in the wind.

This time it was packed full of life with flappy green elephant ear leaves.

Ham and I strolled underneath it and I pulled some of the branches down to tickle him in the face.

Then I noticed that there were tiny versions of the big elephant ear leaves on the ground and I stooped down to grab one. But when I went to pull it up to me, I realized that it was attached to the gound and what I held was a tiny version of my favorite tree.

At the bottom of this tree maquette was one of the pea pod seeds from a few months ago that had snapped in half to start the growth process.

I was in awe.

And then I got the bright idea that maybe, just maybe, I could grow my own favorite tree. I say favorite tree, because I still have no clue what kind of tree it is.

So I held on to it and Ham and I continued on our walk. Past all the stray cats enjoying their meal time, around the old church as the church bells rang and under the oak trees.

And before long, I remembered how hot it was and it was time to head back.

So Ham and I headed home and I found a pot that would suit this tiny tree for now.

And I planted it.

And maybe one day this tree will be big enough to plant on the ground and will grow big enough to make the beautiful white flowers, pea pods and elephant ears leaves that I love so much. Maybe one day it will be the perfect tree for little ones to climb with its thick, low to ground branches.

Maybe.

Who knows.

What I do know is that my other favorite plant, my discount hydrangea that never bloomed for three years, well it surprised me this year.

Guess it's time to take on another plant.

The Bedtime Olympics

I think there should be an Olympic category for what parents have to do between 5 pm and 7:30 pm.

Somehow we are expected to feed, bathe, clothe, read a story, sing sweet lullabies to our kid or kids and then *poof* they are asleep and we place their sweet little sleeping selves into the crib and dust ourselves off and say that wasn't so bad.

If this is how it goes for you. Kudos to you.

For me - Yeah, right.

Instead I pray dinner is finished by five. Dang crockpot, hurry up and cook it.

I remind him to eat and quit for Pete's sake playing with his food. No don't put it in your hair. I was hoping I wouldn't have to bathe you, but thanks, now I do.

I have to unload and load the dishwasher while he whines incessanty that he wants to get out of the highchair.

And just when I think, good he ate all his food, no food on the highchair table. I pick him up and...voila there it is! Everything I thought he was eating was really stashed underneath him.

I strip him down to his diaper, put him on the floor and point to Murphy, our cat, he takes off running to terrorize her and I think hey this is an excellent opportunity to sweep up all the food and clean the highchair for the tenth time today. But, really I'm used to it. I might as well glue the broom and the broom tray to my hands and stick clorox wipes in my back pocket for easy access.

And when I finally locate my little one to bathe him he has somehow managed to rip through the house like a tornado leaving remnants of books, pots and brooms and remotes in his path.

That's okay, I like picking things up that I just picked up, ten minutes ago.

Then I get the bath water going and he waits impatiently next to the tub, trying to hurl his body over the bath wall.

And just before I lower him into the bath I step right into...what is that? oh, pee. Yep couldn't hold it, so he just peed right there next to the bath tub. Great. :)

And so I bathe him. Reminding him sixteen thousand times that this is not the swimming pool. Standing and kicking water into the air is not acceptable. But he won't listen and I'm soaked.

Then I dry him off and he takes off to his room and I struggle to put a diaper on him, maybe lotion, some pjs. All while he squeals and kicks and laughs. I think, ten more minutes of this madness, just ten more minutes.

I grab a book and sit back in the rocking chair with him. A short books with a few sentences. I point to things, he points to things and then he tries to rip a page out and I remind him I was reading that page, we need it or we won't know what happens. I'm kidding, how many times have we read this book, yep a billion jillion times, we all know that the letters get back up the coconut tree in chicka chicka boom boom.

Then he starts to say "yea!" and throws him arms up in the air. And then he thinks its so funny, and admitly I do too, so he does it over and over again. Then I realize to heck with the story, we'll try again tomorrow.

Then I rock him, but lets be honest, he's too old for all that, and he just stares at me in the dark blinking and giggling.

So I say off to bed with you, Ham, and my exhausted self lowers him into the bed still wide awake, still hanging on for a last hoorah.

I creep out of his room and close the door to a crack behind me.

And a few minutes later I peep back in and see this:

And I think not bad, I give myself an 8 in the bedtime Olympics.

First Day of DayCare

So what do I do when I'm traumatized by an event. I write about it.

Today was Ham's first day at daycare.

And it wouldn't have been so bad if I had done more to prepare for it.

I was just coming off of a week full of interviews, a week of realizing I'm going back to work...gasp...and a week where my husband spent his vacation caring for our little one so I could put a big girl suit on and some heels and sell my teaching abilities to 12 different schools.

It was exhausting.

And it was interesting because during that week I got to see a big role reversal. I found myself saying things to my husband like "Did you turn the air conditioner up, sheesh it's hot in here." "What did you cook for dinner?" and "What did you do all day?" and Mr. Yardbird said things like, "Ham had two poo poo diapers today, he ate x y and z for lunch and can you believe it he told me he wanted to wear his hat today!"

What the heck happened here?

Before things could get weirder, we headed off to Mr. Yardbird's hometown where we all relaxed and settled back into our normal selves again.

And then we came home to school and.....daycare.

When I imagined this first morning of day care,  I thought I would grab Ham's packed bag and as we skipped down the steps to the car, I would ask a kind neighbor to snap our picture. It's the first day of daycare after all.

But when I went to grab that packed bag, I realized I didn't pack it.

Then I realized that packed bag involved a lot things we did not have and that this might involve a super last minute trip to Target.

So Ham and I raced around the house.

I grabbed everything I thought we needed - an extra crib blanket, some wipes, a sippy cup and his swim gear. I scribbled some other things on a list for Target.

Ham did everything he could do to help. He pulled out my sewing supplies, tore down the Christmas tree box I had stashed behind a door, swiffered the floors, pulled out the brooms, and two pots with lids. Then he strategically placed all of the above in every walkway for good measure. Which is fine because who doesn't like to hurdle over things with a baby, a purse and a bag in their arms as they walk out the door?

Once we were at Target, I realized I forgot Ham's grocery cart cover and oh yes his sippy cup, which is great because its only 6,000 degrees hot outside and here I am mom of the year with no water for my son. Great.

Oh and that list that I made? Well I'm sure it's right where I left the sippy cup.

I grab the first grocery cart I can get. The first grocery cart I find near the car with dried up vomit on it. I started to lower Ham into it and that's when I realized it. Fantastic. So Ham and I rush into Target wipe down a completely vomit-free cart with 60 wipes and speed through to gather all of our last minute things. We speed past someone who says something about a roller coaster ride and that Ham should have his hands up in the air and that's when I realize I should probably slow it down a little bit.

Once we were at daycare I honestly expected the worse. I thought Ham would burst into tears. Arms stretched up to me begging me to stay. No, that wasn't it at all.

What I got was a few moments of Ham glued to my leg. Pictured here:

Followed by I forgot who you are mom.

He starts playing with other kids. And I stood there talking to his teacher, asking her questions I already knew the answers to. Like would he have lunch today. Seriously? Because I was waiting. Waiting for him to realize, hey she might be leaving me here, I better cry like I mean it.

It never happened.

I looked at the nursery woman, "Well, I'll just SLIP out. Yea, don't want him to see me." She nods.

I look over at Ham. He's turned away from me. Some kid pushes him and he starts to cry.

Oh well, here it is. Reach on over to momma. Nope, he goes right into the arms of daycare woman.

I stood there, Ham and I looked at each other. Sell out.

"Well I guess I should be going," I told her. "I'll just wait till he looks away.""I'll just..." I slowly walked out the door. Ham couldn't have cared less, there were no tears. No screams or kicks, no please don't leave me.

I felt ousted. Maybe he's growing up, he's too big to need his momma.

But, when I picked him up today, he reached up for me and clapped his hands. He tried to tell me about his day in his own mumbo jumbo way. So okay, he needs me after all.